Silver Peak

DATE: Thursday, July 23, 2020
DISTANCE: 17.2km / 10.69 miles
ELEVATION GAIN: 1,292m / 4,238’
TIME TAKEN: 11:10
HUMBOLDT TOIYABE NATIONAL FOREST
CARSON ICEBURG WILDERNESS
ALPINE COUNTY, CA
SOUNDTRACK: Rainbow: Man On The Sliver Mountain

SUMMITS:
•Silver Peak SW Summit 3,283m / 10,772’
•Silver Peak NE Summit 3,292m / 10,800’

PHOTO ALBUM
MAP






 

...continued.

Silver Peak is one of two sets of striking double peaks (the other being Highland) that form a massif just south-east of Ebbetts Pass in Alpine County, CA. I was poised at Silver Creek Campground in a bid to climb them both (and maybe even Tryon Peak as well). I would simply walk to the Noble Canyon Trail, right from my campsite, and begin from there. Climbing up Silver, Traversing the ridge to Highland, coming down to take a dip in Noble Lake, and heading back to camp along the well established trail. It would be spectacular. Nothing could go wrong!

Due to getting crap sleep in my tent, I didn’t wake up until 7:30AM, much later than I intended. I hesitated to rise, feeling the burn in my body from yesterday’s sixteen miles on the trail. Slowly, I dragged myself out, had a simple breakfast, and got ready to go. I left the campground at 9am, hiking out on a nameless trail that goes out of campsite 15, up to the hairpin turn in Highway 4 where a more official connector trail begins. Granite and volcanic rock formations came into sight almost immediately, followed by the the Silver-Highland complex, and then a fine alpine meadow. There was a clear signpost where my path intersected the official Noble Canyon Trail, and I continued south on that, over a primitive bridge on the namesake creek, and then on through the woods. At 9:54, I turned left off of the trail, heading cross country, based on a GPS of Bob Burd’s route of ascent. Side creek waterfalls were active, and volcanic rock scenery kept things interesting. I came across ghost trails here and there, that would appear and disappear, footsteps in the dirt, and then nothing. I followed them as best I could, because they seemed to be going in the right direction, but they always evaporated.

By this point, I had gained some elevation, and had views out back west to Raymond, Reynolds, and The Sinister, yesterday's playground. Now faced with a massive field of open brush in front of me, I changed course, and went for a gully with pine trees on one side, and talus chaos on the other, making my way uphill with rock hopping, just on the edge of the woods. After the top of the gully, the rocks got steeper, and volcanic sentinels erupted from the slope, frowning down at me, begrudgingly allowing my passage. So far, I had felt I was doing pretty good on the elevation gain, having slept at 7,000 feet the night before, and having gotten more rest than the previous night. This good feeling soon crumbled away like so much talus as I approached the peak, I was just as tired and out of breath as I had been yesterday on the steep part, pausing about every 20 steps. I invented switchbacks as I went up, zigzagging towards the sky. It was 1PM when I finally dragged my body over the top of the ridge, four hours ascent. Now I over the top, I could see the storm clouds coming in from the south, already engulfing highland peak, I quickly tagged the lower, southwestern summit of Silver, which I had come up right by, and then began crossing the ridgetop to the higher northeast summit. I could hear cracks of thunder getting closer. This was not great. They say if you can hear the thunder, it’s already too close, and you shouldn’t be out there. Whoops!

Down to the saddle, and up to the high peak. It was good clean rock out there, wish I could have enjoyed it more, but the encroaching storm was stressing me out. On Silver NE, I grabbed the ammo box summit register and dragged it downhill a bit, so I wouldn’t be so exposed. The register box had an old notebook that was rolled up and completely soaked, and a more recent, current one in a ziplock bag, which I signed. I ran the ammo box back up to it’s place on the summit, and got back down again as fast as I could. That’s just when the thunderstorm really hit Silver Peak. Thunder was close, cracking all around me. I started plunging downhill, trying to get off the ridgeline, I was going too fast, sliding on scree and over boulders. I said to myself “you’re panicking, if you don’t slow down, you’re gonna get hurt.” I slowed down. I wanted to get off the mountain ASAP, but I didn’t want to go back over the high top of the ridge where I had come from, and have a bigger risk for getting struck by lightning. In my haste, I had run down the east side of the mountain, away from trails and civilization. I decided to contour south, along the east side, and try to cross back over the ridge at the Silver-Highland saddle, the lowest point. I began moving, and then the first rain drop hit my face. I didn’t mind getting wet, but I didn’t want to get soaked. The storm continued to pick up. I was still at almost 11,000 feet, and the sound of a thunderburst across the mountaintops and through the alpine valleys is like nothing I’ve ever heard, in both volume and profundity. As a longtime fan of loud sounds, it was one for the books.

I decided to find a place to wait out the worst of the storm, which was not abating, and sought shelter in a volcanic crag alcove. I somehow had cell reception coming in from Nevada somewhere, so I sat and read the news about the horrible things going on in the outside world. Then I got bored of the cave, and made a mad dash south to get closer to the saddle, but thunder continued strong, so I took shelter again in another alcove, not as good as the first one. I waited and waited, and the thunder kept coming. Finally, it seemed like awhile since the last thunderclap, so I decided, if there’s not another one for ten minutes, I’m getting out of here. I got out of there. I scrambled over the volcanic formations on the east side of the ridge, still gun shy about returning to the top of the ridge, hoping to find an open path to the saddle, and my descent. I climbed over a nasty crag, and said to myself “please don’t be cliffs on the other side.” There weren’t. There were rocky slopes with scrub pine, and a means of escape. By the time I got to the saddle, it was 4PM, so much time burned hiding out from the storm, but I was now treated to views of gloomy looking Highland Peak along the way, and when I got over the ridge, I saw out to the west, Raymond-Reynolds peaks dusted with snow! In July! The magical view almost made everything worth it.

Now at the saddle, I had invested so much time and effort getting over here, I didn’t want to back up to retrace my ascent path, even though it was a known quantity. I also felt like it was too late in the day at this point to go tackle Highland Peak, and let’s face it, I was kind of “over it” as far as mountain climbing was concerned. I said “fuck it” and dropped straight down, west from where I was at. Dumb idea. It was all downhill, after all, and it was fun at first, boot skiing down the scree slopes. But this was not to last. Bushwhacking, rock sliding, picking my way down the drainages, through muddy mountain springs fields, and on, and on… The going was very slow, not even a deer trail to follow, choosing between one bad option or another. No country for human beings. I was scratched on the legs, smacked in the face, and fell on my ass more times than I care to recall. Frequent breaks to dump the rocks out of my boots. I ended up following the creek drainage, lots of brush, so many riparian bushes, down into a canyon, a gap in the rocks that looked like a waterfall coming ahead, this was one of the few times I would be happy to NOT see a waterfall ahead. No cliffs too, please. Anyway, no waterfall, no cliffs, but I could see out that I was still high above Noble Canyon, and I would have to keep picking my way down, so many rocky slopes. I was glad there was no chance of people being downhill from me, because I sent so many big rocks rolling as I plunged downward.

It wasn’t until about 6:30PM that I finally got off the slopes. Once in the “privacy” of the woods, I finally dug a hole and took the anxiety shit that had been brewing since the first thunderclap hit. It was easy going now, through the pines of Noble Canyon’s floor, and when I finally got to the trail, I could have gotten down on my hands and knees and kissed the packed dirt. But I didn’t. It was now easy going south along what felt like a superhighway. Noble creek was invigorated by the storm. Pink picturesque sunlight cast upon the peaks to the south. All trail back to camp. Last looks back up at Silver Peak. I had a PB & J sandwich and one beer and passed out at 9:45PM on the bench seat of the van, trying to see if this more familiar sleeping situation would garner me a better quality of rest than the tent, after all, how many nights of excellent sleep have I gotten on van bench seats over the years?

To be continued...

FURTHER READING
Bob Burd: My ascent loosely based on this
Fedak: Another ascent from the west
Marcus Sierra: Another ascent from the west
Silver Peak SW on PEAKBAGGER
Silver Peak NE on PEAKBAGGER