Quick Stats: 11.95 Miles & 6,305′ gain via the East Ridge starting from Whitney Portal.
The plan was to wake up at 2:30 AM, and be leaving the trailhead by 3 AM. We ended up leaving just before 4 AM from Whitney Portal to climb Mount Russell’s spectacular East Ridge totally on a whim.
This is the first time I’ve been up the Mountaineer’s Route of Mount Whitney / North Fork Lone Pine Creek where it is completely dry. I know the route both snowy and dry from the portal (or really, the hard closure) until Lower Boy Scout Lake, but from Lower Boy Scout onward, I’ve never been on it dry. Let me tell you: It’s completely different than the winter route, and it’s not the easiest to follow for certain sections. In a similar vein, I’ve never ascended the Ebersbacher Ledges in the light– I’ve descended them in daylight twice, and ascended them once in the dark. I’ve never had an issue navigating them until that day where I tried to hook back East a little early. (You may be asking how I’ve descended more times than I’ve ascended? The answer is that during one trip the snow bridge that bypasses the ledges had melted and collapsed while I was out, forcing me to take the E. Ledges on the way down.
After attempting to stay on the route below Upper Boy Scout Lake and filtering water, we were at the base of the famous scree slog toward Russell Col. Time for a break to the “business center,” and for Frankie to change out of her sandals and into her boots. Her backpacking boots that she was wearing for Meysan Lake had caused an issue with her ankle, and her mountaineering boots seemed to be doing the same; so down below she had switched into her trekking sandals up until we would be dealing with scree.
Similar to how I’ve not been above Lower Boy Scout when it’s dry, I’ve not done this part of the route when it’s completely dry. I’ve been up to Russell Col twice before: Once was a snow climb the entire way, and the second was a snow climb through the upper section. Doing the entire scree slog as a scree slog is rough. It’s relentless; but I remind myself of what my guiding mentor Ian McEleney said about this when I ran into him at Upper Boy Scout Lake once: “It’s the price of admission for world class scrambling.”
There were two guys that were just ahead of us on the way up, and early on I told Jas to follow their line unless I told her otherwise. We were getting a bit spread out with Frankie a decent length behind Jas, who was right behind me. Jas has descended this slope, but never ascended; but with that extra experience and following in the paths of two people routefinding I wanted to make sure that Frankie was always sure of which way to go. I was also trying to show her where there were stable rocks to use rather than always trudging through scree and sliding to try and reduce stress on her ankle. Eventually the three of us caught up to the two guys, who had revamped their plan from Mount Russell to the plateau below Russell Col due to altitude sickness. (They would eventually bow out somewhere around half way to the plateau.)
From behind Jas I could see evidence of a good line to take on the slope and would advise her left, right, or forward. There might be times where she would take a different line and vise versa, but I was trying to stay close to Frankie and help find the most stable line to try and prevent her ankle from getting any worse.
Before we set out, I had hoped for a 1 MPH moving average over the course of the day. I had a soft turnaround time in my head of 11 AM, but didn’t bother telling anyone– we literally had the entire day. While that would have been ideal to get us back down and home at a decent hour, it was also entirely flexible. We ended up getting to the plateau at exactly 11 AM.
In my head I created a new turnaround time: 2 PM. Still soft and still kept to myself, but I figured this would make sure we can get off of the trail at Whitney Portal by the time we’ve exhausted the last rays of light from dusk. We all have headlamps, but I’d rather not need them for a descent; plus I had work early the next day. Making our way across the plateau was boring. Not as exhausting as the scree slope, but just as mind numbing. I trudged ahead to get to Russell Col, and immediately started caching gear, getting my pack ready, fueling up, and relaxing in my summit slippers.
Once we were ready to go, it was time for the fun to begin. As I’ve written about before, 3rd and 4th class scrambling is my favorite thing to do in the mountains; +50 points if it’s exposed; +50 if it’s on top of a ridge; x3 if it’s exposed on a ridge.
From the get go I was curious to see how this adventure would go. Jaskiran is less about scrambling and more about snow climbing, and when we’ve scrambled together in the past she has not been a huge fan of exposure. This was still true over the last two days on the Meysan Lake portion of our trip, so when we agreed on the rocks below Mount Irvine on climbing Mount Russell. . . a small alarm chirped in the back of my brain.
It didn’t matter now– here we were standing on the East Ridge at the effective start of it: Russell Col, also known as “Russell-Carillon Pass.” Now with a view of the route Frankie brought up the level of exposure and Jaskiran’s comfort level, and I assured her that this is a famous route; Jas has to know the level of exposure and be okay with it. Frankie also told me that she wants me to summit today, and that in a worse case scenario they will turn back together and I should continue on and finally bag Mount Russell, this being my 2nd attempt (technically 3rd depending on how you look at it). We decided to keep up the same team setup from Thursday: I’ll do the routefinding, Frankie will follow, and Jas will be right behind her to mirror Frankie’s moves. I also assured Frankie that I would take a line that would minimize exposure and difficulty.
. . . Except for this first part. You don’t have to scramble the ridge from Russell Col– you can hike and scramble over some 2nd class terrain for a bit before it’s time to get on the ridge, but I was interested in making this climb as fun as possible for me while also looking out for the team. Off in the distance on the ridge we could see two people descending. I joked to Frankie and Jas: “How much you wanna bet I know one of them?” As our two parties came closer, I could tell that one of the climbers had a rope Kiwi coiled around them.
“One of them is a guide,” I noticed, “and I’m pretty sure I recognize him.”
As our parties got closer I heard the all familiar question in the mountains: “Brielle?”
Sure enough it was Mike, the guide that took Andy and I ice climbing a couple of months ago. We’ve stayed in touch on Instagram, and I look forward to working with him again. I told him about how this happens all the time, to which he noted it was no surprise since I’m out there basically every weekend. He’s not wrong. He mentioned that we got a late start, and he was right: Not only did we start an hour later than I had planned, but we also moved a little slower up the scree slope than I was hoping for. Frankie asked if this concerned me at all. I told her that he was right, but I wasn’t concerned. We continued on and scrambled up the first section which offers little in the way of exposure, and is barely above 2nd class scrambling. Above me was the 5th class headwall I had run into during my last attempt which was where I decided to turn around on due to conditions (rotten snow). Passing that section felt amazing! I was now in uncharted territory for me as a mountaineer– further along on the ridge than I had ever been. Getting past that also meant better scrambling that required more difficult moves and offered way more exposure. I would constantly exclaim in wonder, and Jas would ask what’s wrong. Nothing was, though. . . I was just having the time of my life.
As we made our way into more difficult terrain, we started to slow down. The routefinding was incredible easy, but some of the moves were requiring more input from Frankie to help Jas comfortably continue onward. I started to slow myself down as well, trying to keep our climbing team a little tighter so I could offer input if Jas wasn’t receptive to Frankie’s moves, or if Frankie needed some assistance in helping Jas at all. We got to a section that offers a lot of exposure right before you climb up to the weird mantle move Secor describes below the East Summit. There’s a small ledge we stopped on while another climbing party made their way down. A group of 4 that was a little spread out, I pulled myself up onto a slab so that Frankie and Jas had a spot on the ledge to rest on while the other climbers came past us through this section. When the last of them did, it was time to move. We were approaching my adjusted turnaround time, and for a group of 3 confident climbers we were 10 minutes or so away from the summit.
The only issue is we weren’t a group of 3 confident climbers. Starting from the secure ledge we were standing on, there’s a simple move up a 12′ section where you side-pull on a crack while walking your feet up. There’s enough texture on the rock for my boots to grip, and in a matter of a couple moves I was past it. Then it was Frankie’s turn, and she flew up as well. Then it was Jaskiran’s turn, and she didn’t feel comfortable with the move. We were trying to give her tips to help her climbing– Frankie pointed out something that Jas does with her feet that actually makes her feet less secure while scrambling. Jas asked if there was another way around, and while I found a possibility above the move she was on, the runout there was a grand tour of the North Face (For the uninitiated, a “grand tour” is where you fall a great length to a certain death on a mountain), whereas the move she was on, should she fall, meant at most a 3 foot fall to a safe ledge. She then mentioned it would be easier if we had a rope, to which I kind of snapped and said: “It’s 3rd class– we don’t need a rope.” Frustrated at the amount of time that was being spent and the fact that at no point (or possibly once) did she even attempt the move, I decided to pull out the map to see how far away we were from the summit– it was time for me to be selfish in the mountains. When traveling with others, I don’t like being the one to make decisions about going ahead, and I usually have strict rules about summiting together and finishing together when I’m the decision maker; unless a plan was made ahead of time or the other person decides something. Not this time. I could see on the map the East Summit was a couple minutes from me, and the true summit just beyond that.
We ended up spending almost 15 minutes on this one move when Frankie and I decided to call it as a team. Frankie said it was time for them to turnaround, and when Jas again asked if there was a way around, I got stern: At this point it was a question of capability and confidence. We’re about to get to a section that scrambles straight up with a grand tour runout– I told Jas that if she didn’t have the confidence to get past this move with absolutely no runout, she wouldn’t be able to make it up toward the East Summit. (On top of that, if she couldn’t get up this section, how would she downclimb it?) While I’m not the gatekeeper of summits, I told her that I needed her to show us that she could do this move, otherwise she and Frankie would need to turn back. Extrapolating out where we were on the ridge: If each move with exposure from here to the summit took 20 minutes, we would be downclimbing the exposed East Ridge of Mount Russell in the dark by headlamp, or bivvying on the ridge. Neither of these were viable options when we could simply turn back here. Jas brought up that Frankie could go ahead, and while the original plan was for them to turn back, the summit really was right ahead of us.
We gave Jas a radio and made short work of the next section, quickly making our way up and past the weird “mantle move.” I asked Frankie how much interest she has in peakbagging to which she said none, so I hopped up onto the East Summit to bag it while she continued on just below me toward the true summit. As we were walking along some simple ledges with a ton of exposure, I had my first experience in the mountains where I got legitimately concerned for my life. .
. . . and it was caused by a loose rock that shifted while I was simply walking over it. I kept walking, so I didn’t end up losing my balance, nor did I lose my balance and tumble to the north for a grand tour. . . but when Frankie asked if I was okay and I let out some nervous laughter, she knew something was up. I paused for a second, turned around, and when she asked again if I was okay I told her that this was literally the closest I’ve come to something catastrophic. I go out of my way to climb in exposed 4th class terrain; I’ve done insane itineraries in the winter dealing with subzero temperatures far away from the safety of my camp; I attempted this route when there was rotten snow that could have easily caused me to slide to my death; I’ve literally fallen 20 feet off a ledge while scrambling. . . but that dinner plate sized rock while I was simply walking was the closest the mountains have ever come to claiming me; or at least to me feeling that way.
Realistically I probably wasn’t at much risk. The rock was still in its place after it shifted and I didn’t lose my balance. . . but I was still shook. I took a deep breath, had another nervous laugh about it, and continued onward with a sort of nervous excitement over something so simple that I felt was so close.
Not long after I was a few feet below the summit waiting for Frankie to scramble to me; we summit together!
I wanted to spend more time relaxing on the summit taking it all in, but we also didn’t want to leave Jas for too long. She was in a safe spot on a solid ledge with minimal exposure, but she was still alone out there on the ridge.
Frankie and I made our way down from the summit, across the ridge that connects to the East Summit, and then got to the other side of the East Summit so that we could now see Jas. We scrambled down and across, quickly getting back to the move that stopped Jaskiran’s summit attempt; then past the move so that we could regroup as a team and start making our way down.
I asked Frankie as we started onward if she wanted to trade places– she had the option to lead so that I could hang back with Jas to help her over the moves. Frankie didn’t want to lead, but did leapfrog with Jas from time to time so that I could be the one to help guide her over moves.
Admittedly, there were some times where this frustrated me though. Not because I was helping someone through the moves or teaching– I actually love those opportunities. Instead it was because I would offer what seemed like the safest and simplest move possible, and in a lot of cases Jas would end up doing something else entirely instead. There’s nothing wrong with that– mountaineering is dangerous, and you need to do what is within your comfort level (a common refrain from me); but there came a point where my frustration was definitely showing through and I would sometimes shoot back with “if that makes you feel more comfortable do that.” The mixture of hunger, exhaustion, altitude, and frustration was showing through; I was aware that I was getting snippy but didn’t feel like I could control it.
We continued down the ridge further and further, and when we were completely out of the exposure, I scrambled ahead to our gear cache at Russell Col. I had the single pack for the 3 of us on the ridge so I also had everyone else’s gear, water bottles, and snacks. I changed into my summit slippers to give my feet a chance to breathe, got everyone’s gear out of the gear cache, got everyone’s gear out of my pack and next to theirs, and then started filtering water from the full bladder I had trekked up the scree slog. Not long after the other two arrived, and I let them know they could continue on while I wrap up– I can make short work of the route from this point to Upper Boy Scout Lake, so no need to wait for me.
At the top of the scree slog, we navigated the ledges to get to the scree, and from there it was time to scree ski! I gave Frankie a brief primer (“Plunge step; keep your balance with your poles; when it doubt lean back and fall on your bum”), and away I went. I can move quickly on scree ski descents, but that’s when I’m traveling solo. With someone brand new to this style of descent and someone else that doesn’t move as quickly, it was a similar sort of system as the entire trip: I travel a line and wait for the others to travel in that line. After a while we found ourselves back at Upper Boy Scout Lake, and navigating our way down the Mountaineer’s Route. At this point, I was tired.
Like, actually tired. There’s a joke on my hockey team (and in other circles) that I’m a machine– that I don’t get tired. I only sit on the bench in hockey when I’m tired, and you never find me on the bench during the game. This was different. Over the course of 3 days I had now traveled almost 30 miles and gained about 16,000′. We started the day at 4 AM and it was now after 6 PM and I was chronically underfed for the day. I felt deflated– literally. It was a similar feeling I get when I’m in a depressive episode, but instead of feeling emotionally / mentally deflated, I only felt physically deflated. My body would move, but it wouldn’t completely cooperate. At one point just above Lower Boy Scout Lake I kicked a rock and literally fell to the ground. I just sort of sat there a bit until Frankie came by and helped me up. We had a good laugh about it, and I reflected on how this isn’t a feeling I know well. I’ve been a hardcore athlete for 13 years now– I’ve done natural bodybuilding, elite powerlifting, competitive Spartan Races, Muay Thai, ice hockey, and spent a collective 11 of those years training 6 days a week (almost always with double days). While my body is different now, I’m still an athlete, so being able to push the envelope is just what my body will do.
Now though. . . I found what makes me tired.
Eventually the sun set, and it was time to continue the hike down the trail by headlamp. While I was exhausted, inside I still still elated on the inside at what I had just experienced. . .
. . . I finally got to experience the East Ridge of Mount Russell, and it was exactly what I hoped it would be.
