Lassen peak was closed. This season was the 100th anniversary of the mountain's volcanic explosion in 1914, and we couldn't hike to the top. Five years ago, on our last trip to Lassen Volcanic National Park, it was closed due to a fatal accident on the disintegrating trail, and now to reach the top we'd still have to wait one more year for the trail rebuilding project to be completed.
 |
| On a trip to Lassen about ten years ago, I climbed Brokeoff Mountain instead of the park's namesake peak. I knew I'd return to climb the big one (pictured here). But it wasn't going to be this year. |
I had my eye on Reading Peak ever since arriving in the park four days ago. It was very close to the road, a very rocky and steep ridge that appeared scalable in a very short amount of time, and likely offered incredible views. The question was which direction to climb it from, and where to park. As you approach it from the Shadow Lake trailhead, the road loses a lot of elevation as it get closer. Do you park close and low, or farther and higher? I went with close and low... I like climbing, and the straight-up steeper route is often quicker and more fun than the longer routes with more ups and downs
The last day of our visit to the park, I got up at 5 AM. The sky was getting light. The bright third-quarter moon was high overhead, and Sirius shone brightly to the south. Jupiter and Venus, the two brightest planets in the sky, hung less than 1/2 a degree apart in the brightening eastern sky--the closest conjunction since April 23, 1998. Venus was slightly lower to the left and a lot brighter than Jupiter. Morning conjunctions are hard to wake up for--luckily for you, these planets will get just about as close to each other in the evening sky on June 20, 2015.
Reading Peak, pronounced "Redding", was named in 1943 after Major Pierson B. Reading, the Shasta County pioneer who discovered gold in Trinity County in 1848, and was one of Sutter's men along with John Bidwell and John Marshall. The town of Redding shared this name for a time. It was originally named Latona but was changed because Latona was a Greek goddess that "conducted herself in a very improper manner"--were there any Greek gods and goddesses that didn't? From 1861-1880 the town of Redding was spelled "Reading" until the spelling was switched to honor a Central Pacific Railroad land agent who laid out the town. Even after the state legislature ruled in 1874 that the town was named for the pioneer, the railroad refused to change the name, and in 1880 the legislature caved into the corporation's wishes (naturally) and named it after the land agent.
Prior to 1943, Reading Peak was known as White Mountain. Funny--there is a False White Mountain near Tioga Pass that has a pending name change to Sharsmith Peak--pending, that is, if the political winds can be swayed in that direction.
I parked in a turnout on Highway 89 where the road switchbacks up the side of Reading Peak from King's Creek Meadow. I finished the water in my water bottle--this would be a quick climb, and I didn't need to weigh myself down by carrying water. Traveling light and fast has always been the most enjoyable mode of transportation for me. I crossed the road in the dim light, and scrambled up the roadcut on the other side.
I moved quickly through the chilly air. I wanted to get to the top by sunrise, and I didn't have a lot of time before I had to be back in camp. I heard a Great Horned Owl's hoots in the quiet dawn. I walked through a forest of roomily-spaced large red fir trees, and climbed over large logs. As it got steeper, I wasn't quite sure the logs wouldn't start rolling under me.
I soon reached the base of a talus slope. I had a choice of routes up larger or smaller rock slides. Since I was wearing sandals (with thick warm socks), and until I got used to the rock, I chose the smaller rocks. I wanted to start out with something that wouldn't hurt my foot if it fell on it. Unfortunately, the smaller the rocks the easier they move, so there is a balance to be achieved. If a rock weighs more than you do, your weight is less likely to set it in motion, since your weight is a smaller percentage of the total. You step where the rock is the least likely to move (the uphill end), and you step on the rocks that would have the smallest consequences if they were to move. You keep the rest of your body out of the way of where it might move, and in case it does move you are poised to step off to a safe spot immediately, before it picks up any speed. Having four points of contact allows you to shift weight immediately to and from where it is needed. The rocks that move give you feedback about how much different size rocks weigh--you end up using physics to weigh the rocks on the slope until you have a really good feel for what will move when--and then you dial it in, and skitter up the slope like a spider.
Traveling across talus and scree is an art and a science. It is hard to overemphasize how important it is to have experience. As with any risky activity, if you push the envelope too often, you will get hurt, or maybe even die. But if you never push the envelope, you'll never learn where the line is between safety and danger, and you might not ever do anything fun, go anywhere interesting, or learn anything. The ideal formula is to go out as often as possible, but be extremely careful and safe. That way, you live a long time, but you get familiar with the zone between safe and treacherous ground. And you get better and better at it. And the result is a lot of excitement and fun, and interesting adventures. And most importantly (for survival), experience. And a solid understanding of physics (and geology, soils, hydrology, plants, weather, etc.) is very helpful too.
I cruised up the slope, finding the biggest rocks so my feet wouldn't get buried. I stepped on and grabbed bushes whenever they offered greater stability than the scree. After about 15 minutes, I thought I might be halfway to the top. But after another 15, I was slowing down, thinking I was a long way off as I picked my way around inconveniently-placed vegetation and loose scree. But then the route rapidly improved and at 6:10 AM, I found myself on the ridge, just 39 minutes after leaving my car! And my timing was perfect--it was sunrise!
The sun slowly broke through the clouds on the eastern horizon. It was spectacularly beautiful. Venus was still visible, but Jupiter had blended into the pale morning sky. The moon and Sirius still shone brightly. There was a warm glow on Lassen Peak and the rocks around me, with long shadows cast to the west. A thunderhead--perhaps pyrocumulus--was visible just to the right of Lassen Peak. There was one small snow patch left on this side of the mountain. There was a snow patch between Shadow Lake and Cliff Lake. Cliff Lake was mostly dry. It was quiet. It was peaceful. It was gorgeous. And I could see my car straight below. My timing was perfect. I felt good.
It took just 18 minutes to get back down that 1200 vertical feet.
The only way to descend that fast is to be in a controlled freefall a significant portion of the time--jumping, sliding, running, bouncing off trees, keep your eyes moving, don't think, just move and keep moving. Screeing, if you will. Kinetic motion... We don't think about where we put our feet when we walk, and when we run there is even less time for thinking. You just know. Experience and intuition lead to correct foot placement, and constant movement leads to being in the zone--when you move so fast there is no time for thinking, only gut instinct and action-reaction. Except for memories and chemicals, we all have the same brains and bodies--we are all wired for this. How else can someone free-climb Half Dome in 3 hours, if we aren't made for this? Like John Muir and his scootchers in Dunbar, Scotland, I grew up clambering across talus below the Palos Verdes cliffs and on the King Harbor breakwater. I finally figured out the secret for super-charging my travel across talus about 10 years ago--when I moved slowly, but wanted to move faster, I could flip a switch and move a lot faster--get in the zone--just by moving my eyes, scanning everything in front of me, while I hopped from rock to rock faster and faster.
 |
| The route |
On the way down I took a slightly different route--a bit more straight down at first, then more of a sideslope at the bottom. The areas of steep rock where downclimbing was required were awesome. The rock was great--in places like Lembert Dome in volcano clothes. Dacite instead of granite. Smooth but with huge holds. I learned how to climb on the dacite (or maybe andesite) of Bishop Peak 20 years ago. The downclimbing was so fun, I made a mental note that the next time I climbed this peak, I'd have to go up this way.
When I reached King's Creek, I pulled the car over. There was frost on the meadow. I dunked all the way in. I got back to camp at 7:15, just a little over two hours after I crawled out of my sleeping bag. It felt so good to be alive!
No comments:
Post a Comment