Banner Trip

“Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Nature's peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees. The winds will blow their own freshness into you, and the storms their energy, while cares will drop away from you like the leaves of Autumn.” –John Muir
Brad stood nervously on the precipice like a child on the high dive for the very first time. This was his first mountain climb and by the gleam in his eye, I’d guess that it won’t be his last. Jared came up beside him, and Bob popped up over the edge to join us on the summit of Banner Peak (12,945’). The heavens prevailed above while the Earth fell away for thousands of feet to the alpine lakes and chaotic world beyond. For now, we were completely in the moment, filled with nature’s peace, and were indeed receiving the mountain’s good tidings.

Jared had called out of the blue, asking if I wanted to go on a backpacking trip with him and some friends. Arienne was heading off on a business trip and I had some flexibility, so being a sucker for spontaneity, I said “Sure!”

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Jared Chaney was a high school class mate of mine, though we didn’t really get to know each other until college. For a few years we were seemingly inseparable. We were both art majors, shared a house, worked together, climbed, mountain biked, and of course chased a few girls. We ended up knowing each other so well that on road trips we barely conversed except to debate opposing positions on irresolvable issues. On climbs we became a well-oiled machine; our system and communication polished to the point of utmost efficiency. It is rare that you find a climbing partner or friend like that.

(Jerry and Jared on Leaning Tower, Yosemite, 1994)

In 1995 Jared left to study architecture at Chico State. Our partnership was broken and we pursued different paths. He got married, had kids, built a house in Ukiah, and established a successful career. I pursued my own career, continued seeking mountain adventures, and found a beautiful bride of my own. Though we rarely saw each other for thirteen years, Jared is one of those friends who you can go long periods without seeing, then pick right up as if only a week had passed.

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The day after getting the call, six of us (Jared, Bob, Brad, Chris, Rick, and I) were grinding up the switchbacks on Rush Creek Trail, out of June Lakes on the East side of the Sierra Nevada. The sun beat down unrelentingly without a breath of wind, and smoke from forest fires fouled the usually crystal clear Sierra air. We took the trail to Clark Lakes, intending to unwind for a few days. Though the mosquitoes were insane, the campsite was amazing. We dumped our packs and went fishing. I caught a few brook trout and cooked them in the fire with garlic, wild onions, and lemon. Tasty! There were big views over the canyon edge and the sun, setting through thunderstorms and billowing smoke was spectacular.
That night we sat around the campfire reminiscing about youthful adventures, recounting anecdotes long forgotten, and swapping tall tales with new friends. Eventually, the conversation turned to tomorrow. What should we do? Maps were pulled from packs and pored over in the flickering light. Thousand Island Lake was the unanimous destination, though the mosquitoes were feared to be unbearable. We’d have to keep moving.
Beyond the lake, Mount Ritter and Banner Peak loomed up, dominating the view. I had wanted to bag these peaks for years and started my campaign to motivate and instigate. It wasn’t a completely selfish agenda …well perhaps… but the majority of the group was really excited to give it a go. With this plan, we would have no leisure trip. The easiest route from our camp would be fifteen miles round trip with about six thousand feet of elevation gain and then loss. If climbing had been our original goal, we’d have camped closer to our objective.

We started just after sunrise and fought through a vicious cloud of blood sucking mozzies the whole way, probably loosing a quart of blood between us. The pests motivated us to keep moving.

(click the photo above to enlarge and you'll see the cloud of mosquitos in the sky)

Before eleven we had crested Glacier Lake Pass (11,158) on the west side of the mountain and were at Lake Catherine below the Ritter/Banner glacier. Two of our party decided to wait here while the rest pressed on toward the summit of Banner Peak.
It was rough going but not technical getting up the glacier, scree, and talus that led to the summit. The barometer was dropping on Jared’s altimeter, so the elevation was off. It said we had another eight hundred feet to go, but when Brad climbed up on that block he found nothing but the heavens above. We had arrived.

(L-R" Bob, Brad, Jared, Jerry)

Jared had done a lot of rock climbing, but this was his highest elevation to date and first big Sierra Peak. Bob, Jared's uncle and the oldest of our group at 59, was strong as an ox and un-relenting in his effort. He had climbed Mt. Shasta previously, but this was his first big Sierra peak. It was Brad’s very first climb, and I don't know how many for me. Quite a few.
The descent became rushed as thunderstorms moved in overhead, hail and rain pounded, the wind howled, lightning cracked, and thunder boomed, echoing for an eternity through the granite canyons. It was awesome. We hurried down wet snow and slippery talus fields, nervous that the metal trekking poles we carried would become lighting rods. Thousand Island Lake, and our camp site beyond, were receiving a moderate flash flood, but it didn't quite hit us.
The wind blew its freshness into us, and the storm filled us with its energy. Our feet ached as we hiked back to camp, but our cares had fallen off like the autumn leaves. We fell into silence on the trail, each in our own thoughts, mesmerized by the rhythm of footsteps, content to have received full value from the day.

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“To see an old friend in a distant land, is like a refreshing rain after a long drought.”
-fortune cookie wisdom

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As I get older I appreciate personal history with friends more and more and value the people with whom I have grown up and experienced both the joy and sorrows of life. It was great making new friends, and fantastic seeing Jared again, climbing, cooking over an open fire, sharing a tent, debating philosophy and religion… carrying on just like old times.
Back in Santa Rosa, we separated our gear in a dirt pullout. I’ve never been one for long good byes, but after such a great trip in the wilderness, it was hard to just drive off and jump back into the fray of life and business. There wasn’t enough time to part ways in a manner that respected the time and experience we had just had together. So we said the normal cordialities; “nice to meet you.” “Hope to see you again sometime.” “See you later.” “Thanks for everything.” Handshakes, hugs all around, and off we went, back to the rat race, talking on cell phones almost as if nothing had happened. But even as we left, I noticed the sun burns and perma-grins acquired during our thrilling adventure were still plastered on our faces. The mountain glow may fade in a few days, but will stay in our memories forever.

Prints are available from all images on my blog

http://www.jerrydodrill.com
© 2008 Jerry Dodrill

Picking at The Nose.

The Nose of El Capitan is arguably the most striking visual line in Yosemite. Photographers and climbers alike are seduced by its shapely form. It was the first route climbed on the “Big Stone,” fifty years ago, back in 1958. Today it is one of the easiest, yet longest lines on El Cap, and that makes it the most popular as well. It was first climbed in a day in 1974, first free climbed in 1992, and the current speed record for the 3000’ face is less than three hours. I climbed the Zodiac, a shorter, harder, steeper line on the SE face, and a whole bunch of other big walls in the Valley, but always avoided The Nose and poopoo-ed it as being overdone, over crowded, a circus, and not a big deal. But the reality has crept into my mind that some day I’ll have to climb it.

Two years ago, Kevin Jorgeson and I roped up at the base intending to climb as far as Dolt Tower, a feature that rises to the one-third height. It was six in the morning on June 6, 2006. (That’s 6:00, 6/6/6. Perhaps a bad omen? Anyhow…) We got to Sickle Ledge, traversed right into the Stove Leg Cracks, and followed these perfect but ever widening splitters for four nearly vertical pitches to Dolt. I had greatly underestimated the Stove Legs. The ratings on these pitches are pretty tame but the climbing is burly and continuous. Starting as a thin finger crack, it widens to hands, fists, and finally 5.10c off-width. Better have some serious endurance if you plan to free these. I found myself pulling on gear, leapfrogging #3 and #4 cams up to the ledge and collapsed in a heap.

Kevin was a natural. This was his first time on a big wall and he was all psyched. We lounged on Dolt lying on our backs, looking up at the rest of the wall. Foreshortening played tricks on us and it didn’t look that big. We were happy to have done a third of the route in seven hours, and thought, this will be no problem. We rappelled down into strong afternoon winds that quickly tangled our ropes into a ball of knots and caused much difficulty. Eventually we made it down, but the Captain had slapped us into full attention. This isn’t a wall to take lightly.

Before venturing back up we decided to get some practice with the haul bag and porta ledge on smaller walls. This would give Kevin more experience with hauling procedures and help us get or entire system management and communication dialed in. We climbed Leaning Tower, a 1500’ overhanging spire to the right of Bridal Veil Fall. It went well and we figured that this year we were ready for another go on the Nose.

We drove to the Valley with a clear and determined sense of commitment, shouldered the enormous bags and headed for the base.

The weather called for a couple days of wind with a 20% chance of showers later in the week. That meant and 80% chance of sun. At 3pm we were roped up on our way to Sickle. We decided to haul everything with us to save time and energy and bivuac on our portaledge. (Most parties climb to Sickle and fix ropes down to the ground, then haul their gear up the fixed lines the next day. This is easier, but takes longer.)

The wind was blasting from the West as we climbed. The sun came and went between clouds and illuminated the headwall above. It was a peaceful night and we slept well.

Next morning we were up before sunrise and a team of strong Basque brothers (Eneko and Iker Pou) passed us. They were trying the Nose In A Day (NIAD). They were moving fast with no bags and were in high spirits. We advised them of the high winds, which they acknowledged and moved on. The traverse was done in good time. We lowered out and hauled the heavy bags and continued up. The morning wind came up with the sun. Today it was from the East and had a cold bite. Several pitches up the Stove Legs, we wore all of our clothes and the increasing gale was blowing straight through us.

Above, the Pou Brothers started to rappel as the wind was too intense. Kevin and I yelled into each other’s ears to be heard and decided to bail as well. We climbed a bit more to reach a rappel anchor and started putting gear away in preparation for descent. Meanwhile, Iker and Eneko were having trouble. Their ropes had hung up in a crack and were stuck. Eneko clipped in and went back up to free it, rappelled back down, and pulled the rope again. The wind blew that rope around the Nose like dental floss on a car antennae at eighty miles an hour. It was hopelessly stuck, lodged somewhere out of sight around the corner. There was much desperate communication between us. We were freezing and ready to rappel, but waited to see if they needed help. Their only option was to cut the rope. This left them two options; 1) continue to the top with the remaining rope (Only 40M. Desperate!), or 2) make several short rappels, leaving gear behind, and rappel down with us. They did not have enough rope to make it down on their own.

The climbing brotherhood transcends culture, language, and personal goals. In times of need, we bond together to help each other. Sometimes the proverbial crap hits the fan remarkably fast, as it did that day. In a moment, two amazing climbers were faced with a potential nightmare. But through the course of adversity, strong lifelong friendships and deep meaningful relationships are formed in the forge of shared history.

Instead of suffering, we all rappelled down, relieved, laughing at the situation, happy to have helped, and to have been helped. Later in the afternoon, we sat on the deck in Curry Village eating pizza, swapping stories, and learning about Basque country with our new friends. The Nose will always be there and we will climb it another day.