I have always been fascinated with how far our bodies can take us. The trend of “link-ups;” combining objectives, activities and summits into one long adventure, is right up my alley. It is a creative way to look at the same lines and mountains we have gawked at as climbers for years. That being said, there is no better canvas than the alpine wonderland of the Sierra mountain range in California. A human powered link-up of Peter Croft’s “Big Four Free Climbs” of the high Sierra is something I have dreamt of for years and it took me just as long to convince someone to join me. With the COVID 19 pandemic cancelling several trips I had planned, this summer seemed like as good a time as any to give it a shot. Luckily for me, when I called Eric to propose the trip he needed no convincing.
The final days of July found me driving through the vast and empty expanses of Nevada, binge listening to The Enormocast in search of motivation. As I sped over Sagehen Summit, I got my first good look at the crest of the Sierra Nevada and the adventure I had somehow convinced Eric to try. We met in Tuolumne after he wrapped up his day as a Climbing Ranger in Yosemite Valley. With a view of the Cathedral Range, we hastily packed a laughable variety of gear: cams, nuts, ropes, backpacks, panniers, bikes, chains, tubes, helmets, running shoes, running pack, trekking poles, sunscreen, sun hoodies and sunglasses. The only thing we left out was the tent. With a splitter forecast and our fingers crossed, we made the bold and hopeful decision to leave it behind. Looking over the map, we planned our bike drop and wrapped our heads around the distance we hoped to cover. ”Ohh yeah, one more thing,” Eric said. “I have to be back to work, in the valley, in 8 days.” “Ha, perfect!” I reply, “I have to be back in Utah the same day.” With no tent and no time for rest or error, the stage was set.
One final logistical hurdle remained: how to get a vehicle to Lone Pine. Fortunately some friends were visiting Eric and agreed to shuttle our vehicle. The ideals of a self-supported mission are admirable but the reality gets murky quickly. Getting dropped off at a trailhead, having a car shuttled to our finish line, and all the supplies and nourishment we purchased along the way complicates the meaning of “self-supported”. Poised on the precipice of this massive undertaking, I felt gratitude for our supportive community and for the infrastructure allowing us to embark on such an adventure.
The complexities of packing for such a varied trip lead to a California alpine start of 9 AM. We were finally on our way to the Incredible Hulk, the first of our 4-fold objective. We had discussed climbing the modern classic Positive Vibrations, but left it as a game time decision. Once at the base, we counted four parties on Positive Vibes and three on the Red Dihedral. The alpine style of the Red Dihedral is more conducive to passing parties, and so we stuck with the true big four and set our sights on the beautiful and prominent red corner. Eric struggled to keep us on route in his excitement to push the rope higher as I panted behind, remembering what climbing at 12,000 feet feels like. Nonetheless the climbing went smoothly, although more challenging than either of us expected. We passed two parties, both times taking alternates to the standard line, finding grainy but quality climbing. A party of four greeted us on the summit, as we clambered up the final chimney. We bummed a rappel on their line, ran down the couloir setting off avalanches of scree with every step, packed up and hiked on. Roughly twenty miles of cross country walking remained between us and Mt. Conness.
On day two we passed through some of the most impressive high country I’ve seen, crossing multiple passes, down the beautiful and untrammeled Spiller Canyon, over “Don’t Be a Smart Pass” and down to Roosevelt Lake at the base of Mt. Conness. After two days of continuous movement, we began to glimpse what we were up against.
While enjoying a beautiful alpine sunset on the shore of Roosevelt Lake, we discussed the state of the world, from COVID to racism, relationships to sexual assault. I have always been the person to steer the conversation away from climbing around a fire in Camp 4, and after this conversation in the midst of such an undertaking, I knew Eric and I had more than a love for suffering in common.
Day three began with a hike up and down the descent couloir to drop our packs near the summit of Mt. Conness. After leading the first pitch, I hung, belaying Eric as he cast off into the crux hand and finger cracks. A party arrived at the base and asked what time we left that morning, assuming we had beat them out of the parking lot. I vaguely responded, “well, we walked from the Hulk.” The guy paused, and replied, “the Hulk! Isn’t that like twenty miles from here?” “Yep,” I said. “What, are you going to walk to Whitney next?” he asked. I laughed and proceeded to explain our pipe dream. Perplexed by our masochism, they gave us extra space on the route.
The route follows a proud line of chimneys and offwidth cracks in the middle of the Southwest Face of Mt Conness and features every style of climbing. The notorious 5.10 offwidth on the fifth pitch will have you gasping, the technical crux is pulling through steep roofs on pitch two, and the crack transition on pitch 6 is as exciting as it gets. Four hours later, and we had finished the second of our four climbs. Half the routes down, though not nearly halfway home. We ran to our stashed gear, stuffed our faces, packed quickly and headed down to our bicycles.
The full moon rising over the Mono-Inyo Craters, while biking south on HWY 395
My car, stashed at Sawmill Campground, was loaded with bikes, panniers, fresh clothes, water and a bluetooth speaker for an external boost to our fatigued bodies. We dumped everything out of our packs and retooled for the next leg of our journey. Stuffing our gear into panniers and strapping whatever did not fit to the frame, we started rolling down to Lee Vining. With daylight to spare we ripped the massive descent down Tioga Pass, hoping anything haphazardly attached to the bikes would hold on for the 50 mph descent. After a long day hiking up and down Mt. Conness, climbing 9 pitches, hiking out, repacking and riding 13 miles down Tioga Pass, the evening found us on the front porch of the Mono Market, happily munching Monoritos, chips, kombuchas, beers and microgreens. As we ate, a North wind ripped down highway 395. We had to take advantage of it. The full moon rose over the Mono/Inyo Craters as we rode another ~20 miles into the darkness; our legs trembled as our dreams moved us forward.
We tried to convince ourselves the 50 mile ride to Bishop on the morning of day four would provide us with some “rest.” As we waited for Eric’s bottom bracket to get replaced, a long neglected repair, we caught up on calories and hid from the 105 degree heat. At this point I was beat, both physically and mentally, ready to sleep at any opportunity. The problem was, our goal for the day was the North Fork of Big Pine Creek Trailhead, which felt worlds away. Soaking in the canal convinced us we were ready and at 4pm, dripping wet from swimming in our clothes, we were back in the saddle again. The 16 miles to Big Pine went painfully but quickly. As we started up the Glacier Lodge Road, the intensity turned up to 11. A 3,800 foot, relentlessly steep climb over 10 miles in 100 degree heat towered above us. As we climbed I found myself reconsidering my excitement for our “adventure.” With every pedal stroke, gasp for air, and pull on my sweaty handlebars my motivation plummeted along with the strength in my quads. We did not make it to the trailhead that night. At nightfall, our souls crushed, we gave into the heat and unrelenting steepness, collapsing on the side of the road. Hungry, tired, and defeated we sat just a few miles shy of the trailhead. Neither of us spent a day on a bicycle to prepare for this trip and we were paying for it. We convinced ourselves sleep was the answer and vowed to try again in the morning.
Five a.m. of day five rolled around too fast. I felt as though I had been run over by a train, so thrashed by the previous four days I couldn’t bear the thought of biking again, let alone hiking three thousand feet and then climbing another two thousand. Eric conjured some caffeine-steeped motivation to say, “let’s just try and get to the trailhead.” And so began the deconstruction of objectives into the smallest pieces, tricking our brains and bodies into putting one foot in front of the other. We dug deeper into the pain cave, with a combination of stubbornness and stupidity. In Kate Rutheford’s words, “My coping mechanism now, is to just start starting.” After a delirious and incoherent morning, fueled by Anderson Paak and a repetitious inner monologue, we arrived at the base of Dark Star on Temple Crag. Anyone who has approached this route understands how daunting it looks, two thousand feet of headwall, ridgeline, gendarmes, and loose rock. Nonetheless, we willed ourselves upwards, hoping this to be the crux of the trip. With a surge of optimism, we said “Once on top, we will ride the momentum through to Keeler!” We tied in and once more set our sights high above, to the summit.
It was six hours of crystal pulling and ridge romping fun. For how bad we felt, we moved amazingly fast. The climbing up the steep lower buttress follows intricate and technical 5.10 climbing, features appear just when you need them most. Above this, we coiled half the rope and simulclimbed through endless low fifth-class terrain. After down-climbing a rappel, we reached a notch. Due to an honest sandbag, we wrongly assumed we were at the final headwall before the summit, but the terrain before us did not match the topo. Struggling to locate the “last” 5.8 pitch, we realized our mistake. Eric and I shared a brief, demoralized look. With no option but up, we settled for moving instead of crying. “Just start starting,” again and again. Two hours later we crested the summit ridge. We lingered on the summit, taking in the craggy majesty of the Palisades, but at this point in the trip there was no time to spare. Each minute spent on the summit, at the base, sorting our gear, or taking a breath was one less minute of chipping away at the next day’s objectives. After high 5’s and summit selfies we kept moving, racing to beat nightfall to our bikes and down the Glacier Lodge Road.
Crushed by the day’s effort, we only made it to Big Pine that night. Sleeping had been the smallest challenge up to this point, our weary bodies took any rest offered. This night was the exception. We got hammered by mosquitoes, drenched by park sprinklers, kept awake by a pair of hooting Western Screech Owls, and constantly reminded of the proximity of a major highway. Lethargic and groggy from a sleepless night, we were back on the bikes at six in the morning.
Biking up the Whitney Portal Road
The ride to Lone Pine was surprisingly pleasant, no wind and a steady downhill grade allowed us to fly while the speaker pumped out a steady flow of hip hop and podcasts. We refueled our bodies with iced-coffee and milk shakes, checked in with loved ones, topped off our supplies and moved on. We had one final climb with a day and a half to do it: 4,200 feet by bike, 4,500 feet on trail, and 2,000 feet on rock. We pedaled from creek to creek, cooling our body temperature by taking dips in our sun hoodies, our personal swamp coolers. The climb to the Portal went better than expected, be it strength gained or a desensitization to suffering, we made it to the trailhead in the early afternoon. With ample time to prepare for the following day, our first order of business was naptime. Post nap, while drinking beer and snacking, we packed our bags, ordered double bacon cheeseburgers from the Portal Grill and tried to build the confidence needed to finish what we started. Ahead of us was certainly the most challenging and time consuming of the four climbs, the infamous Harding Route on the Keeler Needle. “Bring your wide game” Mountain Project says, and at 5.10+ and 15 pitches it would surely be a formidable opponent for our fatigued state.
After a good night’s sleep and the only restful afternoon of the week, we still felt like crap. The hole we had dug ourselves into was deeper than what a single afternoon of rest could fill. Within a few hundred feet I was hiking with my knees splayed outwards, attempting to use any muscle other than my quads. I was dizzy, hungry, barely lucid, and deeply tired. But as the sun rose, bathing us in gentle peach alpenglow, we were on our way. This was not the “momentum” we had hoped for on top of Temple Crag, but it was something. A blinding determination to accomplish our goal coupled with a deep fear of returning should we be unable to finish.
We sat at the base of the climb by 8:15 a.m.. Breathing deep, we tied in and racked up. It was the worst I have ever felt roping up for a climb. In our delirium, we started completely off-route. Passing multiple “booty” bail anchors, we continued off-route for 5 pitches. Eric had climbed this route before, 9 years prior, only narrowly avoiding an epic. When he yelled down, “your guess is as good as mine” to answer where the next pitch went, I could only smile with frustration and let the rope slide through the grigri. Eric led us up a loose corner propelled only by the knowledge that bailing would require us to cover the same vertical gain again. “A new direct start variation,” we said, as we kept moving in an incoherent, choss and fear filled quest to the top. By the red corner, one of the best pitches of the route, we were finally back on track. The fixed pitons demonstrating someone had passed here before, even the worst pin provided an unreasonable boost. We cruised through the crux, too tired to remove our small day packs, slamming them into the flaring crack and chimney in order to stay plastered to the wall. With music blaring, we crawled to the top, pitch by pitch.
Early in the afternoon, we desperately ringlocked a steep splitter, the final pitch of 5.10 to easier climbing and the tip of the needle. The summit of Keeler is a stack of loose blocks and scree, far worse than the infamous choss of Temple Crag. Perhaps it was my lack of balance and dizziness, but this was not the top out I had hoped for. We spent the last of our equilibrium delicately dancing over teetering boulders and hanging scree.
Once on top, a wail of joy, relief and excitement erupted from within. Tears streamed from my eyes in a combination of exhaustion and the release of physical and mental stress pent up over the last week. I belayed Eric to the summit with yips, cheers, and a big hug. The weight of the whole adventure rolled from my hips to the ground with my harness, my alpine appetite satiated for the season.
We ate what food remained and commenced to jog and stagger 10 miles down the trail. At 7:50 we were back at the trailhead. Our total time trailhead to trailhead was 6 days, 10 hours and 50 minutes. Self-supported, we had hiked 62.5 miles, biked 160 miles, climbed a total of 52 pitches or 5,700 vertical feet (depending on what guidebook you choose), and gained a grand total of 39,061 feet. At the beginning, Eric ‘s sole goal for the trip was to make it to Taqueria Los Hermanos in Lone Pine before it’s closing. An hour later, after a pedalless 4,200 foot descent, we sat with mouths full of Carne Asada forgetting the 155 hours of pain we had just endured. After 155 hours of “start startings,” we sat happily at the end of all endings.