If you're going to do something stupid, be smart about it.

With the sickening graunch of granite on gravel, the dishwasher-sized block on which I had gingerly stepped, gave way and went crashing down the slope towards the glacier. I scrambled to find a solid foothold, heart pounding, but the whole slope seemed to be moving. Alistair glanced down from above and casually remarked " You shouldn't have stood on that". I spat out a tart response and felt the prick of hot tears. 

That was it. We were traversing the moraine above Palisade Glacier for far too long. It was bad ground turning to worse. Our immediate objective, Glacier Notch, was still a fair distance off up even less appealing terrain. And the climb proper didn't even start until above there. This was no place for a person of draft horse inclination and ability who found moving over the endless crazy jumble of boulders, unstable rocks, and loose scree at well over 12,000ft to be a tad taxing, to put it mildly. I had rushed directly from taking a beating on a white water paddling trip to backpacking into our base camp the day before, thinking, foolishly, that I could have my cake and eat it too (paddle some rapids AND climb a peak!) My sore body was having other ideas. I glanced back across the cirque, thinking that reversing my steps down and across the gnarl would be even worse. My fun tickets were well and truly used up.

Looking at the moraine traverse to Glacier Notch, the low point in the ridge in the centre. Mount Gayley is on the left and Mount Sill in the centre.

Palisade glacier below Polemonium Peak, Middle Palisade and Thunderbolt peaks

 "Guys, this is far enough for me!" I called to Wendy and Alistair  - above, as always. It has been like that the whole way across the moraine – a futile struggle to keep up mixed with the nagging suspicion that I was weighing down their ambitions, slowing their momentum like the old kids’ bike trailer I used to tow, the one that would make literal mountains out of molehills.

Alistair in his natural environment - way ahead as usual!

 As we regrouped at a slightly more stable position, Alistair dropped the bombshell. We had started too late, underestimating the complexity of the approach, and we were taking too long. There was no way for him and Wendy to safely climb the Swiss Arrete on Mount Sill, the route that was intended to be Wendy’s coveted first technical route on a 14,000ft peak, and to complete the complex descent safely. Although I had suspected as much, Wendy was taken completely off guard. Plan B was my original objective, the non-technical unroped scramble up Mount Gayley, a left instead of a right turn from Glacier Notch. It was a wholly inadequate consolation prize. Disappointment was etched in Wendy's face in the harsh sun of the high alpine. She and Al were laden with heavy climbing gear. “Taking your rack and rope for a walk” was exactly no one’s idea of a fun day.  I felt terrible. 

The day before on the hike in, we had seen a helicopter buzzing around one of the Palisade peaks, making at least three trips, two of which returned with a litter suspended below. This alpine area, with the largest concentration of peaks over 14,000ft in the Sierra clustered around several glaciers, was no place for mistakes. “If you're going to do something stupid, then be smart about it", Wendy said, quoting from a film about crazy backcountry ski descents. In other words, sometimes it's OK to back off. And this was one of those times. 

Rescue helicopter with a litter suspended below.

"Be back in a couple of hours. Wait for us, though, it's not safe to go back alone". They dropped their climbing gear and were off.

It was a chilly wait in the shadows at nearly 13,000ft. I sat with helmet on behind the biggest boulder I could find in the hope that it might provide some shelter from rockfall - ominous rumbles reverberating around the cirque were a reminder of that danger. The unused rope provided insulation from the seeping chill of the granite. I stared intently at the icebergs in the glacial lake far below – were they moving or was it my imagination? Surprisingly, birds flitted about constantly. What species were they? What did they eat up here? I had no idea. The afternoon sun illuminated a rich palette of colours in the walls of the Palisades. Time passed.

Waiting

Many colours of rock

The others returned safely after a successful summit and we started down. The moraine was interminable, exhausting in the constant decision-making. One casual hop from boulder to boulder for the “mountain goats” was an excruciating sequence of workaround moves for me that added incrementally to a frustrating day. One butt slide resulted in the inevitable tearing of fabric as the seat of my pants gave out. My hiking poles clattered uselessly but I was loathe to abandon these physical and emotional crutches. I threw them down in a fit of pique and sat down to cry. Of course, wallowing in self-pity wasn’t the solution, so it was try again…and again …and again.

Endless bloody moraine!

I'll be needing a new pair of pants

It was a silent descent with none of the usual banter and tired exuberance that follows a successful climb. Emotions were palpable and we all wanted space and solitude. At camp finally, the mood was subdued.  Sam Mack Meadow, nestled snugly in a cradle of granite, provided ample opportunity for reflection as the sun set, the alpenglow burned and the stars came out. We slunk off to our sleeping bags wordlessly. Surely tomorrow would be a better day.

Mounts Gayley and Sill to the left with the Palisade crest from the descent.

The lovely Sam Mack Meadow

Last light on Mount Sill from the campsite

And it was. A fresh start. We talked over our mistakes, sipping our hot drinks as the sun inched towards the meadow. 

Morning reflections in Sam Mack Meadow

Not researching the route well enough. 

Starting too late. 

Relying on one member of the party to have all the pertinent information. 

Trying the approach late in the season on a low snow year without the easier passage up the glacier. 

I had learned not to be pressured to go into terrain where I don’t belong for the sake of fitting in with the group. But whatever our missteps, at least we had been smart about doing something stupid. As we retraced our steps to the trailhead far below, Alistair and Wendy plotted a rematch. I just smiled - they could have it, but without me. 

Temple Crag towering above the glacial Second Lake on the walk out down the North Fork of Big Pine Creek

Autumn colours

The crew - now wiser!

Lofty ambitions for a Luddite: Matterhorn Peak

“If you love getting lost, traversing giant rocks for miles, scrambling, and asking yourself if you actually enjoy hiking, this “choose your own adventure” trail is for you!”

 - All Trails review of Matterhorn Peak

Mid June 2022: I slumped over on a rock, nauseous, heart pounding. Only a few days after arriving from almost two years at sea level, the mile amble to Heart Lake at 9000 feet in the Mammoth Lakes basin had me utterly beat.

Almost exactly three months later, I scrambled over the final few meters of narrow granite ridge to the vertiginous summit of Matterhorn Peak, weary after the six hour hike, but feeling strong. What a contrast!

The summer had been one of incrementally more difficult challenges, spurred on by friends in my mountain community and beyond. “You should do Matterhorn Peak next”, encouraged Matthias in early July. I looked it up on my go to online resource, All Trails.

“Pretty gnarly”

“By 1 PM we had not summitted” 

“This trail sucked out my soul, and not in a good way” (is there ever a good way of sucking out a soul?)

 “This baby was BANANAS”

But also:

“One of the most beautiful hikes I’ve ever done”....“awesome”.... “gorgeous” .....“incredible”

Starting at 7000 feet and topping out over 12,000 feet, over 7 miles, the majority off established trails, the hike was clearly a lofty ambition. Furthermore, a repeated theme in the All Trails reviews was navigational difficulties, even with the help of GPS and All Trails tracks:

 “The trail basically disappears, it’s navigable up to a point....the point we turned around. However that pretty purple line got drawn on AllTrails is a straight up lie.”

“ We lost the trail after the big scree field and had difficulties after our GPS failed in the middle of the hike“

I had noticed more and more people in the backcountry peering at GPS tracks on their phone for inspiration and guidance, as a quick and easy substitute for preparation and observation. But I’ve always been a bit of a Luddite. With my luck, my phone battery would die right when needed most, and besides, as a veritable old fart, it was beyond my technical ability to wrangle this information on a small screen with my stumpy fingers and I was too embarrassed to ask for help.

So I went old-school. I found an excellent trip report with detailed directions and photos, read it obsessively and printed it out along with a detailed map with the route marked. 

Old school maps and notes

A summer of preparation, a rest day beforehand, a Matthias-style hearty bacon and eggs breakfast in the predawn hours, and I was all set. The sky lightened to reveal mountain profiles softened by smoke as I drove north to Bridgeport. However, the air seemed clear as I approached the Twin Lakes trailhead. As I opened the car door, was relieved to find that there was no hint of campfire in the crisp air.

Smoke haze over Twin Lakes in the early morning

The first hour passed quickly on a switch-backing trail, a gentle introduction to the day. Once in Horse Creek, the sun finally hit and the layers came off. Now above the smoke haze, Matterhorn Peak, the highest of the aptly named Sawtooth Range and the northern terminal of the "High Sierra", came into view. It seemed an impossible distance above.

After the established trail petered out a few miles in, I worked my way up Horse Creek, following the path of least resistance, and finding the inevitable use trails, stopping from time to time to refer to my printed notes. At the head of the valley, it was time to ascend talus slopes to Horse Creek Pass. I spotted the rock formation to aim for, spied a feasible looking line and began the long trudge up.

Endless talus approaching Horse Creek Pass

A young man sat resting, exhausted, halfway up, his companion looking on with some concern. I stopped to chat as they were the first people I had seen all day. They had come directly from low elevation and the youngster was struggling with the altitude. They were considering turning back. His friend, a fit looking chap in his thirties with a European accent, asked if I was headed to the summit and if I was alone. When I replied in the affirmative, he looked concerned and said “The route finding gets a bit tricky up there – do you have a GPS?” I responded that I was running a paper map on an iBrain. He looked less than impressed, and proceeded to show me a photo on his phone which essentially a much smaller version of the large picture I had printed out, and to warn me about straying into more difficult terrain.  I appreciated his help, but wondered whether Alistair would have been treated in the same way. However, his skepticism was galvanising rather than discouraging, and I continued upwards with renewed determination.

Halfway up to the pass, looking back into Horse Creek

On finally reaching Horse Creek Pass, the summit of Matterhorn peak was at last visible above an intimidating steep and sandy gully. It looked like a time consuming, gut busting, interminable slog. And it was -the final mile took almost 2 hours of burning lungs and legs. 

Matterhorn Peak at the centre top and the dreaded sandy slope

The route went up the side of a prominent gendarme then traversed to the final ridge. This is looking down from the gendarme to Horse Creek Pass at the patch of snow

The final third class ridge from the top of the gendarme

After much slipping and sliding, I reached the solid rock of the final ridge and enjoyed some third class scrambling to the summit. 

Third class summit ridge

I stood on the dining table sized summit block....and promptly sat back down feeling quite dizzy after seeing over the edge. What a lunch spot! I decided that this "choose your own adventure trail" was indeed for me.

Pretty happy to be on top!

Summit view to the east

To the north, the Yosemite backcountry is a much more gentle landscape of granite domes and canyons.

Got a bit dizzy looking over the edge!

Little bit of downclimbing to be done

On the descent, the loose sandy slopes were much easier to negotiate, although route finding through the talus seemed even more challenging. Use trails appeared, headed in the wrong direction, and then petered out entirely. By this point, my phone battery was on its last legs, and GPS would have been worthless so the iBrain had a good workout. I had taken note of salient features on the way up and used this knowledge to point me in the right direction in the complex terrain. 

Amazing coloured rocks near Horse Creek Pass

Lower Horse Creek

Pleasant forest and stream close to the end

The Luddite method eventually brought me back to the established trail, down the inevitable painfully gentle switchbacks with the car in sight (veritable torture!) and through the last footsore stagger to crack open a celebratory Gatorade (as a beer would have pole-axed me - a brew came later) at the trailhead. Aaahhh. As I swigged the oddly cherry-flavoured electrolyte brew, I pondered what review I might leave on All Trails. Maybe something like:

“A challenging day to a lofty summit for a Luddite draft horse armed with a paper map and an iBrain”