First Snow of the Season in SoCal

Still reading Crazy for the Storm, primarily about a plane crash on Ontario Peak, I couldn't resist the urge to get back on that mountain for the second time in a week.  But which route should I take?  I wasn't about to go groveling in Falling Rock Canyon again, and the standard trail was not even worth considering.  So I turned my head slightly to the left of Falling Rock Canyon and found an unnamed ridge for which no information was available on the internet.  Satellite imagery indicated some precipitous sections that looked questionable.  It was perfect.   

Arriving at the Icehouse Canyon parking lot before dawn, I noticed that something didn't look right high up on Mt. Baldy.  After a regrettable experience in the dark public restroom, I focused more closely on Mt. Baldy and came to the conclusion that the upper slopes were covered in the first snow of the season.  Hmmm.  Would Ontario Peak be covered in snow?  I looked at my sneakers.

At about 6:00 AM, I started hiking up Icehouse Canyon.  I turned right into Fir Draw, which I followed for only about 100 yards before turning right and ascending a scree slope to gain the steep, sharp ridgeline.  I then followed the ridgeline straight up to Peak 8688, just east of the main summit of Ontario Peak.  I summitted at 9:00 AM after roughly 3,700 feet of elevation gain.  By 11:15 AM, I was comfortably seated in the public restroom back at the parking lot.

Looking down at the lower third of the ridge.

Looking up at the middle third of the ridge.

Looking down at the crux of the ridge (about halfway up).

Mt. Baldy viewed from the upper section of the ridge.

Wasteland below the summit of Ontario Peak.

 View from the summit of Peak 8688.

This ridge is excellent.  I think it is better than Sugarloaf Ridge and possibly even Register Ridge.  The crux of the route is the 3rd class, 20-foot, narrow gully pictured above, which is surmounted by repeated stemming on mostly secure rock.  There is also some rock scrambling lower on the ridge which probably rises to 3rd class as well.

A ridge this good needs a name.  Two names that immediately came to mind were "The Sam Page Victory Ridge" and the "Sam Page Conquered This Ridge".  However, upon reflection, I came to the opinion that these names are rather imperialistic, and perhaps even a bit self-aggrandizing.  You are of course entitled to your own opinion.  Regardless, I have tentatively settled on the name of "Falling Fir Ridge" for the following reasons.  First, the ridge is in between Falling Rock Canyon and Fir Draw.  Second, as depicted in the image above, there are many fallen trees at the top of the ridge.  The name would be perfect were the fallen trees fir trees, but Wifey PhD thinks that they are pine trees, which she insists are not fir trees.  Well, as Steven Wright says: "You can't have everything.  Where would you put it?"      

Crazy for the Grovel

This past Saturday, whilst other SoCal hikers were doing laps on the Cactus to Clouds trail, I set my sights a little lower.  Inspired by reading Crazy for the Storm, an autobiography primarily about surviving a plane crash on Ontario Peak, I thought I would have my own (hopefully less exciting) adventure on Ontario Peak.  Incidentally, Crazy for the Storm is an excellent read, in part because you are never sure if the author will live or die.  After all, the book could literally be ghostwritten.

My plan for the day was to grovel up the Sugarloaf Ridge route on Ontario Peak. Turnout for the hike was less than desired, but I set off alone anyway from the Icehouse Canyon parking lot at 6:00 AM. After about 15 minutes of walking on the well-maintained trail, I headed off-trail up the aptly named Falling Rock Canyon.

While I was picking my way up Falling Rock Canyon, I heard the sound of, um, falling rocks. Their source was the little guy pictured below, who I think was a Bighorn Sheep lamb.

I knew that at some point I had to climb out of the canyon to the right toward the saddle between Sugarloaf Peak and Ontario Peak.  I almost got suckered into a steep, narrow chute, but continued to a broad scree slope leading up to a clearly discernible saddle a few hundred feet above.

Ascending the scree slope was not nearly as bad as it could have been, as the rocks in a shallow chute on climber's left are larger and mostly stable.  I have certainly experienced worse slopes in the San Gabriel Mountains.  From the perfectly shaped saddle, I followed the ridge -- which is comparable to Register Ridge in terms of distance, angle, and quality -- to a sandy, brushy plateau.

Turning around on the plateau, one is confronted with an outstanding view of Mt. Baldy.  Just above the plateau, a maintained trail is intersected and followed west to the summit.

From the summit of Ontario Peak, I found myself scanning the slopes below for remnants of the 1979 plane crash, wondering which steep, icy chute Norman Ollestad was forced to descend.

Back on the saddle between Ontario Peak and Sugarloaf Peak, I found a certain Aerosmith song running through my head before realizing why.  The tune energized me to confront the scree slope descent, which is described as "a real ankle bender. Really loose, and about as fun as a trip to the dentist."  To my delight, the scree skiing from the saddle down to Falling Rock Canyon was excellent.  I descended about 500 vertical feet on soft sand in about two minutes.  The trick is to descend about 100 feet skiers left of the line of ascent.  But just when I was starting to think that the entire Sugarloaf Ridge route was a classic, Falling Rock Canyon began seriously aggravating me.  The rocks in the canyon are loose, and on several occasions I stepped on an ostensibly secure rock which shifted, resulting in painful ankle abrasions.  One stable-looking rock turned out to be a trap door through which I fell about two jarring feet.  Because of the loose nature of the rock on the lower half of this route, it is probably best done solo or with at most one other person. 

Returning to the parking lot at 11:30 AM, I once again tainted an aesthetic experience in the mountains by visiting the public restroom. 

The northern aspect of Ontario Peak (8,693 feet).  The Sugarloaf Ridge route is clearly visible to the trained eye.

25,000 feet of elevation gain . . . in one day

On Saturday, three hikers each ascended the notorious Cactus to Clouds trail three consecutive times.  The trail begins near Palm Springs, CA and climbs roughly 8,400 vertical feet to a tram station on Mt. San Jacinto.  The hikers started at various times between 2:00-3:00 AM and rode the tram back down after each ascent.  They finished their last ascent at 9:45 PM, seconds after the final tram had descended.  Alas, smooth talking prevailed and the tram operators graciously arranged one more ride for the weary hikers.

News of this feat has been received enthusiastically.

Sources:
Mt. San Jacinto Outdoor Recreation Forum
Rick Kent's Photos

A tussle with Mt. Russell

Sure, Mt. Whitney is the highest mountain in the contiguous* United States, but after climbing it twice (or even twice in one day), one begins to look around for other challenges.  What one sees when one looks around from the summit of Mt. Whitney is the precipitous southern wall of Mt. Russell.  At 14,086 feet, several hundred feet lower than Mt. Whitney, Mt. Russell is sometimes dismissed as just another fourteener in the Sierras.  But R. J. Secor's description of the peak can get one's attention: "This is the finest peak in the Mount Whitney region.  It is high and beautiful, and none of its routes are easy".  It got my attention.  In early October, I recruited several people to join me for a Sunday climb of Mt. Russell's classic East Ridge.

As we approached the weekend, the weather forecasts got progressively worse.  By Friday, the forecasts for the Sierras called for 50 mph winds with gusts up to 100 mph on Sunday.  That was enough for most people in our party to cancel.  But I had not been to the Sierras in over six years, so it was going to take a lot more than talk of 100 mph gusts to discourage me. 

On Saturday, I made the 5-hour drive to Lone Pine from Orange County and picked up my reserved day-hiking permit.  I then drove up to Whitney Portal at ~8,300 feet and found my reserved campsite at the full campground.  To my surprise, the two guys in the adjacent camp site were also from Orange County.  Not wanting to drive all the way back down to Lone Pine for dinner, I thought I would see if the Whitney Portal Store was still open, and if so, have a look at the menu. Wanting a solid and "safe" meal the night before my big outing, I was a little wary about eating a burger and fries at the unfamiliar Store.  Fortunately, the meal was perfectly satisfying and filling.  In addition, I sat around the communal table and chatted with several interesting people (more from Orange County), including Larry Goldie, the owner of North Cascades Mountain Guides, who had just completed a 12-hour car-to-car ascent of Mt. Whitney's East Buttress.

Returning to my campsite after dark, I was glad to finally meet James Russell, who would be accompanying me the following day.  James Russell, as it turns out, is a celebrated young scientist back home who is currently a postdoctoral researcher at UC-Berkeley.  And his last name certainly augured well for our climb.  After a horrendous night's sleep, in which I laid wide awake all night listening anxiously to the regular jet engine-like roar of the wind gusts, I stumbled out of my tent at 4:00 AM and began packing up.  By 5:00 AM, we were hiking up the trail by the light of our headlamps.

The first major obstacle we encountered was the dangerous Ebersbacher Ledges.  Knowing that the ledges were narrow, precipitous, and hard to find in the dark, we had done our research and easily spotted the crucial entry point by headlamp.  Thereafter, we moved carefully and had no trouble on the ledges.

Happy times near Clyde Meadow before the sand/scree slog.

The second major obstacle was the dreaded scree slope which begins in earnest at around 11,200 feet and eases at around 12,800 feet.  The drudgery of this steep sand slog exceeded all expectations.  Since most steps up this slope are followed by a downward slide of half a step, it really involves about 2,400 vertical feet of unrelenting misery.  The only positive experience I had on this seemingly interminable slope was the realization that the wind had dissipated and we probably had a good shot at the summit.

Above the sand/scree slog with the East Ridge of Mt. Russell in the background.

After the steep sand/scree slope, it was a relatively quick and easy walk to the saddle between Mt. Russell and Mt. Carillon, where one is simultaneously confronted with the sheer north face of Mt. Russell and the surprisingly huge Tulainyo Lake (alleged to be the highest lake in the United States, or something like that).  Upon reaching the saddle and being promptly overwhelmed visually by the dark blue of the vast lake, which contrasts sharply with the prevailing tan color of the surrounding landscape, James exclaimed, "What the hell is that?"

Tulainyo Lake

By this point, we were both very tired, but glad to get off the sand and onto some solid granite.  The solid granite of the east ridge quickly narrows to only a few feet in places, with terrible exposure on either side.  The east ridge is rated 3rd class, which means that (1) you need to use your hands to climb, (2) there are always good hand holds if you stay on route, and (3) the consequences of falling are such that you wouldn't want to fall.  In many places on the east ridge, the consequences of falling are such that you really, really wouldn't want to fall. 

The East Ridge of Mt. Russell as seen from the Russell/Carillon Col.

Upon arriving at the first really steep and exposed section, it occurred to me that we might not make the summit.  It looked sketchy and I was tired.  But we picked our way along the right side of the ridge and, although the exposure held my attention, the climbing was quite easy.  Further along the ridge, and at about the point where I was quite ready to be done with the ridge, I arrived at the crux.  Staring at this narrow and frighteningly exposed section of the ridge, I despairingly thought it was impassable without taking more risk than I was willing to take.  After all, I am a family man.  But my despair was unwarranted as moments later I followed James around to the right on what seemed to be easier ground. 

The East Ridge of Mt. Russell as seen from the summit.

After a few false summits and many short breaks to catch my breath, we stepped onto the summit at around 2:30 PM.  I was exhausted and my summit portrait, which I will not post because I look considerably less happy than someone is supposed to look in such a place, shows it.  Somehow James had the energy for exuberant summit poses, even though I suspected that he was similarly drained.

Russell on Russell.

Given how steep and exposed our ascent of the ridge was, I had reservations about descending.  But we picked our way along the ridge and before too long we were back to the safety of the sand.  My expectation of a quick descent did not come to fruition, as James experienced constant cramping in his legs that made it temporarily impossible for him to straighten his legs after bending them.  Some hours later, after negotiating the Ebersbacher Ledges in the fading light, I became the slow poke as my new shoes, which were one size too small, began crushing my toes.

Returning to the trailhead at around 7:30 PM -- after ascending and descending almost 6,000 vertical feet over the past 14+ hours -- neither of us had the luxury of relaxing.  I still had to make the ~5 hour drive back to Orange County and James had to figure out how to get back to San Francisco since his ride had (for reasons I won't get into here) left without him.  After contemplating a variety of scenarios for getting home, some involving me doing things I really didn't want to do, James opted to stay at the new hostel in Lone Pine, which is owned and operated by the owners of the Whitney Portal Store.

It pleases me to say that this story has a happy ending as I managed to get my daughter to pre-school (almost) on time the next morning and James made it back home the following night.  Now for the moral of the story: climbing a mountain with someone whose last name is identical to the mountain's name is a recipe for success.

*Word Challenge: Use "contiguous" in a sentence that has nothing to do with the United States.

Two much on Mt. Whitney

At ~14,500 feet, Mt. Whitney is the highest peak not only in the California Sierras, but in the contiguous United States as well.  With a paved road leading to a trailhead at over 8,300 feet, and a well-maintained trail free of snow for several months a year carved all the way to the summit, Mt. Whitney is ascended hundreds of times annually.  The peak is often done as a day hike, either by the 22-mile (round trip) trail or by off-trail routes, such as the 3rd class Mountaineer's Route.  Once upon a time, when I was fit and well-acclimated from living at around 8,000 feet in Mammoth Lakes, I hiked the trail in 11 hours round trip.  That same summer, I took three days to do the Mountaineer's Route.  Suffice it to say, climbing to the top of Mt. Whitney from Whitney Portal and back again in one day is challenging for most mortals. 

But climbing Mt. Whitney once in one day is not enough for some.  Recently, several contributors to the Whitney Portal Store Message Board have chronicled climbing to the summit twice in one day from the trailhead at Whitney Portal.  Such a feat involves around 12,500 feet of elevation gain (and, of course, 12,500 feet of elevation loss).  One of the mountaineers, Rick Kent, reported taking about 17 hours for the double-header, while Richard Piotrowski reported taking 20 hours.  Even before their Whitney doubles, these peakbaggers had become notorious in the regional mountaineering community for their outlandish outings.  It will be interesting to see what they come up with next.  It will also be interesting to see what kinds of harebrained outings their Whitney doubles inspire among their peers.      

Off the beaten track on Mt. Baldy

Yesterday I dragged a former college roomate, who I had not seen or even spoken to in 16 years, to the summit of Mt. Baldy (10,064 feet) in southern California.  Fortunately, he has taken good care of himself over the years, so slogging up and down 4,000 vertical feet before noon was no problem.  Aside from catching up with Eric, the highlight was seeing a group of about six bighorn sheep, including some lambs, meandering around Baldy Bowl.

Mt. Baldy, a.k.a. Mt. San Antonio, is one of the big three alpine summits in southern California, the others being Mt. San Gorgonio and Mt. San Jacinto.  Most hikers heading for the summit of Mt. Baldy opt for either the Ski Hut Trail or the Devil's Backbone Trail, but there are excellent alternatives that avoid the crowds. 

The Register Ridge route, which we ascended yesterday, follows a steep, rough path for over 2,000 vertical feet between the beginning of the Ski Hut Trail and the middle of the Devil's Backbone Trail.  The path is not maintained and disappears in some of the rockier sections.

Though we saw about one hundred people during our descent of the Ski Hut Trail, we saw nobody on our ascent of Register Ridge.  In fact, in the six times I have been on Register Ridge, I have seen no one but my companions.

Fatality on Mt. Whitney trail

A hiker was found deceased on the eastern slope of Mt. Whitney on Saturday, October 31.  He set out for the summit on Sunday, October 25 via the main trail which originates at Whitney Portal.  The experienced 73-year old man was last seen near Trailcrest, roughly 1.5 miles from the summit, in the late afternoon on Sunday.  He was reportedly struggling but still ascending when last seen.  A coordinated search began on Tuesday in bad weather after he did not return to his car at the trailhead.  The cause of death has yet to be publicized.

Sources:
Searching for Wade
Whitney Portal Store Message Board