It had been months since our last adventure together. Many obstacles this summer kept us away from our usual escapades, mostly the fault of the 2 plates and 22 screws that were used to stabilize my wrist after a winger in July. We were yearning for it. The first snow that covered our mountains and brought bone-chilling temps up high, had almost disappeared, but we knew it wouldn't be long before the next one.

We had already climbed Bastille Buttress once a few years back, and truthfully, I was a little intimidated to return; I remembered it being difficult and exposed. But, after months of recovery during the Sierra's prime rock-climbing season, I was craving 15 pitches on white granite with my favorite partner.
We left the car at first light, after noticing fthat one of our headlamps(with brand new batteries) was faulty. "We'll just have to make it back before dark" Myles encouraged me. Being the end of Oct. when daylight ends around 6:30 pm, it seemed like a tall order...especially since it was the longest climb I had attempted since my injury. The approach was covered in snow, which added to my apprehension as I trudged onward in my wet 5 tennies.
We got to the base and began climbing around 9 am. Myles took the first few leads to get us into the sunlight, dancing up the rock. The climbing was surprisingly easy, and the granite amazing! A few years of running-out easy terrain gave me a confidence I didn't have when we last climbed the route. One, two, three pitches were done...we were flying. Then, it was my turn: a 5.7 traverse with zero gear took us to the bolt ladder. Myles followed me up the ladder trying to free it on TR...for the first attempt, he got pretty close. Finally, we had arrived at what I had been waiting for: the 10c " killer finger crack". Myles had led it last time, but I was feeling it! Slick orange rock forced me to keep my toes in the crack most the way, it was euphoric.
Myles took the next pitch which was a continuation of the crack, same great quality, just a little more mellow, then took us to the 10d crux. While belaying, I suddenly had a sneezing attack. He yelled down asking if he was on belay, apparently he was worried I had passed out from the continuous fits. He styled the crux, as usual.
My sneezing persisted. A few more pitches blazed by, while I continued to saturate the wet, snotty rags in my pockets and blow snot-rockets into the abyss. Luckily, the climbing was too good and too varied to worry about anything else; we were focused on getting off while there was still light. Finally, we arrived at the 5.11 or A0 pitch near the end of he climb, which neither of us had freed previously. Myles gave it one shot, and then fired it. I couldn't see him make the move, and when I approached the mini boulder problem, I stared with disbelief: 1 bolt protected an overhanging, strenuous move after stepping off a block. I didn't want to ruin my chance at a free ascent (other than the bolt ladder, that is), so I studied and groped the tiny, orange pinches that served as hand holds. Finally, I went for it. On TR, I called for Myles to take up rope...if I popped off with slack I would crash down on the block below. Big weenie! I somehow hand/heel matched and pulled it off...one more pitch and we were sitting on top eating the last of our provisions before looking at the task ahead of us, the most dangerous part of climbing... the descent.

Snowy slabs made up the western side of the north ridge which we had descended with ease before, but with one working headlamp, tennies, and approaching darkness we were convinced to try something new.
We began rappelling trees down a gully on the east side of the buttress. We were moving as quickly as we could, but soon blackness overcame us. I hooked a few slings together to attach myself to the ropes while Myles descended with the light...it was the only way I could find them once he disappeared.
Bivying wasn't an option, as I had to teach in Bishop at 8am the following day. Anyway, we knew it was too early to give up hope of reaching the comforts of beer and a warm bed!
We got to the ground after something like 10 rappels...so we thought. After running in sand, thinking it was over, the cliffs showed up. Myles tossed a rock down in order to hear where it found it's rest- a ways, for sure! Luckily, we heard the creek and knew we were close. A little zigging and zagging the hillside and we found our old trail, heading back on familiar territory. We reached the car at around 9 pm...four hours after topping out.

Lessons learned: always bring a back-up headlamp ( duh?), always carry more toilet paper than you think you need, and always give a route another go every few years, just to stay on your toes:)