Satori on San Jacinto--2007
Posted: Tue Dec 14, 2010 5:50 pm
It was three years ago today that Norma R and I took an (albeit self-taught) “Introduction to Winter Mountaineering” course on San Jacinto, nearly fell off an icy rock face in the dark, were forced to bivy, suffered early stages of both hypothermia and heatstroke, and avoided a SAR call-out by only fifteen minutes. We felt that a re-telling of the story might serve as a cautionary tale for some; comic relief for others. 
Cy and Norma getting ready at the TH
My winter experience had been somewhat limited to this point; Norma even more so, as evidenced by the price tag dangling from her newly-purchased crampons. We followed Cy Kaicener—undisputed authority of all things Skyline—up the trail from the Palm Springs Museum. We were having a great time talking with Cy and before long we hit the first snow at around 4,000’. Cy doesn’t hike in snow, so he turned back after admonishing us to be careful and issuing a stern warning that the routefinding would be tricky as we climbed higher. But we could see and hear the dang tram and were seasoned Sierra regulars—how hard could it be?
We say bye-bye to Cy @ ~4,000’
Norma further up the trail
As we climbed higher the snow got much deeper but thankfully we found a nice snowshoe track which kept the postholing to a minimum. Only problem was, the guy who made the track was lost and by extension, now so were we! We followed the tracks all the way up to a Class 4-ish buttress below what we thought was the final ridge, when they abruptly stopped. After a couple of failed attempts to surmount the buttress, we traversed around to a notch on the ridge which revealed a long, narrow valley. Neither of us had been on the mountain before so we thought, “Hey, maybe this is Long Valley, which means we’re really close!” Not even. In fact, we didn’t even know how close we weren’t since we didn’t have a map.
Climbing higher
The daylight faded as we continued to traverse along the back side of the ridge, hoping to get high enough to see the tram. Along the way we passed a natural shelter of sorts which was formed by some boulders and I jokingly said, “We’d better set a waypoint here in case we have to bivy.”
At about the time it got completely dark, we came to a 3rd class rock escarpment along the ridge which dropped off steeply on both sides. We were sure that if we got on top of it, we’d be able to see the tram and life would be good again, because right then things kinda sucked, what with the temps dropping like a rock, our stomachs growling and our feet soaking wet from being in snow all day. Norma started to climb up the rock first since we didn’t have a rope, the thought being that I might catch her if she slipped. The next thing I saw were sparks lighting up the night as her crampons skated down the face. I managed to grab her arm and she caught hold of a tree branch to arrest the fall. At that point we decided it was too dangerous to continue.
Home Sweet Bivy
Back at the bivy cave, we gathered what meager firewood (mostly brush) we could, knowing it was going to be a cold night, then huddled under our space blankets and took turns praying (Norma) and making jokes (me). Even though temps were in the 20s and Norma was icin’ up pretty fast, I wanted to hold out as long as possible before starting a fire because we didn’t have much fuel, plus I didn’t want to trigger a rescue by someone spotting the flames. And since I was never a Boy Scout, I also had my doubts as to whether or not we’d even be able to get one going. But since I had an extra pair of dry socks, whereas Norma didn’t (can’t remember if I offered her mine), at 11p and after lots of shivering, I relented. To my surprise, Norma had a roaring fire going in minutes. Her secret: cotton pads soaked in Vaseline.
The long, cold night has taken its toll on Norma. She seems changed, somehow...
The next morning we headed down. Since we had been without cell service for over 24 hours, our families were in varying degrees of hysteria. My wife had already been talking to some SAR friends of mine and the decision had been made to “pull the rescue trigger” at High Noon. Thankfully, at 11:45a we were finally able to get calls out to let everyone know we were OK.
Heading back to Palm Springs
Even though we were much closer to the tram than our starting point, we still didn’t know the route up and it seemed safer to go back down through the desert. This was not as easy as it sounds. We basically had no food (I think we split three almonds for the day) or water (we filled our bottles with snow, but it didn’t last long) and became quite dehydrated in the heat. The final routefinding related indignity was inadvertently dropping into a cemetery upon leaving the trail and having to climb a 10 foot fence to get back out.
All’s well that ends well, and since our [mis]adventure we’ve both learned a lot and have climbed San Jacinto many times on various routes and in all seasons, but you never forget your first time (or bivy)!
More pix: http://www.flickr.com/photos/21042415@N ... 478242447/
Cy and Norma getting ready at the TH
My winter experience had been somewhat limited to this point; Norma even more so, as evidenced by the price tag dangling from her newly-purchased crampons. We followed Cy Kaicener—undisputed authority of all things Skyline—up the trail from the Palm Springs Museum. We were having a great time talking with Cy and before long we hit the first snow at around 4,000’. Cy doesn’t hike in snow, so he turned back after admonishing us to be careful and issuing a stern warning that the routefinding would be tricky as we climbed higher. But we could see and hear the dang tram and were seasoned Sierra regulars—how hard could it be?
We say bye-bye to Cy @ ~4,000’
Norma further up the trail
As we climbed higher the snow got much deeper but thankfully we found a nice snowshoe track which kept the postholing to a minimum. Only problem was, the guy who made the track was lost and by extension, now so were we! We followed the tracks all the way up to a Class 4-ish buttress below what we thought was the final ridge, when they abruptly stopped. After a couple of failed attempts to surmount the buttress, we traversed around to a notch on the ridge which revealed a long, narrow valley. Neither of us had been on the mountain before so we thought, “Hey, maybe this is Long Valley, which means we’re really close!” Not even. In fact, we didn’t even know how close we weren’t since we didn’t have a map.
Climbing higher
The daylight faded as we continued to traverse along the back side of the ridge, hoping to get high enough to see the tram. Along the way we passed a natural shelter of sorts which was formed by some boulders and I jokingly said, “We’d better set a waypoint here in case we have to bivy.”
At about the time it got completely dark, we came to a 3rd class rock escarpment along the ridge which dropped off steeply on both sides. We were sure that if we got on top of it, we’d be able to see the tram and life would be good again, because right then things kinda sucked, what with the temps dropping like a rock, our stomachs growling and our feet soaking wet from being in snow all day. Norma started to climb up the rock first since we didn’t have a rope, the thought being that I might catch her if she slipped. The next thing I saw were sparks lighting up the night as her crampons skated down the face. I managed to grab her arm and she caught hold of a tree branch to arrest the fall. At that point we decided it was too dangerous to continue.
Home Sweet Bivy
Back at the bivy cave, we gathered what meager firewood (mostly brush) we could, knowing it was going to be a cold night, then huddled under our space blankets and took turns praying (Norma) and making jokes (me). Even though temps were in the 20s and Norma was icin’ up pretty fast, I wanted to hold out as long as possible before starting a fire because we didn’t have much fuel, plus I didn’t want to trigger a rescue by someone spotting the flames. And since I was never a Boy Scout, I also had my doubts as to whether or not we’d even be able to get one going. But since I had an extra pair of dry socks, whereas Norma didn’t (can’t remember if I offered her mine), at 11p and after lots of shivering, I relented. To my surprise, Norma had a roaring fire going in minutes. Her secret: cotton pads soaked in Vaseline.
The long, cold night has taken its toll on Norma. She seems changed, somehow...
The next morning we headed down. Since we had been without cell service for over 24 hours, our families were in varying degrees of hysteria. My wife had already been talking to some SAR friends of mine and the decision had been made to “pull the rescue trigger” at High Noon. Thankfully, at 11:45a we were finally able to get calls out to let everyone know we were OK.
Heading back to Palm Springs
Even though we were much closer to the tram than our starting point, we still didn’t know the route up and it seemed safer to go back down through the desert. This was not as easy as it sounds. We basically had no food (I think we split three almonds for the day) or water (we filled our bottles with snow, but it didn’t last long) and became quite dehydrated in the heat. The final routefinding related indignity was inadvertently dropping into a cemetery upon leaving the trail and having to climb a 10 foot fence to get back out.
All’s well that ends well, and since our [mis]adventure we’ve both learned a lot and have climbed San Jacinto many times on various routes and in all seasons, but you never forget your first time (or bivy)!
More pix: http://www.flickr.com/photos/21042415@N ... 478242447/
Also glad you two made it out safely or else I wouldn't have been able to enjoy the other crazy things we've done since that time - great read, great pictures 
longest night of my life, that's for sure. we never felt lost, cuz we knew we could follow our tracks back the next day, so there was never any fear. it was just the cold that made the night nearly unbearable. plus we realized we'd have some story to tell our grand kids someday.