| An Epic FA on China's Yellow Mountain Trip Report |
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| An Epic FA on China's Yellow Mountain   | 
| Page Type: Trip Report Location: Anhui, China, Africa Lat/Lon: 29.57346°N / 118.24585°E Date Climbed/Hiked: Dec 9, 2007 Activities: Mountaineering Season: Winter | Page By: baumann_pat Created/Edited: Dec 16, 2007 / Dec 20, 2007 Object ID: 365546 Hits: 1337 Loading... Page Score: 89.29% - 19 Votes Loading... Vote: Log in to vote |
The original plan was to climb up the mountainside via the most enticing direction I fancied. The original plan was to join the main tourist trail at the top which is cleverly stocked with lodging and other comforts, like food. The plan then involved hiking in a somewhat leisurely fashion back down the mountain to catch the train back to Shanghai on Sunday evening. Plans often have more in common with fiction rather than reference or historical literature. By Monday evening, our plan had fully transformed into a fantasy novel.Saturday, Dec 8, 2007
This past weekend I went to Huangshan in southern Anhui. It was really memorable, in fact it was probably my best trip in 2 years. Huangshan has two main routes which are steep stairways. The mountain is developed to be a major tourist attraction. Despite the development, the mountain is a must-see, unless of course the clouds are heavy in which case it cannot be seen. Rather than take the east or western steps to the summit, I went directly up the hillside starting from the road a ½ mile back from the cable car. The road is lined with a barbed wire fence, encouraging people to pay the fee and stick to the official routes. Getting off the road and into the woods required a bit of climbing. There was a 15’ chimney of rock (5.6) which leveled out into some easier scrambling. Wearing tennis shoes and a full pack made the squeeze a bit more strenuous. I started hiking through the woods mostly uphill but following the line of least resistance. Eventually I angled into a dry creek bed which kept me out of the increasingly dense brush. The creek bed was pretty rocky and had some steep sections. It was great just to be hiking amidst the greenery. After spending most of the past year in Shanghai surrounded by concrete and smoke, I started to realize how starved my body was for something natural. Just walking past the trees and touching the rocks, I could feel my body starting to re-charge.
After an hour I came to the first section so steep and void of trees that I couldn’t keep friction. After a short pause I laced up my payan xiezi (climbing shoes) and then confidently walked up the 45º slab. For a day in December the weather was really terrific. My friend Sam, a co-worker from Shanghai, had said that the weekend should be clear; though in China I’ve learned to always question the veracity of information. This country has a lack of reliable news sources but no lacking of curiosity. As a result, some people will just make up an opinion then freely and convincingly share that opinion without mentioning that actually they have no idea. In this case Sam was right, at least on Saturday the temperature was comfortable and clear enough to see the distant ridgeline peaks peeking through the nearby trees. As I climbed higher the trees started to thin out and the view only got better. Finally I arrived at the base of a steep ramp. Ascending the ramp (50-65º for about 150’) required careful foot placement. The right side had a big corner with more features than the blank left side.
At the top of the ramp I finally got a good view of what lay ahead. The potential for great rock climbing is breathtaking. I could see several thousand feet of sharp relief. The exposed granite is breached by steep forested slopes just enough to allow some hardy cross country treks which may extend all the way up and over the pass and deeper into the Huangshan range. I didn’t find out because my intention was to get on the rock. I only wanted to do some light climbing so I only had a rope and a small rack. I couldn’t do anything too difficult though because my movement was hindered by my big 35 pound pack. Plus the mountain wasn’t taking any pro. This face was pretty smooth and the best I could do was throw in a couple pieces. The best trad climbing is further back in the wilderness where you can find 700’ cracks of all sizes, many of which are bursting with Huangshan’s famous pine trees.
I dumped out my pack and strapped up. I climbed some gorgeous rock and watched as the sun fell from the sky. When the sun set on Saturday night I was still on the cliff with no ground remotely flat in sight. There was no way to set up my tent. I wasn’t too concerned because the sky was still beautifully clear. I managed to wedge my pack on the uphill side of a medium-sized tree. The catawampus backpack created a flat 2’x2’ square where I could at least rest my back while my feet partially rested on a rock and partially dangled over the abyss. I locked my daisy chain in to the tree and clipped my pack to the tree as well. For good measure I munter-hitched my rope to the next nearest uphill tree and clipped into it as well. At 6:00pm it was pitch black and I was dozing off using my backpack as a mattress and the extra end of the rope as a pillow. Somehow the climbing kept me distracted; I didn't even notice I hadn't eaten anything since the instant noodles for breakfast.
Sunday, December 9, 2007It was a relief when dawn finally broke. Due to the season and singular time zone of China the sun sets early, around 4:30pm this time of year. That shouldn't make the night longer but some how I still get that impression. Anyway when the sun finally lit the sky I couldn't resist saying a short prayer of thanks. Sunday morning required more technical climbing. Some of the pitches were absolutely incredible. I followed a steep ramp until it joined a huge overhanging roof. The views down to Tangkou were amazing. The roof was so overhanging that it more closely resembled a horizontal 3-sided chimney (with no floor). To make the traverse I was able to hunch over and apply pressure with my back to the underside of the roof.
Then there was more clawing through the thick yellow mountain undergrowth. Throughout the day, the clouds were thickening and finally by 2pm a light shower began. Fortunately I was off the rock and scrambling up through the trees and the steep boulder-strewn mountainside. The original plan was to climb and make my route however I fancied. The original plan was to join the main tourist trail which is cleverly stocked with lodging and other comforts, like food. The plan then involved hiking, I had imagined in a leisurely fashion back down the mountain to catch the train back to Shanghai later that evening. Plans often have more in common with novels or other works of fiction rather than reference or historical literature. By Monday evening, the plan had fully transformed into a fantasy novel.
Ironically, the lowest point of the following 2 days occurred at the highpoint of the trip. It was just after clawing through the undergrowth and reaching the ridge of the upper mountain. My stomach was waking up and it had every expectation to make a tasty acquaintance with some stir-fried zhongning or spicy caocuan (don't ask, my stomach has an imagination too!). Unfortunately for me and my empty duzi, my pack didn’t contain any food. But it wasn't the hunger which pulled down my spirit. My eyes followed the ridgeline. The summit was at least a kilometer away with over 800' of vertical to go. The terrain was very rugged and even the horizontal stretches would require pitching out due to exposure and technical difficulty. I checked the clock and realized the day was really getting on. From here retreating would be difficult without possibility of getting back to the road before dark. The only hope was to continue toward the summit and find the trail from which I could hike down in the darkness.
I couldn't see a trail. I couldn’t see any human structures on the peak and wasn't positive that it was even accessible by trail. I couldn't hear a soul. Even the obnoxious Chinese trucks with interchangeable horns and accelerators honking their way through the valley far below were out of earshot and out of mind. Besides my partner, I couldn't see a soul. It was a mixed feeling. I really enjoyed the feeling of the solitude and beauty. In this country people are everywhere, the route which we climbed was likely a first ascent. I may have been the first person to ever stand on that ground, maybe not. In the midst of a cacophony, sanctuary is found by mere impressions of serenity. If I had possessed a bag of peanuts and 2 days vacation before me it would have been a truly beautiful moment.
Retreat was the best option; it was an easy decision. I haven’t spoken much about my partner yet and I haven’t yet mentioned the most disheartening part. It was a similar feeling to that disheartening moment that flits through your body as the professor sets a blank exam on your desk. Maybe you have even studied and feel confident but the anxiety exists and the exam is blank and there is an urgent challenge to finish before the bell rings. Here is our exam: the arduous task of going down is exceeded only by the more arduous chore of continuing to the top, there is no trail and no flat ground, the sun sets in 1-2 hours. Between us we have no food, 2 ounces of water remain, and no flashlight save the LED from our cell phones. Of course I've been in worse predicaments but my partner has not. She has only camped once before and that was 20 feet off the sidewalk and within sight of a gazebo in Hangzhou last month. Luckily for me she is also the sweetest most positive-minded Shanghainese I've ever met. But it hadn't started raining yet.
We begin the descent and it is all rappels from the beginning. The terrain is too steep and with darkness creeping in I will not risk down climbing. The mountainside can be roughly divided into large patches of clean slabby granite and large patches of thick growth. I estimate that our fastest retreat is to rappel along the interface. We will be able to descend quickly and still find trees on the edge to sling. I carefully measure off the rope length and connect a line from our current position to a tree down below. From there, I line up the rope to the next tree down. Lining up the rope and connecting trees reminded me of kindergarten when I used to use a pencil to connect numbered dots on a blank page. In total we rapped 19 pitches before reaching ground that could be down climbed faster without using rope. Only 3 were finished before the sun set on us that Sunday night.
I had taught Sam to rappel earlier this summer. She picked it up easily. One time she accidentally let the skin between her thumb and index finger slip into the BRD. Her hand bled and the skin tore away but she stayed calm. The experience taught her the immediate and unpleasant consequences of disregarding the important safety procedures of mountaineering. I still regularly check her knots and teach her fundamental techniques. I enjoy telling her stories of how I learned my lessons several years ago. Like how I almost rapped off the end of the rope in Red Rock Canyon NCA. Or when I slid off the knife-edge while 20 miles deep in the Montana wilderness during a solo trip. Or when I experienced dehydration and auditory hallucinations in the San Jacinto wilderness. Good times.
This weekend was supposed to be a light climbing weekend, consisting of scrambling, with occasional use of the stealth rubber. The rope was intended to belay Sam. I didn't intend to climb anything beyond my ability to solo. As a result, I wasn't carrying a large rack, just a handful of stoppers and slings. After burning two slings on the first two rappels, I rigged a French retreat to get us down a short headwall into the top of a steep ravine. I went down first keeping the rope untangled along the way. I set up the next anchor as a hanging belay and beckoned Sam down. As Sam reached the belay station the last hint of light extinguished on the horizon. In the ravine, it was pitch black without moon or stars. I pulled the loop of rope and reeled in the loose end as it came back down. Then one tug on the other end and I already knew something was out of place. A well conceived French retreat falls apart like a house of cards. I gave the rope another tug in disgust and cursed, "I know I set this up right!" I didn't want to re-climb this short headwall in the dark. I knew it wasn't that hard but I didn't pay that much attention to the features on my way down and now I couldn't even see them. Besides, the direction we needed to go was down. I was frustrated. In an effort to calm me down, Sam taught me a new four-letter word and cheered me up. A moment later I put on her toukuei and climbed to the anchor. The sling had slipped off the branch as designed but caught a protruding flake of bark and wouldn't budge. The mistake was an unlikely chance but I could have prevented the error had I tied the loose rope end to the other loop of the sling; it was obvious now. I soloed back down the headwall thereby saving the sling after all and rejoined Sam back at the anchor station.
For the sake of conservation, I cut my baby blue sling in half. We rapped 2 more times. I cut my olive green sling in to thirds. We rapped 3 more times. Life became sort of monotonous. I would descend into the darkness pushing my way through trees and backing over edges. Eyes open or closed - it didn't matter - I was operating with sense of touch alone tandemly using my hands and feet. Occasionally my head would inform the presence of a branch or trunk. Upon nearing the knot, I'd find a suitable tree and prepare a new anchor. "Sam Off Rappel!" Then Sam would join me a while later. I would ask her if she's ready to go 'One more time,' and her sure reply was a cheery 'Ready!' During the first few rappels I had something meaningful to do as I waited for her. I would put on my jacket or change out of my climbing shoes. After that I could only sit on my pack and shiver and wait.
When her response became a little less cheery I started to look out for a flat spot big enough to place the tent. Unfortunately flat was not to be had. The ninth rappel brought us to a place where we could sit down comfortably and untie without fear of plunging down the mountainside. A quick survey revealed a flattish spot which was actually the trough of the ravine. It was bare of vegetation, obviously because it would become the bottom of a small river during torrential rains. It wasn't wide enough for a single sleeping pad and clearly too small for a tent. I had major reservations about building camp in the water course, albeit dry, but this was the best spot we'd crossed in hours. To make matters worse, the light sprinkle was returning making its way through the treetops and finding its way to our already cold heads. As long as the precipitation remains a trickle, I figure we'll be okay.
I strung the fly across the drainage and lashed the guy lines to branches on either side; I laid my ground tarp across the drainage. I placed my large pack at the base of the sleeping pads. I pulled the upstream edge of the ground tarp up to cover the pack and form a dam. The sprinkle seems persistent so I consider the possibility of a very wet night yet the pack and tarp may guide most of the flowing water around us as we rest in the center of the streambed. Other random items got stuffed under the sleeping pads to fill out the uneven ground. As a final touch I bowed some nearby branches and stuffed them underneath the fly to prop it up. This worked well to keep the rain from collecting too much in the fly. If the rain remains only a trickle, the fly should protect us and the tarp and backpack-dam will keep the water from soaking our shuidai and washing us away. By this point it was nearing midnight and we still hadn't eaten since breakfast the previous day. The 2 oz of water was long gone.
Monday, December 10, 2007By 3am the rain was not letting up. Despite my best efforts, water was still accumulating on the fly in two pools. At one point the water was so heavy that the pool drooped within inches of my sleeping face. At intervals I would wake up and poke the pools then watch the water cascade away. I was able to fill our water bottles from the runoff but the taste was like licking a wet tent. I could only stomach half a cup. Both of our packs and my extra sweatshirt were soaked and our sleeping bags were slowly becoming unusable. Just to keep our bodies dry and warm we had to rearrange camp. But besides wishing the rain away and shifting sideways to get out of the standing water there wasn’t much we could do.
Even when the light finally came the rain continued. We huddled under the fly waiting for the rain to stop. I was eager to pack up and continue the trek but hesitant to leave the relative shelter of our camp. By 11am we couldn’t wait any longer. Since the rain wouldn’t stop for the rest of the day, we could have started much earlier. Within minutes of folding up the fly my shirt and hair was soaked. Compressing my sleeping bag into my pack moistened the cells that were still dry. The rope was already totally soaked. The only thing still dry was my socks and inner shoes but that wouldn’t last.
A short walk brought us to the lip of the pocket where we had been camped. I started cutting my purple sling. It was the longest one so I got four solid rap slings from it. Once I ran out of slings I started cutting the rope. I was very wet and getting cold, the BRD wrung the sopping rope as it passed through. The excess water poured out of the rope onto my legs and down into my shoes. Honestly though, getting wet is much worse than being wet. After I was soaked to the bone, these 10 raps were some of the most wicked I’ve ever done. We followed the swelling creek, chasing it over some wild waterfalls and straddling it when it narrowed. Occasionally we caught glimpses of the majestic towers around us but mainly we were stuck in the fogbank. A few times I started the rappel without seeing the ground below – only the cloud. My only assurance that I wouldn’t run out of rope was my estimation of the distance from the sound of the crashing waterfall.
It was nearly 4pm by the time the ravine flattened out enough for hiking. We went under tree cover and the mood changed. Up high I am in awe of nature’s beauty but lower down I feel more immersed in it. Mountain peaks are not hospitable. There is an edge and a danger. Forests provide more shelter and are more comforting in a subtle way. Following the water through the forest eventually led us to a stone wall and a building. We were actually starting to fear spending another night out so seeing the light on the building was a very good feeling. Arrival had given us new energy so we nimbly climbed over a wall and snuck around the backside of the building to meet a road. We passed the entrance for the Huangshan cable car then we spilled out to the main road exactly where we started two and a half days prior. The sun was setting so the souvenir hawks were closing up and all the buses and taxis had already gone. We were able to buy some ears of corn and a rice dish. The only thing left was to hitch a ride back to Tangkou village, catch a bus for the hour-long ride to the train station and get on the night train back to Shanghai.
I might be crazy. That’s what some people have told me, but this trip fits my definition of fun. I need some escape. I can leave the city behind and become carefree; achieve independence and then return to the city. I treasure that feeling. By the way, the 4-letter word that Sam taught me was ‘Good.’ I think I already mentioned that she is an optimist. She had a great time. At least that is what she told me.
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