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mainland had clouds above them. El Picacho del Diablo itself is not a difficult peak. But to get to it, you have to cross some 50 miles of primitive wilderness. By the time you get within striking distance, you feel it is a hard-to-reach peak. Jess Lang and Ed Peterson decided to remain on the rim, and our party was reduced to 10. We started down a steep tributary cañon, hoping it would take us all the way down without any drop-offs. There was some vegetation in the gully, even tall pine trees and a little grove of quaking aspens. Then it steepened a bit so that rocks began to move under foot. We had to go more carefully to avoid accidents from rock-falls. With ten people in the party, this was a slow and serious business. We were about halfway down the gorge when we realized that no one would make the mountain that day. We stopped to discuss the prospects. Five turned back under the leadership of Frank Thias. Barbara Lilley, Sam Fink, Al Schmitz and I followed Roy in a slightly speedier dash for the mountain. We took some of the other party's water, averaging well over two quarts apiece; also extra food and sweaters, realizing that we would be bivouacking somewhere in the gorge that night. The rock work became a little more tricky, and the vegetation less. Suddenly, over the edge of a dry fall, we spied a beautiful pool of water! From |
then
on there was plenty of water all the way down to the bottom of the gorge. Had
we known that from the start, our minds would have been easier. Now we started up El Picacho. There is team work in strenuous mountaineering. There is a close knitting of the party. There is a strong feeling of one-for-all and all-for-one, that I have often wished could spread over the whole world. It is one of the things that makes mountaineering such a satisfying sport. The lower part of the mountain was covered with manzanita. We worked toward a ravine with pines in it, hoping to get out of the brush. After we left the brush behind, the blocks of granite became larger and the going steeper. For a couple of pitches we used a nylon sling rope. We realized that we had started up from the gorge too soon. We should have continued down the gorge to the red banks before starting to climb. The route is just a rock scramble. To complicate matters, the weather began to worry us. The sky had clouded over. A mountain top can be dangerous in a storm. If it should rain, the gorge might become a torrent and the ravine up the other side would be a mountaineer's nightmare. Roy estimated that we were about 1500 feet below the summit, and that it would take at least two hours to make the top, provided the going didn't get any worse. |
Should
we take the risk? We decided to turn back. From an armchair, such a decision
may be hard to understand, especially if you have never had to make one like
it. Individuals, when thinking as a team, especially in an emergency, sometimes
make decisions that afterwards are not as understandable as when made. At that
time, in that place, under those circumstances, it seemed the thing to do. Dropping back into the gorge was quick work but when we began to climb up the gully again the strain of the long, strenuous day began to tell. We climbed about a thousand feet and decided to bivouac. There was enough daylight left for one last look over the gulf and the mountains of Sonora beyond. We found plenty of wood in the immediate vicinity to keep two fires going all night. It was comparatively warm and windless and the sky cleared. Al Schmitz had a loaf of pumpernickel and a can of liver spread; Roy passed around a handful of almonds and a can of sardines. Sam Fink contributed raisins from his pack, Barbara Lilley had chocolate and I had some figs and a package of jello. This cold supper was cheered by lots of hot tea. Level space was at a premium but we were able to rest. It was a relief to reach the rim on Friday morning and begin dropping down to High Camp and thence to Horse Camp. We had to leave there immediately because the mules had |