THE
INCREDIBLE
HULK
INCREDIBLE
HULK
A SPRING PHOTO ESSAY
WORDS AND IMAGES BY CLAYTON HERRMANN
WORDS AND IMAGES BY CLAYTON HERRMANN
Nestled in the Sierra Nevada mountain range, “The Incredible
Hulk” towers over a floor of scree like a giant—and not the
friendly kind. A steep 1,200-foot wall with long granite ridges
stacked with striking spires culminates to its 11,300-foot
summit, making a true marvel for climbers.
We asked photographer Clayton Herrmann to help scout a location for this shoot that complements our seasonal focus that draws inspiration from the power of the sun. The Sunspot Dihedral, with its routes like Solar Flare, was the perfect choice. Come with Clayton on his first venture up the face of this superhero with his partners, Jen Poe and Casey Elliot.
We asked photographer Clayton Herrmann to help scout a location for this shoot that complements our seasonal focus that draws inspiration from the power of the sun. The Sunspot Dihedral, with its routes like Solar Flare, was the perfect choice. Come with Clayton on his first venture up the face of this superhero with his partners, Jen Poe and Casey Elliot.
Jen is at the top of pitch three, and the rain is coming down hard. A few drops moments ago have turned into sheets. She quickly builds an anchor, fixes the line, pulls a jacket from her pack, and rappels down to Casey. They’re bailing for the third time as water begins to stream down the face of The Incredible Hulk.
Earlier that morning, Jen fired up the stove—the hiss of the burner, a familiar tune, breaking the quiet—as she boiled water for instant oatmeal. Casey adjusted the tent, still damp from the night’s wind and rain as first light broke through the clouds, illuminating the top of The Hulk in a warm glow.
Weather in the Eastern Sierra is fickle. High pressure can linger for days, even weeks, but systems move in fast. And climbers are picky when it comes to conditions. We like wind, but not too much. Cool temps keep rubber sticky, but too cold and fingers go numb. Humidity? No thanks. And then there’s the matter of the route itself. Rock quality? We avoid choss like the plague. Aesthetics? Stance? Positioning? Movement?
FOR ALL THESE REASONS, A ROUTE IS BEST COMPARED TO A SONG
Its appeal largely subjective, each with its own sound, rhythm and movement. 
There are classics, generally accepted as significantly better than most. Instantly recognizable—The Nose, for example, on El Cap’s 3,000-foot face, or the perfect symmetry of Half Dome. And, much like a music genre, routes in particular geographic regions have defining characteristics: Spain is known for its flair and spice—long run-outs on perfect limestone with hard climbing well above the last bolt; France has high-altitude alpine mixed climbing, thousands of meters above glaciers. And in the U.S., there’s the Sierra—home to perfectly bomber, technical granite climbing.
Thirty miles as the crow flies from El Capitan, The Incredible Hulk rises out of a chaotic mess of smashed rock and talus, leaving behind perfect stone and the ultimate amphitheater.
For years, I've been trying to find my way to The Incredible Hulk. I had heard and read stories—like a song played through a speaker. Merely a tease. But a live performance? That was the dream.
Sunspot Dihedral was first established and recorded by legends Dave Nettle and Jimmy Haden in 1999. Since then, a handful of new tracks have been added to The Hulk’s album—Solar Flare (5.12d), Positive Vibrations (5.11a), The Venturi Effect (5.12c), and countless others. The Hulk has become legendary for its bulletproof granite and sustained movement, pitch after pitch. It stands almost alone, uniquely different from the other stone around it. Solar Flare is a test piece for the elite, with climbers like Alex Honnold and Emily Harrington bagging sends. For mere mortals, Positive Vibrations and Sunspot Dihedral are more obtainable at 5.11a and 5.11b—but don’t be fooled. The baseline kicks.
Our small crew had a short window this past fall to attempt Sunspot Dihedral. We secured a permit for a few nights, knowing weather was uncertain and we’d have to thread the needle. We figured we might as well set up a base camp and wait for a window. This also meant we might be the only ones willing to hike in with heavy packs and potentially get skunked. It wasn’t technically rolling dice, but it felt close.
Our small crew had a short window this past fall to attempt Sunspot Dihedral. We secured a permit for a few nights, knowing weather was uncertain and we’d have to thread the needle. We figured we might as well set up a base camp and wait for a window. This also meant we might be the only ones willing to hike in with heavy packs and potentially get skunked. It wasn’t technically rolling dice, but it felt close.
The approach to the venue itself is part of the adventure. Starting from Twin Lakes Campground, it’s five miles of rugged trail—a log crossing over the creek, steep switchbacks, granite benches marked by cairns, and a lot of boulder/talus hopping for a little over 3,000 feet of gain. The weight of our climbing gear and overnight packs turned each step into work. Higher up, the trees thinned, revealing the neighboring granite peaks. The final stretch through endless talus felt like a maze. And then, finally, The Hulk appeared—massive, golden in the late afternoon light, slicing into the sky.
The route itself is nine pitches and 1,200 feet of strenuous laybacking, finger locks, and stemming. The first two pitches share the start of Positive Vibrations—the second pitch, a 10c finger crack, sets the tone. The third splits from Positive Vibrations to the left, where the real climbing begins and the soul of the route emerges: Pitches 4-7.
The route itself is nine pitches and 1,200 feet of strenuous laybacking, finger locks, and stemming. The first two pitches share the start of Positive Vibrations—the second pitch, a 10c finger crack, sets the tone. The third splits from Positive Vibrations to the left, where the real climbing begins and the soul of the route emerges: Pitches 4-7.
With lines fixed from our previous attempts, our crew quickly finds itself at Pitch 4. There are only a few hours of daylight left, and Jen begins with a wild traverse under a roof—underclinging on perfect granite before launching into a technical flared corner. The exposure sets in here on the traverse, the valley floor dropping below as The Hulk’s golden walls stretch above. The evening light is going off. It’s beautiful. We rappel our fixed lines and plan to return the next morning with better weather.
Pitch 5 is the money pitch. A sustained, left-facing dihedral with thin 
cracks and delicate stemming, requiring both precision and endurance. 
Small stoppers and micro cams protect the crux, but nothing feels secure. The movement is deliberate—smearing, laybacking, trusting friction. 
Every move flows into the next, like a song building to a crescendo.
Jen takes over from here and sends Pitch 6—the namesake pitch—an overhanging crux past two bolts, requiring a mix of stemming, laybacking, and commitment. She pulls into the corner and rockets past the patina sunspot. The reward: one of the most stunning crack systems on the route. Perfect fingers and hands lead to a small belay ledge.Â
Pitch 7 keeps the intensity high. Parallel corners with switching from one to the other, and going with what feels best. The Hulk demands commitment, and every pitch on the route cements its reputation as one of the best alpine rock climbs in the Sierra.
With the vertical climbing completed we return to our camp at the edge of the talus, a few hundred feet from the route’s base. At night, the Milky Way danced over The Hulk as its tune rang out.
Over the years I've found that I’ve traded traditional dance shoes for ski boots, rock climbing shoes, and trail runners. A live band for the sound of a camera shutter, tents flapping in the wind, water cascading over rocks, sweat stinging my eyes, laughter, blood, and tears—both happy and sad. Friends. Stoves firing up in the cold, water boiling for morning coffee. I’m no musician, but it’s music, and I’m here to dance.
WRITTEN & PHOTOGRAPHED BY
CLAYTON HERRMANN
Clayton’s photography aspires to showcase the blended worlds of athlete and artist. He remembers seeing images of high-alpine climbing by Gordon Wiltsie, a renowned photojournalist and explorer, for the first time and realizing the possibilities of bringing a camera into exposed and wild environments. In middle school, he would borrow his mom's old Pentax K 1000 to photograph his friends skating the streets and empty pools around Los Angeles, California, where he grew up. Currently, some of his inspirations include: Jeff Johnson, Drew Smith, and Savannah Cummins. Based out of Jackson, Wyoming, his free time mostly consists of chocolate croissants, cortados, and a deadline.
