Adventure in the Old Woman Mountains

After breakfast we drove over to the alternate trailhead at Painted Rock. Hans and his wife Sandy arrived shortly thereafter. Mark, Hans, Patsy and I set off for our conquest of the Old Woman Statue. Fleet of foot and lightly armed with rock climbing regalia, we were confident that we could outmaneuver the more heavily armed Angeles effort that had failed two weeks earlier. We set off to stand atop one of the desert's most famous landmarks, the Old Woman Statue.

We had little cartographic information as to the exact whereabouts of the Statue, and we had already gleaned as much as we could from our San Bernadino County and De Lorme maps. Nevertheless, upon cresting the rise west of the cars, we spied the Old Woman Statue. Shawl held tight over her back against the cold, the Old Woman hunched forward against the icy wind, her head held high above those ancient shoulders. She might have been cast in stone, a monument to mans' struggle against Nature.

To reach the Statue we circumnavigated the contour of the ridge line at the head of a canyon. We were soon standing at the base of the Statue itself, gazing in awe at the mighty profile. Hans led the first pitch, a free climb of some 5.7 in difficulty (a difficulty that was enhanced by the chill). His hands were almost completely numb as he led this pitch. We ate lunch on the Old Woman's shoulder, gazing thoughtfully at the line of rusty old bolts that disappeared over the top of her head. With no other volunteers stepping forward, it appeared to be my lot to lead this aid pitch.

The first bolt was missing its hanger. I slid the nut on one of my booty wired nuts back along the wire and carefully threaded the exposed loop onto the bolt hanger (just like they do in the movies!). Clip. The first étrier was on. Gingerly, I stepped into one of the loops. Huh! It seemed to be holding my weight. I climbed higher and was able to reach the next bolt. Clip. A quickdraw was snapped into the bolt and I clipped the rope through the draw. Phew. I reached down, unclipped an étrier from the first bolt and clipped it into the biner on the second bolt. Cautiously I stepped into one of the loops on that etrier. Everything seemed to be holding together. As I gained confidence, so I gained speed. In a short while, I was standing atop the Old Woman's head, where I tied off to the two belay bolts and belayed Hans up on one side of the rope as he ascended the other side of the rope on Jumars and étriers.

We sent the Jumars and étriers back down to Mark but he was unable to ascend the rope. Patsy came up instead and traded places with Hans. Hans descended to help Mark. But time and the cold wind were too pressing. We had to descend.

I rapped off last, cleaning the remaining gear as I went. The hour being later than we had planned, we hurried off back around the ridge toward the cars. Mark and I reached the saddle above the cars and stopped to wait for Patsy and Hans, both of whom we had left some distance behind. As we scanned the horizon, we were able to locate Hans but not Patsy. "Patsy", I yelled. "Cat claw, cat claw" came a plaintive reply. Cat claw? There wasn't much cat claw around. I called to Hans. Hans shouted back, "She's saying 'CAN'T WALK'".

I have never bivvied. Even though I often return late at night, I have developed sufficiently good nocturnal navigation skills that I always return to camp. I immediately realised, however, that my number had been drawn. With the veil of darkness rapidly descending, no moon, and the boulder strewn terrain that lay between Patsy and the cars, I knew that Patsy wouldn't be able to make it to the cars. I desperately tried to recall my wedding vows, hoping to find an easy way back to the promised warmth by the cars. Uh uh, I just couldn't remember what I had promised back then, seven years ago on the patio of the Foster Lodge overlooking the vastness of the desert. All I could remember was Patsy standing there with tears welling up in her eyes. Damn!

I gave Mark much of the climbing gear from my pack and asked him to go down to the cars and let Sandy know what was going on. I ran over to Hans. We held a hurried discussion during which he gave me extra food, clothing and fire starter. I continued across the ridge line. By this time darkness was almost upon us. With our headlamps turned on, Hans was able to guide me down to Patsy. Patsy and I discussed further the available options and decided that we would have a better chance of walking out to the Sunflower Spring canyon than to the Painted Boulder canyon. I communicated this to Hans, who said he would drive around to meet us. I emptied the contents of Patsy's pack into mine. As I helped Patsy uphill to the ridgeline, it was clear that we wouldn't be able to hike out that night.

We located a semi-sheltered spot amongst some pinyon trees and hunkered down for the long night. Although this night was no longer than the previous one, it sure seemed a lot longer to us. I hunted around for wood and collected a sizable pile. After some difficulty, I finally managed to get a fire going. It's hard to describe twelve hours of this misery. The temperature was below freezing, we were unable to sleep and ate pistachio nuts and Lifesavers as a diversion. In the distance we could see the light of Hans' lantern and sometimes his truck's headlamps. Every now and again I would check the time and be always distraught to discover that what I had thought was an hour was actually the passage of a mere fifteen minutes.

Although I was beginning to entertain the possibility that the sun might never rise again, dawn finally broke. We were able to begin our descent. I extinguished the fire and we began slowly working our way downhill. With the aid of binoculars I could make out the trucks and two figures walking along the road.

I had to help Patsy almost every step of the way. We soon made voice contact with Hans and Mark who found us shortly thereafter. Hans had brought sandwiches and a Thermos of coffee. Things were definitely beginning to look up. Soon we were down on the canyon floor walking along a relatively level wash. Now we were cruising. Mark and I strode on ahead so we could drive around and collect our car from the other canyon.

Finally we were all together again, eating breakfast in the middle of the dirt road, debriefing. We drove on to Twentynine Palms and I took Patsy to the High Desert Hospital for an X-ray. A confirmed sprain, albeit a bad one. Patsy still wanted to go to Joshua Tree so we headed to Sheep Pass #3 where we met up with Hans, Mark and Sandy, in addition to Eric, Lori, Terry and many more. Quite a story to tell.

For the next two days, Patsy kicked back whilst everyone else bagged peaks, mountain biked or rock climbed.

Patsy and I would like to thank Hans, Mark and Sandy for staying with us through the course of these events. Especially Mark. While we knew that Hans and Sandy would stay with us, Mark had a peak bagging date the next day with Terry Flood. Knowing how devoted he is to peak bagging, we would not have been surprised had Mark gone off peak bagging secure in the knowledge that we were in good hands with Hans and Sandy. Mark put our safety above his personal gain. This, I feel, is one of the most important attributes of a friend, a leader and a human being. These are the people I like to go into the mountains with. Thanks guys.