Conquering North Palisade, by Michael A. Wong

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Conquering North Palisade, 1998
(Originally Published in Coast Views magazine)

Click here to see more photos that I took on this climb.

Can I still climb at 45? Do I still have the fire it takes to make a summit? Do I still want to climb? These questions were answered when I set off to climb North Palisade in 1992 with some good friends. The guidebooks said that it was straightforward, but when we arrived it turned out to be a climb that required a much higher level of expertise than we were at. A year later, we arrived equipped with ice screws and ropes. It was still overwhelming, and we settled for an alternate mountain. Five more years passed, and North Palisade stayed in my mind of the things that I must accomplish in my life. It's the third highest in California, and there's no easy route to its summit. I wrote a letter to Michael Humphrey of Oregon, a fellow climber and friend from high school, asking him to lead a 1000' ice climb, and that I would lead the rock climb sections. We set a date and made plans to make our attempt in late July 1998.

We started the climb about 15 miles East of Big Pine at 7750', by hauling huge and very heavy packs to Third Lake at about 10,400'. Next destination: Palisade Glacier at 12,400'. We were blessed with perfect weather and unlimited views of the galaxy and shooting stars. 3:15 a.m. arrived abruptly. We fitted the crampons to our boots, and took to the glacier at 4:50 in the morning darkness.

Two miles and two hours later, we arrived at the dreaded bergschrund (crevasse). All the guidebooks said this could be the crux, but we only had to climb up over a five-foot wall of ice. I must state that once one commits to climbing the couloir, he is now in a "Zone" that few people will ever touch. Every cell is excited and energized and believe me, "on the edge". With Michael in the lead, I trailed on the rope and followed every move. Assessing the snow / ice conditions, we opted to climb roped together, but unprotected. Towards the very top of the couloir it then became extremely steep and we protected the pitch by installing a snowfluke. At any time during this leg of the climb one bad mistake could have spelled possible death. We had made it to the "U Notch"

I was instantly intimidated by a huge 180' two-pitch rock climb, with jutting overhangs. We stripped all of our ice gear and pulled out the rock equipment. My rack had an assortment of chocks and borrowed cams designed to jam into cracks but most useful were our nylon runners (that will hold at least 1 1/2 tons) along with extra carbiners. We were the third party of three. #2 were working on the rock section but having problems finding the route that would lead us to the 14,000' ridge. They cleared the first pitch, up to a level that multiple climbers could perch. It was finally my turn. I turned to Mike and said: "Watch me flash this" and climbed up the first pitch with minimal protection in about two minutes. We asked if we could pass #2 team and did so probing for a route up the second pitch. This one proved to be much more difficult. All the years of training came back to me. I was finding jam cracks and using footholds that were invisible from below. I felt on fire knowing this was the real thing. Tying myself in, I belayed Michael up to a safe position where he then took the lead to the high ridge that gave us our first glimpse of North Palisade summit block. Mike set some chocks for protection on a slope that wasn't that dangerous.

But the consequences were immense. Below was a giant, steep snowfield we called a "Mini Glacier". If one were to slip on this easy rock ,they would also fall onto this steep snowfield and disappear forever. It wasn't worth the gamble to save time at this section. Negotiating this smooth slab, we were on the backbone, the ridge. There are huge penicles with steep drop-offs to thread our way around, always pushing the fear of making a mistake to the back of our heads, which would spell disaster. I had my eye on the summit block. It looked ominous, another huge obstacle. At times it seemed we would never see the summit. Finally past the "Razor Ridge" segment of the climb we faced the summit block. We were able to climb parts unroped but then had to face the fact the climb was nowhere near complete. I handed the lead to Mike near the top, and waited patiently, as he took precious time to climb and place chocks for protection. It seemed like forever waiting, knowing we were very close. As he belayed me up, I couldn't believe the exposure he had subjected himself to. I commented that I was glad he lead instead of me. It's true that if he'd taken a fall I would have caught him, but he would have been dangling high in mid air. "Where's the summit?" I asked. "Right up there, we'll walk up together".

We felt incredible. The camaraderie and accomplishment we felt was overwhelming. The 14,242' summit was as big as a house slanted to about 30 degrees. We signed the Sierra Club register box, so there's proof we made this lofty summit. Took pictures of each other and started searching for ways down. We hadn't talked about descending very much but it was mutual that we would repel as much as possible to conserve energy and hopefully save time. Selecting a rock outcropping to wrap a runner around, we set up over a huge overhang which would place us close to the Razor Ridge. I left a carbiner and one of my favorite runners up there (which has my name inked on it). It's possible to thread the rope through a runner for repel, but knowing we had to pull the doubled rope through I didn't want to chance it binding. There's no chance of the rope binding while clipped to a carbiner.

Finally down to the Razor Ridge. What seemed daunting on the way up was almost routine going the other direction as we searched for secure hand and foot holds to traverse on. We approached the smooth face above the mini-glacier. Mike asked: "Should we rope it up?" Looking down that unforgiving mini-glacier to oblivion, the answer was: "We have to" This put us on the top of the giant overhanging rock climb route we'd wrestled with earlier. There were some runners ready to go, but I added one more so the rope would clear the rock to avoid friction when we pulled it back through. Again it was my call to leave a carbiner up there. There was no way I wanted to have to climb back up to loosen a binding rope just to save a $5.00 piece of hardware. I had Mike examine my repel system, and all was go. I leaned way back, feet against the irregular shapes of granite and let the rope slide through my stich plate (repel / belay hardware) controlled by my right hand, the rope sliding through my fingers to control the speed. We were truly on our way down. This wasn't fun and games anymore. We faced a race against time, had to set up and repel for our lives. One more full length repel brought us to the U-Notch, top of the colour. 1000' to go, down one very steep snow couloir. We started by descending down as far as we could on sort of an island of rock and scree. We then took to the snow which wouldn't compact under our feet so the possibily to step and just keep going was very real. I was on a mission to find existing runners wrap around or bolted to the canyon walls to repel from. Mike belayed me around a corner were we lost sight of each other (which was very common on the rock portion also). I immediately found a runner, clove-hitched myself to it, and belayed Mike down to my level. Now for our first of many repels down this massive couloir. The big problem we were having was the doubled rope was coming up short to the next existing runners. This meant that after we both repelled down to the end of the rope, I would have to descend about 15' or more to the next existing runner leaving us both unprotected until I clipped into it. Mike remedied the problem by tying our short rope to the main one. The only drawback was on repel we'd have to unhook for a moment to pass the knot through our repel system half way through each repel. We got used to it.

Once in awhile I would look down onto the wide expanse of the glacier below. The sun seemed full and strong down there but we were working in freezing shade. Time was ticking, Mike reminded me to stay focused. Many repels later brought us to our last just as night was falling on us. As I leaned way back, feet against the dreaded bergschrund I just hopped down to the glacier and were finally free of the rope. We wrapped the ropes, and started the hour-plus walk down to our beloved eagles nest camp sight. The snow had deep sun cups. The consistency varied from super soft (up to the knees) to icy. It was rough going and once again darkness overtook. It just seemed forever to get back, then Mike yelled: "We're home!" I'd thought he was in the wrong place, but it turned out I was walking around the wrong boulder grouping. It was 9:30 p.m.

We took time to fill our water supply from a glacier stream. Then collapsed in exhaustion. We never had time to eat or drink much in our 16+ hour marathon adventure. Sleeping was a problem the whole expedition. That night was no different. I woke up, and found some raisins. It seemed reasonable to eat light at this point but Mike came up with the idea to cook our Mexican freeze-dried meal. First I told him forget it, but the idea stuck in our heads. "What the hell, fire up the stove" So at 3 AM we had our dinner at 12,400' elevation under the most incredible shooting stars you could imagine.

On the fourth day, we descended down a 2000' snow drainage, some on our butts, some sliding like on skis. We picked up our extra food and equipment that we had hung from a wall above Third Lake. One last meal and weight adjustments of our packs and we headed down towards the car to total 9+ miles on the day. I glimpsed back at the mountains occasionally. Thoughts about what we'd done brought tears to my eyes. I was really crying tears of joy, and couldn't stop. 8 years had gone by since the first attempt, it took that long to realize one of my biggest climbing goals. North Palisade is a great power source. By tapping into it, I feel revitalized. Life and family means more to me now than ever.

When Michael and I started this climb, I told him he's the leader of the climb. He replied: "We're a team". It's true we were a team. There was no way to climb this summit alone (at least safely). Many thanks to Michael Humphrey of Cave Junction, OR.
By: Michael A. Wong