Burly Winter Ascent of the South Arete of the Angel Wings....SNP ....TR

another fine Daniel Leach photo

Angel Wings South Arete, V 5.11+

February 6-12, 2002

Jason Magness & Craig Clarence (writer)

As fall turned into winter last year, it occurred to me that I had let the

Sierra climbing season slip away.  Too much cragging, too many

expeditions, not enough time spent climbing in my favorite mountain

range. Could I work in a backcountry route, now that winter was here?  The

obvious partner for such a climb was my good friend Jason Magness, who was

attempting new routes in Patagonia this time last year.  

Kicking around ideas, Jason asked about the toughest Sierra

backcountry rock climb I've been considering.  Well, Angel Wings has the

toughest moves of any route in John Moynier's Sierra Classics book.  What

about the most remote route?  Angel Wings again. In doing the (possible)

first winter ascent of the peak and (probable) first winter ascent of the

South Arete, the choice for maximal suffering seemed clear.

But was it even possible?  In the summer the formation has a 16 mile

approach, but in the winter we had to contend with an additional 3 miles

as the Moro Rock spur road was closed.  Neither of us had climbed in the

area, and we assumed that finding the snow-covered trail in the heavy

Sierra west-side forest would be the crux of the trip. 

Having a party of 3 on the route seemed prudent, but recruiting another

partner proved impossible. Jason flew into Orange County from North

Dakota, and we left the next morning.  There is (or was, it's melting

fast) about three feet of snow at the Moro Rock turnoff where we parked,

mostly from a big storm that had swept through the previous week.  From

the car we started hiking in thin poly-pro and no shirts, which was to be

our hiking attire for most the trip.  It was so warm it almost felt like

cheating.

When we lost the trail in the snow in Crescent Meadow after walking three

miles, I sensed imminent disaster.  We quickly regained the trail,

however, and had only a few minor detours over the next 16 miles. 

Although the trail was about 95% covered in snow, it was fairly obvious

most the way.  The tough parts were the north-facing slopes, where snow

was deep enough to not form a trail-like impression, and the switchbacks,

which were difficult to distinguish from the surrounding features.

So, after three days of snow-shoed walking (two half days and one full

day) we arrived at the base of Angel Wings.  The wall soared above us,

completely clear of snow - we were psyched.  As a born pessimist, I hadn't

given us much of a chance of even seeing the wall, and here we were within

striking distance!  With the short days, we decided to plan on a bivy. 

The idea was for the second to ascend the lead line using Tiblocs, while

wearing the pack with the bivy gear.  However, trying to ascend a

near-vertical wall with a relatively heavy pack proved too difficult, so

we hauled the pack on any pitch over 5.9. 

There was no warm-up on this climb - I pulled off my plastic boots, put on

the rock shoes, and started climbing 5.10 off the snow.  The rock was

beautiful, clean Yosemite-like granite, and it was so warm I could have

been climbing in shorts.  By the time I got to the end of each pitch, I'd

be sweating profusely in my full Gortex suit, but I didn't want to take

the time to remove it and I knew it would get cold enough later that I

would be happy to have it.

I had quite a scare on the 3rd pitch, pulling around the loose block

indicated in the topo.  This thing is really huge and appears to be

delicately balanced on a small perch.  I pulled over a small roof and

pulled back on a flake, not knowing it was the block.  The flake started

moving outward, and I quickly stopped pulling, whereupon the flake settled

back against the wall. Jason, ascending the lines after I finished the

pitch, didn't even notice the block - it's so big and not obviously loose

that it just looks like part of the face.

The route follows a nearly continuous crack system, all the way up to the

5.11+ "Black Roof."  To speed things along, I didn't hesitate to

French free whenever I felt the need.  Also to save time, we led in

blocks, which meant my leads got us up to roof, where it was Jason's

turn.  He pulled on a few pieces to get over the 6 foot roof (including a

"fixed" #1 Camalot which I easily cleaned).  Then the fun began.  After

the roof the route traversed straight right, through a gully, and then

onto the arete again.  I guess the gully is dry in the summer because in

all the route descriptions I read, there was no mention of the raging

creek that now flowed down it.  Plus the gully was steep, much more like a

chimney.

This was one of those situations where you feel bad for your partner

leading the pitch, but that feeling pales in comparison to the feeling of

relief that YOU aren't leading it. Jason did a few badly protected moves

to get across the water, then had to move up.  At this point the rope

stopped moving for 45 minutes.  Stuck under the Black Roof, I had no idea

what was going on and it was deadly silent except for the water flowing

by.

Finally he yelled, "I guess I have no choice but this could be a big

one!"  The rope moved up steadily and Jason was soon at the anchor.  It

turned out that the delay was the result of Jason trying to decide which

way to face inside the chimney:  the side pouring with water, or the

relatively dry side.  He ended up with his back pressed against the wall

with the flowing water, no pro for 15 feet (and only marginal pro below

that), water cascading over his back.  When I finished ascending the

lines, Jason tipped our only chalk bag over and poured out so much water I

expected to see a fish come out.

The next pitch got us further up the chimneys, and Jason found a ledge

just as it was getting dark.  Unfortunately it too was pouring with water,

but we found a section way off to the side that was only half wet.  A

painful but not horrible bivy ensued, and the three packs of ramen we

cooked up in our little titanium pot definitely were a morale booster.  At

least we didn't have to worry about drinking water.

The next morning it was my lead again.  At this point we had the choice of

following the first-ascent line taken by Rowell and Jones in 1971, or

doing the direct variation on the very crest of the arete put up by

Leversee in 1984.  The Rowell/Jones gully looked full of ice, flowing

water, and squeeze chimneys, but seemed to offer a quicker way to the

summit plateau, so I picked the gully.  Wrong choice.  Without an axe or

crampons, I tried to chimney above the ice in my plastic boots, eventually

wriggling out of the chimneys after two pitches into a lower-angle gully

filled with snow.  The ice I knocked down on Jason had nearly taken him

out, and my new rope took several core shots.

Jason fought through the squeeze chimneys wearing the pack, and we both

thought we were home free.  No such luck.  At the top of the 300 foot snow

gully, we looked down from a sharp arete into the next gully west, which

is the main gully that splits the south face of Angel Wings. It completely

blocked our access to the summit plateau.  Moving up the arete looked like

several more pitches of steep rock, so we rappelled 300 feet into the main

gully and then had to walk back up several hundred feet in the snow. 

Finally, we were granted access to the summit plateau.

The descent to the west was relatively straightforward, with a few rappels

required to get over ice patches before we regained the trail above Lone

Pine Creek.  We left the now-shredded ropes and climbing gear on the trail

to dry, and walked back to our camp at Lower Hamilton Lake.  Neither of us

slept much that night, the adrenaline still pumping.  With lighter packs

and food in the car motivating us, the walk out took less than 2 days.