Lonely at the Top

May, 2007

     At 14375 feet, Mt. Williamson is the second highest peak in California and is arguably much more challenging that it’s vertical superior, Mt. Whitney, just a few miles away in the Sierra Nevada. I wanted to climb Mt. Williamson via George Creek, a cross country can’t-keep-your-hands-in-your- pockets kind of hike that follows George Creek through a narrow canyon before heading up onto the Williamson massif.  Due to the bighorn sheep mating season, this area is legally open from December 15^th - December 31^st, and April 15^th - May 15th of each year. There is no trail. There are only use paths from previous visitors, and the terrain is masochistic.  Everything that a peak-bagger dreads is here: loose dirt and rock covering steep slopes, thick brush with long thorns, challenging stream crossings, and monster elevation gain. It is sometimes hard to imagine why someone would want to come here.  Or why I would want to come here 3 times. Williamson and I have a history.  I’ve attempted Williamson twice before, and twice before Williamson spun me around and sent me home. 

     My first attempt was with Phil and Joe in April of 2005. The start of the hike begins at just over 6000 feet, and we attempted to make it up to 11000 feet the first night. We ended up dropping our packs just before dark at 9000 feet. We were inexperienced, exhausted from carrying heavy packs, and our route-finding skills were undeveloped. We had simply taken too long to gain altitude and didn’t have the time to rest and recover. We got up late, hiked up to 11000 feet, turned back and went home. 

     In May of 2006, I returned to George Creek with friends Kevin and Matt.  Even though we made it to over 10000 feet on the first day, it was long and rough and my partners were not interested in continuing. I thought about going solo but did not feel comfortable doing so.  I was incredibly disappointed, and that was before our near-epic journey back to the car.  

     I thought about giving up on Williamson. I thought about climbing Mt. Williamson by another route. The most popular route on Mt. Williamson, the West Face, was above my technical ability at the time of my first attempt, but now it was within my grasp.  The West Face is a more established route and would be much more straightforward, but the failures on George Creek were eating me up. In January of 2007, I reserved my permits for George Creek for April, and was somehow able to convince Kevin to give it another try. My other previous partners all refused. With a heavy year in the mountains behind me, my experience level was way up, and I was familiar with my previous mistakes. This trip report is about my third attempt to climb Mt. Williamson via George Creek in April of 2007. 

From car to 10k camp

     Kevin and I arrived at the mouth of the canyon at 9 pm on Friday night. This was early for us.  We were lucky enough to get off work early and beat most of the traffic, and I was able to negotiate the 4-wheel-drive only road with my 2-wheel-drive truck.  A good nights sleep before a climb was rare for us, something we have a hard time doing when we want to climb mountains 6 hours away without taking time off. So far so good.

      Early Saturday morning, we pack up our camp and start making tracks.  The first few miles follow a narrow corridor, ranging from 50 to 300 feet wide, enclosed by huge granite cliffs up to 300 feet tall. This corridor is filled with trees and undergrowth and a sometimes fierce stream, funneling an impressive amount of water down the valley. On occasion, the sound of the thrashing water is so overpowering that Kevin and I have to yell at each other to communicate. Due to thick brush or the path of the creek, we needed to cross over multiple times. Some of the crossings are more challenging than others, and on previous trips we had problems finding the easy crossings on the way down, taking brutal detours through almost impassable terrain.  I remember making a 10 foot high crossing on an 8 inch diameter branch, and another crossing where we were actually created our own bridge by folding over the branches of some thick brush, things we wanted to avoid on this trip.

      About a mile in to the hike, we come across a large roll of tubing on the ground. A huge roll actually, I guess about 200 feet of ½ inch diameter rubber tubing, brand new. I knew what it was for.  A friend I know that does guided hikes in Orange County had told me about this.  Someone was growing pot. 

     We continue through the shaded canon, and at one point we actually throw some large rocks into a shallow part of the creek to create our own crossing.  We put another half mile under our boots and discover another roll of tubing and a duffel bag with a few smaller rolls of tubing. Would someone really be doing this here? I check the weight of the large roll – probably twice what my pack weighs. This is insane. We try to forget about it and continue to the exit of the narrow canyon, something I had been looking forward to.  The canyon opens up into a much wider canyon with gentle slopes on either side reaching up to 12000 foot peaks, quite a view. We cross the stream for the third or fourth time here, stopping to note the location. We move 20 feet up the trail and see an abandoned camp on the opposite side of the stream.  There is a collapsed tent, a bunch of gear all over the place, and to me it looks like it’s been trashed by a bear. What had me worried though, is that by the looks of the gear, this is not a hiker or climber; this is someone who was planning to stay a while. We nervously scan the nearby slopes and decide not to take pictures.  We walk another 10 feet before we stop dead in our tracks. There it is, right in front of us. 300 tiny plants in individual baggies on the ground.   This definitely doesn’t feel good. Someone’s got to be around, and with no real way to defend ourselves or get help, there is a strong feeling of vulnerability. We walk quickly passed the plants and mumble that it might be a good idea to turn around. After bouncing a few ideas off each other, we decide to go on, stricken by a case of summit tunnel vision (STV) and ignoring our better judgment.  We’ll climb Williamson and then discuss our options.  If we have to, we can find another way out. 

      We continue the hike, disregarding the someone-is-watching-us feeling, and make great time. A few sections of the footpath wind through thick vegetation, and sometimes you actually need to force your way through.  Sometimes you need to bend branches out of the way and twist and turn your body to avoid thorns. And sometimes the branches push back, and sometimes the thorns get you anyway. I remember the small cuts and the tearing of my shirt last year, but this year is different. We went super light. Kevin brought his tiny 1-man tent, I went one better and brought my bivy sack (a waterproof sack that allows me to sleep on the ground without a tent).   We skipped out on snowshoes and our avalanche equipment since this was a light snow year.  We brought nothing extra, and just enough clothing to keep us a little chilly. These smaller and lighter packs were the key. They allowed us to get through the brush much quicker and easier than before, and soon enough we reach an altitude where the brush thins. Mt. Barnard and Mt. Trojan come into view, both just shy of reaching 14000 feet. I try to ignore the striking features of these peaks, for fear that I will want to climb them, leading to yet another trip through George Creek.  

     A few hours or so and I stroll into our planned camp spot at 10000 feet. I knew of this spot from the previous trip, a nice flat spot within a small forested area.  There’s another party of 4 climbers camped here so I swing by and have a chat. We immediately ask each other if we saw the pot farm.  Yes, we all did, and the same thought is on all of our minds – hopefully no one is there on our way out. These guys mention how beat they are and that they took two days to get here. Then I see their packs - they made the same mistake I did the last few years, the packs were just too big for this route. They mention that depending on how they feel the next day, they may head for Williamson’s summit, but I get the feeling they’ve had their fill. I head off a hundred feet or so and never really see them again. 

     Kevin strolls into camp shortly after, a tough day but we have plenty of time to relax, eat, and recover for tomorrow. We make dinner and watch the sunset. Oh yeah, we did bring one thing extra – an oven.  I’d never used a backpacking oven or even seen one but Kevin had always mentioned that he had this thing. It was basically a cover that goes over the backpacking stove, and has a place to put a small pan inside. I cooked up my usual freeze dried dinner, not too bad, but Kevin that bastard, cooks up a pizza with a pre-made crust, dried tomatoes, and fresh cheese. Gourmet for 10k. We see a small group of climbers descending George Creek across the valley and wonder which mountain they were here to climb. Over dinner Kevin mentions that his ankles hurt. I say uh oh. His ankles had taken a beating on the rocky ascent, and he’s not sure if he’s up for the summit. Not again! I feel a little bit angry or maybe even deserted at the thought of Kevin not continuing, but I know its not his fault. We talk about it for a while but the only thing we can do is wait until morning.

10k camp to summit to 10k camp.

     I wake up at 5:30am, crawl out of my sleeping bag and wake Kevin up. I knew Kevin’s answer before I asked him – he was staying behind today. I had thought about it all night and had prepared myself for a solo ascent. Kevin double checks to make sure I have the essentials. He insists I bring a lighter, but I point out that once I gain another 1000 feet there’s nothing to burn. I leave camp at 6:30 am and push my way through 500 vertical feet of thick brush before I come out onto a wide dirt plateau with the north fork of George Creek running through it. The “published” route follows the creek on its west side.  Well, I was on the east side.  I also know that once I reach 11000 feet, that I would have to be on the east side anyway, so I wasn’t about to go out of my way to cross the stream twice. I could see a big dirt and rock chute a few hundred feet up, and it looked like a good alternative. It was steep and loose, but not too bad. 30 minutes and 500 feet later, I was at 11000 feet and I was able to see the top of the south ridge of Mt. Williamson 1800 feet above me, the first time in 3 trips that I’ve had this view. From here, the route leaves the creek and heads directly up a giant steep slope towards the top of the ridge, which will then lead to a headwall guarding the final summit ridge.         

     The entire slope leading to the south ridge is covered in scree. Scree is basically loose rock and dirt, and is the perfect example of 2 steps forward, 1 step back. I imagine that it’s similar to climbing a staircase covered in marbles, softballs, and kitty litter.  Fun stuff, let me tell you. It’s the kind of thing that makes you wonder why the hell you’re out there, and without a partner to call me names and deter me from giving up, I debated on continuing. I took a few minutes to check out the slope, looking for the easiest way up.  I see a patch of huge boulders in the middle of the slope and a hundred feet to the left of that, a narrow strip of snow leading to the top of the ridge.  This was my route.  I should mention, that in normal snow fall years, this entire slope is covered in snow, making it an easy crampon climb, unfortunately not so this year.

     I made my way up through the boulders, some the size of refrigerators.  My heart would skip a beat every time my weight would cause them to shift. I use my hands to pull myself up and over each individual boulder, and eventually I’m level with the bottom of the strip of snow.   Taking advantage of a good place to sit down, I put on my crampons and traverse across the slope, being careful with the sharp points on the rock.  The snow strip is 10 – 20 feet wide, and goes straight up to the top of the ridge. It’s in perfect shape, nice and firm and saves me a ton of energy. I climb up the snow stopping every few minutes to catch my breath, trying hard not to over-check my altimeter.  Setting small goals are the key to this type of monotony.  Just make it up to that rock. Okay, made it. Now the next one.  Okay made that.  I think a few hours pass before I reach the top of the ridge, and I look at the altimeter.  12800 feet and a spot to rest.  I shove some chocolate and jerky in my mouth, take a drink, put on more sun block, and enjoy the view. Only 1600 feet to go.  I can make it.  

Whitney rising in the distance

 

     I walk about a quarter mile along the ridge towards the snow-covered headwall and I can see Mt. Whitney rising in the distance, a good sign that I’m pushing the 14000 foot mark. I traverse across the bottom of the snowy headwall, steep but stable.  There are footprints, someone was up here recently (later I find out that they were from someone who frequents the same climbing forum, and was one of the climbers we saw descending the night before). Eventually I’m underneath the steepest part of the climb. I stop traversing and start heading straight up.  I plant my ice axe in above me, take two steps, and take a breath.  Repeat.  Plant the ice axe in again.  Take two steps. The snow I kick down rolls down the slope beneath me. I make my way up between two rock bands and gain the plateau below the summit ridge and I think I see the summit but I don’t get my hopes up. I take a few minutes to rest and suck down an energy shot, a carb and caffeine infested blob of gel that helps me to refuel without wasting any time.  

 

The headwall from 12800 feet 

 

     Making my way over to the summit ridge, it seems like I’m stopping every minute or so to catch my breath, and for some reason I don’t remember breathing so hard at this altitude. The altimeter says 14000 feet, and I can see the entire summit ridge now.  Small cornices and a 3000 foot drop on the left side, and a 30° slope on the right. I stay a few feet over towards the right and I don’t look down. 

 

Looking down the summit ridge, the Owens valley 10000 feet below  

  

     The snow on the ridge is soft and it sticks to my crampons, preventing me from getting a good grip, so I take them off and stash them next to a rock. I continue slowly and even though I’m tired the summit ridge is very enjoyable. I kick steps into the snow on my way up and soon enough I see an old ammunition box- the summit register!  I made it, and solo – a great sense of relief and accomplishment comes over me!  I take the final few steps and the world falls away with me on top. The views are incredible, and I’m looking down on Mt. Tyndall, the 12^th highest mountain in California (I’ll see you in September)! The weather is calm and it seems like I have the entire Sierra Nevada to myself. The rounded hump of snow on the summit is inviting, and I could easily lay down and become a part of it indefinitely, but 5 minutes seems to be enough for today; I feel pretty good and I don’t want to lose my momentum. I take a few pictures and head down.  

 

Whitney from the summit of Williamson

 

 

Mt. Tyndall, California's 12th highest mountain

 

 

The obligatory summit shot 

 

     It had taken me 5-1/2 hours to get to the summit, but I make it back to camp in under 3, an hour of that spent descending that big scree slope. At one point I cupped my hands in some water runoff and took a drink because it looked so clear and refreshing. I get back into camp at 3pm, where Kevin had begun to worry and in his frustration had baked some fresh muffins.  Actually, it was just one really giant muffin. Seriously, who bakes a muffin at 10000 feet on Mt. Williamson?!  I ate some of the muffin and talked to Kevin about the climb.  I told him about the horrible scree slope, but didn’t express how happy I was that I had made it.  3 attempts in 3 years and I’ll finally be able to close the chapter on Williamson.

 

Down and Out

     The hike out was rather uneventful, a good thing. At one point, Kevin and I stopped for a break in an open sandy area. After a minute or two, we realize that the ground is covered in huge ants and the ants are all over our legs.  We both drop our pants down to our ankles and brush the ants off and then immediately check our surroundings to make sure no one had witnessed this.  We take it slow as we approach the pot farm, but no one’s there.  Good.  We take a few quick pictures and get out of there. We manage to find all of the stream crossings that we had used on the way up the day before, and we return to the car just before dark.

     Back in the comfort of the truck, we follow the long dirt road out and I reflect back.  I can’t figure out if this is the toughest climb I’ve done. I’m sure it just feels that way, I think being solo was more of a mental challenge than I was used to.  As we pass Manzanar National Monument, I look back at Mt. Williamson every chance I get.  Everything I take for granted suddenly becomes clear.  For a short time, the world becomes more colorful and I gain a little more understanding of why I climb. I experience an overwhelming feeling of missing my family and friends and wish somehow that I could share the way I feel this moment with them all.        

 

Mt. Williamson and Manzanar National Monument 

 

     On our way out of town, we stopped by the ranger station to report the pot farm. Not because the pot bothered us, but because of the danger of the growers returning and confronting other hikers and climbers. They do bust growers they say, but it’s really uncommon in this area. They tell us that growers often times set booby traps involving shotguns or explosives, that just recently a ranger had been injured by explosives during an investigation of an illegal pot farm, and that next time we should turn back. The ranger calls the sheriff and asks me to wait, which I do, to show him where the farm was on a map. In the summer of the same year, a fire rips through one of the canyons near George Creek. During investigation, rangers find a large pot farm and 2 growers dead from the fire.  The remaining growers are arrested shortly after.