Southern Sierra Climber

Bigfoot

2011-11-30T14:45:00.000-08:00

Back in the summer of 1986 was the last time a Big foot was possibly sighted in the Southern Sierra. It was near Monache Mountain, on the east side of the Sierras, Straight east from Porterville. According to the Fresno Bee, a construction crew was working on a bridge in a remote part of the Inyo National Forest, on the South Fork of the Kern River in the Golden Trout Wilderness. The five-man crew was working at an 8000 foot elevation around dusk and heard a scream so loud it “sounded like a stadium loudspeaker.” The scream came again 3 more times and so freaked out one of the crew, he grabbed a rifle and fired it into the air. From a distance of a city block they saw a shadowed human looking figure about 8 feet tall and walking upright, move over the top of a hill and disappear. The crew, who was camped at the site, were so rattled they promptly decided to leave their equipment, walk the 2 miles out and drive to the Black Rock Ranger station, where they spent the night.. The rangers told them they had probably heard a mountain lion, which when making a kill will scream, which probably startled a bear on the ridge making it stand upright.. Several of the crew were veterans to the mountains and argued this was different than any mountain lion call or bear encounter they knew before. They returned to the site the next day with a ranger and after thoroughly checking the area found no evidence or footprints, though the crew also found no bear or mountain lion prints. Later hikers in another area reported finding huge footprints with a pronounced big left toe marking. I have recently talked with a friend of one of the crew who was there and he still swears that what they heard and saw was something unknown.
This story really brought a memory back to me. It comes up now and again, maybe like when I awake in the middle of the night, in my sleeping bag up in the mountains, in the deep trees somewhere…
I was 16 and living in Los Angeles. I belonged to a group that did a lot of camping, and we were going on our big summer trip. Our leader had a friend who was a long time mule Packer in the northern California town of Paradise, in the hills above Chico.. He and his 2 mules were taking us way back somewhere in the Lassen National Forest where we were spending 10 days learning woodcraft and mule packing. We were city boys for sure, and the mules soon ruled our lives, as we came to realize what it took to pack and herd them. We also noticed how smart they really were. After several days out, we reached Murphy Lake, which was our turnaround point. This was a very remote area that the Packer had wanted to check out as it was new also to him. We made camp on the edge of a beautifully green meadow, surrounded by thick forest, where further in was the lake. We moved the mules to the middle of the meadow, and helped the Packer put hobbles and a long line on to keep them in check. They were our ticket out, which would otherwise be several days of hiking out with lots of gear. With a big fire going it was dusk when the scream came. It was sooo fricking loud!! Its like the above story said “ like stadium loudspeakers.” Our group of 7 stood in dumbfounded fear, including the Packer. The scream came again one more time, and that’s when we realized the mules were bucking like broncos. We didn’t know what to do and looked at the Packer. He was shaking and getting out the only gun we had, a black powder, cap and ball single shot pistol. We were learning about black powder guns on our trip and had fired this one already. No way would we want to kill anything, but we were scared and shaking and the gun felt pretty good right then. The only words I remember the Packer saying were “ I ain’t ever heard anything like that up here before.” We never heard or saw anything else that long night, or on the rest of our trip. Our leader, the other adult, was a recent Vietnam Vet and got really nervous when it happened. He smoked a pack of Marlboros that night. The adults played the whole thing down, like it was no big deal, even that the hair on the Mules was standing up on end when they were bucking.. The Mules were spooked and uneasy the rest of the trip, they knew something we didn’t. It all was eerily sounding like Bigfoot though we never used that word..
I guess ever since I’ve become kind of a collector of Sasquatch stuff. Clipping an article here and hearing a story there. I had heard long ago, that there was a casting of a large footprint up in the Sequoia Park, Lodgepole archives that was taken in our area in the 30’s. While most Bigfoot sightings have mostly been further up in the north, there are still long stretches of land out in the desert and lots of mountainous areas that are totally remote and tree covered, where a species can survive almost unnoticed, specially if that species is nomadic., After my experience way back as a teenager, I’ve been a believer ever since………

Moro Rock...Seqouia National Park

2011-11-07T09:22:00.000-08:00

Afternoon Bouldering with a Golden Age Crack Master

2011-10-26T11:55:00.000-07:00

I’ve known Larry Zulim for a long time. A great guy and all about going climbing. He climbs hard too, usually going to Yosemite at least once a week to climb crack.

He knows a lot of old climbing history and stories from the valley days. There is a picture of him balancing on a slack chain in the Yosemite Climber book by George Meyers. You would think that after all those years it would be time to do a slide show tour or write a book but Larry’s still climbing Hard for his sixty some years!

I went along on a bouldering excursion one afternoon recently with him and our friends Bruce and Adam. Bruce and I have climbed for some years now and Adam had never climbed before and bought some gear just for this day. We brought along one bouldering pad, though we hardly used it. We were Trad Bouldering

I guess you could call the 440 Boulders a secret spot. All along the foothills of the Central Sierra, there are areas peppered with boulders, some medium, some amazingly huge! But it’s all mostly off limits. “No Trespassing” signs everywhere.

This boulder place Larry is taking us doesn’t seem to have any of those kinds of signs. Coming here for a number of years already, he knows the access secrets, which includes bringing some doggie treats. Located on the eastern edge of the valley between Visalia and Fresno, it’s a bunch of lefts and rights, then through a farm workers yard with bulls and on to the edge of an orange orchard to get to the rocks. The parking is at a pullout slashed with gang graffiti, broken glass and bullet holes. It was unsettling to head to the rock leaving the truck to fend for itself. .

Last time I went to a bouldering area, a year ago maybe, everyone had a pad. It looked like a mattress convention! We would pile em all up for the high ball problems. Being a good spotter kept you in with the in crowd. Some big climbs you have to jump off the top onto waiting pads or pad.

There were chalk “buckets” of all things! Poles with coarse brushes taped on with duct tape leaned against the boulders. There was a step ladder too. Everybody was covered in chalk and sweat, a stove down in the dirt hissed out the smell of an espresso pot boiling and the banged up boom box blared out some thumping, bumping, gitty up rant. And everyone was sending the stuff, going for it on big air to the applause and yells of the crowd, climbing hard and in style and getting stronger and bolder on the Boulder. It’s contagious for sure. Bouldering is a sport all on its own!

Today it was just climbing. We were nomadic, moving camp to the next boulder set as soon as we’d all done the problems or not. There were some funky landings, with fist size rocks. I guess the pad would help here but we didn’t want to take the time. The climber must not fall was our mantra, though it wasn’t that bad. Today was more like the way I remember bouldering to be, when all you brought was shoes and a chalk bag. Sometimes a piece of rug helped. . Larry was going for 90 problems, which he did. He doesn’t count the down climbing and just keeps moving, though not too fast, just steady. Bruce and I got up more problems than we thought and Adam got a serious taste for climbing on his first boulder problems

We finished right as the sun was going down and it was almost dark as we came back to the truck where all was amazingly well. All the light was just right for photos and views and we felt rewarded with sore muscles and planning for the next week’s trip back. I’m Thankful to Larry for giving me the gusto to go climbing and having him as my inspiration

Working on some updates for your viewing pleasure! Stay Tuned.

2011-09-04T15:08:00.000-07:00

Its been way to long and there's a ton of new stuff to add. I'm working on it and it's all for you.........

Patterson Bluff...............

2010-01-01T12:02:00.000-08:00

I do have my own topos, showing routes up through the mid 80's, mostly
cracks on the southern or right hand wall. There are also routes along
the Black Rock Rd at various places such as on "Down Under Dome" and in
the river gorge.

Fall is the best time of year to access the main left hand (northern)
bluff as it is best accessed from on top. There is a very short hike
from a dirt road behind the bluff to the top on the left. This road is
usually closed in the winter, though the climbing would be good in the
winter. The road access leads to Indian Point (I think) on the
topo. It is a very nice place to camp out. It is awkward to walk
along the top to access various rappell routes to the base, but much
less awkward than trying to traverse along the base from route to
route. I have only done a few routes directly below Indian Point, most
notably a 5.11 A-3 route up the obvious pillar/prow "Sunset Buttress".
Sort of like a nose between huge eyebrows. Leversee and a friend
bolted a 5.12 sport route up approximately the same line. Leversee,
Laeger and various others have put up many other long routes on the rest
of the bluff, since I was active. It is the kind of place where you
really need to spend a few days or a week at a time.

Patterson Right, the lower right hand side can be accessed all year,
though it is too hot in the summer. A dirt road leads from behind the
bluff up to the top to access two big square microwave reflectors. From
the top, near the reflectors, there are rappell routes down to the
base. Bring pruning shears to clear the trail along the base. It
does not take too much pruning to keep the base trail passably clear.
It needs pretty much the same type of maintanence as at Tollhouse. At
one time Mike Borrelli put in a lot of work cutting a trail from the
acces road, down to the base. It was good to be able to walk in or
out, but it needed traffic and maintanence and it became overgrown.

If you hike up the streambed below Patterson Falls, you can access the
big apron just to the right. The creek hike is worthwhile in itself
especially to the base of the falls. You will have to do some figuring
and bushwacking/pruning to cross from the creek bed to the apron. (The
obvious low angle apron on the left side of Patterson right.) The
obvious pillar in the middle ofthe apron looks like an upside down leg
and foot. It has a crack up the middle with a few moves of 5.8 near the
top. The slabs above are easy but with no anchors that I can recall.
The pillar was 2 or 3 pitches with another 3 pitches or so up the slabs
to the summit. I talked to somebody who did the first ascent of this
pillar, but can't remember at the moment. Might have been Mark
Haymond, or maybe even Ben Dewell. Might be good slab climbing on
either side of the pillar. There are some obvious black intrusions
that arch up to the right of the apron. I climbed the middle one (I
think) to the summit. Easy but interesting climbing. Could use bolts
for protection instead of the questionable small cracks in the weak
rock. I did place a bolt to protect a short headwall escape to the
summit. I long wanted to traverse the whole Patterson right on one of
these black dikes, but I never got around to it. We did use one to
escape off the top of a pillar over on the right hand side of the
bluff. It made a pretty easy and fast escape. (I have a good story
about when Richard and a friend thought that my idea of using that
escape would take too long. Lead to 1 AM bushcrawling!)

There are some interesting stories of the orignal climbing explorations
of this bluff. The "Balch Camp Flake" was first climbed back in the
early 1950's by George Sessions, Merle Alley, Rich Calderwood and
somebody else. (I could be off on those name, as I am just recollecting
right now.) I think they did report it in the Alpine Journal. The
route itself is impressive and mysterious. They attacked the right
side edge of the flake rather than the chimney/offwidth cracks. A line
of old decrepit bolts leads up the initial overhang till the rock is
somewhat less than vertical. Then there is a long blank section with
no bolts and no features till there is a sort of horn. Above that
more bolts continue up moderate angle rock to the summit of the
flake. Calderwood told me that one year one of them set fire to
the hillside so they could walk directly up from the road. It worked
as the whole hillside of brush burned away. Unfortunately, the day
after hiking through the ash they got the worst cases of poison oak any
of them had ever had!

Paul Martzen

Tollhouse Rock....

2009-12-21T19:57:00.000-08:00

Thought I'd put up some pics here from one of our many visits to Tollhouse Rock. Fall, Winter and Spring are great times to go and nice times to look out over the fog of the valley below. Face climbing at its best for the area.

2009-12-21T19:50:00.000-08:00

2009-12-21T19:48:00.000-08:00

A crawl into the depths of Sequoia...."Hurricane Crawl" Cave

2008-12-22T08:10:00.000-08:00

A day trip to Yosemite....

2008-01-06T15:00:00.000-08:00

The SSCA First Responder Kit out in the Needles

2007-06-04T10:16:00.000-07:00

For the past few years we have maintained a First Responder Kit and Litter out in the notch between the Sorcerer and Witch Needle, a place that see lots of climbing traffic. The First Responder Kit is for ANY medical needs. All we ask is that anyone who uses it tell us so that we know what to replace when we make our yearly restocking around the beginning of the climbing season. The litter is also available for serious injuries that would involve a carry out. Emergency response times out at the rock can be several hours, and this could be the only means to save a life.

SSCA weekend at Bart Dome....Domelands

2007-05-16T21:24:00.000-07:00

Plans are being made for the hike out on our SSCA newsgroup ssca@yahoogroups.com join us in the backcountry of the Domelands. Prime wilderness with friends and the climbing is the best the backcountry High Sierra has to offer. Please join us for this backpacking adventure.
Thanks to Patrick Paul for the write up and to Gary Schenk for the great pictures!

Getting to Bart Dome
From Kernville take the river road north to Sherman Pass road #21s05, (approx. 18 mi).
Take the Sherman Pass road about 5-6 miles to the Cherry Hill road #22s12.
Take the Cherry Hill road (approx. 12 mi.) to the Big Meadow intersection.
Now you can turn left on #23s07 loop road or continue along the west edge of the meadow and turn left on the loop road a mile and one-half further down the Cherry Hill road.

There are two trails that go to Manter Meadow and Bart Dome from the Big Meadow loop road. If you take the left turn on to road #23s07 you pass by trail #33E32 to Sirretta Peak first then come to trail #34E14, (should be marked Manter Meadow Trail) the first of two trails that get you to Bart. This is the shortest of the two routes. The next trail, #34E37 can be found about a mile and one-half farther down the Big Meadow loop road, but the trail is longer and is better for accessing Taylor Dome.

Water--you should hydrate the heck out of yourself before leaving the parking area, take a couple of pints with you on the trail, and take a couple of extra empties for later. There will be water at or near Manter meadow on the way. There will most likely be some water in Manter Creek which parallels the trail for some way. It might be a hassle to go and get water in the evening but it will give you something to do before or after dinner (possibly 1 to 2 hours effort). There have traditionally been very small springs in the area around Bart. You might have to have a search party to find one. Take a filter and cheap radios for communications. I will give a prize to the person who finds the closest water to Bart Dome.

Here are some links to trip reports on Bart Dome published in 1995 and later, and some conversation about this year's trip on Summit Post.

My knees don't like long, heavily weighted hiking any more and are not up to the hike out to Bart Dome, but have a great time.

http://www.alpinistas.org/archives/1995/bart.html

http://www.summitpost.org/area/range/170934/domeland-wilderness.html

http://www.summitpost.org/phpBB2/viewforum.php?f=14&sid=a2ba280c5090c0b316fe308058a9ae76

Patrick Paul

2007-02-11T10:30:00.000-08:00

"Chips, Fingers and a Freckled Peregrine" 5.11a III

2007-02-08T20:31:00.000-08:00

Ruby's Main "Diamond" Wall, located above Mosquito Flats up Rock Creek, holds very few routes. Galen Rowell's "East Arete Route" IV 5.10, "Central Route" IV 5.10 and "SP" Parker's "Daphne" IV 5.10a are all that adorn this spectacular white and towering wall. These three are true "Classic's" but are located on some very sketchy rock that isn't the greatest quality. The lines are phenomenal, without question. But, many that dare to climb either Galen's or "SP's" lines on the Main "Diamond" Wall, know that they are in for a seroius challenge and true adventure as far as the quality and integrity of the rock that they will encounter.

The North Wall, on the other hand, which is located to the right of the Main "Diamond" Wall, holds one very fine and Classic route, "Pteradon" III 5.11a. The rock quality and aestheticness of the potentially numerous lines, is simply incredible. Why this area is totally free of any other routes, baffled me for years. No "Local" Hardmen could answer that question. I came to the conclusion that it was a "Lost World" and that it was up to me to revitalize this incredible and beautiful area. So I began looking at several lines on either side of "SP" Parker's "Pteradon" for the past three years. Doing some thorough research to ensure that any of the lines that I chose to climb were in fact "Virgin" and that I wouldn't be infringing on anyone's work, I chose this to be the first.

My regular partner Derek Bomholt, from the "Westside", was working his tail off and couldn't get time off all spring and into early summer. Some "Local" folks that I had asked, were either too busy getting caught up with the late spring, getting married or simply thought that the area was too tough to even contemplate as the base elevation would be at an even 12,000'. I was frustrated and getting annoyed. I had began fishing for partners. Lots of folks were interested but none could get off during the week. All were tied up with the everyday routines of their lives. All of them wanted so much to particpate, but just couldn't do it. I was set in my mind that I have to get one route up this season. If I had to do it solo, so be it. Wouldn't be the first time. Finally, Derek called and released to me that he was sick of being a "Welding Pig". Busting his ass for 18-20 hours a day, seven days a week, and that he wanted a long break from civilized America. His climbing had faltered and his thinking towards it was deteriorating. We had gotten together the month prior with Kris Solem for a four day trip to do Merriam's "DNB" and "Feather's Couloir". That was a treat but wasn't satifying his love and desire for the life of climbing that he had come to cherish. He had become stagnant and was just about to sell all his gear and bag ass to Patagonia. He knew and had experienced my little "Shangri-la" over here in Crowley. He knew of my aspirations on Ruby. He knew that he would have total peace of mind and heart if he was part of the FA's that I had been planning on Ruby. He knew and he came. And, we did!
The Route
My first line, I had determined, would be the beginning of a series. Therefore, I would have to begin either left to right or visa-versa on the "Central Wall. I began to go on several "Recon's" with my wonderful wife and son. Took several pictures and looked closely at the aestheticness of the what would be the first line. I began hauling gear and ropes up to the base in preparation for Derek's arrival. Derek came over, we looked over the photo's and agreed that this was the potential first route.

The approach is a 1.2 mile walk up to Ruby Lake on the Mono Pass Trail that departs the Morgan Pass Trail around 1/4 from the main TH. Then a 1/3 mile suedo bushwack around the North Shore of the lake and then a 1/4 mile slog up 30-40 degree scree to the base of the Central Wall. The entire approach is christened with spetacular views of Mt. Morgan, BCS, Dade, Abbot and all the lakes that flourish the valley below.

Derek, myself, my lovely wife Michele (who had helped me for three days hauling up all the loads) and of course our incredibly energized son, "Bandit, were off at 0700 from the Mosquito Flats parking lot for our first day on North Ruby Wall. The first line that came into view was the fine towering beauty of "Pteradon" and it's incredible 20' roof that is located a little over half way up on P-2. As we neared the wall, the right side of many great vertical lines appeared and then, the first to the left of gulley, hits your eyes. Immediately, Derek agreed that this was the first to be climbed. We were stoked and so very grateful to be all alone at 12,000' with the Golden Eagle's, Peregrines and Hummingbirds that frolicked over and around us. No humans or any signs of civilization to burden us. Ahhhh, peace.

P-1: I took the first lead into the unknown world. The rock was a tad bit flakey but very doable. A 5.9ish slab that was well protected by a splitter trough, gave way to the beginning of the series of left facing dihedrals with their corner 1"-4" perfect cracks. A series of small 2'x 2' ledges greeted me and were a welcome rest. The first two corner sections went at 5.10a for 30' and then 5.10c. 40'. I came onto a fab 3'x 3' level ledge 110' above Derek and decided this was a grand place to bring him up as the two corner systems above me were looking at some stiff laybacking at 10.d or even 11.a. I hate cracks! I am a slab/face dude and have always disdained any cracks that entailed laybacking or any other "free" climbing technique known to man in order to ascend them. Derek on the other hand, he is a laybacking crack master! He loves cracks and ascends them like a lizard. Up he came and as he climbed with confidence he began exuberantly sharing his growing joy at the quality of the rock and the route as it progressed. As he joined me on the ledge, he was breathing hard and mentioned that he could feel the altitude. I looked at him and said that "we could go down and leave this great line for someone else". He smiled and mumbled something to the effect that I could go have sex with myself? He peered around the the corner of the block that we stood on and looked at what appeared would definitely be the beginning of the crux sections of what so far was a great line. He called out what gear he wanted and that if anything else would be required more than what he had, he would haul it up on the "Tag line" which we had incorporated for just that reason.

P-2: So off he went. Stemming across the dihedral, placing small TCU's in the small but perfect 1/2"-1" inside crack. He had a smile on his face, the likes I had never seen before. He stemmed and laybacked for thirty or so feet and came onto the first of sloping ledges. He hollered down to me if I thought that this would be a better location for the stance/anchor as the ensuing upper section would definitely go at 11.a and looked to be the crux. I said sure. So he set up the a temp stance and I climbed up to his locale. We agreed before hand that we would hand drill two nice 3/8" x 2 3/4" SS Wedge Bolts and utilize Metolius Rap Hangers for all the Belay/Rap Anchors and nothing more. That we would make it go "Trad" the entire line. So as I approached his hanging stance, I noted what appeared to be a perfect location to drill the two anchors. The day was progressing and the altitude was taking a toll on Derek. The sun was passing over the Diamond Wall and the chill began to settle in. We agreed that I would drill the first anchor today and return early in the morning to continue the second pitch and finish the route. BAM BAM BAM... took ten minutes to drill the hole. Pounded in the "Wedgy" and Hanger and tightened it down. AHHHHH! I am batting 1000 as far as my placements go. I pride myself in my hand drilling over the years and have never used a mechanical device for any of my over 300+ anchors that I have placed. Derek agreed that it was so nice to have a fat hanger, the likes that only Metolius offers. We fixed the lead line and rapped to the deck where Michele and Bandit had been so very patient all day taking pics of this historic effort in Derek's and I partnership. We slogged on down the trail to our vehicle and drove the terrible 20 minutes or so down to Tom's Place where we "Burger'd" up and then drove the awful 10 minutes down Crowley Lake Dr. to my home where warm shower's and cozy beds awaited us.

P-2(Upper Section) 3AM came quickly. I live here at 7200' and am doing stuff at altitude on a regular basis so I considered myself in good shape for the daily routines that I knew would be required for the following ten days or so of FAing at 12,000'. Derek on the other hand, he was not acclimated and I knew that he would be slower. I knocked on his door and heard a mumble, "oookaaay". I got the coffee going and got some banana's and juice down me. Derek awoke, stumbled into the LV'n room and downed his two cups of Joe and two burned bagels. Michele mossey'd into the LV'n room and offered her good mornings and mentioned that she would stay behind today as she wanted to do some housework. We were off at 5:00 and up the road we went and started the vertical march on the trail at 5:30. We arrived at the base of the route at 7:15 or so and started jugging up to the stance. I was thinking of a name for this line and had originaly mentioned yesterday eve to Derek, that something along the lines of "Chips and Fingers" sounded appropriate. We had agreed. But as the third day on the route would turn out, that would change. We agreed that we would work on cleaning the route of debris so as to make it a delight for the ensuing party's to enjoy. So that is what we did. We arrived at yesterday's high point anchor, I drilled and placed the second "Wedgy" and Met Hanger. Derek racked up and took off. He took his time on what was indeed the crux pitch. As it turned out, it needed to be "Deep" cleaned of flakes on the walls and of rocks in the 2" to 5" crack. Derek took his time placing gear and cleaning. He took five hours to do so on this 70' section. He surmounted the upper slight bulge and let out a yelp that notified me that he was impressed and so very happy. He yelled down to me that this was in fact one of the best "Laybacking" corner's he had ever done in the High Sierra. He knew that it was good and could become a Classic. As I jugged up the fixed lead line to do some follow up cleaning of any debris that he may have missed, I agreed with his assessment. WOW! This was an awesome section and definitely would go at 10d or 11a. The final determination would be made when we "Red Pointed" the entire route tomorrow. I joined Derek at his stance to find two old "Rap" chocks and slings that were at least 20 years old. I figured that they had to be Dick Levesee's Rap anchor's from his Free Ascent of SP's "Pteradon in 87'. So, Derek and I decided that the second anchors would be placed here as the direct "Rap" would go all of the 60m's to our right as Leversee had done. I drilled and we rapped to return tomorrow, early, to "Red Point" the lower two pitches and finish what we figured would be an easy 5.9 upper section to the top. Were we ever in for a surprise!

P-3: Again we awoke at 3AM and were off a tad bit earlier. We arrived at the base at 7AM to another beautiful cloudless crisp morning. Derek was PUMPED! He asked if he could do the "Red Point" on the first two P's and I of course said yes. So he racked up what he already knew what would be required for the first Pitch and off he went. His climbing was flawless and precise. Suddenly a Peregrine appeared overhead. I yelled up to Derek to enjoy the flight of this beauty. It then swooped down towards him, and circled right over his head twice, very slowly fluttering it's very atypical dark colored wings. He yelled down that it was "Freckled" and that he had never seen a dark colored freckled Peregine before. I quickly summised that this was a "Blessing" and that it would become part of the endeavor of the this amazing route. Thus, "Chips, Fingers and a Freckled Peregrine". The peregrine stayed with us for the rest the morning as Derek effortlessly stemmed and laybacked both pitches. I jugged up to the second stance so as to save time.

As I arrived at the stance, I figured that since Derek was stoked and so very happy, that I would offer that he finish the route. I did just that and he looked at me like a kid that was just given the biggest "Gum Ball" in the candy shop. "You Sure?", he asked. I looked at him and said,"You deserve it big guy!" So off he went. We were leary at what was 25' or so above us as what appeared to be a very loose 10' wide block that might end our ascent. As Derek neared it, he was very concerned. He went left of it, tapped it as he crawled onto it, and felt for any looseness. "AHHHHHHHH!" It was solid! He then looked up at the upper corner and informed me that it may be tougher than what we first thought. And as he progressed, it became reality, as it was more vertical than we first thought. The crack had ingested some big loose rocks and it required very delicate and consistent vertical stemming,so as not to drop any of the killer 12" diameter rocks onto my stance, for 50 or so feet with 1-5" Pro and at the very top, Derek had to then tunnel through a 5 foot alcove and then layback out to the final mantel onto the top ledge! "YEEEEEHAAAAA!!!" Derek was done and had finished this amazing line. I jugged up, cleaning and chucking the killer rocks and the loose chips and flakes that adourned the adjacent walls. I got to Derek's stance and we shook hands. We figured that the last pitch was a solid 10.c. Project done and a line worth claiming, aesthetically climbed. I drilled the last two "Summit" Rap/Belay anchor's and we descended with pride. We took some pics and shook hands again.

It was truly a great clean effort that we hoped others will follow and enjoy as much as we did!

Gear/Rack Req
-60m Lead Line & a 60m Tag for two 60m rappels
-1 Set of Stoppers
-1 ea #1-3 Lowe Balls
-1 Set of #1-4 Met TCU's
-1ea of #1, 1.5 and #2 WC Flexi-Friends
-Doubles on .5-4.5 BD Cams
-8 Draws
-10 24' "Stinger" Slings w/ 2 biners ea

Most importanly, lots of enthusiasm and joy!

BEWARE: This is an Alpine "Trad" environment that starts at 12,000'.
Acclimization for the task at hand is highly recommended!
TOPO
"Chips, Fingers and a Freckled Peregrine" III 5.11a
Derek Bomholt & The Chief, 23 August 2006

2007-01-10T19:57:00.000-08:00

IT HAPPENS IN A FLASH

It’s hard to imagine life without climbing, but now I’m weighing it. These days I’m grateful to be able to walk around the block. These days I’m aware how much human misery stems from innocent mistakes. We don’t have to do something mean-spirited or overwhelmingly stupid to cause a catastrophe. It happens in the blink of an eye.

It’s a social climbing day…. the six of us doing short climbs and topropes, all with a friendly mix of kibitzing and encouraging. We are on the south face of High Eagle Dome, a beautiful world of granite with grand views out across the broad drainage of the North Fork of the San Joaquin, all the way to Mammoth Mountain. At 7000 feet, the air in October is cool and the sun is warm.

When the others call it a day, my partner Nancy and I stay around for more top rope. I rig a fairly complicated anchor, and like clockwork, follow the routine like a thousand times before…. adjust the slings to get the biners just over the edge, clip the rope, oppose the gates, test the anchors, yell “rope,” toss it down, jam the rope through my ATC.

The rope tangles but I push it down, figuring I can clear the kinks as I go. I inch my way over the edge. We just did the climb 15 feet to the left, so I know there’s enough rope. OK, gently lower on to the biners, and take one last look at the anchor. All the friends look solid. It’s equalized. OK lean back and rap. I’m not above taking a little preview of the route as I slowly make my way down. Would that big rounded flake go as a lieback?.. OH SHIT this can’t be happening….the end of my rope slips through my ATC in a flash..

Whish. THUD. Gonnngggg. Oh my head. My leg is numb. Something’s wrong with my back. Shit it hurts. Shit it hurts. Let’s see…. I’m at Shuteye Ridge. I was toproping….I think I remember who I was with. Shit I didn’t center the rope. It was weird amnesic feeling, but with I could remember everything, except the second or two falling.

…………..

I fell about 25 feet to a fairly flat, clear ledge, butt first. I knew something was very wrong with my lower back. My right leg was electrified, stunned, immovable. My head was bleeding. Nancy, a physician, quickly checked me out then ran to get our friends before they left. She caught them just in time, and they more or less carried me out. A twenty-minute approach became a two-hour evacuation.

Five hours later I was in the ER and the nightmarish saga with the medical system began. That’s another story; I’ll just say that it included misdiagnosis, an unresponsive system, and lots of pain. I had fractures of the sacrum, a part of the pelvis, and three vertebrae. With this injury there is no cast, no brace…you just take it easy and get pain relief while healing takes its bitter sweet time. These were three months from hell for Nancy, my constant care giver and advocate against the sludged up bureaucracy of Health Net.

Now, six months later, I especially enjoy Leonard Cohn’s line, “I ache in the places I used to play.” I expect to continue healing, but the nerve damage that causes a constant burning pain in one foot may or may not heal. This spring I have been back on the rock a few times and it felt pretty good, but in the cruel twist Nancy bore the emotional brunt of the accident as empathetic, kind caregivers often do. (I was on opiates through the worst parts). So I am observing a climbing moratorium out of regard for the wounds she still feels so deeply.

There was no good excuse for my mistake. Maybe I was a little hasty…this was to be our last climb of the day. And as the sun began to sink we could feel the late afternoon chill moving in. I was in an uncomfortable position to set up the anchor and I was eager to get down and try the climb. The rope tangle was one more distraction, but really this wasn’t much different from a hundred end-of-the-day top ropes.

Can I trust myself to be a safe climber? Do I lack the requisite focus to climb safely? The most disheartening thing is that I knew that all too many climbing accidents are rappel screw ups. I knew to be compulsive about checking everything. I did double-check most parts of the system…..I just forgot one.

Sam Gitchel, samg@csufresno.edu climbed for 12 years before this accident. Whether or not he’s climbing, you’ll probably see him lurking in the western Sierra crags and SSCA gatherings.

2006-12-27T09:55:00.000-08:00

The Sierra High Route 2005 ByRay Purcell Day Four: lancets of ice crystals buried themselves into the exposed parts of my face searing the skin that was not protected by the hood of my parka and snow goggles. Leaning into 40-knot gusts our party of four inched up the southern flank of the 12,000-foot Triple Divide Pass. Ground glass snow washed over our skis as they broke through the crust like the bow of an icebreaker plowing through North Sea pack ice.The mountain pass was a spectral line that lay ahead of us, fading and emerging again from a sorcerer’s cloak of roiling mist that formed the clouds that surrounded us. The slope steepened and was avalanche prone because an overlaying layer of wind formed slab that was loosely bonded to the spring softened layer of snow underneath. We advanced on the pass in hundred foot intervals; as exhausted by our senses stretching out into the indifferent and potentially lethal snow field as we were from the physical effort to ski in the oxygen rare air while laden under our backpacks.We could have been skiing across the Alps or the Arctic; but we weren’t. We were ski touring across a stunningly airy and physically arduous line that traverses the highest and grandest peaks and passes of the Southern Sierra Nevada and is called, simply yet most apropos, The Sierra High Route.For years I had looked up at the snow-covered mantle of the Sierra from the Southern San Joaquin Valley after the air is washed clean by spring storms like this one. I’ve dreamed of crossing the range east to west following the line originally pioneered by the prolific Sierra skier David Beck. In 1975 Beck first connected this spectacular route. To follow the route the skier has to travel over six passes, all over ten thousand feet, but most over twelve thousand feet, and covering some fifty miles of rugged alpine terrain.I have attempted this route before and in retrospect wisely turned back recognizing my own inexperience in the face of increasingly difficult terrain and deteriorating weather that made the avalanche risk unacceptable. Now, forty-eight years old and enjoying a perfectly wonderful midlife crisis that I have no wish to end prematurely, I’d decided to hire a professional mountain guide. A no nonsense, "we go this way now", "follow me boys", kind of leader.Selecting a mountain guide to lead you into an adventure like this is not to be taken lightly or on the cheap. You would do no less selecting a heart surgeon, right? Fortunately there are many reputable companies whose guides are certified by the American Mountain Guides Association; a bench mark of excellence and professionalism. Based on reputation I selected the Sierra Mountain Center in Bishop, a town in the northern Owens Valley, surrounded by mountains, and a hub of California mountain culture. My guide was to be one of the company’s principle partners, Robert “SP” Parker. Originally from New Zealand, he turned out to be very much the "follow me boys" kind of leader that I sought. “SP” left the Southern Hemisphere to “climb and get out of the rain.” As with most climbers, he eventually gravitated to the granite walls of Yosemite and finally, by natural extension, to the mountainous Eastern Sierra. Though clearly laconic and occasionally evasive, I found that “SP” has a wry wit not uncommon among New Zealanders. When asked what the “SP” stood for he explained with a twist at the side of his mouth and a sideways glance; “Well I suppose it could stand for a lot of things.” Never the less “SP” is a highly regarded and accomplished alpinist, and has twenty years experience guiding. He has guided in the Alps, Patagonia, as well as the Sierra. Additionally he holds certification from the International Federation of Mountain Guides Association; which is necessary to guide in Europe where his professions history is deep, rich, and has achieved it’s highest art. Day One: on the appointed day at seven O’clock in the morning we were to meet at the Winnedumah Hotel. Now a bed and breakfast style Inn, the Winneduhma is a movie set 1927 Spanish Colonial style hotel located in Independence, the closest town to our trailhead. Over breakfast we were meet by “SP” and introduced to our respective team members. In addition to yours truly there was Barry, a fifty-two year old Urologist who practices in Phoenix, Arizona. Original from Ontario, Canada, Barry had been skiing since he could walk and is an accomplished white water boater, back packer, and mountain cyclist. Over the course of the trip Barry endeared himself by spontaneously breaking into song. When things got weird and scary he'd start singing rock ballads and gospel with ironically poignant situational lyrics in lugubrious bar room singer style.Our fourth team member was Allan, also fifty-two. Allan is a British chemical engineer currently assigned to his company’s facilities in Pennsylvania. Allan has traveled extensively and has skied and climbed in South Africa and the Alps. He has an ebullient personality and the type of British humor made famous by the Monty Python Troupe. He told me well into our adventure that the Haute Route, a trans-mountain range ski route between Chamonix, France and Zermat, Switzerland may have had more demanding downhill skiing in comparison to the High Route, but at least you could toss back a bottle of wine in the comfort of one the Alp’s ubiquitous and quite opulent "huts" at the end of the day.After Huevos Rancheros Winneduhma style “SP” took us outside and lined us up for a gear check, to distribute avalanche beacons and the collapsible shovels that I prayed would only be employed to dig out snow shelters- as opposed to any one of us. I’ve always considered myself frugal when it came to carrying lightweight and only necessary gear in my pack. But, “SP” examined each item and with a knitted eyebrow then unceremoniously discarded item after item saying “Nope, that’s not on the list.” or “What are ya gonna use that for?” After "SP" completed the gear route we headed out. All of us were crowded into our guides faded red and brush scratched economy truck ultimately bumping along a dirt road through the desert of the Owens Valley west of Independence. Mount Williamson loomed snowcapped in the foreground as the scent of sage filled the cab. We rolled past blooming mountain lilac, deep purple lupine, and reddish-pink dessert pear to the Symmes Creek Trailhead. Silently we pulled out our loaded backpacks and strapped our skis onto them for the hike that would eventually take us from the five thousand foot desert trailhead to snowline. The beginning of the hike was punctuated by the obligatory groans of the first trail day as we were newly burdened with fully laden packs and skis. After several crossings of the spring-swollen Symmes Creek we came to a sobering sight, which reminded me of the awesome power of avalanching snow. We found the creek canyon above us had been stripped down to bare soil, with all the vegetation resting in a tangle and cemented in snow at the creek bottom. The snowfield in a steep chute further up the canyon had clearly slid, the torrent snow scouring the lower canyon savagely bare. We climbed over the tangle of avalanche debris and continued the arduous climb to our first camp above snow line on a fairly level bench at ten thousand and forty feet above sea level called Anvil Camp. Making camp became a predictable routine of setting up our two four-season tents. These were sturdy, extremely light structures made of high-tech fabric so thin that I was afraid of putting my finger through them. Yet these tents are so sturdy that they easily withstood nightlong snowstorms.“SP” was also the trips chef and had pre-prepared all meals and snacks. Dinner became a welcome routine. Each night regardless of weather, after setting up camp we welcomed hot drinks followed by hearty soup, and a main course abundant with meat, pasta or rice and beans. Foods both savory and with the crucial calories to not only replace the energy burned during the preceding day but also for keeping you warm and snug in your sleeping bag through below freezing nights.Day Two: we crawled out of our cocoons squinting into the blue jay-blue sky of an alpine sunrise. We busied ourselves to warm then eat a hot breakfast, with coffee for Barry and I, and tea, of course, for Allan and “SP”. After stowing the tents and repacking our gear we strode off for our first full day on skis intent on crossing our first high point the twelve thousand and eight foot Shepherd Pass. We were silent in the warming morning mostly from the thinning oxygen at altitude. Approaching the pass “SP” picked an economical and efficient line up the steep snowfield.Having meals taken care of by the guide was one of the luxuries of this trip. But one of the most important benefits was the expertise with which “SP” navigated steep, and exposed terrain. Not to mention his ability to identify and correct my wanting technique on skis so that I struggled less making turns as we climbed these impossibly steep slopes.I was winded, hot from exertion in the relentless high altitude Sun, and famished as we topped out over Shepherd Pass. But I was immediately distracted by the first views of the High Sierra. As we ate onion and poppy seed bagels with cheese, tomato, and avocado, we drank heavily from our water bottles and the expansive vista of the High Sierra. To the south rose the 14,000-foot plus peaks of Mt. Williamson and Tyndall. The rolling broad Tyndall Plateau spread out to the west and beyond it was the singular granite pillar that tops 13,641-foot Milestone Mountain. We would end our second day on the eastside of this landmark in the headwaters of the Kern River, aiming to cross Colby Pass the following day. But grey wispy clouds were building on the western horizon and I noticed that the barometric pressure on my altimeter watch was falling, a certain portent of a storm.We skied through the remainder of the day across the undulating terrain beneath Diamond Mesa, finally traversing north of Tyndall Creek before a wooded descent into the Kern River Canyon and the night’s camp. While Barry, Allen and I finished setting up camp, “SP” used a satellite phone to call the companies Bishop office for a weather update. I eaves dropped with understandable interest on “SP’s” side of the conversation. In response to whatever information he was being given he simply replied with a terse “Uh huh.” “Uh huh.” “Uh huh.” “Uh huh.” “Uh huh.” Then abruptly disconnected the transmission. Over dinner I asked what the weather report held. To which he responded that a Pacific low-pressure system was building and that up to fourteen inches of snow accumulation was forecast over the next two days.The other “clients” and myself understandably asked about contingencies, you know, camping out the storm, retreating, freezing to death, cannibalism, and so forth. To which “SP” responded “Dave Beck certainly would not retreat so neither will we - yet.” Now “SP” ordinarily has a New Zealanders stereotype antipodean accent that is curiously mixed with a New Englanders “You can’t get thea from hea.” drawl. But in with this last comment he sounded eerily old school Prussian.Day Three: dawn came early through a gathering gloom and we rose early since “SP” was anticipating a long and difficult day. We hastily broke camp with the first dusting of snow and began laboring up our second pass. Hours passed climbing until the snow cover became too spare and steep to ski. Still the wind howled and slammed us with the rhythm of Jimmy Hendrix playing Voodoo Child. We strapped our skis onto our packs to continue, “booting” toward the pass. “SP” called a break so that he could scout ahead and test the terrain. At last he returned uttering an epithet.Over the wind I hollered, “Are we having an epic?” To which “SP” growled, “No, epics are where people die.” Allan disagreed and replied that “deaths are a tragedy” but that this was shaping up to be an epic.Reaching the high point of the pass we were chastened by our guide to quickly stow our climbing skins, put on our skis and descend as soon as possible to gain the shelter and safety of lower ground. It was three o’clock when we reached the sheltered leeside of Colby Pass. Lunch had to be delayed because of our perilous circumstances and not having drunk adequate water or eaten snacks I became light headed. The snow and sky became one so that even when I stopped I felt like I was still moving. Vertiginously I skied and fell, skied and fell. Finally in the relative calm we ate and I slowly felt my head clear with strength returning. We descended further but with the lowering cloud ceiling obscuring the next pass advance today was futile and we made camp. As we built sheltering walls out of blocks of snow around our tents it became clear to me that what “SP” had said in jest the pervious day about camping through a storm vs. retreat really meant that once your committed on this kind of an adventure the clock begins to count down on the food that you have with you and the fuel available to melt water from snow- the clock was loudly ticking.Day Four: another early start and hard push over another technically difficult pass. This time I was prepared to eat and drink on the run. We descended into the next valley while the storm waxed and waned. Again “SP” called home on the satellite phone for a weather report and the status of our connections once and if we arrived on time at the west end of the route.To reclaim precious lost time and avoid having to ration food and water it would be best if we could still get over Triple Divide Pass. But the weather wasn’t relenting. “SP” watched the weather and gauged the snow against the increasing avalanche risk like a surfer studying the timing of the sets of giant waves at Mavericks or the “Pipeline”. At last timing was judged and we were urged to cautiously approach the next pass.As we gained on the steepest slope with the greatest avalanche risk, “SP” dropped his pack. We checked our avalanche transceivers and reviewed how to establish a pattern of search to locate a buried body. We took our shovels out of our packs assembling the scoop into the detachable handle and stood ready as “SP” climbed the last part of the slope before the pass. We watched shielding our eyes against the daggers of wind driven ice as our guide tested the slope to the pass.Passing beyond the accumulating cornice at the highpoint “SP” disappeared over the horizon and then shortly reappeared retracing his route to us. Shouldering his pack he said “Well boys that was so much fun I think I’ll do it again.” Then we were cautioned to spread out in one hundred foot intervals while ascending the slope. The rational was clear, should the slope slide it was better to lose one than all.I was the third to begin the ascent and felt as though I was spinning the chamber of the revolver and pointing the muzzle to my head. The avalanche beacon emitted a constant radio signal from where it was strapped across my chest, the strap reassuringly tightened with each deep breath. Step by step I skied delicately upward, like I was walking barefoot on rice paper; wondering if the slope would fail early, late, or hopefully not at all. I must have prayed an entire novena by the time I topped out on the crest. We were all well rehearsed in the routine. As we reached the pass we removed the climbing skins from our skis and quickly got ready to descend. What made me buck this time, especially after the physical and emotional exhaustion of surmounting the pass, was the prospect of down climbing the 200-foot gully on the windward side of the pass before being able to clip into my skis for the final descent to Glacier Lake. The airy exposure about unhelmed me. “SP”, matter-of-fact and reassuring, coached me to descend down the forty-five degree snow gully facing forward as he had done so naturally. “Be aggressive, don’t lean back,” he urged me, but my natural tendencies were counterproductively strong and my pack and skis seemed to pull me off balance- I continued to slip. Then “SP” had me turn to face into the slope and kick step down, a slower but less disorienting technique.After the ordeal on Triple Divide Pass the ski down to Glacier Lake, at the head of appropriately named Cloud Canyon, was a blessed relief. We arrived exhausted and pleased to find sheltering walls of snow already built by previous travelers which spared us most of the work. We dozily set up our tents in the enclosure and collapsed into our sleeping bags to warm, dry and gather energy for dinner.“SP” cooked inside of his and Allan’s tent as the snow continued to blow. We shuttled food between their tent and ours. Snow was melted for water with the precious remaining fuel. But the soup was reviving, and according to Allan “civilized.” We ate the main course with snow falling on our tent that made the sound of grains of rice being poured over the head of a drum. Despite the steady noise or perhaps because of it sleep came quickly, deep, and just.Day Five: I awoke before my tent mate Barry but was on the unfortunate side of tent when “SP” threw a “hey, wake up over there” snowball against our tent that loosened the frozen condensation on the tent wall and dropped a shower of ice onto my face. The resulting exchange is unfit for polite retelling.Even through the closed tent I could tell the storm had cleared and was excited by the prospect of a cloudless sky. The barometric pressure was up a little and it was seventeen degrees in our tent. I peeked out the tent flap to see an amber penumbral dawn pushing back the midnight blue sky across the top of the world. “SP” fixed a cobbler for breakfast, which redeemed his unspeakable act with the snowball. We broke camp before the sun had so much as raised a blister on the eastern wall of the surrounding cirque with the hope of reclaiming valuable time- but at the cost of a very long day.Fortunately the day was characteristically fair for spring and the terrain favorable. With the most technically difficult passes behind us we made excellent time. We rhythmically skied over the remaining three passes and ultimately gained the Table Lands, a rolling high valley which ended in a delightful roller coaster ski to our last camp near Pear Lake.It was surreal given what we’d been through on this crossing. Especially at the end as we skied out of the woods and there was the black asphalt parking lot of the Wolverton ski area in Sequoia National Park. Suddenly it was over, Still, and warm. The van driver let us out at the Visalia Air Terminal. While we waited to hear the status of our flight back to Independence, I lay on my back in the shelter of a Ramada and looked at the sky. Abundant grandmotherly storm clouds where again setting upon the valley this afternoon. With bolstered rears and throw pillow bosoms they came wearing lumpy variegated gray frock coats. They began to forage about the sky with the random purpose of a day after sale, and with a voracity born of bargain table desire. Each seemed to wield a capacious handbag undoubtedly equipped with a mirrored compact, lipstick of an absurd color, half a pastrami sandwich –mustard, no mayo- on seedless rye, and the urn with Uncle Ernie’s earthly remains. They were congregating thousands of feet above the Sierra and the shuffling of their feet was stirring up just God-awful weather on the peaks and passes.Nope, probably no flights back over the Sierra today. Then I drifted off to sleep.