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.

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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

left to right: The Eiger, Mönch, Jungfrau

Alpine Climbing in the Bernese Oberland

The Jungfraujoch train from Grindelwald

This trip is all about alpine climbing three moderate routes on famous mountains while being in one of the world’s most dramatic landscapes. All easily approached via an unforgettable train ride.

Undoubtedly, one of man’s most impressive mountain infrastructure achievements is the Jungfraujoch Train. Starting in the idyllic Swiss village of Grindelwald, directly beneath the Eiger Nordwand, the Jungfraujochbahn is a cog train that first climbs to Kleine Scheidegg before entering a tunnel in the Eiger and literally climbing through the mountain to a station at 3454 meters. There, passengers disembark into a tourism venue like no other. The Station is built into a rock buttress at the head of the Aletschgletscher, Europe’s longest glacier which stretches below the station for 23 km.

The view down to Grindelwald from the Kleine Scheidegg

The station is a combination viewing platform, souvenir shop, ice palace and of course food court, complete with noodle stall and Indian cuisine to satisfy the vast numbers of Asian tourists. But for the alpine climber, the attraction is the Sphinx Tunnel which is an exit to the glaciers. To access many of the 4000 meter alpine peaks of the Berner Oberland, one must first descend to their bases from the Jungfrau Station.

The Mönchs Hut

Their are countless peaks to climb or ski in Switzerland’s Bernese Oberland, but a popular trip is to take the train up, stay in the nearby Mönchsjoch Hut, and climb the famous Trilogy of the Mönch, Jungfrau and Eiger. This is a 4-5 day trip that will have you in the alpine world the entire time. If the weather is solid for the three routes, they may all be done back to back before returning to the Valley on the Jungfrau Train. To score with the weather means a bit of luck. As luck would have it, we had that period in 2003 and did the Trilogy in one push. We have also been there a number of other times for quick in and outs, the potential is like the terrain, massive. For American alpine climbers seeking moderate routes in extreme terrain, this is the trip of a lifetime if you want a European goal to strive for.

Climbing the Mönch's final corniced ridge to the summit

The Experience – the oddities of which will surely have you curious.

Howie & Karen Schwartz on the Jungfrau

Summary

Day 1 : Train to Jungfraujoch, exit station, climb the Mönch (4107 meters) on the way to the Mönchs Hut.

Day 2 : Climb the Jungfrau (4158 meters) from the Mönchs Hut.

Day 3 : Back to the Station, descend train, exit train at the Eismeer Station within the Eiger (you’ll have to inform the conductor), climb south face of the Eiger to the Mittellegi Ridge and the Mittellegi Hut.

Day 4 : Climb the Eiger’s Mittellegi Ridge to the summit (3970 meters), descend south to the Mönchs Hut and then to the Jungraujoch Station make last train to Grindelwald.

Day 5 : Relax in Grindelwald, eat a rösti and drink a beer while staring up at the peaks you just climbed.

Now let me preface the actual story by saying that this project, while not difficult, is extraordinarily serious. The weather in the Bernese Oberland can go from pleasant to severe in minutes and there are extremely dangerous objective hazards in the climbing (glacier issues, route finding, and loose rock). I highly recommend a UIAGM Mountain Guide if you are not entirely accustomed to climbing in the Alps and in this terrain. More Guide info at the end of the post.

Climbers on the Jungfrau

Dan & Janine relaxing on the Mönchs Hut deck

Climbing the Eiger’s Mittellegi Ridge

What makes this experience so special is that you are on a kind of mini, and somewhat luxurious, expedition. While it is only 4 days, it is busy with go-go-go and heavy on logistics. Of course it is possible to extend the trip with extra hut nights, especially for the return to the Mönchs Hut. Instead of hurrying to make last train, one can stay the night. However, multiple nights up so high with possible sleep issues may have you longing for lower elevations.

Janine taking note of the Hotel Rathole availability

The Mönch and the Jungfrau are fairly straightforward – I won’t go into details as there is better info available. But, the Eiger’s Mittellegi Ridge is a story all on its own for the process to get up on it and down is like no other I have seen. You may not be doing the Nordwand, but the experience of the Eiger is still quite unique when doing the Mittellegi.

The first step to get to the Mittellegi Hut is to get off the Jungfraujoch Train at the Eismeer Station. This is a stop inside the Eiger. Here you will step off the train into the darkness and the train will roll away leaving only the climbers behind. A large steel door leads to a steeply descending passageway. With headlamps on we entered. Ahead was a blinding light which became a sunlit glacier as we got closer. The tunnel ends at a balcony complete with cute Swiss railing. Here you will be in the world of ice, seracs and steep, loose rock.

The Mittellegi Hut. The summit is behind.

The beta given to us was to rope & helmet up – then run like hell across a big open section of glacier beneath the south face of the Eiger. The reason is immediately obvious as gravity is working its magic on the rotting rock and melting ice. Once to the other side, the climb begins to the actual ridge and the precariously perched hut.

Paraglider getting up to the level of the Mittellegi Hut

The Mittellegi Ridge is rated alpine D, with sections of rock to about 5.4. Nothing is mentioned about the approach to the hut. My memory is climbing hard rock with mountain boots and a pack on. I could be wrong, but I seem to remember a significant length of 5.7 laybacking, made desperate in my La Sportiva Nupstes. I also remember no belay anchor for the second (rumor has it that this has been remedied) and most clear of all, thinking that reversing this whole thing in poor weather would be hellish. But we did it. After passing the technical section we diagonaled into the hut on rising sloping ledge systems made dicey with loose rock and bullet like flying stones. The hut was a welcome end to a stressful and odd day.

The Mittellegi Hut itself is a wonder as it is perched literally right on the ridge of the Eiger. Look north and you look straight down the Nordwand. It is a location you will never forget. Rising immediately from its balcony is the Mittellegi Ridge that ascends into a pyramid of black stone, the Eiger’s summit.

At dinner we sat with an old Swiss couple. When I say old I mean in their early 70′s. They amazed Janine and I with the fact that they have been climbing the Eiger every year for a very long time. They amazed us even more as they quickly dropped us in the following morning’s darkness. Such is the European mountain culture.

Climbers on the Mittellegi Ridge

The route itself is relatively simple. Route finding means following the crest, or the climbers in front of you, or in some areas, the fat, fixed ropes. If the weather is good it is low stress climbing, the views are unmatched, and the only real concern is to make that last train. But the climb, as we found out, is only part of the day. The descent is complicated, long and slow if you do not know it. It was somewhere during the descent that stress to make the train kicked in.

While staying at the Mönchs Hut we had seen two Italian climbers stumble in just before dinner. They collapsed at our table and stared like zombies at their plates. I asked what they had done. “Mittellegi”, was all they got out. I just remember thinking that they either epic’ed in a big way or were way out of shape.

But I was starting to get it as we descended the Eiger, it is huge. Thankfully we did not epic and we not only made last train, we made it in time to get a bite to eat in the station before boarding.

Once back in Grindelwald, there are few more amazing views to be had from a town, especially views up to mountains that contain some of our greatest memories.

The view up to the Eiger from Grindelwald

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Where to eat in Grindelwald

Don’t miss great food and ambience at Cafe und Mehr (C&M) : sit out on the deck and take in the views of where you have been.

Need an English speaking Mountain Guide?

Cosley Houston Alpine Guides are Americans based in Chamonix and know the Alps like locals.

Howie Schwartz of Sierra Mountain Guides works in the Swiss Alps and Berner Oberland each summer.

Swiss Alpine Huts

The Mittellegi Hut and Mönchs Hut : Like all huts, a reservation is mandatory before arrival. Huts are about CHF60/night and includes a bed, dinner and breakfast. A great rate. But, be prepared for some expensive water and miscellaneous food & drink as it must all be flown in by helicopter.

The Evolution Traverse

As professional photographers, our launch pad was shooting climbing photos. Rock & Ice and Climbing Magazine were our bread and butter. We got to go climbing, take some snaps, and get them to the magazines. At that time I was a climber first, photographer second and the idea of getting paid to make climbing photos was too good to be true. Later, a decent number of assignments began coming from them as well. One that was especially fun was in 2002, Matt Samet’s Best Ridge Traverses of America article for Climbing Magazine.

David Melkonian climbing Mt. Mendel on the Evolution Traverse

Matt came out to Bishop, stayed with us, and together with Jim Karn we all went and traversed the Palisade Crest in the Sierra Nevada in a day. A long day. After, Jim wisely went home leaving Matt behind for his next ridge, the Evolution Traverse. For whatever reason I opted out in the hopes of doing it later in the season.

I remember watching Matt pack up, or rather unpack to go up. He basically took nothing. His idea was simply to hike in, climb the enormity that is the Evolution Traverse, and walk back out. With his few PowerGels, Matt drove up to the trail head to begin his long march in over Lamarck Col. Late the next day, at home, we received a phone call from someone sounding like the mentally ill. It was Matt, and it was apparent he needed assistance. Mutterings about car keys and his whereabouts was all I got.

I sped up to the Lake Sabrina trail head, which is not where he should have been, and found the mess that was Matt Samet. His formerly brand new approach shoes were tattered scraps of nylon and rubber. His hands looked liked he had tried to floss the teeth of a living Great White shark while his lips were so swollen it appeared as if he mouthed off to Mike Tyson. He had successfully climbed the entire Evolution Traverse.

Part of the tale was this: Once finished he succumbed to a nap. Upon waking he watched as a Pika ran off with something shiny, his car key. He picked up his camera bag with freshly gnawed hole in the mesh side pocket and started for North Lake, a stinking, filthy, tattered mess. Figuring him for a fellow redneck, he convinced some Bishop locals to drive him down so he might make a phone call, to me.

Some years before, Peter Croft, in a period of massive energy, discovered this ridge line high above Evolution Valley. His trained eye caught the fact that it seemed to continue uninterrupted for several miles south of Mt. Mendel. He decided to investigate and in doing so had it confirmed that it went for much longer than he thought before hooking around and ending at Mt. Huxley. At Grade VI, 5.9, about 8 miles long, often above 13,000 feet/4000 meters, and with nearly 10,000 feet/3000 meters of gain, the Evolution Traverse was created.

David Melkonian climbing Mt. Mendel early on the Evolution Traverse

Word of it spread, Peter had some media attention and one quote stuck with me, “Normally, you do a route, get to the summit – the prettiest place of all – and then you just go back down. But when you do a ridge traverse, it’s like being on a summit all day long.” That was the hook, and as I was in my own squirt of Sierra energy, I knew I would have to do it.

The Evolution Traverse

Once Matt could speak again I got the full beta. The route was confirmed as brilliant, I started making plans by first finding someone to do it with. David Melkonian was the guy.

After this I went up to Canada and climbed the famous Lotus Flower Tower, one of North America’s 50 Classics. And it was truly that, classic. An unforgettable trip.

David Melkonian on the Evolution Traverse

But the Evolution Traverse was in my head, once home David and I began planning. We decided to take a rope in case we chose to rappel some of the harder, loose down climbing from Darwin’s summit, but also in case we really needed it for the climbing. We also decided to start late in the day and bivvy on Mt. Mendel’s summit so as to give us the entire next day to wrap things up. This was also because David was a paramedic and got off work in the late morning. As a longtime Sierra Nevada climber, and more experienced than I doing long Sierra days, I had a great partner.

We began climbing from the Darwin Bench in the late afternoon. Getting to the top of Mendel actually required quite a lot of real climbing, but always on solid rock. We moved quickly and efficiently, soloing all but one short, steep step.

Once on the summit, we prepped for the night before being wowed by a special Sierra Nevada sunset. After the grand finale we settled in to spend a very cold night at 13,710 feet/4179 meters.

Mt. Mendel Summit Sunset

Mt. Mendel Bivouac

The next day is a blur of climbing sideways. We did rap from the summit of Darwin, then spent hours moving along the ridge line, negotiating towers and gendarmes. It was the best climbing I have ever done, soloing on good rock with easy, aesthetic movement. We were often silent, just in our own heads dealing with the task we had committed to.

I vividly remember that last bit of real climbing as we arrived to the summit of the final peak. We had done it. Exhaustion like that is a wonderful luxury. We began the descent in the early darkness and arrived to the lakes of Evolution Basin in the pitch black. There, like animals, we just laid down beneath the stars on a warm Sierra night.

I fought sleep so as to savor that moment. A month before I had climbed one of the finest long free routes in the world, The Lotus Tower. But to me, personally, nothing could compare to the experience I had on the Evolution Traverse, and still nothing does.

Walking out through the Evolution Basin the morning after, some of the ridge line is above

As professional mountain sport photographers, we have this massive database of photos that I must work within each day. But for us it is far more than a collection of work images, it is a collection of memories. The nature of the way we work is to photograph our experiences, not just document others. As a result, we have a visual reminder of our lives and all the things we do.

In the last ten years we have been on countless trips; climbing, skiing, running and hiking. So, which experiences stand out amongst them all, and why? Finally, can our trips inspire others to go on their own?

What are the criteria for a favorite trip? Beauty, Emotion, Landscape, Travel, Difficulty, Effort and of course the friends we share it all with. The envelope please…

In no special order, according to Dan & Janine Patitucci, the Top 5 Mountain Sport Trips are :

1. The Ortler Ski Tour, Italy

2. Hiking & Running Iceland's Laugavegur Tour

3. Trail Running the Tour du Mont Blanc. France, Italy, Switzerland

4. Climbing the Evolution Traverse, Sierra Nevada, California

5. Alpine Climbing the Berner Oberland Region's three classics: Monch, Jungfrau, Eiger. Switzerland

Now for the fun part, or parts 1 – 5, telling each story of each experience, with photos. Stay tuned.

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

Austria’s tallest, the Grossglockner is home to one of the best moderate ridge climbs I have done anywhere. The Stüdlgrat.Austria’s Highest Peak is also a Classic.

At 3798 meters, the Grossglockner towers over the surrounding peaks in the Hohe Tauern Group of the Eastern Alps. Flanked with massive, crevasse and serac covered glaciers, the mountain looks more like something you would see in the Swiss Alps. But it’s home is in Austria and it rises mightily above green valley floors and quiet villages.

The approach begins in Lucknerhaus (1920 meters) on the south side of the mountain. From there a trail heads north and straight for the Grossglockner. Once above the Lucknerhütte (2241 meters) the trail begins to climb steadily. Follow signs for the Stüdlhütte (2802 meters). This is a fantastic hut with undoubtedly the friendliest staff we have ever run across. Not only are they fun and friendly, they have a fresh salad and soup buffet along with a breakfast unmatched in any alpine hut. Wake up is at 5 a.m .in the summer, 6 a.m. for the fall when there are less crowds climbing the routes.

The route as seen from the morning approach on the glacier

Where to go in the morning is obvious, up the rock ridgeline right behind the hut. For the normal route, climbers will veer off right towards the glacier and the Erzh.- Joh. Hütte. Once on top of the ridge get on the glacier and traverse left around a low highpoint on the Grossglockner’s Stüdlgrat proper, you are aiming for the base where it truly terminates in the glacier. This section of the glacier is crevassed and roping up is advised.

Alberto De Giuli climbing the Grossglockner's Stüdlgrat

Once on the ridge, it becomes immediately apparent why it is a classic. The rock is perfect, almost nothing is loose, the setting is stunning and the route is long, interesting and varied. And, it is well equipped with fat new bolts. Where it gets steep, and it does, there are two sections with fixed cables ala Via Ferrate. Using them is optional. There is little need for a topo as the route stays almost directly on the ridgeline, if you get lost, you probably don’t belong. Follow crampon marks on the clean stone. While the route is not exceptionally difficult, it is serious as both sides of the ridge plummet to the glaciers below. The grade for the route is Alpine AD with rock at III/IV. It is a rock climb of the most classic Alp nature.

Alberto De Giuli and Janine Patitucci

Alberto De Giuli and Janine Patitucci

The route does not end on the summit, for the descent of the normal route leaves some business to attend to. The down climb is also rather steep and exposed on south facing rock. While well equipped, the descent is often a traffic jam of climbers and descenders. Once off the ridge you’ll pass the Erzh.-Joh. Hütte at 3454 meters before the long, low angle ridge descent to the glacier far below. This section of ridge is protected as a Via Ferrata.

Overall, the experience of climbing the  Grossglockner’s Stüdlgrat was one of perfection. We did it on 22 September, 2009 on a perfect fall day. There were only about 25 others on the mountain and we had views to our home range of the Dolomites. We did the route with our friend and alpine guide Alberto De Giuli.

Additional info for the route may be found on SummitPost and we found it very accurate.

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Interested in doing this route and seeking an English speaking Mountain Guide? Contact Alberto De Giuli