Sonora Peak Panorama southwest - 9/2013
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| GPS track: | GPX |
|---|---|
| Distance: | 7.1 miles |
| Cumulative climbing: | 1560 feet |
| Total Time: | 5:32:01 |
| Hiking Time: | 3:32:43 |
Chocolate Pass, September 25, 2022 - Frank and I had discussed climbing Cloudripper, and we had both studied the Class 2 approach via Green Lake and the Class 3 approach via Chocolate Lakes. Frank suggested as our first hike of the week that we climb up to Chocolate Lakes and study as best we can the various Class 3 approaches to Cloudripper up one of several chutes. Perhaps we would get to the summit of Chocolate Peak itself, but this was not the goal. We last climbed Chocolate Peak in 2010, so it had been a while, but the climbing is not extraordinary, although the view of the entire basin north of Bishop Pass from its summit is excellent.
Since my van was in good working order and I had relied on Frank and Stella last spring for trailhead access, I volunteered to make the long drive to the trailhead. We left Mammoth somewhat late, all of us wanting to get as good a sleep as we could on our first night at altitude. We were on the trail by 1045.
Weather was clear and temperature moderate. The first thing I noticed was how low the water level was in South Lake. Every time I've been here over the last few years the lake level is lower. I can't recall the last time I saw it full. The aspens along the trail above the lake were all turning, which made for a pretty fall scene.
The second thing I noticed was that I felt abnormally slow. It wasn't so much a shortness of breath problem but just an overall energy deficit. At dinner the night before I found my appetite somewhat suppressed and didn't eat as large a meal as I might in preparation for a hike the following day, and I think this contributed to my low energy level. In spite of this I still found myself hiking most of the time slightly ahead of Frank and Stella. Perhaps they felt similarly.
At the trail junction to Chocolate Lakes I stopped to sit while some other hikers came by. We chatted a bit, and it turned out they were planning to go the same way. After we regrouped, we let the other party go ahead of us as it appeared they would be moving more quickly. But, later near each of the Chocolate Lakes we continued to encounter them since we kept moving while they stopped to enjoy the scenery at each lake then moved quickly to the next one.
Frank floated the idea of climbing Chocolate Peak from one of the lakes, but after gazing upon the northern approach we decided that might best be left for a day when we all felt more energetic.
As we passed the uppermost Chocolate Lake I was feeling so tired and draggy that I wondered if I might be coming down with something. I even imagined I might have felt a tad nauseous.
Just above the lake where we enjoyed a nice view of the western face of Cloudripper we decided to stop and sit for a lunch break. I started to eat a sandwich, although I didn't have much appetite. Somehow I forced each bite down, and afterward I felt much better and more energetic as we continued the short climb to Chocolate Pass, the high point of our day.
At the pass we decided to skip the scramble up to Chocolate Peak itself, since we wanted to save some energy for the next day, and we didn't want to get home and eat dinner late in the evening.
On our way down to Ruwau Lake we encountered one other hiker climbing the other direction. We paused at the spot along the shore of Ruwau Lake where we all took naps in 2010, then continued down to rejoin Bishop Pass Trail near Long Lake.
Our hike back to South Lake Trailhead went slowly and without an abundance of enthusiasm. Energy from lunch was mostly spent. We saw a few more hikers on the trail, yet for a Sunday afternoon the trail felt unusually quiet. We had seen more hikers in the morning, mostly backpackers descending toward the trailhead. The afternoon light on the turning aspens near the trailhead was beautiful as expected.
After we arrived back at the trailhead we met a couple of backpackers who were finishing a North Lake to South Lake loop and were looking for a ride back to North Lake trailhead. Although I usually try to make something like this work for other hikers looking for a shuttle when we're going the same way, I declined the request for a variety of reasons: (1) no available (legal) seats, (2) added trip time since they were looking to get to North Lake which was out of our way, (3) our wanting to observe strict COVID protocols at the start of our week. I hope they found someone who could shuttle them.
We arrived in Mammoth just after sunset, and in spite of our best efforts we still did not finish with dinner until 2100 that evening.
| GPS track: | GPX |
|---|---|
| Distance: | 9.4 miles |
| Cumulative climbing: | 2770 feet |
| Total Time: | 8:44:55 |
| Hiking Time: | 4:32:47 |
Echo Ridge, September 26, 2022 - Frank had raised the idea of checking out Cathedral Peak and Echo Ridge again. Stella had yet to climb Echo Ridge, and Frank was interested in looking at the climbing routes on the southeast buttress of Cathedral Peak. The last time Frank and I had visited the area was in 2013, a year Stella was unable to travel to Mammoth.
Our plan today was to hike up toward Budd Lake, then decide if we wanted to try Echo Ridge or Cathedral Peak first. We might have enough time and energy for both, but we'd aim to get to the summit of at least one of them.
When we arrived at the trailhead we discovered a one-way control had been established along Tioga Road through the Cathedral Pass Trailhead area, the trailhead parking having been moved to the Visitor Center parking lot 1/3-mile to the east. This would, of course, add distance to our hike.
I started off quickly to stay warm as the air was still cold from the night. Today we got an earlier start, having left Mammoth at about 0800.
Although the trail to Budd Lake is not a maintained trail, at its junction with the John Muir Trail a single post had been erected with a sign showing only the image of a carabiner: the climber's route to somewhere. I remember the first couple visits to the area I had initially missed this turn-off.
The trail to Budd Lake runs near Budd Creek or upon granite slabs to the west. When it's on the slabs, the trail is harder to follow, but frequent cairns or rows of stones have been placed to show the way. As we climbed my memory of the area returned.
Soon we were at the decision point. After a brief discussion Stella cast the deciding vote to go for Echo Ridge, so we crossed Budd Creek and continued up the trail to Budd Lake, arriving at its outlet some time later. We took a break and enjoyed the variable light on the cirques and ridges surrounding Budd Lake and upon Cathedral Peak itself on the other side of the valley.
While we rested we could hear climbers yelling to each other on Cathedral Peak but we could not see them. Two climbers can be seen in some of the photos.
After what felt like a slightly long rest break at the outlet of Budd Lake we rose and pressed on toward the broad chute that leads to Echo Ridge and the nearby Echo Peaks. Having eaten a more substantial dinner the night before I felt my energy and enthusiasm back to normal.
Every so often I turned around to snap a photo of the valley behind us and of Frank and Stella wherever they happened to be. I did not wait to regroup at the bottom of the broad chute but continued up at a steady pace. Several use trails zig-zag across the scree and gravel in the chute, making the climb not too difficult. I remember in 2010 snow covered most of the chute, requiring us to use microspikes on the lower part, then climb on the rocks to the side to avoid the steeper and softer snow that our microspikes could not fully penetrate to maintain safe traction.
When I got to the top of the chute I continued across the flank of Echo Peak #8 to the next low point on the ridge where I had a better view of Matthes Crest. At least two climbing parties were on Matthes Crest and by the time Frank and Stella had joined me each party had arrived synchronously at the North and South Summits of its sharp ridge.
Echo Ridge (11168ft) is unassumingly-named given that it is the highest point in the Cathedral Range west of Tuolumne Pass. The three of us continued up toward the high point on Echo Ridge, threading our way through some white bark pines. The approach to its summit is easy Class 2 until the last 100 feet of the climb where the route involves a short scramble onto an arête that itself is an easy walk. The problem is the exposure: an overhung 100+ foot drop to the south and a steep slab dropping ever more steeply for 300-400 feet on the north side. It's a spicy Class 2 to be sure, probably more so than the final approach to the summit of Mount Conness because on the latter there is only one short spot with exposure on both sides of the arête.
Having climbed to Echo Ridge twice before, I knew what to expect. On the other visits I had scooted or crawled across the arête, but I recognized at the time that walking across it would be no more dangerous if the winds were gentle. It might even be safer, since walking is a faster and more natural movement for me than scooting or crawling. This time I walked it using my poles to aid with balance, taking care to lift my feet a little higher than normal to avoid stumbling on the many quartz deposits embedded in the granite. I knew about the drop to my right, but as when riding a bike, I focused only on where I intended to go, not on where I didn't, leaving the periphery, including the drop-off, out of focus.
Once I was on the summit side of the arête, I had a short easy scramble to the summit itself where I waited for Frank and Stella to join me. While waiting I shot a 360-degree panorama, readied my camera, and watched them approach.
They had stopped at the point where one must climb onto the arête. Stella's back was to me, and they appeared to be engaged in discussion. A moment later Stella turned and slowly worked her way down. "That doesn't look good.", I thought.
Frank continued up the arête, keeping himself low on the rock using his hands. I made a query over the radio, but there was no reply.
I was dismayed to learn that Stella had turned back because she didn't feel like dealing with the exposure on the arête today. I had hoped that Stella's gym climbing experience had helped her to overcome that demon. While at the summit Frank looked tired. He hadn't slept well for two days and was still acclimatizing. I tried to generate some celebratory feeling by asking him to pose for a photo and to take my photo, which we did, although the exercise felt perfunctory.
After we ate a quick snack (Frank) or lunch (I), Frank and I descended the same way we had climbed then rejoined Stella who had found a semi-sheltered spot among the highest of the white bark pines to eat her lunch. We both offered to re-climb to the summit with her if she wanted to give it another try, but she firmly declined. Recognizing that the challenge was mental, she added that she could have forced herself to cross the arête if it had been necessary to complete a loop or to get home, but she wouldn't enjoy it.
I also learned that Frank was surprised to see me cross the arête by walking, wondering if I had suddenly become a "dare-devil". He chided me that I sometimes show concern when climbing top-roped yet blithely walk along an exposed arête seemingly without a care. Frank asked if I was still taking beta-blockers. (I'm not.)
At the time I thought Frank and Stella both were alarmed to see me do this, and I wondered for a moment if I had mis-judged the risk or if I had negatively influenced Stella's decision to finish the climb herself. I learned later that Stella did not see me but Frank told me while we were at the summit that he thought she had, so what follows are my thoughts based on that assumption.
When climbing top-roped I expect to fall, and so at all times I'm acutely aware of how I might fall, whether I might collide with an obstacle or scrape myself on the wall before the rope catches me. Those are the risks as I see them, minor though they are compared to an un-roped fall in the wilderness. Walking across a walk-able arête I do not expect to fall. Although a fall would most likely have been fatal, the likelihood of a fall is near zero if proper care is taken.
Something may instinctively feel dangerous but be less so than other common activities such as crossing over or under a high bridge or driving a car on a fast, two-lane highway with opposing traffic only a few feet to one's left. There the risk of death is real and less under one's own control and ability to assess, yet most people have no trouble putting themselves in those situations.
We sat silently for a few minutes while I brooded over these thoughts before continuing down. As we passed Echo Peak #8, I suggested we spend some time exploring these peaks while we were here and also to get our minds focused on something else.
Frank and Stella started up #8's benign-looking flank and explored for a path to its summit. Frank scrambled around the west side while I climbed a narrow chute on its east side. I found a way one could climb it, but coming back down would have had me exposed to a vertical drop of more than 50 feet and that made me uneasy. Frank also found a way to the summit that he felt held similar risks. The peak is said to be "easy Class 3".
Then we walked over to the west side of our descent chute to explore some of the other Echo Peaks. Most of them looked too exposed to climb without protection. Frank and Stella stopped at a sheltered spot below Echo Peak #1 while I circled around to its north side to find what I thought might be an easy way up.
I found a convenient chute that was not too steep that looked like it would go all the way. The only problem was one spot not far from its summit. For about 15 feet the left wall of the chute disappeared and became a steep drop. At the bottom of this drop I could see Frank and Stella sitting below watching me expectantly.
At this point I was of two minds: I knew I could get up it, and the more time I spent thinking about it the more likely I would talk myself out of it. I knew from experience that getting down would be a greater challenge as it was on the west side of Half Moon Pass last fall. I would likely lean toward the wall and away from the abyss as I proceeded on the ledge. The wall to my right had only a few rough bumps to grab and nothing I could grab to hold me should my feet slip or I get knocked off balance by snagging my pack or clothing on one of the rough bumps. Yet, I could see that the technical challenge was minor.
In the gym I find that I usually underestimate myself, my main weakness being weakness or rather arms or fingers fatiguing early and being unable to hold on, especially on overhung routes. But, in the gym there's the top-rope to catch a fall when one has pushed beyond one's limit. Here there was no overhang to fatigue me, but I was climbing without any protection, the ledge only as wide as my foot. I felt the likelihood of a fall greater than on the arête of Echo Ridge, although a fall might not be fatal as the drop was on a rough steep slab that became less steep further down. Yet I shuddered to think of injuries I might sustain in such a fall.
I thought I had alarmed my hiking companions earlier, detracting from their enjoyment of the day, and didn't want to compound that infraction with what might be seen by them as exhibiting more dare-devilish behavior. While part of me wanted to get to a summit that was tantalizingly within reach, another part of me wanted to dispel this notion that I had suddenly become a dare-devil.
A younger me would not have given it so much thought. I stood there on this narrow ledge, one foot in front of the other, in mid-stride for what felt like several minutes but was probably no more than 30 seconds, before I concluded that I would retreat. The summit no longer seemed so important.
I carefully backed down, then descended the lower part of the chute before rejoining Frank and Stella, sitting with them for a few calm minutes while we enjoyed the warm sun that had just appeared from behind a cloud.
As we rose to begin our hike down the broad chute toward Budd Lake, we saw a couple of young guys jog over the pass from south to north, then disappear down the broad chute we were about to descend. As we started down the chute I could not see them below or anywhere in the open terrain within view.
We decided to head straight back to the trailhead and save Cathedral Peak for another visit by returning to Budd Lake where we enjoyed another brief rest before continuing down the use trail we had climbed that morning.
Somewhere near the bottom we were passed by what I think was one of the young guys we had seen jogging down the broad chute. He had so quietly sneaked up on me that when he spoke, "Do you mind if I sneak past you?", I thought for an instant that Frank had found a second well of energy from which to draw.
As we walked the final kilometer back to the trailhead I could feel myself about to "crash". Any adrenaline from earlier in the day had long been exhausted, and now my body was feeling the full weight of a long day.
Frank looked haggard. I asked him, "How are you feeling?"
"Old!", he snorted without hesitation or elaboration.
I had fun today exploring a couple of the Echo Peaks and possible approaches, even if none of us found a comfortable way to get to the tops of any of them. But, I found the hike more tiring than I did the last time I made the trek up Echo Ridge and Cathedral Peak nine years ago.
The Condo, September 2022 - At the condo we enjoyed our own home-cooked meals every day, and after our long day in the Budd Lake area we spent an entire day resting, reading, practicing our knot-tying and cordelette-making, and discussing what we'd do for the rest of the week. Even now I can't believe we spent an entire day in the condo, but somehow we managed to fill the time.
| GPS track: | GPX |
|---|---|
| Distance: | 7.9 miles |
| Cumulative climbing: | 2550 feet |
| Total Time: | 8:27:01 |
| Hiking Time: | 3:57:39 |
Mount Conness East Ridge Exploration, September 28, 2022 - The last few visits to Mammoth I had floated the idea of further exploring the East Ridge approach to Mount Conness. In 2012 we had climbed to its summit via the White/Conness notch at the head of Hall Valley, and in 2016 we climbed to a low point on the East Ridge before working our way along a fun and scenic ridge toward the summit, getting as far as the east end of a sharp arête that didn't offer any obvious way to continue without protection. The route I proposed had us reaching the top of the East Ridge just west of this sharp arête. We almost got there today.
We started as we usually do by crossing the dam at a very low Saddlebag Lake and descending into Hall Valley before picking up the well-worn use trail that leads up the valley. We continued past the point where in 2016 we turned right and started up easy grass and slab slopes to the aforementioned low point on the East Ridge.
How much further we were to go was a mystery. Since this hike was my idea it was up to me to choose the spot where we would leave the easy use trail and begin a cross-country climb to Alpine Lake nestled in a crook of the East Ridge 800 feet above. I was looking for an obvious use trail heading off to the right, but I found none. Finally, when it became clear we would soon be past the "easy" terrain leading up-slope, I decided we had to leave the trail now or go back to find another spot.
We climbed steeply over grassy slopes, slabs, talus, and plants, taking as much care as we could to avoid crushing delicate flora. Each stage of our climb involved a bit of discussion followed by one of us setting out and finding it wasn't quite as impassable as it looked from below. The climb was somewhat interesting, although I became slightly impatient with our painstaking progress.
An hour and ten minutes later we gazed upon the surface of Alpine Lake. The wind had picked up a bit, so we found a spot in the shelter of some trees and enjoyed a short rest and snack break. Upon continuing we set a turnaround time of 1300, although I suspected we'd agree to let this slip by a half-hour, so I set my alarm for 1330. My plan was to continue climbing until Frank or Stella radioed to enforce our turn-around time or until my alarm sounded.
I made my way along the rocky shore of Alpine Lake, stopping to enjoy the view from the tip of a peninsula that jutted out into the lake while Frank photographed me from above where he and Stella had traversed high above the lake. I joined them a few minutes later, and we continued around to the lake's north end.
From the north end of the lake we could see a well-worn use trail climbed a broad sandy chute next to a wall on the right. We climbed the chute that we found just as steep as it looked. At the top we found a weather station of some sort that had been set up at the high point of this hanging valley. From here we needed to climb the south flank of the East Ridge proper, aiming for the left to avoid the sharp arête that had stymied our prior attempt in 2016.
We climbed however we saw fit at different paces. I moved quickly as I could see that our time was running short. I knew with our time constraint we had no chance of reaching the summit today. I had a personal goal of getting to the ridge top where I could examine the route from that point to the summit plateau. Unfortunately, I couldn't quite get there.
A voice crackled on my radio. It was Frank.
"Bill, it's almost one-thirty, and I don't think we're going to get to the top of the ridge before then."
I looked up the ridge and could see that getting to the top would take me at least ten minutes, maybe fifteen. I had already pushed our turnaround time out a half-hour. It was clear that Frank and/or Stella weren't as keen on achieving this goal as I was, but they had allowed me an additional half-hour indulgence, or so I believed at the time. It was only proper that I turn around here and now.
Not far below our turnaround point we found a comfortable spot to sit and from which to enjoy the stunning view down into the hanging valley, Alpine Lake, and beyond.
I had suggested earlier that we try an alternate descent route that would avoid the steep sandy chute above Alpine Lake and the uncertainty of the descent below the lake. When I had put together the first version of an East Ridge approach, I had us climbing as we did in 2016 then doubling back southeast of the ridge along a bench/ledge below the ridge but above a cliff band leading to the northeast end of the hanging valley where we currently were. If the way was viable it might be an easier route down than the one we had taken up.
As we descended from lunch I headed to the northeast end of the hanging valley, opposite Alpine Lake. At its end stood a large cairn, but the route down from that cairn did not inspire confidence. I saw nothing but cliffs and narrow clefts of a dry watercourse that looked Class 3 or worse to me. I strongly suspect a viable Class 2/3 route exists, but not having climbed it I could not guarantee that it would be free of technical terrain that none of us would wish to descend without a belay and might in the worst case leave us cliffed-out after we had down-climbed part way. It was a devil we didn't know vs. one we knew: a return by Alpine Lake.
Another alternative was to explore the bench to the north that if viable would lead to an easier if less direct descent into Hall Valley. I could not see the terrain from the bottom of the hanging valley where the large cairn stood, but I offered to climb up and explore it then report back by radio. Frank had been under the impression that I had represented this alternative route as "easy", that it was not an exploration, and Stella was wanting to return by the easiest known route but had been unable to contact us earlier by radio to enforce the 1300 turnaround time. Given the time constraints that were now upon us, they were in no mood to explore further, and they acquainted me with their displeasure.
The detour to the cairn had added less than 20 minutes to our hike in addition to about 50 minutes due to the half-hour time extension during the climb. We still had about 45 minutes of margin by my estimate before dark if we returned the way we had come, but that wasn't enough time to do any more exploring while preserving our known descent route without feeling rushed should we have to go that way in the end. I wished we had had more time.
We discussed exploring approaches from below on the northeast side of the hanging valley on our next visit, but for now our goal was to get back to the trailhead by dark. We still had some margin of safety, but any further explorations should they prove unfruitful would have us arriving at the trailhead at or after dark. Our other worry was that we didn't want today's outing to leave us exhausted as tomorrow was our pre-arranged climbing day with Jo for which we hoped to have some energy.
We slip-slid our way down the sandy chute/use trail to Alpine Lake. Stella slipped a couple of times, landing in the sand while loosing large stones that tumbled downhill, and that is when she disclosed to us her stamina was not up to her usual level today.
At Alpine Lake we were overtaken by a lone hiker who had been following us. He had started from Sawmill Campground earlier in the morning, had achieved the summit and was now returning. We briefly discussed his route up to Alpine Lake, and he agreed that there was no obvious route.
"A use trail or cairn takes you so far, then you are on your own."
We bid him farewell then used our outbound GPS track to guide us on the descent that we knew was viable. He descended his own route to the north of ours.
Near the bottom of the descent I could see the main use trail in Hall Valley down below and that a direct path would take us there without significant obstacles. I abandoned our virtual "bread crumbs" and made a beeline for the trail. Once we got back onto the main use trail we stopped to eat and rest before starting our hike down the valley.
At this point the sun was low in the sky, casting pleasing shadows. Late afternoon/early evening light in the mountains is always a special time. Knowing now that we would not be caught by darkness, I tried to enjoy the final two miles back to the trailhead.
On the way back I could see a possible zig-zag route down some ledges in the cliff band below the hanging valley where we had turned back. I resolved to explore these on our next visit.
After we passed the Hall Hut we turned left at the large sign and made our way cross-country until we picked up a faint use trail that we knew would take us back to the west side of the dam.
A steady wind blew across the dam causing the metal catwalk over the spillway to "sing" hauntingly. Once we were back at the trailhead any lingering stress had evaporated. Frank even mentioned that he felt much better now than he had two days ago after our Echo Ridge hike.
As at Echo Peaks I enjoyed today's outing even though we never attained a summit. We had route-finding challenges, but they were all contained in a small area that has become an intense area of interest for us over the years and one of our favorite parts of the Sierra.
I had no worries that we'd get lost, only that we might find ourselves back-tracking too often to avoid cliff bands and get caught by darkness, or in a rush to avoid darkness one of us would stumble and get injured. At the very least I wanted to be back on the well-worn use trail by darkness as I knew we could manage with the aid of our cellphone flashlights to get to Saddlebag Road and then back to the trailhead from there.
Even though we have hiked on either side of Alpine Lake and its hanging valley, it felt like another world being down in that valley. I look forward to our next visit there. Perhaps we can save ourselves some angst next time by starting earlier.
| GPS track: | GPX |
|---|---|
| Distance: | 1.9 miles |
| Cumulative climbing: | 390 feet |
| Total Time: | 6:19:06 |
| Hiking Time: | 0:54:53 |
TJ Swan, September 29, 2022 - During the prior week Frank made arrangements for a half-day outing with Joann (Jo) Garbarini to coach and advise us on anchor-building and lead-climbing, followed by one or two practice climbs where we would mock lead-climb to an anchor point, tie in with a Personal Anchor System (PAS), set up the anchor, then dismantle everything we had just set up, all in the proper order.
A mock lead-climb is one where the climber is top-roped while carrying a rack of quick-draws to place on bolts spaced periodically on the wall and trailing a rope that in this case was not attached to anything. The purpose is to practice setting the protection, the quick-draws to existing bolts on the wall, and placing the rope in proper orientation through the lower carabiner of each newly set quick-draw.
Jo chose a location not far from the Lake George Trailhead, which made for a convenient commute. She chose the TJ Swan wall that sits near the east side of TJ Lake.
We expected the parking lot to be mostly empty on a weekday during the shoulder season in late September, but the lot was almost full. Only a few parking spots remained when we arrived.
After meeting Jo we divided the climbing equipment. This time I volunteered to carry Jo's second rope, itself in a pack the size of my daypack. No one objected. I wore it on my front like a baby carrier. We then hiked up to the climbing spot, less than a mile from the parking area.
Once we had unloaded and unpacked all of our gear, we spent the next couple of hours on the ground tying our cordelettes and carabiners, each of us showing Jo what we knew. She then provided feedback and advice if what we had learned was different from what she would do. Although this might not have been as much fun as spending the entire time climbing, it was a necessary and productive use of our time.
After we had discussed what we needed to know, Jo then set up a top-rope on the TJ Swan wall. I accompanied her on foot (Class 2) to the top of the route, where the anchor was accessible without climbing the wall. Getting to the actual anchor required some Class 3 down-climbing to a broad ledge at the top of the cliff, and she asked that I not follow her on that portion as a matter of policy. I thought I could have managed the down-climbing (and return up-climb), but I didn't insist or ask her to bend the rules. So, I watched from above while a cold wind blew from the west.
When we had first approached the wall I could tell that the routes on it would be harder than what we had climbed in Clark Canyon. The metamorphic rock itself was less grippy, somewhat more crumbly, and with fewer features on which to find holds. Those that existed were tiny and crimp-like cracks in the rock. I was skeptical we would have much success on this wall and wondered if Jo had over-estimated our outdoor climbing ability.
When it came time to climb, Frank went first. I suspect both Stella and I were thinking if Frank had trouble on it, we'd each have trouble. The route Jo had set up was rated 5.9, a slab climb, so it ought to have been climb-able by us if the rating was any guide. The bottom of the climb was bulbed out and slightly overhung on the very bottom, so it did not look easy to start. Yet somehow Frank managed to get above the overhang only to find nothing to hold on the slab above. He made three valiant tries, but was unable to get any farther.
Jo then moved the anchor to an adjacent route rated 5.7. This route was shorter, and we could see that it had a few flat spots on which to rest and larger features on which to gain purchase. After Frank's attempt on the 5.9 route I thought we'd have a better chance of success on this one, even though the holds were still small by gym-climbing standards.
Frank found the climb different from the usual gym climb, but got to the top without much difficulty. After returning to the ground, Stella then gave it a go as a mock lead-climb and also got to the top. She then spent some time setting up her PAS and top-rope anchor, then dismantling them both before being lowered.
Then it was my turn. I was so focused on the climbing part that I completely forgot to set the first quick-draw. This could have been a serious error if I weren't mock-leading as it would put me high above the ground with no protection should I fall. Since I was on a top-rope I asked Frank to lower me slightly rather than down-climbing so that I could complete the exercise. I remembered to set up the other two quick-draws before I reached the top.
The climb itself was difficult for me, but I made it. I did "cheat" at one point by grabbing a bolt. When Jo saw that, she reminded me not to put a finger through its eye as a slip or fall might then break my finger as it tried to catch my fall. The rest of the moves were all crimpy, often side-pulls. At one point I manteled. I was pleased with myself for getting up this route.
At the top of the climb I attached my PAS (Personal Anchor System) then proceeded to set up my anchor. The cordelette had already been tied while we were on the ground and I carried it around my neck pre-assembled, so the work on the wall involved no knot-tying, only attaching the cordelette to the two bolts at the top, then placing two carabiners at the midpoint of our cordelette (either sliding-X or quad) with the gates of the carabiners making a cross when held open. Jo had climbed to the top to observe and evaluate our handiwork as needed.
After setting up our anchors we then practiced dismantling them before asking to be lowered by our top-rope belayer.
Frank climbed again to do the anchor-setting exercise, and he was the only one to lean back off the wall while his feet smeared on the wall, fully-trusting his PAS while he worked.
By the time Frank was lowered the end of the day was fast approaching. We all agreed that we had learned much today, although I think we were slightly disappointed by the climbing itself, finding only one route we could manage. On the other hand, we didn't really have time to do more. The class was necessary to our feeling comfortable with lead-climbing to set a top-rope anchor in the absence of an experienced guide.
Before we packed up and returned to the trailhead, Jo showed us how to use her stick clip (Trango Beta Stick Evo) to set the first quick-draw or two on a wall.
The operation can be slightly awkward the longer one extends the device's pole to reach a bolt on the wall. In theory one should be able to set the first quick-draw prior to climbing. This converts the climb up to the first bolt into a top-rope climb and greatly reduces the risk of a ground fall.
The risk of a lead-fall continues to exist further up the wall, but in that case the rope would catch before one hits the ground. This device can also be used to remove a quick-draw from the wall.
After this demonstration we all hiked back to the trailhead, snapping a few group photos on the way. After saying our goodbyes we headed back to the condo.
| GPS track: | GPX |
|---|---|
| Distance: | 1.7 miles |
| Cumulative climbing: | 350 feet |
| Total Time: | 0:48:17 |
| Hiking Time: | 0:43:27 |
Retrieving Frank's Grigri, September 29, 2022 - Once we got back to the condo, we sorted through all of the climbing equipment. At first Frank thought he had lost a belay glove. While that was a nuisance, we felt it wasn't worth going back to look for it. Oh well!
Then a few minutes later the missing glove was found. Yay! A few minutes after that Frank couldn't find his Grigri. Uh, oh!
He had taken it out when we thought to use it while one of us was climbing, but Jo's rope was taped to mark the mid-point and this made the rope too thick to pass through the device.
The Grigi had apparently been tossed into the pile of other equipment Frank had brought with him to the TJ Swan wall, and we searched fruitlessly through all of our packs and in the van.
At first I suggested we call Jo to learn if she had inadvertently collected it with her stuff so that we might avoid an unnecessary trip back to the wall. I knew this was unlikely as I noticed she was careful to keep her gear separate from ours. Besides that she would still have been on the road back to Bishop, and if she did indeed have it, she would discover it later and could arrange to mail it back. We wouldn't expect her to drive back to Mammoth tonight with it.
As we had all gotten comfortable in the warm condo after being outdoors all day, we were reluctant to drive back to Lake George and retrace our steps to look for it, even though the distances were short. Frank was fairly certain if his Grigri was out there it would be found where he had tossed it into his pile of gear after deciding not to use it earlier in the day. Somehow it had blended into the background and was overlooked when we packed up everything at the end of the day.
The Grigri is expensive, and if it were left at the wall we were more likely to recover it if we went now instead of waiting until the next day after some lucky climber finds a gift. I calculated that we had just enough daylight to make the trip back and get home before dark. Stella had found a way out of joining us—"We don't all need to go, do we?"—and I couldn't argue with that. Yet, we didn't think it wise for only one of us to go back alone. So, Frank and I drove back to Lake George.
When we got back to the wall the black-gray Grigri was sitting in the dirt where Frank expected it to be. Frank has eschewed neon colors for his equipment, but I think now he may be persuaded that garishly-colored gear has its advantages.
We were both pleased that our extra trip had been fruitful. With lighter hearts we returned to the trailhead, then to the condo, arriving after sunset but before dark.
| GPS track: | GPX |
|---|---|
| Distance: | 4.7 miles |
| Cumulative climbing: | 720 feet |
| Total Time: | 3:58:33 |
| Hiking Time: | 2:15:20 |
Tenaya Slide, September 30, 2022 - This morning we rose with the help of an alarm, but we still managed to get decent sleeps. After leaving the condo at about 0900 we drove over Tioga Pass to the Sunrise Trailhead near Tenaya Lake. Our hike today was planned to be easy and relaxing yet offered some unusual terrain and sights.
In 2012 I first explored Tenaya Canyon and its Slide after reading about it. The next year I led Dad down to the bottom of the slide and back again, his last hike in the Sierra. Frank and Stella had never set foot in Tenaya Canyon before, and as we were all looking for an easy hike on our last day in the mountains, I pitched the idea. The only negative was the long drive from Mammoth.
Even after a somewhat early wake-up we didn't start up Sunrise Trail until about 1030, long after hikers to Clouds Rest and more distant destinations had filled most of the parking spots at the trailhead.
Our route started the first half-mile on Sunrise Trail then soon veered right onto a use trail that runs alongside Tenaya Creek. The use trail comes and goes, sometimes passing over flat slabs or climbing over large rounded slabs, but never strays far from the Creek.
As we continued further south the left side of the creek rose to a dome of cracked layers of granite. We eventually left the side of the creek and climbed up some of these cracked slabs that led eventually to our first view of Tenaya Slide, the vast apron of granite bedrock exposed to the surface on which Tenaya Creek continues down into its Canyon.
When I visited in 2012 the Creek was dry, but today I was surprised to find a thin sliver of water running down its channel, dropping into several deep pools along the way. The prior week had seen the first early winter storm of the season, and this runoff must have been from that storm.
During the wetter but warm season of early summer people hike to the bottom of the slide to enjoy this natural water park, sliding down the wet granite into the large pool below. When the water is higher, kayakers have been known to run the Slide from the top.
We then zig-zagged our way down the steep slab (probably no more than about 30 degree angle) to the foot of the first and largest cascade where a large pool stood. We would return here later to enjoy lunch, much as I had in 2013 with Dad.
After snapping a group photo we proceeded to descend the Slide to its base, stopping to peer into each of the pools along the way. Some of these pools did not see any flow from the trickle of water that still flowed in the creek, and the water looked stagnant. In other pools small fish swam.
The granite alternates from polished to slightly rough but never rough enough that I would have confidence walking upon it when it's wet. And due to that concern we made sure the weather forecast was dry for the day. I suspect that it was with this in mind that the park service saw fit not to sanction a trail to this natural wonder nor to encourage visitors to make the trek.
At the bottom of the slide the granite slab passes below a forest that I call "Lost Forest". We continued to the west for a short distance until we got to the spot where in 2012 I had continued south alternately alongside and through Lost Forest to its southern end, almost as far as one can hike down the canyon without getting into Class 3 terrain.
I checked the time and suggested we might wish to turn back here unless we wanted to make the hike at least 2 hours longer. The trip alongside and through the forest is not difficult, but there is not much to see until one emerges from its southern end. Frank and Stella both agreed that today was to be an easy day, so we started our return hike up the Slide.
Upon passing the uppermost pool we stopped at its shore and enjoyed lunch. Afterward I enjoyed a short lie-down when I discovered the hard granite was not uncomfortable to lie upon.
After lunch we climbed to the top of the small dome we had skirted on our outbound hike. From the top one had a decent view of the summits surrounding Tenaya Lake, but the view of the Slide was mostly obscured by the dome itself.
Instead of returning to the Slide we continued north off the summit of the dome, where the rock dropped gradually to the creek bed where we rejoined our outbound route, retracing our steps back to Sunrise Trailhead.
After we got back to the car we each remarked that the hike had been ideal for how we felt that day while offering plenty of interest. We will probably return here again when we have more time to explore the southern end of Lost Forest and the tops of the slabs leading down into the middle Canyon.
The only thing left for us to do was to drive back to Mammoth and begin preparations for our departure the next day.
Frank and Stella's Mammoth September 2022 web pages - For a different perspective see Frank and Stella's web pages of the same holiday.
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