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”

A Better Than Expected Bedtime Story: The Mountain Goat, the Draft Horse, and Cloudripper

Once upon a time, Mountain Goat said to the Draft Horse, "Let's climb a mountain together". 

"Which one?", replied Draft Horse.

"Cloudripper. It is the highest peak in the Inconsolable Range. I have wanted to climb it for the longest time". 

"Oooh, it sounds scary", responded Draft Horse. "Is it perfectly pointy? Fearfully far? Horribly high?". Draft Horse was uncertain as Mountain Goat, was, well, mountainy. She could skip from rock to rock in perfect balance with nary a hair out of place, looking graceful and stylish. Draft Horse was excellent at lumbering but not so much skipping. And as for style, well... 

"It's horribly high and fearfully far but there's an easy, secret way up to the pointy bit. You can do it, Draft Horse, I just know it".

Draft Horse was not convinced but as Mountain Goat was her friend, she agreed to try.

And so it was that in the light of a late August dawn, Mountain Goat and Draft Horse set off up the trail. Very shortly, however, the trail started to descend. It wound down steadily along the forested hillside.

"Oh no," said Draft Horse. "Shouldn't we be going up?" 

"Quite right," replied Mountain Goat. "This will be uphill at the end of the day and it's going to hurt. But please just wait while I adjust my hat. I am a smidgen too cool and need to put on my beanie." 

 After a time, the trail indeed began to climb and Draft Horse and Mountain Goat played the game of "Ask the other person lots of questions so that they will have to reply and I can breathe". It was an excellent game. It passed the time exceptionally well. Halfway up Mountain Goat paused to remove a layer as she was a smidgen too hot. 

Soon enough, they reached first Brown Lake and then Green Lake. "What imaginative names!", cried the two adventurers, wondering at the creativity of the namers. They faced a big decision at Green Lake - should they scramble up the short but steep ghastly gully, or continue along the long but languorous twisty trail? "I'm really not very scrambly like you, Mountain Goat".

The gully above Green Lake leading to Vagabond Peak. No thanks!

And so they continued on up the twisty trail up the slope above the lake. First there was a long ziiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiig. The "g" was a large black rock. Then there was a zaaaaaaaaaaaag, followed by a little ziggy, and a tiny zaggy. The zigzags had looked horrendous, but turned out to be better-than-expected. That brought them to a wide open flattish expanse. It was barren and covered with rocks. This was the land of Grunion Plateau, pop. 3 or maybe 5 jackrabbits (and now a Mountain Goat and Draft Horse), elevation 12 067, founded in 1979.

"Have we walked to the moon?" asked Draft Horse. 

"It certainly looks like it. Boy, I am really feeling a teensy bit cool again. Let me put back on another layer", replied Mountain Goat. 

"And I am really feeling a teensy bit thirsty," commented Draft Horse, who at that precise moment realized that she had forgotten to filter water at Green Lake which was now far, far below. "Bugger. I only have a little bit of water, Mountain Goat!" 

Mountain Goat reassured Draft Horse, "You can share mine because you're my friend. I even have some Exceptional Electrolytes". And so off they went again.

Wildflowers so it can't be the moon

A little later, they came upon a post, standing like a lonely sentinel on the high plateau. 

"Our guidebook says to turn right at the post," exclaimed Draft Horse. "Do you think that this could be the right post for the right turn?" She pulled out a photograph of the post. They both stared at it intently. They looked around. The post was the highest point for a long way.

Mountain Goat scratched her pretty head, thinking hard. "I think it just could be the one! Let's turn right. But first of all, it's getting just a little bit too warm. I think I need to put on my sunhat."

The Mountain Goat in her sunhat contemplates whether the post is The Post. Tricky navigation!

Off they trotted together, away from the trail and over the horizon, Mountain Goat skipping and Draft Horse lumbering across the sea of rocks. , Fortunately, they were not tippy rocks and the pair sauntered speedily along. It was better-than-expected.

Better than expected, not too tippy rocks suitable for a Draft Horse

But there was a mountain in the way. "Vagabond Peak? What a boring name. Let's go around it," proposed Mountain Goat. And that seemed like a perfect plan until the pair came to the edge. They looked down. It was very steep. They looked up. It was very steep. But it was the only way. "Bugger," groaned Draft Horse, whose lumpy legs were beginning to feel fatigued. But Mountain Goat, being very mountainy, found a way up. It was better-than-expected.

Not going that way, up over Vagabond instead. But there is Cloudripper!

At the top, they finally gazed out at their destination. Cloudripper was living up to its name. Some disagreeable, dark clouds had been threatening but they were no match for this peak and had scurried away surreptitiously before being ripped apart. One last descent and one final scramble lead our intrepid team to the summit. Or at least, a tall pointy bit. It seemed a perfect perch for lunch. 

The Draft Horse definitely sitting and not standing on the pointy bit

And for another costume change for Mountain Goat. They admired the view. It was better-than-expected. Far below on each side were strings of lakes like precious jewels on a necklace. Lofty sawtooth ridges connected other peaks as far as the eye could see. It was a magnificent spot.

The Palisades. Palisade glacier, the Seven lakes, and Temple Crag to the south

View to the northwest, in from South Lake

Draft Horse decided to celebrate by eating her one special treat - a delicious, crunchy, sweet, and juicy apple. There was not much water left, and her sandwiches were particularly dry. She set the apple on her lap but was momentarily distracted by the jaw-dropping vista. The Naughty Apple sensed its opportunity for escape and dove down into the depths of the summit boulders. "Bugger," swore Draft Horse. 

 After a rest and a costume change, Mountain Goat suggested scrambling to the actual summit further along the sharp ridge line. As usual, she danced across daringly, not at all bedazzled by the air beneath her feet.

The Mountain Goat pauses in her frolicking along the ridgeline

Draft Horse, followed with some trepidation, grasping her poles tightly. But they were more of a hindrance than a help. 

"Oh Draft Horse," exclaimed Mountain Goat, "those truly are your security blankie!". 

Poles are not helping the Draft Horse here!

But eventually, the two stood (or rather Mountain Goat stood In her usual elegant way and Draft Horse half sat, holding on tightly to the rocks) at the tippy top of the pointiest part of Cloudripper and felt exceptionally pleased with themselves.

But of course, the summit is only halfway up, and they had yet to get down, and sometimes it was hard to find a way, and Mountain Goat almost forgot that they needed to go back over the top of Vagabond, and they completely ran out of water, and Mountain Goat needed three more adjustments to her wardrobe ("Oh Mountain Goat, perhaps you should consider garments made from the wool of our friend, Merino Sheep? They will keep you both warm and cool", suggested Draft Horse), and Draft Horse just went on lumbering, and they conversed about many matters, both big and small, and they stopped at the lake to dip their fetid feet in the cool water, and there was the final uphill bit at the very, very end which turned out to be better-than-expected, but finally, after an age, they reached the end. "Hurray, we made it!" they rejoiced, drinking some tasty refreshments and eating sweet, juicy pineapple. "It was definitely better-than-expected", they thought, but then again, it usually is with friends.

Thanks to Wendy Schneider for an exceptional day in the hills. Hoping for many more to come. 

Cloudripper (4122m/13,525ft) from South Lake: 

24km/15 miles, 1585m/5200ft elevation gain, 10.5 hours.

Sad-ass mama goes peak-bagging - and knocks the bastard off

 

Standing on the summit of Mount Conness, I reflected that this outing was really a bookend to the trip described in my 2014 blog post "Bad-ass mamas go peak-bagging - and fail". That adventure,  the weather gods were against us.  But not today. The puffy clouds showed no signs of developing into thunderheads.  I had finally made it.

Plenty of water had flowed under the bridge in the near decade since that first attempt. I'd shepherded the kids through the hellish crucible of the puberty/high school double whammy bolstered by an alarmingly augmented wine rack, I'd suffered seemingly intractable injuries and chronic pain, I'd moved to the mountains only to be abruptly uprooted by a global pandemic, all while navigating my own journey through the "change of life". Which is all to say that when I set out from the Sawmill campground at 8 AM, I carried the accumulated burdens and scars of the inexorable march of time. I was sad-ass mama, not a bad-ass mama.

On returning to the Sierra, I had a deep yearning for a long, hard day of high-altitude cross-country travel, for navigational challenges, burning lungs, boulder hopping, deep blue skies, for the cold-sweat thrill of exposure, and for the sweet exhaustion after. Mount Conness called its siren song: "You have unfinished business". This time, I would make the attempt from the opposite eastern side by the standard climbing approach and descent route, largely cross-country.

Shortly past the campground, scarcely 20 minutes from the start and still on a good trail, a young woman looking rather confused greeted me: "Are you going to the summit?". I replied that I was. "Can I come with you? I'm not digging this solo stuff", she asked in a plaintive tone. She was clad in yoga pants, a black singlet, full makeup, sneakers, held a small plastic water bottle in her hand and had no backpack.  "No", I replied, softening the blow by explaining that I was seeking a solo experience.

Diverging from the trail. The route climbs ledges that follow the line of vegetation up the cliff left of centre.

I diverged from the path where I judged was approximately the right position and worked my way up the hillside, eventually following ledges that narrowed into climbing alongside or even in a stream cascading down from a lake above. This was particularly steep. One section with no alternative required some actual climbing – several moves in a row of tenuous foot and hand holds to surmount a vertical step. My climbing days seem to be in the distant past and I hesitated, plucking up courage. This felt much edgier solo than with a confident partner.  As the alternative was an ignominious walk of shame back to the car, I sucked it up and went for it, the old ticker banging. At the top, however, I doubted my ability to get down it again. Ah, uncertainty! I used to tell my girls, it's not an adventure if you know how it's going to turn out. They were usually less than appreciative but I was happy to embrace it.

The ledges from directly below

The rest of the route involved exactly what I'd been seeking. It wound around ridges and lakes, across patches of snow, through gardens of wildflowers, across the talus, along ledges, and up granite slabs and steep sandy switchbacks that caused dizziness from the exertion. In the delightful way of this region, if one direction looked sketchy, it was simply a matter of looking a little further in the other direction to find safe passage.  On occasion, I'd spot a reassuring cairn or some boot prints in the gravel marking the passage of some other adventurers but I was alone.  

Yup, headed up there... a cairn on the middle right points the way

A delightful wildflower meadow on a ledge

Almost at the ridgeline to the summit plateau. The route ascends steep sandy switchbacks near the top of the photo.

View of Twenty Lakes Basin from the edge of the ridge.

A final scramble deposited me on the summit plateau, a barren windswept place at 12,000 feet amazingly still dotted with hardy wildflowers.

Looking back down the ridge from the lip of the summit plateau. I had ascended from the right of the ridge

Wildflowers at 12,000ft on the summit plateau. Mount Conness summit at rear

The summit ridge provided an airy challenge. This time, however, the narrow exposed ledges were not slick with snow, and I traversed above the cliffs with deep breaths and slow movements across grippy granite. Once again, this felt entirely different without the support of a reliable partner. No time for grabbing the camera!

Part of the summit ridge - exposed ledges to the left and enormous drop offs on the right in spots.

From the summit, the air over Yosemite was smoky from the Washburn fire near Wawona. After a while, my eyes and throat began to feel its effects; it was time to descend.

Of course the summit is only halfway there.

Retracing my steps back down the summit ridge was easier than I feared, but I was still concerned about descending the waterfall step. Looking at the map, I spied an alternative route that bypassed the section by skirting Lake Alpine and descending to the south. It looked doable, if a bit longer. When I arrived at the ridge overlooking the lake, it became apparent that the entire shore was a jumble of boulders and talus. Feeling quite fatigued, progress was agonizingly slow. I fervently hoped that the descent back down to the trail from the south side of the lake would be easier. 

Lake Alpine after traversing the rocky shore. The ridge to the summit plateau is the right hand skyline

Thankfully,  a faint use trail led off down the slope, meandering through Whitebark pine, down steep corners and slabs, and mostly avoiding the dreaded thickets of willow that bordered the outlet stream. 

Looked very doable. Much better than the downclimb on the approach route!

A delightful triple waterfall in a wildflower meadow at the junction with the trail

After a number of false starts and some bush-crashing, I made it back to the trail and trudged the last couple of miles back to the car; who designed that trail to be uphill at the end? By my stagger and the beginnings of the thousand yard stare, it was obvious that the goal of sweet exhaustion had been reached. I took solace in the brilliance of the wildflowers. A patch of irises in the campground provided the final impetus to reach the end of the trail.

What a brilliant day! Strava told me I'd covered almost 11 miles and gained 4500ft in elevation over 8 hours in finishing the ascent after eight years. The requisite pizza and beer were the crowning glory! Passage of time be damned, I'm still going after it.... just more slowly and creakily. 

Incidentally, I still jump off the big rock at Rainbow pools.