My partner, Doug, is making his way back to camp. We're done with the day's ordeal - a ridge traverse of Mt. Pinchot and Mt. Wynne, two remote peaks deep in the heart of the Sequoia and Kings Canyon high country. We said our farewells over an hour ago. Something about the jagged ridge leading South to the sharply-pinnacled summit of Mt. Perkins beckoned me. Having come so far into the Sierra in full winter conditions (although just past the cusp of spring), I couldn't pass by a peak that looked so beautiful from so many vantage points throughout the day. Doug has climbed these peaks more times than anyone alive and gives me some valuable advice: "have fun!"
Thankfully, I can still see Doug's comforting red figure making its way across the snow a thousand feet below me. His tracks paused when he heard the thunderous roar as the boulder ripped loose further down the crest. Farther down the ridge, I see the bright yellow dot that is our trusty tent, a welcoming sight. It is perched on a narrow ledge at 11,600 feet with a stunning view of the sharp eastern escarpment of the mighty Sierra Nevada. Bordered by Colosseum Peak and Mt. Acrodectes nearby, I can't help but feel like a dizzy gladiator in some epic battle competing against the mountain gods themselves.
The ridge seems endless. Soon it will be dark. Just as I swallow some desperately deep gasps leaning on my ice-axe and contemplate the idiocy of my struggle, fifty yards away from me, half a dozen bighorn sheep dart across the pointy ridgeline. As the only foreign visitor all winter, I must have startled them. The endangered Sierra Nevada bighorn sheep's numbers dwindled to as low as 125 in 1999, and any sighting of them is truly a treasure! Fortunately, recent protections and policies have provided the sheep favorable conditions for a fighting chance to renew their numbers.
Cautiosly, I negotiate the ridgeline, making my way across the snowfields and intermittent towers of jutting rock. If only I could dart across this terrain just as the graceful bighorn sheep, I'd be on the summit in no time! Judging that they know the terrain best and have probably climbed the peak dozens of times, I resolve to follow their tracks, perform the same moves they do, and follow the same trajectory, except with two limbs and an ice-axe.
They must have grown impatient with me, because it took me forever to catch up to them before they raced off higher again. For the first time all day, I smelled my first scents: fresh poop and alpine bighorn piss at 13,000 feet! It is clear now who is more comfortable traveling across this territory. I'm not the only one who lustfully wishes to call this place home.
I soon reach the summit. I thank the bighorn sheep for their kind directions. The shadows grow longer and longer as I embark on the long journey across the ridge back to camp. Doug greets me with warm smiles.
It soon becomes dark. The moon is a silvery strand of an eyelash, barely visible in a thick veil of stars resting amidst the black velvet of night. Today was the best day of the whole year. I pray for more to follow.
What a perfect weekend in the mountains!
The Approach:
The Climb:
Tent Life:
The Peaks:
