Saber Ridge Traverse

[lizolas]

Saber Ridge Traverse - LYD Grant Trip

September 28-29, 2019

Activity	Time (Duration)	Mileage	Elevation Gain
Approach	12:15 pm - 8:15 pm (8:00)	16.0 mi	5,100’
Climb (Attempt)	7:15 am - 1 pm (5:45)	4.3 mi	1,800’
Descent	1:45 pm - 9 pm (7:15)	16.7 mi	3,200’

At the very least, I can say I learned some things. Not so much about climbing, but about planning and about myself. There were two main factors in my decision-making process for the trip date. The first was that permit quota season ended September 21; the second was that my partner would be out of the state until late September. I chose to gamble a little on the date and plan our trip for the last weekend in September, since September/October in the Sierras is often still good weather for climbing.

My preparation for the trip was unstructured. Saber Ridge had no difficult pitch with a crux that needed a hangboard regimen to send. It was a long route on which I was confident I could do all the moves, and I just had to keep the pace going well enough to finish in a day. The main training objective was Matthes Crest, which I did with another partner in 10 hours car-to-car. I’d attempted Matthes 2 years prior with 2 other fairly beginner climbers, and we bailed not even halfway along the ridge due to our collective lack of skill and confidence, taking 17 hours car-to-car. Because of that progress, I felt encouraged that Saber Ridge - longer but with a much shorter day-of approach since we’d be backpacking - was a good goal for me. Additional time spent climbing a few 5.7-5.8 routes and refusing to back down when I was unsure, instead making sure my protection was good and then trying the moves that scared me, made me feel that I could tackle the route and probably have multiple options open to me without having to worry about always being on the very easiest path. A trip to solo (with a rope in my pack, just in case) Mt. Humphreys shortly before the Saber Ridge trip ended up cancelled due to a flat tire.

Note: I returned in October after the Saber Ridge trip to attempt Humphreys, and while several other things went poorly and led to me turning around, the main issue was that I found that the East Arete route I was attempting was much more than I could comfortably handle despite the easy grade and straightforward instructions on paper. I got maybe a quarter of the way along the ridge, but eventually decided to head down rather than risk getting benighted. I was moving very slowly and encountering a lot more 5th class climbing than I expected.

On this week’s episode of Liz Uses Alpine Draws for Everything

The week before the trip, Lani and I checked the weather repeatedly, watching the chance of precipitation hover around 20-40% on NOAA’s forecast, while Mountain Forecast and other sites had no precip forecast at all. On Friday, before we headed out of cell service, we checked one last time. The forecast was a 30% chance for a small amount of snow and rain. We decided to go for it anyway, thinking that the chance was low enough that it might not snow or rain at all where we were climbing. Our main safety concern would have been thunderstorms, and the season for that was already over. We wouldn't have a chance to climb together again for a couple weeks, at which point we were concerned the weather would be even less suitable.

We took our time packing Saturday morning, starting up the trail just before noon. I may have slightly miscalculated how much time it would take us to reach our intended camp location because I wasn’t accounting for heavier packs.

Most of the approach takes the High Sierra Trail. The net elevation gain on the hike is misleading. Despite ending up only 1,100 feet higher at the Bearpaw Meadow junction than at the trailhead, in the 10 miles from the trailhead to Bearpaw Meadow the hike gains 3,700 feet but loses 2,600. After Bearpaw Meadow - where we took the higher and shorter trail - we gained 800 feet only to lose 600 immediately. (Note that the alternative to this section, which we took on the way back, is to lose 1,000 feet and then gain 1,200.) From there, we gained almost another thousand feet in the last 1⅓ miles to camp. For those of you following along with your calculators, that makes a total of about 5,500 feet of elevation gain to end up 2,200 feet higher than you started. At the junction toward Tamarack Lake, the trail is still actually very mild by mountaineering standards but begins ascending noticeably more steeply. By this point I was a lot more tired than I expected to be. Several multi-day trips on Shasta in the summer hadn’t prepared me in the slightest for this many miles of hiking with a fully loaded pack. I was already dreading putting climbing shoes on in the cold the next morning.

We hiked for about an hour after night fell, then started looking for a place to camp a bit before Tamarack Lake. We found a large flat rock slab next to an accessible spot to fill up water from the creek. Dinner was a $.69 packet of rice and beans from Grocery Outlet plus leftover cheese from my lunch burritos. Protip: If you carry the first night’s dinner, your partner will be the one carrying the uneaten food out if the trip ends early.

I awoke several times during the night to what sounded like snow hitting the tent fairly vigorously. I maintained some hope that it would blow off the ridge, melt, or otherwise be out of the way by the time we were climbing. We’d made plans to start hiking right around sunrise, allowing the rock some time to hopefully dry off while we did the approach.

In reality, nothing went quite smoothly the next day. There was a thin layer of snow on the ground around our camp, and the amount that had fallen was enough that it didn’t quickly disappear without a trace. There was a minor routefinding delay on the approach when we missed the “brush-free drainage” and started a bit of bushwhacking before deciding that wasn’t right and turning back to find the right path to the base of the route. Scrambling up slabs is not my favorite thing in the world. Scrambling up wet slabs feels like certain death to me. Lani was doing fine, I just don’t trust my feet. Navigation took some consideration in several places where I don’t think it would have been a challenge had there not been small waterfalls down the slabs.

On the approach with water running down otherwise-easy slabs.

It was demoralizing to finally get to near where we thought the base of the route was and then, after as much poking around as we felt safe doing, end up deciding that all this slab - which would have been exactly the moderate routefinding challenge I was looking for if it were dry - was unsafe for us to climb in its current condition. Maintaining optimism that we could somehow make it go, we poked around the left side of the large protrusion at the bottom of the ridge. We found an area that looked like 4th-5.6 slabs and ledges up to where we might be able to join the route again. The route is pretty “choose your own adventure” for the first section anyway. We discussed our options. Lani said she felt that bailing would be a justifiable decision with the current conditions. I wanted to agree with her and just turn around then, but instead I said, “How about if I just try?”

The Prism (far left peak) and Saber Ridge (2nd to the left peak) from the approach.

We got out the rope and gear we’d hauled for 17 miles and I racked up. I made it all of about a dozen feet off the ground only to discover that the nice looking ledge I’d seen from the ground was covered with snow and ice. Farther up, we could see water streaming out of the cracks we were pretty sure we’d need to climb. I downclimbed, frustrated that such easy climbing now seemed impossible for me, and if we’d been just a day or two earlier this wouldn’t be the case. But 15 miles from any sort of civilization is not the place to go pushing your luck. Ultimately my dream is to not die in a preventable climbing accident.

Starting to attempt the climb

While I don’t think it would have presented any danger, by this point it was late in the morning after all of our minor delays had accumulated. We’d likely have been finishing up the ridge, or at least hiking back to camp, in the dark. On talus and scree that’s not so fun. With the hike out all on developed trails, we decided to pack up camp and hike out that afternoon. Our idea was to get in a short day of climbing on Monday before I had to go home. It was 1:45 by the time we actually left camp and began the hike down. We took the alternate route which adds about a mile and - although we didn’t realize it at the time - 400 of elevation gain (1,000 feet gained vs. 600 feet the other way). Croft’s guide describes it as “more scenic” and it did present some very different surroundings than the already beautiful valley we’d had before. After dropping down into lush vegetation and crossing the bridge, the trail climbs back out of the canyon, making you realize how far down you went without really realizing it on the gentle trail. We came up by the Bearpaw Meadow Ranger Station where we took a break for food and water.

The bridge that the guidebook says you can’t miss.

The view from the bridge

By this point I think the distance we’d hiked from camp was equal to or greater than the longest distance I’d hiked for an overnight trip before, and we were barely a third of the way out. I started to realize how much I’d underestimated the approach and/or overestimated my fitness. As a 30-mile out-and-back dayhike this would have been of a long day but doable for me. While I’m not intimidated by the idea of a night out backpacking in the wilderness, I realized I’m not actually in good physical condition for this level of activity.

The view from camp was pretty nice.

The hike to the car took us about 7 hours to cover 16 miles. We arrived at the car at 9 pm after a couple hours of hiking in the dark. Our plan to make mac and cheese turned into a plan to eat whatever was already prepared and go to bed. On Monday we were both sore and tired - not to mention cold - and ended up not climbing anything. We did try several times to convince ourselves to climb, but all the easier climbs are actually runout slab, and we weren’t feeling like climbing something harder in below-freezing temps even in the sun.

The Mystery Bundt Cake from Walmart, which turned out to be “sour green apple” flavored, as revealed by the ingredients list. Not so mysterious.

I’m planning to come back next summer - preferably with Lani, but if she’s not available then with whomever I can convince to do the approach - and leading up to it my preparation will include not only competence on rock but also conditioning for backpacking. Another change next time will be the date. Rather than take a chance on late-season climbing to avoid permit quotas, I’ll go to the effort of either securing a backpacking permit in advance, or getting walk-in permits on a trip with some backup day-trip climbing planned if we can’t get permits. Ultimately the physical fitness was a minor factor compared to my inability to walk on ice while wearing climbing shoes.

On the longer and steeper alternative we chose for the hike out

Lessons Learned:

• 16 miles of backpacking is not as casual as I want to think it is. To make this trip or other trips like it work smoothly, I need to be in much better condition than I was for this one.
• Sometimes permit season is popular for a reason. Though all the weather since then in the Sierras has been perfect. Sometimes you plan poorly, but sometimes nature just does its thing anyway.
• I would probably benefit from more walking on slabs - wet and dry.
• From the later Humphreys trip, I learned that I do still have a ways to go with my efficient routefinding skills. I think that just comes with more practice, and my next step will be to try some shorter, less committing ridge routes, possibly with a partner instead of solo.
• I need an overnight pack that fits me better