Generals and Majors

Climb hard - play hard - live hard. But be safe.

After sleeping a restless 4 hours, I got up and took a few sunrise
photos.  It would be long day.  Three of my friends and I were to teach
an introductory multi-pitch rock climbing seminar.  We met at 8am at 
the
Tuolumne Meadows general store parking lot and I handed out a packet to
each student which included text on knots, a route topo and legend,
climbing seminar agenda, etc.  Either everyone was either very 
impressed
or they thought I am incredibly anally retentive.  Maybe both.

We started instruction on the ground and covered knots, anchors, lead
belaying, communication, rappelling, rope management, protection
devices, setting pro, cleaning, etc.  Then we moved onto the rock for
some actual climbing.  Tommy led Susan and Ron up a 5.9 sport/trad 3
pitch on Lembert Dome.  Art led Lori and Keith up Northwest Book (5.6
trad 3 pitches) also on Lembert Dome.

As the instructors, Jerry and I led Kevin, Frank, Sean, Ron, and Steven
up the Northwest Book, but ran into a little trouble, to say the least.

We started the climb from the wrong place (but didn't find this out
until we got off the climb) which ended up making the climb a 5.9 with 
a
scary and long traverse.  Everyone found the crux move very difficult.
I was leading and found my self stuck on the move for 15 minutes trying
to figure it out.  It felt harder than 5.6 but I thought I just had
first pitch jitters, or that the route was sandbagged.  The move was
extremely committing and if I fell, I would hit the deck.  

I actually can't believe I did it.  As seems to happen with my 
climbing,
the physical exercise turns into a mental one.  In theory, I tell 
myself
to become the little train that says, "I think I can, I think I
can....".  In actuality, I simply told myself, "Screw it, if I fall, I
fall."  Next thing I knew I was setting protection past the crux move.

Because we started the climb off route, communication was difficult and
there was a lot of drag on the rope.  Once I set up the first belay
station, I couldn't see who was climbing.  To communicate, I yelled 
down
to Ron, who yelled to my belayer around the corner.

We left a few ropes in the car thinking we had enough for everyone , 
but
we were one rope short for the route.  It was decided that two climbers
could simul-climb on one rope and a single belay.

Jerry decided to follow my lead, which left 4 beginners alone at the
start of the climb.  He was supposed to have climbed 4th or last to 
make
sure everyone knew what was going on.  I had no idea he was following
me.

Frank followed after Jerry.  Sean, Kevin, and Steven decided that Sean
would just lead since we were one rope short.  I was surprised to find
Frank climbing without trailing a rope to take up the next climber.  At
this point, I should have told the remaining climbers to just stay on
the ground.  However, Sean has had a good amount of climbing experience
and he planned to simply clip in to the protection that I already
placed.  I incorrectly thought everything would be fine.  The first
problem arose when he couldn't get past the 5.9 move and decided not to
lead.  Then Kevin tried, but couldn't.  Of course, no one was
communicating to me what was going on.

To my even bigger surprise, a guy came up soloing the route up to our
belay station.  It turns out this guy was an alpine guide from Austria.
He began talking to Sean, Steven & Kevin at the base and since no one
wanted to lead, he volunteered to bring up the rope behind him and clip
into my pro for the traverse.  He told them that the next two followers
should tie-in on the rope that he trailed and he would put them both on
belay.  This was exactly what Jerry and I had instructed everyone to do
in the first place but then for some reason they decided to have Sean
lead instead.

Manfred the guide clipped into my belay anchors and began bringing up
Steven and Kevin.   Unfortunately, they tied in too far apart from one
another (they should have tied in about 12 feet apart) so a fall by one
would have meant potential disaster for the other.  Manfred told me, "I
said to tie-in 4 meters apart!  Boy, you Americans!  If you simply had
converted to the metric system years ago we wouldn't have this 
problem!"
I laughed at the truth.  

Ironically, Sean, Steven and Kevin weren't quite sure what to make of
Manfred.  Here was this guy who reminds one of a crabby grandfather,
telling them in his accented English what to do on the climb.  Since
they didn't know him at all, they were more than apprehensive about
following his instructions.  Here was a guide who had tons more
experience than me, yet they distrusted him and trusted me.  

There was mass confusion during the first pitch.  I didn't know what
they were doing, and they didn't know what to do.  Later, Ben joked,
"Now I know why our club is named Confused!"

Manfred eventually turned to me while belaying Kevin & Steven and said,
"I don't understand these climbers.  Silly.  You are all silly."  

I disagreed.  This was more than just silly - it was serious.  I was
facing having 6 people at our belay station.  All our ropes were now
getting inexplicably tangled.  Sean couldn't get one of my pieces of
protection out and decided to just leave it.  This was supposed to be a
beginner's multi-pitch but my off route start made it much harder.  We
were short one rope.  Communication had broken down.  Instruction was
not followed.  Jerry was at the second belay point now and in no
position to help out.  We were supposed to meet Ben and Dan at 4:30pm 
to
start our hike to Mt. Dana -  it was already 2:30 p.m. with two more
pitches to go and 5 more people to get up.  Frank forgot to clip in my
rope for the traverse on the second pitch, so a fall for me would mean 
a
pendulum swing into a wall that could seriously injure me.  More
importantly, all my rules on climbing safely had just been broken by
everyone participating -including me.  I should have told them to stay
on the ground a long time ago.  But now it was too late.  We were
committed.  And I was instructing way over my head.

And Manfred just kept looking at me, shaking his head, and reminding me
how silly we all were.

Well, the first pitch from hell finally worked out.  Everyone got up
safely.  Another solo climber  followed us and cleaned the nut that 
Sean
couldn't get out.  Our ropes got untangled.  I avoided a pendulum swing
into the wall simply by not falling.  With Frank and I at the second
belay station, there would be enough room for the 3 people at the first
belay pitch.  I gave clear instructions on what needed to be done and
made sure everyone understood what to do before proceeding.  Manfred
continued soloing up the rest of the climb past us.  Communication and
safety was back in place.

I led the 3rd and final pitch.  Everyone followed safely.  Jerry 
decided
to stay at the 2nd belay station and be the last to come up.  

"I want to make sure these nit-wits know what they are doing," he said.
We weren't just silly, now we were nit-wits too.

Everyone topped out around 7:15pm, making it a 7.5 hour ordeal -
probably the longest time record for that route!  We then had to 
descend
the class three walk off which made us traverse all over the place.  
But
I did get some cool pictures with dusk lighting for our upcoming club
slide show.  Believe it or not, it is situations like what we got
ourselves into which make things much more memorable for it's
participants.  I think our instruction will now be remembered more
because we got a taste of the dangers climbers face when things are 
done
incorrectly.  And next time everyone will hopefully do things right.  
Of
course, if I had to choose, I'd prefer that people learn without having
to be exposed to unnecessary and controllable danger.  

We finally got off the rock around 7:50 and met up with a very pissed
Ben and Dan at 8pm, only 3 1/2 hours late.  I apologized profusely, and
Jerry bought everyone a round of beers.

Ching, ching.

Since Jerry, Kevin, Frank, Ben, Dan, Ron and I were supposed to climb
Mt. Dana on Sunday, we were now faced with the decision of hiking up in
the dark to base camp, or just relaxing and getting an early start on
Sunday.

Ben had gotten a backcountry permit for us to camp at Dana Lake,
elevation 11,200 feet.  The base of the Dana Couloir was at 11,400,
which then climbed about 1000 feet to a ridge at 12,400 ft , leaving
only 653 more feet to the summit, at 13,053 feet.  Mt. Dana is located
on the northeastern end of Yosemite National Park, with it's west side
in the park and east side in Inyo National Forest.  According to one 
web
site, the Dana Couloir is a "Mecca of skiers in the Spring and Summer
and terror of novice ice climbers in the Fall." 

Novice ice climbers.  Terror.  That would be us.

"I say we hike tomorrow," I contributed to the discussion. "If we hike
up tonight, we have to carry our sleeping bags, mattresses, stoves,
food, bivy sacks, etc.  If we sleep now and hike in the morning, we can
go attack the summit in alpine light style, with only our crampons, ice
axes, and food.  We'll move much quicker."

Since Jerry and I had the most mountaineering experience in the group,
we were the team leaders by default.  Jerry has climbed mountains in
Alaska and the Rockies, taken Outward Bound and NOLS mountaineering
courses, and has more than enough routes and summits under his belt.  
As
for me, I just thought I was a mountaineer - I think, therefore I am.

So everyone agreed with the plan that Jerry and I put together.  We
would start at the Glacier Canyon trailhead at 9,700 feet and continue
through Glacier Canyon, up to Dana Lake, to the couloir, to the summit,
then down the northwest side which was rated an easy class one walk.
The GORP web page said the summit of Dana is 3 miles from Tioga Pass on
highway 120.  A check of our topo maps confirmed this.  So we were
optimistic that the Dana Couloir would be no more than a 3 1/2 mile 
hike
in.  It would take us no more than 3 hours to reach the couloir, then
another hour or two to summit, and the descent would take an hour or 
so.
Thus, if we left early, we could be on and off the mountain by noon.
This would give us enough time to even do a few climbs in Tuolumne
Meadows on the way home.

We found a campground outside of Yosemite and were all in bed by 10pm.
I originally told everyone that we'd wake up at 3:15 for a 4am start,
but after talking to Jerry and Ron we changed it to a 5am start.  If we
got to the couloir too early, the snow might be bulletproof and we 
would
have trouble climbing.  I told Frank & Kevin about the change, and
assumed that Ben & Dan heard me since they were sleeping close by.

Of course, at 3:30am Ben got out of his sleeping bag,  yelling, "OK
everyone, time to get up!!!"

Kevin grumbled, "Didn't you hear?  We changed it to 5am.  Go to sleep."

Ben justifiably responded, "You Fuckers!" and went back to bed.  By 
that
point I thought Ben must have hated us.  Not only were we 3.5 hours 
late
in meeting him the evening prior, but now he woke up early because we
didn't inform him of the change in time.  I made a mental note to be
especially nice to him that day.

I woke everyone up at 4:10am and our camp site was disassembled by 
4:20.
We were all eating breakfast by 4:30 and Jerry commented, "This is the
fastest start I've ever seen!"

We filtered water to top off our bottles, then drove up to what Ben
dubbed, "the Outhouse Parking Lot" a 1/4 mile east of the Yosemite 
Tioga
Pass entrance.  We then organized our packs, checked our proposed route
on the topo, discussed climbing options, and used the last manmade
restroom we would see for a while.  Somehow this took us forever, and 
we
didn't hit the trail until 6:11am.  I had to run back to the cars
because I forgot my climbing helmet.  

We moved quickly and arrived at 10,200 feet elevation by 7am.  On 
route,
we got attacked by mosquitoes, except for Dan who attributes his
immunity to vitamin B12 supplements.  We also got to watch the sunrise
across the beautiful mountain ridges around us.  It was a scene that 
can
take anyone's breath away.  At that point we rested a little and took
photos.  

Jerry suggested that we dump the idea of the couloir, head up the snow
face west of us then proceed to the summit.  I saw another snow field
south of us that offered the same angle as the couloir and suggested
taking that route.  Ben was set on the couloir.  We took a vote and
decided that we'd head up the snow field that I suggested.

Frank had gone on ahead of everyone, and now was just a blip in the
scree field.  We yelled across to him about our change in plans. He
understood and changed his direction towards the snow field.

Then we changed our minds again.  Jerry and Ron decided to head up the
snow field that Jerry suggested, and everyone else would head  up the
Dana Couloir.  We yelled to Frank about the new plans.  He couldn't 
hear
us.

"COULOIR!" I yelled, hoping he knew what we meant.  

I was pissed.  Just like yesterday, we had a breakdown in communication
with the potential for things to go wrong.  Each time, it was due to
someone not following rules we had set up for ourselves coupled with
lack of leadership - namely mine.  

The safety, success and fun of a climb depend in large part on
leadership and organization.  Leadership starts with each individual.
Individual leadership means being aware of the group and its progress -
whether or not someone is the formal climb leader.  Each climber should
assume responsibility for their own knowledge and skill and make
personal judgments based on how they can support the group's objective.
They should be willing to speak up when they feel the risks of the 
climb
may exceed the abilities of the party.  By asserting personal
leadership, everyone contributes to group decision-making within the
framework of a climbing team.

On the flip side, a leader of a climbing party needs to exert a certain
amount of control.  A good leader also sets up rules designed to 
protect
each individual and the climbing party.  Ours was a mish-mash of
climbers, who seemed to only follow one rule:  Go up.

Frank knew better than to go off alone.  I taught him on Mt. Lassen and
Mt. Shasta my first rule of mountaineering: 

1.  Except for certain circumstances, never leave your climbing partner
or party because it jeopardizes safety and communication. 

Frank was off and about on his own simply because he didn't want to 
wait
around.  That did not qualify as an exception to the rule.  And it
jeopardized communication.   And it pissed the hell out of me.

Frank left me on Shasta in the middle of white out conditions, even
though he knew to stop if he lost visual contact.  When I lost him for 
a
half hour during our descent, I assumed the worst and started 
conducting
search and rescue.  We were on a ridge and he easily could have fallen
down one of the steep sides.  I conducted SAR for an hour and half 
until
I found out he was already at base camp, sleeping and resting.  He had
gone on ahead because he was cold and wanted to rest.  I was cold and
wanted to rest too, but ended up wasting a lot of time and energy.
Later, I found I had frost-nipped my fingertips on that climb - not his
fault - but I'm sure the extra time I was exposed to the elements 
didn't
help.  When I returned to camp, exhausted, I lectured him to never 
leave
his climbing team again.  He said he understood and apologized.  I
thought that would be the end of it.

Today, Frank did it again.  We weren't able to communicate what our
climbing team was doing.  I expressed my anger about the situation to
everyone else.

"Sounds like somebody needs a verbal spanking!" Jerry suggested.

I agreed.  But as Kevin, Dan, Ben and I traversed towards Frank, my
anger subsided.  Frank was a good friend and I don't like getting angry
at people.  I just put the thought aside and planned to tell him over a
beer that he shouldn't leave his team.

We caught up with Frank and checked our position on the topo map.  We
should have traversed down into the canyon, but Frank had traversed up
towards the first snow field thinking that we were going to climb that.
Instead of losing elevation and climbing back up again, we decided to
traverse across scree and snow to get to Dana Lake.

But we faced a steep hill directly ahead of us.

"We can just go down along this ledge and traverse," Frank said,
pointing to a route a 20 feet below us.  "We don't really have a choice
of where to go now."

For some reason, I lost it and railed into Frank.

"No, we DID have a choice," I very publicly yelled at him.  "But now we
DON'T have a choice because you went off on your own and we had to
follow.  I've told you before not to leave your party.  If you continue
to do that Frank, I will no longer climb with you.  If you get hurt, a
minor injury can turn into a major injury because it will take us a 
half
hour to get to you.  Leaving us is selfish and you jeopardize the 
safety
of the team.  It's called a 'climbing team', not a 'solo party'. If you
are going to be a part of this team, then be one.  If you want to climb
solo, then go solo."

I don't think Frank expected that.  He just looked at me blankly,
paused, then said, "OK.  Then go on ahead of me."

Tension was now in the air.  Dan broke it by saying, "All I know is 
that
I'm staying away from his ice ax!  It's pretty big!"

Frank and I didn't speak to each other very much after that.  It wasn't
until we got back to our cars that our friendship seemed back to normal
again.  I felt bad about losing my temper in front of everyone, but if
it eventually saves his life or mine, then it was worth it.

We continued traversing across loose scree, which slowed our progress.
The sun cleared over the ridge and began to overheat us.  Three times,
we had to traverse across snow fields.  On the first field, we took out
our ice axes and I led.  Everyone just followed my foot steps.  The
second field was much steeper.  I was only wearing my running shoes and
had to go last - everyone kicked steps and I followed.  Frank changed
out of his running shoes into his boots for the traverse.

Dan, Ben and Kevin just laughed at us for wearing our running shoes.  I
move a lot faster with light shoes on my feet and find running shoes
work great for hiking, even mountaineering approaches.  

"You must have ankles of steel," Dan commented earlier as he watched me
jumping from rock to rock with my supposedly alpine light pack, which
ironically carried more than 20 pounds of gear.  

During our trek, we viewed lush canyon meadows and turquoise-blue
glacial lakes from above.  It was beautiful scenery. We stopped at the
base of Dana Lake and filtered water for the couloir and summit attack.
Most likely, it would be our last water until we got back to our cars.
We each had at least 2 liters per person.  We also ate a light lunch
then continued up the next 700 vertical feet to the base of the 
couloir.
It was getting late.

We finally got sight of the Dana Couloir.  It is a 40 degree gully
between two ridges, and because it is northeast facing, receives very
little sunlight to melt the snow.  It was still filled with snow that
would eventually make it's way into the Dana Glacier below.  It was 
past
10am.  So much for our idea to be back at the cars by noon.

We spotted a solo climber (who had been hiking about 150 yds. ahead of
our party that morning) three-quarters of the way up the couloir.  He
was now more than an hour and a half ahead of us.  Our approach which
traversed across scree and snow had slowed us down, but we didn't
realize how much until we saw the other climber.  It began to dawn on 
us
that we might run into trouble if the day got too late.  We should have
descended when we first caught up with Frank and continued up the
canyon.  This was turning into a trip of "should-haves".

We came to the Dana Glacier and everyone donned their crampons.  We
traversed towards the couloir and the route became steeper as we got
closer.  There was a prominent section made of ice, and Frank was 
headed
right towards it.

"We probably want to avoid that section!" I yelled up to him.  "It 
looks
like ice.  Probably bullet-proof.  Go on snow!  Go up!"

"It'll be all right!" he said, and he continued straight through it.

Dan followed my advice and started to move up, but then saw a snow 
patch
between the ice and moved towards that.  Kevin and Ben climbed above 
the
ice field altogether.  I followed Dan's route.

In the middle of the route, the snow turned into ice but the sun had
melted it so that my crampons stuck well.  I also realized that I was
standing in the middle of a crevasse field.  The crevasses were not 
wide
- the biggest I hopped over was 3 feet.  Looking into them I could tell
they ran deep.  For a second I thought this was totally cool.  Then it
hit me that if the glacier shifted while I was standing on it, I could
be thrown off balance and sent tumbling over ice.  I moved over the
crevasses as quickly as I could and didn't stop to take pictures, even
though I would have liked to bring back photos.  

At the summit, I talked to Dan about the crevasses.  Frank overheard us
and didn't believe that we had moved over crevasses.  

"Those were so small!" he said.

"Small, yes," we told him.  "But they are still crevasses."

"No way!"

"Yup!  Crevasses in California can be small.  Nothing compared to
crevasses in Washington."

Once I got past the crevasse field, I looked up and noticed that Frank
and Dan were already making their way onto the couloir.  At the 
"bottom"
of the couloir was a large bergschund  - three large horizontal gaps
formed a dotted line horizontally, measuring about 5 feet wide, 20-30
feet long, and forming three ice cliffs measuring from 6-10 feet high.  

I stepped into one of the gaps and took a photo of the incredible ice
formations.  From here I could see that the gaps where very deep - at
least as far as I could see until the darkness hid what lay below.  In
hindsight, it turned out to be a good thing that the climbing seminar
delayed our trip Saturday evening.  If we had hiked to Dana Lake as
planned, we would have had to descend the couloir to get back to our
base camp.  If anyone slipped, we would have slid down the face into 
the
bergschund.

The mountain wouldn't have even burped.

Of course, we still faced that possibility today - 1000 feet of 
climbing
lay ahead.  If someone slipped, I am not sure they would have the
ability to self arrest.  It was steep.  It was hard.  It was a little
crazy.  OK - very crazy.

But that is what drew us to it.  The steepness.  The risk.  The
challenge.  The craziness of it all.  By definition, mountaineers tend
to be a little off their rockers, and we were no different than the
norm.  We were soldiers of the mountain, slowly marching our way to the
top.  All day long, I kept humming a tune to keep my marching rhythm
because I couldn't remember the words.

Frank and Dan started climbing the couloir first.  They slowly made
their way around and over the bergschund, planted their front points 
and
ice axe, and climbed.  It was just past 12 noon.

"Hurry up!" I yelled to them.  "We need to create some space between us
in case someone falls."

Ben and Kevin followed while I took up the rear.  

"Frank and Dan!" Kevin yelled up, "If you French technique and 
alternate
traverses, we can climb more safely above one another.  But if you  go
straight up, we'll be in each other's fall line!"

Frank began to traverse.  Dan went straight up.  The couloir is wide
enough that five climbers can be in it at on time.  However, after
hiking for six hours, we were a little tired.  I for one found it hard
to judge where someone's fall line was exactly.  Sometimes we would
climb straight up, sometimes we would traverse.  I had to keep watching
the climber above me because they were concentrating on their route, 
and
I was probably the last person on their mind.

The most enjoyable part of the climb was supposed to be the couloir.
For me, it was complete drudgery.  I kept imagining that a climber 
above
me would fall and take me with him.  I would alternate from being too
cold then too hot then too cold again.  I kept wishing I had brought 
two
ice tools instead of one ice axe. I kept humming that damn tune but
couldn't remember the words.  But I did take a number of photos.  At
least I had my priorities straight!

Thirty-two seconds before 1pm, I topped out of the couloir.  Everyone
else had long completed the climb safely and were already relaxing in
the sun and eating.  I literally dropped to my butt out of exhaustion
and took a long needed drink from my water bottle.  As soon as that was
done, I took a few photos of Ben and Kevin.  Again, priorities.  

 "Those clouds concern me," Ben said.

I looked around a saw a number of high clouds moving in from the west.
Some looked like they were moisture laden.  I really wasn't concerned
since I and everyone else had full weather gear - except for Ben, who
only brought a pile pullover jacket.  

"We need to start moving now,"  he continued.

Everyone got up and started the last few hundred feet to the summit.  I
stayed and rested for a while.  The clouds were a slight threat, but
they were just moving quickly over the crest and not gaining much
moisture.  This was the same weather pattern we had experienced from
about 10am on.  I figured if it did rain, it wouldn't be anytime soon.

When I got up, I felt exhausted.  The summit seemed so far away.  I
couldn't even summon the energy to hum my tune anymore.  We had taken
off our crampons and I was now post holing my way through snow.  More
than once I wanted to just abandon the summit and head down.  I came to
climb the couloir.  The summit wasn't a big deal.

But I trudged on, following everyone else.  Trying to remember my tune.

The snow turned to scree and talus.  I trudged on more.  The scree and
talus turned to snow, and Kevin was waiting for me.

"Up above here is an easy snow field," he said.  "You won't need your
crampons again.  Everyone went on ahead.  I stayed behind to let you
know what was up."

We were no longer a mish-mash.  We were a climbing team.  Communication
was strong - each person who led had told the follower what lay ahead.
It felt good to see us functioning like we were supposed to.

At a point when I felt absolutely exhausted, I saw a day climber on the
summit.  Next thing I knew, my steps felt lighter, the air was thicker,
I began to hum my tune again, and I was half-sprinting to the summit.
Funny what psychological effect the summit can have on you.

I met up with the rest of the team on the summit.  Everyone else was
sleeping, eating, or taking photos.  It was sunny.  It was warm.  It 
was
beautiful.  It was worth it.  

A handful of day hikers shared the summit with us.  There is always 
more
than one way to the summit.

I snacked up and rested.  Everyone else began to make the descent.  I
told them I'd meet up with them later and stayed on the summit for
another 45 minutes. 

Alone, I felt at peace.  Rested.  Happy.  Happy.  Happy.  

I thought about the day.  I thought about that damn tune.  I thought
about coming home to my fianc�.  I thought about the weekend.  It was
past 3:30pm now.  I wouldn't get back to our cars until just after 5
p.m. - completely exhausted, my knees quivering from taking a beating,
and very dehydrated.   But I'd have a smile on my face that would last
me all week long at work.  When I stood up for the descent, the lyrics
to the song I was humming all day finally came to me.  And the words
seemed so appropriate . . . .

"Generals and Majors, 
  They're never too far 
  From battlefields so glorious,
  Out in a world of their own,
  They'll never come down
  'Til once again victorious"

    - XTC

To continue onto the Matterhorn Peak series. . . -Click Here-

To continue onto the rock climbing series. . . -Click Here-

To continue onto the ice climbing series. . . -Click Here-

To continue onto the fly fishing series. . . -Click Here-