Mt. Whitney, East Face, Regular Route

By: Nolan Jones | Climbers: Nolan Jones |Trip Dates: Labor Day, 1991

Photo: Kim Grandfield

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After a year and a half of life in So Cal, I was ready to escape back to the intermountain west. Among unfinished business was the classic East Face of Whitney. Since partners were lacking, and the rating was modest, a solo venture was in the offing. Stellar Labor Day weather was a boon.

I left Ventura with a quick dip in the ocean and a Big Ed. Then the drive to the East side and a stop at McBurger found me at Whitney Portal at sunset. Set the alarm at 5 AM and pretended to sleep in the front seat of the car. Yeah, right.

First light finds me charging up the trail with super minimal gear - climbing shoes, a quart of water, 6 power bars. My one concession to warmth was a fleece sweater. Bouncing up the trail led quickly to the branch off point, and following deer trails up through the occasional brush of an ascending drainage. I climbed the far side too early and lost a half hour, but otherwise was quickly up into the basin below the goods. The view was stark and magnificent. I picked my way, huffing and puffing up to the base of the East Face, and then up the obvious gully to the notch at the base of the headwall.

As I ate a power bar and gulped some water, I contemplated whether I really wanted to do this. Whereas most of the route was straightforward, the famous Fresh Air Traverse was still uncertain. From numerous written descriptions, I could glean no precise description of the route in this area, only that I would need to hunt around a lot at this point, display patience and judgment, and act only when certain that I had chosen the correct route. I had been assured that a true 5.0 route was available, if I could find it. As a last resort, I had to be willing to retreat. As I enjoyed the view, I also considered that there were numerous other parties on the route that day, and hopefully one of them would show me the way. I assessed the weather (clear), the time (10 am ), my feelings (solid, but cautious ) and altitude (no headache yet, huffing and puffing not too bad ) and decided to go on.

A pair had started the first pitch just as I arrived. The second was getting ready to start the pitch, and, rather eagerly I thought, allowed me to go first. The first move is a doozey - a quick pull and mantle onto a two-foot wide ledge, a perfect finger crack in the back, and 2000 feet of exposure on the left. Stimulating. I focused my attention, stood up and traversed 30 or 40 feet across a 4" wide ledge to a little chimney. I immediately thought, "I wouldn't want to reverse that!"

Up the chimney and onto easier ground, first crux completed and time to keep moving. The route reeled out pretty much as described, occasional fifth class moves in a great position. Route finding was pretty straightforward, and I was cruising the fourth class ground. It took me a couple of tries to find the easiest exit from the top of the Giant Staircase - the voices in my head definitely duked it out pretty hard to choose a 100% solid boulder move up there. Which brings you to a pedestal looking across at the Fresh Air Traverse and the true crux of the route. I pulled out the description and worked it out carefully looking at the actual rock. It still didn't make sense. With no other parties in sight, I guess I'd just have to go and look.

I traversed down into the corner, where the rock quality both degenerates and improves. Several stunning, solid cracks shoot up off the ledge, perfect when racked and roped. Further left, the wall was broken by numerous horizontal and vertical cracks, breaking into blocks and a complex geometry, and looking quite a bit less solid. This feeling wa enhanced by this little wall being undercut by deteriorating rock and a view 2000 feet into the abyss below. I took the most likely looking line and traversed over, feeling out the moves nervously. A 5.7 move got me around an outside corner, then it got worse. I quickly reversed the move and worked back to the notch. Hmmm, maybe a little lower.

Again, I worked left thirty feet to the same dihedral, 10' lower than my last foray. The rock looked rotten and slightly damp, but at least the holds were bigger. It looked like I could hop across the little gap to a ledge, but this didn't really appeal to me. I went back to the notch to think it over, then climbed back to the pedestal to view the whole thing again. "Maybe this wasn't such a good idea," the voices said. I carefully studied the face and came up with a few more options. I went back over and tried the higher option and it became too steep, though at least solid. I tried another lower option, but this got bad quickly. And I tried my first line again, went a few moves further and scared myself pretty good before retreating. I was starting to get concerned. Thanks be to God, my ace in the hole showed up at this point, in the form of two competent climbers. They picked the beautiful steep 5.9 crack out of the notch, and I took this as a good sign, especially since the leader placed only 4 pieces in eighty feet. They didn't know where the EZ route went, but took the hint without the begging or debasement I was more than willing to stoop to at this point.

Nothing like a bowline on a coil tie-in to get you focused. Nothing like slightly overhanging jamming / liebacking at 14,000 feet to whip the piss out of you. Nothing like, with no protection in, realizing that you would have to start over from the bottom, to pull out all the stops and actually pull up the pitch and over the top, whipped, puffing and feeling like a wet noodle. I thanked the guys and they smirked a little and took off.

The upper dihedral is truly grand, and a bit devious to find the easiest route. Somewhere in there I passed my saviors, then they caught me when I got stumped at a little 5.7 chimney move that I just didn't want to make. Once again they gave me a quick rope up, and we tri-soloed to the summit. Except for the starting to pierce headache, this section was just pure alpine bliss. Popping up on the exact summit to the astounded look of 20 tourists was OK too.

From the summit, one has a grand view west to the, gulp, huge thunderhead cruising in the like the Spanish Armada. No time to lose for us dweebs with no rain gear. I was counting on making good runner's time down the path, but I hadn't counted on the piercing headache that twisted and cut with every slight impact. Alternating trotting and slinking, I made it to the final ridge just as the storm hit. With lightening flashing around us and sleet whipping us, a few other hikers and I just made it over the ridge and down onto the far side as the storm hit with full impact. Misery loves company, and it was clear we were all miserable, working our way down over the next two hours, occasionally finding sparse shelter against an overhanging rock. The storm was amazing - heavy rain, sleet, pea-hail and a great light show upon the ridge we had just left. Initial discomfort led to a complete soaking, then mild hypothermia and ultimately release in a great howling and yelling, as we got low enough to realize that we weren't going to die.

Had dinner down in town with a couple that recognized me from the wet-rat retreat, then drove off across the desert. Thus ends my brief career as a big mountain, easy route soloist.