Planning to Climb Mt. Whitney Next Summer?

For those headed to Iceberg Lake at the base of Mt. Whitney to climb one of the classic routes, the East Buttress (5.8) or the East Face (5.7) – or even for those just aspiring to do the Mountaineer’s Route (4th class gulley) – here are my thoughts on what to take so as to prevent a backbreaking march from the Whitney Portal.

The North Fork of Lone Pine Creek Trail

The climber’s approach to the massive and beautiful East Face of Mt. Whitney is certainly one of the best hikes anywhere. The reward comes from not only getting to climb Whitney, but to camp at Iceberg Lake at its base. While not an overly difficult approach, the amount of weight on your back might be hugely influential to how you enjoy the day. You’ll leave your car at about 8,300 feet and drop your pack at 12,400 feet. Both the elevation gain, and the elevation itself, will take their toll along the way. And remember, day 2′s agenda includes a trip to 14,495 which for many requires the freshest possible legs and lungs.

I am always a bit surprised to see the towering loads arrive to Iceberg Lake. Usually they sit atop a sweaty, exhausted, hunched over hiker with a pained, yet jubilant to have arrived expression. My take is that, being the Sierra Nevada, there is little reason to take much. Yes, you need the basics, and even the basic set of extras in case the weather gets bad or someone is injured. But, keep life simple (and light) and try to really only take exactly what is required.

Climbing Gear for Mt. Whitney

Here it is, our gear for two nights at Iceberg Lake and two days of climbing, both the East Face and East Buttress. Our trip was at the end of September, the nights were below freezing but the daytime forecast was all sun.

This is what was inside my Deuter Spectra 50 liter pack, but does not include our food bag, government issue poop bags, or the clothes I was wearing – all out of the picture.

BD Megamid tent

MSR Isobutane Stove, Titanium pot, coffee mug

Superlight mountain clothing, including down jacket

Summit pack (Deuter’s Speedlite 15 liter)

MSR Waterfilter (Iodine is lighter still)

BD lantern (luxury item for the long Autumn nights)

Climbing rack, harness, helmet, 10mm rope & shoes (a good pair of sticky rubber approach shoes could replace climbing shoes)

First Aid Kit & Headlamp

MSR Neo Sleeping Pad, a fantastic piece of gear

Ultralight ground cloth

Sleeping Bag; Deuter Exosphere -4 Celsius 550 down

Food: we live on angel hair pasta & pesto, cheese, nuts, dried fruit, energy bars and bagels while in the backcountry.

Total weight with camera gear: 40lbs

The tent is without a doubt a luxury item as well, there are fewer pleasant things to do than sleep under the stars, and few nicer places to do it than the Sierra Nevada.

Another option is to use a Guide Service. Let them carry some of your weight, safely guide you up & down the peak, and even prepare some tasty backcountry cuisine.

The two primary Guide Services of the Eastern Sierra are:

Sierra Mountain Center

Sierra Mountain Guides

Janine's pack weight at the Whitney Portal; 36lbs Meanwhile, Alberto provides a friendly reminder.

Stuart Wilkinson skiing off the Wheeler Crest

Yesterday was a classic spring day in California’s Sierra Nevada. Even though it was my countless day skiing in conditions like this, I still marvel at these amazing days of warmth, abundant corn snow, and the fact that here one can drop to the car from a wintry landscape and slip on shorts and flip flops. It is a great time of the year. But this may have been the last day like this for awhile, a winter storm is steaming towards us. Here are some photos of friends from yesterday as we did some skiing and even a little USGS work.

Skiing the Eastern Sierra Nevada Fourteeners

by David Page with photos courtesy Christian Pondella

This article first appeared in EastSide Magazine

From a distance it looked perfect. Perfectly epic. But from the summit, with skis on, looking down at an enormous chockstone wedged into the trap door of a fifty-five degree couloir, nine thousand vertical feet above the trucks, a sliver’s width passage to either side and only the thinnest of early-spring rot to look forward to, the prospect suddenly became, as Pondella would later recall, “frickin’ dicey.”

Chris Davenport approaching the Sierra Nevada's Keeler Needle and Mt. Whitney

Davenport had flown out from Aspen a few days earlier, had rented a car in Reno and driven down to Mammoth to catch Pondella. The plan: to effect a quiet, personal, media-light tour of the highest peaks in California’s High Sierra, to tick off as many fourteeners as time and conditions might allow, to get some sun, some good pics for the sponsors, to camp out in the sagebrush with friends, maybe do some bouldering, etc.—you know, easy, Eastside-style.

Having already bagged every last fourteener in Colorado—climbing and skiing off fifty-four summits in just under twelve months, and publishing a book about it—and having ticked off Rainier and Shasta soon thereafter, this was all that was left: fourteen more wind-battered patches of rock and snow to complete the whole list for the Lower 48.

Although the pace would prove blistering by mortal standards—at least two big mountains for every three days—Davenport didn’t seem in any real hurry to finish. “The idea is just to submerse myself in the range,” he said, like a man beyond last call contemplating the olive at the bottom of his martini. “It’s like meeting a new girlfriend, just kind of figuring her out.” As if to say: Hey, what’s the rush? Let’s put another quarter in that juke box.

In less than a month he’d be back to real business: helicopters, film crews, full entourage—and the pressure of getting it absolutely right down four of the most iconic and difficult lines in the Alps. “It’s brutal,” he would say later, on the phone. “But it’s work. And I have to work.”

Pondella had made an early-season recon flight with Glen Poulsen, just before Christmas, which had shown the southern peaks fairly ready to go. The Palisades, where in a fat year a crew like this might be able to knock out a handful of summits from a single base camp, were all exposed rock and ice. “We weren’t sure about Whitney,” recalled Pondella. “But we could see Langley was in, Split was in, Williamson was in. We weren’t sure about White.”

It seemed natural enough to start with Langley, at the south end, and work north from there. So they slept in the truck at the top of the moraine, right at snowline, and before dawn set out up the Tuttle Creek drainage toward the peak formerly known as Old Mount Whitney.

It was the third week in March and the Sierra Nevada was already deep into premature springtime. Snowpack was barely average. Still, the climb was straightforward and they were able to ski off the true summit on decent winter snow, dropping fast down the southeast couloir and all the way back to camp on fine corn. Up and back they were the only two people in the world. And by the end of the day they were blissfully bedding down in the parking lot at the Whitney Portal, requisite permits on their persons and a modest quotient of Tecate in their veins.

Chris Davenport skiing the Sierra Nevada's Mt. Williamson

From the Mountaineer’s Route they watched dawn splash bold across the east face. They crossed paths with two parties on the way up, the only other humans they would see in the backcountry that week: one, a pair of exceedingly well-encumbered gents, outfitted as if to spend three months besieging Everest (“as if they’d just robbed an REI store,” said Davenport); and later a solitary European fellow who had summited early and though equipped for a few nights out was already on his way back, having forgotten to bring fire for his campstove. For the former party there was nothing to be done; for the latter a spare lighter was produced from Dav’s first aid kit.

Chris Davenport skiing Sierra Nevada's Mt. Whitney

At the ridge they were surprised—and not a little pleased—to discover a thin tongue of perfect chalky snow right to the summit. It was an exciting rock-scramble for the last three hundred vertical feet, and “definitely a no-fall zone coming back down,” but they were able to ski the whole way. And still make the last hour of sun at the Buttermilks.

“It was one of the greatest days you could ever have,” said Pondella. “To climb and ski Whitney, to watch the sunrise on the east face, across some of the most beautiful granite in the Sierras, and five hours later to be climbing up the granite boulders at the Buttermilks—there’s not many places you could have it that good.”

To cap it off they decided to forego the cozy intimacy of the truck in favor of “Jacuzzi, internet and nice beds” at Pondella’s place up the hill. And the next day afforded themselves a break, went down to the Gorge for an afternoon’s fingerwork on welded ash. But by moonrise that evening, having met up with John Morrison from Tahoe, they were back to work—with a good fire going and a plan for taking Williamson.

Morrison dropped in first. “And as he was sidestepping in,” Pondella remembered, “he took all the snow right down to the rock.” Davenport tried the other way, around the right side, sidestepping down three or four feet and hopping into the air. “It was one of the sketchiest turns I’ve ever seen,” said Pondella, “but he stuck it.”

He also scraped the place clean, leaving the poor photographer to undergo what he would later describe as a “mini-epic.”

Down where Davenport had made his hop-turn, Pondella found himself tips and tails on rock. “My skis were doing the bow-and-arrow-thing,” he remembered. “I was sketching.” The only option from there was to point it for five feet—then stop. “And I’m like: I can’t do that—this could be the last—I fuck up that’s it I’m done.” Finally he slid his pack off, ever-so-gingerly, unhitched his crampons, threw his axe into the snow and managed to get one ski off. “Once I got that first crampon on I was fine.”

Hemingway once tried to make the case that bullfighting was “the only art in which the artist is in danger of death.” This in the days before high-powered energy drinks, before fat skis and alpine touring bindings and synthetic climbing skins, before Davenport & Co. The artistry of it, Papa argued, was in the matador’s performance, in the degree to which he was able to control the amount of danger, to run it “exactly as much as he wishes”—without dying. Surely this is also the measure of those few individuals who, with or without specific promises of financial remuneration, choose to leap from the planet’s highest pinnacles on skis.

The line down the southeast face of Split—next on the list—was considerably less hair-raising. Still, it distinguished itself, off the top, with some of the worst so-called snow either man had ever skied. Redemption came swiftly, though, in the form of nearly seven thousand vertical feet of smooth, high-grade corn—enough of the stuff to cover the vertical drop from the high-altitude doughnut counter atop Pike’s Peak to the Dunkin’ Donuts on Colorado Avenue in downtown Colorado Springs. With, in this case, plenty of packaged chocolate mini-donuts waiting at the trucks.

Chris Davenport skiing the Sierra Nevada's Mt. Langley

Then the weather changed. By the following morning, by the time the sun hit the cold backside of White Mountain Peak, there was enough wind sluicing down the canyon that they found themselves shouting at each other.

“It’s nuking up there!” yelled Pondella. Davenport nodded: “You can’t argue with the weather!”

So they turned around, punched their skis back out through the rabbit brush and scrub oak, drove up around Montgomery, took a nice long soak in one of the old tubs at Benton, and headed back down to the Gorge: you know, easy, Eastside-style—with the olive still marinating in the bottom of the glass.

________________________

DolomiteSport is excited to have this contribution by Mammoth Lakes locals David Page and Christian Pondella. David is a superstar writer for clients such as Men’s Journal, the NY & LA Times and even DolomiteSport. Christian Pondella is a combo skier extraordinaire and the go to guy for the best professional skiing photography.

David Page’s site Sierra Survey is a great resource for mountain sports and stories in the Sierra Nevada

Christian Pondella’s Professional Photography, Stories and more are at his blog: Christian Pondella

Chris Davenport is a professional skier and hero of many ski movies

Yes, we have pretty much dropped off the radar for the last 10 days. The reason is obvious, winter arrived cold and dry. Here in the Sierra we have had some of the best snow I have ever seen in California and as luck would have it, the fluff has stuck around in the backcountry.  Only today did it finally seem to be getting a bit dense. We had a good run of it.

While there is not much depth, and in many places little to no base, we are surprisingly not hitting much. At about 3000 meters there is nearly a meter of snow (sorry, I am on the metric system, America needs to join the rest of the world) but exposed ridges are blown free. South facing stuff, even up high, is beginning to get mighty thin. Basically, just be careful to not plow into things as there is no base.

By the way, why is there is NO Avalanche Forecaster currently employed in the Eastern Sierra but there is an Eastern Sierra Avalanche Center that raises money for these things? Anyone?

Today was backcountry day number 8 and for it Janine and I headed up Mt. McGee above Crowley Lake. For skiers, McGee sits like a showpiece as it literally rises straight above Highway 395. John Dittli skied it yesterday and reported good snow. Off we went.

Skiing in the Sierra Nevada is quite different than what we are more used to in Europe. 8 days out in popular areas and we have yet to see another person. Also, just a few days ago we had freezing temps, now we have powder filling the dark north faces and gullies, and we skin up to nearly 4000 meters in T-shirts before lounging in the sun on clear, warm summits.

Included are some snapshots of how the Eastern Sierra around Mammoth is looking for coverage. Sorry… no ski photos, we’ve not wanted to stop. Hint hint.

Janine headed up McGee towards the obvious line

High up Mt. McGee looking down to Crowley Lake and the Eastern Sierra Nevada

Plenty of snow up high in the Eastern Sierra Nevada

Arriving to the summit of Mt. Mcgee, looking south to Nevahbe Ridge

A few days prior to all the sun, Dan in the lingering snowfall

Mt. McGee's summit. 3500 meters. T-Shirt. Winter. Powder.

Dan Patitucci on the Shepherd Pass Trail

Mt. Tyndall

Clif Bar #4 and it's only 8 a.m.

With our new found enthusiasm for trail running, Mt. Tyndall was the perfect testing ground for a truly big day. While the peak does have a steep northeast face with some real climbing, all the routes were closed for Bighorn Sheep grazing. This left the long, slabby northwest face as the alternative. But first the run in, 12 miles up and over Shepherd Pass – then Mt. Tyndall for 9000 vertical feet of gain.

Our day started at 3 a.m. as we decided we did not want to look at the distances that would separate us from our goal. We chose to run Tyndall carrying little more than numerous Clif Bars, camera and water. Our decision proved wise as the day was long and our knees began a protest while descending the trail.
Tyndall is a triangular peak hidden behind its more famous neighbor, the bulky Mt. Williamson. Our preferred line was the North Rib, a 3rd class scramble on slabs piled with rubble.
Tyndall is a mountain overshadowed by its neighbor, seldom visited by anyone other than 14er baggers and yet has an amazing view in all directions but east. Its remoteness and isolated position give it a sense of being a bit more wild than other Sierra areas we visited. While we initially looked forward to it the least, it is one of the first we remember when we look back on our season.

Mt. Tyndall

Mt. Williamson

Mt. Williamson is at time closed for Bighorn Sheep grazing – skipped.

Split Mountain

The southernmost 14,000 foot peak of the Palisade Crest differs in many ways from its northerly neighbors. Rather than the typical granite of the Sierra, Split is composed of metamorphic rock of far less quality than the surrounding igneous variety.
Named for its appearance, the summit pinnacle is split in two, cleaved by a couloir that rises from bottom to top of the mountain itself.
In this couloir sits one of the Sierra’s longest ice climbs, and our objective.
Earlier in the summer Janine and I had also run into to climb Split via it’s walk up roue from the East Side. But it was the couloir that had caught my attention and I knew I had to try it.
On Thanksgiving Day my best friend Mark Leffler and I found ourselves climbing up the first pitches of the clear water ice draining from the base. A snow ramp led from the ice to a steep bulge in the couloir. A chimney on the left side exited on slabs covered in spindrift. With nightmare quality rock refusing to accept pro of any sort, Mark decided to venture onto the slab in the hopes of finding something better. Something better turned out to be worse than the rotten chimney. After desperately searching for something that did not crumble under the weight of an ice axe, Leffler opted for the down climb and a rapid exit out of the spindrift avalanching couloir.
Luckily, several hundred feet north of the couloir is another gulley though lower angled and filled with snow. This one allowed us access to the north ridge and a quick scramble to the summit.

White Mountain

We found driving the dirt roads to the parking lot more difficult than the “climb” to the summit of White Mountain.  With a variety of research work done on the mountain, White has roads crisscrossing its upper slopes. The summit path is actually a jeep trail that ends at the small summit hut.
The terrain is nothing like the Sierra, rather it is a blank and richly earth toned landscape seemingly void of life. Yet there is an entirely different ecosystem in the Whites. Bighorn Sheep and wild horses still roam the high plains, cactus can be found as ground cover and of course there are the famous Bristlecone Pines. Believed to possibly be the world’s oldest living things, the Bristlecones are passed on the drive to the parking area for the summit hike.
White may best be done as the last peak so as to look across to the Sierra and recall all the places visited and all the moments experienced. We sat out the cold afternoon of a late fall day on the summit of White Mountain and recalled all that had happened during our time in the mountains.

Janine Patitucci running out from White Mountain, behind

It turns out it was not about the climbs, or the individual peaks or even the places. Rather, it was about the experience of the project as a whole, and the friends we shared it with.
Our lives changed as a result of getting to the tops of all these peaks, committing to such a project set us on our path which has become a career doing such things. It is not overly difficult or complicated to get to any one summit, but it is something to experience them and let them teach you things previously unknown about yourself. That is the beauty of being a climber who plays in the mountains.

Logistics and Issues

Backcountry permits are required for all of California’s 14ers excluding White Mountain. For all but the Palisade and Whitney regions, permits are easily obtained at the local USFS Ranger Stations in Bishop, Lone Pine and Big Pine.
Whitney and the Palisades are a different story.
Unless you know the exact dates you wish to climb Whitney months in advance, you’ll have to apply for permits the day before your desired entry date. This means being at the Lone Pine Ranger Station at 11am sharp the day before your approach. There, you’ll stand in line as part of a lottery for the unclaimed permits and walk in registrations. You may or may not receive a permit, in which case you will have to try again the next day.
This is the only option unless you receive a permit when permits are issued the previous spring. Hardly convenient for road tripping climbers.
However, with permit in hand, you’ll be legal to stay at your destination for up to 14 days. The Rangers, it seems, prefer to protect the trailhead more than the backcountry camping areas.
Luckily, we won the lottery our first day, and scratching our heads at the non-sense of the system, we headed for the portal with our permission slips to enter public lands.

Mountain Guides

Sierra Mountain Center : Longtime California and Sierra climber and UIAGM Guide SP Parker manages one of the Sierra’s most experienced guiding services. Running into SP in the Sierra became such a common occurrence that summer that we were forced to become great, and now “old”, friends.

Mountain guides are an excellent option for those new to the area or for those less experienced climbing in serious mountain terrain.

Jay Bettencourt on Mt. Russell's Startrekkin' 5.10a

Trail running into Mt. Langley

Climbing California 14ers

With seven 14ers down and seven to go, we had options; rock climbing in the Whitney group or try one of the long car to car endeavors. We decided to do the Sierra’s southernmost 14er, Mt. Langley, deal with the huge distance to and from, and then go to Whitney.
And for this we opted to put our fitness to the test and try this new “mountain running” idea. Going lighter yet, with just a hydration pack and running clothes, we left the car in the dark, huffed and puffed to the summit, and were back enjoying beers kept frosty in a creek by early afternoon.
The athlete in me took note of this style of moving in the mountains. Lots of ground covered, little pack weight, committed to finishing, goal oriented – I like it.

Mt. Langley

The furthest south 14er in the state, Mt. Langley seems more closely related to the desert than the alpine peaks further north. Approached from the south, the peak is little more than a very long walk. With the addition of the 3rd class East South-East Ridge, the day does have some variety and a loop that can be done from the ridge’s starting point.
Mt. Langley was our favorite run of the season. Beginning at over 9,000 feet, the overall elevation gain is fairly minor and all comes at the base of the actual peak, 10 miles from the car. The Cottonwood Lakes Trail is a surprisingly lush approach to the distant dry peaks.
The descent is fast and fun screeing down towards Old Army Pass and Cottonwood Lakes where we napped on a boulder along the lakeshore before the knee friendly trail back to the car.

The Whitney Region

For me, the lower 48‘s tallest peak had always held a sort of ugly connotation. I imagined a peak lacking all of what I love about climbing in the mountains; freedom, a pristine environment and a difficult to obtain summit. In order to enjoy the Whitney region during the summer months it is best to turn off any idea of what the High Sierra should be like. The Mt. Whitney experience is like no other.
The first step is in acquiring the necessary permits (see Logistics, part 3). Next comes the approach which shares the same trail as the hiking route for the first section. Thankfully, climbers veer off from the masses with their mandatory neon permits hanging like permission slips on field tripping grammar school kids. Rather than following the highway-like trail along the South Fork of Lone Pine Creek, climbers follow the more primitive North Fork drainage to the cirque beneath the Whitney massif. There, at Iceberg Lake, climbers establish base camp from which to climb any of a number of the area’s offerings.

The Mt. Whitney Group

Janine Patitucci on Whitney's East Buttress

Our own experience at Iceberg was initially one of shock. Unlike the usual quiet camps in the mountains, this was bustling with climbers and guided groups.
However, as climbers will be climbers, we soon found some old friends and were quick to make new ones. Unlike the hordes on the other side of the crest who were shuffling along on their way to an  “I Climbed Mt. Whitney” shirt, the climbers in camp were the usual mix of dirt bags and misfits with whom we felt right at home.

Mt. Whitney

Two climbing routes on Whitney see the vast majority of all the traffic; The East Face and the East Buttress. 5.4 and 5.8 respectively, it is hard to say which is better. The East face is more unique while the East Buttress offers better climbing. We did both several times during our stay at Iceberg and enjoyed them more each time.

Our first trip up Whitney was via the East Buttress and started late in the day. Numerous pitches of quality climbing leads to some blocky scrambling before the summit. The closer we got to the top, the more our silence was giving way to muffled voices.
Once on the summit, we were greeted with applause from the masses as it seemed to them we had come from the abyss. We counted over 50 people, 23 on cell phones, the rest on two way radios to friends still on trail or camp.
For our following summit visits, we found it best to put all climbing gear away below the summit so as to pull onto the top and blend in.

Though somewhat anticlimactic to a great day of climbing, the summit of Mt. Whitney is special. We outlasted the crowd and discovered that in almost every case, they must leave by late afternoon so as to make it to the car at a reasonable hour. Suddenly we were alone. What was like a city park scene an hour before had magically transformed back to an alpine Sierra summit. In our solitude, we enjoyed the day’s final light and relished the fact that we are climbers and able to move about in the mountains free of schedule.
With headlamps at the ready, we descended the well worn Mountaineers Route back to camp and the greetings of friends.

Tommy Caldwell and Beth Rodden on the Tower Traverse, 5.4 East Face of Mt. Whitney

Dan Patitucci on the Fresh Air Traverse, 5.4. East Face of Mt. Whitney

Descending Whitney's Mountaineer's Route

Iceberg Lake Camp beneath Mt. Whitney, day

Iceberg Lake Camp beneath Mt. Whitney, night

Each morning's view from Iceberg Lake

Mt. Russell. Many, many lines

Mt. Russell

From Basecamp, one can only see the top third of Mt. Russell’s south face rising up from behind a ridge. There is nothing quite like it anywhere in the area, perfectly parallel splitters all terminate on a ledge about 400 feet below the summit. The same splitters that nearly reach the ground hundreds of feet below.
Mt. Russell is the choice climbers peak of all the 14ers. Numerous quality routes litter the south and west walls, all of superb quality. The two standout features on Russell are the Fishhook Arete and the Mithral Dihedral, both 5.9, both 5 star.
For us, Mt. Russell was our first real climbing of the 14er project, it would also be the first day where we rappelled for our lives to escape a thunderstorm.

Four pitches into the Mithral Dihedral it began. Skipping the whole poor weather break in period, our puffy white clouds went straight to tempest. Within minutes it was snowing hard enough to obscure our visio and rendered it impossible to look up for all the snow tumbling down the face. With Janine and I’s belay rigged for shooting photos, and our friends still climbing up to us, we were forced to spend some time dealing with getting out of the nightmare we found oursleves in. To compound our problems, lightning and thunder became as one and the air literally began to sizzle and smell a bit odd. I do however recall thinking, “If we survive this, we’ll have some good pics”.

Finally, Mark Leffler pulled into our anchor after a heroic battle throwing handjams into a soaking wet corner. Survival instincts went into effect, the first of several rappel anchors was built, and we began our retreat. After some exciting rappels we were back on the ground, soaked and with new respect for puffy white clouds.

Mark Leffler gunning it for the anchors in snowfall and lightening

Mark Leffler in the Mithral Dihedral

A genuine look of concern on Dan Patitucci's face

Dave Miller on Mt. Russell's Startrekkin' 5.10a

Jeff Angermann on the Mithral Dihedral 5.9

The following day we returned to retrieve our gear and complete the Mithral Dihedral. In sunny, warm conditions we once again started up the golden corner, slotting perfect hand jams for 400 feet before pulling out of the vertical corner on rails and huge incut edges.
From the end of the corner, about 400 feet of pleasant 4th class climbing separates you from the summit and time to make mental notes of all the other Russell routes you plan to return for.

Mt. Muir

From Iceberg Lake, Mt Muir is obscured from sight behind the massive towers of the Whitney Crest. Sitting as a bump on the crest a mile south of Whitney’s summit, Muir meets the Sierra’s definition of an independent peak and is therefore considered a 14er. Oddly, the areas most spectacular peak, the Keeler Needle, is not considered an independent peak. While its summit elevation is 14,000 feet, its position is not far enough away from the summit of neighboring Mt. Whitney to give it 14er status – whatever. Muir however, does. Sad that the iconic character of the Sierra Nevada has such an unremarkable peak named after him.
From Iceberg lake we crossed the Pinnacle Ridge separating the Whitney cirque from the Muir cirque. There, we gained the East Ridge of Mt. Muir and followed its contrived and confusing line of 4th class to the top. From the summit we could peer 100 feet beneath us to the traffic pattern on the Whitney Trail. Muir receives little attention even though the summit is literally a few minutes from the trail. Viewed from the trail on the west side it is barely noticed, and as a result the summit goers pass by without regard.

With the Palisades and Whitney Group now complete – so too was our technical rock climbing. Mt. Tyndall’s climbing routes were closed for Bighorn Sheep grazing as was all of Mt. Williamson. Split Mountain holds an ice climb that would be a route for the late fall, and of course we were saving White Mountain for last so as to look out upon the Sierra with all new memories.

Part 3 will wrap things up with the balance of peaks as well as some Logistical Info and Mountain Guide tips

Sierra Nevada lenticular sunset

It was great fun to read this text and see how both our outlook and lives have changed. After the summer in which we finished the project, we decided to finally settle in California’s Bishop, where we lived for six years, exploring the Sierra and continuing to build our photography careers.

Climbing California 14,000 Foot Peaks

Middle Palisade naptime view

In 2001 we found ourselves homeless. We had a VW Westfalia that, on occasion started, a lot of time, and tons of motivation to build our photography business. We were also climbers with a love for California’s Sierra Nevada.
Our summer home was wherever our van broke down, and so for the summer of 2001, we, or shall I say it, “decided” to spend some time in the Eastern Sierra. I had long wanted to climb all of California’s 14,000 foot peaks and realized the time was right.
To see if we could get some work out of the idea we queried Rock & Ice Magazine. The response, “Do it and we’ll publish it”.
And so it started.

The creators that be were feeling extraordinarily generous the day the ingredients were gathered for California’s Sierra Nevada; reliable, stable weather, stunning scenery and flawless golden granite, all of which are easily accessible from the high desert of the range’s eastern side. For climbers and backpackers the range is unequalled for summer weather.

Mt. Shasta's Casaval Ridge

For whatever reason, we humans enjoy tackling goals that involve numbers, specifically quantities of like quantities. In California, a common project, whether it be in one season or a lifetime, is to climb all the 14,000 foot peaks.
The Sierra Nevada range has 13 individual peaks over 14,000 feet (14ers) while two others exist on their own; White Mountain in the nearby Inyo Range and the northernmost and lone volcano, Mt. Shasta. Several of the peaks would not receive the traffic that they do if they did not have the magic elevation, yet as a group, and a goal, the overall combination is a wonderful collection of experiences.

Climbing Casaval Ridge

At first glance, I was not overly enthusiastic with all the route info. As a climber I wanted 5th class. While many do have technical routes, many others have little more than trails to the top. It looked like we would be doing some hiking, and at this I shuddered. Now, years later, I look back and understand it was the beginning of our careers as trail runners – what has turned out to be one of our favorite sports.

Our project began in the spring on the snowy slopes of Mt. Shasta. One of the Cascade’s volcanos, Shasta sits well isolated from California’s other 14,000 foot peaks, or any other major summit, near the Oregon border. Completely dominating the surrounding landscape, it is considered sacred by many, not the least of which are skiers and climbers who come in herds to take advantage of its bounty of offerings, and especially the rich, spring corn harvest.

To be on the mountain alone is truly a treat, and we were lucky enough to have it to ourselves. A late storm blasted the mountain with strong, freezing winds but a good forecast had us thinking ahead. On skis, we headed up while it was still raging hoping the forecast would turn out correct, and it was. The summit morning was crystal clear and freezing allowing our route, the popular Casaval Ridge, to be in perfect shape.

Mt. Shasta's summit plateau

Climbing Shasta involves breathing hard while trudging along. Technical difficulty is minimal, just a basic understanding of traveling on snow and ice, along with well prepared lungs and good weather, and you should get to the top.
The route passes volcanic towers before gaining a long ramp to the summit plateau. Our crampons barely scratched the surface of the windswept blue ice as we crossed the plateau to the summit pinnacle.  There, inhaling the noxious sulfur fumes that serve as reminders to what you are on top of, the reality of the mountain’s sizes becomes apparent. Shasta sits alone and on a clear day one has a 360 degree view without obstruction.
Once descending, we hurried to where we had left our skis and were soon flying down the mountain. Shasta’s slopes stretch for miles and from 12,000 feet we were on a gravity induced path to our car who’s door we arrived at with ski’s still attached.

The Palisade Crest from basecamp

The Palisade

Next up, but not until early August, were the Palisades. Arguably the Sierra’s best true Alpine playground, we found the climbing much to our liking. Steep couloirs, quality ridge climbing and sound rock had us loving our days. We were in no hurry to leave the otherworld nature of the area, and the basecamp full of characters.

Our arrival to the Palisade Basin left us awestruck to the fact that something so alpine exists in the Sierra Nevada, much less in California. Sitting next to the Palisade Glacier (little more than a large snowfield yet the largest glacier in the Sierra) is basecamp for most of the climbing. From camp is an unobscured view of the crest and all its lines.
The Palisade’s six 14,000 foot summits are not so much a series of peaks as they are a series of bumps on the mile long crest.  Traversing the crest involves putting all your skills as a rock climber and route finder to the test.

North Palisade & Starlight Peak

Our first day had the ridgeline’s high point, North Palisade, as the focus. In addition, we planned a traverse further north so as to include Starlight Peak. The classic route on North Pal is to climb the class 3 ice U Notch to the crest where easy 5th class rock leads to the summit. The U Notch, like its steeper neighbor the V, varies in steepness from season to season. The crux is typically found at the bottom where the bergschrund opens as a massive chasm blocking access to the couloir itself.  Crossing the bergschrund involves climbing down, across and then out. More like a lesson in ice spelunking than climbing, it is nevertheless fascinating to explore the glacier from inside. Once in the couloir, several hundred feet of low angle ice await.

The Palisade glacier really is a glacier, crevasses and all

On top of the couloir is more rock leading to the summit. The difficulty is in route finding as the crest is littered with towers and blocks at every angle making passage tricky. The climbing is slow but the views keep you inspired, it is like being on a summit the whole time.
Once on top of North Palisade, we continued along the crest towards the next 14er, Starlight Peak. A large notch separates the two and serves as the day’s crux.
The summit of Starlight itself is a spire stuck in the crest and for most, summiting involves lassoing the tip and climbing the rope Tarzan style to the top.

Matt Samet nearing the North Palisade summit. Not required, nor recommended.

Mt. Sill

We correctly regarded Mt. Sill as a rest day after the previous day’s effort. Our goal was to spend 4 days in the Palisade basecamp from which we could summit five 14ers. The approach from the car to the Palisade Basecamp is a relatively easy one so we opted for heavier packs loaded with good food. Our goal was simply to climb all the 14ers, not to climb them quickly as is possible by doing a traverse of the whole crest in one push, something I would do car to car years later, discovering what the word exhaustion means.
For this trip, food and friends to share it with was of the utmost importance.

Climbers headed to the crest at sunrise

We awoke late the second morning and had a leisurely breakfast and good Peet’s coffee before heading up to the base of the ridge.
Mt. Sill’s Swiss Arete was a perfect match for the amount of effort we wanted to put forth. The line is primarily 3rd and 4th class with a short, technical bit of 5.6 climbing. The Swiss Arete serves as a divider between the North Palisade Crest and the Southern sector, and it is one of the few spots where both areas can be viewed.
I found the climbing so enjoyable that as I pulled over the lip of a block and reached up for the next,  I was surprised to discover that I was on the summit. With its centralized position, Mt. Sill may have the best view in the Sierra.  Complete with smooth, tilted blocks, it is a summit to lounge on and take in the immensity and wildness of the Sierra Nevada.

Polemonium

Barely noticeable as an independent peak, Polemonium has possibly the best route of the Palisade’s 14ers. The V Notch is the classic Sierra couloir. Narrower and steeper than its easier neighbor, the U, the V climbs like a route while the U is more of an approach.
In 2001, the first 80 feet were unusually steep and combined the August weather, allowed for dreamy, styrofoam conditions.

JIm Karn on Thunderbolt Peak

Ice screws are recommended protection as the gulley’s side walls, while tempting with rock pro, are loose and not worth the effort. As the morning warmed, we dodged some rockfall by staying to the sides before arriving in full sun near the top. With only one hundred feet remaining, I found my lead come up short before reaching safer ground. Stuck in the middle of the icy expanse, I placed three screws and began belaying my friends. By the time they arrived I had every screw available in as an anchor, my original three screws poking out of the slushy mess an inch more than when I first arrived.
Once on top we discovered we were not through with Polemonium. A steep notch separates the summit from the ridge with wildly improbable 4th class climbing out of it to the top. A rope is strongly recommended.

Thunderbolt

Our day on Thunderbolt nearly had it living up to its name. Warm, clear summer days and t-shirt climbing gave way to the first thunderheads of our stay.  A dash up the Underhill Couloir put us at the base of the short ridge to the summit and a view to the threatening clouds arriving from the west. 4th class led to the summit block where a boulder resides as the fifth 14er of our Palisade visit. A tricky and unprotected 5.9 boulder problem guards the top. Frantically, we  tagged the summit and dashed down ahead of the incoming tempest.
Back in basecamp we celebrated the completion of round two, five 14ers in four days. Six of the 14 down, eight to go.

At the beach, Sierra style

After finishing five of the six Palisade 14ers, we began our less than enthusiastic march to Middle Palisade and our first 3rd class route. Our day began like all the others, hike to the base, gain the buttress, climb rock to summit. Yet today was different in that we climbed side by side with no rope and no rack, we were liberated. Our dreaded 3rd class route became one of our favorites. It had everything all the others had, exposure, rapid elevation gain and good rock, it just had no technical climbing. The reason why we love climbing in the mountains became even clearer, we simply love being there.

Once back in town, we revisited the hit list with new found enthusiasm. We realized that climbing all the 14ers wasn’t necessarily about the climbing, but rather the project as a whole, each peak offers its own character, its own set of challenges and maybe most importantly, its own education. And this was the best sort of schooling.

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Part 2 will include a nearly tragic storm on Mt. Russell plus route by route info for each peak as well as Mountain Guide and logistical information for getting permits.

To be continued…

Mark Leffler gunning it for the anchors in snowfall and lightening