Denali's Cassin Ridge - Classic Climb #45

Janelle takes a break at the Matt's second bivy, 17K'

Denali’s Cassin Ridge is a true American classic. I have been intrigued by this 8000’ (2440m) ridge since hearing about it in 2004. It carves a direct line, up technical terrain, to the summit of North America’s tallest peak…what’s not to love! My wife of 8.5 years and I were back in Alaska for our third attempt.

Attempt #1 June 2012: First, we climbed the Harvard Route on Mt Huntington, and then bumped directly over to Denali. After skiing from the summit (20,320’) via the West Buttress route, and spending a total of 26 days on the glacier we were fried from continuous bad weather and inaccurate forecasts.

Mark wearing his "grumpy pants" after concluding we could not climb the Cassin for the second time.

Attempt #2 July 2013. First, we were successful on the Mooses Tooth’s West Ridge. Then, straight down to Juneau for Mt. Fairweather, a hard-earned success that took 17 days. Then back to the Cassin. We returned to the 14,000' camp, waited, acclimatized, and waited some more. After 10 days of heavy lifting and skiing around we were poised to go. Upon arriving to the access couloir we discovered the route had melted out from record high temps that season. Rocks showered down the access couloir even during the coldest part of the day. Not willing to jump into this firing range, we bailed again, with tails between our legs. Another $4000 blown on flights and permits. The score was Denali 2, Smileys 0.

High camp on the Mt Logan. photo Jed Porter

Last year we directed all finances and time to Mt Logan…and failed. Following that sucky and scary effort, Janelle underwent two hip surgeries, in July and Sept respectively. She had been dealing with ever increasing hip pain over the last two years. The MRI revealed tore labrums in both hips due to overuse. This was the heavy price of competing at the World Cup level in ski mountaineering.  Thankfully, a full recovery was predicted, yet it would take 10 months to achieve. July 2014, Janelle walked into the hospital and came out in a wheelchair. 10 months of PT, icing, constant passive motion machine, tears and frustration, truckloads of support from friends and family, and 10 gallons worth of Colorado Bulldogs brought us to May. A decision had to be made; do we put the hips to the ultimate test by trying the Cassin a third time?

Despite the PT’s conservative recommendation, Janelle was game. She trained like a crazy person for the next 8 weeks.

Alpenglow on Mt Foraker at 3:30AM

Choosing the best strategy to get to the base of the Cassin Ridge is a tough decision. Each option requires time, motivation, and exposure to significant hazards. If you choose to acclimatize on Denali, 99% of climbers (48.6% of all stats are made up on the spot) make the five-day trek up to the 14,000’ camp, hang out for a week, and maybe go to the summit via the W. Buttress. To get to the base of the Cassin from the 14,000’ camp you must climb up to 16,000’ on the West Rib route, and descend to around 11,500’. Daunting? Yes. This style takes around 10-14 days to complete, assuming you are very strong, stoked, and blessed with great weather. 

On our past attempts we tried that style. We hate it. Getting everything to the 14,000’ camp is a huge effort. From there, it takes significant mental fortitude to ignore the bad weather, the wildly inaccurate weather forecasts, the scared naysayer climbers, and stay stoked for the big objective. Often, eager Cassin suitors do not even step foot on the route.

Nothing like a sit start to squeeze out every drop from this route. Photo: Janelle Smiley

It plays out like this. You go to the summit via the West Buttress and return to the 14,000’ camp. Stoke for the Cassin is quickly lost as the forecast “doesn’t look that great.” The smell coming from your nether region is reminiscent of a week old tuna sandwich, left in a hockey bag, that’s been marinated in baby vomit. The call-of-the-shower, French fries, and flush toilets grows louder and louder. Once a group of summitters (noun: person who has stood on a mountain’s highest point) come down and start talking about ice cream, garden salads and adult beverage consumption…you can kiss motivation goodbye.

This style also requires many many days of high pressure. Good weather to get to 14,000’, good weather to acclimatize, good weather to climb the Cassin, good weather to descend, and finally good weather to fly off. That’s a pretty tall order in the Alaska Range.

Mark pulls through the short but steep crux in the Japanese Couloir. Photo: Janelle Smiley

We were tried of failing, and tired of trying to stay mentally tough at the 14,000’-blackhole-vortex-of-climbing-stoke. This year we changed our strategy. We would acclimatize off Denali. So I went down to Ecuador to guide a Cotopaxi trip, and Janelle went to Colorado and climbed/skied 14ers for eight-days prior to flying up to Alaska. I flew straight from Quito and Janelle from Denver. This was just enough time at altitude to make us feel “juiced up”, and confident to go straight in.

Friday, June 12, The best air service for climbers in the range, Talkeetna Air Taxi, landed us on a very hot Kahiltna Glacier. Reports from the mountain claimed over a meter of fresh snow in the last two days. Walking through the “Valley of Death” after that much snowfall was extra unnerving with increased avalanche danger. We decided to burn a day before going up the V.o.D. Allowing the avy danger to chill out. [When discussing the route around loved ones, I recommend saying, “V.o.D.” opposed to Valley of Death. Additionally, only 4 people have been killed in this Valley. Compared to the estimated 20+ that have slipped to their death on the Autobahn, on the West Buttress Route].

Mark Smiley & Matt Tuttle nearing the top of the Japanese Couloir. Photo: Matt Parker

Less than three hours of sled hauling, with rando race skis, brought us to our advanced basecamp at the base of Ski Hill. Some call this the 7,800’ camp, my gps told me 7,600’. At this camp 99% of climbers advance left up Ski Hill, but we would take a fairly hard right into the NE Fork of the Kahiltna (V.o.D.). Rolling into camp we noticed a very welcome trail already kicked in the V.o.D. by a guided group climbing the West Rib. This gift would save hours of trail breaking. Things were looking good.

Saturday, we slept in, sorted gear, made pancakes, and tried to keep cool while our nerves tried to psych us out with negative “what ifs”.

Sunday morning at 3AM we were walking up the V.oD. Rich pink and purple alpenglow blanketed tops of the surrounding mountains. The winds were light as we hiked quickly up this mega terrain trap. Janelle’s pack weighed 36lbs and mine weighed 41 (with crampons and tools, not including our 50m 7.8 Sterling Photon rope), which allowed for swift travel. Over the next five hours, on an established trail, we gained 4,400’ over 5 miles. Passing by the start of the West Rib route, one of my legs punched through a completely inconspicuous crevasse. The hidden trapdoor opened, and I fell flat on my face and hands without warning. Janelle instinctively pulled the rope tight as I wallowed backward to the safe side. This wake-up call reminded me that Alaska is the real deal, much like the honey badger. These mountains don’t blink an eye when they kill you, try to kill you, or let you pass by unscathed.

Reaching the top of the couloir, we touch the Cassin Ridge proper for the first time.

Cresting the final roll to the bergschrund, our jaws dropped when we saw three 2-man tents pitched side by side. Were we about to get behind a Korean-style assault of the route? Thankfully not, just six other climbers queued up and eager to send during this great weather window. Two of the six people were women gunning for the very difficult Denali Diamond route. [side note: Last I heard, they had sent the crux and were on their way to the summit, a first female ascent. Congrats!]. Two guys were still in their tent, and the remaining two guys, Matt Park and Matt Tuttle (aka the Matts), were eagerly packing up. The main problem with multiparty ice climbing is that the highest party inevitably sends down ice chunks on the parties below. With six eager people do we draw straws? Who would go first? We used a mixture of down home politeness, forward momentum, and Euro aggression and took the lead, telling the Matts to pass us ASAP.

The entrance of the route is the 1000’ Japanese couloir. For most parties this is simul-climbing terrain, and is dispatched quickly. We climbed three 50 meter pitches together, placing one screw per pitch, and regrouped at the base of the first crux. I hadn’t been ice climbing much last winter, so I moved deliberately, making sure to keep “the pump” at bay while working through the two 80° sections. Ice tools have a tendency to push the climber back, making this 80° slope feel like 90°. With only 5 screws total, I had to use them sparingly. My pack felt extra heavy as I pulled through the near vertical sections.

Snow the Cowboy Arete can be light and fluffy or bulletproof.

For the past hour we had been showering the Matt’s with ice. I wanted them to be able to pull through this crux sans-icefall-from-us, so we chopped a tiny ledge and chilled out. From there to the top of the Japanese Couloir it was more “hero alpine ice” simul-climbing. Near the top, Janelle’s elbow got beaned by a chuck of ice, causing her fingers to temporarily go numb. No bueno. I thought about yelling down the movie quote, “if you can dodge a wrench, you can dodge the ice”, but I held my tongue. Good thing she’s tough like nails. No tears, just good ol’ fashion suck-it-up and keep going.

Simul-climbing along the Cowboy Arete. Photo: Matt Parker

Once on the ridge proper in the warm sun, we brewed up for some time…for three hours to be exact. This gave time for Matt’s to brew up and pass so they could get to 17,000’, their goal for the day. This siesta also allowed for needed acclimatization and hydrating. Normally on big alpine climbs this type of chill session is borderline sacrilege. But the forecast was perfect, and we knew our acclimatization strategy was on the aggressive side of the spectrum. The slower pace was just fine. Besides, we had five fat days of food and seven days of fuel, and eight pounds of camera gear, so we were grossly over-equipped to break any Colin Haley speed records.

Next up was the first rock crux. Janelle’s lead. I suggested, in vein, that she ditch her pack and we could haul it. She was determined to climb this pitch in style, and she did just that. I was super stoked for her. The upgraded hips were treating her right.

Brewing up with a hang kit makes everything easier. Camp 1 at 14K'

I jumped out in front again for the entire Cowboy Arête. The Matt’s had put in the booter for this section. It is 100 times easier to follow a booter than establish one, so we were thankful for their hard work. The sun was nearing the horizon as we pulled into camp. We had gone from 7,600’ to 14,000’ in 17.5 hours. Nothing like starting off with a bang! Fearing a total meltdown after such a big effort, we ate and drank like it was our job.

Day 2 – We slept in, cause why not? There was no wind and the sky was cobalt blue. It was our turn for trail breaking, so we left just before the Matts. The glacier above was easy cruising. There are two main rock bands on the Cassin. Each required climbing up a mixture of rock, snow, and ice. All on moderate technical terrain. We made our way up to, and through the first rock band. There was a bit of route finding, but between a good Suunto altimeter watch, the supertopo, and perfect weather, we were able to pick our way through the rock band without issues.

Janelle works up through the first rock band.

Around 15,400’ we pulled over for another epic brew-up session…a two-hour siesta. I was blown away we were doing this. Hanging out, shootin’ the bull with the Matts, in the middle of another perfect climbing day. It was awesome. The Matt’s took back  trail breaking duties, we drafted. Getting into the second rock band was the route finding crux. After putting our four heads together we choose correctly and climbed, in my opinion, the best pitch of the route. Because we carried a 50-meter rope, we had to use the entire thing, plus another 20 meters of simul-climbing to make the pitches go faster. Our light rack dictated long run-outs, but the climbing was moderate, with several big footholds to keep our weight over our feet whenever necessary. I had to pinch myself. We were in the middle of a true American classic alpine route, had great weather, and my wife and I were operating like a Swiss watch. It was a great moment.

A decision had to be made near the top of the second rock band. Go right to a 5.6 slab, or left to harder mixed climbing? We followed the booter left and found engaging mixed climbing. Janelle was simul-climbing below me, requiring me to pull the hardest moves without a proper belay. It was not the smartest move, but I was feeling adventurous. At the top of this great pitch was a large rock horn, perfect for slinging, to belay Janelle through the hard parts.

Janelle pulling through the alternate mixed terrain

We chopped out our second tent platform at 16,500’. It had taken 11 hours to get through the two rock bands, including a 2+ hour brew up and an hour of waiting below the crux pitch. We were feeling good about having the technical climbing below us, but the pressing question would be answered tomorrow. Did we acclimatize “enough” in Colorado and Ecuador to reach the summit the next day?

Janelle started coughing as we crawled into our two-person sleeping bag. As we tried to warm our ice blocks by playing footsie, her cough worsened. Had we pushed this ascent too fast? HAPE can be fatal. Descending from here would be a nightmare with only one 50-meter rope and a light rack. No railing in the lungs, no pink sputum, no headache. I think she will be okay. Four ibuprofen each and we went to sleep.

Looking down the ridge from 19K'

Not wanting to push our luck with this weather window, we were climbing again by 9:00AM. The previous evening, the Matts had broken the trail to 17,000’. This section was hardest trail breaking of the route…for them. We were sooo thankful that they put booter in. We took a rest break at their camp and learned it took them 2.5 hour to break the trail. It took us an hour.  Booters make all the difference. Once again they handed us the booter baton, which we would take it to the top.

The ridge flattens into a broad face above 18,000’. We felt the thin air big time, forcing a snails pace. This was the price we had to pay for such an aggressive ascent style. Remember we had launched from 7,600’ roughly 60 hours prior!  Had we put in the time at the 14,000’ camp for over a week, like our previous attempts, we could have moved twice as fast. Spend a week of time, festering on a glacier, hoping for good weather...all to shave 3 hours of moving time between 17,500 and the summit…not worth it.

Paying the price for a speedy acclimatization schedule at 19,500'

As we neared the Kahiltna Horn, the reality of completing the route took hold. Our third attempt would be successful. I teared up a little. Cause I’m sensitive. Very in touch with my two feelings. This feeling was the happy feeling, opposed to the other feeling, yucky.

We dropped the packs at the Horn and touched the top. The wind on the summit ridge was ripping around 40mph. The exact ambient air temp + windchill = stupid cold. This was Janelle’s 2^nd time to the summit, and my 4^th, so we high-fived, got a few photos and were off three minutes later. Proving once again that technical climbing is so much more about the route than the summit. Yet the summit is great because it is so definitive. I touched this spot, now I get to go downhill.

70ish hrs after leaving 7600' we were on top!

Descending the West Buttress took forever on foot as the wind continued to rip. We made it to the 14,000’ camp that evening. Tired and totally stoked we had pulled off a huge route in such a brief total time. The following afternoon we headed for the airstrip, stopping at friends camps along the way. Eating other people’s food, pooping in other people’s CMC’s (yeah that right, we did it, and it was awesome…stealth dump and run). The next morning, 7 days after arriving on the glacier, we flew back to Talkeetna.

When the weather is good in the Alaska range, big climbs can be completed in a timely fashion. All told, combining our three attempts, we have spent 33 days of our lives waiting to climb the Cassin Ridge. Now it is done, and it was totally worth the wait.

Back to the 14,000' camp, simultaneously exhausted and thrilled.

The Steck Salathe Route, Sentinel Rock, Yosemite

The #4 BD cam is the money piece for this route 

It was time for our annual pilgrimage to Yosemite. I look forward to this visit from the time we make our camping reservations at 7:00AM, six months prior to arrival.  Short approaches, great weather, warm temps, and no avalanches or cornices trying to kill us….a welcome change.

Sentinel Rock, as seen from just across the street from Camp 4

Not wanting to waste any time, we planned to climb the Steck Salathe Route on Sentinel Rock with our friend and IFMGA certified mountain guide, Jed Porter, the first full day in the Valley. He climbed Mt. Fairweather with us in June, and we were excited to climb together again.

He brought his long time climbing partner, Ian McEleney, who had done the first winter ascent of the Sierra Palisade Traverse with Jed. This is a serious multiday undertaking in freezing temps.

Janelle and I had climbed the Steck-Salathe in 2010, but left the cameras in the van that time. This time, Jed and Ian would climb ahead and get some, much needed, lead climbing shots. Filming pure rock climbing with only two people gets pretty boring as its either a butt shot of the leader or a top down shot of the second.

Janelle on pitch 4

The previous experience had spanked me pretty good. I resorted to French freeing through many of the cruxes. “Feels like 5.12, unless you are 3’10” and “very hard, even French free” and “Only easy pitch” are a few examples of the notes I made in the guidebook after our original effort. This time I wanted to do it in better style and send everything.

We started before dawn and made it to the base as the sun began to creep down the Nose of El Capitan across the Valley.

Route beta after our first encounter in 2010

The first challenging pitch was the Wilson Overhang. Last time I had pulled on gear, this time I sent it. My wide crack and chimney climbing technique had improved dramatically over the past three years. This was an encouraging way to see measurable improvement.

Janelle and I swung leads like a well-oiled machine. Jed and Ian stayed just ahead of us, whipping out the camera at opportune moments. This style of run and gun shooting on a 16-pitch climb does not allow for any wasted time. The pressure is on so you have to get the shot when it presents itself and then move on, with no real setup time.

Mark Smiley on the headwall pitch

We made it to the top of the Flying Buttress, passed through a cool 2’ wide granite hallway and rapped down for the start of the next pitch.

Janelle Smiley mentally preps for the Narrows

The “great chimney”, as Allen Steck called it, is the definitive crux of the route. The lower pitch was mine. 5.10b, stupid wide, no “grips” (inside joke), but I got it done. I wouldn’t say it was pretty, or quick, but I sent. I was pumped about that.

Ian entering the pain closet

This photo (above) is the only way to paint the picture of the next belay. We were roughly 15’-20’ inside the cliff face. Think, vertical caving. This is the start of the Narrows. Allen Steck and John Salathe climbed the outside of the wall on the first ascent in 1950, which avoids the lion’s share of the squeeze chimney. Janelle and I had followed the first ascentist on our first ascent, so we had not been in the slot. This go, we decided to give it a try. Janelle took the lead and did a wonderful job, as did Ian and Jed. They each took roughly 30 minutes to get up this 60 foot section.

I went last. I had sent (climbed without falling or resting on the gear) every pitch to this point and didn’t want to blow it here at the last crux.

Jed Porter gettin' the job done

Walking my legs up the far wall I was able to get my head, chest and stomach into the narrow section just fine. Now, the problem was that I now had to get my legs from the wide part to the skinny part. This requires some kind of double chicken wing arm bar move.

I am as flexible as a brick. This personal attribute did not help me make any upward progress. Things got ugly. After flexing every muscle in my body and going nowhere, 20 times in a row, I ran out of gas and took on the rope. I blew the send. I was mad. Then I got stuck, and got really mad. The ego spanking I was taking made me madder yet.

The real crux.

There is a section that is so tight, when I’d turn my head from the left to right, my nose would scrape on the wall. Then the backpack that I was trailing started getting stuck below me. It too was a little too wide with two helmets clipped to it.

I lost it. Started screaming at the world. Not my proudest moment.

Eventually I fought my way up, while Janelle performed crevasse rescue on me with a 3:1 pulley. It was miserable. You can’t even call it climbing, more like hangdogging on top rope, only your belayer has tied the rope to a car bumper and is driving slowly away, effectively towing you up. To make things worse, Jed filmed it all. I guess I asked for that one.

Ian McEleney 3 pitches from the top

Janelle took over and lead the next two pitches, and I took the final 5.6 consolation pitch, tail still between my legs. The four of us were on top with a little daylight to spare.

All in all it was a great day with good friends. I do want to go back and do it again and lead the Narrows clean. First, I need to be able to touch the ground with my legs straight, and be able to sit Indian style with my knees touching the ground.

[Note: Following our time in Yosemite we visited Allen Steck, author of the book Fifty Classic Climbs of North America, and first ascentist of this route. It was great to have dinner with him and chat about the climbs he had done over 60 years ago! Watch the video we made about this whole experience, coming Nov. 11 at www.smileysproject.com]

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Don't Forget Your Man Pants

Janelle and I headed west after climbing Mt Waddington, and met up with a ski mountaineering racing buddy, Reiner Thoni, who lives in Valemount. As a local, he had always wanted to climb Mt Alberta, so we asked him to join us. Reiner is crazy strong, always positive, speaks Canadian, and therefore was a great moral booster for us, as we had just been skunked on Mt Robson for the third time (I released the Mt Robson video out of order).

After doing route research, the mandatory creek crossing seemed epic. Wanting to hedge our bets, we borrowed a raft, packed up Lulu, and made our way to the trailhead road pull off, which is right in the heart of the Icefields Parkway Road.

Loading the raft with our expensive camera gear, we each took a side and jumped in the fairly swift glacier melt. The creek was not nearly as bad as the online trip reports let on. Only getting up to our thigh at the deepest part. The raft was total overkill, but whatever, it was fun.

The 6 mile (9 km) hike into the little hut went by fairly quickly. Isolated thunderstorms were moving through the area, which made talus hopping a little more exciting. Thankfully, it was sunny for the grovel up Wooly Shoulder's gravel slopes. Wooly Shoulder was as bad as trip reports made it sounds. One step up, 1/2 step back. At times the baseball sized rocks in a 10 foot diameter around me started moving, like a mini rock avalanche! Hitting b-fast I powered across like Mario as the rocks slid down behind me.

Once at the hut (reserve through the ACC prior to arrival), we settled in as a wall of water soaked the landscape. The States needs more backcountry use huts like these. They are low impact, and allow climber's and hiker's to travel with significantly lighter loads.

The coolest part of the hut was its guest log book. Climbing accounts from Vince Anderson, Steve House, Jason Kruk, other classic climbers, hikers, and more. Many accounts of getting skunked by weather, bad rock, and how many 11,000ers people had done. The last successful summit of Alberta was logged back in August 2009!

The best account was by a couple guys that were lucky to have perfect weather. They got up super early, eagerly rappelled down to the base of the steep North Face of Mt Alberta, looked up at the looming vertical wall and, "realized we forgot our man pants, so we went home."

Our strategy was to climb this bad boy in one push. Fast and light, aka, long and semi-light. We started sometime before sunrise, made our way down and across the toe of the glacier in the dark. The sun started rising and we enjoyed amazing morning light hit the North Twin peaks. This time of the morning is pretty special. The climb hasn't started, you're finally awake, nervous about what is to come, yet excited that it's finally time to get the job done. Alberta stood over us in the dusk, the sky was calm. Time for an adventure.

We started a rising traverse to the west on loose gravel. The lower flanks of the mountain are, more or less, a giant stair case. The landings of these giant stairs are completely covered in ball-bearing-like rubble, which forms 20-30º slopes. The vertical part of the stairs is merely "pre-rubble". One step up, half a step back. We milked "easy vertical" on snow patches when available, hopping from snow patch to snow patch.

Once on the top step, of the mountain's lower third, we turned back east, and traversed for a very long time along one of these 20-30º rubble steps. The next piece of the beta puzzle was to locate the "third elephant ass." That was the key waypoint where you start up the low 5th class climbing that takes you right to the summit ridge. As we stumbled along, our imaginations turned everything in to an ass of one animal or another. We ended up walking too far (we would discover later), turning us into the ass.

Not wanting to back track, and knowing that the gully directly above us was part of 'the way', we climbed directly up a 60º tongue of snow that ended as a one-foot wide icy point.  This point had pulled away from the rock wall two feet from melting, forming an imposing moat. Pulling those first moves from the snow to rock and finding a "good" (at least, for the Canadian Rockies) anchor turned out to be the crux of the climbing. Nothing like getting the crux over with during the first moves.

Two pitches, and three cam placements, later officially we joined the normal Japanese Route, as signs of fixed sling anchors became very obvious. We picked our way along. Janelle had no interest in leading, so I got to lead all 7-8 pitches. I cant remember how many we did it in now, as some were short and others were the full 60 meters. Pitch length was dictated by where I could build safe belays.

7.5 hours after leaving the hut we reached the summit ridge. The sky was still beautiful, and there appeared to be little snow on the ridge, so the hast that accompanies most alpine adventures eased a little. We picked our way along the ridge, sometimes walking, sometimes climbing, but always taking a bunch of photos. On the summit someone had left a Japanese umbrella, which I thought was nice touch. We hung out for half an hour, taking in the views, recharging the batteries with some power food, and then headed back. The summit ridge was far and away the best part of the experience.

Rappelling down went something like this:
1. me down, Reiner down, Janelle down.
2. Pull the rope
3. Quickly cover head with backpack as the falling rope dislodged rocks that showered us. While the rocks are falling, the primal urge to tuck my head into my shell kicks in. Which is actually just shrugging my shoulders with my chin against my chest, but for some reason it feels like the protection level has increased.
4. Dust off, collect rope, check for rope core shots, rap down with saddle bags to the next anchor
5. repeat steps 1-4 x 9

We made it back to the hut with daylight to spare. It had been a great adventure.

Climbing the Japanese Route on Mt Alberta is like being in 7th grade. There were some good parts, a lot of crappy parts, and I really don't ever want to do that again.  Yet somehow, for some unknown reason, deep down I know that it got me one step closer to earning my man pants.

Beta:
-watch the video we made of the climb here
-rack: BD C3's full set, C4 .4-#2 full set, no nuts, didnt need tools or crampons (condition dependent), 2 60m Sterling Photons 7.8mm, slings to back up anchors, man pants.
-route can be done in a day with good conditions, a light pack and good beta.
-Link to a very rough outline of how to get to the hut. The trail is faint at times, but never totally gone. walk on the left side of the creek 95% of the time.
-shoot me an email with questions: www.smileysproject.com

Clyde Minaret in Subwarm Temperatures

Clyde Minaret from the road

We knew that trying to climb an alpine route at 12,000’ in October was risky, but we wanted to squeeze every once of climbing out of the fall before winter locked its grip on the Sierras. Besides, the Clyde Minaret is one of the easiest climbs on the Classic Climbs list so we went for it, even though the forecast was calling for 30% chance of snow/rain.

The hike up to Minaret Lake passed quickly.  One hundred year old ponderosa pines, rushing creeks, and the occasional songbird that was hardy enough to make it through the Sierra winter occupied our minds during the hike. Dark clouds were ripping past the Clyde when we arrived. It made my fingers cold just thinking about touching that damp, 30 degree, shaded rock.

The next morning was cold, so we slept in. Eventually a few blue-sky sucker holes popped through the blanket of grey, which gave us hope and motivation to get out of our warm sleeping bags.

The mountain came in and out of view as we hiked to its base. Neither one of us said much as we crossed the mini snowfield, as we knew this was going to be a cold climb.  Not to say that climbing in the cold is as bad as sitting in city traffic, but we had been hoping that this “easy” classic climb would be warm and sunny as most other Sierra climbs tend to be.

We roped up and started climbing. Following the path of least resistance along the approach ramp, and then up into a huge dihedral. Thankfully we were able to climb the easier parts with gloves on, and still move quickly up the steep face. Occasionally the sun would break through and we would both stop to soak in the warmish rays.

The climbing was pretty good, a few loose rocks here and there, but a good climb nonetheless.  We made it to the top in a few hours, signed the book we found in the bomber metal summit register, and then had to decide how to get back down.

The topo suggested descending a couloir to the south, but we opted for the rappels to the north, as we did not bring crampons for the bulletproof snow we saw in the couloir on the way up. This descent was the highlight for me. We had to figure things out, make a couple of our own anchors, and chimney through the moat at the base, where the snow field pulled away from the rock, leaving a 20 foot tall hallway we had to pass through.

We got back to camp around six and decided to hike out that night, most of which we did under headlamp. It’s pretty nice to hike at night. The miles pass quickly. We made back to Lulu, drove back to Mammoth Lakes, and fell asleep quickly on a side road in the warmth of our nice soft bed in the van.

The Southeast Face of the Clyde Minaret is definitely worth the hike, but I recommend climbing it when the forecasted high is at least 65 degrees, instead of 40!

***To see the video from the experience visit: smileysproject.com ***

The Big Ditch

Shortly after our pilgrimage to South Lake Tahoe, we had an engine idiot light illuminate on the Lulu's dashboard. Not knowing anything about cars, or how to fix them, we are pretty much at the mercy of the Dodge dealers' prognosis. That led to a rental car and our first (and only) hotel night stay that year. The hotel's bed was not nearly as comfortable, but the long hot shower and hours of mindless TV were pretty nice.

Four days of doing nothing and we were ready to charge again. We picked the van up and headed for Touloume Meadows, on the west side of Yosemite NP. Fairview Dome was in our sites, but the sun was threatening to disappear. We packed quickly, threw in the headlamps, and jogged up the approach trail...at least while camera was recording.

This climb is extremely straightforward. Janelle and I were on a roll, so we were able to blast through the route in a very timely fashion. Getting to the top before we knew it, we were greeted with a spectacular sunset over the Sierras. Making it back to the van a good bit before dark was a real confidence booster. We had just completed a sizable climb in a few hours!

That evening we dropped into the Valley. The Yosemite Valley is where rock climbing in the States was born, has grown, and continues to thrive. The most dangerous part of the experience is standing at the El Capitan observation pull off. This 3000' vertical chunk of geology is mesmerizing. So mesmerizing that all of the drivers are looking at it, opposed the road, so its best to stand clear when taking photos.

There are seven classic climbs representing the Valley, which is not over doing it at all in my opinion. We had climbed two of them during past trips (Royal Arches and Middle Cathedral Rock). These are the easiest of the seven, so we had our work cut out for us this time. We did some warm up climbs and then jumped on the Steck-Salathe Route on Sentinal Rock. It is known for its chimneys. Anyone that has ever climbed a chimney knows very well how fun it isn't to wear a backpack during the experience. We opted to leave the 5 pound camera behind to keep the pack sizes as small as possible. It took an entire day to get up the route. That left the night to get down. At the summit the sun tucked behind the horizon, and we dug to the bottom of the pack to get out the headlamps. Turned out, I had left mine in the car.

Not to worry though, I had brought my cell phone (best piece of first-aid equipment we own). With the dim light of the screen, and Janelle's headlamp, we picked our way around the rocks and scrubs. This descent is pretty gnarly the lower you get. At times, I had to put the phone in my mouth so both hands could grab onto the plant life, which suspended me over the darkness that felt really really steep.

Then, I had a eureka moment...remembering that I had downloaded an app on my phone called, "Flashlight" AMAZING! This app turns on the LED bulbs, used for the camera's flash, there are even three brightness settings! By this new found bright light we made our way back down to the trail, and back to the van.

The 5 day forecast was calling for two days of nice weather and then turning to cold crappy weather. The route on Half Dome is on the North side of the Dome, so it receives very little sunlight. We had climbed plenty of cold rock already, and the thought of doing that for 2000 feet made us motivate to get on it asap.

Janelle had reservations about getting on a wall that size, since we had very little, okay zero, big wall experience. Her thought was to do some practice walls to get our systems dialed before attempting it. My mindset was to figure it out as we go. These two mindsets are similar to oil and water. Being the man in the relationship, I forced my way and the next morning we were heading up hill.

The approach is steep and gruelling, up the "death slabs" of granite. The haul bag was probably 1,000lbs (I didnt weigh it, just an educated guess), and that made it a little harder. Four people were at the base of the route when we arrived, prepping for the following day. We decided to fix ropes up the first two pitches that evening. This gave us something to do, and a jumpstart for the following morning.

The big question on this route is, one day or two? If you climb it in one day you dont have to haul a big pack, but you better be a fast climber. We decided to do it in two days, which meant we had to haul. Hauling sucks. "Figuring it out as you go" is very slow. Having a climbing partner that is not really into it, because she was forced into it, does not help either. After 4 pitches we had lost steam. Each pitch was taking forever. We did the math to see how long it would take to get to the top: Forever X 23 pitches = too long. So we bailed. I was pissed. Janelle was pissed. We did not talk the entire 3 hours it took to get back to the Valley floor. Turns out, I put on my grumpy pants when I fail at an objective.

Next post will be on the Lost Arrow Spire and Round II, 2011 plans.