How To Fall Off A Mountain

Rich Benbrook

Using the Maps

Mount Whitney

Monarch Lake

Vidette Meadow

Cottonwood Lakes

Onion Valley to
Whitney Portal

Symmes Creek to
Mineral King

Mount Tyndall

Whitney Group

Mount Shasta

Mount Williamson

Palisades

Middle Palisade
Revisited

Thunder Mountain

Middle Palisade
Try Again

Middle Palisade
Take Three

Mount Sill

Thunderbolt Peak
Climbing Up

Thunderbolt Peak
Climbing Down

Thunderbolt Peak
Rescue

Aerial Photos

National Park Service Search and Rescue

Links

Cottonwood Lakes

maps:

The memories of that experience soon mellowed with time, and an unexpected bonus at work prompted me to finally purchase my own backpacking gear. For my five-year anniversary, I was rewarded $500. I naively thought this would be ample to properly equip me for any adventure. I planned to spend it all, buying only the best gear available. Then I started shopping, and was unpleasantly surprised. Not only did I spend double my bonus, I also had to scale back my expectations and did not get top of the line gear. It seems this little hobby can be phenomenally expensive.

Finally, in the summer of 1987, I entered the wilderness on my first overnight trip with my own gear. Linda, Dale and I left work and drove up to the Cottonwood Lakes trailhead. We rolled out our sleeping bags near the car in a campground reserved for backpackers starting out on a trip. The trailhead is at 10,000 feet above sea level, so we got a head start on acclimatizing to the altitude. The next morning, we followed the relatively gentle trail as it meandered along creeks and meadows up to the series of lakes known collectively as Cottonwood Lakes.

We camped at Long Lake, just below New Army Pass in the John Muir Wilderness, amongst a grove of Whitebark Pines. These ancient trees are relatives of the more famous Bristlecone Pines, and grow in the harsh high-altitude environment of the eastern Sierra. More dead than alive, their stunted, twisted trunks form unusual sculptures of red and grey, and offer a stark testimony to the difficulty of living there.

My new camping gear was put to the test that afternoon, as a massive thunderstorm formed overhead. Lightening struck the ridges above camp, so close that we could hear the crackle of electricity just before the deafening clap of thunder. The air smelled of ozone and burnt granite. Wind buffeted the tent and heavy rain gave way to large stones of hail. Through it all, we remained comfortable and dry in our nylon shelter.

As most mountain thunderstorms do, this one blew out as quickly as it had arrived, and we prepared dinner in the last remnants of daylight. Just before dark, we took a relaxing evening stroll around the lake and then returned to camp for a nightcap of hot chocolate and 'smores. This experience was worth every penny I had spent on gear, and reinforced my growing addiction to the sport.

We were awakened far too early in the morning by the not-so-melodious call of the Clark's Nutcracker. Indigenous to the High Sierra, this gray and black bird is about the size of a pigeon, and has the personality of the notorious blue jay. One particularly amorous male was chasing a disinterested female around the forest, calling incessantly as they flew from limb to limb in the trees above our camp. Whenever he would get too close, she would let loose with a blood-curdling scream that sounded for all the world like she was being violated in a most unpleasant manner. Further sleep was out of the question, so we got out of bed and fixed breakfast.

Dining in the high mountains has the inexplicable effect of improving the flavor of even the most basic food, and our oatmeal tasted like a meal fit for a king. After breakfast, we started up toward New Army Pass. The trail quickly ascends a ridge overlooking our campsite, then enters a high cirque. I could imagine no way to surmount the final thousand feet of vertical distance to the pass, so it was with great anticipation that I hiked along the trail, eager to see how this problem would be resolved. From a distance, the cliffs ahead looked vertical. As we approached, more detail became apparent. The trail cut back and forth as it continued its relentless climb to the top, with carefully constructed rock walls supporting each switchback. To one side, the mountain rose vertically to the next switchback above. To the other, a vertical drop down to the previous switchback. In this manner, we reached a point a couple dozen feet below the top. Here, the trail simply gives up, and hikers are left to their own devices for the final scramble to the top.

From New Army Pass, the trail descends toward the Kern River. Here, Linda returned to camp while Dale and I took off cross country toward the summit of Mount Langley. The climb was arduous, but relatively straight-forward. Several times we observed what appeared to be a difficult obstacle in the distance, but as we approached a way through became clear. Soon, we were at the summit of Mount Langley, my second peak over 14,000 feet. To the north we had a clear view of Mount Whitney, and I marveled at how good I felt now, compared to the punishment I received on that asinine one-day climb a few years earlier.

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