Quick Stats: 40.3 Miles & 15,643′ gain over 3 summits and 1 unsuccessful attempt starting from the Shepherd Pass Trailhead.
Let me start by saying that a little context is necessary. I first planned this itinerary last August. I’ve had my wilderness permit for this adventure since March. About two weeks before this trip I was in New York for a hockey tournament, where I ended up contracting Covid. When I got back I unknowingly gave it to Frankie, who was supposed to come with me on this trip. By the time the trip came around I felt like I had fully recovered, but Frankie was still dealing with it to some degree. All of that said, we still went off on an adventure. . .
I first came up with this itinerary back in September of 2021. I knew that I wanted to climb both Mounts Tyndall and Williamson; which both have very long an arduous approaches, and are also right next to each other. Along the way there are many other peaks that are significant goals of mine, and others that aren’t but still look fun. In March of 2022 I got a permit for 2 people for 4 days with the intention of climbing somewhere between 2 and 7 peaks. With covid potentially putting the trip in jeopardy, Frankie and I spent the week leading up recovering from Covid while simultaneously making plans to still go on the trip. It wasn’t until the afternoon on Wednesday that we knew we would be going, and the plan was to leave when I was through with work and sleep at the trailhead.
I’ve heard that the Shepherd Pass Trail is long and notorious, with a low starting elevation compared to nearby trailheads and endless switchbacks over a pretty huge distance. Something I wasn’t warned about was the road leading to the trailhead. You turn off of Onion Valley Road (a road I know very well from many adventures) onto the not so well maintained Foothill Road. This road leads you to the not at all maintain forest road, which leads you over a wild ride to the trailhead.
We started our adventure at around 6 AM on Thursday. We split the gear up so that I was carrying some of the heavier gear to make things easier for Frankie, since she was still dealing with lingering symptoms from having come down with Covid symptoms just 6 days ago.
All of the warnings about the Shepherd Pass Trail were pretty accurate. It’s long. It’s a slog at points. There are what feel like endless switchbacks. There are also people I know.
Wait– what?
Over the last 6 months I’ve been running into people that know me in various places related to mountaineering; some of them I know, and some are complete strangers. I’ve run into my mentor Ian twice in the Sierra (Once at Upper Boy Scout Camp and another time at Lee Vining); a stranger recognized me at the climbing gym from a hiking group on Facebook; just a few days prior someone I had climbed with once recognized me when Frankie and I went to Stoney Point. . . and now I ran into the hype man of my winter mountaineering course. (These are just some of the more recent times.)
He was out there on a 4 day trip with a friend and climbed Williamson and Tyndall– similar to what we were on our way to do. After catching up for a bit, we were making our way back up those endless switchbacks. Along the way Frankie and I decided to test out our new toys: A set of Rocky Talkies. We knew on this adventure that we would be splitting up at various points, and we were getting close to the point where we would separate for our respective adventures of the day: Frankie would set our camp at Anvil Camp, and I would attempt to climb Mount Keith. Just past the top of the switchbacks you reach Symmes Saddle, and it was there that I went ahead of Frankie. The nice part of the trail up to this point is that it’s all uphill, which means on the way back you can confidently say that “it’s all downhill from here” when you get to Symmes Saddle. The less than nice part of the trail from here forward is that it actually loses a lot of elevation through a maintained trail of scree and sand, which you then have to make up to get to Anvil Camp around 10,000′. The trail is beautiful however, so I wasn’t thinking too much about that; nor was I thinking about the fact that I would have to go up this on the way out of here. Traveling solo, I was moving at a pretty solid pace as I was trying to give myself as much time as possible to make it to anvil camp and then onward to Mount Keith.
At various points along the way I would radio Frankie to test our the range on the Rocky Talkies; and to my surprise they actually have a pretty fantastic range. Every so often when I would radio Frankie, I would also look back at the trail and see if I could make out a faint (cute) shape trudging along the trail to see if we could wave to each other from afar, but that never happened. Instead, I kept making my way to Anvil Camp.
Anvil Camp is a weird sort of place. It’s quite beautiful with a nice creek flowing right through it to give you plenty of fresh water, and trees to provide you cover. However on all maps it is labeled in the wrong spot. Continuing on the trail past where it’s labeled (and a few hundred feet of gain higher than it’s labeled), you’ll encounter a sign that says “Wood Fires Prohibited.” This isn’t really Anvil Camp– but I thought it was. (This point is important soon.) As soon as I saw this I began looking for a campsite for Frankie and I, but it took a while to find anything even close to suitable. I did eventually fine a solitary solid looking spot to the south of the trail. I immediately laid out the gear cache for Frankie, which is what we decided we would do: Any of the team gear I had, plus personal items for camp (like my sleep system) were left at a camp site for her to set camp after me while I climbed Mount Keith.
After hanging out a bit at what I originally thought would be our future campsite, I got back on the trail to head toward Mount Keith.
Not long after that I saw the sign for making Anvil Camp, with plentiful sites for making camp, and better access to the stream. I radioed back to Frankie to let her know that the gear cache was in a spot, but not necessarily the best spot, and she was more than welcome to find a better spot. Spoiler alert: She did.
Mount Keith
Mount Keith looms over anvil camp, and a lot of the trail leading to Shepherd Pass, and is quite beautiful. The South Slope is listed as a 2nd class climb, while the West Ridge is described by Secor as 3rd class and “a very good climb.” My original plan was to make my way to junction pass via a trail that is shown on maps, and then deviate from the trail near the pass to scramble on the west ridge to the summit. The only problem: the trail on the map that takes you from the Shepherd Pass Trail to Junction Pass doesn’t exist. I had to find my way across the creek, crossing a diminishing snowfield, and scrambling over some unstable boulders to get myself on the route– or at least what I thought was the route.
At the base of Keith and effectively at the end of the approach for the South Face, I decided that this would probably be a smarter choice for a route up since I could see a clear path to Junction Pass, but could see a line up the South Face. For the lower portion of the climb the rock was relatively solid– definitely a 2nd class adventure, but you could make it 3rd class in parts if you wanted to spice it up or if the rock was getting loose. Which it did. The solid rock was gone before I knew it, and then I found myself in something I had encountered while climbing Mount Rixford: Endless loose talus. This made the climb a lot more difficult, and a lot less fun; but it was still doable.
As I crossed 12,000′, I started to notice something new to me: I was feeling the altitude. Now I can’t say with certainty whether it was the altitude or the fact that I was still recovering from Covid, but either way I was feeling things in the mountains that were new to me: Coughing, lightheaded, a dash of nasuea– all things that could point to AMS (Acute Mountain Sickness). I continued on, slowing my pace down a bit, and doing my best to pick what seemed like the most solid line up. . .
However, after one particularly rough wet cough, I decided the safest and smartest choice was to head down.
I radioed to Frankie letting her know that I was on my way down, and made short work of the south slope; scree skiing most of the way down until I got to the stream crossing near “The Pothole” and got back on the Shepherd Pass Trail. I rolled into camp feeling totally beat and short of breath; and it took me what felt like forever to cool down from the day’s activity. Frankie being the wonderful person she is found us a better campsite not far from the creek, had set everything for our camp, and even had a meal waiting for me when I got back to camp. We were both exhausted, so we decided to get into the tent pretty early (6:45 PM), and planned on a relatively early start the next morning, since day 2 of our adventure would be pretty ambitious.
Mount Tyndall
Day 2 began around 5 AM, and the itinerary was ambitious: We would start by moving our camp from Anvil Camp (~10,000′) to the top of Shepherd Pass by the lake (~12,000′) to set ourselves better for Day 3. After setting our new camp we would then climb Mount Tyndall, one of the 12 California 14ers with a summit elevation of 14,019′. After climbing Mount Tyndall, we would then climb Polychrome Peak, listed as a simple hike to the summit.
As we were breaking down our camp we saw someone pass through on their way up Shepherd Pass– this would not be the last of this person we would see. After breakfast we finished packing up camp and were on our way up the last bit of the Shepherd Pass Trail that is below Shepherd Pass. This is my first trip where I’ve moved camp (“Alpine Style” vs. “Expedition Style”) in the middle of a trip, and it is definitely not easy– I definitely gained more respect for thru hikers. The first bit back on the trail was a little rough as my body is not used to moving uphill with a fully loaded pack after a full day of climbing, but when Frankie broke her trekking pole I had a chance to pause as she repaired it, and from there my body felt like it was back to it’s usual self.
When we neared the top of Shepherd Pass, we could see the snowfield that we knew we would have to cross. We had gotten some beta earlier in the week where someone said the only snow you would encounter is at the top of Shepherd Pass, and that there wasn’t much of it. When we reached the point where the only way forward was to pass through the snowfield, we saw that we actually had two options: Traverse across the snowfield to follow the trail but risk a pretty insane runout (without an ice axe), or go straight up to the top of the pass where the runout would actually be less severe (and probably steer you to safety), but there is no trail between the end of the snowfield and the top of the pass.
Without ice axes we opted to go straight up, and deal with what looked like a short scramble. The only problem with this was that the short gap between the snowfield and the little scramble was nothing but loose scree. It was a challenge, but we made it up, and before we knew it were standing on top of Shepherd Pass!
Starting at the top of Shepherd Pass it started to get windy, and it was certainly windy at the top of the pass. . . which immediately posed the challenge of finding a sheltered place to pitch our tent, especially since we were in Frankie’s ultralight tent that at the moment had no guy lines. After wandering around a bit near the lake Frankie found a good spot that had a small wind wall built out of rock, and also had a nice little table built out of rock near a boulder for our kitchen. We got to work filtering water, setting camp, and eating before setting off toward Mount Tyndall that towered in the distance. From where we were there wasn’t much elevation to gain, but the entire route is sustained scrambling between 2nd and 4th class, depending on which line you take, and is 2 miles from camp (with one of those being the route itself).
As we made our way up the notorious boulder field at the base of the North Rib, we saw a figure climbing down, which I assumed was the person that we had seen on the trail early this morning. As we continued on, we watched in horror as that person triggered a massive rockfall, and surfed on one of the boulders briefly before literally jumping to safety. I’ve experience small rockfalls– I’ve even triggered a rockfall that could have killed someone with a party climbing below me (luckily everyone was okay); but this was the first time that I’ve watched part of a mountain come down in my direction. Frankie asked which way we should move to get out of the way as these massive boulders came tumbling. I said let’s give it another second to see which way it’s headed, but I was already looking to climber’s left as this gets us closer to the rib and it looked to be headed to our right anyway. While it was large enough to take out a whole climbing party, it came to a rest pretty far from us, which was good for our first experience with a rock fall of that magnitude.
The climber above us looked to be okay. They didn’t give the universal signal for help (An “X” above your head with your arms), but I was still concerned because they weren’t moving from their spot; so I told Frankie we would meet at a specific spot and scrambled quickly up the mountain to get within shouting distance. I quickly learned he was okay, and took off my pack to wait for Frankie for us to put our helmets on and have a quick break before we started up the North Rib.
When all 3 of us were within talking distance, we started to discuss the route. He told us he did some climbing on the 4th class slabs to climber’s right of the North Rib– he said there were good enough holds, and the slabs are really stable compared to the North Rib. In a sign of how much Frankie and I were meant for each other, when I asked if we should take the 3rd class route we intended or the 4th class route that guidebooks warn you against, she said let’s give the slabs a go.
While the holds were good, they were few and far between. We weren’t on the slabs for long before we decided enough was enough– the exposure was exhilarating and the climbing was fun, but this would have us moving at a glacial pace when it was already after noon. We then traversed across the slabs to get back on the North Rib itself, and began our ascent.
The rest of the ascent was amazing. While there was some loose rock hear and there, overall the route was some solid 3rd class scrambling, and was nice and sustained– I’m sometimes disappointed by routes that have a brief section but are described as 3rd class. That was foreshadowing, by the way. On our way up I had noticed on maps and the GPX files I loaded that there were two different chutes people usually use to gain the ridge from the North Rib. We were aiming for one a bit to climber’s right for a good portion of the climb, but we started to encounter some loose rock and decided to start to make our way to the left a bit and aim for the other chute that was marked on my map.
Not far from the notch, it became clear that we were a bit off of the standard route, and we would have to traverse across to our left to make it to the top to the notch. . . but there was a snowfield blocking our way. Rather than deal with what was likely rotten snow on an exposed section at close to 14,000′, I told Frankie to keep climbing to where I was, and that I would scramble further up to see if we could basically find our own notch. I quickly found a solid line up to what looked like a promising notch to the summit plateau; then got my first glimpse of what was beyond Tyndall to the Southwest, and got a view of the summit in the distance. I came back down and watched as Frankie was making her way further up, and let her know that this would work.
Before long, Frankie came up the new line and we were both on the summit plateau, making our way across the boulders to the summit.
Our time on the summit of Mount Tyndall was absolutely incredible.
We decided that for the descent we were going to try and follow a different line down. Tired from a full day of climbing, we wanted to try and find a quicker line down since we had done a lot of our own routefinding on the way up, weaving in and out of 3rd and 4th class terrain. I had two different GPX files loaded into my GPS, and we followed neither on the way up. On the way down we loosely followed one of the 4 lines loaded into my GPS, and it felt like the same adventure as the ascent, only now it was the downclimb and we were tired. We tended to stay right on top of the rib, which meant we were again climbing in 3rd and 4th class terrain, sometimes with some amount of exposure as well.
I was still having the time of my life– at this point this had been at least 6 hours or so of sustained scrambling, and I would climb Tyndall on the regular if the approach wasn’t so insane. Frankie meanwhile had the veneer of a mountaineer that was tired while still enjoying the climb; but she would later tell me that at points she was a little “over” some of the 4th class slabs that we kept finding ourselves climbing on. As we got to the bottom, we started to take a sort of physical inventory of where we were at: I’m a bit of a machine and knew that I would be up to climb Mount Williamson the next day, but Frankie was less sure of herself. She reasoned that she could probably make it, but that she would probably be completely wrecked by the end of the day. Not only did we have to backpack out of there after climbing Mount Williamson. . . but Frankie and I both had to return to work early in the morning on Monday following our trip. I scrambled over toward the East so I could get a good look at Williamson and snap a few reconnaissance photos for Frankie so she could better decide what she wanted to do.
We continued on and finally was off the rib; then finished with the boulder field at the base of the rib, and then we were finishing up the last bit of the hike back to our camp at the lake. At this point Frankie had decided that it wouldn’t be smart for her to attempt Williamson, and that she would instead climb Polychrome Peak (our side quest for this day), and then move our camp on her own back down to Anvil Camp.
Meanwhile I would climb Mount Williamson via the West Face, and then would continue with my plans to potentially climb Mount Versteeg, Trojan Peak, and Polychrome Peak. How many summits I climbed would depend on a lot of factors, but I knew I wanted to bag at least two summits the next day. After eating, taking care of our camp chores, readying my pack for the next day, and setting an alarm for 2:30 AM, we were in bed on way toward day 3.
Peakbagger (dot) com Entry from 6/10/2022
Mount Williamson and More
I woke up around 1:30 AM eager to climb and having to pee. I stayed in my sleeping bag and contemplated my options:
- I could try and lay here for a while longer (since my start wasn’t until 2:30), trying to get as much rest as possible before getting up to pee and then deciding what to do next.
- I could get up and pee, and then come back to bed for less than an hour.
- I could start my day now.
I opted for option 3. Doing my best not to disturb Frankie, I got dressed and ready to go with the aid of the faint moonglow from a three quarter moon. Giving her a kiss goodbye, I set off on a potentially insane adventure knowing I wouldn’t see her until a while later 2,000′ below where we were now; and wouldn’t talk to her until after 9 AM: This is when we agreed to turn the Rocky Talkies on since she was planning on sleeping in to give her body plenty of rest.
The weather forecast for this trip was pretty warm by High Sierra standards, so my personal kit was pretty light: I had summer weight capri length base layer bottoms; a thin Smartwool tank top as a base layer top, no gaiters, wool socks (no sock liners), thin hiking pants, lightweight gloves, a lightweight beanie, a fleece jacket, my puffy, and a hardshell jacket. I was wearing my whole kit except the hardshell jacket to keep warm for the first part of my adventure because it was so cold. With the puffy on I warmed up relatively quickly, and stopped to take it off en route to the Williamson Bowl. Funny coincidence at this stop: I just so happened to see a tent when my headlamp caught the reflective markings of the guy lines.
I continued on the rest of the way until I was at the top of Williamson Bowl, which has a much deserved reputation as being arduous, taxing, and potentially soul crushing. The route descriptions for climbing Mount Williamson are pretty hilarious, as you get to hear the thoughts from whomever wrote up the route on the Williamson Bowl. I stopped again to take some photos before I learned for myself how rough the bowl can be:
Navigating the Williamson Bowl in the dark is an absolute mess. I try not to rely on my GPS when I’m routefinding on my adventures, but very quickly I learned that I may need to use it more than I would like: I was following a use trail that even had a cairn or two, and noticed I was descending. That’s okay: I know that you lose and gain elevation throughout the bowl. However, looking off to my right (the West), I could see what looked like a sort of land bridge that I recalled from the map was part of the route. I pull out my phone and notice that, sure enough, I was off route. I hike across and up to get back on the correct path, and had to do this a lot as the terrain I was in didn’t match what I remembered seeing on the topo map. To make things more challenging, as soon as I was in the bowl, the moonlight that was helping lightly illuminate the world around me was gone as the moon had set below the mountains. It was pitch black except for my headlamp, and the occasional glow of my phone. There were very few cairns in the bowl, and sometimes I would find them in the strangest of places. There were areas I felt I was obviously off route because the scrambling seemed more than was described, and at least a couple snowfields for me to cross. There was a time where the use trail I was following cliffed out, only to find a cairn to my left that showed the way to some ledges to get down. The entire adventure crossing the bowl was long, tedious, slightly disorienting, blended together, and was not the most fun time I’ve had in the mountains.
Eventually I found myself at the base of the West Face of Mount Williamson, and began ascending up. Navigating a climb of Mount Williamson in the dark is made even more difficult because I was looking for a specific “stain” in the rocks as a guide of where to veer to my right a bit so that I end up going up the correct chute (Secor describes the west face as a maze of chutes with an abundance of dead ends). Much to my surprise, I actually found it:
I forgot to mention that the entirety of Williamson Bowl is filled with loose rock (boulders and talus), and that the West Face is definitely considered a part of the bowl by this standard. Making your way up the West Face isn’t hard at all, it’s just tedious, time consuming, and soul sucking, as you’re dealing with an endless barrage of loose scree and talus. The promise of a 3rd class climb never came, as even the couple of 3rd class ledges barely qualified, and were covered in so much loose rock that you didn’t need your hands to ascend as much as you needed them to brush away scree.
Eventually I found my way at the top of the chute on the West Face, and was at the base of the infamous chimney. The sun was minutes away from rising, and I realized there was potential to watch the sunrise from the summit plateau of Mount Williamson. I climbed up the chimney, and while it was an absolute blast, I don’t think it was worth all of the loose rock.
It really was a fun section, though. As I got to the top, I was a couple of moves away from the summit plateau when I saw a beautiful pink glow wash over the rocks right above my head. . . and then I emerged to be bathed in the alpenglow. From this point you can continue to scramble on the 3rd class ridge that connects the top of the chimney to the summit, or you could drop down to the plateau for some 2nd class terrain. 3rd class ridgeline scrambles being my favorite, I milked this climb for all it’s worth and stayed on top of the ridge as much as possible to try and make up for the rest of the climb that was decidedly not fun.
The summit it was literally freezing, but it was also an absolutely beautiful view. There I stood on the summit of the 2nd tallest mountain in California, and my 5th of the 12 California 14ers. I decided I wanted to spend some time on the summit to really take in the view. Looking out over the Williamson Bowl in the light of day, I could see how dangerous it has the potential to be. That first area that I was descending (where I realized I shouldn’t be): turns out it cliffs out into what would absolutely be a fatal fall.
After signing the register, I sent Frankie a message on the Garmin, switched my walkie on wary earlier than we had discussed (also let her know that I turned it on), and reclined on some of the rocks on the summit, relying on my puffy at the solar input to offset the cold of the ground.
Peakbagger (dot) com Entry for Mount Williamson from 6/11/2022
Not long later, I heard a familiar lovely voice come through on the radio, and was able to talk to Frankie. I first relayed to her that she didn’t miss anything: She was very much done with the loose rock after our climb of Tyndall, and I let her know she wouldn’t have had a fun time. Frankie in turn let me know she would be taking everything but the bear can when she would move camp later. At this point she was setting out for Polychrome Peak, and I told her that I was going to spend a while on the summit. I also mentioned that I would be looking for her on her climb, and I eventually did spot her making her way up:
I ended up spending a little over an hour on the summit before I started to make my way down. I descended down the 3rd class ridge, down the 3rd class chimney, and down the nonsense that was the West Face chute.
Along the way I encountered the person that was sleeping in the tent I had seen at 2 in the morning as they ascended Mount Williamson. He let me know that they would call down if he caused any rock fall, but I let him know I was on my way to Trojan Peak and would be out of his fall line pretty quickly.
On the way to Trojan Peak I dealt with more loose rock. By now, I was kind of over loose rock after the attempted ascent of Mount Keith, and the ascents of Tyndall and Williamson. I got to a nice ledge on the way and got a great glimpse of Trojan Peak. The route that I was going to climb would take me past Lake Helen of Troy, ascending what looked like a loose face before reaching a 3rd class ridge that would take me to the top. Then I started looking at alternatives. From this vantage point I thought about directly ascending this north ridge that wasn’t as far from me, but I’ve not seen any mention of this as a route. It looks 3rd / 4th class and doable, but why has seemingly no one else attempted it? Is the rock too loose? Does it exceed 4th class? While I’m pretty experienced and pretty confident in my climbing, I don’t know if I’m at the point where I can make what could be a first ascent in the High Sierra. This idea was scrubbed.
On my peakbagging adventures, when I’m chaining different summits together I always think about the implications of a summit bid: How long will it take? How am I feeling? Do I have everything I need for the climb? How much energy will it take? Can I get up and down with enough energy to get back home / to camp? At this point I had to make a choice: This would be a committed climb that would take a lot of energy from me (due to the loose rock), and I still would have to get down, across the Williamson Bowl, grab the bear can from the lake, and make it down Shepherd Pass to get back to camp. There was enough daylight, but I was legitimately unsure I would have the energy, and was concerned I may have to bivvy in Williamson Bowl.
I decided the smart choice was to move on, and maybe look at what Mount Versteeg had to offer in the way of a summit bid. I planned on climbing past the lake, up to Tyndall Col, and then scrambling along the ridge to the summit. The only problem? Most of the route was covered in snow and I didn’t have an ice axe nor crampons; and at this point in the day with the high temps the snow quality was likely trash anyway. Moving on, I decided that Polychrome Peak would be my next goal. Situated immediately East of the lake we had camped by and listed as a simple 1st Class hike, I figured I could hit the peak on my way back.
Still in the Williamson Bowl, I stopped at a trickling stream to filter water and hydrate, before making my way out of there. I would later use the word “Disheartening” to Frankie to describe Williamson Bowl, because that really is the best word for it. It’s not fun. It’s relentless.
. . . and it does end eventually. Now I was hiking up to Polychrome Peak, with a summit just above 13,000′. Listed by Secor as a simple hike to the summit, I was pleasantly surprised when I got to the top and saw some scrambling was involved. (Another case where it seems Secor is totally wrong. I have a feeling I will encounter this more) What was especially great is that the top of Polychrome Peak was like a little playground– there were tons of summit blocks that were short 3rd and 4th class climbs to play around on. What’s especially fun is Frankie and I snapped the same exact photo hours apart from each other of the summit block that turned out to be the actual summit:
The topo map isn’t clear about which of these blocks is the true summit, so I decided to just scramble up and down a bunch of them for fun until I either had some sort of sign that I was in the correct spot, or had been to enough that I could guarantee I was at the summit regardless. Some of them offer some really dicey 4th class moves with basically no exposure, which makes it a good little training ground for scrambling. Eventually I was on top of a block that looked to have trail trash shoved in a crack, but when I grabbed this as part of my duty to leave trails in better shape than I find them, it turns out it was the summit register:
After a while of taking in the view and relaxing, it was time to get a move on. Frankie was below me a mile out from Anvil Camp, and I had to get down from this peak, grab the bear canister from the lake, and get down Shepherd Pass and then further still to Anvil Camp.
I was still a little obsessed with the idea of climbing another mountain, especially since it was still so early in the day. I began thinking about a trip up to Junction Pass from Shepherd Pass, and then climbing Mount Keith from that West Ridge that was the original plan. I could even bring the bear canister and then scree ski down the South Face as a way back to Frankie at Anvil Camp. I was giving it some serious thought, and it was in the back of my mind– first I had to get down from this summit though.
The descent from Polychrome and to the lake was simple enough, but I also realized I wouldn’t have enough gas in the tank for another peak. The time for summits on this trip was over, and that was perfectly okay. I grabbed the bear canister from the lake and began my descent of Shepherd Pass– though it was amusing when I was crossing the snowfield at the top of the pass. A lady asked if my name starts with a “B,” and when I told her my name is “Brielle,” she told me that “Frankie says ‘hello!'” I made sure to get her name to let Frankie know that I got her message from Emily.
Rolling in to camp it was hours earlier than I expected it to be. I had the goal of climbing between 2 and 5 peaks that day, and I climbed 2 of them. Frankie already had camp set, had taken care of some camp chores, and also had washed up. With my mountaineering trip in the High Sierra, I don’t normally spend more than 3 or 4 days in the wilderness, and almost all of my trips to this point have been in the winter. . . so the idea of getting really gritty and needing to bathe (or having the ability to) isn’t necessarily a thing. For a thru hiker like Frankie however, this is a necessity. Taking a page from her book, I took a nice sponge bath using the nearby creek, and she’s right that it definitely helps you feel better and boosts morale.
Another thing I don’t have much of on my mountaineering trips is time. I’m usually always doing something, with very little idle time. Having returned to camp so early, Frankie and I had a ton of time on our hands. I was tired enough to go to sleep, but it was way too early to actually go to bed. We ended up spending our time between camp chores, meals, Frankie playing “The Floor is Lava,” and a lot of time just relaxing on a rock like lizards; Frankie even dubbed a specific rock “Lizard Rock.” Kind of like the genre of music. */sarcasm*
This was a sort of lesson for me personally. I’m always on the go, and always looking for something to do. When I’m in the mountains is when I tend to slow down a bit (believe it or not), and it’s when my brain is the most calm; so when we had a glut of time with nothing to do, it was a chance for me to just lay back and relax. . . and it felt good.
Eventually I was tired enough that, regardless of time, I needed to tuck in to bed. Our itinerary for the next day was relatively easy: Backpack out of there. We would encounter more elevation gain to get back up to Symmes Saddle, but from then it would literally be all downhill from there.
We got up around 5 AM on our fourth and final day to backpack out.
I knew there would be some gain along the way, but on the way in I was too excited for the trip to focus on how much elevation is being lost and gained between Anvil Camp and Symmes Saddle, and how much of it is over scree. Needless to say, the trek out was not easy.
Either way, we made short work of the Shepherd Pass Trail from Anvil Camp to the trailhead. Our first multiday mountaineering trip had gone smoothly and fantastically; my first trip with 3 consecutive nights out was awesome; we both had an amazing time together; and we’re both looking forward to more wonderful adventure together. When all was said and done this was my most difficult adventure to date, clocking a total of 15,643′ of elevation gain over 40.3 miles in the span of 4 days. I’m not going to go out of my way to outdo this, but I’m curious to see how long this record stands.
Climb on with love.