We had originally decided that we would skip the Fuller Ridge section of the trail, which follows directly a stop in Idyllwild and is easily bypassed by a day long road walk up to Black Mountain where the road and trail intersect. All reports thusfar held that the ridge was completely submerged under feet of snow, and virtually impossible to traverse without backcountry navigation skills and proficiency in ice-axe use. We had no qualm whatsoever in taking the road.
But when we got to Idyllwild and we heard that Casey and Maury and another guy, Shutterbug, who actually had mountaineering experience, were heading back up the Devil's Slide on Tuesday evening to try Fuller Ridge, we reconsidered and agreed to go along. At least, with an experienced climber, we would learn how to use the ice axes which have been hanging so uselessly on our packs.
So we spent Tuesday running errands. Our bounce box never arrived--we had made the mistake of sending it parcel post from Warner Springs--so I looked around unsuccessfully for another camera battery (mine may not last until our next town stop), we did our shopping, made a nice lunch back at our campsite (fresh veggies, at last), bought little instep crampons at the local gear shop and met up with the rest of the crew at 5 for a late afternoon hike back to the PCT.
We camped at the junction of Devil's Slide and the PCT which we had never been able to find the day before. The night was the coldest we've had yet.
****
We set out on Wednesday along the patchy trail northbound again. Snow drifts covered large sections and by 8:30 we all had our crampons strapped on and were navigating using map and compass, hanging ouselves to the ridgeline, using the altimeter on my watch to guage highpoints and peaks.
Soon thereafter, Shutterbug gave a brief demonstration on ice-axe use and proper self-arrest technique. He is a section hiker from Lake Arrowhead, a nearby city, and a volunteer with the mountain search and rescue unit there. It seemed simple enough, watching him show it-- grip the axe firmly across the chest, plant the balls of the feet into the snow--however, none of us really wanted to practice, as practicing would mean getting wet and we had a long day ahead of us.
We had no idea just how long it would turn out to be.
At the first crest we came to we pulled out our maps and approximated our location. We agreed on a point and debated which route would be best to take. To do this, one approximates a route on the map, deciphers where the route leads over the immediate, visible geography, and chooses a goal from within that visible geography to aim for. Compass bearings are taken and the route is discussed. Once highground is lost, it is very easy to lose a sense of direction, drop elevation inadvertantly during a traverse, and very soon, perhaps, end up frustrated, tired and lost. This didn't happen to us for some time. Before any of this would set in, we had a grand scheme to crack, stores of adrenaline to sap, and terrifying heights to conquer. In short, for some reason, out of some twisted turn of logic, we all agreed that the thing to do was to climb an extra 2000 ft off route, up and away from the PCT, over sweeping, exposed mountain sides to bag the summit of San Jacinto.
***
let me say:
We all lived. No broken bones, no helicopter rides down the mountain, nothing worse than a few scrapes and bruises came our way. Tears were shed, however, and fears were faced.
It all started lightly and easily enough. Some guys with a GPS system came by and hollered up to tell us e were headed in the wrong direction. We had seen them earlier that day and they were extremely cocky and quite unlikeable. Koala (these trail names are great--they're actually becoming our names out here) yells back, "We don't need you guys! We're going our own way!" and promptly slips onto her backside and shoots uncontrollably down the hill in front of her. I'm watching from behind, thinking: this is the end of our mountaintop adventure. The guys we are hiking with, all standing directly downhill of my plummetting girlfriend all cry out in unison, "Self-arrest!" And, I'll be darned, she did it. Flipped over, drove that pick into the ice over her shoulder, grinding herself to a halt in a fit of laughter...
Later, things got a bit heavier, though. Midway up this huge exposed slope, overlooking a boundless field of scattered boulders and pine trees, Eliza and I realize that we are scared shitless. We're in a line, following the other three guys. Casey is wearing these big mama titanium crampons and is kicking us footholds (he has now been dubbed appropriately, Kickstep) and we're all inching up behind him, ice-axes probing ahead at each step. Picture that Everest I-Max films minus the rope that holds everyone together--that's what it felt like heading up there.
The two of us stop and have a conference behind a boulder, considering our options for a second while the others inch onward. Eliza is shaking and crying. I don't know what to do, feeling sick, sure that it's my fault that we are in this mess at all. Next thing, she tells me she just now started having her period. Holy shit. I've been around enough women to know that this particular day of the month is the absolute worst day to attempt to climb a mountain on. Many of the women that I've worked with routinely take this day of the month off because it's so often just a bad day. And there we were. The day was starting to feel bad. What do we do? We stand up and keep on going. We really didn't have much choice. And it got better, fortunately.
No one fell. Even if someone had, we had our ice-axes. I don't mean to be implying that what we were doing was entirely reckless or even all that dangerous. It was hard and it was scary, but we had the tools and the skills to take care of ourselves.
The terrain levelled off some at around 10000 ft and we were in a winter wonderland. After a couple of false summits we reached the peak at 10834 ft. The views were incredible. I felt like we had really acomplished something, that we had overcome something quite formidable, both of this earth and of ourselves.
Coming down from the summit, refinding the PCT, making it over Fuller Ridge, and getting to dry land by nightfall--the rest of the day was no less challenging. Eliza had a very hard time descending the steep snowy slopes. Paralyzed with fear and in tears again, she still made it through.
Fatigue was our final challenge. Fuller ridge was long and slow going.
We made camp on a logging road at dusk, awestruck by the day.
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