I had finished my first year of teaching. The two month summer seemed to stretch out in front of me like two years. I spent Saturday morning finishing up with classroom cleanup. I had worked for the last 13 days straight, and it felt strangely sinful to drive off into the northern horizon. I hung out around Tuolumne for a bit while George closed up at the grill, and then we were off, winding through the park some two hours to the Mono Meadows trailhead.
We hiked the first few miles away from the setting sun, and down to Illioute Creek. After the mild winter, crossing the creek was no problem at all. We scampered a few hundred feet up the opposite side and setup camp at last light. For the first time I slept in the tarp I had made over the winter. I felt the apprehensive calm on the first night of a new adventure, one that would be much longer than just this 48 hour trip. I slept soundly and peacefully dreaming of the Sierra.
We went back and forth a bit on how best to order our trip. Finally, we decided on heading up Starr King first, and then making our way part of the way up Clark. Starr King went smoothly, George seemed unfazed by the runout slab lead with little protection. With the protection of the top rope, I was quite comfortable as well. From the summit, we were treated to panoramic views of the Merced watershed, from Yosemite Valley, to the Clark Range.
Perhaps, Starr King went a bit too smoothly. Our egos were inflated after making quick work of Starr King, and we decided to leave the rope in the bushed somewhere along the way to Clark. We turned off trail, and started the long wandering off trail approach. The going was good for being off trail, but still, it took us a while to make mileage here. The heat bore down on us, especially through the burn zones. The sun mercifully lowered in the sky, and a second wind overcame us. We reached a spot high on the ridge northwest of Clark, and found an idyllic camp spot. We were on the edge of the forest, but somehow also at the edge of a cliff from which we could see clear from the valley to the cathedral range.
We awoke early the next morning, knowing we had a lot of ground to cover. We scraped together what little climbing gear we had left, after leaving most of it in the bushes far below. I brought my helmet, my shoes and a 30ft sling. George had his helmet and a few cams. Our progress was steady at first, but slowed dramatically as we approached the summit. Bob Burd had described this route as having just a short bit of 4th class, so we hemmed and hawed for a bit, finding only fifth. I put on my climbing shoes, and left my pack.
We made a series of moves, but found only more difficult climbing above us. At one point, George yelled down that he could not find a good route, and seemed to suggest turning around. Against my better judgement, I came up to have a look, and found a tough but doable route through the jam. We found ourselves high on the peaks airy northwest ridge, and from there it was easy third to the summit. The views were incredible, but we did not revel or celebrate for long.
I was scared because I knew the climbing had been right on the edge of my ability, George was plenty confident in the climbing, but had a healthy dose of fear for the awesome exposure. I lowered myself to the top of the first move, and after thinking for a while, I reversed it without much trouble. On the second crux, we dangled the sling, so we could catch it if need be. Luckily neither of us needed to weight it. We moved through the rest of the “fourth class” section in similar fashion, and were both immensely relieved when we reached my backpack on solid ground. Later, I would find out that everyone except for Bob Burd seems to consider the route 5.6.
It was a long ways back to civilization, but we made good time. We spoke most of the time in Mandarin, of which I speak very little. Nonetheless, George was patient in teaching new phrases. We recovered our gear in the bushes, and took a celebratory dip in the Illouette River.
The sky mercifully filled with clouds, and even dropped a tiny bit of water on us as we ascended back to the parking lot. I would have loved to stay around, but unfortunately I had to go to a teaching training in San Francisco the following day. Out of the paradise of the Sierra all too quickly, and into the dystopian land of AI and robotic cars. Luckily, I would be back in 72 hours time, and then full freedom would be mine. My appetite was piqued now. The appetizer was delicious. I savored the taste in my mouth. Very soon now, my summer in the Sierra could begin in earnest.
