Quick Stats: 10.6 Miles & 4,995′ gain via North Face from Onion Valley Road. (12,617′ Elevation at Turnaround)
Frankie has had to listen to me go on about how much I enjoy winter mountaineering for quite some time, and she finally got the opportunity to experience it herself. Buckle up– this is going to be a long post!
Before we set out I was concerned that she might not like it. Winter mountaineering requires a lot more gear than 3-season mountaineering, and also requires you to upgrade a lot of your gear. Have 3-season boots? Great; now you need insulated boots. Have a sleeping bag? Great; now you need one rated for 30°F (or more) colder. Have a sleeping pad? Great; now you need two with a combined R-value above 6. You carry some light gloves for nighttime? Great; now you should carry a few pairs of liner gloves, a midweight gloves, and also some “chonky gloves” (insulated heavyweight gloves). The list goes on. If she didn’t like it, what would that mean for the investment she just made in her kit.
Leading up to this weekend we were planning on climbing Split Mountain via Red Lake, but as it got closer to us leaving I started to think maybe we should reconsider. The Red Lake Trailhead starts at a pretty low elevation, which means we could be dealing with extra heavy packs as we carry our snowshoes on a long very steep approach to Red Lake where we would camp. This coupled with the fact that this adventure would be her first after a recent surgery; and would also be her first winter mountaineering trip where everything is harder. I floated a couple of ideas past her for consideration, and we settled on University Peak via the North Face (with Snow Crown as a possible side quest). We dirtbagged at Onion Valley the night before, and set out early the next morning with our heavy packs and snowshoes on. . .
Except the bindings on Frankie’s snowshoes have a really short strap which makes them hard to tighten; so putting her snowshoes on and off became a Brie task for almost the entire trip. Luckily, at the time of writing this, we have a longer strap on order.
The conditions were similar to what I encountered last week, except sections of the Kearsarge Pass Trail were a bit more dry than before. Every so often I stopped to explain something about snow to Frankie– she is signed up for an AIARE 1 course in December, but no reason we can’t stop to discuss wind slabs, faceted snow, and other topics along the way. I enjoy talking about this stuff, so it was a fun way for me to kind of play guide as we traveled.
Frankie learned very quickly that in winter, everything is more difficult: Snowshoeing is more difficult that hiking; drinking water is more difficult; even just walking in La Sportiva G2s is more difficult than in nearly any other type of footwear. Speaking of, this was Frankie’s first experience in full shank insulated boots which are their own sort of monster. They require a different sort of gait, and an entirely different method of climbing / scrambling. Since she opted for double boots there’s also the fit, and it took a little bit of time to figure out what might be the best way to wear them (in terms of tightness, sock combinations, etc.).
After a break for some adjustment we were back on the trail with the plan of camping near Matlock Lake; which later became the goal of Bench Lake as we made excellent time with plenty of daylight ahead of us.
We passed my little spot near Flower Lake around 11 AM and started to break trail toward Matlock Lake through some deep powder. All around were fresh tracks from wildlife, and then we saw something that caught our eye: Bear tracks. They should be asleep by now, but apparently there’s at least one still romping around. We filed that away in the back of our heads as we continued onward.
We meandered through here likely sticking close to what would be a trail of some sort beneath our feet, and eventually took a break at Matlock Lake. I had two different lines we could follow from here: A GPX loaded into my Peakbagger app, and a trip report I had read from someone that climbed Snow Crown. The GPX follows the shore of Matlock Lake then climbs up to Bench Lake over some steep snow covered slopes (probably scrambling when dry); the trip report said to scramble up the drainage between Bench Lake and Matlock Lake. We opted for this, which was not as much difficult as it was obnoxious. Some of the ledges that looked like good lines for scrambling were covered in snow, so we ended up meandering through some thick brush to find a way up; in some cases crossing thin snow bridges that were supported by this brush. At the top of this, not far from Bench Lake, we were left with a decision– two different options of snowy chutes to climb up. One of them looked like a very steep and precarious snow climb, while the other seemed like some easy scrambling interspersed with not too difficult scrambling. We took off the snowshoes and made our way up; rather than strap the shoes to our packs for this last push, I ended up carrying them up with me to save the hassle. This is where Frankie got her first opportunity to scramble in these boots; it will take some adjustment for her, but she says she’ll get by the end of the winter climbing season.
When we got to Bench Lake, it was still pretty early in the day. Taking a quick glance around we noticed a spot near us was going to be the best option for camp, so we set out to get organized. I began setting our camp while Frankie was given the task of getting us water and setting up a stove I’ve had for a year. . . but haven’t yet used: The MSR Whisperlite Universal.
I ordered this stove when I took a class on backpacking (long before my first ever mountaineering trip) when the instructor said that it was the most versatile stove on the market and one of the best quality liquid stoves. I never devoted time to learning how to use it during the last winter (when it would have been helpful), so now it was with us brand new; instructions included. It required a little bit of assembly, so Frankie started melting snow using the backup canister stove we brought; we had access to flowing water near camp, but Frankie didn’t feel comfortable climbing down to it.
After setting another bomber camp it was time to finish assembling the stove and to cook dinner. While at first Frankie made fun of me for bringing a brand new Whisperlite complete with instructions, we actually needed those instructions to get the stove together and running; the inaugural lighting being done by Frankie since she had a better idea of how to do it compared to me. We had some issues with the stove maintaining pressure, but ultimately we were able to have a nice warm dinner before tucking in to our cozy little tent.
It really is cozy. Winter sleeping bags are not roomy, and in order to keep things from freezing overnight you put those items in your sleeping bag; something that Frankie had never done before. I’m used to sleeping in a sea of stuff, but this is new to her. I explained that I normally keep my extra socks, both pairs of liner gloves, electronics, snacks, puffy, inner boots, a heavier pair of gloves, fuel canisters (not needed on this trip), fleece jacket, and a “warm teddy bear” (a Nalgene filled with boiling water for warmth) in my sleeping bag overnight. Her bag is more of a mummy shape than mine, so I ended up with one of her inner boots in my bag with all of my stuff since my NEMO Sonic has more room.
We drifted off to sleep without an alarm set, but with the plan to wake up around 3.
At around 3:30 I woke up and we both started the process of getting ready. I have a specific process for getting ready in the winter that involves a little bit of psyching myself up, and getting dressed in stages. First I put my avy transceiver on, then my fleece. Then I situate my buff situation– in this case I took my buff off and put on a balaclava with a wool beanie over it. Then I grab my puffy from the footbox and put that on. Next is a pair of liner gloves followed by the softshell jacket that was outside of my bag near my feet. I started bringing a down parka with me recently, so that now went from being draped over the footbox of my bag to on top of all of my layers. Still no pants though– they’re on my porch. I put on the inner boots and pivot my feet outside the tent into the closed vestibule to slide my frozen softshell pants on; then slide my feet into my G2s.
Side note: Normally I wear insulated single boots (La Sportiva Nepals) and I’m putting my feet into frozen boots in the morning; not the best feeling. This is my first time with double boots and it’s such a delightful experience in comparison. G2s FTW!
Now I’m ready to go get us liquid water from the creek, visit the “Business Center,” and get my pack ready for the day with a little more than normal. Since the wildlife more active than I’ve ever seen in the snow I opted to throw our food and trash in my pack for the ascent– no use risking our camp while we’re gone. The stove was acting fussy again, but after a little adjustment we got it running perfectly for the rest of the trip. After the traditional summit day oatmeal it was time to head toward University Peak.
We had the option of meeting up with the GPX track I had loaded, or a bold proposal I made of walking on the frozen Bench Lake and going up the drainage that connects to a tarn at the base of the North Face. We agreed it would be safer to meet up with the GPX track, so that’s what we did. It required snowshoeing through some deep powder, and three different sections of ditching the snowshoes while we scrambled a bit. On the first of these sections I actually scrambled up part way and realized that this may not be the best line for Frankie; she mentioned the day before that she’s not sure she is comfortable with exposed scrambling in these boots, and we could easily bypass this section of exposed scrambling in favor of more snowshoeing and a different scramble.
It was slow going as we dealt with the snowshoes, the deep powder, and the scrambles; but as I always say: “Snow travel is slow travel.” Speaking of that deep powder, these conditions weren’t that great. Fall / early winter climbing season can be an especially dangerous time in the mountains because the snow hasn’t had enough time in the right conditions to consolidate, so we spent a lot time snow climbing in either unconsolidated powder, or completely faceted snow (depending on where on the mountain we were). Either way it was exhausting as our snowshoes struggled to find traction, and being without the snowshoes meant we were breaking trail in snow that was sometimes waist deep.
It was pretty late in the morning when we finally got to the base of the North Face. We were actually kind of above it as we tried sticking with the line we were aiming for. Now for some sustained snow climbing. With the snow as deep as it was, we opted to do a lot of this in our snowshoes– while our boots may have offered a little more in the way of traction, I felt like we ended up saving energy in the long run by not having to climb through powder that was as much as waist deep. We could sit here and wonder if this was the best call, but it’s the choice we ultimately made. There were a couple sections that were very run out and obvious avalanche chutes; a few spots where the transition to rock from deep snow was difficult; and overall it was a real shit show. This was the slowest we have every traveled, and we were actually making great time when you consider the conditions. Eventually we got to a place where it was time to do a proper snow climb: Boots and our ice axes in the snow with some scrambling mixed in. We strapped the snowshoes to our packs and were on our way.
Further up we started to discuss our plan for the day. I had set a turnaround time in my head of 1 PM originally, but I’m sometimes flexible with those if the conditions are right. In this case we had beautiful weather with nothing but wind in the forecast for another 3 days, and it looked like we had some options for a fast descent (whether glissading or plunge stepping). . . so I told Frankie I would be okay descending in the dark if we were confident we could get to the tarn before dark. We continued scrambling a little further when I amended my statement a bit:
“We both know that I’m a machine and I know I will always find the energy to keep going. As long as you know you can do the same and we won’t have to bivvy out here, I’m good with descending in the dark and prepared to do it.” Frankie said she could do it, so on we went.
We were making much better time now, but Frankie felt like she could move faster if we cached her pack somewhere– something we do pretty regularly at the base of climbs. In the summer this isn’t an issue, but in the winter this can be dangerous– if something should happen to me she would be far away from her gear. If something happened to me where I was not recoverable she would be without any of her gear that I would be carrying. Pretty risky in below freezing temps, and I expressed this while also agreeing to find a spot to cache her pack along with my snowshoes and poles. We were on top of a 3rd class rib with a nice chute to our right– I figured this snow chute would be our descent route, so was looking for a good spot with access to this chute to cache our gear. With my load lightened and Frankie pack free we were able to move much quicker.
It wasn’t long after that I heard from Frankie, “I yield.” I stopped and asked for clarification: “Does that mean we’re turning back?” She felt like her legs were getting tired and may get too tired; we had been at it for 7.5 hours at this point with still an hour or more to the summit and a potentially long downclimb ahead of us depending on conditions. With the summit being the halfway point of an already exhausting day, Frankie felt like the smart choice would be to start climbing down instead of pressing on. I was presented with the option of going ahead and summiting, but I told her no. We do that in the summer, and I’m not terribly opposed to doing it on a winter adventure. . . however we were going to take a different descent route, and this was still Frankie’s first winter trip– now was not the time to separate.
I sat down on a large boulder which would be my personal summit for the day. I swung my feet like a kid as I took in the surroundings. Everything hits different in winter, and those moments of solitude and isolation that help shape my love for mountaineering are heightened in the subfreezing temps in the snow covered Sierra. Frankie made her way down to our cache, but I stayed here for a little bit to soak in the moment.
Then I was back to the cache with her. I strapped the snowshoes to my pack and adjusted my kit– I needed my hardshell pants since we were hoping we could glissade down this slope quickly. We started off by plunge-stepping in the deep snow between boulders, and then I felt like it was time to test things out when I encountered some snow that was a little more firm. I sat down and lifted my feet off the slope and was off! I was able to glissade a decent distance and then waited for Frankie. We then took turns glissading down different stretches– on my second run at it I ended up flying in the air a bit when I botched my self arrest– I’m a little out of practice. By the end of it I was back in the swing of things, and actually did some of my most controlled glissades ever– I’ve never had the opportunity to glissade nearly 1,500 vertical feet before, so I was able to really play around with controlling my speed and practicing. In all I ended up doing probably 8 separate glissades to get down the mountain.
Frankie checked her watch when we arrived at a patch of scree by the tarn at the base of the North Face. We were able to descend from our high point to the base here in 26 minutes. I love winter descents.
Rather than retrace our steps and bother with taking our snowshoes on and off we opted for a different line back to camp. We planned to climb down the drainage between the tarn and Bench Lake (one of our options from this morning) since we felt like it couldn’t be any worse than the line we took up.
We were wrong in some ways. The snow was still pretty rotten for almost this entire line, and it’s apparent that in the summer it’s a boulder field. . . so there were trap doors aplenty waiting for us. At no point did we have to dig one another out, but it was definitely an accident waiting to happen.
We changed direction a few times, still heading down toward Bench Lake. As the sun was setting we were on a rocky ledge where it was not only time to put our headlamps on, but also was time to ditch the snowshoes in favor of some light scrambling and hopefully some terrain trap free plunge stepping.
We made our way down the drainage with minimal madness and were standing on a frozen Bench Lake. We had the option of continuing to walk on the sheet of ice, but opted again for what we felt was a safer option: Putting on our snowshoes one last time for the day. We were getting really tired of the snowshoes– I was getting really tired of the snowshoes.
We weren’t far from our morning snowshoe tracks, and it was pretty easy going from here back to our little slice of snowy paradise. We had been awake for 14.5 hours now and doing hard work for over 12 hours; the unstable snow and trap doors over 2 days had taken a bit of a toll on Frankie and was manifesting as a cranky knee and worn down ankles. We decided she should ice and rest her knee while I took care of the camp chores– a bit of a role reversal from summer where Frankie tends to handle the chores.
The first thing I did was start to empty my pack so I could find one of the food bags to fill with snow for an ice pack. After that was situating my porch a bit, collecting water from the nearby stream, firing up the stove, and getting our water and food going for the night. We were tired, but overall in good spirits as we agreed that not only did we make the right call turning around when we did. . . but we had an absolute blast that day!
The next morning we woke up with the sun. We decided the night before that we would have a nice slow morning and grab breakfast in Lone Pine; so after the whole process of getting dressed I got to work digging out our tent and packing up.
We were hoping to find a better line on the way down than what we took up, so we started on a ledge system a little south of the drainage where we came up. Then we came to a spot where it was time again to ditch the snowshoes and scramble down. At this point in the adventure I’m pretty sick of this. Standing on the top of a 3rd class climb I took off my left snowshoe and threw it off the ledge.
That was satisfying. Then I did it with the right. Then my poles. Then Frankie’s poles, followed by her snowshoes. It was a nice way to relieve some internal tension.
I scrambled down and then guided Frankie on her downclimb– she’s still not confident in the boots, but we talked a bit more about how to climb in them; plus I gave her a little refresher from her “snow school” back when we climbed Dragon Peak together.
We followed our tracks a bit further down until we came to the bushwhacking. Neither of us were in on this, so we put our snowshoes back on and Frankie broke trail straight down slope toward Matlock Lake; then around the shore of the lake until we met up with our tracks from the approach two days ago. We followed our tracks until we got to the little spot by Flower Lake where I was camped a week before; it was time for a proper break and this was the spot for it.
Normally at this point when I write these posts I kind of glaze over the trek out because there isn’t much to talk about, and this is mostly the same. . . with two exceptions: The first is the weather. Bluebird days were forecast through Monday where there would be a chance for snow, but we we woke up at camp to some winds that were more than breezy but less than blustery; these winds were ushering in some dark low clouds that eventually dusted the mountains behind us as we were leaving.
The other exception was when we saw two hikers on their way in. Normally on winter adventures I don’t see anyone, and if I do they are other mountaineers. These two were hikers and it showed: Neither of them was carrying a pack; they had no ice axe with them nor helmets; they were wearing some hardshell clothing that will cause them to sweat (moisture management is a part of winter mountaineering); and neither of them had insulated boots on. It’s not even that their boots weren’t insulated– they weren’t even mountaineering boots that have a tread pattern designed for snow. . . one of them was in soaked through cheap hiking boots that were an odd sight with her expensive Arc’teryx hard shell pants.
“Did you make it to the pass?” she asked as we came up on her with her partner behind her.
“We didn’t go to the pass. We camped at Bench Lake,” Frankie replied. There was a bit of me that wanted to acknowledge the hard stuff we had done– we didn’t just camp at Bench Lake; we also attempted an early winter ascent of University Peak. The hiker followed up asking if the lakes were frozen and I answered:
“Well we were climbing University Peak yesterday, and the lakes are all frozen. . . but from near the top of University Peak you could see the lakes over the pass and they’re melted. Er– not frozen yet.”
We then parted ways as she continued up on her way toward Kearsarge Pass where a storm was (literally) brewing. We passed her counterpart; he also looked vastly unprepared as he continued onward. Frankie and I talked about this a bit when we got further ahead– we see stuff like this on our adventures and then say it’s no wonder there are SAR (Search and Rescue) calls. Just the other day I saw someone post a photo on Facebook from the snowed over summit of Mount Baldy with pick, spike, and adze protectors on his ice axe; last year I saw someone at the top of the bowl with pick and adze protectors on her ice axe. Two days after I abandoned my attempt of Cirque Peak a person’s body was recovered from the top of Old Army Pass which was literally right above where I was camped. I don’t know how long they were there, but it brought to light the very real possibility that had I not abandoned that trip, I may have encountered someone that was either dying or already dead as they were out in the High Sierra during a snowstorm, likely unprepared. This is something I’ve already mentally prepared myself for– I know that in the course of my mountaineering adventures I’m going to encounter this. . . but I hadn’t fully considered that it could be below 20,000′ feet until recently.
Weird things to think about as we trekked out, but the weirdness was shaken off when Frankie stopped to tell me she gets it.
She understands why I love winter mountaineering so much, and why I spent the bulk of our 3 season adventures talking about how much I miss winter. I was hoping that this would be the outcome, and I got was I was hoping for.
She gets it. On top of that Frankie performed incredibly well! This adventure marked some firsts for her that I was concerned would make the trip rough: This was her first time ever wearing insulated full shank boots; her first time scrambling in those boots; first time snowshoeing; first time sleeping in the snow; and her first time doing some legit snow climbing. That’s a lot to get used to on its own, but coming from a background as an ultralight thru-hiker this was also the heaviest pack she’s ever worn. Didn’t matter though– she performed like a champ, and it’s only going to get better from here.
Climb on with love.