Climbing: Rock 17:00:00 [3] 6.0 mi (2:50:00 / mi) +5000ft 1:35:01 / mi
shoes: Saucony 4mm
Drove to Bishop with Joe and met up with Sasha for some climbing in the Sierra. I was planning on doing a big route, but settled for a quick 5.4 jaunt up Mt Emerson's East Face since we got a late start. Sasha decided to bring his friend Amanda from work at the last minute, I figured it wasn't a big deal since she had experience and it should take us no more than 5 hrs.... Then we had an epic. Punted hard.
We started around 1 after the approach hike and the first four pitches took 5 fucking hours because Sasha and Amanda were so slow. Joe and I had time to film freaking time lapses of the clouds while waiting for them. At that point we should have just bailed, but I still thought we could make it before dark if we moved fast. "Fast", however, was not in Amanda's vocabulary.
We started simuling up the class 4 chutes to the summit, and it seemed to go on forever (as usual). Around 7 we were maybe 400 ft from the ridge line, and Sasha kicked a big rock at Amanda. All Joe and I heard was screaming and crying echoing up the chute. We looked at each other and exchanged the "we're so fucked" look. Sasha stayed where he was to give Amanda a body belay while Joe and I descended to check on her. We found her crying and shivering uncontrollably, but only with a small cut on her finger. What the fuck. I thought rock climbers were supposed to be tough. We bandaged the finger using Joe's bag of tricks and gave her some warm clothes, then asked her if she could continue climbing. Off the summit the descent was class 3 scree skiing, but if we bailed down it would take hours. She decided that she could continue, but we only had about an hour until sunset.
We reached the ridge at 8 and had about 20 minutes to traverse 400 ft along the the knife edge ridge to the summit and an easy descent. Joe started to scope out the traverse around a gendarme while Sasha comforted Amanda. Then Amanda totally broke down. Crying, shaking, apparently incapable of movement. At this point we could either finish the route, rap our route, or rap the unknown canyon on the other side of the ridge. Finishing the route seemed out due to Amanda's condition. Rapping out route would suck because it was so loose, and I was worried somebody would fall off a cliff. The unknown canyon was our only choice.
We had 10 minutes until sunset and we were bailing into a deep, inescapable gully. I knew we were fucked at this point, but everyone else seemed to become a little happier once we started down. I just shut up and went with it. Sasha estimated an hour or two to get down. I was thinking more like four... Neither of us were right.
The next nine hours were a haze of anchor building, rappelling, rope coiling, and downclimbing. And here's the best part: Amanda couldn't rappel. I had to lower her very slowly off of every anchor. Every rappel was an exercise in torture. While everyone else snuggled under Joe's space blanket I would be building an an anchor, rigging to lower, installing a single line rappel, cleaning the anchor, building a bail anchor, and installing a double rope rappel. I was always the one rapping off the sketchy anchor or coiling the ropes and downclimbing. By 3am I was starting to lose it. I thought I was going to die in that fucking canyon.
Around 3:30 we got to an open talus field where everyone could walk unroped. Thank god. We descended about 800 ft and reached another cliff. Fuck my life. To add insult to injury, this bottom part of the canyon was flowing with freezing cold water. Not deep enough for anything but shoes to get wet, but the ropes got soaked and would squeegee water all over you while rappelling. As if we weren't cold enough... Anyway, I lowered Amanda down the cliff, fixed the rope for Joe and Sasha, then climbed down the wet sketchy cliff and chimney system. At the bottom we thought we were close, but the rappels got even bigger. The next one was overhanging off a waterfall. I was thinking about how cool it would have been if it weren't 4am at 11k ft and I weren't cold, dehydrated, tired, and showing symtoms of AMS. Rappels continued downward as the canyon walls closed in and the water flow kept increasing. Eventually we landed in a tight little pit with what looked like our last rappel below. The problem was there was nothing to anchor to. Joe and I tried slinging a couple big rocks, but they moved easily when pulled. Eventually picked up a rock, slotted it as a chockstone, and slung that. I held up the rope for Amanda to tie in and she informed me that she didn't want to go first since it was dark. Okay, what? She had been lowered first on every other rappel because it made fixing the rappel line easier. Joe, unable to deal with this, just threw the rope and rapped. Sasha followed. I held up the rope end again for Amanda. She complained about how it was wet on her hands when tying in. I almost kicked her ass down the gully.
At the bottom of that rappel we found a large talus field and, eventually, the base of our route. By this time it was 4:15. It started getting light as we walked back to the car and the sun had fully risen by the time we were driving out. The whole experience felt surreal.
The mistakes here were numerous, not the least of which was bringing a rando on an alpine route. Never again. Fuck.