Leading out on fine granite with Owens Valley beyond

To renew your annual membership in the Winter Club, i.e. to do your yearly Winter ascent, the climb must be at least grade III and must be done in calendar Winter, between Winter Solstice and Spring Equinox. But Asa and I feel that this distinction discourages climbing during the equally good months sandwiching Winter proper.

So it was a little cold and snowy and we wouldn’t get the “credit” for a Winter ascent. A forecasted overnight low of 20 in the town of Lone Pine, and a forecasted high of 32 on Lone Pine Peak could have been nicer. But Honey Badger don’t care about those things; we just wanted to climb the newest classic line in the range. The sun would be our warmth. After all, it was a face route, so our fingers wouldn’t have to dig deep into the cold Sierra granite cracks. And this December weekend was the time that worked best for our schedules.

The Strassman route was not put up by Strassman, but rather a Pullharder team. And you don’t need to pull that hard; it’s thin technical climbing on the Superdike. Which is not really a super dike. If it were super, like Snake Dike, it would be huge and go at 5.4. Superdike is thinner and sometimes disappears. Which makes it trickier, and better.

Enough confusion, Michael Strassman Memorial Route aka MSMR aka Superdike (6 pitches, 5.10c, grade III) is perhaps the most highly regarded of the Pullharder first ascents.  The route has been done homage by everyone who has climbed it. It’s currently the featured route on the Mountain Project Sierra page. And with good justification. The story of the route’s name is a good one, a tribute to prolific Sierra first ascensionist Mike Strassman. SP Parker, Andrew Soloman and Doug Robinson even shot a video of their climb to scatter Strassman’s ashes on an early ascent of the route.

The route’s essence is about 200 meters of climbing up a discontinuous but persistent dike on the South Face of Lone Pine Peak.  Not only were the first ascensionsts visionary to find the beautiful way up the otherwise blank granite face, but they bolted it perfectly. Not overly runout in any of the hard sections, but not sport-bolted either. You often have to pull the hard moves well above your last clip. Not to mention it was bolted in good style, ground-up.

Asa finishing up the last 5.4x pitch

So how good is the climbing on the route? Asa and I concluded that it was as good as the hyped unanimous 4-star rating it receives. Many times we would call down to each other “man you’re gonna love this part.” Or “those guys were right. This route is incredible.” Pitches 3 and 4 in particular are two of the very best alpine pitches I’ve ever climbed (in the Sierra I think the combination of quality and position compare to the last pitch of 3^rd Pillar of Dana or the hand crack on Star Trekkin’).

MSMR’s best and creative moves make use of the dike, but I’ll say that for me the cruxes were slab and they did feel hard. And the rating? A bit of banter has been had that it feels hard for 5.10c, maybe as hard as 5.11-. Certainly as an Owens River Gorge sport route it would go at 5.11. I’ll stick with 5.10+, broken down by pitch: 5.7, 10b, 10c, 10c, 10d, 5.4x. Those middle dike pitches are hard and sustained indeed, but you seldom need to pull harder. You just need to think harder and use good footwork. No pumping out, at least physically. But mental fatigue from the many successive creative moves started to creep in.

Amongst an incredible, classic set of pitches, the most memorable few moves for me was stemming the dike with my right foot and a backstepping stem on a bulge with my left foot, both smears, as I inched my way up to get to a part of the dike with a positive foothold. Oddly enough, it felt completely secure, even well above my last bolt. Maybe it was that cool December weather, giving good friction to the rubber!

No crowds but beautiful scenery: granite walls rising from white snow covered rocks, soaring into a hazeless blue sky. Wintertime is the most beautiful time in the Sierra. But we were the only car at the trailhead, and we only saw one other set of (human) footprints in the snow past the stone hut, which we quickly lost. We too often lost the snow-buried cairns and the ostensible trail (if it even exists in Summer). Our toes got very cold in the snow on the dawn approach, but the sun soon rose and warmed them. And more importantly, the scenery was incredible. Why weren’t more people out there climbing?

When I moved to California I was told the Sierra season is very short– an opinion that I have since come to confront. Sure, approaches are snow-choked before June and again starting in late September. But on good weather days, most routes are still climbable. It just might take a little more slogging to get there. Ok, there is notably less daylight in Winter, and yes it’s very cold except the very middle of the day. But during that time, you’re on the warm(ish) rock face. The weather is generally good in the Sierra with long stretches of sun and no clouds. So it’s actually pretty comfortable out there.

The first ascensionists list Spring, Summer, and Fall as the seasons for MSMR. I guess by that they mean it’s not appropriate for dry-tooling. Certainly it’s climbable in winter proper though. A Sierra Winter ascent is very different than in the Alps, where the idea of “Winter ascent” really came into being.  In the Alps, approaches are often by gondola, so it’s about a route itself in more gnar conditions, less light and unstable weather. And mixed climbing—crampons not rock shoes.

Most hard Sierra routes done in winter are climbed in rock shoes after a snowy approach. And the weather is actually usually stable in Winter in addition to sunny. The steep, sun-drenched south face of Lone Pine Peak is perfect for a Sierra Winter ascent—a quick snow approach and then time to put on the rock shoes–followed by rapping the route. MSMR starts high on the wall as well, assuring it maximum sunlight and snowmelt.

South Face of Lone Pine Peak at Sunrise. MSMR climbs the face just right of center.

So what is implied by the designation “Winter” ascent? The range matters a lot, and the Sierra weather is pretty mild by comparison, allowing for more technical climbing. In the Alaska Range this summer, it rarely got above zero at high elevations, often as cold as -15F in June. Seemingly Wintery conditions. Perhaps the coldest climb of my life was in late March one year, just after Spring Equinox. It was on Peak Uchitil in the Tien Shan and featured 30F temps and instant nose frostbite (kind of amazing to watch your partner’s nose turn white and back again as he takes his scarf off and on).

The first (and only) Winter ascent of Everest was done in December before the Solstice. So technically this was not a Winter ascent, and indeed armchair mountaineers did tell Krzysztof Wielicki he needed to wait a week or two longer to make it “count.” Shipshapangma was likewise saddled with the same absurd controversy after its first December climb—it was not technically a First Winter Ascent.

In December there is notably less light than February and March, and temps aren’t really any warmer in December either. There is probably less snow on the approach. But that might not really make it easier, as slick snow on rocks can be a problem in early Winter season. The weather on the day you climb means a lot more than the season. On our climb, temps were 5 degrees below average, but there was a bright sun and not a whole lot of wind. When it did blow, it felt like icy cutting though.

All this said, we are not claiming a winter ascent of MSMR, nor are we opening the Winter Club for the year. It’s just to say that the binary 1/0  “Winter/ not Winter” designation is somewhat arbitrary. Climbing can be just as fun and challenging in the surrounding time frame and it’s worth going out there in the pre/post season. MSMR is in the Sierra, not the Alaska range, and it gets enough sun and has a short enough approach that climbing it slightly out of prime season was a joy, not a pain. Cold fingers offset by the cold weather sticky rubber friction bonus!

Asa Firestone and Ben Horne

Dec 4, 2011

MSMR. 4 hours on route. 11h 15 min car-to-car

 

The author at one of his many "homes." East Face of Long's peak during a winter ascent of Alexander's Chimney

How do you define home? Is it where you were born? Is it where the bulk of your family remains while you are off searching for your destiny? Or is home a feeling…something you can experience regardless, and often in spite, of where you are at the moment?

The author vacationing at his winter home. West Face of Tocllaraju, Cordillera Blanca, Peru.

Scotty had clearly not trained for our trip to the Sierras. Our plan for the first day was to hike from Whitney Portal over the Whitney-Russel Col, and climb Western Front (IV, 5.10) the next day. But Scotty was a little sore in the legs when he arrived at Iceberg Lake a couple hours after me, so we set up camp next to a group of bible thumpers, who were debating what the apostles might have brought for food if they had decided to have a go at Mt. Whitney. Scotty rested in the tent while I sat outside and stared at the array of Alpine spires and walls all around us. “I kinda want to run up something,” I said, mainly just to let Scotty know that I was psyched, and not really expecting him to jump out of the tent yelling, “hell yeah, me too, lets go!” Instead he called me out and suggested, with a smug air of casualness, that I “run up” the East Face of Whitney (III, 5.7). Now I had a choice; to take Scotty’s “dare,”or sit in camp like a chump who talks shit. I sat quietly outside the tent, not really wanting to climb the 2000 feet to the summit and descend. I was unable to see Scotty but envisioned myself kicking his lazy ass for calling me out and putting me in a quandary. As if to remind me that he had not forgotten his suggestion, and pushing my buttons in classic Scotty style, his voice asked calmly through the tent wall,“so are you going to climb it? I’ll cook dinner while you do it. I bet you could get up and down before sunset. 2 1/2 hours roundtrip would be a pretty decent time.”

'uhh, yeah, I'll have dinner ready when you come down..."

I threw my climbing shoes in a small pack with  a half  liter of water, breathed a sigh of inevitable suffering, and climbed the route. Far from suffering, the climb was invigorating and sunset from the summit was surreal. There were only 2 other people up there who had just topped out the East Butress. In classic Scotty style, dinner was not ready when I returned after 2 hours, but he did have our Gatorade bottle, full of cheap whiskey, within reach. We enjoyed the remains of the day in style.

After soloing the East Face on Mt. Whitney

Similar goals make for good climbing partners. Scotty and I both had the same focus for this trip. To have fun, to climb new routes in good style, and to soak up the energy of the Sierra Nevada high country. Anyone who makes it to Trail Crest, after enduring the endless switchbacks up the Whitney trail, is rewarded with a sight of the entire Mt. Hitchcock massif. Most folks are blinded by their ambition to walk to the top of the highest mountain in the lower 48 states. While Mt. Hitchcock will continue to be overlooked by the peakbaggers, its unclimbed rock buttresses presented us with the chance to blaze new trails, to touch virgin granite, and to fulfill a desire to climb new routes in the mountains and get a taste of that (nowadays) forgotten element of climbing…exploring the vertical unknown.

The (previously) Vertical Unknown. Northeast face of Mt. Hitchcock.

To most of us and most living things, home is comfort, safety, and homeostasis. That is what we seek, and we find it in all sorts of forms. For many it’s a dwelling with amenities, others a suitable patch of land where roots can be spread and fed. Maybe its where the climate suits your clothes or where your lover waits for your return. Maybe home is your country or your state.

Scotty at home in his yellow jacket, on top of Mt. Russell, with a rooftop view of Mt. Whitney

The Warrior is at home when engaged in war, when strategy is put to action. The Pirate is at home roaming the open seas. And the climber…well that’s what many climbers ponder, even go to extremes in order to find out. I have seldom been up high in the Sierra Nevada and wished I was home. But I have often found myself in many other mountain ranges, battered by cold and bad weather, longing to be back in the Sierras where the endless climbing lies silently waiting.

playing around the pool with the West Face of Mt. Russel in the background

Western Front on Mt. Russel was stellar. We started climbing around 1pm, after the face had been sufficiently bathed in warm sunshine. Scotty flashed the crux pitch, and soon we were surmounting the final blocky terrain as the summer sun took it’s time sinking into the horizon.

All quiet in the defining corner of Western Front (IV, 5.10), West Face of Mt. Russell

Now we were sufficiently warmed up. The next morning we hiked down Arctic lakes basin, oggling the walls all around. From the Western shore of Arctic lake, we got our first complete view of Mt. Hitchcock. It was chossier looking than I had remembered, and I wondered if Scotty was thinking the same thing. But we both kept our mouths shut, because negativity never got anyone up or down a mountain, and everyone knows there is NO chossy rock in the Sierra Nevadas anyway!

1. Stoners on a train (III, 5.10) 2. Psycho Buttress (III, 5.10, c1)

Our campsite on Hitchcock Lakes was right below the massive line of beautiful virgin buttresses…mmmmm, virgin buttresses. We ate some lunch and decided to go for a late day climb since we were so close to the tempting walls. 5 hours later we reached the summit plateau via a soaring buttress. In reference to Alfred Hitchcock, we named the route Stoners on a Train (III, 5.10), after the film Strangers on a Train.  It begins slightly up and right from the toe of the buttress, aiming for a wide hands splitter. After 4 exciting pitches, we unroped and soloed along the buttress for another 350 feet until it petered out on the summit plateau.

The next day we rested and scoped. We chose the far right buttress as our next objective and stashed our gear and some water at the base late in the afternoon. The night was cool and clear with a bright moon.

Scotty finally prepares dinner, the silhouette of Psycho Buttress looms dark

We were at the base of the wall at 830 the next morning, and I set off up the first pitch, a fun corner with a traverse into splitter double cracks, about 5.10-.

Psycho Buttress

Then Scotty fought his way up a wide overhanging corner/roof, leap frogging our only #3 camalot, and probably wishing (although he will deny it to his death) for the extra #3 and #4 he had vetoed from the rack at the beginning of the trip.

"We definitely didn't need that #4" ---Scotty

2 more circuitous pitches brought us to the center of the buttress and the headwall.

Scotty on the insane "Norman Bates Roof" pitch

What had looked like a splitter section of fissured vertical rock from below, now revealed its true nature. Blocks, from the size of a microwave to the size of a car, were ever so neatly slotted into place. As I started up the pitch, a wave of calmness swept away the reality of the situation.

A heady lead up the headwall

While the climbing was no harder than 5.9, every move required a delicate concentration in order to avoid riding one of the big blocks off the wall and down onto Scotty’s head. Before committing to some of the looser sections, I would take in my surroundings…the awe-inspiring high Sierra, capped by a cerulean sky, flooded with crisp alpine air, and Scotty, who appeared and disappeared from view as I weaved up the wall. I was home. Where my epinephrine and norepinephrine are in balance, where my mind has room to roam and reason to focus, and the end of the pitch “lies waiting silently for me.”

The water is good at home

My head was clear as I brought Scotty up the pitch. The small boulder I was anchored to and the granite I sat on might as well have been the leather couch in my living room and the radio…the slight breeze my favorite song playing on the intergalactic station, while the sun warmed my bones better than any fireplace or space heater. When Scotty got up to the belay my home was complete, because no matter what you tell yourself, home is always better when you can share it with others.
After scrambling a couple hundred feet to the summit plateau and traversing across the entire backside to get to our descent gully, we ran into Mike Pennings and Josh Finklestien, who had just pioneered some new routes on Mt. Chamberlin. They told us about a route—a 5.12— they had put up on Mt. Hitchcock on a buttress we had not yet gotten to, and gave us cookies! Mike suggested we climb a line to the left of it, which he swore would be “5.10 hands.” We got back to our campsite as the afternoon sun dipped behind Mt. Hitchcock and keeping with the trend, decided to name our new line Psycho Buttress (III, 5.10-, C2). I am sure that a stronger party will free the line at somewhere around 5.11-.

A fitting end to the day

Scotty’s knee was mysteriously swollen and painful the next day, so I shouldered the bulk of our weight and we began the miserable hike over Trailcrest back to Whitney Portal. The throngs of people hiking to Mt. Whintney’s summit quickly put an end to our wilderness experience and we hoofed it back to the portal in time for a burger and fries. After a long day’s hike, it was good to finally be back to another home, the Eastern Sierra, where the beer is colder than the air and you wake up to a view of sunlit adventure.

Scotty, always at home in his yellow jacket, with the Eastern Sierra behind