Middle Palisade: Mountain of Thrones
22 June 2014
I’m writing this entry about two months after climbing up the Middle Palisade; it’s Friday afternoon, and work is slow today. So here I am remembering fondly my experience on the mountain, my favorite of that limited number of mountains I have ascended to date.
As I recall I slept in my warm, rock-less bed in Ventura the Friday night before my planned overnighter up the south fork of Big Pine Creek. I felt well-rested and ready to go as I arrived at the very end of Glacier Lodge Road west of Big Pine. And wow, what a bustling place! There was hardly anywhere to park! So I drove about a half mile back east up the road and parked at the trailhead for the North Fork. I later learned this trailhead constitutes the lot for overnight hikers. Makes sense. After gaining some extra elevation, I came to a campground, and realizing I was in danger of going up the wrong fork, I veered south down a dirt service road. To my great surprise, this worked just fine as I gained the South Fork trail not too far down the road. The navigational intuition I learned on Tuttle Creek was already paying off.
The trail meandered through dry and scrubby vegetation, and I saw a lot of fishermen coming down the trail at this early afternoon hour. Many of them wondered at my pack, not to mention the axe I was brandishing, and became even more bewildered when I said I was headed off to climb in the mountains. ‘Up there?!’ they exclaim. ‘Up there,’ I smile back. I soon came to the much anticipated creek crossing. It seems a small footbridge was washed out at this section, leaving backpackers to make the choice between wading through knee deep, cold, rushing waters, or testing their agility, and jumping across the creek on small boulders. Well I can tell you from experience that the boulder hopping method was much easier than it looked. There is a step on the opposite side of the first boulder that is not readily apparent from the near side of the creek. I go about 6’1” and used to run track, though.
After the creek crossing, the trail ascends via long, graded switchbacks to gain a bench. Once the bench is gained, an accosting (accostiment?) by ravenous mosquitoes is likely. These mosquitoes have carved out a nice territory for themselves next to swampy Willow Lake. I have to admit that it was in this area that I lost the use trail completely. I’m just not much of a tracker. I managed to follow some footprints, but it seemed I was going in circles. ‘To hell with the trail,’ I stupidly thought to myself. I got out my topo and started hiking in a general southwesterly direction. However it turned out I went too far westerly and not enough southerly, as I scrambled up a rockfall paralleling a trickling creek. As I reached the top, I thought, ‘Oh no, I’m stuck on a damn ledge again! Look at Finger Lake all the way down there!’ I was glad to have made such great progress in elevation gain, and to have regained my bearings upon spotting Finger Lake, but was nervous about how to proceed. Putting these worries aside, I dipped my feet in a heavenly little pool of water being fed by the glacier not so far above. ‘Ah yeah, that’s nice, mmm good. What was I worried about again?’ Some time later I took a look around and calmly surveyed my options. I noticed some solid rock and carefully lowered myself down from the pool.
Now the terrain ahead looked manageable. With plenty of daylight remaining, I continued onward. I simply walked up a gentle snow slope to gain one last bench and came upon yet another sublime tarn, and lo and behold, two other climbers! I heartily introduced myself to the pair as a novice Sierra hiker. To my further amazement, one of the climbers was Doug Mantle, legend of the SPS. This guy has climbed all the SPS peaks about four times, or something like that. And he has summited the fabled Seven Summits. I sat in wonderment as he related his experience on Rob Hall’s first guided expedition to Mt Everest. The expedition was an unqualified success as many of the team, including Doug, made the summit that 1992 season. Just four years later, Rob Hall gave up his life trying to save a member of his expedition who had collapsed from exhaustion above the south summit. I had read about this in the entertaining book, ‘Into Thin Air’ by Jon Krakauer. However I favor the Anatoli Boukreev account, which just has a more accurate, contemplative feel to it than ‘Into Thin Air.’ And I have a bone to pick with anyone who disparages a guide that charges into a hell-storm at 26,000 ft to literally carry people who are dying back to life. As long as I am on this topic, and if you are as obsessed about this story as I am, you will also want to watch the David Breashears film, ‘Storm Over Everest.’ It captures all the tumult surrounding our strange fascination with and desire to climb mountains, by interviewing many of the people who were there that day.
All stories aside, Doug and his climbing partner gave me some great advice about backpacking and avenues through which I could learn how to climb in the mountains safely. I slept very well, placing my bivy sack on a fluffy patch of grass next to the tarn. The next morning, I followed my new friends further south around yet another bench to gain the glacier proper. I believe the preferred route is to stay north of the bench to reach Middle Palisade, but my friends were climbing around Disappointment Peak that day, and I did not want to say goodbye so early in the morning. I asked them how I would gain the route onto the Northeast Face, and not only that, but how I would climb the Northeast Face itself! ‘It looks vertical!’ I remarked with a hint of fear in my voice. They assured me the face was not vertical, but class three, and told me to take my time, to survey the rock, to be able to find the best route onto the face.
I think you can tell that I prefer to leave the guidebooks, the GPS, and all that at home, because the reward in finding your own way up the mountain, even if it is up a route that no doubt hundreds and hundreds of people have done before, is unquantifiable. Now at first I tried climbing directly above the moraine coming down from the mountain. I soon found myself stuck with moves too advanced for my current skill set ahead of me. So I simply went down, sat on the moraine, drank some water, and thought about what to do. I was close to turning back. ‘Maybe this is beyond what I can handle,’ I thought. ‘Well maybe not!’ I thought again triumphantly. I walked to climber’s left a short distance and saw the way up! I later learned this is in fact the standard route onto the Northeast Face.
Carefully stepping over the tiniest of bergschrunds, I began the climb of my life. I came up on the left side of a gendarme, noting this prominent landmark such that I could safely descend back onto the glacier. I found class three climbing to be natural, intuitive, and a hell of a lot of fun. The exposure on the face was minimal, and the rock yielded solid holds just where you wanted them. I note here that groups should take care on this route, as there are scraps of metamorphic rock lying about here and there that are easily kicked down in the course of climbing. I was glad to be climbing solo, unobliged to worry about what I kicked down in my ecstasy on the face. After a good and long while (likely an hour or hour and a half) of climbing, I peaked through to the west side, and the High Sierra opened up as a great tapestry of mountains as far as my glazed eyes could see on this beautiful sunny day. I was floored. I’ll save you further description, as futile words are inadequate to describe a sight such as I beheld that day. I recommend you see it for yourself!
Upon peaking through to the west side, I realized there was one final move to reach the summit perch on this knife-edge ridge. Wedging my hand into a sizeable boulder, I hoisted myself up and sat with the world at my feet. Middle Palisade, Mountain of Thrones. I noted Mt Sill and the Palisades to the north. I am greatly anticipating improving my climbing skills to be able to tackle the North Palisade.
Feeling quite tired, I slowly downclimbed the Northeast Face. I was sad to leave the mountain but had to make efficient use of my remaining energy reserves. Glissading the glacier was unfortunately not a smart option; it had softened in the sun, but was thoroughly sun-cupped. I took a nap back at camp and ate a chocolate bar. For a second I worried about not being able to bid farewell to my recent friends, but then I realized they would know I was all good because my stuff would be gone from camp. Not likely Sasquatch could steal all that gear. Anyway, I descended much more intelligently than I ascended and finally visited Finger Lake up close. The lake was simply vibrant, reflecting deep blue light due to the glacial runoff. I noticed where I turned off the use trail as I reached Brainerd Lake. ‘Now I know where to go next time,’ I thought. I talked to a young man looking for some bouldering opportunities by Willow Lake. And I began to space out as the long miles and route-finding issues of the day before began to take their toll. I realized my feet were throbbing even more than usual, probably because my socks had gotten wet slip-sliding down the glacier. I dipped my feet in the bridge-less creek and found a huge blood blister under my big toe. Youch! And more blisters on the balls of my feet! The cold water did feel good, though. I began to run out of energy by the lower reaches of the trail, but I ironically decided I was too tired to get my food out for a snack. Some kind of logic!
At long last I was back at my car. I had stashed a bottle of grape juice in the car for a good sugar kick before driving back to town. It was quite hot from sitting in the sun. I can’t say grape juice tea is something I would expect to take off, business-wise. But in my wearied state it did give me a boost. I hit up the McDonalds in Lone Pine, ordering an absurd amount of food. The cashier was looking at me funny.
