Mt Humphreys & Yosemite Valley
Oct. 22nd, 2019 09:20 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lizolasBishop & Yosemite Valley
October 11-14, 2019
| Climb | Grade | Pitches | Type |
|---|---|---|---|
| Mt Humphreys - East Arete (Strava) | ”5.4” | 1 mile | Solo |
| Super Slide | 5.9 | 5 | Trad |
I’d planned to do Mt Humphreys as part of my preparation for Saber Ridge. A flat tire on my way over to Bishop put a hold on that. I ended up not making time to do the route before our Saber deadline. My idea was to take a short rope for the downclimbs, but first to try and solo them. Scrambling in the Cathedral Range the previous summer, my partner had remarked that something we downclimbed was about 5.6, to which I replied that that was impossible, as I barely even up-climbed 5.7! During that conversation, I realized that my idea of my climbing limit is what I feel I could comfortably reverse, on account of I do a lot of getting lost on long, wandering routes. Frequently on that kind of scrambling outing, I come to a short downclimb that occasionally has death-fall potential (looking at you, Matthes) and initially think there’s no way I can safely do it. After Ben patiently points out the footholds to me, I can generally do it just fine. With two short (10-foot) 5.6 or 5.7 downclimbs on blocky granite, this seemed like a good opportunity to see if I could talk myself into figuring out the beta for myself for once.
My next free 4-day weekend after the Saber Ridge trip, I had planned to stay home but instead decided I had some unfinished business in the Eastern Sierra. I’m normally not one for “getting revenge” on a route - in fact I think I’ve completely given up on Conness for now, having failed to summit twice in 2 summers - but the route just looks so darn fun. Having tried Mt Tom in the spring via a route I had no desire to attempt again, I did want to try via the trail on the other side and see if that was more enjoyable. I planned Humphreys for Friday, with a contingency plan to do Mt. Tom on Friday and Humphreys on Saturday if I left late on Thursday. I expected Tom to be an easier hike to finish in the dark if I got delayed driving over after work Thursday and thought that I needed more sleep to have the best shot at performing well on Humphreys.
I’m strongly considering moving into a van solely for the amount of time it would save if I had everything already in my vehicle and couldn’t forget something at home. Every Thursday I think I’ve finally gotten everything together, only to realize I left some critical item(s) at home and need to delay my departure from the Bay Area by a little over an hour to go get them. If I could ever actually leave from Gilroy, I’d get to avoid most of the traffic, too. This weekend was no different. I’d packed all of my stuff but forgotten something I was supposed to drop off with Lani. On the bright side, the detour back home would let me stop at a Trader Joe’s just off the highway. Trader Joe’s ended up being completely out of the one item I’d been there to buy.
I decided to just commit to the idea of Mt Tom on Friday, probably finishing in the dark. It’s mostly on a trail - or a road, as I was planning on parking farther down from the Horton Lakes Trailhead than Joshua had previously convinced my car to go - and since I was going to be starting from close to the same area for Humphreys and Tom, I thought it preferable to sleep a bit later Friday, go to sleep whenever I got back with no need to drive anywhere, then wake up early for Humphreys on Saturday. As George has kindly informed me, though, my plans are terrible. I decided that I should stop and sleep, and ended up sleeping til almost 6 in Tioga Pass. That felt like too late to drive the 2 hours to the trailhead and start the hike at a reasonable time anymore, so I told myself that Mt Tom doesn’t actually speak to me anyway at the moment (it doesn’t, I was just looking for another activity to fill the weekend). I spent a leisurely day hanging out in Bishop, reading about geology.
Saturday I woke up at 3 am, left Bishop at 3:30 - right on schedule - and then proceeded to have everything go wrong for the rest of the day. The beta I’d read online indicated that the drive to the trailhead only got astronomically worse about half a mile from the end. Half a mile is hardly an inconvenience to add on to a full day, so I planned to just park right before the road started getting steep. As it turned out, it gets rocky and hard to navigate with a mid-size SUV alone in the dark a ways before that. After several loud smashes to the underside of my vehicle despite my best efforts to navigate the rocks sticking out of the road, I turned around and packed in the first turnout I came across. There, for reasons I’m not entirely sure of, it took me about 2 hours to stop worrying - about the car and whether I’d damaged it, as well as about my ability to do the route - and pack up and leave. I started at 7 am as the sun was almost visible over the Inyo/White mountains. Far too late - I’d been hoping to be almost starting the ridge by now. But I’d driven all the way up here, and it’s not like I had anything else to do. I might as well see what I could do with the time I had. I’d already been planning to likely finish in the dark, so now I’d just commit to knowing for sure I’d finish in the dark.
Instagram post with slightly - but not much - more detail about everything going wrong that morning.
I took a use trail that I thought was headed the right way, but a look at my topo map (thank goodness for my paranoid frequent checks of Gaia) showed me I was heading into the wrong drainage. I turned around and got back on course. I don’t think that actually caused very much of a delay - maybe 20-30 minutes - but the approach was taking a lot longer than I’d expected. There’s a steep, loose section that Mountain Project describes as “a ¼ mile section, but it will feel much longer.” That part alone took me almost 45 minutes, and I’d been hoping to do the entire approach in 2 to 2.5 hours. I started thinking about whether or not my estimates for today had been realistic. A 3.5-mile approach on a trail would likely have taken me 2 hours. But I’d parked 2 miles farther away, and the approach was almost entirely cross-country. As much as I like to think I’m not terribly affected by elevation, I should have accounted for how slowly I’d move with the trailhead at over 9,000 feet. In hindsight, the biggest error was not measuring the distance of the actual ridge climbing. I was thinking it was a similar distance to Matthes, but it’s about twice as long as the section of Matthes I actually climbed (rappelling at the notch).
The ¼ mile steep section described in the approach beta.
I stopped at the lake at 11,000’ to refill my water bottle before starting up the ridge. After finishing the final sandy ramp up to the base, I was ready to start “the route” just before noon. At this point I was at least 5 hours behind the ideal schedule. I started considering that if I ever did this again, backpacking somewhere near the lake might be a wise choice. The first part of the ridge route is actually just more class 2-3 walking. Compared to Matthes, the route was indistinct. At no point in the beginning was I clear on where I was supposed to transition from walking to ridge climbing. Beta tells you to stay on top of the ridge for the best climbing and most solid rock. Maybe that’s true if you’re some badass trad dad with something to prove. I was finding that on the very top of the ridge was not the fun, easy 3rd-4th class that I’d expected. Much blockier than any other ridge I’ve done, there would have been constant climbing up and down over large features, which was far slower than I’d expected it to be. Based on the pictures I’d seen, I wasn’t expecting Matthes-style knife-edge the whole way, but I was anticipating something like the Ellery Backbone, where you stop to think occasionally but generally just keep making steady progress upward on a fairly clear general path. Instead I wandered around, often doing moves that felt like something I’d find on a 5.6 or 5.7 route, not a scramble. I later learned that one of George’s housemates - a very strong boulderer who I wouldn’t even expect to know the difference between 4th class and 5.9 - recently did the route and was also surprised by the amount of 5th class moves he found. It seems that maybe I wasn’t “off route” so much as the route is a bit understated in online descriptions. When I see a hand-drawn topo with individual 5th class moves labeled, to me that implies that the rest of it is decidedly easier than easy 5th.
Looking down at the saddle (toward Peak 12,241, not on the route) from a short ways up the ridge
When I started up the ridge from the saddle, my idea had been that if I could be done with the ridge and more technical downclimbing before sundown, I’d be fine walking out in the dark. If we revisit our math, we find that Matthes took us 3.5 hours for the climbing (not to mention another hour+ of rappelling). At under half the length of Humphreys, it was already pushing it to expect to complete the ridge and onsight the 4th to easy 5th downclimb to the notch before dark. Beyond that, I mostly followed Matthes. We had the extra reassurance of a rope, and Ben is a far less hesitant leader than I am. From the time I left the saddle a bit after noon, I don’t think I had a realistic hope of getting down to the walkoff before dark. 2 hours into the ridge, I estimated I was less than ⅕ of the way done with it. I had expected largely easy climbing, with the two 5.7 and 5.6 downclimbs being distinct cruxes in an otherwise technically undemanding day. Instead I kept finding myself crying on ledges, forcing myself to try moves I wasn’t totally sure of (but always with decent landings), often downclimbing several times before executing a move. This was not what was supposed to be happening. I was supposed to be having fun.
Shortly after the acclaimed “knife edge arete” on the route, I climbed off the top of the ridge to assess my options. At this rate, there was no way I would finish the entire thing by dark. I could aim for Peak 13,151 as a smaller goal, but knew that going up was supposed to be 5th class, and down the other side were the crux downclimbs. With it getting steeper up there, I wasn’t sure how feasible it was to retreat from the summit. From where I was, I could see loose-but-passable sandy ledges that led all the way back to the saddle. For once, I felt like I hadn’t given up too easily. I had been fighting, mentally and physically, for the past 3 or 4 hours, and had decided to turn back because I was well and truly in over my head. I had severely underestimated this objective, and rather overestimated my own ability as well. The truth is I haven’t been “in shape” at all this year. When I first started taking on longer hikes - for one thing, they were really just hikes, not climbs - I was running several times a week, hiking almost every weekend in the Bay Area. This year has been a lot more sporadic and inconsistent, and I’m probably in worse shape than I was when I started climbing.
Looking up at the ridge from the saddle
Aside from my physical fitness, I’ve realized some things about myself this summer. I don’t actually like suffering for no good reason. Needing to get up hours before dawn for good snow conditions on a mountain is a good reason to suffer. Having started late and bitten off more than I can chew is not. I can walk for 24 hours if I need to, but I don’t want to. It’s challenging, but there’s no challenge in it that appeals to me. I also don’t actually like solo scrambling. Maybe at some point, I’ll be a more confident climber and what currently seems difficult will be casual, but right now I have a lot of fun on these kinds of things with a partner (and a rope if we need it), and I just really was not having a good time at any point by myself.
I decided I would definitely like to come back and attempt this ridge again. Almost certainly with a partner, and possibly as an overnight trip, not a very long day trip. I also decided that my plan for the following day to start before dawn and finish after dark on a hike I’d been thinking about for a couple years now also didn’t inspire me. Instead what I wanted to do was spend the next several months actively working on my fitness and then complete it entirely in daylight. That would be a good challenge but also an enjoyable activity. I’ve done enough hiking on the Mist Trail in the dark for a while.
The way back was largely uneventful. After scrambling down the ledges which were mostly just unpleasant scree with one 15-foot chimney downclimb (ungraceful down-slide, really), I was back at the saddle and roughly reversed the approach. The most terrifying part of the activity was when I walked past what I imagine was a doomsday prepper’s camp high on the 4WD part of the road, and their two dogs came sprinting out at full-speed, barking ferociously. I turned to face them, but backed away as quickly as I could. For a few seconds, I yelled, in hopes of getting the owner’s attention to try to control them. When no human appeared, I switched to “Hey, you’re ok, it’s fine…” The dogs didn’t stop running and barking until right at the second I was sure the German Shepherd was about to lunge at my arm. Then, instead of biting, they sniffed me for about 2 seconds before turning around and running back to their car. Weird, but I’m not complaining about that outcome. I saw another German Shepherd close to where I’d parked my car, but it had a much better owner. It didn’t run at me in the first place, and when the guy noticed me walking by, he called the dog over to him and held its collar anyway.
The chimney I downclimbed. Slightly steeper than it looks in the picture, but still not very steep.
The advantage of having parked so far from the trailhead was that there was very little to navigate on the way out. One short section of large rocks and a small creek crossing was all I had to navigate before I was back on the relatively nice and smooth part of Buttermilk Road. I was back in town just as it was getting dark.
Having decided I wasn’t doing the hike I’d planned for Sunday, either, I stayed in Bishop and did very little all day besides touch Iron Man like 4 times. I can get 3 or 4 moves in, but my fingers haven’t figured out how to use holds that aren’t positive yet. Plus I don’t have a fuzzy hat. I was thinking that maybe I should have done something, but Grouse Mountain again (3 weeks after the previous trip) just didn’t speak to me. I started reading Andy Kirkpatrick’s “1001 Climbing Tips” and learned some things.
On Monday I’d planned to climb with Lani, and we eventually decided on Super Slide, as it’s highly recommended as a first Yosemite 5.9. I’m not at all sure if my “29 5.9s by the time I turn 29” thing is going to happen, since I’ve got a month and a half and I was at 2/29, but it’s better to keep trying anyway than to give up entirely. Having spent the last 3 months in the gym mostly working on the more difficult types of cracks for me (fingers and offwidth), I felt like I at least had a chance at getting myself up something that wasn’t all nice hand jams or easy face climbing. While reading the beta, Lani noticed that although the route description says “wide fingers,” the gear suggested for the crux portion is 5. - .75, which for her is nice hands and for me is thin hands. I don’t think I finger jammed anywhere on that section. After considering and rejecting the idea to start the route using Trial by Fire for the first 2 pitches, we got in line behind 2 other parties. Both were competent enough that there was no lengthy delay. I was going to lead the odd pitches - giving me the crux final pitch - and Lani would lead the even ones.
Partway through pitch 1 I was thinking that if this was 5.2, I had no hope of leading 5.9. I’ve had this feeling before, though, and have learned to ignore it. When she joined me at the first belay, Lani agreed that there had been a portion of that pitch that did not feel 5.2. I think I was happy not leading the second pitch, as it was “only” 5.7, but the crux was right off the belay, and the belay was on a large ledge. We waited a few minutes at the 2nd belay for the party ahead of us to move. They were linking pitches 3 and 4, so I took off right after their follower. I waited a little bit mid-pitch for the pair rappelling off the 3rd anchor since they were already on their way down when I started up. I’m not used to 5.7 in Yosemite feeling easy - and I know Super Slide is considered very straightforward and pretty soft - but that pitch reassured me that I should, in fact, try the last pitch. I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have gotten a choice. The falls are safe, and the gear is good, and I don’t think Lani would have let me back out of it easily. The 4th pitch “step-across” doesn’t feel 5.8 if you’re tall enough to just step from one jug to another without intermediate smearing. Again we waited a bit for a pair in front of us to throw their ropes down for the rappel, and then I downclimbed a portion of the pitch to help a rappelling party unstick their rope.
Start of the 3rd pitch
Now it was time for the 5.9 pitch. It didn’t look bad from the belay, but that’s not always a great measure of difficulty. It started out with nice hands and plenty of footholds. After a ways, it goes from a broken mini-gully type crack to one splitter .5-.75 crack up to just before the anchor. There are still enough footholds both to the sides of the crack and in a couple wider portions of the crack that I never felt as insecure as I feared I would. Between sections of pulling myself through the thinner feet, it never took more than a couple moves to end up back at a stable rest/placement stance. I also didn’t sew it up as much as I expected I would. We’d brought an extra .5 just in case, but I didn’t use it. I think I placed 6 or 7 pieces total on the pitch. At one point I felt like I wasn’t going to be able to hold on or recover, and considered taking. Then, looking down at the gear situation below me, I realized that for once, a fall would be clean and safe. I ended up getting through the thin crack and onto the blocky portion just before the anchor only to wonder how I was going to make the traverse without blowing it. Refusing to trust the slabby feet without good hands for a single move, I stemmed out to the right to get just high enough to grab a jug, then make the traverse with my feet. The difficulty in the middle of the pitch didn’t convince me that I can do every 5.9 now, but it did convince me that as long as they’re well-protected pitches, there’s no reason I should keep saying “Nah I’m just a 5.7 climber.” According to Lani, it didn’t even look hard, but it definitely felt hard. I think avoiding 5.9 offwidth is probably still justifiable, but maybe now I’ll stop avoiding 5.7 and 5.8 fingers/thin hands, as well as not avoiding everything in the Valley not explicitly described as “soft for the grade.”
On the last pitch of Super Slide
As it was Lani’s birthday, I’d gotten special “summit” Oreos for the occasion. We had a bit of time at the top since the party behind us had a slower follower. Then we waited a little bit, thinking it would make sense to let them start up before we came down. They had been waiting for us, too, and eventually we realized that and just rappelled. The two parties behind us were all friends from Spain who didn’t speak much English. We’d arrived at the base of the route around 11 am, and were back on the ground at 3:45 pm. Not bad for how much waiting we’d done at belays - both on the way up and the way down. Lani considered Trial By Fire, but there was a party on it, and their gear recommendation was a lot more gear than we’d brought. We chose to save it for another time and walked back to the Ahwahnee parking lot.
At that point I was mostly killing time until I could be sure I could leave without needing a park pass. I’m not opposed to buying one, but after all my previous driving on this trip had been before the park was open or after it was closed, I didn’t really want to pay $85 to leave. Tyler met us in the parking lot, having done Half Dome in less time than it took us to climb 5 pitches with a 5-minute approach. I left around 7:30, arriving back home just before midnight to wake up for work the next day at 5:30.
