When I 30 years old I felt as if the mountains and the desert were this wonderful world I wanted to explore. I was on the edge of doing that but I was blocked from going through the door. How could I get outdoors? I was looking for the secret door. What I didn’t know was that I already knew how to go outdoors. When I was six years old we moved to a house on the northeast side of Burbank two blocks below the Verdugo Hills. By the time I was 7 or 8 I was joining the other neighborhood kids to go hiking in the hills. We walked up to Sunset Canyon Drive, went to a break between the reservoir and the houses and crossed into the chaparral. We never followed any roads or formal trails, we took footpaths made by deer and kids like us. We went straight up the hill.
We never made it very far. Our goal was usually what we called the Big B, a letter of whitewashed rocks maintained by the Burbank High School students that could be seen from the valley below. The Big B was located on the first ridge of hills before a canyon that divided that ridge from the higher elevation hills behind. We loved the hills. It was a place where our imaginations ran wild, where we caught lizards, snakes and horny toads; where we played army, marveled at the tracks of raccoons behind the flood control dam, and threw rocks as far as we could. .
When I was 14 I took my sister on a hike and for the first time followed a fire road into the Verdugo Hills. We made it all the way to the back ridge, an elevation of nearly 3,000 feet. It was a winter day and white snowflakes were blowing in the cold air. My younger sister never went hiking with me again. I was fascinated by this remote world just above Burbank where I could see the ocean to the west and the San Gabriel Mountains to the east and where it snowed.
It was in the Verdugo Hills that I saw the first bird that really caught my imagination. It was a Rufous-sided Towhee, a beautiful bird, Robin size, black wings and head, a red and white breast, white markings in its wing and its tail, and bright red eyes. I remember seeing this Towhee jumping from branch to branch in a bush very near to me and what a treat it was to see this amazing bird. It was a long time before I learned to see and identify birds and commonly saw birds like the Towhee and other amazing birds wherever I went. I still remember that first Towhee and being astounded that such a beautiful bird was right there in Burbank.
My family did almost nothing outdoors. My father spent most of his free time in his room, reading, smoking cigars, listening to music and studying as he called it. The furthest outdoors we ever got were trips to the beach and an occasional visit to a city park.
I really didn’t do anything outdoors until I got married. Cathy’s family did camping trips and picnics in the mountains. Summers we borrowed her father’s Volkswagen camper van and made trips to her aunt and uncle’s farm in Washington. We camped along the way. We went to Charlton Flats in the San Gabriel Mountains for picnics. We visited the snow during the winter. But we never got very far away from the car.
I didn’t feel like I would ever get through the door until 1977 when my college roommate, Tony Cole, came over for dinner one night and told us about recent hikes he had done. He and his father had hiked to the top of Mount San Jacinto, and a peak in Baja California. I was astounded, someone I knew doing something I only imagined, going to the tops of mountains in the wilderness. I grilled Tony for how it could be done. He said it was easy; it only required water and a map. A few weeks later after Sean’s first communion we had a free afternoon and I took Sean and Ted, 8 and 6, for a walk out of Millard Canyon above Altadena. We walked up and out of the canyon and on to the Mt. Lowe Road. We found the door.
I didn’t feel like I would ever get through the door until 1977 when my college roommate, Tony Cole, came over for dinner one night and told us about recent hikes he had done. He and his father had hiked to the top of Mount San Jacinto, and a peak in Baja California. I was astounded, someone I knew doing something I only imagined, going to the tops of mountains in the wilderness. I grilled Tony for how it could be done. He said it was easy; it only required water and a map. A few weeks later after Sean’s first communion we had a free afternoon and I took Sean and Ted, 8 and 6, for a walk out of Millard Canyon above Altadena. We walked up and out of the canyon and on to the Mt. Lowe Road. We found the door.
The next week the boys and I returned for our first hike in the mountains. We hiked out of Millard Canyon and on to the Mt. Lowe Road. We followed the fire road up past Echo Mountain and further and further into the San Gabriel Mountains. It seemed like it went on forever. The boys were game but after miles of going uphill they were ready to quit. I pleaded with them to go just to the next bend in the road. Around the bend we saw the Mt. Lowe Campground. We had made it. We spent a good hour enjoying our victory. We explored and enjoyed the view from Inspiration Point. We were in the outdoors and it had been easy. I learned the mountains weren’t much different than the Verdugo Hills, just bigger.
We spent that summer and the next two years hiking any time we could. The boys were incredibly game. We peak bagged almost all the peaks between Pasadena and the back ridge, Mount Wilson, Mount Hillyer, South Mount Hawkins, Mount Islip, Mount Throop and many others. Five thousand feet of elevation gain and 10 mile hikes were our standard.
About that same time on one of our visits to Uncle Warren’s farm I had seen a Great Blue Heron. This giant bird rose up out of the reeds nearby and flew right past me. Warren loaned me a bird book to identify birds on the farm. I was hooked.
A couple of years after that I felt confident enough to try backpacking in the San Gabriels and then the Sierras. Then in 1981 I signed up for the Sierra Club Basic Mountaineering Training Class. It was more backpacking than mountaineering. The class ended with a winter hike on snowshoes into the High Sierras. By that time I had already become an avid birdwatcher with nearly 200 birds on my life list. BMTC gave me confidence that I could survive in the wilderness.
In 1982 I did a two week solo backpack trip into the Sierras through Kearsarge Pass. I spent two weeks in the back country around Gardiner Basin at an elevation near 11,000 feet. After that I frequently went backpacking to the Eastern Sierras and especially Taboose Canyon. I skipped BMTC the following year and in 1983 I joined BMTC as an assistant instructor. Our leader was Claude Lane. Claude was forming a mountaineering team to climb Mount Rainier that summer and he asked me to join.
The people he asked were all involved in BMTC. As instructors we taught rock climbing, snow travel, wilderness first aid, snowshoeing and snow travel skills. We weren’t mountaineers yet but we were getting there. Under Claude’s leadership we began training as mountaineers. Our goal, Mount Rainier was beyond anything any of us had ever done.
As a team we practiced our rock climbing at Stoney Point. In a wintry March we climbed Mount San Gregornio, 11,000 feet. It was so cold and windy along the long ridge at the top that the first hill we reached along the ridge we agreed was the high point and we turned around and went back down. It was a grueling hike. We saw people coming out of the same snowy wilderness on cross country skis. Snowshoeing is like hitting yourself in the head with a hammer; it feels so good when you stop. That was the last time I ever went snowshoeing. I vowed to learn how to cross country ski after that.
The next month we did the North face of Mount San Jacinto. It was a nightmare of permits and passes all taken care of by Claude. He worked like a demon on the project. We were a banker, a lawyer, a sanitation engineer, a programmer, a plumber, a printer, another lawyer and a couple of others. There were nine of us, all in our 30s. We drove out to San Jacinto in the plumbers van, filled with pipes, tools and nuts. On the way out, I asked this group of people who were avid hikers if anyone personally knew anyone who had made the climb. No one did. We camped in the desert at Snow Creek and at 3 a.m. started out for the peak.
I don’t think either party would have made it without the other. Breaking trail with 18 climbers was easier than doing it with just 9. Like most mountaineering it was uphill forever, just one foot in front of the other interminably. The steepness of the snowfield was incredible. When we put crampons on the ice turned to slush and when we took the crampons off the slush turned to ice. We switch backed up the snow chute for more than six hours.
We reached the summit at 10:15 that night, 17 hours after we had started. I was banged up from my fall and my left Achilles tendon was badly bruised from stiff boots. We all had our own battle scars but we made it. Near the top the climb finally leveled out. We stopped one time to rest for a few minutes. When we resumed moving we had to wake up two or three members who had fallen asleep. We finally made it to the top and found shelter in a snow filled hollow just below the summit.
We had climbed with nothing but the gear we needed and at the summit we bivouacked in what we were wearing and had in our packs. We slept on rope coils between us and the snow and tried to shelter with plastic garbage bags. We huddled together for warmth. It was cold. Ever since on hot nights when it’s hard to get to sleep I remember how cold it was that night and enjoy the heat.
The actual climb of Mount Rainier two and a half months later was physically easier, psychologically and technically it was new territory but for sheer physical demands, San Jacinto is the hardest thing I have ever done in my life. The next morning we took the Tram down the mountain.
After San Jacinto we were ready for Mount Rainier.
June, 1983 we all flew up to Washington separately and met at the Rainier Lodge. The next day we went out with one of the approved guides who taught us crevasse rescue. It was great; we kept dropping into a crevasse and then being rescued. A glacier from inside is a beautiful thing. On my turn inside the crevasse I remember thinking that whatever force opened the crevasse could also close it. I put that thought out of my mind as an unproductive. We all learned how to set up rope systems to pull someone out. Of course, in the end, with all these complicated rescue methods, the guide told us, most commonly it was the ‘champagne cork’ method. Two or three people grabbed the rope and popped the fallen climber out. It turned out we didn’t use those skills on Rainier but it was good to have them.
The next day we started out from a trail head on the White River on the north side of the peak. From the river the trail led us on to the Emmons Glacier. Mountain climbing is more than anything else just walking uphill and uphill and uphill and then more uphill. And that’s what we did, with 60 pound packs, wearing crampons we climbed the glacier in rope teams of three. The path up Emmons was well marked and we followed it. In the late afternoon we made it to Steamboat Prow. Steamboat at 9700 feet is a rocky outcrop where Emmons Glacier and Winthrop Glacier come together. From there it is another 4, 700 feet up to the peak. Even half way up the view is incredible. We stayed at Steamboat for the night.
Most major mountains have accident books, books of things that went wrong on the mountain. Mountaineers read these books as cautionary tales. My favorite accident was told to us by Claude. A climber was cooking at his camp at Steamboat Prow. He wasn’t roped in, as we didn’t. The camp site is on a flat piece of ground. A gust of wind blew the top off his small camp pot. He reached out to catch it and was never seen again. I liked the story because it reminded me the mountains are unforgiving and it only takes a moment.
Claude was our leader and read all the books for us. In fact Claude did all the planning, getting permits and scheduling, not just for San Jacinto but Rainier as well. Claude was a mainframe computer person. It was before everyone had emails but we got printouts with volumes of information every time we met. He was amazing. It was his trip and we were fortunate to be his friends and able to come along. After the Mount San Jacinto trip and before Mount Rainier Claude had an appendicitis attack. We all went to see him in the hospital. With his appendix out he immediately began planning to return and climb Rainier with us.
We appointed Paul Ivonovich our temporary leader but Claude stayed with us and was in charge of everything but the actual climbing. On a mountaineering team the leader has absolute authority. Like military discipline the agreement is whatever the leader decides everyone else follows without question. Sometimes there’s no place and time for a discussion on a mountaintop. We trusted Claude and we trusted Paul who was our second best climber. Claude came along with us on the trip. We all assured him that if he wanted to do it, we all would make sure he made it to the top. He was weakened but determined.
At Steamboat we managed to go to sleep and the next morning at 3 a.m. we started for the top. Mount Rainier is 14,410 feet and we had more than 4,000 feet of snow and ice to do. Most of the climb was just like the hike up to Steamboat, uphill and more uphill, but this time we were over 10,000 feet and it required twice as much effort as below. At 13,000 feet we came to the bergschrund at the top of the glacier where there is a huge crevasse between the rock of the mountain and the beginning of the glacier. We walked across a ledge at the top of the glacier where the bergschrund was on one side, a crevasse that looked bottomless and on the other side was the steep side of the glacier with a nearly vertical fall of 2 or 3 thousand feet before it began to level out. The path was about 2 feet wide, plenty of room to walk, but it took concentration to stay on the path and not think of the fall on either side.
Mount Rainier was a real challenge. As Southern Californians it was unlike any mountain we had ever been on. The biggest challenge was in overcoming the unknown. As it turned out the bergschrund was the only difficult piece to the climb. We got past it and walked to the top. The top of Mount Rainier is a large flat sandy area cleared of snow by the constant wind. We walked around a bit, enjoyed the view, congratulated each other and waited for the rest of the team to catch up. Claude made it up last with his rope mates. He had begun to suffer from altitude sickness and had the beginning of edema. The cure for edema is to head for lower elevations immediately. Claude got the best rope team we had and they took off down the mountain as fast as they could go.
I was left with two climbers who had struggled across the bergschrund. We came down carefully, not too fast and giving everyone the space, assurance, and time to get past it. I was pleased with myself. I was one of the stronger climbers and I had managed to hold my own fears in check. I thoroughly enjoyed the whole experience.
We all gathered at Steamboat Prow. We had made it, including Claude. Everyone was fine. And then we hiked out, a very long hike down Emmons Glacier and into the woods along the river until finally we reached our cars. We were completely exhausted and full of elation at our accomplishment.
For me it was the accomplishment of a lifetime. I had finally made the varsity. I had been a strong and supportive member of the team and we had triumphed. It was as if we had won the championship. The experience changed my life.
After the climb I went on to embarrass myself with very heavy drinking, an almost involuntary reaction to being without any booze for over two days and the incredible high of having climbed the mountain. Remembering the success of the climb and the embarrassment I felt at my drinking were an important piece of my getting sober six months later.
In December Claude and Ann, Claude’s special friend on the team, got married and had a party to which we were all invited. I went to the party sober and it felt great.
After that I made numerous solo backpacking trips. I had become a real outdoorsman and I had a growing reputation among my friends as someone who could show them the wonders of the mountains and deserts. I led hikes, took friends hiking in the San Gabriels and the Sierras. In 1989 I joined a group with professional guides and climbed Mount Baker, near Bellingham. In 1992 while cross country skiing in the San Gabriel Mountains I met Steve and we formed our own back country partnership. Later that year in April we skied to the top of Kearsarge Pass at 11,000 feet in the Sierras, and back down.
So in 2005 when I started the Ranger Academy at Asilomar I had been outdoors for almost 30 years. One of our instructors in the beginning of the course told us “We’re going to teach you how to be cops. All of you are already Rangers or you wouldn’t be here.” In my case, I knew that was true. It was true for my classmates as well.
Photo Mt. San Jacinto: http://www.traditionalmountaineering.org/Photos_SnowCreekRoute_sm.htm
Photo Mt. Rainier: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Mount_Rainier_from_southwest.jpg
