The Pinnacle Climb on Mt.Washington

Labor Day Weekend, Susan Ruff and Paulina Varchavskaia

What a weekend we had! Gorgeous weather, still moonlit nights, great open rock lines, and the good kind of tired at the end of the day.

Summary:

Susan and I went up to New Hampshire on Labor Day weekend with the primary objective of climbing the Pinnacle on Mount Washington. We warmed up on Saturday on Standard Route 5.5 on Whitehorse Ledge which was only wet in a couple of places. We went to Intervale for an early night, and on Sunday set out from Pinkham Notch Visitor's Center at 8:30am. Three hours and thirty minutes of approach and gear sorting later, we started off on the classic Northeast Ridge 5.7*** of the Pinnacle in Huntington's Ravine. Everything went splendidly, and we were swinging leads in cadence until we reached the summit of the Pinnacle at close to 6pm. Although there was still daylight ahead, we opted to come down rather than go to the summit of Washington, - a good idea since the descent down Lionshead Trail took me four hours due to weak knees. The concept of trekking poles (graciously provided by Mike) was successfully tested on the approach, and especially on the descent, and I'm now totally sold on the idea, and looking to buy my own. All in all, a great weekend out in the Whites.

Let the ranting and raving begin:

There's something to be said about coming to Whitehorse Ledge on a rainy morning, for it was still raining early on Saturday morning, - there are very few lost souls there at such a time, and they can be seen looking up wearily at the wet slabs, shaking their heads, and going elsewhere. Unbelievably, though, something like Standard Route 5.5 (II)*** may be open, and one may not have the will to resist its calling, even though the first "pitch" - the 5.0 friction scramble to the Launch Pad - is entirely wet. The rest looks reasonable, though, and so I start going up to the base of the climb still wearing my Tevas... until I slip and slide back to the ground. Oh well, better get that out of the way early. The second attempt is made barefoot and in a helmet, following Susan's wise example, and the rest of the climb goes pretty gracefully and efficiently until the crux pitch way up, where we get on a "variation" (there were pitons there!) and pretty much climb whatever is in our way from then on to the top. 7 pitches in 6 hours, with a little simul-climbing on the last one.
Second belay on Standard Route 5.5 on Whitehorse

Echo Lake from Whitehorse
Although it was early still, we called it a day at that point, had a relaxing dinner in North Conway, and went back to Intervale to get an early night, where we saw Hector and Karl preparing to go on their moonlight adventure. That night we slept out on the deck at the cabin, under a full moon and a chilly sky - the summer is pretty much over in the Whites now.
Sunday starts early but slowly (getting out of a sleeping bag that's wet from the dew, but still much warmer than the air outside is unpleasant), and we finally set out on Tuckerman Ravine Trail at 8:30am, after chocolate cake for breakfast, and weighing our packs at the trailhead: 33lbs for Susan, and 30lbs for me. As it will turn out later, we mistakenly packed both ropes, although we decided long before to take only one of Susan's 9mm half-ropes on the climb. Look at it as training.

The trail is a zoo on this perfect Sunday of a long weekend, but we soon turn onto a shortcut to Huntington Ravine Trail, and stop to put on our harnesses, rack up for the climb, and stash away the backpacks. It's amazing how much stuff you can fit into a Camelback, if you put your mind to it. In go: 1.5 liters of water, two GoreTex jackets, one fleece, one long-sleeve shirt, two pairs of socks, a few emergency supplies, more chocolate cake, granola bars, and headlamps. I keep the trekking poles for now, they'll be strapped to the sides of the Camelback later. Sandals for the descent and another water bottle are clipped to our harnesses.

Susan on top of Whitehorse Ledge

Keeping hydrated on the approach to the Pinnacle (seen in the background) in Huntington Ravine, Mt.Washington
Three and a half hours from the trailhead, and we're at the base of The Pinnacle. There is a party right in front of us - the leader is finishing the first pitch. They are using radios, another concept I finally see in action and am immediately sold on. There is another party ahead of them, but everyone is moving fast, and we don't wait long - just enough time for us to check the rack, flake the rope, and put our shoes on. I start off on the first pitch at about noon. From then on, it's just beautiful, we hit the "flow" and go with it. Some of the highlights of the day for me include my first "two horizontal nuts in opposition" placement on pitch one and my first 5.7 trad lead (pitch 3). That one was a great varied pitch, with a short 5.7 corner to a little traverse on great holds to an awkward 5.7 move onto a ramp and over easier stuff to a belay left of the V-chimney and just below the 5.8 corner variation. The chimney deserves a separate description.

Whatever the FA were thinking! From the belay ledge, Susan is supposed to go down and left to the base of the chimney, but it isn't obvious at all where to go or how to protect these first moves. Eventually, Susan traverses left high just under a roof, where she has to move in a squatting position, trying not to bang her head on the roof, but she manages in style (very nice lead). When I follow, I have a Camelback with trekking poles strapped to it on me. The poles refuse to go under the roof for the longest time, and I have to squat really low and traverse under the roof with my butt hanging below my feet, not a pretty sight. Huffing and puffing, I make it over to the inverted V-chimney and start trying to go up. Somehow chimneying is hard with something on my back. After I grab the God-sent chockstone that sits in there, my feet simply let go, and I dangle from my arms on the chockstone for a while before finding a way to stem and get my feet on it. Of course Susan had slung the chockstone nicely but I don't have an opportunity to clean it until after I'm above it. Thus ensues a little ballet, as I gracefully push down on the girth-hitch with my right foot while trying to grab the sling with my hand. Something works out eventually, and I'm at the next stance.
Belay on top of pitch 3 before the chimney - yes, I realize that I look ridiculously happy, but hey! That's how it felt

Susan somewhere on the Pinnacle
There is actually record of what the FA party did on this pitch. First of all, the leader got a shoulder onto the base of the chimney, while the others did it "by penduluming across" if you know what I mean. Then the crazy part comes: upon reaching the chockstone, the leader untied(!), threaded the rope behind it (!), and retied to continue up. I suppose that was called protection back then. My only remaining question is: why didn't they just continue up the obvious corner instead of doing all this? It would only have been a grade harder (and I bet less awkward, although I haven't actually done that variation).
From then on to the top, we simply went meandering through easier terrain with a whole lot of rope drag for another 3 pitches, and finally I'm on top of the world (sorry, the Pinnacle), and Susan comes up, and it's about 6pm.

"Are you okay? she asks. You look out of it." I reassure her that I'm fine, but I really must be tired or dehydrated or something because all of a sudden she picks up an apple that was apparently sitting on a rock right in front of my nose - and I completely failed to see it. That causes me to re-evaluate my state, and I take a moment to drink, eat, and take a picture of Susan. We scramble to the Alpine Garden trail and decide to go down rather than to the summit, and although I give Susan some grief about it, deep down I know it was the right decision. The trail is gorgeous in this clear late afternoon, and the summits across the valley are getting covered with the gentlest shades of alpenglow. Lionshead Trail is quite steep for my abused knees, and I take my time (all four hours of it) to come back down to Pinkham Notch.
On top of the Pinnacle
The temperature was around 35-40 F on Washington, and around 70 F in the valley

View from the Alpine Garden Trail The trekking poles have performed amazingly - I don't think I would have been able to come down without them. On our way we meet a couple of night-hikers going up to look at the full moon from the highest point in New Hampshire. Later still, after Susan has already retrieved our stashed packs, we come across a man with an injured knee, who was coming down very slowly but under his own power with the help of a couple of his friends. Our help wasn't needed.
The burger I ate that night at the Scarecrow was the tastiest meal of my life. The following morning I was supposed to catch a bus back to Boston at 7:20am - I woke up at 9am. Oops. And so Labor Day was spent mostly lounging around at Rumney, recovering from the exploits of the previous two days.

Mountain lyricism (aside):

As I carefully stake my (sorry, not my - Mike's) trekking poles in front of me and make step after step down, from rock to boulder, things I like and hate about climbing compete for my diminishing attention. I like dreaming of climbing a route, and then going and climbing it. I like a nice long trail or scrambling approach, I like a gorgeous, sunny, late summer's day in the mountains with a cool breeze. I like an efficiently packed Camelback that never once throws me off balance. I like sharing chocolate cake with a a great person and climbing partner like Susan. I like leading my first trad 5.7 pitch in an alpine environment (or as close to it as the White Mountains get in the summer) in style. I like to stand back and put my weight on the anchor so I can look out further to the rolling skyline. I like having mastered a couple of neat tricks, like flaking the rope over the sling that I'm attached to the anchor with, as I'm belaying the second. I like the flow of a great day on a classic multipitch when everything goes just right. And after that, I like to stay on top for a while and watch the orange glow of the late afternoon sun cover the mountain tops, and I like being amused at the number of cairns on the Alpine Garden trail when it's not cloudy, or foggy, and there is still plenty daylight. And I like singing along to Abbey Road on the way back to Boston.
I hate strenuous descents among boulder fields, - hey, where's the cable car? I hate being rushed, especially when it could compromise safety. I hate having to "perform on rock" for an audience, of climbers or otherwise. I hate freaking out for no reason on something that I should be totally solid on. I hate it when things I hate interfere with what could have been the flow of a great day on a classic climb, and make me break down.
The balance tips inevitably to the good side, and then I guess, this is why I climb. For days like Sunday, September 2nd, 2001.

There's something to be said about coming to Whitehorse Ledge on a rainy morning, for it was still raining early on Saturday morning, - there are very few lost souls there at such a time, and they can be seen looking up wearily at the wet slabs, shaking their heads, and going elsewhere. Unbelievably, though, something like Standard Route 5.5 (II)*** may be open, and one may not have the will to resist its calling, even though the first "pitch" - the 5.0 friction scramble to the Launch Pad - is entirely wet. The rest looks reasonable, though, and so I start going up to the base of the climb still wearing my Tevas... until I slip and slide back to the ground. Oh well, better get that out of the way early. The second attempt is made barefoot and in a helmet, following Susan's wise example, and the rest of the climb goes pretty gracefully and efficiently until the crux pitch way up, where we get on a "variation" (there were pitons there!) and pretty much climb whatever is in our way from then on to the top. 7 pitches in 6 hours, with a little simul-climbing on the last one.	Second belay on Standard Route 5.5 on Whitehorse
Echo Lake from Whitehorse	Although it was early still, we called it a day at that point, had a relaxing dinner in North Conway, and went back to Intervale to get an early night, where we saw Hector and Karl preparing to go on their moonlight adventure. That night we slept out on the deck at the cabin, under a full moon and a chilly sky - the summer is pretty much over in the Whites now. Sunday starts early but slowly (getting out of a sleeping bag that's wet from the dew, but still much warmer than the air outside is unpleasant), and we finally set out on Tuckerman Ravine Trail at 8:30am, after chocolate cake for breakfast, and weighing our packs at the trailhead: 33lbs for Susan, and 30lbs for me. As it will turn out later, we mistakenly packed both ropes, although we decided long before to take only one of Susan's 9mm half-ropes on the climb. Look at it as training.
The trail is a zoo on this perfect Sunday of a long weekend, but we soon turn onto a shortcut to Huntington Ravine Trail, and stop to put on our harnesses, rack up for the climb, and stash away the backpacks. It's amazing how much stuff you can fit into a Camelback, if you put your mind to it. In go: 1.5 liters of water, two GoreTex jackets, one fleece, one long-sleeve shirt, two pairs of socks, a few emergency supplies, more chocolate cake, granola bars, and headlamps. I keep the trekking poles for now, they'll be strapped to the sides of the Camelback later. Sandals for the descent and another water bottle are clipped to our harnesses.	Susan on top of Whitehorse Ledge
Keeping hydrated on the approach to the Pinnacle (seen in the background) in Huntington Ravine, Mt.Washington	Three and a half hours from the trailhead, and we're at the base of The Pinnacle. There is a party right in front of us - the leader is finishing the first pitch. They are using radios, another concept I finally see in action and am immediately sold on. There is another party ahead of them, but everyone is moving fast, and we don't wait long - just enough time for us to check the rack, flake the rope, and put our shoes on. I start off on the first pitch at about noon. From then on, it's just beautiful, we hit the "flow" and go with it. Some of the highlights of the day for me include my first "two horizontal nuts in opposition" placement on pitch one and my first 5.7 trad lead (pitch 3). That one was a great varied pitch, with a short 5.7 corner to a little traverse on great holds to an awkward 5.7 move onto a ramp and over easier stuff to a belay left of the V-chimney and just below the 5.8 corner variation. The chimney deserves a separate description.
Whatever the FA were thinking! From the belay ledge, Susan is supposed to go down and left to the base of the chimney, but it isn't obvious at all where to go or how to protect these first moves. Eventually, Susan traverses left high just under a roof, where she has to move in a squatting position, trying not to bang her head on the roof, but she manages in style (very nice lead). When I follow, I have a Camelback with trekking poles strapped to it on me. The poles refuse to go under the roof for the longest time, and I have to squat really low and traverse under the roof with my butt hanging below my feet, not a pretty sight. Huffing and puffing, I make it over to the inverted V-chimney and start trying to go up. Somehow chimneying is hard with something on my back. After I grab the God-sent chockstone that sits in there, my feet simply let go, and I dangle from my arms on the chockstone for a while before finding a way to stem and get my feet on it. Of course Susan had slung the chockstone nicely but I don't have an opportunity to clean it until after I'm above it. Thus ensues a little ballet, as I gracefully push down on the girth-hitch with my right foot while trying to grab the sling with my hand. Something works out eventually, and I'm at the next stance.	Belay on top of pitch 3 before the chimney - yes, I realize that I look ridiculously happy, but hey! That's how it felt
Susan somewhere on the Pinnacle	There is actually record of what the FA party did on this pitch. First of all, the leader got a shoulder onto the base of the chimney, while the others did it "by penduluming across" if you know what I mean. Then the crazy part comes: upon reaching the chockstone, the leader untied(!), threaded the rope behind it (!), and retied to continue up. I suppose that was called protection back then. My only remaining question is: why didn't they just continue up the obvious corner instead of doing all this? It would only have been a grade harder (and I bet less awkward, although I haven't actually done that variation). From then on to the top, we simply went meandering through easier terrain with a whole lot of rope drag for another 3 pitches, and finally I'm on top of the world (sorry, the Pinnacle), and Susan comes up, and it's about 6pm.
"Are you okay? she asks. You look out of it." I reassure her that I'm fine, but I really must be tired or dehydrated or something because all of a sudden she picks up an apple that was apparently sitting on a rock right in front of my nose - and I completely failed to see it. That causes me to re-evaluate my state, and I take a moment to drink, eat, and take a picture of Susan. We scramble to the Alpine Garden trail and decide to go down rather than to the summit, and although I give Susan some grief about it, deep down I know it was the right decision. The trail is gorgeous in this clear late afternoon, and the summits across the valley are getting covered with the gentlest shades of alpenglow. Lionshead Trail is quite steep for my abused knees, and I take my time (all four hours of it) to come back down to Pinkham Notch.	On top of the Pinnacle The temperature was around 35-40 F on Washington, and around 70 F in the valley
View from the Alpine Garden Trail	The trekking poles have performed amazingly - I don't think I would have been able to come down without them. On our way we meet a couple of night-hikers going up to look at the full moon from the highest point in New Hampshire. Later still, after Susan has already retrieved our stashed packs, we come across a man with an injured knee, who was coming down very slowly but under his own power with the help of a couple of his friends. Our help wasn't needed. The burger I ate that night at the Scarecrow was the tastiest meal of my life. The following morning I was supposed to catch a bus back to Boston at 7:20am - I woke up at 9am. Oops. And so Labor Day was spent mostly lounging around at Rumney, recovering from the exploits of the previous two days.