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

Thunderbolt Peak - Climbing Up

maps:

We planned to start our trip Friday, July 16, 2004. On Thursday evening, I went for a short hike in the mountains above Santa Barbara. I had a bit of sinus congestion, and on descent my left ear plugged up. Usually, I clear it without trouble, but this time it was stubborn. I didn't think much more of it, and went to bed.

I awoke early in the morning to an intense pressure and pain in my ear. It felt like a balloon inflating in my eardrum. Then the pain got even worse and I heard what sounded like bacon frying in my head. It was my eardrum rupturing. It took about 15 seconds to finish tearing through, but that released the pressure and relieved much of the pain.

I was sure we would have to cancel the trip, so I called Tim and then made an appointment to see my doctor. He agreed to see me immediately (this guy is great - a wonderful doctor and a personal friend as well.) I asked if I should cancel my climb. He replied, "Some people would, but you and I both know you're going anyway." Then he reached for his pad and wrote a flurry of prescriptions. I got steroid nasal spray and steroid pills to reduce the sinus inflammation so no more pressure would build up. I got antibiotics so my eardrum wouldn't get infected while it healed. I got sleeping pills and pain medication to get me through the nights.

I filled my prescriptions, took my pills, called Tim and we were on our way. We arrived at the trailhead just before sunset, set up camp and prepared to start hiking the next day. It was a great evening, with perfect temperature, no bugs, and the thunderstorms that pounded the area all day had subsided. We sat around the campfire and tried to make popcorn (note to self: Jiffy Pop doesn't work well over a campfire.)

The next morning was clear and bright. We started hiking, and made it to the top of Bishop Pass (12,000') by lunch time. We made great time, and were a couple hours ahead of schedule. Clouds threatened and we still had two miles of difficult off-trail hiking between us and our next camp, so we didn't delay long.

We left the trail and hiked across Dusy Basin, an area known for its remoteness and wildness, to a camp just below Thunderbolt Pass, the gateway to our final destination. A thunderstorm hit just as we finished setting up camp. We quickly escaped into the tent, where naps were welcome after the long hike in. The storm cleared in an hour or so. We fixed dinner, then hiked to the top of Thunderbolt Pass to scout tomorrow's route up the mountain. We got back to the tent just at dark.

Up to now, the trip had been perfect. No problems with my ears, and we were both climbing stronger than ever before. Our only worry was the weather. Thunderbolt Peak earns its name, and a storm on summit day would be trouble. There had been storms each afternoon for three days, but we were hoping for a break in the weather.

When we awoke on Sunday, July 18 (a day I'll not soon forget), the weather was again perfect. We got an early start and climbed fast, as we were still concerned about afternoon storms.

After crossing Thunderbolt Pass (12,400'), we descended a hundred feet to the base of Thunderbolt Peak and started up the southwest chute toward the summit. It was over 1,700 feet of moderate climbing. Nothing requiring a rope, but a fall would certainly hurt. Mostly, we climbed on loose rocks, at just a steep enough angle that they didn't roll down unless disturbed. Which means every step is a struggle to not pull rocks down on you or your climbing partner.

About half way up the chute, we reached the crux of the approach. The chute narrowed, and was blocked with a chockstone wedged between the canyon walls. The way around involved scaling a solid rock face on the right side of the chute, reaching a ledge, and then rejoining the original chute above the chockstone. We figured if we could get past this obstacle, the rest of the climb would be easy.

We had no trouble as the route was as advertised in all the guide books. We quickly passed the chockstone and were again on our way. We approached the summit ridge at a point about a hundred feet below the top of the peak. There was one final chockstone just below the ridge, but this could be passed by climbing under it, kind of like through a tunnel.

We attained the summit ridge before 10:00 am. The day was still bright and clear and no clouds yet threatened our success. Now the climbing got a little more technical. The final hundred feet was mostly vertical, with a few ledges. The last 20 feet is a single monolith of rock, and has the reputation of defeating many climbers. We had our ropes and climbing harnesses with us, and intended to use them if necessary.

We felt confident. The entire trip had gone much better than planned, and we both were feeling great. Usually at this altitude, one tires easily. Today we climbed faster then ever, and felt no ill effects.

We were now right at the limit of my comfort level, but still plenty safe to continue as planned. Tim went straight up, toward the summit. I followed a ledge to the right, spiraling up in a counter-clockwise direction. We were both looking for the easiest way up that final 20 feet. By the time I got to the summit monolith, I had spiraled about 3/4 of the way around the peak, and could see that Tim had the best route. The ledge I was on wrapped around to Tim's location, so I figured I'd just continue on the rest of the way, rather than return the way I came.

I started across the final few feet of the ledge. I had to crawl on my hands and knees, because the rock face I thought to be vertical was actually slightly sloped outward, and overhung the ledge just enough to prevent standing. This meant that the ledge, which was perpendicular to the rock face, was not horizontal as I had originally thought, but sloped away from the rock as well.

Unfortunately, by the time I realized this, I couldn't get back to where I started. I would have had to crawl backwards along a slippery ledge that I couldn't see. I thought I might be able to turn around. I started turning, and jammed my fingers behind a small flake of granite. At about the point where I was facing the cliff, with my fingers in the flake of granite, my knees on the sloping ledge, and my feet hanging off into space, I started slipping. I couldn't see how far down the fall would be, but this side of the mountain is nearly vertical for over a thousand feet.

Tim: With the benefit of hindsight, I think the principal mistake Rich and I made on Thunderbolt was allowing ourselves to become separated during the final pitch above the notch between the two summits. Until that moment our climb had been perfect: we were both feeling strong and we were moving rapidly. The route was challenging, particularly the traverse around the chockstone in the southwest chute, but within our abilities.

After we reached the top of the southwest chute, we turned right to climb the steep rock to the base of the summit monolith, which we believed would be the hardest part of the climb. Directly above us, I saw an alcove in the rock similar to one I had seen in a photograph of the route. I climbed toward the alcove. Rich followed below me. About half way up, Rich chose a line that angled to the right, taking him around the corner of the peak. I did not object because several lines were possible on the face, and I was not sure that mine was the easiest or safest. In addition, a reconnaissance of the south side of the summit block would be useful, and Rich was an accomplished route finder.

I continued straight up until I reached the platform at the base of the summit monolith. As soon as I saw the summit register, I called to Rich to let him know that I had found the correct spot. He answered that his route was no good and that he would have to find another way. I could not see Rich, but since his voice came from the left side of the summit block, I assumed that he had traversed all the way around to its east side. From my platform, the east side appeared to be a face. I therefore assumed that he would work his route backwards to the easier west side of the peak.

I pulled my rope and harness out of my pack and began examining the summit block. Although not especially high, it offered few holds. I did not think either of us would be able to free climb it, unless Rich found a route on the other side. I started planning a way to throw the rope over the summit so that we could climb it with aid. About that time two other climbers, Brick Root and his son, Bridger, arrived at the platform. We greeted each other and talked about our climb. I was glad they had come. Brick appeared to be very experienced and might have some thoughts about the summit block. A second rope would also be helpful. I had no idea how much more I would appreciate my companions later.

I jammed my fingers in deeper, and tried to pull myself back up. I found that with all my strength I could arrest my slipping, but every time I tried to pull a little harder to get back up, the granite flake broke away from the main rock a little more. By this point, my legs were dangling and I was supported only by my fingernails.

I now knew a fall was unavoidable. I yelled at Tim. He was just far enough around the mountain that he couldn't see me, but he could hear my voice. I thought at least he would know where to send the recovery team to pick up the pieces of my body. I don't know exactly how much time passed, but I had plenty of time to think about how bad this fall was going to be. Eventually, my strength gave out and I let go.

Tim: At that moment I heard a loud "whoa!" from the east side of the pinnacle. I called to Rich and quickly descended a crack leading to the precipice. There was no reply. I could not see Rich nor move out onto the face. I hung my body out as far as I could and called again. Rich answered this time, his voice coming from below me. I asked if he was hurt; he said he was.

I hit a small ledge about 20 feet below. I knew I was hurt, but for an instant I didn't feel any pain. My sunglasses were knocked off my face and I saw them fly over the edge. I briefly reached out after them, and realized that would be a fatal mistake. Now was not the time to worry about sunglasses; more important things had to be done.

I don't know exactly how I landed, but ended up on my butt with the wind knocked out of me. After what seemed like an eternity, I started breathing again. I could hear scraping of bone against bone every time I took a breath, and the severe pain on the right side of my chest told me I had at least one broken rib. I looked down at my legs and saw my right kneecap was also broken. My skin was intact, but I could see two distinct pieces of bone pushing up at a strange angle and separated by at least an inch.

I didn't seem to have any other serious injuries. I was bleeding a little from minor abrasions on my legs and arms, but didn't have any major bleeding, no other broken bones, and it didn't feel like any head, neck, or spine injury. Perhaps our good luck was still with us.

I was wearing my day pack, and it contained a small survival kit. I wasn't feeling any pain in my knee, so I pushed the kneecap back as close as I could get it to where it belonged, then put on an elastic knee brace. I also had an ace bandage, which I wrapped tightly around my knee. And a bit late, I'm afraid, I put on my climbing harness.