Sierra Climbing cont'd... how many days has it been now?

I've lost track of the days by now. The peaks and vistas, though they seem to blur into the same collage of rock and sea of snow etched with granite escarpments, still fuel a wonderful sense of accomplishment and joy. What a shame that I'm a week away from classes at UCLA. Since the time I returned from Nepal over two weeks ago, I've spent more time in the Sierra than in Los Angeles. And I'm glad.

There are times in a person's life when one can look back at moments that seem impossibly desperate or difficult and be proud of the overcoming those obstacles with sheer indefatigable willpower.

Yesterday was one of those days for me. What seemed to be a straightforward climb of three Sierra peaks turned to be a wonderful adventure with all the necessary highs and lows that make for a memorable trip.

Mt. McAdie, Mt. Mallory, and Mt. Irvine are the ignored peaks of the Southern High Sierra. They are shadowed by giants all around like Mt. Whitney to the North and Mt. Langley to the South. These three peaks aren't quite as popular simply because they're not "14,000-foot peaks" - a seemingly absurd criteria to make mountains "good" or "bad." I, for one, was attracted to Mt. McAdie because of its spectacularly sharp and rugged summit pinnacles. Mt. Mallory and Mt. Irvine, named after the early Everest explorers who may or may not have been the first to climb Everest (the mystery still remains to this day!), would be bonuses for me.

Having already negotiated a harrowing drive the night before from sea-level, I wasn't acclimated, but thoroughly soaked up every minute of the 4 hours of sleep I was able to get. The rush of exposure in the High Sierra that was rekindled by last week's climbing adventure was enough to convince me that little things like a lack of sleep, or acclimitization, or permits, didn't really matter.

Permits? Believe it or not, this was the greatest fear I had. Hiking *any* portion of the popular Mt. Whitney trail, or even entering this "Mt Whitney Zone" requires one to pay a draconian $15 fee. The fear of being turned around was on my mind all morning.

In the mountains, I've often found that the most dangerous things aren't bears or steep scary rock climbs, but are rather things of a human nature - rockfall caused by clumsy climbers above, improperly trained wilderness rangers who are more concerned about administrative issues than wilderness issues, and the sad view of other people causing harm to the environment by camping in pristine meadows or polluting the landscape with trash. Having said that, its not that I dislike people; i actually love having companions in the wilderness, but rather, my point is that in the grand scheme of things, the mountains are indifferent about people's safety and well-being, destroying and rewarding just the same.

Going back to the day's events, I rose early, greeted the morning sun, and headed up the Lone Pine Creek drainage to Consultation Lake. The first peak of the day, Mt. McAdie, turned out to be a thrilling ascent up a steep rock face. Having had so much fun already, the prospect of climbing the bonus peaks didn't seem like a very hard thing to do at all!

The first disappointment came when I accidentally dropped my favorite sunglasses near the vicinity of Arc Pass. Because those glasses are the *only* piece of gear my mom gave me, I frantically searched for 30 minutes. I couldn't find it. Well, onward and upward - I didn't want to be halted by something so seemingly minor (it was probably the hardest thing to deal with all day!).

Then the real fun began. I climbed up a gully to meet with the ridge connecting Mt. Mallory and Irvine. At that point, I was at the middle of a ridge connecting both peaks. I looked left, then right, and randomly decided that Mallory would be first. Now, the standard routes for traversing - or going across - both these peaks dictate dropping 800 feet down before climbing up again. I questioned why no one had attempted a more direct ridge traverse topping each pinnacle in the way. Feeling bold, I scrambled directly onto the pointy ridgeline that eventually led to Mt. Mallory.

What followed was an hour of absolutely thrilling climbing on the ridgecrest. Short and airy moves up small gendermes and towers, then down the other side only to come up again. I realized that the exposure was starting to get intense and the climbing difficult. More than half the time, the knife-edge ridge dropped hundreds of feet to the east from below my left foot; to the west from my right. Not that I was uncomfortable, just that I needed to take heed of the terrain I put myself in. Eventually, I came upon an impasse - a steep notch in the ridge that demanded either a rappel or incredibly difficult downclimbing. The true summit was just about a hundred horizontal feet away, but unfortunately I was forced to use one of the descent chutes to the west and lose about 1000 feet of elevation gain, just to go back up a tedious pile of loose rock and talus.

By now, doubts flooded my mind much like a rapid downpour. Both legs were expressing their distaste for boulder after seemingly endless boulder. I considered the options: go back or continue climbing. I don't know what it was, but I decided on the latter option, even if it meant that I may just get myself into a painfully long day.

Exhausted, I reached the summit of Mt. Mallory. Mt. Irvine looked like a long way away. The most direct route, the ridge I just failed on, had already scared me and I didn't want to get into any more difficult climbing in my fatigued state. So, I did the un-inspiring thing to do and just descended another 1000 feet to the wide plateau at the bottom. This meant that the climb up to Mt. Irvine would just be a torturous slog up and willpower would be far more important than any technical prowess.

The third summit of the day boosted my spirits. Throughout the day, the frustrations of losing my glasses and unnecessarily losing gain seemed to magically disappear. I was on top of the world again! Indeed, mountain summits are truly unique places in the cosmos with endless amounts of inspiration and strength.

Still, everyone knows that no one hangs out at the top of the world too long. The descent was tough - boulders after talus after steep dropoffs after loose sand over unknown terrain (I tried to descend the most direct way instead of retracing my circuitous steps). By the end of the day, my right knee was starting to question my mind's lofty and seemingly useless goals.

I returned to the trailhead sore, but with a big smile. It had been the best adventure I had all year - complete with the requisite "unknown factor" of deviating from the standard, guidebook route. I was alone all day, but never lonely. If one is having fun at whatever they're doing, solitude can never be a bad thing... just think of the scores of musicians, poets, physicists who come up with their grandest ideas alone!

In ending, I'd like to ask you, dear reader, to pause and really consider what makes you happy. I've already told you about my fun - why don't you tell me of your happiest moment of the year; or better yet, go out and do something that you'd be just as excited telling me about because those are the kind of experiences that are the most fun re-living!