Lessons learned on Virginia Peak (12,001ft). Yosemite, CA

Lets just say the transition to Reno has gone well! I am going to start this entry by getting cheesy and want to admit my gratefulness and gratitude for the people I have met. Things have aligned, and without my buddies Hank Williams Jr. and new found bruddah Conor Phelan, this year would not be even be close to as awesome as it has been. Plus, the last minute addition of Cale to the squad has really kept the endless adventure blazing.

After Silver State 50 Mile Race I took a week off and headed to San Diego to see Mom. This was a great respite from the gnar of big mountain skiing but once I was back all I could think about was, "I wonder what trip Conor has planned this week." The guy always has a trip planned, and not just planned, I mean dialed. Its a double edge sword because you can show up knowing nothing about the route and before you know it, you're dropping an epic line without a hitch. However, it doesn't make me any better if someone is doing all the beta work. But yeah, its nice to have friends that get paid to map. Well done, bud. Appreciate ya.

Anyway, two weekends ago, the week after returning from SD, Conor, Lacey Hankin (badass couple), and I headed down towards Bridgeport to ski some terrain that was new to us. We camped out the night before and hit trail early (sort of) the next morning after what turned out to be very little sleep.

Our plan was to ski a nice chute off the south side of Twin Peak and if we had enough in the tank we would ski Camaica Peak as well. When we set off in the morning, skis and boots on our backs, the skies were totally clear and we thought that "chance of storms" was a bluff. Not so fast, by the time 9am came around the sunlight had warmed the air and with enough moisture in the air, storms started to form as the warm air mixed with the cool air above. That is certainly one cool thing to observe while in the mountains. Weather changes by the minute, right in front of your eyes.

With this in mind, we knew that we would have to hustle our way through the mountains on this day. Plus, we had to keep in mind that we were looking at about a 17 mile round-trip. No small endeavor but these two are in awesome shape and honestly, we hauled ass.

By the time we got to Virginia Pass the sky changed entirely and we knew we were in for some type of stormy weather, but what would we get? Snow, rain and lightening, hmm, all a toss up really. We decided to keep pushing since we saw no signs of vertically building clouds or defined bases, betting that if we did receive stormy weather, that it would be in the way of snow.

Luckily, we were right. As we ascended the 35-40 degree chute, I couldn't help but feel the urge to move faster. You could see the storm moving in, a wall of white to the west, and it was only time before it would catch up to us. Mainly, none of us wanted to be socked in on top of this chute, where we really didn't have much room to move around on the knife-like ridge. Not to mention, the days before were quite warm and we were not 100% certain of stability of the snow, so honestly, tension was riding moderately high.

In this photo: Lacey Hankin and I ascending towards the top of the chute to meet her husband, Conor Phelan.

Conor reached the summit first (as usual), but like a total boss, let me ski it first while he grabbed photos. I clicked into my skis, made a few safety turns, and decided the goods were great. One after another, we all descended and enjoyed the June snow flakes that were falling from above. I think we were just relieved that it wasn't thunder and lightening.

In this photo: I get to enjoy the freshness in the chute all to myself!

We retraced our way back to the car, and all-in-all, this was one hell of a trip! However..on the way in I got my eyes on Virginia Peak, and all last week I could not take my mind off of this Yosemite monster. Rising sharply out of the basin, Virginia Peak is an exposed beast that features 45-50 degree slopes for nearly 3,000 vertical feet off of the summit at just over 12,000 feet. I was puckered just looking at it, but in all honesty, I love that feeling of being right at the edge of my comfort zone.

In this photo: The upper portions of Virginia Peak are seen center in the background.

So of course, I immediately started thinking, "I will be back." Conor already had a trip planned that I just couldn't make work with my schedule, so I hit up Hank to see if he could join. It was a bummer that our ace Conor couldn't join, but Hank said he was a lock and the weather looked prime. The plan was in place. Plus, Cale could join too and ski some low-angle stuff while Hank and I skied Virginia.

Knowing the route from the week before, we decided that we would take advantage of some extra time and head in on Friday afternoon to ski Camaica Peak around sunset and then still have time to set up camp just over the Yosemite boundary. This all worked out and we were super stoked that we could see Half Dome from the peak.

In this photo: Hanging on top of Camaica Peak with Virginia Peak in the center of the frame.

In this photo: Hank Williams makes a nice snake in the snow down Camaica’s north slope.

We watched a beautiful sunset and then froze our asses off all night as the temperatures dropped into the lower 20's. I guess this is June in the Yosemite high country!

In this photo: Me facing reality..

In this photo: Cale Rogers and I make dinner on his very questionable sleep set-up… Turns out, I froze in my tent too. Time for a winter tent.. But I thought it was June??

As always, Hank was ripping with stoke at 6am and woke us all up. We nailed the plan of leaving camp at 8am, figuring we would get to the summit in about 2.5 hours. It all seemed reasonable based on the numbers. By 10:30 we reached the last push to the summit of Virginia Peak and it was here that we switched from skins to boot-packing. Very quickly we cursed the loose chossy rock that is almost unheard of in Yosemite. Unlike most of the park which is granite, Virginia Peak is made up of loose metamorphic red rock that is dangerously unstable. Not long after beginning our ascent I heard Hank scream "rock!" and I quickly worked my way to the right to avoid this tire sized rock. From here we decided we would climb together laterally and not stacked.

In this photo: Hank Williams on the approach to the north ridge off of Virginia Peak. In hindsight, it would have been much wiser to just climb the face, assess the snow, and the overall coverage.

To be clear, this is a class three in hiking/climbing gear, ski boots are meant for skiing not climbing. In ski boots, the footing is rough and it is almost impossible to feel the holding points. Plus, we were also using our ice axes for extra balance, which in some cases was great, but at other moments you really wanted to have both hands to use. Also...you ABSOLUTELY cannot drop your axe.

In this photo: Nearing the summit of Virginia Peak, wondering what I have gotten myself into? And, reminding myself that I can do it if the mountain allows me to.

Moving on, Hank ended up taking his own direct route to the summit. While watching him straddle the knife edge, I decided that was out of my comfort zone as I looked down at the couloir of no return to my left. I opted to down-climb and then follow a few cairns to the west face of the mountain where my own fun would really begin.

As I got to the first crux, a chute full of scree (shale-like shaped rock), I was nervous to cross it since it seemed like a death trap. If I were to slip out, I would surely be swept off the mountain right into the obituary. I decided to look for another way up. I looked around for a second, and while taking a few deep breaths I looked up and saw Hank above me and he was helping me carve out a route. I said “how much farther to the summit.” He said, “I’m here bro.” And I responded, “bulllllshit.” Hank said “I’ll show ya! Look, I have the summit register in my hand!” He held it up and I got all razzed that I was within 30 feet from topping out on Virginia.

Hank is a much better alpine climber than me so I wasn’t surprised that he was there before me and honestly, I was super thankful to have him there to tell me "put your foot here, hand there," and reinstate confidence into me when I otherwise would’ve turned around. So from here Hank pointed out the best option and talked my ear off as I puckered my way up to the summit, pushing myself further than I have ever gone before.

I will never forget topping out on this peak. I have been on the summit of a lot of mountains, but never one this “airy.” The summit never really flattens out and if you spend too much time looking in any direction it feels uncomfortable. I am good with heights, but this one had me wondering if that statement is true or not. Yet, I was stoked and ready to assess the descent.

In this photo: Standing on top of Virginia Peaks airy summit with Hank Williams.

Hank and I walked around a bit and looked over the edge at a few different options. Ultimately we settled on the northern most entrance where we would down climb to the snow line that lingered about 150 feet below the summit. It looked so close. We decided it was “totally doable” and Hank descended first, leading the way as the stronger climber. I then hopped in and faced the mountain, heavy pack, loaded with skis, and began down climbing with Hanks guidance.

In this photo: The adventure continues on Virginia Peak.

In this photo: Don’t be fooled, I am puckered, and very focused in this moment. One move at a time.

The rock was treacherous and every move was so deliberately executed that just the mental activity was exhausting. I remember thinking, holy shit, this is definitely the hardest I have ever focused on staying alive (other than going anaphylactic from an unknown wasp allergy.) All at the same time, it was meditative. There is nothing quite like being that focused. You’re mind isn’t jumping, instead it is stuck like velcro on this one task.

This whole process definitely had my nerves rising and by the time I reached Hank to switch over as the lead, I was sure as hell ready to get my skis on and back into my comfort zone.

In this photo: Hank now above me, and descending towards the snow line which I am, wondering, how do I get my skis on??

Next up, how the hell do I get onto the snow and into my skis on a 50 degree slope. Could I get my footing stable enough to remove my pack and not drop anything, including myself? I decided I would climb down a bit further where I could rest my pack between some rocks and safely take my pack off and switch to skis. Here I chose to take out my shovel and level out a bench on the snow that I would use to set my first ski down. This was pretty much the most crucial point of the transition, but also incredibly difficult because of the precision needed to step into tech bindings on this steep of a slope. You just simply cannot lose a ski here. Doing so means climbing back up or boot packing a down-climb all the way back to camp and out to the car some 17 miles. Not really an option.

I took my ice axe and solidly placed it above me in the snow, then grabbed my first ski, and attached the leash to my boot, at least now the ski was fixed to me. I stepped into the binding after a few failed attempts, then I reached back and grabbed the other ski off the rock and placed it on the snow. I clicked in, locked both bindings out, assuring they wouldn’t release, and switched my boots from walk to ski mode. I attached my ice axe to my ski pole with my ski strap, grabbed the other pole, looked back at Hank and said the famous word, “dropping.”

In this photo: I got in my skis! Now the easy part…

I took a few hop turns to check the snow again, it felt solid, and I started to gain speed as I descended quickly. However, before I knew it, the late-day snow was running down behind me. The sluff as we call it, wasn’t deep, but it was moving fast so I decided to avoid it as well as I could, switching from side to side as it caught up to me and passed me as a I changed directions.

The line I wanted to ski was to my right, and to get there I would have to ski through the sluff and a deep gutter that it was channeling through. I decided to pick up more speed so that I could get out in front of the moving snow but with my light touring skis I got bucked in the air and lost control.

Within seconds I was thinking to myself, stay calm, you have to stop this slide. As I tumbled a handful of times down the hill I eventually was facing headfirst down the 45-50 degree slope trying to self-arrest. I reached my right arm out in front of me and slammed my fist into the snow which luckily spun me 180 degrees, allowing my feet/skis to spin around and gain an edge beneath me, stopping my fall.

I immediately said “thank you” in my head and then heard Hank come over the radio, asking, “are you okay.” It took about 5 seconds to gain my breath and respond, “yeah, I’m all good.” From here, I was, lets just say, a bit more cautious. I stayed on the radio and briefly explained what happened, regretful that Hank had to witness that fall, but happy that I could walk him through a much safer approach down the mountain.

We agreed that he would slide or hop-turn the right side of our line, edging up against the rising slope that met the rocks, which would mostly be a better way to control the sluff. I skied across the slope out of his fall line and ended up on a ridge above our final descent where I would be (mostly) free from any avalanche. Hank did a great job and decided that he would ski in self-arrest mode, meaning, he didn’t use ski poles but instead held his ice axe in self-arrest position, making it much easier to gain stability if anything were to happen.

He skied down excellently, especially considering this is a new sport for him, and met me at the top of the final chute. I said to him, “Damn, I’m sorry for that one. Lots to go over, we could’ve done things differently.” Hank is the man and always positive, so of course he said something like, “whatever, we are all good and will go over it next week, lets enjoy this next one!”

We skied the remaining 1,000 vertical feet and then worked our way out of the Wilderness and back to the car where we all shared our own versions of the day and looked in awe at the landscape and the marks that we left in the snow. Stoked and thankful to be in one piece, we no doubt had an epic trip- one to remember.

Looking back on the trip, there were multiple things we did wrong (luckily many that we did right too.) We should have started earlier, which would’ve eased our concerns of snow stability. We should have also considered the danger of the loose rock, and how hard it would be to climb up or down it. And I should have skied more cautiously. I was overly confident and felt rushed, mainly from my own nerves but also because I didn’t want to keep Hank waiting on the side of a rock slab that was a definite no-fall zone. All in all, we should’ve managed the time better, and not been so set on skiing the line. I am glad to have done this trip and completed the mission, but mostly happy about what it taught me about big mountain skiing, and also with how much it added to these friendships.

In this photo: Virginia Peak, you are gorgeous.

In this photo: Reminiscing with Virginia Peak behind us.

In this photo: Nature sure is neat. We found this rams “head” right outside of a mountain lion cave.

And once again, I am looking forward to another trip to Tioga Pass this weekend! We are hoping to ski the Kidney Chute and the Dana Couloir!