Mt. Shasta - July 1989

I remember first seeing Mount Shasta on a family trip when I was a kid. I thought about how great it would be to climb it, but it looked impossibly high and difficult. Then as a young adult, I began hearing stories of people climbing it and it began to sound like a possibility.

In July, 1989, I suggested doing the climb to my friend, Gerald, and he was up for it. We decided that our families could go along and camp while we climbed. So, one evening, we all squeezed into Gerald’s old Chevy Nova, and drove north. Besides Gerald and myself, there were Maureen, Aaron, Christopher, and Gerald’s sons, Nathan and Adriel. Late in the night, we stopped at Castle Crags and found a spot for our sleeping bags on the ground. In the morning, we found private campground at Lake Siskiyou, and set up camp. Then Gerald and I went into the town of Mt. Shasta and found a sporting goods store that rented ice axes and crampons. By late morning we were at the Bunny Flat trailhead, shouldered our packs and started up.

The first couple of miles were a gentle climb through open forest until we reached the Sierra Club hut at Horse Camp. Then we left the trees behind and began a long climb in loose volcanic rock, barren, lifeless and warm in the intense sun. Higher up, there were patches of snow becoming large snowfields. In late afternoon, we reached Lake Helen. There was no lake, just a ridge of moraine and a bowl of snow below a huge snowfield stretching up the mountain. Along the ridge were scattered campsites which were simply small flat areas surrounded by low rock walls. We settled into one just big enough for the two of us, rested while the rest of the campsites filled with other climbers and we watched a beautiful sunset.

Sierra Cllub hut at Horse Camp

On the way to Helen Lake

Our camp at Helen Lake

Sunset from Helen Lake

Soon after first light, we were up and climbing the snowfield with our crampons and ice axes. We really had no experience or training in their use, but knew the general idea of how to self-arrest in a fall. The snow was quite steep, but we felt relatively safe. It was a long climb of 2,500 feet before we reached Red Banks, several chutes between red rocks. From there, we faced Misery Hill, a big pile of loose scree. Finally, we were on a big snowfield that leveled out into a little valley between two  peaks. between the peaks was a barren wet area with steam rising and smelling of sulfur. Then it was up the right-hand peak, a couple hundred feet of steep rock and snow to the summit. It was cold and very windy so we didn't stay very long. The view was great, but not as dramatic as on a high Sierra peak, because there were no other high peaks around. I took photos in all directions, intending to make a panorama, but it later turned out to be not as interesting as others I have done.

Climbing snowfield above Helen Lake

View south from summit

Me at the summit

I remember having a feeling similar to the one I had on Mt. Ritter when I thought about how tired we were and what a long way down it was, 7,000 ft. below us. It was long, but we were able to glissade down a couple thousand feet from Red Banks, sliding on our butts and braking with our ice axes. My jeans were soaked, but it saved us a lot of steps and it didn’t take long to dry out. Then we picked up our packs and made the long hike back down the trail. In the early evening, back at camp with our families, we looked back at the distant mountain, feeling amazed that we had been on top of it earlier in the day.

Mt. Ritter - July 1986

With the current pandemic going on, I've had time on my hands, and felt like adding to my posts of past Sierra adventures. It's stuff that happened a long time ago, but the same mountains are still there, much as they were years ago.
Out of the many backpacking adventures in the Sierra over the years, one especially stands out in my memory. It was 1986 and I had done lots of weekend backpacking trips with my family and friends, and they were a lot of fun, but I was still yearning for the adventure of a challenging climb. I chose a weekend in July to try it and my goal was Mt. Lyell, the highest peak in Yosemite.

I left home after work on a Friday evening and drove into Yosemite. Around midnight, I found a place to pull off the highway and sleep in the forest. Early the next morning I was at the wilderness permit kiosk at Tuolumne Meadows, and heard stories of recent bear activity in Lyell Canyon. I didn’t like the idea of dealing with bears and decided to change my plan, and go for Mt. Ritter instead. At 13,149 ft., it is the highest peak in the whole Yosemite and Mammoth region. I had been on several trips in that area and had read John Muir’s exciting account of his climb, and for years had dreamed of doing it myself.

I drove over Tioga Pass to Mammoth Lakes and up to the trailhead at Agnew Meadows. I started hiking sometime in the mid-morning and made it 6 miles up to Lake Ediza in mid-afternoon. I found a secluded spot in the forest on the far side of the lake to put my sleeping bag and spent the rest of the afternoon resting and wandering around taking photos as dramatic clouds drifted over the minarets.

Mt. Ritter from Lake Ediza

Minarets in clouds

Starting up in the morning

View of Lake Ediza from below the glacier

Soon after first light in the morning, I was hiking up, following a little creek into a big snow-filled bowl at the base of Mt. Ritter and Banner Peak. I only had a rough idea of the route so I just started up over steep slabs and tufts of grass, aiming for the southeast glacier. The bottom of the glacier was moderately steep, but I felt that I could cross it with a sharp rock in my hand as a substitute for an ice axe. It’s not really a safe thing to do, but maybe better than nothing. As I climbed, it got steeper and a bit scary, but I made it off the glacier and into a gully heading up to the right. It was mostly steep, loose talus, but with no real difficulty. From the top of the gully, there was a large steep snowfield leading to the summit, but I chose to avoid it by skirting around it to the right on lots more steep talus.

Southeast glacier

View southeast from the summit

It was around noon when I arrived at the summit. After resting a bit and taking in the enormous view, I began to realize what a long way down it was and what a big job it was going to be, tired as I was. After a snack, I headed down, retracing my steps. In the gully, I slipped on a sand covered rock and scraped my hand as I fell. It was only a scratch, but a reminder that as a solo hiker, any slip could be serious. On the glacier, the snow was softer than in the morning, but still slippery, and one of my steps started to slide. I stopped myself by jamming my right heel into the snow, but in doing so, I twisted my knee and felt a sharp pain. After a couple of minutes to take stock of the situation, I felt able enough to carefully continue down. The knee still hurt, but I could walk on it. Back at my camp, I rested a bit, made a cup of coffee, and then packed up and headed down again. I made it safely back to the trailhead and a long drive home into the night.

The knee pain diminished and I soon forgot about it. I had been running fairly regularly at that time, and I continued to run nearly every day. Then in the early 90’s, my right knee began to hurt when I ran. Arthroscopic surgery showed that I had a small tear in the cartilage. I thought it was fixed, but soon the pain returned, and after a second surgery, I decided to give up running. I don’t know for sure, but I strongly suspect that it was that slip on the glacier that caused it.