Hey Dirt,
I’ve got a story for your entertainment about first ascents and Mt. Goode.

Four years ago I climbed with a guide, Zeke Federman, at Rock Creek. I was trying to solidify my 5.9 trad leading. Afterward, like the good teacher he is, he gave me three homework assignments. Lead the third pitch of Hobbit Book, which he called the best 5.7 in Yosemite National Park, climb the Regular Route on Fairview, and grab a friend and climb the North Buttress of Mt. Goode, which he said was not 5.9 but 5.8+ max. This was after climbing with me for the day so I found the downgrade significant. Here’s a photo.
The classic route in the guidebooks does the drop of water thing. You climb up the buttress to the summit. There are variations at the start and one that goes up the northeast side of the buttress. When you are ready Dirt, everything else in the picture is open for first ascents. The buttress to the left, the buttress to the right, even that wild right leaning arête next to the long snow chute on the right side of the picture. And all the cold, cold chutes.
So anyway, soon after I swing leads on Fairview. A year later I lead the third pitch of Hobbit Book, which is the awesome runout plate hike advertized. One assignment to go. About that time the shop at work gets moved to a new place. Across the shared driveway is a metal worker who is working on a pair of 20 foot bronze gates. All twisted braches and ribbons. We get to talking and catching my “bouncing puppy vibe” about climbing he tells me he used to climb back in the day. So, I look it up in the book and sure enough he’s got first ascents in the valley with Werner, Sylvester and the gang from the early seventies. He spins casual stories about first ascents, about Rowell and Beckey. I decide maybe he wants to climb Mt. Goode. He agrees but tells me, “ I’m really busy with work. Just pick something out and we’ll go climb it.” Mt. Goode.
He’s not the only busy one. Our chosen Friday night we both get off late. We crash after midnight near Mono Lake. After about three hours of sleep, a package of Swenhards sweet rolls and some 24-hour gas station coffee we are parked at the trailhead. He chooses the rack. I’ve got a massive selection to pick from- cams, hexes, stoppers, the works. It’s just the same as with the other old time piton bangers I’ve climbed with. I mean why would you ever take more than one piece of each size? At least it’s not too much to carry.
We fire off down the trail at 5:00 Am. I’d been on the trail to Bishops Pass a few years before. I mean, the thing is a freeway. Kids, dogs, fishermen, the works. I’m not too worried about the trail. About fifteen minutes into the hike the trail splits to the left. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, maybe the unfamiliar darkness, maybe it was because JC starts telling me this hilarious story about guiding in the deserts of China- the luggage all lost on the flight, the scouring the town for rice, millet and a live goat, the packing of everything in the fortuitously saved box of Hefty garbage bags, all securely wrapped in good desert twine and tied on partly domesticated wild cattle, the start of the trek and the inevitable contact with actual wild cattle with the ensuing stampede and ejection of bags and goat in all directions. Anyway, I miss the fricken” turnoff. When the sun finally comes up I don’t know where the hell we are. Just about then we see Mt. Goode in the distance between a couple of small hills. My partner says,” There’s your climb”. I’m thinking the angle of this view is somehow wrong. But hell, there’s the climb. We keep going until the trail runs out.
We contunue, bouldering over talus. We finally end up at a huge meandering Circe with a small tarn surrounded by endless talus looking up at what is clearly not Mt. Goode. The realization that we are lost is long past. My partner, by now understanding the extent of my blindering, and generously trying to salvage the day, looks around at the 800-foot cliffs surrounding us and suggest we just climb something. A first ascent.
So here I am with a real old school Yosemite rock dog ready and happy to fire up an unclimbed wall and I get all rational on us. I point out that when we get to the top we won’t know where we are. We don’t have any bivy gear. We just aren’t prepared. Am I spouting common sense or just piles of wimpitude? Or both?
We start an endless traverse to the East. We hack our way up a talus ridge, look down on a pristine lake of perfect, shimmering blue. We scramble down to it and then haul our way up the next ridge to look down on another sweet lake.
Each lake more untouched than the last. After what seams like endless scrambling we reach the ridge where I took the picture of the Mt. Goode shown above. By now it’s after 11:00. We’ve been moving for six hours and I’m starting to feel the altitude. We gauge the time to climb the route, the amount of daylight and the time for the descent. We decide to take a nap.
After our nap we hike out, on the now located trail, in a couple of hours. We go to Mono Lake where my buddy proceeds to describe every species of bird there. Afterward we have a glass of wine on the porch of the Mono Lake Inn overlooking the lake. Followed by a nice dinner. Another good climbing day.
Hey Dirt, When you come out, if you don’t hook up with Ed, Eric and the gang for a FA give me a call. Maybe I can get you to the start of a climb?
Zander