Eastern Sierra Trip

[lizolas]

Eastern Sierra Trip - August 11-20, 2018

“Have you written on your blog lately?” “No, I don’t write about everything I do, and nothing I’ve done recently has been all that character-building.” “Well, this might be character-building.” Lani and I were preparing to take on a massive alpine climb, backpacking in the night before to get an early start on the 22-pitch Sun Ribbon Arête on Temple Crag. Well within her ability, this would be twice as long as the longest route I’d done before, although the upper half was supposed to be predominately 4th to low 5th and would go more quickly than the lower portion. Most of the technical pitches go at 5.7 or below, with one crux pitch of 5.9 or 5.10a (depending on which topo you read) that Lani was going to lead.

Spoiler: I summit Bear Creek Spire.

Part I - Temple Crag

My week had already started a bit more character-building than I’d expected, with a nearly 30-mile group hike at Point Reyes on Saturday that I expected to be fairly easy for me (Strava Link Here). I hadn’t had the foresight to consider that hike when I used a foot peel earlier in the week, and my lack of calluses meant I ended up with debilitating blisters all over my feet and toes by the end of it. NSFL Toe Photo 1 NSFL Toe Photo 2 (They’re not really that bad, but some people hate to see feet) I’d planned to do some casual half-day hike in the Sierras on Sunday but skipped that due to my lack of ability to walk and took a rest day instead, meeting Lani in Bishop on Monday afternoon.

Sunrise on the Point Reyes hike

With our planning habits combined, Lani and I impressively managed to stick to one of our original objectives. After originally discussing doing the Thunderbolt to Sill Traverse, she’d said she wasn’t sure I was ready for that much simuling, so I didn’t pack any snow gear. On Sunday she talked to someone who’d guided it before; they told her it would be fine for us to do, but due to my lack of gear we decided to find something that didn’t involve a glacier. I’d already forgotten my down jacket - even without any overnight trips, I’d need an insulating layer - and had to replace it at the Gear Exchange for $80, and “replacing” more perfectly good gear I had at home wasn’t worth it. I’d gotten a backpacking permit assuming the longest possible trip of climbing something on Temple Crag and continuing to the traverse. We amended our plan to just climbing at Temple Crag, with two nights of backpacking. Having started up the trail at nearly 6 pm, it was dark by the time we reached the camping areas at Second Lake and Third Lake (Strava Link Here). We picked a spot on the far side of Third Lake for as short an approach as possible the next morning. After a quick dinner, we went to bed with an alarm set for a 3:30 wake-up.

Lani on the approach

Things went fairly smoothly on Tuesday morning; we’d packed our climbing bags the night before and ate a quick breakfast before starting the approach by 4:30. It turned out that there was a trail we didn’t follow at all, but the path we took up was not much worse than the sections of trail we found on the way down. We neared the base of the crag as the sun started to peek over the mountains. Some scrambling to avoid the snowfield put us at the dihedral start of the first pitch at 6:30. I optimistically had every intention of swapping leads equally, but my optimism waned after I fell following the first pitch. It was an awkward move, but the pitch was still only 5.7. The next two pitches were 3rd and 4th class that Lani mock-guided me on. It turns out I’m a terrible client, as I have trouble staying put on easy terrain. Eventually I caught on and learned to “sit” and “stay.”

Sunrise from the approach

Lani led the next 5.7 pitch, which I should have looked more closely at before deciding I couldn’t do it. What appeared to me to be unprotectable slab actually had nice cracks that were easily protectable, had I taken a couple minutes to explore in more detail. On the next pitch, also 5.7, I took my first (and only) lead of the day. What I did was definitely 5th class for most of it, but I skipped a wide hand crack that I tried to climb but didn’t feel comfortable leading. This put me too far to the left to lead the amazing looking splitter hand crack just above it, so I continued up what felt like 5.5 flakes and blocks. I hadn’t heard “half rope” yet when I came to a ledge that I found confusing. I assumed I hadn’t gone very far, and I was supposed to be using most of a rope length for my pitch, so I needed to find a way to keep going. After about the 4th time where I traversed left across thin face moves then retreated back to the ledge, Lani called up that I was way past halfway. In either case, the whole section was only 5.7, and I should have thought to check farther right and see if I could find protectable moderate terrain, but since I’d gone a reasonable pitch length I decided to just build an anchor on the spacious ledge.

Storm moving off into the distance

By that point the sky was looking increasingly ominous. There had been a brief storm the previous afternoon while we were in town packing everything into my car. We guessed there would be another storm around the same time, and we were right. While we were trying to throw the rope across for the Tyrolean traverse after the next pitch - it turns out that neither of us is particularly skilled at that and we ended up rappelling - light rain began, accompanied by distant thunder. Moments after we rappelled into the notch we were supposed to be traversing, the rain began in earnest. We untied ourselves from the wet rope, for whatever good it did to be sitting only a couple feet away from it with metal gear on our harnesses, and anchored to a rock on the ledge we were on. Both of us had waterproof jackets but no waterproof pants. We shared an emergency space blanket bag for our legs while we waited for the storm to abate.

Within half an hour, the worst of it was over and we prepared to climb back out of the notch and over to the other side of the ridge where the supposed retreat route was. This 6th pitch was also only 5.7, but the wet rock was still a bit slick by the time we pulled our rope and started climbing. I was consistently not looking far enough around the sides of the ridge to find probable lines. After looking at it and initially concluding that it seemed difficult even with dry rock, Lani started leading, and when I followed it I found that it was only a bit awkward for a couple moves toward the beginning, and then was quite easy. Here I got a cam stuck for the first time in my life. I worked on it for several minutes, then decided it might be better to leave it since the storm hadn’t fully dissipated and we were trying to get off the ridge ASAP. Fortunately it was the one of my own cams that we’d brought and not one of hers. Unfortunately, I wasn’t smart enough to think to take the racking biner off of it before I left it.

Another traversing pitch, a rappel, and a final traverse put us at the base of the crux pitch, from which we were supposed to bail, at 1:45. When we checked the beta more closely, it appeared that the way down from there was actually to go to the left and then up 4th class to the summit plateau. There was one rappel station with slings over to the left, but when we got there we weren’t sure if we believed there were adequate stations in the steep, loose gully to get us all the way down. Going up what we could see to be very doable simulclimbing seemed a better option than hoping we didn’t have to jug back up from a failed rappel.

”Can we have summit Oreos even though we’re not going to summit?” Thus the “We Survived Oreo” was born.

The gully we had to climb to get out

The sky began drizzling as we started up the 4th class gully, but didn’t worsen. Most of the gully was more 2nd-3rd class than 4th, and we stopped simuling and just unroped until we got toward the top and came to a steep slab traverse that looked like we might want some backup. Some comments and descriptions make Temple Crag climbs out to be horrible choss piles. That’s far from the truth, but at least Sun Ribbon was far from the ultra-solid granite found on many climbing routes in the Sierra. While climbing, there was a constant awareness of how many loose blocks were on or near the route. After the belayed traverse, we simuled up the rest of the way to the top of the ridge. The moves themselves were easy, but it was reassuring to have a rope in case a solid-looking rock turned out not to be.

View toward the Palisades from the summit plateau

When we got up on the ridge at 6 pm the sky had mostly cleared and we got an expansive view of the Palisades area. We decided we were definitely giving up alpine climbing for a while, knowing full well we’d be back at it by the end of the week. Finishing the climb to the summit didn’t seem enticing enough to warrant that much more hiking back in the dark, so we took a snack and photo break right where we’d come up, then headed down the talus in the general direction of the descent trail. I don’t think talus is anyone’s favorite thing, but this talus was exceptionally unnerving. Blocks that seemed far too large to shift under my weight kept moving when I stepped on them, and nothing was stable.

Impressively large chosspile we named “Mt. Chossta and Chosstina”

Eventually we got onto a path that was mostly sandy trail interspersed with stable rocks and made our way down to the rappel stations where, just before Lani started to descend, I brilliantly thought to ask if the ends of our rope actually made it to the ground from the slings we’d chosen. On one hand, I was glad I thought of that; on the other hand, I’d really like to be better at judging distances as they relate to rope lengths. The rope did reach the ground - just barely - and we set off down the talus and scree toward our camp just as the sun was setting. Mostly it was slow going, but at least the terrain here was less unstable than what we’d encountered earlier. In a few places we found a distinct climber’s trail, but either it petered out or we lost it in the dark and failed to find it again, choosing instead to just continue in the direction we knew we needed to go. A few times, I checked our track on Strava to see how close we were to our approach path. We weren’t trying to match it exactly, as the approach had been way to the right of the trail, but to make sure we were going generally the right way.

Sunset as we finished up the rappelling and started walking back to camp

The sun was well below the top of the sky when we returned to camp at 9:30, too exhausted to cook dinner (Strava Link Here). We ate some snacks and tried to rehydrate, but quickly went to sleep. In the morning we took our time getting out of bed, eventually cooking breakfast about 7:30, then packing up camp and leaving by 8:30. Wednesday morning was the first time we saw our camp in daylight, and it had a beautiful view of Temple Crag through the trees. The hike out took us through a transition from evergreen forests to desert scrub by the time we arrived back at the car (Strava Link Here).

Temple Crag as viewed from our campsite

Part II - Pine Creek Canyon

Since we’d given up alpine climbing, we needed to come up with a plan for the next few days. Lani said we should do something super chill, to which my immediate response was “Let’s go to Pine Creek Canyon and climb some slabs so I can hate myself!” When I’d been in the eastern Sierra a couple weeks earlier, Pine Creek had been suggested as an area that's shaded and relatively cool compared to the rest of the desert. We drove up there - through another afternoon rainstorm - and decided to check out PSOM Slab when the rock had dried a bit. Late in the afternoon, the crag was a pleasant temperature and out of direct sunlight. We rounded the corner and saw some bolted routes; my initial thought was “Oh, I could probably do that,” followed by “Nope, no way,” when Lani informed me they were 5.10b and 5.9 routes. We started on Lizard Gizzards, a well-bolted 5.8 slab, whereupon I found out that I don’t actually lead 5.8 slab. I kept slipping just after the first bolt, not fully trusting my feet enough to commit and make the moves work. Lani led it, and after the rope was up, I toproped it with no falls, but her “hooooooly fuck” between the second and third bolts wasn’t terribly reassuring. I decided maybe I’d come back to try to lead it another time.

We moved on to the harder routes. The 5.9 (5.8+ in the updated version of MP) was actually easier than the 5.8, since most of the moves went between distinct holds rather than imaginary ones. After that warm up, Lani moved the rope over to the 5.10b (5.10a/b, updated) so we could toprope that. She took only one fall at the crux, and then when I failed to even make it through the crux on toprope despite numerous attempts, she had to go back up to retrieve the redirect quickdraw.

“I...think I want to lead it.” Her attitude is infectious, although it turned out that, like giardia, it takes about a week to show symptoms. Again she had just one small slip, this time right after the crux, but I thought even being able to get up a 5.10 slab was impressive. By that time it was past 8 pm; it was getting dark and she’d left a note for Adrian - a coworker who was driving up to join us - saying that we’d be out climbing til 7 or 8. It turned out that he hadn’t actually found the note on her windshield, but it was probably time to head back anyway. We made dinner in the parking lot and went to bed, planning to get up “whenever we feel like it” for climbing on Thursday.

“Whenever we felt like it” was somewhere around 6:30 am, yet I still slept far more and far better on this trip than I typically do at home. After breakfast we went back to PSOM Slab where we each led a pitch of Racing Lizards. Adrian took the bolted 5.8 slab start, Lani the second 5.7 wandering crack pitch, and then at the second belay when Lani asked if I wanted to lead, I enthusiastically said “Sure!” despite having no idea where the pitch was supposed to go. The topo made it look like I took a sharp left after the first bolt, so I dutifully followed the lieback up and left, then arrived at a spot where I couldn’t figure out how to go on, nor could I figure out how to bend down far enough to get a piece in near my feet. After only a brief crisis, I decided this meant that my only option was to continue on without falling. This was only 5.7, I could do this. A slightly uncontrolled reach to a jug on my left gave me a way to move past the awkward undercling bulge. I was actually supposed to have climbed up and over that bulge (or “roof” according to MP); instead I went up a very secure feeling crack-gully way to the left, thinking I needed to be going farther that way. The crack ended at a bush that I had to crawl around, and before I pulled up and over onto a ledge above, I placed a .4 cam in the crack I was on. Once I got up onto the ledge, I realized my mistake. I was way too far left and didn’t see any anchors above me. Checking the topo again, I further realized that the next bolt on my climb was below the ledge, on another “roof” I was supposed to have gone over. Thankfully, 12” wide ledges are a pretty forgiving place to realize your mistakes. I walked over to where the bolt was, carefully leaned over and clipped it, then fought my way through the rope drag to downclimb to my cam and remove it. Past the big ledge, the climbing was maybe 5.4 or 5.5 “slab” climbing, with lumpy, textured, low-angle rock that was fun to climb. I clipped the anchors and felt equal parts accomplished and foolish.

There was a lizard waiting to race us at the base of Racing Lizards. We didn’t see him at the top, so I assume we won.

By that point, we’d been baking in direct sun all morning; PSOM Slab is only shaded in the afternoon when the sun goes behind the northerly side of the canyon. A trip down to the river sounded like a good idea so we took a break for a couple hours and did that. I also dunked my shirt and hat in the water and pretended that counted as doing laundry. We found an area across the road near the river that was shaded and much nicer than the full-sun parking lot we’d left our cars in. We decided to move them and establish a new campsite for ourselves.

Spot the riparian corridor in the desert

When we started looking for things to climb, we decided to head for a shaded canyon that we could see from the parking area. We ended up at Mustache Wall, and Lani started leading B-Gizzle, a 5.10d sport route. It’s next to a 5.12a that shares an anchor, and we were excited about the possibility of toproping that. Right after she got the rope to the top, though, it started to rain. We elected to pull the rope and get ourselves and our gear into a nearby cave and see if it would let up so we could go back. Once the rain stopped, we realized we should give the rock some time to dry and went back to the cars for dinner. After dinner there was a couple hours of daylight left, so we went back to get on the wall again.

We had great aspirations of practicing setting up the portaledge.

Hiding in a cave from the rain instead.

It was dark by the time my turn to toprope the 10d came. I don’t know that the lack of light actually made it much harder, since the issue I was having was that there were no footholds, not that I couldn’t see the footholds. I fell and fell on the lieback and nearly gave up several times, but I can never quite say I’m sure I want to come down when someone asks if I don’t want to try just one more time. After the lieback, it got somewhat easier, but I still fell a couple times in the last 10 or so feet to the top.

If you’re not bleeding, you’re not climbing hard enough.

On Friday morning, Adrian had to go into town and do some things requiring internet access, so Lani and I went back to Mustache Wall without him. I started off leading Gimpenator, a bolted 5.8 that we thought we could continue into a 5.9 trad 2nd pitch. There are actually 2 5.9 trad variations for the 2nd pitch, but they both require you to have traversed right toward the end of the sport pitch, using gear. From the bolted line, there was no good way to get to those routes. We rappelled, me heading straight to the ground and Lani going sideways to get the rope on the 5.12a anchors we’d missed out on the day before.

I tried toproping B-Gizzle again in daylight. It went monumentally better. I still fell 2 or 3 times, but it was all in the same place right at the transition to a lieback. Next up was the 12a, which was kind of a mirrored, harder version of B-Gizzle. It starts on smaller face holds and has a harder lieback in the other direction, which I didn’t ever get through before tiring myself out too much to hold on anymore. Adrian returned and also gave it a try, eventually getting through the crux that I couldn’t manage to control. Lani apparently finds 5.12 liebacks inspiring, and tried it a couple more times, including an attempt where she placed a .1 cam to see if she could find a good way to protect the crux move that’s a bit above the last bolt.

Mustache Wall was in the gap on the far left

After that, we went to do Sheila, a cool looking line straight up a dihedral. Or it seems like it’s going to be straight up, until you find out there’s also an awkward finger crack toward the beginning, and the very end is a lieback roof crux. Lani led it and took a couple times at the finger crack and the roof. I fell probably at least a dozen times between those two sections, which felt harder than 10a even when I did figure the beta out. Climbing with a pack definitely didn’t help - I forgot that it was still on me until I was a ways up the climb - but I don’t think that was the only reason it felt hard. The middle hand crack section was amazing and felt incredibly fun and secure. At the top, I found a wide stemming move that let me skip the thinnest part of the lieback and reach up to the left of the block where there was a jug-rail that allowed me to fairly easily crawl through and come out the other side, where a few chimney moves (greatly hampered by the backpack, even with it hanging from my harness) put me on the belay ledge.

Lani leading Sheila

I’d just started reading The Rock Warrior’s Way, and while the introduction mostly told me things that I logically already knew, I was very aware of the fact that I felt really inferior. Adrian fell a couple times but got up the route very smoothly and quickly compared to me. Lani had led it and even if she’d hung a couple times, there was just no way I would have even been able to do some of those moves without a toprope belay helping me maintain progress. I felt like I’d come really darn close to not even being able to get up a 5.10a without being hauled up, and it was humiliating.

Adrian following Sheila

The night before, we’d met Giovanni Traversi and his buddy/belayer Brandon at the campsite. Brandon was a rather loquacious guy who offered Lani and me lots of helpful beta on routes we should do, “as long as you can climb mid-11s you’ll be fine.” We smiled and appreciated his helpfulness - especially the beta on what would and wouldn’t be in the shade - before going on our way. He told us that Giovanni would be working on sending Everything is Karate on Friday evening, and we should come watch if we were in the area. We abandoned our idea of going into town mid-afternoon and stuck around to watch. On his first attempt, he seemingly effortlessly one-hung it. Watching him I’d have thought he was climbing 5.12, not 5.14. He rested for about 10 minutes, then tried again, falling at the same crux move. Brandon assured him the route was about to go, and he’d send it on Sunday. I missed the Sunday attempt, but Lani made it back just barely in time to watch, and said that he seemed to be way less stoked to try then, and he and Brandon had an intense discussion about it.

Giovanni on Everything is Karate

Friday night we all had a campfire where Brandon and Giovanni were staying. Adrian left at some point to go to bed, and the evening turned into Giovanni’s chair moving increasingly closer to Lani’s while Brandon talked to me endlessly about skiing despite my attempts to indicate that I knew basically none of the words he was using. As usual, I had very little idea what to do about the situation. Lani had been stoked to watch Giovanni climb and talk to him afterwards, but did she want me (and Brandon) to leave? I eventually pulled out my phone and did an “Oh golly, gee, look at the time! Well, I’m off to bed,” at which point Lani quickly added that she needed to get to bed, too. On the way back to camp we giggled like mature adults at the chair-inching-closer and the skiing jargon.

Saturday morning I came up with one of the best excuses of my climbing career thus far: The helicopter is in the way and I can’t get my shoes. Of course it wasn’t really an excuse to not climb, just an excuse to not send anything hard. I toproped Blast Furnace (5.8) in approach shoes, then tried the 5.10c under-the-roof variation of Flame Thrower in Adrian’s too-large TC Pros and fell once.

Helicopter in the staging area

Part III - Bear Creek Spire

After climbing for the morning, we took off to Bishop to resupply and enquire about permits before Lani and I attempted Bear Creek Spire. As luck, or maybe fate, would have it, there were no available overnight permits. We briefly considered trying something else, then quickly resolved to try Bear Creek Spire car-to-car in a day. After a grocery stop, we met up at the trailhead. As we discussed gear and strategy, I proposed something I’d decided I should do. “Hey, so what if I lead this 5.8 crux pitch?” There was still a harder pitch for Lani to lead - the 2nd SuperTopo pitch has a 5.9 finger variation, but I wanted to push myself to do something slightly out of my comfort zone. She replied that she thought I’d never ask, and we packed our bags and went to bed at 8:30. I was asleep by 9 but the 1 am alarm still came too soon.

As we started up the trail at 1:45 I couldn’t help thinking about how beautiful the area was and how much I hoped we’d get to come down during daylight to appreciate the scenery. I have a good memory for things I’ve done before, and routefinding only encountered one minor error when we got about 5 minutes down the trail to Chickenfoot Lake. I thought that the sign I saw indicated a small use trail went to the lake, when in fact we diverged off the main trail and onto an equally developed trail to the lake. In an hour and a half, we were past the majority of the lakes and at the toe of the enormous talus slope up to Dade Lake. The simultaneously nice and frustrating thing about the moonless night was that we couldn’t see the demoralizingly daunting pile ahead of us, but we also couldn’t really navigate the most direct line through it. From what I remembered (and what Gaia told me), we had stuck to the rightmost drainage contour through the talus the prior September. This time we ended up on the left of the first small lake on the bench above the main talus ramp and had to cross over to get back on track. Or as much of a track as there can be in a largely homogenous field of rocks.

We reached Dade Lake at 4:30, pausing to refill water before continuing. Last year - albeit with heavier packs on and no real reason to hurry - the same hike had taken over 5 hours. There were several headlamps visible across the lake in the camping area where I’d stayed the year before. I was expecting more snow above the lake based on the previous attempt, but the low snow year meant we were actually able to stay on rocks nearly the whole way. I’d originally wanted to stash our hiking poles somewhere at Dade Lake so we could find them again on the way down, but Lani checked the topo and suggested we keep them a bit longer in case we had to cross more snow. The descend wasn’t far from the approach, and if we marked a waypoint in Gaia we’d be able to find them again without having to use an enormous body of water as a landmark.

At 5:45 we were at the base of the climb, putting our shoes and harnesses on in preparation for the initial scramble that comprises the first part of the first pitch. Mountain Project and SuperTopo seem to differ somewhat in their pitch breakdown, but I think what we soloed for that had at least a portion of 5.5-5.6 that felt completely comfortable to me. Then, in an utterly uncharacteristic move, I started leading the first 5.7 pitch. I don’t think TRWW deserves all the credit, because I’ve always had it in me to periodically do this sort of thing, but it may have played a part in me convincing myself that I didn’t need to define myself as a timid mostly-follower. I was going to do the alternating pitches that would put me leading the crux pitch, and it just so happened that that meant me leading first. Besides, I’d already been touching real rocks every day for the past week, and didn’t need the usual mental warm-up to become accustomed to climbing outside. The pitch started out with mellow 5.6 jugs and flakes, including a really cool tall flake that was detached from the wall for about 3 feet, making it a great hold. Toward the top I encountered more thought-provoking moves, but also got through those just fine when I decided to trust my feet.

The 5.9 finger crack variation on the next pitch didn’t feel all that difficult to me, but maybe that was just in comparison to the difficulty of attempting to get a stuck cam out toward the end of the pitch and eventually giving up so Lani could try. Evidently I need to work on my cam-unsticking skills, because she got it out relatively easily and I had no idea what to do with it. We linked the next 2 pitches of 3rd/4th by simuling until we reached the headwall that started the 5.8 pitch I wanted to lead.

Here my routefinding abilities really shone. Despite knowing that this 5.8 section was called the crux - i.e. there was no easier way up this route - I thought that the easiest terrain I could see was an off-route variation, and first attempted to start up the 5.10a variation. Eventually I decided that the slightly overhung thin cracks were probably not 5.8, and with confirmation from Lani and another party behind us, headed to what I thought had been off-route before. The topo describes it as steep flakes, stemming and chimney moves. They weren’t exactly low-angle, but compared to the 5.10a version they weren’t what I’d have called “steep” either. When I read “steep” I was expecting that to mean sustained, and there were still rest stances just about every move. Most of the moves were large and kind of awkward, but I didn’t find very much of the stemming the topo promised, and I have no idea how you’d make that section into a chimney climb. The wide cracks were more like offwidth size than chimneys; I regretted having used my #3 to protect the beginning, as I could have placed it almost anywhere along this section and felt more secure than I did trying to find placements for smaller gear among the large cracks.

Leading something. Pretty sure this wasn’t P4 though.

On the last move in the 5.8 section, I stood on a jug for several minutes, trying to talk myself into doing a move that I was sure I was going to fall from. Eventually I decided that a fall would be embarrassing but far from fatal, and pulled myself up on a sloping block. Somehow I got my feet onto something under me that I couldn’t see, and reached farther back for a better hold. I was amazed that I’d made it, and suddenly it was over. The rest of the pitch was easy 5.6 chimney (“stemming and chimney moves” seems to apply far better to the upper portion than the lower) and I hardly placed any protection, which was good, because I was running out of cams from protecting every few feet on the lower part.

Finished with the hardest pitch of my life - at 13,000’ no less

I stopped to build an anchor when I got to a small ledge and saw a crack that looked like it would take the sizes of gear I had left. I’d used all my large pieces and only had .4-.75 on me. I brought Lani up, and she asked if she could mock-guide the rest. I was more than happy to let her get some practice in, since I’d accomplished the 5.8 lead I wanted.

Following sure looks a lot less cool than leading

From there it was mostly 4th class with a bit of low 5th up the ridge. She short pitched the entire thing with a few actual belays when we got off the easiest terrain. Despite being the first party on the route that day, the additional time belaying - plus the stuck cams earlier - put us on the summit after the other parties who were mostly or entirely unroped. One group coming down as we climbed the final bit to the summit block seemed to have done the entire Northeast Ridge unroped, but was having to talk one of their members through every detail of downclimbing from the summit. We reached the summit at 2 pm, just over 12 hours after we left the parking lot.

Lani on the summit

The moves onto the summit were far less awkward than promised. There’s a really nice crack at the top that you can use as a hold.

Finally on the summit!

Summit Oreos!

The summit register can had 4 notebooks, and I couldn’t find entries from after 2016 in any of them, but they had random blank pages that hadn’t been filled in yet.

I wonder if Oreo will sponsor me for pushing the #summitoreos idea?

Last year when I proposed a trip to Bear Creek Spire, Joshua told me there was no way we were capable of an alpine 5.8 route. He wasn’t wrong; at the time, we were evidently incapable of even a 5.6/4th class alpine route over multiple days. It felt like a special accomplishment to come back and not tag simply along on a long alpine climb, but make the decision to take the hardest requisite lead on the route that I’d previously thought of as being intimidating, and do the whole thing comfortably car-to-car in a day. While I was obviously the less experienced of the two of us, I didn’t feel like I was just following along without actively participating the way I have before. I felt like I was a competent climber in my own right, and it was great to climb with someone who seemed to agree with me rather than continuing to treat me like I was a complete beginner whose every placement needed critical analysis.

The North Arete is the route directly up the front of Bear Creek Spire

From the summit there’s a short rappel to loose talus/scree/sand, then a walk trending northeasterly down to a notch in the ridge, where we checked out the descent vs. rappel options. For being described as loose and sketchy 4th class, none of it was very bad, although as Lani mentioned, it probably sucked a lot more in the dark. A lot of the footing in the was loose and sandy, but there was little risk of falling very far especially with nearby rocks to use to stabilize yourself. At 3:30 we had recovered our poles - it turned out to be a very good thing we’d marked them with a waypoint, otherwise we’d never have found them - and were headed down the much lower angle talus after the descent chute, reaching Dade Lake by 4.

Looking toward Gem Lakes from the talus slope below Dade Lake

Perhaps it’s mostly attributable to the difference between a 25L pack and a 50L pack with camping gear strapped to the exterior attachment points, but the descent from Dade Lake was nowhere near as arduous as I recalled. Along one section, we were able to travel on mostly flat talus rather than having to take steps between rocks of widely varied height; I think that part was probably under snow last year but overall the descent was exactly the same, it just felt better this time. We crossed the edge of the lake at the base of the talus just before 5; once we were back on the trail Lani asked how I felt about running back to the car. I told her to go ahead but my joints didn’t want to. Running seemed to be what made my ankle start having problems, and although it was steadily improving, I didn’t want to test my luck. Not to mention I don’t actually like running when I could walk and look at the scenery more than at my feet.

The rest of the hike out was glorious. The trail only gently gains and loses elevation over 3.5 miles, and the alpine lakes bordered by pine trees are my favorite thing to look at while I hike. Passing the numerous lakes which give the Little Lakes Valley its name, I arrived at the trailhead at 5:50 with plenty of daylight left - an uncommon circumstance for me (Strava Link Here).

Mt Morgan, which I climbed from the other side a few weeks prior.

I drove back to Bishop before heading up to Pine Creek for the final day of my trip. Despite having gotten up at 1 that morning, I wasn’t all that tired. Brandon was chatting with Lani and Adrian when I arrived, and we stayed up talking for a while before eventually going to bed. At some point that evening, I’d made up my mind - again unprompted - to try leading the 5.10c Flame Thrower variation and climb until I fell. I figured I could try at least one hard sport thing before I left.

Part IV - Pine Creek Canyon Reprise

The next morning things did not seem off to a promising start when I nearly called take on the 5.8 bolted warm-up. While Blast Furnace is bolted closely enough to probably prevent decking, toward the top there’s quite a long gap between some of the bolts, and the crux comes while you’re looking at a distant bolt that’s not very reassuring. I think the only reason I kept pushing on was that I knew I’d just done all the moves perfectly fine in approach shoes, so there must be a way for me to do it with climbing shoes that fit me. Also that it was only 5.8, and if I could lead 5.8 trad at over 13,000’ I should really be able to lead a single short pitch at half that elevation. Eventually I got to the easy jugs at the top and finished it. Adrian toproped it since the rope was up. Lani led (and sent) the 5.10d B-Gizzle. Then it was my turn again.

There are no pictures of me climbing at Pine Creek Canyon so here’s Lani sending B-Gizzle.

“I mean, what’s the worst that could happen? You fall and embarrass yourself,” Adrian encouraged. “I don’t even think falling on something hard for me is embarrassing.” “True; you could shit yourself. That would be embarrassing” “Nah, if that happened I’d say it was just an odds thing.” He was right, though, the worst thing that could happen was I could fall and not send it. We’d talked about using this route for falling practice because all the falls were clean.

I’d had a thought that rather than saying “I’ll climb til I fall,” I should instead say “I’ll climb til I either fall or clip the anchor.” I like to tell myself that when I say things like that, I’m not really resigning myself to falling, I’m saying I’ll push myself and work on being okay with the consequences of a fall in safe conditions. Usually I’m saying it on something at the gym that I have no hope of sending, and am instead working on seeing how long I can go even after I get scared or tired. In this case, though, 10c face climbing is within my ability to send. I’d only fallen once on toprope, and that was at least partly due to wearing shoes that were far too big for smearing and balancing on small edges.

The route has the benefit of sharing the 5.8 (or less) start with Blast Furnace, so I was assured I’d at least get 2 bolts up before falling was remotely a possibility. The route has mostly jugs and nice mini-ledges up to around bolt 4, then from 4-6 the holds get drastically smaller and less “pull down and go up.” There are several sidepull crimps off to the left that work fine when you believe your foot will stick on something and pull on them. At the end of the harder section, there are several sloping pockets in the face, but the rough texture of the rock makes them very usable as holds and not truly challenging slopers. In the middle of the hard section, where I’d fallen the first time, I made the incorrect traverse to the right, but then somehow controlled it enough to reverse it and get back to the intended line without falling. I had to trust my feet on tiny holds as I balanced and reached for the sidepull crimps above me, but then I’d suddenly made it. I reached the pockets and had the sudden realization that sending this was more likely than not now - I’d made it through the crux and just had to take my time and relax. Within a couple of moves, all the holds are jugs again and I pulled up into the little cave where the 10c variation anchors are before it continues up and over the roof at 11c. I had done it! And it was challenging, but far from climbing right at my limit. I was suddenly sad that I didn’t have a few more days to try harder outside, but my recent schedule rearrangement was supposed to allow me a lot more time for this sort of thing in the coming months.

I had run out of time and fingertip skin for this climbing trip, but it was the perfect start to a season or so of trying to both push myself and get more mileage on all kinds of climbing while I build skills for the future.

Especially out of finger skin on my left ring finger.

Lessons Learned:

• I’m capable of using holds that aren’t jugs outside (and probably have been capable for some time now). Lani’s reason for needing to climb outside with me was that I climb as hard as she does in the gym, and only 5.7 outside. While I don’t think it’s quite true that I climb as hard as she does inside, I think I definitely have some sort of aversion to using holds outside that I would have no problem with inside. I somehow didn’t believe that I could climb something safely unless it’s like a 5.9 jug ladder on the slab wall, where every move leaves both hands free for placing gear or resting. Instead I found that I was actually able to place gear with only one hand, and that a lot of moves that seemed improbable were well within my ability when I committed to them.
• Broccoli works better when you don’t forget half of it in your cooler all week.
• Alpine climbing is a great mix of challenging and amazing and I can’t wait to do more of it.
• If there’s a chance of thunderstorms today, and there was a thunderstorm yesterday, a ridge might not be the best place to be in the early afternoon.
• It’s possible to redefine yourself and work on characteristics and behaviors that aren’t productive of beneficial for you.

THE END