Heaven's At 9,000 Feet

The past few weeks I have spent some quality time climbing and living near Tioga Pass at the "9,000 foot bivy", a spot I have used for years to avoid the mayhem of camping in Yosemite National Park. Even on days I didn't have a partner I could access awesome trad, sport, and alpine rambling from this beautiful spot.

Liana and Lucho enjoying a beautiful morning at the 9,000 bivy

Just up the road from the bivy is the the Private Property Cliff, a unique swath of gold granite littered with holds of all types. Many of my friends in the area spend shady afternoons sending rope stretching pitches on this inspiring wall. Days usually start with a romp in T-Meadows and end at the PP Cliff fighting for the chains on the latest project. I hit that groove for a few days between less relaxed (which means more relaxed!) objectives in the high Sierra. I also scrambled up the NE ridge of North Peak on a rest/sick (the flu in Cali...how does that work?) day from this point.

Mike Collins savoring the flavor of climbing at the PP cliff (Dan M. photo)

James Lucas weathers an altitude related motivation problem...life at 9 grand ain't easy!

Whenever I arrive for a stint at the 9,000 bivy I always am happy to run into the same great people. Dan McDevitt, a fixture around Yosemite for many years, is assured to be there, his genuine love of climbing and the Sierra always as refreshing as the crashing creek that flows through the campsite. Lucho Rivera might be on his tailgate, waiting for the shade to fall over the afternoon project or resting for another bout on a rad route on the Hulk. New faces always emerge, each one as friendly as the next. Old friends pull in and out as they journey in this land of granite. Big thanks to all the kind folks that hang with me during my stints there!

Morning warm up in the Meadows. OZ is dreamy!!

Evening session at PP. Myself on Silver Bullet, another amazing Dan McDevitt route!

Alpine Ice in the Range of Light

"Those your ice axes?" The ranger gave me a boggled look through the dusty air of Camp 4. Yosemite's heat dripped from my sweaty forehead as I claimed my 6 by 6 foot patch of beaten earth. "Yep," I replied. "I'm hoping to explore the many different sides of Sierra over the next few weeks." The lady in green furrowed her brow and moved on to bother someone else. Just as I was reflecting on the dire Yosemite scene, a mangy squirrel ran off with one of my Powerbars. I just got here and I was already dreaming of granite peaks shrouded in the peace of nature. Kyle and I had found beauty high on Half Dome, but the ugliness of the Ditch stabbed at me the minute he left me alone in the mayhem of Yosemite Village.

Getting the kit ready at Mike's house

The next few days I worked my way towards Mt. Mendal, a peak accessed from Bishop, CA. I met Mike Collins at the Tioga cliff along the way and he graciously voulenteered his old Toyota Camery to take me up the twisting road to the Lamark Lakes trailhead. Big thanks Mike!

Ready to have some fun in a new mountain range!

Mt. Mendal is one of California's most classy north faces, two prominent ice lines snaking through steep shattered granite. I had brought my tools south intent on soloing the shadowed wall.

Day one I approached the peak through snow laden cols pinched by lunar landscapes of orange boulders. The pristine nature of the high Sierra was inspiring and I spent the evening watching the sinking sun play a light show on my route.

Mt. Mendal

A crisp, windy weather system lingered to my west the next morning as I cramponed towards Mendal. The wind pushed me around on the small glacier below the face. I relished the interesting weather and the day's alpine feel.

Time to climb!

Crossing the schrund I punched my way up the initial neve apron, aiming for the right coulior, California's classic path of alpine ice. For the next 800 feet I made my way through a variety of conditions. Neve gave way to unconsolidated snow over rock. Thankfully, water ice clogged the mixed finish. The climbing in this upper section was beyond enjoyable. Stemming up blocky rock with my tools securly in a grey runnel of ice was heavenly. A funky cornice capping the gash brought me back to reality as I stemmed carefully between snow and stone.

Cruising in the lower coulior

I drew a cold breath, scratched my frontpoints into asmall rock edge and mantled into a wind swept notch. Verglassed rock climbing on the south side brought me to the rime choked high point as thunderheads raced over my head. I scrambled down loose terrain toward the big snowfield that separated me from my tent. The way was not as straight forward as I'd hoped and the steep pebble strewn ledge systems forced me into my rock shoes. An old pin lashed to a faded white sling sat at the brink of the final step. I lowered myself off the ledge, found my feet and then the edge of the snow.

Cumbre!

A festival of glissading shot me down towards Bishop only a few hours ahead of the snowy system's front teeth. Sipping beer in Mike's garden I savored my first high Sierra climb as the Range of Light faded into the darkness of storm. The air was heavy with moisture and wind cool like blue glaciers. I let the soothing nature wash over me and then I drained the bottle.

The Arena

Pack straps cut into my shoulders as I pull up spongy fixed lines towards Half Dome's NW face. "I'm off the rope!" I yell, smearing up a slab and into a tangle of manzanita. Streaks of water paint the 2,000 foot face above us and smear their way through rocks and trees to the Valley below. "This is so rad!," Kyle exclaims as he thrashes towards me. "This is what it's all about brother," I counter as we both absorb the scale of wall above. It's Kyle's first time in one of the greatest rock arenas on earth, Yosemite Valley.

Although Kyle O'meara had never climbed more than 5 pitches off the deck, I never hesitated to ask him to join me for a free attempt of H-Dome. His drive and athleticism stood up to the task. Fortunetely, the weird finger injuries that slowed us during the months leading to this trip were healed enough to attempt the route. Unfortunetely,the recent break from rock scaling had taken a toll on prowess. We both knew it was a bit silly to expect to arrive in Yosemite and fire a free ascent our first day in the Valley. That noted, we had to try.

Kyle taking in the view

The next morning I kicked steps up a grimy snow cone and started jamming the first pitch. I was immediatly flooded with the purity of perfect granite. Hooping and hollering up shady stone, we cut over into the first free variation. I led off into a stout pitch of wide 5.11. Out of shape and lacking flow, I stalled for a minute as my feet oozed off the slick dimples I stemmed between.

You should see this wall mom! Nothing like a chat with folks under H-Dome...

Attitude is everything and just to be attached to this big, beautiful wall was special enough. I let the free ascent go and catapulted up ledgy scrambling, into shadowed chimneys, and onto a headwall of glittereing corners. The sun burned our skin and sucked the moisture from our mouths. Wind blown water droplets from the melting summit snow patch provided the only relief from our firey circumstance. Later, we scrambled to an empty summit, the sun just leaving the sky. Kyle beamed with joy through the dehydration. It was hard to believe he had never climbed in Yosemite.

So good!

Even though we didn't achieve our goal of free climbing the route, I was proud of our effort. We had believed it was possible, entered the arena, and gave it everything we had. We'll be back soon, in shape and familiar with the terrain. The rope will never be weighted and we will follow our fingers to the top of the mountain.

Even better!

Be There Or Be Square!

I am going to be showing some cool pics (all the good photos are my partners doing...thanks Max Hasson, Dan Hilden, and Mike Schaefer!!!) from the past few months at the best mountain shop east of the crest: Leavenworth Mountain Sports. Come by after a day in the Icicle and take a look if your interested. The show will cover expedition fun and beautiful, local climbing also. Hope to see you there!

The Good Life

Arriving home to Leavenworth after any expedition is a breath of fresh air. Leaving the glacier and entering a lush environment of pines and wildflowers above a twisting river always perks the senses to delightful heights. My eyes suck up the color in the world, my nose inhales the freshness of spring, my hands scrape into granite cracks, and my legs carry me through familiar mountains.

Sol getting to business on Snow Creek Wall's infamous "Pressure Chamber"

Joel Kauffman and I en route to Argonaut

Great conditions in the Cascades makes Jens happy!
Since returning from Alaska I have been switching gears in preparation for an upcoming trip to Yosemite. I haven't been on the rock much in the last three months and I need to be ready to hold my own with my Cali rock crushing homies! My focus has been on slick slabs, wide cracks, and powerful boulder problems. "Afterwork specials" (get off work and go as big as possible, often fitting a whole days worth of climbing into an afternoon) are in effect and the adventures have taken me throughout the Icicle, up to Snow Creek wall a couple of times, and out to the steep radness that is Index. Of course, I couldn't resist a day in the alpine, so Joel Kauffman and I swept through the Stuart Range, climbing a beautiful variation to Argonaut's NE Coulior. Our 25 mile loop and climb kept my slogging inspirations sated and I'm headed out to the rock again today. Life is good!

Just another day in my backyard

Jess Campbell and River psyche up for a free recon of the Upper Town Wall's Green Dragon

Blown Away In The Great White North

Paul Roderick banked the plane through giant walls of ice and rock while my heart skipped beats and my finger pulled the trigger on the camera again and again. Our first flight into the Alaska Range was like a bomb in my brain. The scale, the shapes, the lines, and the summits sucked my reality out and fostered my rebirth into a life of never ending twilight, hard ice, and grainy granite. I never expected to be this blown away.

The Stunning Flight in...big thanks to Talkeetna Air Taxi!
The world's greatest climbing arenas have always refigured my vision and inspiration as a athlete. When I saw El Cap from a foggy bus window for the first time, I felt the smooth granite permeating my being. I knew I would climb those 3,000 sheer feet, although at that time I had no clue how. I knew that was where I wanted to be. I knew that was what I wanted to do. The Alaska Range struck me with a similar energy. Just setting up basecamp I realized the impact this trip would have on my life.

Setting up basecamp on day 1
The last few years has seen me stepping away from the hard core rock jock I was and embracing the all around climber I strive to be. For me, this means building skills on icy, snowy, and high terrain. After spending the last few years banging my head against the Cascades wintry, iron playground, I knew it was time to take the next step. Alaska was beckoning and Dan Hilden and I heeded the siren call.

Dan skinning back to basecamp after a failed mission on Mt. Dan Beard

When I learned to climb at the Redmond Vertical World (love you guys!), my mentor Taylor Roy told me to never skip steps, but to build a solid base of climbing to gradually improve on. I have never forgotten that lesson and count this method as the reason I feel so natural with the rock. Every area I have ever been to I have tested myself against the classic routes I should be able to do before trying anything difficult or new. Now, I am on a similar journey, but in a land of ice and snow.

As a result, Dan and I have become partners in suffering, repeating most of our local range's alpine ice routes and adding a few of our own. Only after a few years of this method have we considered the next step. After arriving in Talkeetna, we quickly dubbed ourselves "Team Non-Rad"as every other party we chatted with was headed into the range to try huge, difficult routes. We kept our core focus alive and still chose to fly into the Mountain House basecamp, a flat area above the Ruth Glacier that allowed for easy access to many classic Alaskan objectives.

My trip was a short and sweet eight days, so we used every bit of good weather to get out and try routes. Most we failed on due to avalanche concerns, often times finding ourselves on the wrong aspect at the wrong time. Even though Alaska is a cold place, we quickly realized the folly of climbing in the hot sun.

Psyched and ready the afternoon before climbing 11, 300
After six days of failures and learning experiances, Dan and I set off for Peak 11, 300, a beautiful pyramid of ice and granite seven miles up glacier from our basecamp. Skinning towards the objective I could tell the conditions were perfect. Even in the intense sun I did not sweat and the air had a crisp, pleasant edge. By the next morning we were weaving through house eating crevasses towards the Southwest Ridge, a line that inspired the both of us with it's solid rock, waving ridges, and ice filled gullys. We traveled light, taking no bivy gear but a shovel and a jacket to fight off a brisk night.

Incredible climbing on 11, 300's SW Ridge
The climbing unfolded like a dream. Firm snow, amazing mixed terrain and bullet hard ice pulled us upward. We took a few rests to brew up, but mostly kept moving. High on the mountain, conditions became more difficult with fresh snow. Although this slowed our pace, the climbing remained well protected and fun. As day faded to never ending Alaskan twilight, we stepped on the top of 11, 300, donned our parkas, dropped off the summit 100 feet to dig a snow cave. Outside, the still, cold air hovered among thousands of pointy summits. We wiggled our toes and joked the night away. When it was light enough to see without the headlamps we cramponed out of the cave and began our descent.

More amazing climbing!
One thing I quickly realized about Alaska was that the descents are almost as big as the routes! It ain't over until it's over on any mountain, but in Alaska, this mantra is extremely pronounced. We traveresed a sustained, icy arete, aiming for a clump of rocks where we hoped to find rappel anchors. At one point we tried to break out the stove for a brew, realized it was no longer working, and kept heading down towards our camp with parched throats and dehydrated brains. For a moment I had to pull my act together and tell myself I could do it. The lack of water and intense sun was taking it's toll.

Dan soaks up the view low on the route
One foot in front of the other saw us to our basecamp, freeze dried chilly mac, and cold beer generously offered by a party who had flown into 11, 300's base that very morning. Our rest only lasted a couple of hours and then we were off on our skis to more food and our cozy basecamp. After seven miles of zoned out skinning we were sipping whiskey and eating bacon. A few hours later I was back in Talkeetna wondering if it ever happened at all.

Our climb of 11, 300 taught me so much about real alpine routes. The climbing itself is not the hard part in a place like Alaska. Nutrition, hydration, gear, timing, and conditions make or break your deal with the mountain. A clear head and a focus on problem solving are mandatory. Next year, when Dan and I fly into those awe inspiring mountains again, we will have a whole new bag of tricks to pull from. Even though we only succeded on one of our intended routes, I came away a new climber with a new vision to guide my training. I can't wait to hear the propeller of a Twin Otter buzz through the air and to feel the glacier under my boots again. It's less than a year until next season! Better keep training...

One more big thanks to TAT, especially for providing a free place to stay in Talkeetna!

Before The North

Alright. I'll say it. This blog has become a barren, souless place. I apologize for that and promise more updates in the coming months. With an injury behind me, the adventures are already piling up again. I just returned from my first trip to the Alaska range, so needless to say I've got a good story and a few fuzzy photos to upload onto the blogosphere in the coming days. This post is in regards to a couple of "training runs" I took before my trip. I've attached a few words to describe each day.

Storm Swept on The Cotter-Bebie
This isn't just another D-tail summit. Dragging the rope over the unrecognizable snow hump I scream uselessly through the wind at Dan. "Your on belay!" "YOUR ON BELAY!" Finally the rope creeps. I know he didn't hear me, but I bet he's cold. You gotta start moving sometime. It's all I can do to hold my ground at the summit belay. Gusts push negative temperatures through the gaps in my clothing and prickly ice indents itself in my frozen face.

But I've got it good. Dan's head lamp isn't working and his black crawl to the top is riddled with tricky mixed moves. Finally, a shadowy hump approaches at the end of the rope. The storm blows harder. Light or no light, visiblity is cut to nothing. Luckily, we know the mountain by feel. Two lefts and a half mile of blind heel punching returns us to the base of the face. Dehydrated and tired we slip on snowshoes and slog across the dormant lake.

"Good Alaska training," I spit out through a frozen beard. "We got what we came for!", says Dan.

Dan enjoying incredible conditions before the storm on Dragontail's Cotter-Bebie

Bailure On Bridge Creek Wall
Crack! "Oh, no!", I yell, cramming myself further into the dirty gash I'm already wedged in. Ice particles dance on my hardshell as I wait for the big bomb to crater. "I knew it was too early for this climb," I think, hoping the ice patch that just slid from the summit slabs hasn't obliterated Sol.

My, "Are you OK!?" is greeted with a nervous smile and crazy eyes. Our adventure just got a little too adventerous. I sling a block and thread the rope to rappel. "Let's get the hell out of here!".

Sol before the ice fall, pysched to attempt Bridge Creek Wall's East Face.