Two full rest days. Shocking, I know. Rather unheard of at this point in my life. But I had just attempted a big link-up on The Incredible Hulk followed by a hard day of cragging in Tuolumne Meadows, so I needed it big time. However, my upper body was worked but my legs were not, which means that it’s the perfect time for a High Sierra solo adventure.
I moved to Bishop, CA to climb as much as possible. It’s the perfect backyard no matter what type of climbing you’re into: bouldering, sport climbing, trad climbing, alpine, you name it. What I love most about the climbing scene in Bishop is how it changes with the seasons. Where and when you climb is dictated primarily by the weather, and because it’s incredibly hot during the summer the best thing to do is retreat up into the mountains and climb in the alpine, where peak bagging, ridge traverses, and big link-ups are the name of the game. Plus, with a mountain range as big and vast as the Sierra Nevada, there are enough objectives to satisfy a lifetime, even for the most ambitious climbers.
Before moving to the Eastside my friend and mentor Joshua Reinig gave me his personal copy of Peter Croft’s select guidebook to the High Sierra, “The Good, the Great, and the Awesome,” which has become sort of like my Bible and one of my most prized possessions that I take with me wherever I go. I’ve read it cover to cover numerous times, and before I even stepped foot in the Sierras I was aware of the big objectives like the Evolution Traverse, the Big Four free-climbs, and the classic link-up of the East Buttress and East Face on Mount Whitney.
The High Sierra is an endless resource. I came to the Eastside with a hope and a dream- to push myself, to slowly chip away at my surroundings and see what’s possible. I wanted to prove to myself that I could be a High Sierra mountain climber and become comfortable in my new backyard.
This summer I have been slowly ticking off as many climbs in Peter’s guidebook as I can, starting out small and working my way up, not only to build confidence, but skill and endurance as well. Throughout the past three months I have managed to climb more than half of the routes in his book, but I feel as if I’ve only scratched the surface for what the range has to offer.
After two rest days in Bishop I was feeling ambitious, ready to charge. I wanted a challenge, to be pushed harder than ever before, both mentally and physically. But you have to be careful pushing yourself in the mountains, especially when you’re climbing alone where there is much less margin for error. This is not your local sport crag and should not be taken lightly. However, with that being said, I like the degree of self-reliance that comes with soloing, especially in the mountains where the level of commitment is higher. There’s no one there to give you encouragement, no one to take the lead when you’re tired or scared, and no one to help you if you get lot or hurt (usually). The only person you have to rely on is yourself and it’s times like these that you really get to see what you’re made of.
After scrolling through the guidebook, I set my sights on the next biggest objective I had highlighted: The “Temple/Gayley/Sill Traverse” in the Palisades, which (according to the guidebook) is one of the very best traverses that starts with one of the routes on Temple Crag to the 12,999 ft. summit and continues along the obvious crest over 13,510 ft. Mount Gayley to the “Swiss Arete” on Mount Sill, the high point at 14,153 ft. Peter told me this was his first real High Sierra climb, and once I heard his personal account of it a few days earlier over cocktails at camp beneath the Incredible Hulk, I was sold- ready for the next adventure.
Peter Croft has had a tremendous influence on me and my climbing from the beginning, and even more so now that I’ve had the opportunity to go climbing with him a couple times. His attitude and exuberance towards climbing left a significant impression on me early on and following his legacy around California has provided me with a lifetime of inspiration and adventure for which I can’t thank him enough.
After anxiously packing my bag in Bishop, I headed south to Big Pine and booked it to the trailhead in hopes of gaining valuable acclimatization by camping in my van at 8,000 ft. My alarm went off at 3:30 the next morning and I was on the trail by 4am, ready to start my adventure with the 6-mile hike up to Temple Crag.
The sun doesn’t come out until around 5:30, meaning I had at least 1.5 hours of hiking in the dark and, oh yeah, I forgot to mention, I’m afraid of the dark. Unlike Peter, I don’t have a proclivity for nighttime adventures and I’m not attracted to my own superstitious fear. Not yet, at least. Instead, I try to avoid the dark as much as possible, but I know predawn starts are the key to success for big link-ups in the High Sierra, so I turned on the brightest headlamp I own and ventured off into the darkness, hoping the gremlins under the bridge would be scared off by the 320 lumens of my Black Diamond headlamp.
At night, it seems, anything can happen, and it’s times like these that my imagination goes wild and comes up with the worst (and most ridiculous) scenarios. Hiking through the woods in the dark I convince myself that I’m being hunted by the Blair Witch, so I quicken my pace and feel the muscles between my shoulders tighten. After passing a creepy cabin that looks like the textbook place to be murdered by a psychopath, I pull out my iPhone and play the Indiana Jones theme song full volume to try and calm my nerves while I curse myself for being such a scaredy cat in the first place.
I keep my head down as the sun slowly rises behind me and eventually find myself standing at the foot of First Lake staring up at the enormous Temple Crag, glowing in all its glory. If there has ever been a mountain that looks like a Hindu Temple, this is it. I try to imagine a better name for such an incredible formation as I scramble up talus and moraine to the base of “Venusian Blind Arete,” my first objective of the day. Peter uses a three star rating system in his guidebook to denote quality: one star routes are classics, two star routes are Holy Cow! classics, and three star routes are pull your hair out and scream at the moon classics. Every route I was planning on climbing that day was rated two stars or higher, so I was ready to get the ball rolling and start climbing. But, aside from navigating my way through the dark, the biggest crux of the day was finding the actual start of the route, and staying on it once I did. I wandered up and down forever trying to figure it out and I’m still not convinced that I climbed the right route. Slightly disappointed and confused by what I had just done, I sipped on some water once I gained the summit ridge and slowly made my way to the top of Temple Crag after 1,800 feet of climbing.
When I reached the top and looked at the breathtaking view around me, I pulled out my guidebook and read, “Simply put, the Palisades are the most mountainous mountains in the Sierra Nevada. They have the biggest glacier, the biggest rock climb, and the biggest traverse in the Sierra, and yes, size DOES matter.” What a perfect place to be, I thought, as I gazed at what seemed like the entire Sierra Nevada laid out before me. In comparison to the full Palisade Traverse, my objective for the day was considerably puny and, to my surprise, after reaching the summit of Temple I was much more tired than I expected. Now, I was looking at a long, chossy, unappealing ridge traverse to the summit of Gayley, but my energy and excitement was taking its toll. Regardless, I tightened my shoes and pressed on, reminding myself that “It probably would have been fun if you climbed the right route, dumbass.” I knew I couldn’t back out now, this is just the beginning!
In high school my soccer coach would always tell us that “slow and steady wins the race,” which became my motto for the rest of the traverse. Of course I knew that I would have to move fast to cover a lot of terrain, but as I worked my way up and down various notches and pinnacles to the summit of Gayley, I reminded myself that this is a marathon, not a sprint. The important thing is to maintain a steady pace and just keep moving. Once I reached the summit block I pulled out some lunch, checked the time and realized that I was moving much faster than I anticipated. It wasn’t even noon and I only had one more peak left to finish off the traverse. My biggest concern to begin with was being at altitude for an extended period of time, but I didn’t recognize any symptoms and felt fine at 13,510 ft., so I started to entertain the idea of linking my climb into the northern part of the Palisade Traverse, continuing all the way to Thunderbolt Peak and ticking off four more 14,000 ft. peaks. Often times I tend to bite off a little more than I can chew, so I reminded myself of the sustained serious nature of the climbing, as well as the potential dangers, but still tried to keep my options open. In situations like this, perhaps the worst thing you can do is limit yourself, which completely diminishes the possibility of breaking new ground and achieving something great, especially when you’re fully capable of doing so.
As I scrambled down to the base of Mount Sill I began to struggle with my own fear and self-doubt, arguing back and forth with the voices in my head telling me that I’m not good enough. Too young, inexperienced, weak… the list goes on and on. Thankfully, once I chalked up to climb the “Swiss Arete,” all of that internal bullshit went away and I was actually able to focus on climbing the 700 feet of glorious hand and finger cracks that lead me to the summit of Mount Sill. People often ask me if I ever get lonely climbing by myself in the mountains. Not really, I’ve always been a bit of a lone wolf, but as I mentioned before, that’s half the appeal. Solo adventures in the mountains offer me the storybook experience I’ve always searched for in climbing. And besides, for big days like this I have the two opposing voices in my head to keep me company. There’s the one that strokes my ego and boosts my confidence by saying things like, “You are a strong, competent, and capable climber. You can do anything.” and then there’s the one that keeps me honest by reminding me “You’re not good enough for this. Get off your ass and keep pushing.”
I completed my initial objective when I signed the summit register on Sill, but I wasn’t pushed as hard as I hoped. It’s not that it was easy or anything, it just wasn’t long enough to satisfy my appetite and fulfill the adventure I was looking for. I wanted to keep climbing, so I set my sights on Thunderbolt and started to make my way towards Polemonium, the next 14,000 ft. peak on the ridge. I checked the time and cast away any negative thoughts that were lingering in my head. “Time to play with the Big Dogs,” I thought as I threw on my pack and snacked on some peanut butter crackers. My only concern at this point was water. I hadn’t planned on staying out this long so I was starting to run low, and with no lakes nearby my options were limited. Thankfully, there were still patches of snow lying around the summit plateau, so I stuffed my water bottles as full as I could and prayed they would melt in time.
Once I reached the notch between the summit of Polemonium, the real climbing began. I didn’t have a rope so I had to down-climb a lot of exposed 5th class terrain that most parties usually rappel. Although my pace slowed down a bit, the climbing itself was much more enjoyable. While it never got too difficult, the exposure was exhilarating, cascading down thousands of feet below me. Thankfully, the rock quality was much better than it had been all day, otherwise it would have been a nightmare. However, it still required careful attention as most of the rock was fractured and often precariously perched. One broken hold or loose flake could bring an end to it all, but it’s usually not as bad as it looks.
Following my friend Paola’s advice and treading lightly, I slowly made my way up and down airy notches and pinnacles to the summits of Polemonium (14,100’), North Palisade (14,242’), Starlight (14,200), and Thunderbolt (14,003’), where a few moves of 5.9 brought me to the top of an incredible peak and put an end to the best ridge traverse I have ever done. I was fortunate enough not to see a single person the entire day, which made the climb feel sort of like a dream when it was all said and done. Standing on the summit of Thunderbolt I let out a whoop of excitement full of a million nerves and emotions that had built up inside me all day. I felt alive.
After signing the summit register I flipped through the pages and stumbled across an entry from Peter Croft on August 2, 1996 that read, “Traversing from Moon Goddess on Temple.” To my knowledge, Peter was the first person to solo the ridge from Temple to Thunderbolt in its entirety, and realizing that I had followed his footsteps unintentionally nearly 20 years later really stopped me in my tracks. For the first time in my life I felt as if I had become a part of something greater- the rich history of climbing in the High Sierra. It was then, standing on top of Thunderbolt Peak after a 12 hour push with the entire Sierra Nevada laid out before me that I think I finally became a High Sierra mountain climber, where the first summit is just the beginning.
Jordan Cannon 