No Hurrah on Humphreys

Reviewing our options for the fourth of July weekend and beset by the lack of a permit, Patsy and I decided to climb Mt. Humphreys, which at 13, 986 ft is close to being numbered amongst the legion of California fourteeners. For all intents and purposes, it is a fourteener because a summit height of over 14,000 ft lies well within the tolerance of a GPS unit.

The best thing is that, although a permit is required for all overnight forays into the John Muir Wilderness, there is no quota applied to permits to this lesser McGee Creek trailhead. Later on, as we bounced our way down the road to the trailhead, we were no longer given to speculate as to why that might be.

Patsy and I left Rancho Bernardo at 8 pm Wednesday evening, drove as far as Lone Pine and camped just south of town. Thursday morning we continued up to Bishop, picked up our permits (John Muir Wilderness and California Campfire) and shopped for some bargains at Wilson's Eastside Sports.

The road into the south McGee trailhead(s) (there is a three-way junction close to the end) at 9,360 ft. isn't too bad; navigable anyway with a high-clearance vehicle although I used 4WD (gotta exercise those front hubs!). We were initially thinking of going in to McGee (now Longley) Lake but after eating lunch and ruminating on this plan, we decided to head for the unnamed lake on the southern approach instead. This decision was anyway mandated by the fact that I had forgotten to pack the ice axes! The southern approach to Humphrey's east arete was no longer just an option, it was the only option.

The leftmost of the three roads, the one that climbs onto the ridge, is the trailhead of choice. This prominent ridge is followed upwards for 2,000 vertical feet, at which point you descend slightly onto a bench close to the lake's outlet at 10,980 ft. There is excellent camping here; a nearby spring-fed streams supports a lush carpet of Shooting Stars, Dodecatheon alpinum, and the view across the Owens Valley is panoramic.

We dozed for a while, ate a leisurely dinner and later watched the fourth of July fireworks going off over Bishop. The fireworks were disappointing though, even with binoculars. We were just too far away.

Next morning we awoke at 6 am but didn't start hiking at 7.45 am. We didn't think there was any hurry since we were "just" 3,000 feet below the summit.

We reached the start of the east ridge, the notch between Humphreys and Peak 12,241, at 9 am and the back of the first tower (13,151) by 11 am. The ridge up to this point was fairly tame, although not without some excitement. I was trying to remain faithful to the spirit of following the ridge when, at one point I climbed up a grainy, awkward (5.6?) crack to regain the ridge and then traversed a knife-edge, each side falling off at an 80 degree angle, a hundred foot drop-off to the left and a four hundred foot drop-off to the right. At first I stole along a narrow ledge on the right-hand side of the crest, using the crest for a handhold, then I walked along the crest itself, but there was a loose rock ahead of me right in my path. I ended up sitting on the crest and scooting along in a most undignified fashion! Meanwhile Patsy was ambling safely along the south side of the ridge.

When we reached the first tower, the character of the ridge took a decided change for the worse. Here the rock was steep and the ledges were covered with scree. We picked our own paths around the tower and met on the south. I climbed ahead, up and around, and was confronted by a steep wall leading on to the ridge ahead. I climbed higher to avoid this exposed section and from here dropped easily onto the ridge. Patsy followed close behind and on stepping onto the ridge requested that we rope up. For here, there was no gentle drop to even one side. After the first tower, the traverse of the ridge becomes unequivocally fourth class. We roped up and I led off, slinging a horn here, slotting a nut there.

The roped traverse is kind of a blur. We remember the large rock precariously balanced on the crest that we had to climb past. There were also four rappel stations which we thought a bit odd. Why waste time rappelling fourth class? At least one of these rappel stations was almost mandatory, although we chose to leave a few slings instead. This was a downclimb into an abyss and a very awkward (and unreachable without the slings to hang on to) step off to the left.

We reached the base of the second tower and climbed over this unroped. To descend into the final notch, however, we roped up again. When we reached the the notch and checked the time ... 3 pm!!!

Below us, a thousand or so feet below us, there on the snow was another party already descending. Yet above us there still remained another 800 feet to the summit. We gazed up at the east arete from the point at which most parties start, per both Roper and Secor, the Grade II ascent. Oops! We had seriously underestimated the time it would take us to traverse the "initial" ridge. We decided to descend. The most vexing part of all was that the snow conditions were ideal for a climb up either the SE or NE couloirs to this notch.

Rather than repeating the whole ridge traverse, a prospect to which neither Patsy nor I looked forward, we traversed to the far side of the second tower and began to descend into the couloir. But there was that matter of the forgotten ice axes.

I belayed Patsy down a couple of rope lengths. She placed a couple of stoppers en route on the adjacent rock to protect the first (the steepest) rope length but the snow was still fairly soft and plunge-stepping down even this steep snow worked a treat. I was trying to reassure Patsy that even if she fell over, she wouldn't fall far in this soft snow when I did just that. I lost my balance, fell, and started sliding down the slope. Fortunately, my guess was correct and I fell only ten feet. Shaking a little, and shaking myself off, I looked up sheepishly. "See!".

Patsy wasn't feeling too well at this point, a pounding headache that was aggravated by the plunge-stepping descent. It took a long time to return to camp. Although the original plan was to return to camp, backpack out and drive over to the Mt. Tom trailhead, this wasn't looking like the scenario that was now being played out. We opted instead for a comfortable "bivvy" back at camp. The only missing comfort was dinner, which instead consisted of coffee and cookies.

Next morning we packed back down to the car. Figuring that Mt. Tom was no longer an option, we tarried a while besides McGee creek, eating a leisurely lunch and cleaning up by solar shower. We had never been to the Buttermilks climbing area, so we set off there to check out the scene. The problem was that, even at 7,000 ft., the heat seared through the soul (and the soles). It was debilitating.

We camped at the summit of the climbing area. This was pleasant, almost, after the sun had set over the Sierra. From our lofty perch several hundred feet above most of the Buttermilks, we could see the lights of a few other campfires sputtering fitfully. In contrast our campfire of tinder-dry eucalyptus sparked and crackled. Patsy imitated a Bali dancer, shadow dancing on the back wall of our summit amphitheatre.

Next morning we climbed on the west face of the Windy Wall. This was a real treat. The rock is quartz monzonite, very similar to, and of an even more abrasive nature than, the rock in Joshua Tree. We climbed a few 8's and 9's, nothing radical.

As the hour wore on to 1 pm, the sun crept over the top of the wall. It was time to pack up and go! Driving back from the Sierra on the fourth of July weekend is about the only time I wish I had air conditioning in the car. What a scorcher. We stopped to eat dinner at "The Cocky Bull", a most interesting restaurant on Highway 395 between Adelanto and Victorville. I noticed on the menu that the dinner stub entitles you to free entry to the "Opry Hall", so we slid in there after dinner and learnt a couple of line dances. That was great fun and served well to break up the tedium of the otherwise long and hot drive home.

Oh well, another trip and another vendetta. Basin Mountain also looks like it would be a fun climb up the NE couloir to the southern (eastern?) summit and if I haven't yet sated my proclivity for ridges, this mountain looks like it has a truly gnarly traverse across its summit ridge. You might imagine Patsy groaning when she reads this.