Middle Palisade (14,012ft) – Successful Summit/1st Attempt (September 13, 2004)

*The pictures listed below are not of this trip. The actuals will be posted later.

Objective – From the South Fork Trail, climb the class 3 East Face to the summit and return the same route.

Itinerary:

Day 1 – After camping at Glacier Lodge, take the South Fork Trail to Willow Lake. Follow the trail to Brainard Lake, continue ascending to Finger Lake at 11,000 ft. Set camp for the night.

Day 2 – 5 am start, cross the river flowing from eastern tip of Finger Lake; approach the East Face of Middle Palisade between Norman Clyde and Middle Palisade Glaciers. Ascend the class 3 chute on the East Face to the summit before 1 pm. Descend the same route. Pick-up camp at 11,000 ft and take South Fork Trail back to Glacier Lodge.

Team:

• Bugle Bum
• The Engineer
• TF6S

Day 1

I drove from San Francisco Thursday night after work, while Bugle Bum and the Engineer took off from San Diego and rendezvoused at Glacier Lodge for a quiet night’s sleep. After getting up early in the morning, we drove 20 minutes back to Bishop to get our permit for the South Fork Trail since none of us were able to arrive early enough to meet the ranger station’s hours. I met the Engineer for the first time, and it would be his first attempt at climbing a 14er.

At the ranger station, we got an update of possible deteriorating weather conditions in the High Sierras. There was a large, early storm scheduled to hit us on Saturday night. We would have a cautious eye westward, as the possibility of the storm hitting us a half day earlier than scheduled was highly possible. In the meantime, the weather leaving camp was perfect at 73 degrees.

We did a last minute gear check at the car to make sure we were covered. Bugle Bum had begun is “ultralight” traveling philosophy, however I insisted he bring his camping stove and water filter, along with mine, in case we had an equipment failure with my equipment at our 11,000 ft camp. After a hard lesson learned in our 1st Mt. Sill attempt, I realized that it is essential to have back-up for essential equipment. Considering the stove is only ¼ of a pound, I didn’t think it would that much of a burden.

We started down the South Fork Trail, the route that we took to get to Mt. Sill. A year earlier we had some misfortune trying to cross the river, and realized that we were probably not the river’s only victims. This time there was a large tree, meticulously cut in half, forming a well-crafted bridge over the river. Bugle Bum and I crossed over this man-made wonder with shitty grins on our faces.

After reaching the top of the buttress that leads to Willow Lake, we stopped off for some lunch where Bugle Bum provided us with a bunch of tuna fish with crackers. Sitting their basking in the foothills of the ferocious and now-familiar Palisade ridge, a party on their way down from the Middle Palisade stopped by for a chat. They reiterated and reinforced what we knew about the class 3 route; it would be essential for us to stay to the left while climbing up the chutes on the East Face. The route to the right quickly turns to class 4, however it looks more inviting from the bottom. Earlier in the year, a climber made this mistake and fell about a thousand feet to his death.

I love meeting climbers on their way down and make a point to try to talk with them. Firs, they usually have the most current information about conditions on the mountain, and are usually more than willing to help out; second and most importantly, if you run into a party that has summitted, they radiate glee and a positive attitude that is incredibly motivating. There is an underlying commonality to all of us who seek the mountaintops: to experience the feeling of standing atop of earth’s greatest creatures.

Heading towards Brainard Lake, I would learn another lesson that I have since been very sensitive to: trusting your instincts. Mountaineering instincts combine rather practical and easily articulated particulars, along with a more mysterious and “sublime” aspect. A lot of learning in the hills is just preparation combined with common-sense application—check the weather, bring first aid, carry enough food & water, watch for rock fall, plan out your route and bring a good topo, don’t eat the yellow snow, etc. However, each time the mountaineer goes to the hills, there are many pieces of data that he picks up along the way that are absorbed sub-consciously. These pieces are stored away and only apply in the mountains, and when the time is right, these feelings are triggered to gut instincts that may not be supported, or even outright contradicted, by any logical explanations at the time.

My Zen moment came over a rather innocuous issue. As we continued on the path towards Brainard Lake, the map that we had clearly showed that we should get off the path and follow the creek to reach our destination--Finger Lake. Looking up at where we were headed, I saw a lot of brush, along with a steep incline that, even though I couldn’t see it, was probably filled with a lot of talus. Bugle Bum and I debated the route, and I just didn’t feel right about going off the trail. It was clearly longer to continue the trail towards Brainard Lake, but something felt “right” about it. Since I was unable to articulate and sense of why, my view lost out and we headed through the brush up the creek.

Sure enough, it was slow going. We were doing a lot of bush-whacking and creek crossing just to get to a sleep talus field. We followed a couple of cairns, however they were uselessly pointing in the wrong direction. We B-lined it up the talus slope and triumphantly landed at Finger Lake, but it had taken us almost 2 hours. No-harm, no foul. We set up camp for the night at Finger Lake.

Planning is everything in the Sierras, and when we were unsuccessful in firing up my mountaineering stove, I was relieved that I asked Bugle Bum to bring his as back-up. It was utterly shot and beyond even the Engineer’s ability to repair. Bugle Bum proceeded to laugh nervously, while breaking the news that he had decided to leave it in the car because, at 7 ounces, “it was too heavy;” apparently an executive decision taken without the board’s knowledge. Uncooked pasta was the only substantive food we had for the night, so it was necessary for us to have a fire to cook it over. Since there is a federal law that, under-no-circumstances allows for a fire in the Palisade Basin, I’ll just say that we were able to construct something rather hot and orange that was capable of boiling water. Our planned meal ended up rather smoky, but at least it was hot and edible.

As we wound down for the evening, we were treated with a spectacular sunset that pointed to a sign of some tough weather ahead. The sky was filled with orange as the dusk sun reflected off the incoming cirrus clouds onto the ridgeline containing Disappointment Peak, Middle Palisade and Norman Clyde Peak. We crawled into the tent and would have to endure the infamous fumes emitted by Bugle Bum.

The night was spectacularly horrifying and frighteningly amazing. The winds increased steadily over the next few hours, cutting with amazing speed through the ridges that we camped between. A slow murmur would develop into a raging howl followed, about 3 seconds later, by a direct impact to our tent, causing it to shake violently. After the shaking, all would stand still in angst for the next blow. Usually Bugle Bum would be the first to interrupt this peace.

Day Two

Sleeping rather fitfully, it was easy for us to make a move at 5 am. We got dressed and poked our head out of the tent to see that Middle Palisade was almost completely covered in thick, soupy clouds. They didn’t look particularly dangerous, so we left camp to head to the summit, albeit was a cautious eye.

The clouds shot passed part of the ridge that bends and runs perpendicular to Middle Palisade. We were treated with an awesome site as the sun, not yet over the ridge, shot beams of light between the low-flying clouds and the ominously, silhouetted ridge.

Pushing along the approach, we’d made it to Norman Clyde Glacier. We’d have to hike just below it to reach the surprisingly sharp-angled saddle leading to the entry of the east face. Moving across this glacier was some of the easiest hiking we did, as the glacier froze the scree and talus to the ground. A group of more hard-core climbers passed us with ropes, and had told us that, due to their fear of the deteriorating weather, they were not going to ascend the 5.8 multi-pitch route--they would join us on the class 3 east face. This was a good decision, as when once a climbing team is roped up and on the face; they are completely committed and the only way down is via the summit. The class 3 route affords flexibility to turn around whenever conditions get too dangerous.

To get on the face, we walked for about 30 feet across the Middle Palisade Glacier to get to a 12-foot high ledge that had lots of hand and footholds (follow the green Secor route). It was pretty sketchy though, as a fall at twelve feet would not just put you on the ground, but possibly down into the small crevasse between the ledge and the edge of the glacier.

Reaching the East Face of Middle Palisade was a spectacle; I was unable to fathom how we were going to get up this chute that seemingly looked like a vertical wall. However, the proceeding scrambling I did was some of the most fun I’ve had in the mountains. Unfortunately, Bugle Bum started to get a pretty bad case of altitude sickness; his head was pounding, and his movement was slow and deliberate. The vertical climb was so steep, that each incremental step he took increased his pain exponentially.

Feeling my heart beating, I reached the top of the ledge and came around a narrow ledge to a prominent gendarme. Cutting immediately left, we were face with another 20-foot ledge that almost looked unclimbable without ropes.

A fall from this 20-foot ledge would most likely resulting in a continuation right off the face down a 100-foot drop-off. Getting closer, it was apparent there were some really good climbing holds running along the right side of the chute. I reached the top and stopped after I continued another couple of feet to wait for Bugle Bum and the Engineer. The both cautiously reached the top, where I saw Bugle Bum in horrible shape. He was hardly able sit-up straight, and smartly decided that he had gone high enough.

We continued to slowly scramble to the top. It was imperative that we observe three-points of contract on the face at all time, while keeping light hands and feet to avoid causing any rock falls. There were still several climbers below us.

This is where I reach a deeply meditative state. Step by step I moved with a clarity and soundness of mind that has been really hard for me to duplicate anywhere else. Michael Jordan or Barry Bonds talk about being in a zone, where you are so completely aware that everything slows down to a crawl and you are able to perform your objectives so naturally. Now, scrambling up a class 3 route and hitting a 95-mph fastball aren’t even in the same class, however I do understand what the abstract idea of “the zone” felt like. To prove this, after about 20 minutes, I had gained over a thousand feet, just below the summit, while the Engineer was only about 1/3 of the distance between the point we were together and where I was standing. I looked up and knew I would be standing on the summit in minutes.

As I got closer to the summit, pieces of snow started to fall on me. I could hear that there was something of a storm on the other side, but the east face remained rather calm. I reached the foot of the jagged summit and met with the more hardcore party from earlier. They had all stood on the summit and were eating lunch just below. They said conditions were pretty bad on top, however, it was safe to proceed.

I continued up to the last boulder, that was a sold piece of rock about 6 ft high and 10 ft long. This slab contained no adequate footholds, yet I knew this was the way to the top. I reached up for a handhold towards the rear and the next thing I knew, I was rapidly sliding down the slab. Within a split second, both of my boots caught a ledge about 6 inches wide. My heart was pounding out of my chest and I was panting; my body started sweating profusely and I caught myself unconsciously praying. It was quite a scare, but I also realized that I could reach the summit by wedging my foot in a crack and standing up.

I was now standing on top of the summit. Once I was on the ledge, I was blasted by a snow filled 70-mph wind. The snow felt like little needles hitting my face. Visibility was reduced to a few feet and I saw the summit register on the next ledge covered by more clouds. I decided that I needed to get down right away, so I skipped the customary signing of the summit log (provided by our well intentioned friends at the Sierra Club) and carefully started back down. The Engineer made his way to the top and I congratulated him on summitting his first 14er. It was really exciting seeing someone summit for the first time.

As I’ve said before, the summit is only half-way home. This truism was never more apparent than on this trip.

First, the vertical wall face that we climbed up needed to be descended. One false step, and you’d be taking a tumble that would leave you with a few lumps on your head, plus you had to make sure you didn’t kick any rocks down this 2,000 ft bowling alley onto the climbers below. Each step was methodical, and I would constantly remind myself, out loud even, to keep focused. We descended quite rapidly for being so deliberate; we met up with Bugle Bum on the glacier after about an hour and a half.

Bugle Bum was a great sport. I know how frustrating it is to be turned away from the summit, and he knew that he couldn’t continue in his condition. When we met up with him, he was all smiles, joyously patting us on the back for making it to the top. Unfortunately, we didn’t have time to swap too many stories as the storm was growing. We needed to get off the mountain.

By the time we reached the Norman Clyde Glacier, Bugle Bum and the Engineer were getting tired and wanted to stop to eat a snack. I was concerned that we were running out of time. I told them that I would head down by myself, and pack up our camp at 11,000 ft. By the time they arrived, camp would be packed and we could immediately start down the South Fork Trail to the car.

The stroll back to camp was quite nice. I was singing some lovely mountain songs, like Panama and Hot For Teacher, admiring all the wonders that my Creator had crafted. I was careful to keep focused, but I was so pumped that we had summitted this beast; in my mind I was thinking about what a “worthy opponent” this mountain had been. Just a word of warning, patronizing the mountain is a bad idea. I know that its an inanimate object, but something tells me there is something there, and that I should avoid pissing it off with any of my hubris in the future.

My karma confronted me as I strolled down to Finger Lake and walked up to the 8-foot ledge I need to climb to get to my campsite. I ascended the ledge in exhaustion only to find a 700-pound bear ravaging through our campsite. It is rare to find bears in this area of the Sierras, nonetheless at 11,000 feet, and my guard was down. Before I had a chance to react, or even give a single thought to the matter, the bear bounded off down the mountain. I'd spend the next 20 minutes cleaning up the mess at camp and in my shorts.

My two companions strolled into camp with good spirits; everything was packed up and we were ready to go home.

The trip down was mostly uneventful. We ran into a few climbers on the way up and told them that the weather was looking pretty bad high on the mountain. They didn't seem to very experienced, however they looked to have a warm tent. I silently prayed that they would make it down ok.

We reached the buttress above Willow lake as night descended on us; our headlamps taking us down the rest of the way. As we continued, it began to snow lightly, growing in strength as our back were to the mountain and it was hard not to think about the climbers we passed on the way.

We made it safely and continued to Bishop where we were able to secure the last available hotel room (with the bad weather chasing everyone to town). Waking up early the next morning, we found the Sierras completely white, with more storms on the way. This was the weekend the national news reported a bunch of climbers missing down the way at Mt. Whitney; a few Japanese climbers died when they were stuck on the face of El Capitan. Mother nature would strike early and ferociously this year.

A great climb and a great mountain. I would drive back to San Francisco through 6 inches of fresh snow in Yosemite, only to get home to 60 degrees and a little fog.

Just another weekend in California.

Posted by 10 fingers 6 strings at June 25, 2005 11:50 AM | TrackBack