A Broken Line

by Landon McDowell

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I opened my laptop and checked the forecast. I had a couple days free from work and yearned for the mountains. In the past, I was focused on getting up, what route to climb, and what route would be the raddest, baddest thing I could climb without getting into too much trouble. It was different this time. Within the last few years I had found the joy of speedflying. Now, instead of my focus being on the way up, all I wanted was to go down. The joy of climbing took a major backseat to flying. But I was in the Sierras god damnit!

NE Ridge route

I had the idea of a climb and fly brewing for quite some time. I already had a few attempts at this, some successful and some less than. I had one big goal for my East side season, a climb and fly off a high 14,379-foot peak in California. The plan was to climb the infamous route up the North East ridge. The route was originally put up by Warren Harding in 1954. Since then it has had numerous ascents but each had spoken of how long and physical it was, but damn the route is gorgeous. 

I sent Nathan, my flying partner and also “ex-climbing addict” a text. Just like that, I was picked up in Mammoth by Nathan and off to the mountain. The plan was to climb the route in a day, Bivouac or “bivy” on the summit, and then fly off in the morning. We had a perfect weather window and psych was building. While driving to the route we quickly realized the van would not make it to the trailhead. We pulled off the rugged dirt road for a night's rest.

My alarm rang at exactly 4am. I had been up long before it rang, in anticipation. The excitement gave me butterflies. I hadn't experienced the jitters like this since planning big walls, alpine missions, or my first paragliding course. I knew it was going to be a good day. We quickly ate some brecky and started our 2-mile walk up the road the van couldn’t travel. 

We arrived at the base of the mountain. In my mind, the route is broken up into three distinct sections, the sand slog, the 3 notches, and the crux. The challenging part with this water-less 11,000ft route is that the crux is at the very top. In any amount of doubt, it would be easier to bail up (not down). 

Nathan led the charge up the sand slog and the deep sand hill. We “shwacked” through bushes and trees while navigating granite gullies. Rocks slid and every two steps forward felt like we took one back. It was slow going, I thought about the gear in my pack. “Wing, harness, sleeping bag, warm layers, food, 4 liters of water.” Roughly 3000ft later we had reached the base of the route.

As we started up the granite knife edge ridge, it was impossible to not think of the consequences of a fall. We had made a conscious decision to solo the route as it was well under both of our solo grades, we also knew we had to be up in a timely manner. We had the weather window to make it! Pitching the whole route out would have taken days, not unlike the first ascensionists – Harding and Ohrenschall took five days to climb the route. 

Nearing the first false summit, “the horn” at 14,000ft+, we found a lovely cave of snow. This was a blessing. Feeling tired and dehydrated, I was very excited to “indulge” myself and drink. Roughly 2 liters later I was ready. Having full bellies, and full water bottles was a massive moral boost. 

Slow is smooth and smooth is fast

After crossing the summit of the east horn we had the crux to deal with. We brought a small 30m 7mm rappel line. We abseiled into the notch and climbed out. The rock was a slick water-polished type. As I smeared across the slab I kept my breathing in control to stay smooth. “Slow is smooth and smooth is fast,” I told myself. We then climbed up the west horn and had our final notch to navigate. 

This notch was an easy second class gully scramble. We could finally see the summit plateau in the distance. All that was left was a beautiful, splitter, 5.6 hand crack. I will forever distinctly remember the sun setting, the alpine glow in full effect as Nathan and I climbed up the beautiful 5.6 slab crack. We laughed, hooted, hollered and yelled for joy as we climbed. All that was left was a small couple hundred foot walk up to the summit. We dropped our packs where we intended to bivy and walked to the top. Normally in years passed, when I was climbing, this would have been the highlight, the summit, the end goal, but our adventure was not over. 

Nathan swept the rocks from the bivy with his feet, making this as flat and comfortable as possible. We shared a sausage and some bars for dinner and went to bed. We awoke in the morning as the sun came up over the Valley. My heart pumping and psych building, I knew it was time. I got up from my sleeping bag and instantly bent over. I was sick. My head was pounding and my stomach on the floor. Sleeping at 14k had taken its toll on me. While Nathan and I knew better than to sleep at 14k, flying on the east side is only possible in the morning as the Owens valley carries too much energy for evening flights. 

Trying to stuff the sickness deep inside of me I walked the summit plateau being careful to make good decisions as my judgment was impaired by altitude. Nathan noted “there is zero wind,” Now this is significant as the air is so much thinner at 14,000 ft. Launching in no wind is scary at this altitude. It would mean we would have to run further and faster (a tall ask while sick). We walked the summit plateau looking for the best launch. The best launch was a long, shallow, talus field. The talus is just big enough to make running perilous and your ankles sore just by looking at it. Under normal circumstances, we would have not thought twice about launching here, but we were, as Nathan put it, “absolutely cooked.” 

I grabbed my wing and harness from my bag. I had chosen to fly my trusty 12m ultra-light miniwing. I had a long history with this wing, some of my best flights (and my worst). As I set up the wind shifted, my leading edge blew over and the wind started to blow from behind. The fear of walking down loomed in, doubt started to build in my mind. I patiently waited for a break in the wind. I felt the wind blow in my face, I took my A lines in hand and started to launch. I felt a snag, a pop, and weakness. The unthinkable had happened, I snapped my brake line cascade. I quickly examined the damage and realized I was extraordinarily lucky. It was fixable. I carefully tied the lines back together, noting that my left brake would be shorter than my right.

In the meantime, the wind had died down. There was zero wind on the summit. Maybe we had forecasted a little too well. Nathan launched and shortly after so did I. We started our trip back to the car, But not without a little fun first. I first tested the glider, seeing how the repaired line worked. It flew great! I started to bob and weave through the towers of the ridge. Soaring past the granite we climbed.

Soaring past the granite we climbed.

The cherry on top of the cake was flying the route. I glided out over the desert and then landed next to Nathan, we hugged, laughed and started our brief walk to the van. 28 hours, 11 miles and 11,000ft later we returned to the van with our hearts full and our stomachs empty. It was a classic Sierra adventure.

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Story by Landon McDowell

Edited by Brennan Crellin

© Speedmo 2024