Originally Posted at Ten Fingers 6 Strings

A climbing party must embrace three critical elements to ensure a successful and enjoyable peak-bagging trip in the Sierras: 1) copious amounts of hilarious banter often supported by a barrage of movie quotes, 2) good music–gansta rap (preferrably of the filthiest nature, ala Too Short) and hard rock/metal that just plain rocks and 3) pre- and post-trip food. These three elements were in plentiful supply as we drove from San Francisco out to Bishop and up to trailhead of Piute Pass. You will later see that conventional logic that would require items like ropes, maps and even shelter aren’t always indicative of success or “fun” in what I like to call “New Climbing.”

The team consisted of Eddie, Rich and me. Rich is passionate climber with many peaks notched onto his Sierra belt and he gained rock solid credibility with me last year when he suggested that I climb Point Powell–that climb became one of the single greatest outdoor moments in my life. Under no circumstance could this trip have been completed without the presence of one of my dearest friends and frequent climbing partner: Eddie.

Our goal of climbing Mt. Humphreys on the second day would require Eddie and me to sack up and attempt our first Class 4 climb. Rich pacified our apprehension (and whining) by bringing his rope, nuts and some rappel slings in case we freaked out. I felt good enough in the planning stages to volunteer to lead the climb, but we’d have to wait to see if the strength of my spine matched the width of volume of my mouth when we got there.

Equipment Check

Eddie has been a bit of a vagabond the last few years with all of his personal belongings stretched out in three different, personally convenient, yet not very strategic, locations in and around San Francisco. Just before leaving, he searched and searched and could not find his sleeping bag, thus requiring him to make a last minute purchase: the Slumberjack.

The revelation of the Slumberjack (which at one point in its life-cycle served as a parachute in the gay pride parade) caused Rich and I to wake up the entire campground* with our hysterical laughter. I even managed to shoot a sunflower seed out of my nose causing it to rub raw for the next few days.

Morning came early enough and we got a nice casual start onto the trail headed to Piute Pass. It was a gorgeous morning: still, clear, very warm and the sky was cobalt blue. This serenity was enough to make me forget that I’d committed to leading the class four pitch on Humphreys–however the serenity was quickly and thoroughly destroyed by the barrage of methane bombs released from our climbing group due to taco chomping that was done at La Villa in Tracy the afternoon before.

It didn’t take long for our eager climbing party to reach Piute Pass, which was one of the easiest passes I’ve ever experienced; long, gradual slopes with a very clear trail. It even had steps carved into the granite set at perfect intervals, that is, if you were either a midget or eight-foot tall sasquatch. Unfortunately for us normal sized bipeds, they continually broke our stride causing us to mumble short-terse obsenities at the National Parks brainchild who came up with the idea.

The slow slopes leading up to Piute Pass sits just over Rich’s shoulderUpon reaching the Piute Pass, a large, expansive basin was revealed, flanked by Humphrey’s on the right and Muriel Peak on the left. We sat down to admire Humphrey’s only to shift our curses from the National Parks step-child to the previous occupants who, like us, probably sat there to rest and eat a snack, but who, not like us, decided to crap on the rocks creating a giant eyesore.
Basin below Piute Pass
Cliffs leading up to Mt Muriel (peak hidden)
Top of Mt Humphreys from Piute PassWhile taking a break and soaking in the gorgeous views, we decided it was time to do some strategizing. We’d managed to cruise up to the pass by noon and had the whole afternoon to either sit around or come up with a short adventure. During the initial planning stages, Rich had come up with the idea of trying to bag Goethe–a nice Class 4–that was located in the basin behind Muriel to the West. I looked up at all the scree and loose rock that was visable from the South (see above pic) and suggested that we try to attack the mountain from the North through the basin (which was not visable) with hopes that the rock quality would be better. This would be what I’d like to call erroneous decision number one or, the beginning of three idiots wandering the Sierras.We hiked up to lake just below the Goethe Basin. In my life, I have never seen such blue lakes. Not green-blue, or blue-green, or if you live in the delta, brown-not-at-all-blue, but blue-blue. I took a couple of pictures of this as we began hopping across the beginning of what would be seven continuous hours of talus hopping.
The bluest lake ever seenSlogging across talus is like trench warfare without all the tanks, dying, blood and Germans in funny helmets. It is analogous because you put forth maximum individual as well as collective effort to make forward progress which can only be measured in inches and feet. Just when you think you are getting the hang of it, swarms of mosquitos sitting in wet pockets waiting for warm flesh attack you with fury. The sad thing is, in spite of this sneak attack, you find hope that at least some living creature is alive out there amongst the talus.After two solid hours of talus slogging, we looked up at, you guessed it, more talus to the top of Alpine Col. Rich guessed that we were not going to make it to Goethe in time, but that we could climb up the Col, summit Murriel, then head down the other side to our camp. The thought of retreating over the talus was much too disturbing to contemplate, so naturally we slogged on. Eddie and Rich bombed up the class 2 climbing to the top of the Col, while I lagged behind.Rich asked, “Dude, where were you?”

“I had to stop to take some pictures. I got a sweet picture of the talus.”

“Yes! Let me take some pictures of you and Eddie standing on top of the sweet talus.”

A “Sweet Picture of the Talus” reveals about 1/3 of the first talus field whose hideousness is belied by the gorgeous blue lake in the backgroundAt the top of the Col, our spirits were regenerated. We stood overlooking Evolution Valley with Mt Darwin and Mendall towering above. Further to the East, Mt Goddard loomed in the background. I reminded myself that Goddard has to move towards the top of my list of trips with its unique geology, bold presence and the fact that there are no mountains around it blocking its views. I assumed the view from the top must be spectacular.
Darwin (Left) and Mendall (Middle)

Rich on top of Alpine Col

Eddie and Me on top of Alpine ColNoting that we were getting short on time, we climbed up a soft, but very fun class 2 ridge to the summit crest of Murriel. It was the most fun we had all day, which wasn’t saying much because prior to that point we were in talus hell, but I think would have made a fun scramble on any trip. Rich took pics of Ed and me climbing up pretending like we were doing some really hard technical climbing, when in reality, has probably been done by eight-year olds. However, the pics turned out to be pretty money.
Eddie pulling down on some solid granite along the ridge on MurielWe bagged the summit and took a few pics. Looking down across the broad shoulder of Muriel, we high-fived and mocked the talus below us, assuming we’d never see it again. We trotted down, laughing and smiling, only to grow large frowns once we found that we had cliffed out. There was no access or relief in sight, so to our only choices at that point were a retrace over the talus or to do a sketchy, cliffed-out, downclimb. I think the second choice could have been gang beating with billy-clubs while eating yak turds and we still would have refused to turnaround and go across the talus.Rich started to downclimb something that put a lump in my throat. Eddie and I looked at each other and decided that we’d find another way down, but that we should go far enough away that we’d be out of shouting distance.I spied a vein that looked like it would head down. Ed and I went down, with me in the lead. Each step was super scary and, although I didn’t realize it at the time, was probably about the scariest thing I had done. The rock quality was incredibly bad and I had to go about 100 feet in front of Ed in fears that the rocks would come down on my head. About this time, I thanked God that we’d brought our ropes and helmets…oh, wait, nevermind, they were strategically sitting back at camp.

About halfway, we ran into Rich as he was looking equally nervous and perplexed. I saw two potential routes down where I knew they’d reach the flat without cliffing out. Rich slowly treversed a giant slab across while I scoped the bottom claiming I’d found the way. Ed and I conferred and he didn’t like the first choice at all, which was littered with gravel on top of the granite. It would be like climbing a 50-degree slope on top of marbles. Rich came over and I pointed at the route.

“There it is. Once you get down that part, you…”

“F–k you!”

“I guess we’ll go the other way then.”

I looked down and although a huge boulder was blocking my view, the granite was firm and clean. I told them that I’d go down and scope it out.

I made it down about 100 feet of tricky, but clean down-climbing, and finished the first part by treversing the big boulder that was blocking our view. From there I saw that we’d have a sketchy, but doable down climb along a ledge whose south side dropped off 300 feet to the deck. After each pitch, I’d climb down, turn around and talk Eddie down, then he’d dow the same for Rich as I began the next pitch. We did this until the final pitch, which included an airy ballet move where you swung across a deep crack reach a nice juggy hand hold over a 20-degree slab that would take you to the bottom. This is what most of the route looked like from the bottom:

Standing at the bottom in relative safety, Eddie asked in all seriousness, “If you do a route for the first time, can you name it?”"Yeah.”"How ’bout we called it ‘Bullshit Route?’”

Rich, “How ’bout we call it ‘Three Dumb-F–ks in Over Their Head Route?’”

Both labels were apropos and stuck. If you climb this route in the future, it has been christened for you for all eternity.

We started our hike back to camp when Fate came across and pimp-slapped us again. We had no choice, but to slog across another hour and a half of talus to get back to camp. I think all of us would have sold our souls to the devil just to avoid that part, but alas, the three idiots in over their head would have to pay for their hubris in the mountains. Physically, we all had felt fine just after the down-climb, however, with each successive step on the talus, we rapidly started fading.

We were within ten minutes of camp, most of us holding back vomit from the over-exertion, when we came to a fork where we could walk to the left or right around a lake to get back to camp. We chose left, walked about fifty feet and Rich let out a howl realizing that the lake led right to a cliffed out area. We’d have to climb up to the top of this ledge, which under normal circumstances would have been easy for Paris Hilton in four-inch heels carrying both chiwawas, but hard for three guys that were just about at the end of their respective ropes.

Rich plodded up the hill and I looked back and saw that Ed was totally dejected. I forced my way up, reached deep inside my gut to put on half-a-smile and said, “Hey Ed, it’s not so bad.”

“Bullshit, it isn’t, it sucks!”

“Thanks, Rich.”

Ed laughed, but mostly cried plodding up the hill.

Anyway, we wandered around, found camp with our ropes sitting unused and mocking us. Rich passed out within minutes and Ed and I tried to put up the tent, but instead laughed ourselves silly “singing” more Too Short songs. The tent eventually got up and we were fast asleep dreaming of three-egg omlettes at Jack’s when we’d reach Bishop ten hours from then.

The allusive Mount Humphreys will have to wait until next year. It’s funny how you can be in the worst of circumstances, but end up being all good when you are with the right people.

Mt Humphreys from the summit of Mt Muriel

This entry was posted on Thursday, November 22nd, 2007 at 12:36 pm and is filed under Adventure, Climbing. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.