Thunderbolt to Sill Traverse

Winds battering the side of my tent, I stayed curled inside my sleeping bag searching for a few more minutes of sleep. Anxious thoughts kept me up all night, and I knew I’d need as much rest as I could get for the long day ahead. All too soon, the familiar sound of my alarm clock went off. It was time. Leaving the warmth of my down bag, I crawled out of my tent and to see my backpack coated with a layer of frost. Conditions were worse than we anticipated, making a hard day that much harder.

The Palisade Traverse is a technical rock climb that traverses part of the Palisade Crest. Located in the Sierra Nevada range, the Palisades is home to a number of California 14ers (peaks above 14,000ft). Successfully completing the Palisade Traverse entails climbing five 14ers: Thunderbolt Peak, Starlight Peak, North Palisade, Polemonium Peak, and Mount Sill. While accounting for one-third of California’s 14,000ft+ peaks, these peaks are the most technically challenging, making them the most seldom climbed of the 14ers.

Trying to consume hot food before the cold day ahead, I turned on my stove to cook oatmeal and coffee. Instantly, the strong wind would kill the flame. I fought back by cranking up the gas valve and stacking rocks to act as a barrier. The wind won after it pushed the flame so far back that it melted the plastic ignition button off my stove, before killing the flame. Without a lighter and a way to light the stove, I settled for cold oats and coffee.

The start of the day would be the easiest. After two miles of straightforward cross country travel, we reached the talus-filled slopes. From here on, we hopped from boulder to boulder uphill for a few miles to get to the start of the climb. The day before I drove in from the Bay Area, meeting my climbing partner Mike at the trailhead, where we hiked in about 8 miles to set up our base camp. With only one night to acclimate at altitude, the talus hopping was taking a harder toll on me than I’d like. I focused on my breathing, trying to count my breaths, but my concentration broke every time I heard rockfall. Sometimes it was a cascade of tiny rocks, sprinkling their way down the mountain side. Other times, it was a crashing of a large rock, abandoning its place off the mountain side to join the talus fields we were scrambling up. With every rockfall heard, an accumulating ball of guilt was gnawed in my stomach.

Growing up, there was only one mountaineer in my family and my life, Todd, a close family friend. Since he was the only climber we knew, most of my perceptions of climbing (as well as my family’s) came from him. Two years ago, Todd was climbing in the Palisades, completing his life goal of finishing all of California’s 14ers. While on the descent, members of his party yelled “rock!” as a TV size boulder came tumbling down the mountain. He ducked so the rock would bounce over him, but it ended up hitting him anyway. The impact launched him into the air, throwing him off the side of the mountain onto a glacier. If the rock didn’t kill him instantly, the fall must have. His party scurried down to reach him, but his body remained out of reach. Todd laid on the glacier for three days before a helicopter could retrieve his body.

The Palisades has been a place synonymous with death, loss, and grief. But as an aspiring alpinist, completing the Palisade Traverse would be a major rite of passage and felt too great an opportunity to pass. My mind struggled as it held these two conflicting beliefs. I tried making up reasons to justify the risk of going into this place that I once told myself I would always stay away from. It all felt like a selfish pursuit. Before leaving, I told my family I’d be out climbing, but kept my plans vague. To die would be one thing, but to think about dying in the Palisades filled me with a paralyzing wave of guilt. I always thought climbing made me grow as a person. It taught me to trust myself in profound ways, I learned how far enthusiasm and positivity can take you, and the importance of uplifting those around you. But now, with lingering guilt, I’m wondering if climbing made me worse.

“Rock!” Mike yelled, as a few baseball size rocks came rolling down the gully a few yards safely to our left. We were scrambling up the loose 5th class gully, getting closer to the top of the mountain’s ridge. At the top, we would be out of danger of any rockfall, ready for our next challenges.

On top, our first and hardest summit loomed in front of us, Thunderbolt Peak. Technically speaking, it is a 5.9 unprotected summit. This means that although I was tied in, the rope is meant to prevent me from rolling off the mountain rather than to give a soft catch if I fall. If your feet slip here, you’re looking at a 20ft fall into a menacing patch of boulders before the rope catches you. On top the ridge, there was nothing protecting us from the cold wind. My numb hands struggled to tie my shoelaces as I changed into my rock climbing shoes. Hopping on the 5.9 face, my hands were too cold to feel the rock, but with a few short scary moves, I was standing on top of our first summit.

Pulling the final moves of Thunderbolt Peak (5.9R). Apparently I did not do a good job of tying my shoes.

Getting off of Thunderbolt, we took off our rope and soloed our way over to the next summit. From here on out, we’d spend most of our time on the ridge staying above 14,000ft, bagging the peaks along the way. Starlight peak was our next summit and second hardest peak. Also unprotected, it only went at 5.6, so after tying back into the rope, I saved time by staying in my approach shoes. After coming down, we decided to solo the rest of the route, only pulling out the rope for rappels. For the most part, the rock at the top was solid with 4th/low 5th class terrain and some occasional 5.6 moves. A few hours later, we cruised through the last three 14ers of the day, finally standing on top of Mount Sill. We let ourselves relax at the final summit for about 15 minutes to take summit photos and grab a bite, but with sunset an hour and a half away and a tricky descent, we rushed off the mountain down a scree slope.

Heading up Starlight Peak. Mount Sill, the end of the traverse, is seen to the left. Also to the bottom left is the Palisade Glacier, the largest remaining glacier in the Sierra Nevadas.

Some airy moves climbing up Polemonium Peak.

At the bottom, we were again met with the talus field. With the traverse dumping us out at the other end of the mountain range, we were looking at a few extra miles of talus hopping to get back. With the sun setting and a sea of talus in front of me, I took off my backpack to get my headlamp. When I reached into the headlamp’s usual pocket, it was gone. Dumping out everything and peering in every corner, it was surely gone. I would need to use my phone flashlight to navigate my way forward.

A sea of talus left to cross without a headlamp. Would not recommend this combo.

With all light completely gone from the sky, my phone had 20% battery left with a little over 3 miles left to our basecamp. Two miles of talus hopping and about one of casual cross country, I was racing against my phone’s battery life. I gripped my phone tight, hoping not to drop it between jumps. There were many deep holes that if I dropped my phone at the wrong time, it would be gone forever. After what felt like a Sisyphean effort we finally made it back to our camps, over 15 hours after starting. While Mike was stoked on cooking up dinner, I was absolutely spent and went directly into the comfort of my sleeping bag. Finally, I could take a deep breath and relax. Tomorrow would be an easy hike back to my car.

I would think frequently about the meaning of it all. Was it all worth the risk? Was it all a selfish pursuit if I came back unscathed? What does the Palisades mean to me now? Is it still a place of loss, a place of new beginnings, both?

I could never answer my questions, and I doubt that any answer could exist. Like most questions, the answers are only temporary until you find the holes that let you see past it. Looking back, I realized the folly in trying to find answers from the Palisades, as I overlooked what was in front of me the entire time: a mountain range—a place existing solely for itself. One can witness the destructive forces of nature, feel the sublime in grandeur spaces, and everything in between. It is as devoid of answers as it is questions. Climbing probably won’t give me the answers I’m looking for, but it will let me be a witness to the endless beauty of these mountain ranges, and let me continue to push myself in new and profound ways.

Stoke is high: standing on top the summit of Mount Sill with the completed traverse in the background.