| A Summit, a Rescue and a Friend Trip Report |
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| A Summit, a Rescue and a Friend   | 
| Page Type: Trip Report Location: California, United States, North America Lat/Lon: 34.28890°N / 117.6458°W Date Climbed/Hiked: Jan 19, 2008 Activities: Mountaineering Season: Winter | Page By: Uncleman Created/Edited: Jan 27, 2008 / Jan 27, 2008 Object ID: 375907 Hits: 868 Loading... Page Score: 88.5% - 11 Votes Loading... Vote: Log in to vote |
Origins “Mountaineering is more than climbing, panoramic views, and wilderness experience. It is also challenge, risk, and hardship.” (Mountaineering: The Freedom of the Hills 5th Edition, 1992)
Indeed, hardship. What we do in our lives is determined by individual circumstances, though mountaineers seem to have a common bond throughout. This first passage from The Mountaineer’s epic tome captures that bond in a mere two sentences. The good and the bad. What isn’t explained, until later in the book, is that this hardship can be found in almost any mountaineering environment. No route or mountain is exempt from the characteristics described in this book. So I write this tale with neither pride nor shame, but with humility, respect and determination. This is a tale of climbing, panoramic views and wilderness experience. It is also a tale of challenge, risk and hardship. My first summit, January 19th, 2008.
As many of you who read the postings on this site may know, Mt. San Antonio (more commonly Mt. Baldy) is a popular destination among southern California adventurers. The windswept summit reaches 10,064 feet (3067 meters) above the San Gabriel Mountains in Los Angeles County. The routes are well traveled, in both dry and alpine conditions, with two routes to the summit being the most popular out of the four I know. These are the Ski Hut Trail, and the Devil’s Backbone. I have read, and re-read, and even re-read about these two trails for months, in preparation for my first actual mountain summit. Though never a Boy Scout, I am a tad obsessive about preparation.
Summitpost has been a valuable resource for me in my humble quest to summit Mt. Baldy. I have been able to consume a plethora of information regarding equipment, routes, trip reports and technique. The book from which I pulled my quote seems to surface more frequently than any other resource on the site. The week before my trip, I borrowed a 6th edition from my local library, and immediately began to study the lessons inside. I was preparing. My goal had been to achieve the summit in snowy, alpine conditions.
But maybe I’m getting a bit ahead of my story. The first weekend of January saw a three day storm pound the local mountains, with reports of five or more feet of fresh snow. The following Friday (the 11th), I took a half day from work and rented snowshoes for a little training expedition. The weather was warm and clear, but the snow was still in abundance and the route I chose was to ensure safety and a good time. For me, it was A New Beginning. The following week, I spoke almost daily with my best friend about the fun I had and about the possibility of going up the following weekend. He was total game. Each day, we discussed route, equipment, scheduling and any other preparations we might need for a successful trip. By Friday night, we both had our rented snowshoes and were ready for an early start the following day.
Paths After a short early delay, we arrived at the trailhead at Falls Road a bit after seven. The forecast was for clear and warm skies through the weekend, so we did not anticipate any sudden storms. The parking at Manker Flats was already bustling with activity, as about two dozen mountaineers were in various stages of preparing for the mountain. The air was cold and crisp, and the anticipation of our day filled us with a youthful energy. We spent a short time in preparation at the car, and then began on the snowy service road at ten till eight.
Even after a warm few weeks following the storms from the beginning of the year there was still a good base of snow at Manker Flats, an elevation of about 6200 feet (1889 meters). With the sun quickly rising we set out, our trekking poles in hand and our snowshoes firmly strapped to the outside of our packs. The snow was firm, but not too icy to walk on and finding adequate purchase with our hiking boots was not difficult. Before long we were separated from other climbers on the road by a few minutes, and were beginning to feel the increased cardio-pulmonary output the day would require. We were setting a comfortable pace and soon approached the Falls Road, Ski Hut Trail junction. This was the beginning of new territory for me, as I had never been on the Ski Hut Trail. Immediately I found the exercise exhilarating, the views breathtaking, and with each step the anticipation growing to approach the ski hut itself. We stopped occasionally to adjust clothing, snap a photo or simply catch a breath, but overall continued to forge ahead to our first goal of the day.
The hike to the ski hut is not a technical one, in my opinion, but rather a steep ascent to the base of the Baldy Bowl. Even in patchy snow conditions, the trail is easy to follow and well worn. At 8200 feet (2499 meters), the ski hut is a destination that rewards those who make the trek up. It commands views over much of southern California, as well as giving mountaineers the first up-close assessment of the Bowl. It is on fairly even ground, and provides everyone with a great spot to take a break. And we took a break. We managed to run into some fellow SPer’s, preparing for their ascent directly up the bowl. A very nice bunch, full of good humor. We had some friendly words, and soon were headed our separate ways.
My best friend and I made for the continuation of the trail that winds around the southwest ridge of the bowl and makes a less steep ascent to the summit. Not long after we departed the hut itself, we found ourselves post-holing in thigh deep snow and decided we were snowshoeing it from here on up! We managed our equipment on, spoke with a few people on the trail, and made our way ever higher by the moment. I kept an eye on the clock, and felt we were making good time. We were careful and prepared to turn our mini-expedition around at any time as a result of conditions or time. I had set a 1:00 to 1:30 turn around time, regardless of where we were.
A Summit We were making good time. We stopped and had a bite to eat on the ridge where the southwest portion of the bowl tops out. We took a number of pictures, continued to be amazed at the alpine experience around us, and then pushed ourselves further toward the summit. We crossed paths with a few climbers, and a skier whom eventually left us for his Bowl descent. The equipment was working out fantastic, the weather was warm, and the weight of the packs seemed to become more comfortable with each passing moment. I was in wonder and could not believe that my goal was being achieved.
The final approach to the summit was a challenging one for me, physically. I felt strong, but also felt the altitude I had never experienced before affecting my ability to climb up at more than a steady pace. I stopped frequently to catch my breath, but was never discouraged nor concerned about the ascent or our time. Just below the summit itself my best friend, climbing twenty yards ahead of me, did the coolest thing. He stopped and waited for me to catch up and eventually pass him, allowing me to be first to the summit. I will never forget that. It was the most incredible experience I have had in my lifetime, and his gesture made it that much more memorable. We arrived on the summit at 1:15 in the afternoon, a little over five hours after we started. Five hours of having the most extraordinary 180 degree views. But when you reach that summit, those views immediately become 360 degrees. It is like knocking down a wall when you finally reach the top, as there is no longer a blinding white canvas staring at you as you climb. You are above everything around you. Climbing, panoramic views and wilderness experience, indeed.
Other climbers were leaving the summit when we arrived, and others still were arriving. One kind gentleman took our picture, with Mt. San Gorgonio in the background. The air was the coolest it had been all day for us, due to the steady wind blowing from the north. We took a number of photographs, ate a celebratory chocolate bar, shook hands and made for our descent. We had been on the summit a glorious thirty minutes.
I had anticipated making a full loop on the trails from the summit, if indeed we made it that far. I read (and re-read), that the trail from the summit to the ski lifts was shorter than that of the trail back to the ski hut (though overall much longer back to the truck). Our decision was to descend the Devil’s Backbone, and I would spring for the chair lift ride from the Notch to the parking lot. From there it would be a small hike on the road back to the car, telling stories and sharing the experience of our journey together. We never made it that far.
A Rescue & A Friend The climb down from the summit to the Devil’s Backbone trail is steep and rocky. I was amazed at the difference in environment from our trip up, but we had removed our snowshoes and I had felt confident moving on the rocks. To the saddle between Mt. Baldy and Mt. Harwood, we were without incident, but decidedly intimidated by the change of scenery. We passed climbers on the way up, one of whom warned us to be careful on the Backbone. We took the warning seriously, and continued forward quickly but very cautiously. Before the Mt. Harwood traverse we rested and strapped on our snowshoes for purchase in the snow now visible on our route. On this traverse, the route is south-facing and steep. The snow was slushy on top, icy down below, and covering the mountainside that is predominately very loose shale. About an hour after our departure from the summit, we began the traverse.
Our steps were deliberate and slow. We began one step at a time, making sure our trekking poles were firmly into the ground before lifting a foot forward. For me, it made little difference. With my left foot firmly placed, I stepped forward hard and firm with my right foot and settled my weight. Instantly, the ground beneath me slid. My weight, plus that of the pack, carried me down the steep decline of the mountain with the snow. Without thinking, I dropped the pole in my left had, fell to my stomach and with both hands grasping the other pole, I drove it into the snow, shale and earth. I was able to arrest my descent, though I had slid fifty feet. I was un-hurt, but now prone on the snowy face and on unstable ground. My friend called to me and asked if I was ok. We talked for a minute about our options, and decided it was best for him to continue for help. As I spoke, or breathed or even shifted slightly, I began to slide. I was not in a position to climb out. So he left me, and continued down the treacherous path we had both been on.
I did not like my situation. I am a trained Emergency Medical Technician; training that I sought for personal growth not necessarily for employment. Preparation of that kind comes in handy in times like this. My first concern was time of day (now late afternoon) and the fact that I was full body prone on the snow. Hypothermia. I knew if my buddy could not reach safety in time, I would be spending the night on the mountain. I could not do that lying face down in the snow. So I looked over my left shoulder to assess the face below me. I could see about 600 feet down the mountain, and then my point of view was cut off. However, about half of that distance, further east, was bare shale and a single rock about the size of a computer monitor. I felt if I could control my descent to that rock, I could get onto the shale (and off of the snow) and further prevent sliding down the mountain. This I managed to do. In a high stress, emergency situation, the most important frame of mind to have is one of helping yourself. “What can I do to make my situation better” was the only thought running through my mind. The smallest things help, and can help prevent injury or worse.
My situation was not great by any means. I was still not in a position to climb out, and the ground I sat on was shifty at best. I was off of the snow, but the mountainside dropped off from my view not far below me, and I had visions of grand cliffs and impassible hillsides. I was better off not making my situation worse by risking to make it better. I knew I was un-hurt and free from further sliding by staying where I was. I pulled my pack around to my lap, and began to put on the spare cold weather clothing I had inside. The sun was quickly setting, and I wanted to stay as warm as possible. Once I managed to put on a few layers, I took stock of what I had, and what I would need. Instinct led me to check my cell phone.
At what I would later find out was at 9371 feet (2856 meters), I was sitting on a rock in a perilously unstable state and had full cell phone coverage. My first call was to my wife, who was in downtown Los Angeles at a show with her phone turned off. I left her a message stating that I was ok, but in a bad way. I then sent her a text message to call me. My next call was to emergency services at 911. I know why I made the calls in the order I did, and do not regret it. Emergency services answered directly, and I immediately described to them who and where I was. I was transferred twice before speaking with a dispatcher from the Los Angeles County Fire Department. Preparation enabled me to tell them exactly where I was. They took my number and told me help was on the way. So I waited. I waited and worried about the plight of my best friend on the trail. I had no idea if he was okay or not, and I worried. The quiet nature of the hills is one reason I climb, but in this situation there is no comfort in the silence.
Not long after I spoke with emergency services, a voice on the ridge above yelled out my name. I replied, and the climber asked if I was ok. Indeed I was. I don’t know his name, but the brief moment he and I spoke I felt a level of comfort I had not felt since falling. He told me to sit tight and said that he would wait there until help arrived. I discovered later that my friend encountered two climbers on his way down the Backbone, and they volunteered to help me in any way they could. The person I spoke with was one of the two. I don’t know who they are, but feel grateful for the way they treated my friend on the trail, and for their concern for me down below. If I have the opportunity to find them, it would be my pleasure to buy us all a round of beer.
Indeed hardship. Challenge, risk and hardship. Sitting on the mountain in complete silence and wondering if you will be spending the night in increasingly dropping temperatures. That is hardship. Preparation does a lot to lessen the impact of such hardship. And as I sat on the shale and looked for opportunities to improve my situation (without making it worse), the silence broke with the thump of rescue helicopters. San Bernardino County Sheriff’s Search and Rescue sent two rescue airships to my call. The first came into view from the north, and circled to the west and around south to the east in a giant circle. Above the cadence of the rotors I heard the loudspeaker announcing my name, and telling me to sit tight. They said they would be back. I waved my arms and held my thumbs up to let them know I was un-hurt and that I understood, and then they were gone. As immediately as the sound came, it disappeared and again I was drenched in silence.
The rescue filled my every sense with adrenaline. About two hours after I had initially slipped the rescue helicopter came into my view to the south-east. This time the door of the airship was open, and two men were standing on the landing leg, one facing in and the other facing out. Once they were about fifty feet above my position, the rescuer facing in began a slow rotation to an inverted position on the leg. I can tell you it was one of the coolest things I have ever seen. He then descended to just below my position on the rock and scrambled his way up and sat in my lap. The air from the rotor wash was incredibly cold, but the sensation of rescue had overcome almost any feeling I had. He rigged me up in a harness, and gave me my instructions. About two minutes later, we were both slowly ascending the fifty feet back up to the helicopter. The minute the line when tight I felt an overwhelming sense of safety and security. And adrenaline. The view looking out from the line, and the ride to the landing pad just outside Baldy village was beyond words. I would only do the experience an injustice in an attempt to describe it. I was fortunate to be free from injury and in the hands of highly trained rescuers.
It turns out my best friend was in the helicopter during the first fly by. They had picked him up at the top of the ski lifts to help them find me. What I did not hear when they flew by is them telling me he was safe. It would have done a lot to ease my mind. We met at my truck, still parked at the trailhead, about thirty minutes after my rescue. Seeing him safe, I was filled with a great sense of humility and admiration, and we embraced. In an emergency my friend did not panic, but with rugged determination he pushed on and did what he told me he was going to do. Find help. Among the many heroes in my rescue, he is certainly one of them.
I tell my tale with neither pride nor shame. After discussions with members of SBSAR and the Mt. Baldy Fire Department, I have been told that my experience has happened to the most experienced of climbers. My tale has a happy ending, and is one that hopefully teaches the value of preparation. My moral of the story, if you will. Proper preparation can be the difference between a successful trip and an unsuccessful trip. For me, any trip I leave in one piece is a successful trip. I will do my part to learn more, to gain more experience. I will also do my part to tell my story and to help teach others the importance of respecting the mountains. So we enjoy the climbing, the panoramic views and wilderness experience and lessen the impact of challenge, risk and hardship.
To the climbers on the trail who volunteered to help me – I thank you. I would be honored to say so in person.
To the SBSAR – When climbers need help, you answer the call. I thank you. We should all thank you.
To my friend Brett – “Help your brother’s boat across, and your own will reach the shore” (Hindu Proverb). You are my brother, and may I live well enough to be worthy of your friendship. Thank you.
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San Gabriel Mountains > Mount San Antonio (Mount Baldy) > A Summit, a Rescue and a Friend
