THE SAGA OF MOUNT DANA AUTUMNA:
TIOGA PASS,
TUOLUMNE MEADOWS
YOSEMITE
October 10-12, 2005
INTRODUCTION:TIOGA PASS,
TUOLUMNE MEADOWS
YOSEMITE
October 10-12, 2005
That seed of an idea
That starts as a glimmer in the eye
Of a young man – or an older one, not so spry -
Develops with the savoring of that memory of glory of summitting mountains way up high
And a hunger for Accomplishment’s sigh.
But the preparation for the attainment
involved the hassle of finding and packing long-unused equipment,
and traveling long distances,
But the preparation for the attainment
involved the hassle of finding and packing long-unused equipment,
and traveling long distances,
to a nearly-closed national park --
though sunset pink on all Tuolumne domes added to the lark.
Finding and unpacking gear and setting up tents in the dark,
Striking waterproof storm matches that just wouldn’t spark, then coping with
Jet-nozzle stoves that flared dangerously,
but in the end wouldn’t work,
would have left less experienced mountaineeers feeling like jerks.
But, we had homemade wine and enough other kinds of foods that still allowed a contented time.
though sunset pink on all Tuolumne domes added to the lark.
Finding and unpacking gear and setting up tents in the dark,
Striking waterproof storm matches that just wouldn’t spark, then coping with
Jet-nozzle stoves that flared dangerously,
but in the end wouldn’t work,
would have left less experienced mountaineeers feeling like jerks.
But, we had homemade wine and enough other kinds of foods that still allowed a contented time.
Next morn, inspired by the beauty of diamonds sparkling off Tioga Lake,
And the world-class glamor photos we might be able to take,
we ambled out toward a gigantic rock prow
that we’d have to climb or go around somehow.
THE CLIMB BEGINS:
In the forest dusk ice-edged beaver lakes still fed gurgling streams,
and out in the open meadows the sun flooded the scene,
warming marshes and ponds that steamed
while we headed upwards to heights unseen.
As we rose from the forest up rocky steeps
My body strained in the elevation to find enough air to breathe.
Doug had been climbing at altitude all summer
on Mt. Hood, Mt. Rainier, and Glacier Park in Montana, and is a 100-mile runner.
I finally packed him like a packhorse, and he charged ahead the rest of the day.
The trail switch-backed many times until it quit trying to lead us on
And we just headed straight up the hill.
It was so steep we almost had to kick steps into dirt and mud, but looking back over our shoulders became a thrill. Twisting, turning, quad muscles burning, we rose up, up, up into the sun-drenched alpine heights, watching the meadows and granite domes drop away like on steep takeoff during an airline flight.
After a brief break amidst the rocks on a high plateau by the top of that prow rock, so huge from below we saw we were edging higher and new country had emerged with ridges into the horizon where the clouds and land merged.
Finally, high above the first thousand feet
There was a fifty-mile view out over Tuolumne.
Half Dome, Mount Conness, and mysterious ranges of granite in purest white, far out on the Northwest horizon shining bright, in wind-riven, crystalline, autumnal light.
Southward, Mt. Kuna and its Crest, Cathedral Spire to the West, and the ranges beyond Glacier Point and Clouds’ Rest.
And the world-class glamor photos we might be able to take,
we ambled out toward a gigantic rock prow
that we’d have to climb or go around somehow.
THE CLIMB BEGINS:
In the forest dusk ice-edged beaver lakes still fed gurgling streams,
and out in the open meadows the sun flooded the scene,
warming marshes and ponds that steamed
while we headed upwards to heights unseen.
As we rose from the forest up rocky steeps
My body strained in the elevation to find enough air to breathe.
Doug had been climbing at altitude all summer
on Mt. Hood, Mt. Rainier, and Glacier Park in Montana, and is a 100-mile runner.
I finally packed him like a packhorse, and he charged ahead the rest of the day.
The trail switch-backed many times until it quit trying to lead us on
And we just headed straight up the hill.
It was so steep we almost had to kick steps into dirt and mud, but looking back over our shoulders became a thrill. Twisting, turning, quad muscles burning, we rose up, up, up into the sun-drenched alpine heights, watching the meadows and granite domes drop away like on steep takeoff during an airline flight.
After a brief break amidst the rocks on a high plateau by the top of that prow rock, so huge from below we saw we were edging higher and new country had emerged with ridges into the horizon where the clouds and land merged.
Finally, high above the first thousand feet
There was a fifty-mile view out over Tuolumne.
Half Dome, Mount Conness, and mysterious ranges of granite in purest white, far out on the Northwest horizon shining bright, in wind-riven, crystalline, autumnal light.
Southward, Mt. Kuna and its Crest, Cathedral Spire to the West, and the ranges beyond Glacier Point and Clouds’ Rest. With the feeling of awe
from deep within the inner child
we viewed way to the South the sun-baked, glacier-covered ramparts of Mt. Lyell.
Steeper yet the trail rose, straining quads, calves, Achilles and toes. To walk straight up required the heel to drop too far, threatening Achilles tendon, calf muscle, and the I-T Band. So I turned sideways and did the cross-over step, and meandered, and switchbacked.
we viewed way to the South the sun-baked, glacier-covered ramparts of Mt. Lyell.
Steeper yet the trail rose, straining quads, calves, Achilles and toes. To walk straight up required the heel to drop too far, threatening Achilles tendon, calf muscle, and the I-T Band. So I turned sideways and did the cross-over step, and meandered, and switchbacked.
Whenever one of us was about to fade all he would have to do is think, and the other would pipe up and say, “I need a rest and a drink.”
Evenly matched we were, which saved the day for me, as to be the last in line takes away the fun and drains the energy.
For the rest of the day we switched places, so one could be in the middle. Doug would shoot ahead, then would wait, contented to just enjoy this dream-like state.
As we moved from the high plateau of alpine tundra into steep talus and plates the mountain’s slope steepened. The pace slowed down and pulses quickened. Breathing became labored, but even these effects of elevation couldn’t dampen the growing feeling of elation.
For when we got close to the saddle in the lateral ridge before summit steeps, I sensed the potential and scrambled to the edge to peep over the side and down into that magnificent canyon and out to the East over the cliffs of Mt. Dana as a prize for all this scramblin’.
MAXXING OUT:
I started running, as I’d declared I shouldn’t do, and the reward was this wonderful view down 2,000 feet from the top of that waterfall slot, to tarn lake in martini-blue.
As we moved from the high plateau of alpine tundra into steep talus and plates the mountain’s slope steepened. The pace slowed down and pulses quickened. Breathing became labored, but even these effects of elevation couldn’t dampen the growing feeling of elation.For when we got close to the saddle in the lateral ridge before summit steeps, I sensed the potential and scrambled to the edge to peep over the side and down into that magnificent canyon and out to the East over the cliffs of Mt. Dana as a prize for all this scramblin’.
MAXXING OUT:
I started running, as I’d declared I shouldn’t do, and the reward was this wonderful view down 2,000 feet from the top of that waterfall slot, to tarn lake in martini-blue.
and still peaks would be sticking up out of the desert haze of Nevada into Utah..l
Endurance Makes The Difference:
The summit ridge lay still higher, and now the talus plate slope steeply inclined. We wanted to get out before dark so we set a specific turn-around time. Half an hour more -- a quarter to three -- so we headed off hiking steeply again, probing for plates that wouldn’t dislodge and fall free.
We managed our energy with measured breathing, while lifting boots increasingly required knee heaving. We kept moving higher,
and though summiting was the main desire I wasn’t going to make my heart stop, nor even expose myself to "mere pain" just to get to the top.
With no apparent progress after half an hour of rising, and only 5 minutes left before our turnaround deadline, no one seemed about to reach the summit.
Doug called down on the radio to encourage us higher. We finally declared that this was where we would wait for him, and save enough energy reserves to make a rescue and downclimb from this rim.
The radio crackled back and he said “OK. I understand.” But then: “I’m going for the top anyway.”
He moved out, like a Marine, upward, faster and faster, straight up the mountain, stepping long from plate to plate. Like a robot or a cyborg, he even seemed to accelerate. His dark blue coat had disappeared into the black of the rocks. But soon he reappeared against a snowfield, then up out onto the shoulder on his way to the top.
It was a long time – like, half an hour – of scrunching down in the rocks against incessant wind before we got any indication of what condition he was in. We were watching the clouds blow in like The Blue Angels, climbing at speed, and transforming from cirrus to cumulus over our heads & freeze.
Warm sun disappeared behind clouds turning cold and gray. I was thinking of putting on a warmer layer for the rest of the day. Then the radio crackled and a voice so different that I thought it was cross-talk on the channel,
screeched a high thin “YA-Hoooooooo!
What a VIEWwwwww!”
“10-4. We hear you, too. What’s happenin’.”
“It’s InCREDible! I’ll start down in 5 minutes.” Squelch.
TROUBLE?
Well, 5 minutes came and went, Bill’s scanning with binoculars, I’m poised with camera & 200 mm telephoto lens to capture the returning hero, when:
We’re watching that skyline against the white clouds and blue sky, and he doesn’t show.
We wait and we wait, always thinking he’ll appear any second now.
Half an hour later we’re starting to get apprehensive that we’re going to have to climb up there and start a search for that blue coat in the black rocks…
Bill says he’s heading down out of the wind, and I say I’ll be down too, but I don’t want to give up any of this hard-earned elevation.
Bill stops a few hundred feet down and lifts the binocs and peers again deep into the looming rocks.
Finally the radio squiggles and Doug says, “I’m coming down now. Why don’t you guys head down to Lunch Rock.” “Good to hear you, Doug, but we’ll wait here for you as support team until you get back into view. We don’t want to climb all the way back up from way down there to rescue you.”
“OK. Thanks.” Squelch.
Eventually he reappears on the crestline.
I grab my long-awaited shot of silhouette against the blue, and another photo against a snowfield, and he disappears again. We start to head down, but then I pause again, grab another long range shot with a 200 mm lens, then he reappears on the last open slope, and we head down.DESCENT:Soon he’s descending faster, then on the far ridge is already parallel – Why, heck, he’s on a trail! We’re still test-stepping for unstable rock plates on the down-plunge in the jumble, yanking back boots when the plates dislodge, lest we take a tumble, and he’s just hauling , right past us on that trail. Finally we just give in and speed up too.Eventually we all re-converge, still in the high wild of the wind and the tundra. Turns out he had to shoot photos and videos, post in the summit log, etc. I later saw video of the summit post log, on the cover of which he had written, "This climb was for you, Dad."
Now all ltogether we resumed descent
hearts filled with deep content. Like British troops descending the Himalaya returning from exploratory expedition, we moved down mountain with a huzzah, charging down through alpine tundra wondering at the horizon’s brilliant penumbra, viewing out across Tuolumne Meadows’ brown autumna.
Down below, the winding river is reflecting light
like a twisted ribbon of silver, shining bright.
Cresting over Lunch Rock Ridge hardly resting,
we’re no longer on rock plates, no longer testing; bc we plunge over the edge and look straight down, down the steeps we’d struggled up. Feet shoot out, bodies and packs freefalling, landing softly in boot heel cups.
Again, the vastness of the landscape was deceptive. The most change in the landscape we could decipherwas the front mount’s former bulk growing a little bigger, until at last we were alongside that first big swale of plateau in the saddle, behind the front mount’s prow of looming rock middle.
Steeper Yet, now: 'Mind those cracks between those boulders! Watch that pack slipping off your shoulders! You’re dangerously close to crashing! You’re making me feel older! That’s steep mud you’re stepping into there between those boulders, wet and slick, mostly unseen , it could cause sudden slipping and careen!”
Then suddenly Bill’s on his back in the air,
feet flying high, arms splayed, reaching out for anything there -- but there's nothing there, and he disappears in a loud "Carumph!" -- faster'n a throwed bullrider can utter “OOMPH!” But Bill's a skier, and he can bounce, and then rebound, as fast as fell down he was up again, just a-flyin’ down the mountain.
Then we’re all off again with our our joint momentum, down through another band of geology, where the rock types change again,
and I’m noticing they’re green clay and slippery, when hurdling a low flat boulder my left boot toe doesn’t quite clear the edge, and I’m suddenly surging forward, boot sole just dragging along the ledge.
I throw my right leg forward to play catch-up,
while the left foot drops off thr front g lands early, locking in solid in soft damp ground, throwing me up in the air, almost around.
My surge in speed is about to throw me into Bill, and I’m afraid I’m really falling down the hill, about to launch him into space where he’ll be thrown into these boulders upon his face.
So I snap back into a sitting position, both feet together to drop low, and slow everything down, to re-synchronize timing and make the recovery: "AND we’re Off! With a 1-2-3!”
All this drama is going on back up the hill,
and neither Bill nor Doug realize it's gone on.
Doug’s literally skipping along, all smiles,
jabberin’ away, waving his hiking pole up at the hills, proposing more trips for further thrills,
gazing out over Tioga Pass and The Tuolumne,
just as happy as he can be.
Bill and I are both quieter, concentrating on our routes, half-listening to Doug but mostly directing our flying boots, watching the rock types flowing past our hands, and the changing Sierran vegetative bands,
twisting around and looking back up to where we went, then out West at the rate of the sun’s descent, wondering if we’ll beat those shadows down in the park and make it out before it gets dark.
We’ve all got headlamps to light the way
if we can’t beat the end of day but each of us is really hoping to eliminate the need for hurried loping.
We all seem now to be walking faster, down through darkening forest now, careful to prevent disaster. By some miracle we trooped out of the forest with some dignity.
Eventually he reappears on the crestline.
I grab my long-awaited shot of silhouette against the blue, and another photo against a snowfield, and he disappears again. We start to head down, but then I pause again, grab another long range shot with a 200 mm lens, then he reappears on the last open slope, and we head down.DESCENT:Soon he’s descending faster, then on the far ridge is already parallel – Why, heck, he’s on a trail! We’re still test-stepping for unstable rock plates on the down-plunge in the jumble, yanking back boots when the plates dislodge, lest we take a tumble, and he’s just hauling , right past us on that trail. Finally we just give in and speed up too.Eventually we all re-converge, still in the high wild of the wind and the tundra. Turns out he had to shoot photos and videos, post in the summit log, etc. I later saw video of the summit post log, on the cover of which he had written, "This climb was for you, Dad."
Now all ltogether we resumed descent
hearts filled with deep content. Like British troops descending the Himalaya returning from exploratory expedition, we moved down mountain with a huzzah, charging down through alpine tundra wondering at the horizon’s brilliant penumbra, viewing out across Tuolumne Meadows’ brown autumna.
Down below, the winding river is reflecting light
like a twisted ribbon of silver, shining bright.
Cresting over Lunch Rock Ridge hardly resting,we’re no longer on rock plates, no longer testing; bc we plunge over the edge and look straight down, down the steeps we’d struggled up. Feet shoot out, bodies and packs freefalling, landing softly in boot heel cups.
Again, the vastness of the landscape was deceptive. The most change in the landscape we could decipherwas the front mount’s former bulk growing a little bigger, until at last we were alongside that first big swale of plateau in the saddle, behind the front mount’s prow of looming rock middle.
Steeper Yet, now: 'Mind those cracks between those boulders! Watch that pack slipping off your shoulders! You’re dangerously close to crashing! You’re making me feel older! That’s steep mud you’re stepping into there between those boulders, wet and slick, mostly unseen , it could cause sudden slipping and careen!”Then suddenly Bill’s on his back in the air,
feet flying high, arms splayed, reaching out for anything there -- but there's nothing there, and he disappears in a loud "Carumph!" -- faster'n a throwed bullrider can utter “OOMPH!” But Bill's a skier, and he can bounce, and then rebound, as fast as fell down he was up again, just a-flyin’ down the mountain.
Then we’re all off again with our our joint momentum, down through another band of geology, where the rock types change again,
and I’m noticing they’re green clay and slippery, when hurdling a low flat boulder my left boot toe doesn’t quite clear the edge, and I’m suddenly surging forward, boot sole just dragging along the ledge.
I throw my right leg forward to play catch-up,
while the left foot drops off thr front g lands early, locking in solid in soft damp ground, throwing me up in the air, almost around.
My surge in speed is about to throw me into Bill, and I’m afraid I’m really falling down the hill, about to launch him into space where he’ll be thrown into these boulders upon his face.
So I snap back into a sitting position, both feet together to drop low, and slow everything down, to re-synchronize timing and make the recovery: "AND we’re Off! With a 1-2-3!”
All this drama is going on back up the hill,
and neither Bill nor Doug realize it's gone on.
Doug’s literally skipping along, all smiles,
jabberin’ away, waving his hiking pole up at the hills, proposing more trips for further thrills,
gazing out over Tioga Pass and The Tuolumne,
just as happy as he can be.
Bill and I are both quieter, concentrating on our routes, half-listening to Doug but mostly directing our flying boots, watching the rock types flowing past our hands, and the changing Sierran vegetative bands,
twisting around and looking back up to where we went, then out West at the rate of the sun’s descent, wondering if we’ll beat those shadows down in the park and make it out before it gets dark.
We’ve all got headlamps to light the wayif we can’t beat the end of day but each of us is really hoping to eliminate the need for hurried loping.
We all seem now to be walking faster, down through darkening forest now, careful to prevent disaster. By some miracle we trooped out of the forest with some dignity.
Doug had made it to 13,000 feet, with none of his usual altitude-sickness. Bill and I had made it to 12,500 feet, and saved energy for safe return or rescue. Doug hailed us for our having risen to the challenge to do our personal bests.
When we emerged from the forest gloom of evening I was feeling better than when we’d started out that morning. We were all still with energy, having felt no undue duress, so we jumped in the truck and ran up to Saddlebag Lake and Mount Conness!
CONCLUSION:
Mount Conness is the Sierran Queen.
Her throneroom is an amphitheater in white.
Her crowning ramparts, like the Statue of Liberty’s crown, was reflecting radial shafts of radiant light, shooting up into the undersides of incoming low puffy clouds and reflecting back down to illuminate that timberline basin floor with indirect light.
Mount Dana lay behind us, almost the opposite: brown rock covered with brown autumn tundra, vertical rather than broad-browed, dark backside cliffs lit only on their rims by setting sun.
Yet because we had climbed her, struggled with her, wrapped ourselves around her, explored her and given her our all, we felt like we knew her, and were comfortable with her.
POSTSCRIPT:
North Peak, just north of Mt. Conness seems nearly unattainable in white granite heights.
The whole set of ranges is filled with climbing challenges and alpine delights. If you wonder what it's like to climb high and free, next year grab your rucksack and come along with ud up there and see!
Grab your rucksack and come along and see.
MBC
For more on these and other climbs, see SummitPost.org.
When we emerged from the forest gloom of evening I was feeling better than when we’d started out that morning. We were all still with energy, having felt no undue duress, so we jumped in the truck and ran up to Saddlebag Lake and Mount Conness!
CONCLUSION:
Mount Conness is the Sierran Queen.
Her throneroom is an amphitheater in white.
Her crowning ramparts, like the Statue of Liberty’s crown, was reflecting radial shafts of radiant light, shooting up into the undersides of incoming low puffy clouds and reflecting back down to illuminate that timberline basin floor with indirect light.
Mount Dana lay behind us, almost the opposite: brown rock covered with brown autumn tundra, vertical rather than broad-browed, dark backside cliffs lit only on their rims by setting sun.
Yet because we had climbed her, struggled with her, wrapped ourselves around her, explored her and given her our all, we felt like we knew her, and were comfortable with her.POSTSCRIPT:
North Peak, just north of Mt. Conness seems nearly unattainable in white granite heights.
The whole set of ranges is filled with climbing challenges and alpine delights. If you wonder what it's like to climb high and free, next year grab your rucksack and come along with ud up there and see!
Grab your rucksack and come along and see.
MBC
For more on these and other climbs, see SummitPost.org.
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