An epic night on Mt. Conness via the west ridge
It was the second weekend in June and alpine season in the high Sierra was well underway. Kat and I had gone after Charlotte Dome two weeks before and Pat and I had climbed Cathedral Peak and Eichorn Pinnacle the week earlier. This particular weekend we turned our attention to the uber-classic Mt. Conness via the West Ridge route. This climb includes everything that you really need in a true alpine climb; the big approach, the meaty exposure, the 12,700 ft summit, the glacier travel, route finding, and 2000 ft of absolutely wonderful climbing.
Pat and I headed out from Oakland meeting John Z and Thom in Oakdale. The usual. Toulumne is a non-inconsequential drive from the bay so we pulled in at around 1 am. Luckily, a good buddy of mine, Andrew, had a site in Toulumne Meadows so the camping arrangements where pretty easy. Even though the temperature was pretty low, Toulumne in June can still get chilly, we laid out a tarp with our sleeping bag on top and slept in the open. I set my alarm for 4 am and was asleep within minutes. Now, the alpine start isn't for everyone, especially if you have to work all day and then drive late into the night, the night before the climb. For some strange reason however, I love them. It's like the taste of a dirty martini or maybe tripe. Acquired tastes. You realize that when you're doing it, that it's somewhat crazy, yet I've always felt 100% like I was in my own skin. Like I belonged, and it was always right.
So we woke up at four, made our coffee and ate our oatmeal and by 4:45 we were in the car, rolling towards Sawmill. To get to Mt. Conness, which is technically in the boundaries of Yosemite, you have to leave the park. So from Toulumne Meadows, we drove for probably 20 minutes, leaving the park and pulling into the Sawmill/Saddle Bag Dam road. We hadn't sorted gear and racked up the night before because we didn't want to wake anyone so we had to do it now. It was 5:45 am before we were actually on the trail and by this time, it being summer, it was already very light outside. We hiked, following the beta from the High Sierra Supertopo, passed the Carnegie Institute barn and headed off the main trail when we spotted cairns.
We hiked for about 2 or 2 1/2 hours until we got to a point where we were faced with a rock wall starting at our 11 o'clock all the way to our 4 o'clock with a glacier field on our entire left side. We definitely weren't on the East Ridge approach that McNamara talked about but we needed to keep going up somehow. After a quick pow-wow, the decision was made to climb the glacier. We didn't have crampons or ice axes or even Yaktrax, but the glacier had these large sun cups and you could hop from one to the next which kept you from sliding all the way back down the glacier. We all armed ourselves with nuts tools to use in the unfortunate situation of self-arrest if need be. We were still looking up at big rock features and we searched out a way to gain the ridge. Finally I eyed what I thought was a notch, a weakness in the ridge that might allow us to slip on by. We hiked over, sun cup by sun cup, traversing carefully until we got to the rock. It was indeed a way up. I squeezed on up and with one big fifth class mantle move I was up to what looked to be easy fourth class to the top. The boys through up their packs to make the squeeze more manageable and we sat at the top naively triumphant.
We were still pretty unclear as to where we needed to go and it took a long time before we found the descent that would lead us to the start of the West Ridge. We eventually started down a fairly treacherous gully with ice still thinly gleaming atop of the granite talus. This downclimb gave me more pause than the actually climb at times and avoiding the ice made it go on longer than perhaps it would in late June or July. Finally reaching the bottom of the gully was no prize either. Instead we were greeted by a long slog through a talus field jumping from block to block for what seemed like more than an hour.
We were still pretty unclear as to where we needed to go and it took a long time before we found the descent that would lead us to the start of the West Ridge. We eventually started down a fairly treacherous gully with ice still thinly gleaming atop of the granite talus. This downclimb gave me more pause than the actually climb at times and avoiding the ice made it go on longer than perhaps it would in late June or July. Finally reaching the bottom of the gully was no prize either. Instead we were greeted by a long slog through a talus field jumping from block to block for what seemed like more than an hour.
By the time we got to the route it was already 1:30 pm. How had it taken us this long for the approach? It had taken us over seven hours to get this far and this presented us with a really big decision. We had 2000 ft of climbing ahead of us and a descent after that and no more than 7 or 8 hours of real daylight. After what happened on Charlotte Dome two weeks ago, I wasn't having any talk about bailing and luckily either was Pat. So we did the most logical thing in any climbers head; we just went for it. The four of us suited up, Pat and I prepared our strategy and Thom and John talked over how they wanted to climb. Pat and I were set on simuling the route. This is when one climber sets out first and when the rope gets taught, the second will start climbing and the two climbers will climb together simultaneously. it's much quicker, but also much more dangerous. If one climber falls, it will pull the other climber off the rock with a much larger fall than you would have even on lead.
This strategy worked great for us though. After awhile I would run out of gear and out of alpine slings and I would need to stop, build and anchor and belay Pat up to me. He would then hand me back all the gear and slings I had placed and we started all over again. This went on for maybe 6 hours until I was thoroughly wiped out. John and Thom had already radioed us saying they were not making good enough time and were gonna bail. When your body hits a point of complete exhaustion it's hard to trust it. This is what endurance athletes call the "bonk". You feel like you just hit a wall and you can't go any farther. When you're climbing and you hit a wall however, unfortunately you're still on a wall and you need to summon up the endurance to finish what your ego started. At this point in the climb I had hit the wall. Between the approach, the altitude and the hour after hour of leading, I was toast. I turned to Pat, gave him the rack and just asked him to pitch out the climb until I felt better. He took the reins and started leading, belaying my tired body up after building an anchor. Fortunately this only went on for 3 or 4 pitches before we just started scrambling third and fourth class to the summit.
Unfortunately however, this burned through valuable time and day light that we couldn't afford to waste. At about 8:15 we summitted. Finally. With the entire sky in alpineglow the view couldn't have been more breathtaking. The entire Sierra looked pink and orange. In spite of the amazing views, we wasted little time on the summit before making our way down. I took my headlamp out of my backpack, attached it to my helmet and....shit, WTF. My nice new headlamp didn't want to turn on. Luckily Pat had a back-up little micro headlamp that I slipped into my pocket in case of emergencies. We headed down the "second class" descent over this sketchy land bridge that looked like it was right out of an Indian Jones movie, "Only a leap from the lion's head can he prove his worth."
We mistakenly wasted more time looking for this by now mythical East Ledge descent before racing back the way we came. The night fell down on us quickly and the temperature dropped with the type of vengeance only a mountain you've just climbed can deliver. We started searching for the notch and the fifth class mantle move we had ascended up from the glacier but with the darkness, everything looked different. By now it was 11 pm, we were cold, we were exhausted, we had no food and a 1/2 liter of water between the two of us. Pat started down one of the notches. We talked about this afterwards and it just goes to show the state we were in. He says he told me that he found the path we came up and I don't remember this at all and you would think this important information to remember. Regardless, after scrambling on fourth class rock in the dark, at the prime time when mistakes start to happen, I called to Pat and suggested that we bivy.
An unplanned bivy is exactly that, unplanned. It basically catches you with your pants down when you least expect it. You better believe though, now, I plan for it regardless. I had my nano puffy with me, but no hat, no gloves, no emergency blanket. Pat luckily had an emergency blanket and it looked like we were about to take our relationship to the next level. There comes a time in ever climbers life when they have to look at their partner, cold, stuck and expecting to be both for a long period of time, and give the node as if to say "do you want to be big spoon or should I?" We found a dry piece of rock that would only have our feet on the glacier and Pat cleared out his bag and stuck his feet in it. My pack was much smaller, again unplanned, so I didn't have that luxury.
Completely exhausted, sleep didn't come very difficult at first. Then the cold really set in. We were still at 11,000 ft and the temperature was definitely below freezing. We huddled together, under a thin space blanket, barely big enough to cover our bodies which seemed to rattle against each other like an old piston rattling in a beat up car. We tucked the blanket under us but the wind in all it's cruelty kept blowing it up and the blanket would whip up and we would loose all head we had generated. Our bodies shivered, our teeth chattered and we either woke up ever 15 minutes to check the time or we hovered in a state of semi-consciousness were you're not really sleeping but you're not quite awake. Sort of like the state of sleep when you get to sleep in on a Saturday morning and your'e warm in your bed and since you never get to sleep in you're doing everything you can to take advantage of it, but you just can't fully sleep. Like that if your bed was an ice box. At one point I couldn't move my toes. Then my feet. Shit! If I get frostbite from Conness I'll never live it down. I wiggled my toes until I wasn't sure if they were actually moving anymore and I waited for the sun.
At 5 am, after laying there for 6 hours waiting, begging for the sun, the sky lightened up and pre-dawn was suddenly all around us. It didn't take much for Pat and I to start up and about. We had waited so long for this moment. It was as if I was 7 years old again and Christmas morning was finally here and I was almost in disbelief. I got up and started to walk around, or try to. Yep, my feet are definitely frozen. Luckily it was not too bad and within 10 or 20 minutes I was walking right and able to wiggle my toes again.
At 5 am, after laying there for 6 hours waiting, begging for the sun, the sky lightened up and pre-dawn was suddenly all around us. It didn't take much for Pat and I to start up and about. We had waited so long for this moment. It was as if I was 7 years old again and Christmas morning was finally here and I was almost in disbelief. I got up and started to walk around, or try to. Yep, my feet are definitely frozen. Luckily it was not too bad and within 10 or 20 minutes I was walking right and able to wiggle my toes again.
We packed up and scrambled down the rocky butte to the top of the glacier. We talked it through and decided on a rappel down the glacier. I wrapped a block, threaded the rope and started on down. Pat joined me and then we again hopped from sun cup to sun cup till we found another block we would rap off of. After one more rappel, the glacier had eased out to less than 25 degrees and descending the sun cups didn't seem like such a dangerous proposition.
Once we were down off the glacier, Pat and I had one thing on our minds. We had stashed a gallon of water at a Pinyon Pine a ways down the trail, and our bodies desperately needed the water. We hiked and like a mirage, every tree looked like the one we put the water under, until finally we found it. We through our packs off and sat our tired bones up on the rock. The sun was out, we had warmed up again and we had water. Life is good indeed.
It took about 2 1/2 more hours to hike back to the car and we arrived there by 8:30 am. Thom and John's car was still at the parking lot so that created some anxiety. We quickly shoved food in our mouths and drove back to the camp. As we pulled up Zev looked at us as if in a little disbelief. It seemed Thom and John after bailing from the route, had hiked the 8 miles back to Tuolumne Meadows instead of going back up the gully and down the glacier to the car. Can you blame them? They got back at about 1 am but had a problem. Their sleeping bags were in the car. Apparently they spent the night curled around the fire until it burned it's way down and they walked over to the lodge, gave the lady at the counter their biggest dirtbag smile and asked if they could sit by their fire. What can you really say at 4 in the morning when it's freezing outside. Sure, stay warm fellas.
Also, to make things more interesting, Andrew called dispatch and informed search and rescue that we never returned the night before. Now I don't fault him for this. We could have just as easily gotten hurt and immobilized and really needed a rescue. But we didn't. It's good to have friends that care. We called off the Sheriff and enjoyed a well deserved 9 am beer... or two.
Here's to two grown men cuddling for warmth. Cheers.
Also, to make things more interesting, Andrew called dispatch and informed search and rescue that we never returned the night before. Now I don't fault him for this. We could have just as easily gotten hurt and immobilized and really needed a rescue. But we didn't. It's good to have friends that care. We called off the Sheriff and enjoyed a well deserved 9 am beer... or two.
Here's to two grown men cuddling for warmth. Cheers.