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Preconceived Notions |
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by Ray Purcell |
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| This is a story of a son who celebrated his high school graduation with his father in the mountains.� No geographic summits were achieved and no epics were endured.� That doesn't mean there was no singular adventure, no new ground covered, or friendship forged: there was. |
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| The worm began to turn early last March, while my son and I were talking to my friend, and former climbing partner, Jerry Seidel about the inevitable and inescapable topic- climbing.�� I'd mentioned that I had decided to devote more time to the gentlemanly sport of alpine climbing.� I had visions of heroic men in wool felt pants and Pendleton shirts, like John Underhill, Jules Eichhorn, and Norman Clyde, who claimed the first Sierra summits in the 20's and 30's.� |
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| My renewed interest in alpinism was also based in the fantasy that I wouldn't come home from my climbing trips as banged up as usual.� I liked the idea of leisurely approaches and the notion of a pleasant pace over a long summer day.� I also couldn't escape the memory of having gone for my first over-forty-physical and having been told to slow down; of course that was my first and last visit to that doctor.� But he had a point, I was getting more easily injured and the aches lasted longer.� I was conflicted; I didn't look older, at least until I shaved.�� Besides, old Norman Clyde made his last trip into the Sierra at 87 years old. |
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| Anyway, Jerry asked me if I had climbed the U-notch in the Palisades.� That was it, just a simple question.� There were no subsequent embellishments or entr�e into a personal saga of having climbed it; just simply that it was a classic.� That was all it took, I started to read about the U-notch, and then North Palisade, and then I had to climb them both- blast you Jerry.� The U-notch is a couloir, a snow filled gully, that rises 700-feet above the Palisade Glacier at about 13,000-feet to a U-shaped notch between Mt. Sill and 14,200-foot North Palisade.� The Palisades are a group of Sierra peaks set above the alpine valley of The North Fork of Big Pine Creek, and by themselves are enough majestic mountains for any single nation. |
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| This climb has all features of a classic adventure: backpacking, glacier crossing, couloir climbing, and technical rock ascent.� I was undaunted by the complexity and extent of the journey; after all, if Norman Clyde could put up the first ascent solo in 1928 with an alpenstock and tricon boots, why not me.� But me and who else?� An adventure of this prestige and magnitude deserved an equal partnership.� My first thought was my son; he's strong, witty, and has natural endurance. |
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| Sean, I can honestly say, is spiritually a better man than I am; he just doesn't appreciate it yet.� No, really, and it's not that he's a chip-off-the-old-block, he really isn't; so it''s not an ego thing.� But lest I get too nauseating, he runs annoyingly hot and cold.� After all he's not mommy and daddy's little boy anymore; I guess that's why God created whiskers and a deep voice, in case there was any confusion.� That's to be expected I tell myself, he needs to assert his individuality I tell myself, grow into the inner man.� The problem is he doesn't appear to take the things I tell him seriously; well he does but refuses to let me see it most times; that can be scary but I guess that's part of the process too. |
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| The problem is that a climbing partner has to be a known quantity, at least as far as any human can be, and Sean is just so hard to read.� But as much as I considered the alternatives I just couldn't escape my first choice.� I was captured by my own axiom, "marriage and climbing partners are like a pair of hiking boots, you can wear them around the store as long as you want but until you buy them you can't really know what you've got".� First this implies a necessary leap of faith, and second commitment.� As to the latter, it would take a really cruel pair of boots to get me to walk out of the backcountry barefoot.� The former, well consider the belayer; in what other sport can a person literally place their life in the hands of a teammate. |
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| I had a philosophy professor once who said essentially that it didn't matter what our philosophy of life was as long as it was internally congruent.� So there I was, hoisted by my own internal congruence.� I don't remember when I broke the question to Sean, but his answer was typically laconic; something like "sure".� Boom, the committing crux move, guaranteed to separate the parent from the father.� In my mind I was screaming, "Sure"?� Just "sure !"� "Don't you realize the gravity of what you've just said sure to?" �Desperate for reassurance I looked him square in the eyes and said "great!" with what I hoped projected full confidence in my partner. |
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| Even beyond being father and son, Sean and I are the quintessential Odd Couple.� Sean is artistic, deeply contemplative, self-examining, aphoristic, and fatally process oriented; I'm a recovering Type-A, goal oriented, and technically driven tight ass: the perfect team.�� You might think that he and I had never climbed together.� The thing is that we have, and while he's never let me down, this trip was more physically ambitious and technically diverse than anything we'd ever done, so his phlegmatic personality was really testing the knot. |
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| I initially had three technical challenges: first, when to go; second, outfitting Sean without breaking the bank; and, third preliminary training.� Technical tight asses are perfect at this kind of planning and I was on the job.� The first item, when, eventually took care of it's self; there were only three days between his last class and the first day of his Summer job at the city pools.� Since Sean didn't really care about the graduation ceremony we actually had four days, and how cool is it anyway to do commencement on your way to North Palisade: a true rite of passage in my estimation.���� |
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| The second challenge actually killed two birds with one stone but was logistically more difficult.� Sean had scrimped and saved for six months working slavish hours at menial jobs for ungrateful employers, and then there was his work outside the stuff we wanted him to do at home, all so he could to go to France in March.� To be legally accurate it was an "unofficial" trip to France in the company of, but not "chaperoned" by, a group of local high school French teachers who just happened to be going. �Since I still needed some reassurance of Sean's involvement in the project, and because the Euro was down against the Dollar, I decided to give the lad a shopping list and have him buy the gear in Paris. |
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| Being the detail guy I found a sporting goods store in Paris on the Internet.� Au Vieux Campeur is a store with an interesting history of it's own.� The business was started in 1941 by Roger de Rothays in a building in the Latin Quarter, and acquired additional buildings as the business expanded.� So now there are some 18 different specialty shops spread out over a one-block area.� It was no problem to print off a map and the exact items we needed.� I was impressed that Sean navigated the Paris Metro solo, and procured our provisions from, in Sean's estimation, a typically rude Parisian.� That done I had near total confidence in his commitment. |
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| The last challenge, training and conditioning, perhaps proved the more difficult task.� I was initially nervous at Sean's apparent delayed emergence from winter hibernation with regards to exercise.� But I forgot that I was gauging the time-to-fitness coefficient on the forty-something instead of the eighteen-year-old curve; so Sean was righteously annoyed with my prodding.� Though no couch potato ordinarily, after a month or so of running and several long weekends of lifeguard training, I watched him just fill out.� I was really convinced of his fitness after we returned from a 13-mile round trip day hike to 12,000-foot Alta Peak. |
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| Between finishing high school and having a life of his own we were only able to squeeze in a couple of days practicing with gear and technique.� One day we went up to Mt. Pinos to practice walking in crampons and using an ice axe.� You'd think it would be like walking and chewing gum.�� But walking in tandem and not slicing the rope that's between you under the teeth of the crampons is more like a three-legged race.� Another day we practiced double rope technique at Kern River Slabs and called it, for the lack of any more time, good. |
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| After a dry winter, May had several episodes of brief but heavy snow and I watched the weather models with anticipation.� The couloir leading to the U-notch is separated from Palisade Glacier by a bergschrund; that's a rift that forms as the glacial ice flows away from the uphill rock and fills with Winter snow.� If enough snow bridges the bergschrund and spring doesn't come too early then the gap can be crossed, regardless this is technically the hardest part of the climb- the crux.� Unfortunately, none of the weather models appeared to be holding; the high pressure over Nevada that usually leads to summer was having a hard time sitting still and caused alternating unseasonably hot and cold days. |
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| We arrived at the backpacker's camp on Wednesday evening and camped next to the truck.� At approximately 9000-feet it seemed a warm evening.� Toward dark a party of five began to arrive who also planned to climb the U-notch to North Palisade.� One of the members told me that they were going to go in for six days, with two days to get to the glacier since they planned to do several peaks.� Since I had planned one day for the nine-mile trip in to camp, one day to climb, and one day to return, I wondered what happened to my notion of leisurely approaches and pleasantly paced days. |
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| Oddly, it was warm all night and I slept with my sleeping bad open.� We were up early, ate a breakfast of French toast with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and were on the trail by seven.� The well built trail gradually gained elevation toward the North Fork of Big Pine Creek. But the sun already felt relentless which I attributed to the absence of shade on the chaparral-covered North slope.� We were grateful to gain the shade of the aspen and pine glade that lined the creek before the First Lake.� |
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| Having never been to the Palisades before, nothing could prepare me for the view of Temple Crag from First Lake.� My first whimsical impression was that of a preacher at the dais who is flanked by a robed choir during high church; though no mere ceremony or edifice of man could compare to these sublime works of God.� Words seemed somehow trivial to us, so we stopped for an early lunch above the lake. |
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| One lake passed us off to the other with cascading cataracts of water in the interval.� I shared with Sean how glaciers scour lakes under the enormous weight of the ice, and how several lakes can be formed along a valley in a pattern called Paternoster Lakes; a term coined by the French for their rosary bead appearance. �Though by and large we didn't talk much as we labored under packs in the altitude thinned air, and I was reluctant to sound more like Mister Science than I already had. |
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| Below Forth Lake we turned on to the Glacier Trail and hiked over a fine causeway that protected the delicate meadow.� We had only just become aware of the mosquitoes, which, even though were lighting on us, seemed confused about what to do with us, and we only got a few bites.� Snow began to cover sections of the trail since it had a Northern exposure, but it was late enough in the day that we post holed through the softened surface.� At Sam Mack Meadow we shrugged off our packs to rest from the climb, eat Nutter Butters, and marvel at the braded channel of the creek that cut through the mat of peat carpeting the meadow.� The water of the creek was opalescent with glacial milk; the fine silt of glacial ground granite. |
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| I'd wanted to get closer to the glacier so we'd have less of a hike in the morning, though it was tempting to throw out our bags at Sam Mack.� So once again we shouldered up our loads and found our way up a medial moraine that had long ago divided two tongues of ice before it had receded to a higher altitude.� The residual snow above hid most of the trail and the last mile must have taken an hour to cover as we navigated over bouldery slopes occasionally thick with snow stunted pines.� At last we found a perfect tent site where the glacier had once cleaved off a wedge of stone and left a rare sheltered and polished flat surface behind. |
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| It was blustery as the sun began to set over Mt, Agassiz and we hurried to polish off our dinner of Salmon Couscous before it got cold.� The surrounding cirque was mesmerizing as dusk spread across the valley and I couldn't keep my eyes off the next mornings climb.� We broke off our distraction to lie out our gear and divided our snacks.� Before bed the packs were organized with ice axes, crampons, and ropes arranged for use.� Four AM would come soon enough and I didn't want to fumble about with gear in the cold and dark. |
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| I was awakened before my alarm went off by the penumbral dawn, the line of burnt ochre that stretched across the Eastern horizon.� The deep rusty glow seemed to be trying to repel the deep blue fused with the starry moonless black above it.�� I crawled stiffly out of my sleeping bag into the cool morning.� As I looked at the U-notch couloir the snow was already reflecting the glow of the dawn as if the Sun's rising was focused right there. |
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| I roused Sean, and he groggily uncurled, his face still not visible under a mop of once-dye black hair.� Up and dressed we wolfed down some kind of food bars and slung on our packs.� It was just a quarter-to-five and already light enough to see without headlamps.� We trundled up the crunchy firm snowfield above camp to the terminal moraine that lies perpendicular to the glacier's toe.� We dropped down to the South flank of the moraine so that we could traverse up over a band of snow rather than hop over the loose boulders on the top of the ridge.� |
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| We walked as far West as possible and sat on the last dry rocks to put on our crampons and eat some more.� As we continued the rise of the glacier started to increased as it rose toward the approaching base of the couloir.� We walked unroped over the line of the now ice covered medial moraine.� The surface was firm and there was no indication of a crevasse lurking beneath a too thin snow bridge. |
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| In a small scoop below the bergschrund we flaked out one of our ropes and tied in with a third of the ropes 60-meter length between us, the rest we wore in coils draped over our shoulders in classic mountaineer fashion.� We ate and drank some more as the Sun, already two palm widths above the horizon, heated our faces; my watch showed 6:30.� The Bergschrund was opening but was still bridged by one-meter wide braids of snow and ice.� As I ascended to the first bridge the snow began soften and I found that I needed to plunge the shaft of my axe to the hilt so that I could pull myself higher. |
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| Sean remained below the 'schrund until had I found my way over the entire warp and weave of snow bridges crossing the gap.�� Once I was secure and in a position to protect him, Sean began to follow my lead.� If he was uncertain or fearful crossing the ethereal soft blue maw he didn't show it. |
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| Having passed the crux of the climb I felt relieved but disconcerted to find that the snow was only getting softer as I climbed.�� It was becoming much warmer and I felt like the Sun was paying special attention to me and I began to sweat heavily; it was 7:30.� I traversed as far left as I felt safe as I chased the already fully retreated shade hoping to gain a firmer surface.� Mindful of the very real risk of rock fall on the left side of the couloir I dared not tempt the fates and continued straight up.� Higher and softer, soon I was unable to make anymore vertical progress.� |
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| I was astonished that I was up to my knees in slush and that the shaft of my axe, which I was plunging deeply, only pulled more wet slushy snow into the postholes that contained my legs- only in California.� Having seen a ledge to my right with an anchor and rappel rings I began to slowly work my way over.� I felt like I was pulling myself out of quick sand as I pulled up onto the spacious ledge.� I put Sean on a hip belay and watched as he worked his way across the mire.� He looked like a kid pushing a toy boat across a wading pool. |
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| I'd never read anything about situations like this.� Again we ate and drank as I took stock of our position.� Our situation was anything but desperate (really Mom!), we could easily rappel our two 60 meter ropes to a position safely below the bergschrund.� I noticed that there was an open-book-crack that rose above the North wall of the couloir.� I thought that I might be able to climb it and spot a place that we could traverse over to firmer snow higher up the couloir.� As I climbed the left facing book I had to test the fairly generous holds since many were loose blocks.� I reached a reasonable stance just as Sean hollered up that I had ten more feet of rope remaining. |
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| Looking around I was no closer to finding a traverse over to the snow; in fact I was only a half of a pitch from rounding the top of the buttress of the North wall.� I was fully at the limits of my meticulously conceived plan and was not prepared to take my son into the adventure zone.� Looking down I had a stunning aerial view of the bottom of the couloir, Palisade Glacier, and well past the Inyo Mountains to somewhere in Western Nevada.� And there was Sean, sitting calmly on the ledge dutifully tending my belay.� From above his turquoise climbing helmet with his graduation tassel hanging off to the side looked like a Robin's egg sitting atop the red nest of his parka- stunning really. |
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| I built an equalizing anchor, and once secure reconsidered our situation- nine O'clock, what to do?� A salmon would make better progress swimming up the couloir from the bottom, and there was no reasonable route further up or over from here.� What would Norman Clyde have done?�� Well he probably wasn't a very good mentor in this circumstance.� It wasn't that old Norman wasn't a consummate alpinist and a prodigious first ascentionist, and having done most of his first ascents solo he must have had fecund testis as well.� But then he had fallen on this route once, and having lost his axe barely avoided a drop into the bergschrund by launching himself off of the uphill lip screaming,� "Here I go to Hell!"�� On the other hand, his marriage was a mess and ended in disaster; he was fired from his position as Principle of Independence High School for brandishing a gun at some students; and, he lived a curmudgeonly solitary life. |
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| I rappelled back down and joined Sean, there really was nowhere to go but back down.� It was really sweet the way he told me, with all sincerity, that it had been a great trip and that was more important than the Summit, but if I wanted to he'd be happy to get up earlier the next morning.�� I set up a new rappel anchor and Sean lowered first.� The moment he stepped off of the ledge he sank up to his butt in snow and battled to retrace our steps across the snow bridges.� |
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| We slogged back down the glacier to the rocks at the head of the medial moraine.� It was only eleven O'clock but we were ravenous and I broke out the lunch.� As we sliced into the summer sausage and the cheese I couldn't take my eyes off of the U-notch.� I couldn't decide right away if I'd been defeated or had prudently retreated.� I mean we were in good physical shape and were well equipped.� We even had the "multifarious wherewithals", a phrase coined by Theodore Winthrop after his 1850 crossing of the Cascade Range, and one that Smoke Blanchard was so fond of referring to regarding any backcountry travel.� People write about success, and they write about epic retreat, but no one writes about turning around. |
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| Well there I've leapt into the breech, if I may be so bold: but only in so far as actually summiting North Palisade is concerned.� Sean may have only just graduated high school but I suspect that he's already passed philosophy.� Sean was unwaveringly sincere, faithful, and committed; he would have willingly followed me into the adventure zone had I taken him there, and he require no reassurance what so ever.� Well I've had my summits and Sean will have his, whether at the top of a mountain or elsewhere.� That having been said, I'd say that that day we signed our summit register and we covered a lot of ground to do it. |
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June, 2002 |
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