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.

Morning winter camp outside the Buttermilks in California's Eastern Sierra

Last spring I made the conscious decision to not let the bike rule my year. Meaning, I did not want to focus on racing a road bike and all the time required to train – I wanted to let my year flow, do whatever sounded good at the time, travel to different places, do a little of everything, and especially to get back to what I used to be most passionate about. Climbing.

Dan Patitucci on Supercrack, Indian Creek, Utah

From 1989 to about 1996 I did little else. It was time spent doing anything but working. Little did I know it was an investment in my future as an athlete, part of the outdoor industry and finally as a professional mountain sport photographer. Time well spent. Later, I mellowed out on the climbing schedule to study photography and figure out exactly what it was I was going to do. Hooking up with Janine established a vision, we committed to being outdoor photographers and once again I was both climbing and shooting climbing.

As our business grew we evolved towards other subjects. But lately, the bug is back, I am ready to climb, or more accurately I am ready to go on a climbing trip. There are few things like it, especially in the States if one knows where to go and how to live; car camping in the Eastern Sierra sage, sleeping beneath the stars on a clear Sierra night, waking up with a wall of granite as your objective. Bliss.

Moonlit camp at Iceberg Lake beneath Mt. Whitney

Ahead of us are six weeks cruising the US; our old playground of the Eastern High Sierra, Indian Creek, Yosemite and finishing up at Smith Rock. What makes this trip extra special is the fact that we are doing it all with Italian friends – the first being Alberto De Giuli, who has never been on US soil. To see my own nation through his eyes will be interesting, he has been entertained by me in his home country, now I get to revisit what is so familiar but once again experience the newness of it all.

First up for Alberto: Acclimating to the art of being a dirtbag American climber. It is nearly impossible to be a true dirtbag in Europe. I have tried to tap into my roots but truly, it seems hopeless as I get more and more civilized with each road trip. Just the other night we bivvied in our car at the Tre Cime before climbing, but having eaten lunch that day at a three star hotel followed by dinner at a Michelin Two Star, Brunello buzz and all, this hardly qualified as “dirtbagging” it. As we settled into our car for the night we watched some nearby Germans cooking on their camp stove, Janine posed the question, “I wonder what they’re having for dinner?” At this we roared, but soon we realized that we truly do miss some of the simpler things.

In the coming weeks we hope to share some of what we are up to, check back here for stories, reports and of course loads of photos.

Some things have really changed: Not much film cannister labeling these days

Other things haven't changed at all: Cannot wait to drink Peet's in the Sierra backcountry

Thankfully, the days of living on the road in an '84 VW are long over

Good memories from an epic: Bedside first aid kit & climbing gear

Off we go... YeeHAW

Sierra Nevada: The Range of Light & Fast

FOMO —Fear Of Missing Out—I have it, in the form of an extreme case. Years ago, when we first settled in California’s Eastern Sierra Nevada, the FOMO came on strong. Living in such close proximity to so many mountain sport options, how could it not? Each day the question; Do we go alpine climbing, sport climbing, bouldering, mountain running, mountain biking, or hiking? No matter how good our choice turned out, we were always left fearing that we had missed out on something better.

Janine running beneath Keeler Needle and the Mt. Whitney Group

But with inspiration from local ultra runner Phill Kiddoo and his suggestions of “Run-a-Bagging” big backcountry peaks, our recovery from FOMO began. Each time I mentioned a classic alpine route, Phill countered with, “I’ve run that.” He was rolling all of our outdoor passions into single summer days, running into alpine areas and climbing easy ridge routes to summits. Countless granite fins, towers, massifs and ridge crests guard many peaks but most offer easy scrambling routes requiring no more than time, trail-running shoes and a caffeine buzz. In fact, California’s Sierra Nevada is a truly ideal playground for mountain sports. Its warm, dry summers with minimal thunderstorm activity means possibilities are limited not by conditions, but rather by conditioning and motivation.

Our first steps toward FOMO recuperation began over the winter, when we created a hit list of local mountain runs. Virtually every trailhead offered a worthy objective. Come late June, as the snowpack gave way to dirt and bare rock, trails re-emerged and four months of backcountry running awaited Janine and I. We were chomping at the bit, since we had put in many training miles at lower elevations and had the fever to get up high.

Running Banner Peak

Dan headed into (l-r) Ritter and Banner

Our first objective was Banner Peak outside of the ski town of Mammoth Lakes, just 40 minutes north of Bishop. There, at the Agnew Meadow Trailhead, we set out pre-sunrise, facing 20 miles round trip and 5000 feet of climbing, a glacier crossing, a narrow snow couloir and a 3^rd-class rock ridge (no rope required but some exposure) to the summit of 12,936-foot Banner Peak.

Janine’s case of FOMO is much less severe than my own; in fact, she is mostly happy wherever she finds herself. For her, running to the base of Banner Peak without packs would have been a fulfilling day. I wanted the satisfaction of reaching the summit. Janine gave in to my plan and we began sorting and packing gear, one of the great joys of Run-a-Bagging is the combination of not having to use much gear but that which you do take must be perfect, therefore careful research (shopping) must be performed.

Janine headed up the snowfield splitting Ritter and Banner from the south

Our packs were small running models, just big enough for tights, wind shirt, hat, gloves and as many energy bars and gels that we could cram in. I would later learn that some friends measured these running peaks not in miles or hours but in the number of energy-gels consumed. Janine, being Swiss, typically measures her own runs in the number of Toblerone bars she can get down before their Matterhorn-like form succumbs to the afternoon heat. We also strapped super light Kahtoola crampons to our packs for the glacier and couloir. Finally, we prefer hand bottles in the backcountry, since they are quick to fill in creeks, save weight in the pack and make great palm shock absorbers when we stumble while gawking at the views.

The trails from most Eastern Sierra trailheads are steep, but Agnew Meadows is a rolling cruise through a river canyon. We spent the first couple of miles in the dark enjoying the solitude and quiet that only pre-dawn provides. Cold, wet grass overhanging the trail quickly drenched our skinny runners’ legs and made us long for the summer sun to fill the canyon. As the black sky grew lighter, there, looking impossibly far away, rose the bulk of Banner Peak and its even larger neighbor, Mount Ritter (13,143 feet).

Glissading the Ritter Banner couloir

The specter of our objective was usurped by our immediate need—to outrun the swarming mosquitoes capitalizing on our casual pace. Much of the trail follows Shadow Creek, which flows over a series of granite shelves creating numerous waterfalls. Soon we were above tree line at the glacier, where we swapped modes from running to power hiking over the steepening snow/ice. We wore running shorts all the way up the couloir, where we caught two hikers who were also gunning for Banner Peak. It was an interesting contrast.

Us: trail-running shoes, short shorts, bright red crampons, both hands strapped to water bottles and smiles on our faces.

Them: mountain boots, full climbing attire, large packs, ice axes and smiles on their faces (or were they just laughing at us?).

“Where did you come from?” they asked.

“Agnew Meadows Trailhead,” I answered.

“And you’re here already? No way. ”

“No, really, we ran in.”

“Ran in? Why?”

“Uh, because we’re trail runners …” I decided to leave it at that and not mention the fact that we would be home by early afternoon enjoying a pale ale and plotting the next trip.

Janine and I topped out in the couloir, removed our crampons and headed up the ridge. On this section, we appreciated the versatility of modern trail shoes – especially those with sticky rubber for good grip on rock. Less than an hour of scrambling took us to the summit.

It wasn’t even noon yet, so we kicked back and had some laughs reading the bizarre, altitude-enhanced, summit-register entries as they usually involve God, “I can’t believe I made it” testimonials or something resembling an Oscar speech.

I added my own, knowing our climbing friends would be along in a few minutes. “Agnew Meadow to Banner Peak, car to car—the Sierra really is made to be the Range of Light and Fast.”

After descending the rock section we whooped down the glacier in full glissade mode. Freezing cold sections of creekside trail from the morning were now tempting swimming holes in the afternoon heat. The thought of sandwiches beat the need to cool off, and, besides, we were still embracing the joy of movement. It had been a full day and we were in love with “Run-a-Bagging.” By combining so many things we love, we had found the cure for FOMO and look forward to many years of treatment.

____________________________________________

DolomiteSport’s note… This article was originally written in 2004 and published in Trail Runner Magazine. Looking back, I see it truly was the beginning of a love affair with mountain running in to climb easy peaks. Countless similar trips have been done since in mountains throughout the world.

____________________________________________

Eastern Sierra Nevada Trail Running Resources

Basecamp

Dan cooling off in one of countless High Sierra lakes

Bishop (pop. 3800) is strategically located in the heart of the Sierra Nevada, and serves as the jumping-off point to countless trail systems, most within an hour of town.

Getting There. Bishop lies on California Highway 395 along the eastern escarpment of the range, approximately three and a half hours south of Reno and four to five hours north of Los Angeles. The town of Mammoth Lakes (40 minutes away) now has flights in and out from LA, Reno, and San Jose – check in with them for more info. Mammoth may also serve as your basecamp and is higher in elevation and much cooler than Bishop for mid-Summer visits.

Seasons. While summer days can hit 100 degrees in town, Sierra trailheads 20 minutes away can be quite chilly. July through September are the best months for mountain running.

Resources. Drop into Bishop’s prestigious running shop, Sage to Summit on Main Street for maps and trail information. Sage to Summit’s owner Karen Schwartz, is currently compiling running trail information for a soon-to-be-released guide to the Eastern Sierra.

R.J. Secor’s The High Sierra; Peaks, Passes and Trails is the bible for local hiking and climbing. Remember though: a great hiking trail may not always be suitable for running due to the surface and steepness. The book’s information is best for ascending the peak’s themselves. For running selects again, Sage to Summit is your resource.

Food and Drink. Bishop’s Black Sheep Cafe is where to get your morning buzz & carbs as well as to meet like-minded trail mammals. Evenings are best spent at the Whiskey Creek Happy Hour in downtown Bishop, or better yet, on your tailgate tucked away in some cool backcountry parking spot near a trailhead.

Sierra Tick List

Jason Hamm headed to Mt. Emerson

Bishop Area

> North Lake—Piute Pass—Mount Emerson : A great warmup for Sierra mountain running. A six-mile casual climb to Piute Pass serves as a primer for the thousand feet of talus to the summit of Mount Emerson.

> South Lake—Bishop Pass—Mount Agassiz : Running to Bishop Pass is a local tradition. Adding the northwest slope of Mount Agassiz makes it even better. An almost entirely run-able six-mile trail puts you at the base of the switchbacks to Bishop Pass, attain the col, follow the slopes where they drop onto the pass then head straight to the summit. Stunning views of the Palisade Crest await.

> Evolution Loop—North Lake to South Lake : THE Sierra classic. Replacing summits with passes, this 40- to 70-mile loop will have you seriously considering Eastern Sierra real estate. A variety of early options exist to customize the length. Choose the Lamarck Col over Piute Pass to eliminate about 25 miles. No matter what you choose you will end up running the John Muir Trail (JMT) through the Evolution Basin, arguably the Sierra Nevada’s perfect spot. Next up is Muir Pass; consider the JMT Thru-Runner’s body condition at this point—mile 100 of their 215-mile journey.

Janine running into Bishop Pass

Janine climbing Mt. Agassiz's north slopes high above Bishop Pass, 3rd class

Janine Patitucci running in the Sierra high country, Evolution Loop

> Glacier Lodge/South Fork Big Pine Creek—East Face of Middle Palisade : The choice for the mountaineer-runner. A steep trail run and cross-country travel brings you to a small glacier and the East Face of the 14,000-foot Middle Palisade Peak. Here you will curse the author at the site of the imposing wall in front of you. But really, it is 4^th class, quite safe and easy (I too was intimidated). Gain the face by the right side of the prow where it splits the glacier.

Dan Patitucci on the Shepherd Pass Trail

> Shepherd Pass—Mount Tyndall : If a remote, grueling 12-mile uphill run to a long ridge to 14,000 feet sounds like fun, this is the run for you. Shepherd Pass is known for being hard and mentally tough, as no matter how much you run, the pass never seems to get closer – I suggest starting well before first light. Luckily, it is also known for being wondrous in its alpine setting.

Mammoth Area

> Agnew Meadow—Banner Peak : As described above in the feature story, this is our favorite of the bunch. Get an early start to avoid afternoon heat when running out of the canyon.

Mountain Trail Running and Peak Bagging : Gear List

Shoes. Trail-running shoes with sticky rubber are a must. We are longtime La Sportiva fans as they have the mountain running shoe dialed in with real support, protection and sticky rubber, the combination of which is helpful for Run-a-Bagging.

Clothing. Mid summer, the Sierra are warm, hot even, but, they are mountains and as such, anything can happen. If the forecast is good, my usual set up is running shorts, light weight tights, running-T, long sleeve, thin insulated vest, super light rain shell. Of course, a beanie and gloves. Extra socks might be  good idea both for that fresh feeling and to avoid the dirt and grit rub. Thunderstorms are the threat for getting wet and cold.

Trail running packs should fit trim and tight against the back

Probably fine...?

Packs. Just large enough to accommodate food & water, clothing (see above), and map. Pack stability is important, test yours on short and long runs before you commit to a serious day. Packs can end up rubbing, causing sore necks, or, even after feeling comfortable in the shop, being hopelessly uncomfortable on hour 4. The perfect pack is out there, find it.

Hydration. We like hand-held bottles, although bladder systems work well too. Hand bottles are easily monitored,  easy to fill creekside and keep weight off your back. Sierra water may be crystal clear, but using a water filter or chemical treatment is wise. Up to you… sometimes I do, sometimes I don’t.

Calories & Salt. In recent years I have gone back to normal food when out, it is pretty tough to beat a homemade burrito. Just be sure to have a good mix of of salty and sweet. If you do bars, remember, the Sierra can be hot, choose accordingly, Larabar and Clif Bar work well. Finally, even in the High Sierra you are sweating, probably a lot— consider replacing lost electrolytes with a supplement like E-Caps.

Kahtoola crampons are great for spring ascents of high peaks, like here on Mt. Dana

First aid. Carry athletic tape and gauze for patching skinned knees, etc. For lightweight kits, check out Adventure Medical Kits. The Sierra Nevada are a high mountain range with many passes over 12,000 feet and loads of summits over 13,000. Know your limits, pay attention to headaches, don’t just treat them with drugs.

Crampons. Most routes don’t require them, but those that do will have you wanting a pair of lightweight Kahtoolas. They’re made to work on hiking and running shoes.

________________________________________________

Shop Mountain Gear for the best trail running shoes, clothing & training equipment

by John Stamstad, part 2

Sleep deprivation is a pretty fascinating thing. Everywhere I looked, inanimate objects were moving, even the rocks, they just kept shifting around. The big rocks looked like tents, I mean they looked exactly like tents. I would stop and go up to them, usually say, “hello is anyone home” and have to touch it before being convinced that it was rock instead of ripstop.

That night my sleep deprivation induced imaginary friends came out. I had about 4 alter egos who would help me problem solve, that way I could concentrate on running and they would take care of the other details. It sounds a little crazy to write about it now but at the time and in that state– which is like being a live character in a dream world– I didn’t think anything of it, it seemed logical. And it was actually very productive. One of them suggested that I wear the pack facing forward on my chest. I remember thinking, “Man why didn’t I think of that”. It worked like a charm for my back but the downside is when you wear your pack on the front you can’t see your feet, which means you trip a lot and have to go slowly.

These lower passes of Gladys and Ruby Lake –lower being only 10,000 ft–were warmer but going up Donahue was brutal—40mph winds and cold. There was nowhere to hide, I just had to put my head down and go. I got over the top and I really needed to sleep, this was my fifth night and I had only slept 2 hours total. I made it down to tree line but it was still way below freezing. I decided to bivy anyway. I pulled out my space bag only to find that it had ripped apart. I didn’t have much choice so I just laid down between two fallen trees for some shelter and wrapped the remnants of the bag around me like a blanket. I woke up an hour later and realized that my legs were so cold they had no feeling from the knee down. When I moved to feel them, my hands were like clubs, so numb from the cold that I couldn’t uncurl my fingers. I couldn’t even get up to walk. After a short panic attack, and a few agonizing minutes, I was able to get some circulation and movement back and I restored calm.  As soon as I could, I got moving and tried to generate some desperately needed heat.  I had 7 miles to go to Tuolumne Meadows, and as soon as I hit the warm sun I stopped and lay down on a rock…….

Behind the Scenes, part 2

by Dan Patitucci

Deep in the forest beneath the south side of Half Dome, we heard the phone ring. “I can’t believe we have service back here”, was the first thought that came to mind, much less whom would be calling, it was John. “You’re where?” …”The Tuolumne Store, I’m done, I’ll be at the store, on the side of the road, you’ll find me”.

Janine and I had run in hoping to meet John along the way so we could run out with him to the finish in Yosemite Valley. Now we were sprinting back to the car, knowing John would appreciate a timely pick up, still an hour plus drive away.

We pulled into the Tuolumne store’s parking lot right at dusk, and there, huddled amongst the boulders was a person so annihilated it could only be the result of 200 miles of running. In the shadows John lay as a dark mass, we helped him up and immediately noted the shredded shoes, filthy and torn clothing and the fact that his feet were anything but usable. “You must be ready to get out of here” I said. “I’m ready for a beer”.

A couple of hours later, after beers and fish tacos at the Mobile Mart, we pulled up to our Bishop house. John was long gone and waking him was tough, getting him out of the car harder still. Here was proof that rigor mortis is possible while alive. Once inside the house, he came up short of the bed, shorter yet to the shower, and collapsed in the armchair, displacing our cat. Once again, he was out. Here, in the light of the living room, I studied him. This was a man who had just run the John Muir Trail and had not slept much at all in 5 days. He looked the part. I have never done anything to push myself to these extremes, but I could imagine that what he felt inside his destroyed body was pure joy. I was left tremendously inspired.

________________________________________

John Muir Trail Photography

To see images of the John Muir Trail, visit our great friend, and professional photographer John Dittli’s website as he has produced the definitive coffee table book on the trail.

Ben Grasseschi plowing along

A foot at the house...

The Endless Winter

Janine, Dan and a large group of friends are headed into the Sierra for 5 days of work; alpine climbing and ski touring. The Sierra got wind of this and decided it would be best to do a little tidying up of the backdrops with nearly a meter of fresh snow. Not sure if that is what we really wanted, but we got it. Plans have been adjusted accordingly.

Today we thought it important to do a little, uhhmm uhhm, “scouting”. What we found was an amazing amount of powder for April in the Sierra Backcountry. Last week we were skiing corn and even had reports that a good harvest was found at 13,000 feet. Corn & flip flops turned to powder. This truly is the Endless Winter in the Eastern Sierra Nevada. The Sierra have been the perfect host for our winter stay. Much appreciated.

Next week we’ll have a batch of Eastern Sierra photos and hopefully tales of turns and sun.

Janine Patitucci missing the spring a little less today

90 minutes later, as we neared the small summit of Punta Bardini, things began to look better. Just in time for the skins off & off zippers up, the sun broke through, the wind ceased to roar and we were all smiles. Two laps later we were at the car, wow, maybe the best powder of the Sierra backcountry year – on March 31. Happy happy spring.

Facts & Figures: about 18 inches of powder above the town of Mammoth Lakes. Steeper slopes, >30 degrees, we saw some slabs cut loose, heads up. Everything is super wind affected thanks to the 120+mph winds we had. Powder is out there but get it while you can.

Janine on the cold & grim skin up

Janine encouraged by blue sky and distant views of the Eastern Sierra

Janine further inspired by what she sees

I can't believe I stopped so much to shoot

Janine happy she at least brought the red jacket for the point & shoot photo shoot

Guess who?, lap 2

Janine making her signature "Swiggles"

We came, we skied, we left some graffiti

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

Backcountry Ski Report from December 29, along with some skiing photos from the day back to Mt. Baldwin.

An unexpected 4-5 inches of new snow was up high on the Sierra Crest. Down feathers would be a good term to describe it. Last night’s little system didn’t seem to have any wind as everything was uniformly covered in a white frosting.

But tonight’s event is supposed to bring, sadly, a couple feet of wind. Damn. We’ll have to find some place new to ski knee deep fluff.

Please note that once again, the photos end where the skins get yanked. My month off shooting work photos is about to end.

Enjoy the Sierra skiing photos from another great day. John Dittli will be posting a video from today as well at his John Dittli Blog.

The Wineglass

The thought of backcountry skiing the lower elevation trees was out of the question this morning. Boring was the term that was coming to mind. After 13 days skiing the backcountry, it was time to get up high and put some mileage in. In the morning we called it recon for conditions, now in the evening, we are calling it a great decision.

Without any new snow recently in the Sierra Nevada, and loads of wind, things have been falling apart. Options are becoming fewer and fewer, nearly everything exposed or up high has been trashed. Our enthusiasm has been reduced by crust and thinning snow depths.

Today our gamble paid off – big time. And, much to my liking, we found some Sierra Nevada terrain I had never laid eyes on. Couloirs, lots and lots of couloirs. For some odd reason, I had the voice of Susie Sutphin “wowing” in my head. John Dittlis Sierra Nevada wisdom, resulting from 30+ years of skiing the backcountry, continues to payoff.

Conditions are still good, very good.

Yes, there are tracks in this photo

John Dittli entering the newly named Sierra Wilderness Area