Climbing in the Shadow of Giants

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THE HISTORY ---

In August of 1931, four intrepid mountaineers bushwhacked up the North Fork of Lone Pine Creek in the Sierra Nevada to attempt an ascent of the sheer, east ramparts of Mt. Whitney, at 14,496 feet, America’s highest peak outside of Alaska. Co-leading the team was Dr. Robert Underhill, a Harvard mathematician and expert mountaineer. His associate was the legendary Norman Clyde, the man credited with more first-ascents in the Sierra Nevada than anyone then or now. Rounding out the party was Glen Dawson and Jules Eichorn, two energetic 19-year-old lads who had already proven their mettle on prior Sierra Club climbing outings.

From the vantage of Iceberg Lake, Underhill and Clyde scoped out weaknesses in Whitney’s imposing face: Scramble up to that notch; then up that ramp; traverse over to there… Yes, it looked like they could make it go. So without further ado, they tied into the ropes—Clyde and Eichorn on one, Underhill and Dawson on the other—and started climbing. Four hours later, they were on the summit.

This first ascent was monumental, for it blew wide open what was possible in the High Sierra when it came to technical rock climbing. At the time, Sierra Nevada climbers were still primarily “peak baggers”, traversing snow fields and scrambling up slabs and ledges. Sometimes they roped up, but that was more for mental security than anything else. God forbid they take a nasty fall. Nobody knew how to build a good anchor or execute a proper belay. In fact, as far as I know, none of them had ever hammered a piton into stone. But Robert Underhill changed all of that in 1931. He had spent several years climbing in the Swiss Alps, where modern rock climbing was in a Renaissance. When he returned to the States, he used those new skills to put up impressive routes in the Grand Tetons. Then he came to California and introduced those concepts to the elite Sierra Club climbers: building anchors; the use of pitons; proper belay techniques. In that August of 1931, Underhill, Clyde, Dawson and Eichorn made history, putting up three new technical ascents in the High Sierra, the Mt. Whitney route being the star on the Christmas tree. A new era had begun.

For this reason, the East Face of Whitney stands as one of the “50 Greatest Climbs in North America.” A classic, steeped in history. I had done the route twice already, but it was worth doing again if Terry was game—which didn’t take much convincing. And as soon as Doug discovered what we were up to, he was on board. Doug would turn out to be a valuable asset on the trip, for to him, humping a 55-pound backpack up the mountain was a stroll in the park, a task he could fit in before breakfast. I took advantage of that wonderful talent.


THE CLIMB ---

We arrived at Whitney Portal on the afternoon of July 13th, a fierce sun burning down on us. Lone Pine had been pushing 103 degrees; Death Valley was a sizzling 118. Who was going to complain about 86 degrees at the Portal? Later in the day, we stopped by Doug Thompson’s store for beer and burgers. It had been six years since I’d seen him last and it was good to catch up on things. He showed me the framed, 8x10 photograph of a Peninsular bighorn sheep that our mutual amigo, Bernie McIlvoy, had given him. How Bernie captured this incredible shot is a story in itself. It had its own special place on the wall, between the kitchen pick-up window and an array of postcards depicting Mt. Whitney and black bears breaking into automobiles.

We bivouacked at the Portal campground and rose with the sun. The trudge up the North Fork was dreadfully hot, though as we gained elevation, a cool breeze commenced to make life more tolerable. Upper Boy Scout Lake sparkled like a jewel. Since we had plenty of food and time to spare, we decided to camp here and move on up to Iceberg Lake in the morning. An elderly gentleman and his granddaughter were fishing near the outlet of the lake, and they appeared to be having good luck. The man stopped by our camp after supper. He gave us a nice-sized trout, a perfect treat for breakfast. Russ Anderson was his name, and he was celebrating his 77th birthday. Interesting fellow. We swapped mountaineering stories while alpenglow filled the sky and then the stars came out. Day’s end is a magical time in the High Sierra.

In the morning we broke camp and started up to Iceberg Lake. Above 12,000 feet, Terry and I began to feel the effects of altitude. Compounding the misery, my pack weighed 59 pounds—we had brought way too much food—and my back was giving me problems. I just can’t carry the heavy loads like I used to. As for Doug, he just kept going, and going…

We arrived at Iceberg Lake to find it partially frozen. Three tents were pitched in separate campsites among the boulders. We snagged an empty site enhanced with stone windbreaks, enough room to pitch two tents and a primo view onto the lake. Close at hand, Mt. Whitney rose majestically into the sky, and from where we were situated, I could easily point out the East Face route to Terry and Doug. Suffice to say that Doug appeared a little pensive: he’d never climbed anything higher than a two-pitch crag at Joshua Tree.

Come morning, we didn’t get out of camp as early as I’d hoped. Doug led the scramble up to the rocky notch at the base of First Tower. Upon reaching it, however, the expression that swept across his face was priceless.

“Now where?” he asked nervously, peering down at the abrupt, 1,000-foot drop on the other side of the notch.

“We go that way,” I answered, pointing to the right, where a trace of narrow, sloping ledges traversed across the side of the First Tower.

Doug gave the traverse a dubious study. Both he and his mom had that “what am I getting myself into” look. And they are not the first. The opening pitch of the East Face is a duzy. Wakes you right up.

We flaked out the ropes and I started across the Tower Traverse around 9:00, deep blue sky overhead, a colossal abyss below. Doug came across next, then Terry. Both were in a jolly mood when they reached my belay station. Next came the Washboard, and we made quick work of it. The infamous Fresh Air Traverse was exciting as always—Doug was really stoked, emitting a resounding “Whoohoo!” as he stemmed across the void. After that, however, our momentum languished. Terry spent considerable time cleaning a stopper in the chimney pitch after the Fresh Air Traverse (when I set ‘em, I set ‘em good). I wasted more time conquering the final 5.7 off-width at the top of the Grand Staircase. Then finding the correct route up through the summit blocks became an issue.

Terry: “So where’s the summit, Gramps?”

Ron: “It’s gotta be up here somewhere.”

Terry: “Hmmmm.”

In the end, it was Trailblazer Doug who found the way, and he was grinning ear to ear to be the first to stand on top.

Happily, we all summited in time to witness a spectacular sunset. There wasn’t another soul on the peak, only blissful silence. We coiled the ropes; took summit photos; watched the last of the day being cast upon Mt. Russell in golden hues. And then it was time to go.

We located the new rappel slings that had been installed the day before by another party (our neighbors at Iceberg Lake). This allowed us to avoid the steep, snow-covered descent slabs. In fact the rappel went so smooth, I sacrificed some slings and we did two more raps down ledges along the right side of the gully, the last one putting us directly into the notch at the top of the Mountaineer’s Route. From there it was a headlamp descent down snow and rock, arriving at our encampment around 11:00. We crawled into our tents directly. It had been a long day.

The next morning we packed up and started down, running into SCMA mates Ben Chapman, Alex Smirnoff, Cory Harelson and Nick Foster at Clyde Meadows. Small world. They were heading up to climb routes on Whitney and Russell. Ominous clouds, though, were spilling over the Whitney Crest, and upon reaching the Ebersbacher Ledges, it began to rain. Wet rocks with full packs: That was interesting.

Weather impediments aside, we reached the Portal safe and sound. We drove down to Lone Pine, giving a lift to a backpacker who had just finished the John Muir Trail, and took dinner at the Totem Café. Then it was the long trail home.

THE INTERVIEW ---

Back at the ranch, one question kept coming back to nag me. I had researched the first ascent of the East Face, reading Norman Clyde’s personal account, studying old photographs. Throughout all of this material, there was never any mention, nor evidence in summit photos, that the first-ascent party used any pitons whatsoever. I tried to envision Underhill and Clyde, with their clunky boots and old static ropes, climbing up to 5.7 with no protection... That would be bold, cutting-edge climbing for the day.

I called RJ Secor, Mr. High Sierra himself, to see what he knew.

“No, I don’t think they used any pitons,” said RJ. “You should call Glen and ask him.”

That would be Glen, as in Glen Dawson, one of the four to make the first ascent. Now 97, he lives a quiet life in Pasadena. He is also an honorary member of the SCMA, and lo and behold, there was his phone number on the club roster! So I called him.

“Mr. Dawson? Good evening, sir…”

How else would you address a living legend? We spoke for some time. His mind was lucid, as keen as a forged knifeblade. He spoke of that day 78 years ago like it was yesterday: an adventurous 19-year-old kid climbing with Dr. Underhill, the accomplished mountain climber.

“Underhill had climbed extensively in the Alps,” Glen told me. “He taught me how to belay like they were doing it in Europe.”

Finally I got around to asking him about the pitons. Did they use any on the first ascent of the East Face?

“I don’t believe so. No, we didn’t use any pitons.”

So there I had it. The first ascentionisits did not use pitons to protect their lead climber. In a substantial fall, he would’ve met with serious injury or death. Today, the daunting traverses at First Tower and Fresh Air are protected with fixed pitons, and I tried to envision myself passing those pins without clipping them. Nope. Not a chance. One could say that when I do these old classic routes, I’m merely climbing in the shadow of giants.

THE RECORD ---

This was my sixth ascent of Mt. Whitney, but by no means does it set any record. Listed below are the other five occasions and the routes taken…

East Buttress, 2003. Climbed it with Dan Kipper. Though the ascent was gorgeous and sunny, we were chased off the summit by an ominous thunderstorm, which caught us halfway down the descent in the form of a hailstorm. Nine months after our trip, Dan was killed in a climbing accident in the High Sierra. Rest in peace, my good friend.

East Face, 1996. Climbed it with Bernie McIlvoy. We camped down low at Upper Boy Scout Lake so my brother TJ could fish while we climbed. This made for a much longer approach and return, but it also meant savory trout for breakfast and dinners. (Thanks, bro!)

East Face, 1981. Again with Bernie. Drove up Friday night; hiked up to Iceberg Lake on Saturday. On Sunday, we knocked the route off in four hours; returned to camp; hiked out; drove home that night. We were in pretty good shape that summer.

Mountaineer's Route, 1980. Climbed it with Randy Willson. This is the descent route for the technical climbs along the Whitney Crest, but it is also ascended by mountaineers without need of ropes. We did it in late spring when there was ample snow, making it possible to kick-step all the way up and glacade all the way down. Whoohoo!

John Muir Trail, 1976. Spent our last night camping on the summit after a 7-day trek on the John Muir Trail, accompanied by a motley crew consisting of Bernie, Mary & Eugene McIlvoy; Beverly & Bill Warren; John Muratet; Joe Erickson; and Jean Barry (Heather’s mama).

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MORE PHOTOS---
You can view the complete photo set from the ‘09 Whitney trip here…. http://www.flickr.com/photos/91696789@N00/sets/72157621775778201/