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!