MOUNT WILLIAMSON
 May 1991 
(3rd attempt)

 Somewhere I've heard that the third time's a charm. Well the third time on Williamson ended in my second failed summit attempt, but at least Mike made it. I fell short again but I now know the route and there's always next year. I figure if I get up there enough times I will eventually see one of the seemingly elusive big horn sheep and maybe even make the top.
      This time half the adventure was getting to the trail head .The Great State Of California, in it's infinite wisdom, had decided I'd be better off without a drivers license for a while and I ended up depending on Greyhound. I left Sunnyvale around three on a Wednesday afternoon and arrived in Independence shortly afternoon the next day. I had an hour and a half stopover in San Francisco and over eight hours in Reno. During the lay over I occupied my self in the great American past time which had cost me my license a few months earlier. Since I feel that gambling is a waste of time and money I did very little of it in Reno.
      The bus south from Reno through high deserts of Nevada and eastern California reminded me of the movies I had seen of the stage coaches which used to make the same run a hundred years ago. The few passengers and the driver became fairly close on the seven hour trip. We stopped frequently for smoke breaks at the small almost nameless whistle stops as well as places whose names were a little more known to me. Places like Carson City, Topaz Lake, ,Bridgeport, Lee Vining,  Mammoth Lakes, Bishop and Lone Pine. Many of the small towns we went through had designated corners or businesses where anyone wishing to ride the bus could flag the bus from and then board and buy their ticket from the driver. When we arrived at Independence the driver asked me where I would like to get off at since there was no bus station.
      Independence has one combination cafe and bar where I had been planning on meeting Mike and his friend Randy, but when I pulled into town I found out that it wasn't open on Thursdays. I ended up sitting around in the town/county park and on a roadside bench across from the Sheriff's station for over eight hours waiting for them to show up. If I had known that the only bar in town was closed I would have continued on the bus to Ridgecrest and driven back up with them. Starting around dusk, and continuing until after ten when my ride to the trailhead showed up, the local teenagers wandered the streets in small groups or cruised up and down highway 395 in pick up trucks. There doesn't seem to be much to do after dark in Independence and it is definitely a horse of a different color when compared to the crowded and busy San Francisco bay area.
      After drinking a six pack each at the trailhead we were in bed by around midnight and up and going at seven in the morning. Mike hung around the pick up truck doing something or another while Randy and I started out. Randy was quickly way out in front and when Mike caught up with me I told him to go ahead and catch Randy. I would see them latter, I knew the trail and I was in no particular hurry. That was the last I would see of either of them for almost fifteen hours.
      There were new switch backs leading to the saddle which were longer and more in the open, out of the trees, then the old trail had been. They were probably designed to improve access for the horses. When I finally reached the 9200 foot saddle an afternoon storm was building and it looked like it was snowing at the higher elevations. I had been planning on taking a decent break at the saddle, cooking a hot lunch and taking a short nap. In the last day or so I hadn't eaten or slept much and I partially blamed my slow progress on that. After lunch the sky opened up spilling rain and hail on me. I strung a tarp up between the branches of a tree and tried to keep myself and my pack dry.
      After a couple of hours in the saddle I decided to push on towards Anvil Camp even though the skies still looked threatening. I quickly dropped down the five hundred feet out of the saddle and began trudging upwards again towards Mahogany flats. I had been staining hard to reach the saddle and as soon as it was an uphill battle again I began to realize what poor shape I was really in. Every time I could feel my heart pounding in my ears I would stop to catch my breath and let my heart rate slow. I believed that twenty five years of heavy smoking and drinking with too little regular exercise had left my a good candidate for a heart attack and didn't feel like pushing it.
      I decided to avoid the long switch backs between Mahogany Flats and Anvil Camp by climbing up the snow chute that covered a stream coming down from Mt. Keith. The stream showed through in several places but I put my crampons on and went for it any way. Part way up I punched a hole through with one leg and ended up on my back with my head pointing downhill. My pack's chest strap slid up under my chin and the seventy pounds was doing a good job of trying to choke me in it's attempt to conform with the laws of gravity. I couldn't feel anything below and was worried about falling all the way through. I didn't know how far I'd end up dropping and didn't treasure the thought getting wet or of being swept downhill under the snow pack. I had to remove my pack before I could extradite myself but I had to be careful least the pack end up sliding down the chute. At best it would end up at the bottom and I would have to go back down for it but with my luck it would fall into an exposed section of the stream and disappear under the snow.
      I managed to get of the chute onto the rocks on the left. The trail switch backed up on the right of the stream and crossed higher up. I decided against trying to cross for fear of falling through and instead climbed the face of the jumbled cliffs leading towards the camp. It had turned dark and although there was a near full moon I had to use my headlamp to pick my way upwards. It was slow going and complicated by occasional briars and streamlets. After about an hour I made it to the rock fields that lead into Anvil Camp. I wandered around looking for the trail but never found it. My altimeter told me I was at about the right elevation for the camp so I decided to find a fairly flat place to sleep and look for Mike and Randy in the morning.
      I had just taken my pack off when Mike came by looking for me. He offered to carry my pack the last quarter mile or so to their camp and I let him. I had already swore I wasn't going to put it on again that night and was willing to stay where I was at. Randy had pretty much burnt himself out and had gone to bed hours before my arrival. I ended up arriving after ten where they had arrived around five or six that evening. I climb mountains I don't run races, but I was pretty much disappointed in my lack of wind and stamina on uphill pushes.
      I spent the night under the stars, partially because the weather was nice but mostly because I didn't feel like setting up my tent or sleeping three in Mikes. From Independence it had looked like there was a lot more snow in the lower elevations then there actually was. I had figured that Mahogany Flats would be under snow but it hadn't been. The snow pack didn't really start until the shade of the trees at Anvil Camp. I still think somebody got there M's messed up when the named the flats, which aren't flat anyway and are filled with manzanita not mahogany .Friday morning we left Mike's tent set up and headed up towards Shepherds Pass.
      After being so tired upon reaching camp, Randy had decided to slow his pace from the previous day. From camp we climbed up the snow through the trees into the open and over a huge jumble of boulders that led down to the Pothole. From there up to a small flat and then through a maze of avalanche deposited rocks to the foot of the snow chute leading to the pass. With only a short lag I pretty much stayed with them to the foot of the pass .There I took a decent break so I could get a picture of them switch backing up the steep snow. The snow had been softened by the morning sun and crampons were not required. The normal trail could be seen emerging from under the snow and cutting to the left for about twenty feet near the top of the chute. Unfortunately it was quickly covered again by large cornices and wasn't usable. We had to climb higher up on the chute, get off on some rocks and climb back down to the pass.
      By the time I reached the pass Mike and Randy had already set up my tent which they had carried up from Anvil Camp. They had decided not to climb up to the lip of the bowl to Williamson and had instead set up on the shore of the frozen lake at the pass. This suited me fine after the long hike the previous day a five or six hour day was a great relief to my terribly out of shape body. Late that afternoon the wind picked up and another storm brewed. We experience a little light snow and hail but nothing serious. When the sun dropped the temperature quickly dropped to the mid twenties on its was to a nighttime low of somewhere in the mid teens. The three of us were a little crowded but plenty warm in the tent.