The Other Side of the Sierra
An Ascent of the V-Notch Couloir

Story by Dingus Milktoast

Mid-August: I'm halfway up a steep ribbon of frozen snow when it suddenly occurs to me that I'm enjoying myself. The solid, rhythmic thunk of my tools sinking into the perfect styro, the crisp metallic taste of frozen aluminum and even the shadow cast by the ancient granite walls of this couloir all combine in a rush of activity and sensory input to merge into an incredible feeling of well being. It's as though I have come home again after a long absence to sit at the family table, my spot both familiar and reserved despite my nomadic ways.

I'm a mountaineer not an alpinist. I prefer sunny peak bagging to desperate climbing in horrific conditions. I have comparatively little experience with severe weather because my home range offers little of it. So cruising up this couloir in the middle of summer is delicious. But a dose of common sense tempers the day. This is the Right Hand Couloir on North Peak and it is literally a walk in the park. The approach is sinfully easy and mostly level hiking for all but the last stretch. The gully is capped by a cool 3rd class scramble to a final mantle onto the very summit of the peak. The descent goes down steep gravelly slopes that are easy on the knees followed by a gentle hike on a pleasant trail through alpine meadows and past gem quality lakes. There is even a nice waterfall along the way.

The couloir itself is an easy climb. Just start at the bottom and climb to the top. One move after another, get lost in the movement. I was apprehensive on the approach, not sure of my goals or myself. But as soon as the first ice pick penetrated neve I relaxed and felt confident and sure. Perhaps this sort of stimulus and response is what I seek from climbing in the first place? Later, on the summit, I settle in to a comfortable rock chair padded with my pack. I start awake 2 hours later, surprised that I fell asleep in the first place. The muted tones of an approaching party invoke a sense of urgency. I'm gone before they arrive.

Labor Day Weekend: It all comes down to this: you get what you ask for, even in the Range of Light. The previous week brought record setting low temperatures to California. Continuous cloud cover greeted me on the drive over to the East Side. Brilliant flashes of lightning and the pounding boom of thunder punctuate the evening quiet at the trailhead. A mission is afoot, an adventure about to be launched. The weather becomes an issue. But I have assumed a grim mantle of commitment for this climb and nothing except genuine risk will turn me back. I will definitely not be surrendering before I start, giving in to imagination and baseless fear. Any time I feel a pang at all I immediately start focusing on success. I can do this climb. I WILL DO THIS CLIMB!

We are here to climb the V-Notch Couloir on Polemonium Peak, high on the North Palisade crest. The long hike up to the high glacier camp is the price of admission. A guaranteed sleepless night at 12,000 feet is followed by the grim chore of getting up and getting moving in the cold dark. Will power is the only force capable of battling the mountain elements. Later, crossing some crevasses unroped, we comment to each other about the relative risk. Aaron argues some would characterize us as morons for doing just what we are doing. We agree but keep moving anyway. But we've chosen a poor path and eventually rope up for a short section riddled with deep slots and hidden snow bridges.

The couloir towers over us as we climb the final slope to the bergschrund. Head down, eyes down, corners of the mouth turned down; we're here to climb you, not defy you. Kevin says he's glad we're closer now so he can't see it all. I comment that mountaineering owes a great deal to the foreshortening effect. It makes jumping on a big project more palatable when you can't see most of the impending doom staring you right in the face. Cool theory. But the reality of the towering bergschrund makes a mockery of such academic musings.

I thought there might be a passing on the right, but just getting over there looks to be a 20 minute ordeal. It's obvious that the rocks on the left can be climbed to a long rope length traverse of the schrund back to the central gully. But my partners will have none of it. Aaron in particular wants to take on the over hanging bergschrund directly.

"What about right here?" He asks in all sincerity. I look up somewhat aghast at the notion. Directly in front of us is a steep smooth wall of exposed glacier ice, about 60 feet high, capped with a 15-foot section of sugary looking snow. The snowy part is clearly overhanging. This tiger wants to take a big bite right out of the center of this particular reputation. I must admit I would not have been so bold on my own.

I'm climbing with two hotshot climbers, both 15 years my junior. Kevin and I have climbed together before. I know he's a bold and gifted climber. Aaron I met for the first time at the trailhead. I'm about to see that he is more of the same. Aaron ropes up and begins swinging down on the ice without fanfare or wasted motion. Soon he's 35 feet up and placing a screw as Kevin belays and I snap pictures. 15 feet later Aaron places another screw on the now vertical ice and eyes the overhanging snow above. He moves up decisively, clearly intending to climb this thing and not merely probe it. He carefully but powerfully scales the fairly solid neve, pausing at a couple of spots to find a solid tool placement. He swarms over the lip of the abyss facing a horrific fall with the calmness of a master. Kevin and I cheer his audacity as Aaron rightfully beams down at us from a secure stance on the slope above. He then casually runs it out another 80 feet to a fixed rap station.

Well Hell, with a start like that what will stop us? Surely not this weather, right? Yes, the forecast called for pain. And too, there was fresh snow on White Mountain Peak. But blue sky ruled the approach day. That fast moving cold storm from Alaska isn't going to pick this morning to arrive, is it? Those massing gray clouds, above us, below us, and occasionally all around us, don't mean we're about to get dumped on, do they? Nah! And besides, all 3 of us appear to be equally matched in the stubborn department. It's probably the prime ingredient for being here in the first place. We are committed to this climb in a major way. We agree once again that we'll only turn back when forced to. It is gratifying to climb with such focused partners.

Following the initial lead I'm nervous but steady. The tools sink into the pure ice with ease. At the overhang I pause to enjoy the exposure, then carefully hook my way up the snow with haste, wanting to clear the lip before my arms give way. Aaron's tool placements offer refuge in the surrounding wedding cake. I try a few virgin spots and am surprised at the insecurity inside. The tools feel as though they will shear out with the slightest pull. I breathe hard for a long time after clearing the lip and then join Aaron at the belay. We watch in amusement as Kevin flows up last. All we can see is the arc of his throw as a tool comes into view briefly in the space behind the overhang. Kevin swings like a professional dart thrower, using minimum energy and terminal accuracy. He rarely swings twice. Aaron climbs the same way, with total competence.

The clouds continue to build. A brief conference ensues. There is no blue sky left at all. It's still early, but the weather looks bad. We're poised on the left edge of the main couloir. Aaron's bold lead has shaved off an extra pitch that would have been necessary had we climbed the rock to our left. We agree to continue, as long as there are rap anchors should we need to bail. Our plan is to lead in blocks to save time at belays. We'll simul-second the pitches as well. We're aiming for speed and competence, get up and get off, don't mess around. Aaron places one screw on this pitch, the first in the couloir proper. We find steep ice covered with oldish snow. Some of the ice is exposed but most is covered. It doesn't matter. The tool placements are satisfyingly solid. We can climb this stuff anywhere. Kevin and I follow the pitch as quickly as my lungs will allow. Pitch after pitch, we gain height in the couloir. Aaron surrenders the lead with reluctance after the 4th pitch. As Kevin racks up it starts to snow. At first the grapple is merely annoying. We expect it to let up momentarily. It doesn't. In fact, as Kevin eases across the central gully for a more sheltered line on the right side of the upper couloir, it starts snowing in earnest. Establishing his belay on a rocky outcrop, Kevin brings us up. We're all wearing our sunglasses not to be cool but out of necessity. It's snowing hard. Conference number two is brief.

Kevin asks, "Keep going?" Aaron and I look at each other and reply as one, "Yes!" Kevin strikes out again as I snap a picture of him in the gathering storm. Aaron and I joke about how Yvon would be proud of us. Here we are climbing the V-Notch in "full conditions." The snow covered dark rock of the Palisades menaces like some evil Scottish Ben Nevis nightmare. And we're laughing about it as Aaron struggles into his shell gear. I'm glad I already had mine on. I'm dry though slightly chilled. I am dressed lightly under my storm gear, so are my partners. We have one down jacket and one space blanket between us; no stove and no bivi gear. So while our boldness and cavalier attitudes are what keeps us moving upward, we do so knowing full well we are piling on the risk.

The descent from the V-Notch involves traversing the crest of Polemonium Peak toward Sill. None of us have ever done it before. At least I have descended from Sill. Our intent is to climb Polemonium Peak and then descend to the notch behind Apex Peak and the L-Shaped snowfield next to Mt. Sill. But we all voice worry over our ability to find the correct notch in a storm. We even voice doubt over the summit, still barely visible a short distance above our heads. Aaron carefully catalogs the known rap stations we pass enroute. Until now, each belay has been at an established rap station so we know we can get down from this point. With 3 pitches to go, Aaron studies the left wall of the couloir for additional stations.

I jokingly comment at the next belay that it looks as though I'm not going to get to lead any of the couloir. It's no big deal to me. The climbing is not hard at all and I have no emotional baggage associated with this journey. Kevin quickly offers me the sharp end. I decline, not wanting to waste the 10 or 15 minutes I'll need to get sorted out. This is why we chose to block lead in the first place, to save time. The storm continues to intensify. Time is of the essence. It is certainly more important than my ego. Kevin takes us to the top. The quality of the snow and ice degrades somewhat on the last two pitches, and the angle of the gully actually steepens a bit. It fights us to the very end.

I poke my head over the rim of the V-Notch Couloir into the face of a howling gale. Wind is blasting up from the west side of the Palisades and funneling its fury right through this very notch. It's intense how quickly I go from being well centered on a climb to being dismayed in a blizzard. Kevin is belaying from beneath a slab of rock, hunched over, back to the wind. "Howling banshees" takes on a new and real meaning for me just now. I can't see the summit of the peak. I can't see more than a few hundred feet in any direction. We had hoped to see clearing sky to the west. Our hopes are cruelly mocked by the hellish west wind blasting us into oblivion. Another hasty conference.

Aaron is in favor of rapping the gully; has been from the start. Even though we couldn't see the last two rap stations on the left wall, he's confident we can find them. I share that confidence, but I hate to rappel when it's not necessary. And I don't want to do 8 raps in a blizzard, pure and simple. Kevin feels the same way and contends we should try to find the Sill descent. I vote with Kevin. We all agree to forego the summit of Polemonium Peak. We have successfully placed ourselves in a position of extreme risk and exposure. The relentless wind slams home the fact that we can't stand around and waste time. In fact, we can't stand around at all. We have all quickly grown cold, surprising in its grip and intensity. We have to get out of here.

All of the rocks are covered with fresh snow. Menace lurks everywhere. A simple mistake, a sprained ankle, the most minor of mishaps is now life threatening. We work our way a short distance along the crest. It takes too long! My anxiety increases with each step. I want this way to go. I fear the rappels. But is this the right thing to do? If we battle along this ridge for an hour and still can't find the descent, then we have to come back here, assuming we can find it, and rap it anyway. I am not confident in our ability to find the descent. I mean I have a really bad feeling about it. In passing the last notch of the couloir I spy a couple of rap slings directly above the line of our initial ascent. This has to be the first of those anchors! I wait in the storm for my companions to catch up.

I try to tell Kevin and Aaron about my doubts and fears. This amounts to shouting in a storm. "Taking too long! If we get hurt we're fucked! Not sure we can find it in this storm! I think we should rap!" Kevin accedes reluctantly. Aaron volunteers to lead the way down. We back up the first anchor with a poor friend and toss the ropes. Down the funnel he goes. Kevin and I are charged with the commitment of what we are about to do. The anxiety of this decision is painful. If we get stuck on a rap we could very well die. We both know it. We can't even look at each other for very long, uncomfortable seeing our own doubt and fear echoed in the face of a trusted partner. Aaron takes a very long time to find the first set of anchors. Our doubt about this course of action rages all the while. I'm getting colder by the second. This is some grim shit! Finally, after an eternity, Aaron shouts off rappel and gives the obligatory pull test.

Reassembled at the rap station, we're all about the business of getting down in a storm. There is no debate. A job needs doing and one of us jumps to do it. If someone is clearly in a position to do a thing, the rest of us calmly wait for him to do it. We exercise the routine rappel techniques as if our lives depended upon their successful completion. Because they probably do. We are not equipped to spend the night out in a storm on some rocks in the side of a frozen couloir. Down, down, down we go. The raps don't go smoothly and we don't find all of the correct stations. We do some half-length raps out of necessity. We use shit anchors and merely shrug off the menace of their old age decrepitude. I do back up two of the stations with a new sling. Lower down the couloir it becomes clear we are succeeding. We are going to get down in one piece. I do the final rap back over the bergschrund and onto the snow slope below knowing it's over. The V-Notch is ours. In unexpectedly full conditions to boot. As we descend the glacier I pause to look back up occasionally. The rock of the north Palisades is covered with inches of fresh snow. Spindrift avalanches pour down the gullies unabated. But ironically, to the east the sun shines and our camp at the glacier seems high and dry, though miles beneath us.

We shake hands with gusto. We look each other deeply in the eye. We have traversed to the edge of the abyss and back today. We did so with boldness, commitment and surety. And we were up to the tasks. We seemed close to the edge a few times and most certainly were. Yet we all maintained positive attitudes, we all executed with complete competence and we never let the stress of the situations get us down. And so our wills prevailed. It almost sounds trite, sitting here in my sun drenched office banging on this keyboard. But that is a separate reality up there, played by harsher rules and enforced by the dispassionate judgment of nature. All in all, it was a very satisfying climb, despite missing the summit, despite being forced into rapping the couloir. In hindsight I felt we made the correct decision at each fork in the river of risk to arrive at our desired outcome. We indeed placed ourselves however briefly into a situation of extreme consequence. And we climbed our way out of its maw.

Even in California we can have weather. Even in August a climber can freeze to death. It's no joke. We need to be prepared. It's a constant battle between speed and reserve. We try to shave it close. Perhaps we shaved it a bit too close this time. I will be giving my climbing pack some thought for the next climb. I was perhaps too light. One space blanket and one down jacket; it would have been a cold night. But even that outcome is not certain. Several hours later, at camp, we noticed the crest was clear. Not a cloud in the sky. The irony of freezing to death under a clear night sky would have been unkind.

The V-Notch Couloir is not a difficult climb. Once over the schrund the route kicks back to a mellow grade for a nice consistent run to the top. And we remind each other not to let this go to our heads. After all, this was a simple snow squall on an easy route; a minor inconvenience in most ranges. And yet, as trivial as it may in fact be, the truth of mountaineering is that even easy routes can quickly become something else for the foolish or unprepared. We learned some things, had a good time, pushed through fear and anxiety to reach an uncertain goal and then extricated ourselves. Yup, all in all, a very satisfying climb.

V-Notch Couloir
8 pitches of ice and neve, 90% ice
8 raps down the left side of the couloir
Rack - light rock rack, 4 to 6 screws
Ascent strategy - take schrund slightly left of center, follow left side of couloir for first 4 pitches, then cross to right side for duration. Pitches 3-5 are definitely exposed to rock fall. The corresponding raps are as well. I recommend the rap only as an emergency descent. The anchors are barely adequate for rappelling and need to be backed up for belays. We never used more than 4 screws per pitch including the belays.

DMT (crharris@midtown.net)

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This document was last updated on Monday, November 13, 2000

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