The main feature of the upper reaches of the east fork of Styx Branch
is the Climbing Wall – a long, steep cliff/cascade. In scrambling up the
exposed rock of this “wall,” there are several routes one can take, but just
because you can that doesn’t mean you
should. So we each scrambled up the
steep, rocky slope, each of us using his own judgment of what route would
qualify as a should. Sometimes we had
the same definitions of should and sometimes
we didn’t, but we both survived. And, as we had hoped, all this happened under
the bright glare of the sun. Our jackets and long sleeves were in our packs
where they belonged. The sky was as deep a blue as I have ever seen. In the
shade the temperatures were a little above freezing. In the sun on the exposed
rock, we wore T shirts.
One of the significant features of this type of trip up an exposed
scar or cliff is that it sometimes is so steep that you need to stay focused on
the rock and only the rock. Move hand and grasp. Next, move foot and plant
firmly. Next, move the other hand and grasp. Next, move the other foot…. These
rocky climbs are not vertical, but they are at least 45 and occasionally 60
degrees, and they are sometimes long. It has never happened to me, but I
suspect a long, sliding, tumble can cause just as much damage (and more pain
while it is happening) as a vertical fall. You don’t dwell on this fact, but it
does form the background noise in your brain as you look for your next solid
handhold.
Whenever we find a nice, level spot we turn around and look at the ridges
and valleys behind us – in this case, it was Parton Peaks, NoName Ridge,
Anakeesta Ridge… the entire wilderness playground of the rugged, southern side
of Mount LeConte. And up above us was the main body of Mount LeConte herself,
our ultimate destination. We still had over 1,000’ of vertical elevation before
we’d reach Myrtle Point, which would be hard but entertaining. “Work” in the
best sense of the word
On this day, I really struggled. Probably a combination of fighting a
cold all week, eating too many sweets and hamburgers and pizzas the past 6
months, and a few too many birthdays. As Greg sat on the rocky scar about 100’
above me, I said, “I’ll be there in about 45 minutes.” He thought I was joking.
I hoped I was joking. Thirty minutes later I dragged myself alongside him and
sat for a few minutes. He casually asked, “Did you bring your headlamp?” He was
as subtle as possible, but we both knew the underlying message.
On these trips I always bring a headlamp because I seem to struggle
more than I used to. My mojo on any given day is the wild card that determines
whether our off-trail hike will be an efficient adventure that ends before
sunset or a long, tiring slog that ends with our hiking back to the car in the
dark. In recent years, a headlamp is as necessary as food, water, and toilet
paper.
In fact, this trip was the first time I had the thought: Will this be
the last time I make this trip? Or, if it’s not, when will my last trip happen,
and will I know it’s my last trip while I’m on it or will I only realize it
years later? Those are melancholy questions that never occurred to me until the
last couple of years. [To be continued]
