Fri, Jan 13, 2006
|
With: | Matthew Holliman |
Driving from San Jose at 3a, we arrived at Red Lake around 7a. We
knew there was no official Snow Park at Red Lake and didn't know if we'd be
able to start from there - the alternative at the Hope Valley Snow Park being
several miles more each way. Thankfully
the area near Red Lake was plowed, and
not finding any signs prohibiting our parking there, we pulled in and made
preparations to start our day.
Shortly after 7:15a we set out along
the road heading south. Snowmobile tracks
had packed the snow firmly, making for very easy going those first few miles.
We watched the sun rise on the
Carson Range to the northeast as we made our
way along, a steady wind dogging our way from the start, only to grow steadily
worse as the day went on - at least the sky was mostly cloud-free and the sun
would help offset some of the chills imposed by the wind. After an hour we
passed a sign indicating Forestdale Creek. A quick check of our map indicated
this was our turnoff. We found a snowmobile track heading off in that general
direction which we dutifully followed. While snowmobile tracks undoubtedly
make it easier to travel over unconsolidated snow, they have a downside in
that they don't always take the lowest-energy path along a contour, and they
don't always necessarily go anywhere. Such was the case of the tracks we
followed for the next 20 minutes, following them up and down and around the
trees until we concluded they were made by a rider out for a joyride, not
actually trying to get somewhere. The
cross-country travel was harder over the
virgin snow, but the freeze-thaw cycles were enough to make the upper part at
least partially crusty, keeping us from sinking in more than three to four
inches. Tiring work, but not enough to impede progress.
We turned south again at the West Fork of the Carson River, not a trivial
navigational task without a clear view through the forest and without a GPS. As
we followed this long side canyon up towards its southern end, the
trees dwindled
and we had a panoramic view of the jagged peaks making up the Sierra
Crest at the end of the canyon. We had some difficulty at first determining
which was The Nipple, but after studying our map again, Matthew was able to
correct my initial misjudgement and set us on the right course for the peak's
North Ridge. We passed a few
lone trees on our way to a shallow saddle where
we gained views of both
Markleeville and
Jeff Davis peaks. Snowmobile tracks
criss-crossed over the saddle, a popular shortcut between this valley and the
larger Hope Valley to the east. The tracks stopped where the North Ridge grew
steeper, and it was not without
modest difficulty that we were able to pass an
icy section and gain the easier slopes above to the summit.
It was just after 10:15a when we reached the summit, and we considered our three hour ascent time a fairly good omen for the rest of the day's objectives. The wind was blowing stiffly from the south, and where we were protected while climbing the North Ridge, we were now in the full face of the icy blast. We climbed the easy summit plug making up the prominent nipple seen from a distance, signing into the register hurriedly before descending and huddling on the leeward side of the formation. The views were really quite grand in all directions, the snow making the surrounding Wilderness far more foreboding than it appears in the summertime. There were more than a dozen easily recognized peaks on three sides, and it was only the peaks far to the south that we could not identify.
We headed off the southeast side of the peak,
taking the most direct line
towards Jeff Davis Peak a few miles to the east. Fortunately the slope was
easy to negotiate (being the standard route up in the summer), and in less than
ten minutes I was well down and into the more protected areas below the east
side of the crest. Matthew was a bit slower in
following, having lost my tracks
at one point, then back tracking a short way to find where I had made my way
back down to
the trees. We crossed Blue Lake Road, another heavily used
snowmobile route, where a
stop sign stuck up ludicrously from the snow alongside
it. As if to mock me, two snowmobiles zoomed by while I waited at the stop sign
for Matthew to catch up again. We headed up the
easy slopes towards
Jeff Davis, arriving at the base of the formation just before noon.
Most of the huge summit plug was snow free, likely due to the vertical nature
of most of it in combination with its exposure to the wind. We took off our
snowshoes and left them with our poles at the base while we went about figuring
out how to climb the thing. The plug is about 100ft high and most sides, while
not exactly overhanging, are darn close to vertical. The rock is volcanic in
nature, and consequently not very solid, so it is unlikely that much climbing
has been done on it other than the standard route from the south.
Matthew had been to Jeff Davis before, but turned back on his summertime solo
effort when he deemed a rope more appropriate for the stiff class 4 route. We
had some trouble identifying the start - or rather Matthew had
forgotten just where he'd gone up - and we wandered about the south side
checking it all out before deciding we had several options. We climbed a short
class 3 section which led to some loose class 2 junk which led up to
the start
of the crux class 4 section. This 40-foot section was not very appealing. There
were plenty of knobs that would make this a cinch on more solid rock, but it
was unnerving to find that not all of them were solid. Heading up first, I
decided a slow and cautious approach would be necessary. I clung to three holds
at a time, assuming anyone of which might give way and require me to recover
with the other two - if two happened to give way, that would have been the end
of the matter. I headed up the near-vertical section following the main crack
which offered some handjams and felt more reassuring than the knobby holds.
I was fortunate (and thankful) that none of the knobs broke off on me, though
one did let go from under Matthew in his turn. I climbed up to a large boulder
that had three
rap slings around it, settled myself in and called to Matthew
to start up. The small alcove I squatted in had no solid place to rest, and I
found my hands breaking off crumbly pieces as I tried to steady myself against
the walls. I felt bad knocking pebbles and sand down on Matthew, even calling
out "Rock!" several times as larger pieces the size of marbles went down. Why
he didn't curse me out, I can't say.
From the small alcove, it looked like I could crawl through a hole in the back
of it rather than trying to shimmy up the dicey wall just outside. Matthew
confirmed with our route beta that this was indeed the way to go. As I turned
to crawl up it, the axe in my pack struck the ceiling and a 10-lb piece of
dirt and rock came down on my hand. I let out a small scream as my first
impression was that the cave was collapsing upon me. My hand smarted, but the
insulated leather gloves I was wearing saved them from any serious harm.
Without further
incident I wriggled up through the rocks and came out on a wide ledge, without
any apparent way to go from there. When Matthew joined me, we once again
consulted the route beta which confirmed what looked like our best option - up
a 15-foot squeeze chimney. The crack was so narrow it didn't look
possible to
get ourselves up it. I left my pack on the ground and squeezed through the
bottom opening before being able to stand up inside the crack. It looked a bit
daunting, but I soon realized that it was so narrow it would be almost
impossible to fall in it. Matthew asked if we should bring the rope up for a
rappel, but I told him it seemed pretty safe.
To prove the point I suspended myself
by my shoulders between the two walls while my feet dangled below me. After I
made my way up I paused to take a few pictures of
Matthew in his effort.
From the top of the crack it was an easy climb up to
the summit.
It was 12:45p when we reached the top amidst a ferocious wind. We had been
partially protected from the wind during the hardest parts, but once we reached
the top we got a taste of its full fury. We could stay at the summit only a
few minutes. I perused the register dating back to 1985, noting ours was the
only entry in any of the months from November through June. The peaks was not
only not climbed in winter, it wasn't climbed in spring and hardly at all in
the fall. We took pictures in a hasty fashion and beat a retreat back down. At
the rock with slings attached, we broke out the rope, choosing to rappel rather
than downclimbing the crux. The rappel was great fun.
After we regained the base and put on our snowshoes, we headed north along
the crest joining Jeff Davis to Markleeville Peak. While technically the easiest
of the three peaks, Markleeville was also the highest and our tired bodies
protested on the entire drive to the summit. The wind was absolutely howling.
Matthew lost his cap while trying to add more clothes. Not far from the summit,
I dropped a down mitten while putting on another jacket and watched the wind
fling it down the eastern slope of the summit. I ran after it, and luckily it
had snagged on a piece of wind-blown ice to save me a good quarter mile chase
down the hill. Matthew had caught back up to me as I got back to where I'd
dropped my pack and started for the summit just ahead of me.
It was 3p when we reached the last of our three summits. The top was broad,
rounded, and covered in snow. Having no clue where to look, we made no effort
to dig for a register. The wind was blowing fiercely, as much as 40mph by our
amateur guesses. We took a few quick
photos and started down. I headed
NW off the summit, figuring I'd shoot for the quickest route down to Charity
Valley and Blue Lakes Road below. I hadn't bothered to look closely at the
topo to determine we were heading down one of the steeper sides. The slope
grew a bit spicy for snowshoes and Matthew hesitated while he watched me pick
my way through some rocky sections as I lowered myself towards a chute whose
slope we could not see fully from above. At this point I was glad we had lugged
our crampons and axes along, and I wasted little time in switching footgear.
Above, Matthew took a seat and started to do the same. When I had
my snowshoe-laden pack reshouldered, I started down, tentatively at first, but
soon taking deep plunge steps in what turned out to be ideal snow for such a
descent. No cliffs were encountered, and in only a few minutes I was safely
below at the
broad runout.
Matthew was another ten minutes in coming down, and
eventually we took a
short break in the trees to get out of the wind and give
Matthew a chance to switch back to his snowshoes.
In Charity Valley we came across a gorgeous home
of recent construction that
stood upon a small knoll in the valley among a small group of trees. It had
a sweeping view of the Sierra Crest to the west, Round Top rising above all
from behind the crest. Everything was winter white, with a smooth blanket across
the whole meadow. It seemed hard to imagine a more idyllic home than this one.
As we headed west across
the valley,
it was now 4p and the sun was dropping ever
lower in the west. In the two additional hours that it took for us to return,
we watched the sun set and a full moon
rise as darkness set in. There was
sufficient light from the moon to guide our return without headlamps, and I
enjoyed
the landscape even as the temperature dropped and our extremities grew
quite cold. I paused periodically to take timed exposure shots of the moon and
moonlit peaks. It took a good five minutes for my fingers to recover from the
exposure when I removed my mitten to take a shot.
We were back at 6:15p, an eleven hour outing that had turned out remarkably well despite the winds. With an approaching storm, this turned out to be the only successful day we had all weekend - but thankfully it was enough to make the weekend memorial.
For more information see these SummitPost pages: The Nipple - Da-ek Dow Go-et - Markleeville Peak
This page last updated: Sat Aug 2 20:33:08 2008
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