Summit day began at 2:15 am, not so bright, but early, on a cool morning in late September at 8,000 feet elevation. I managed myself out of the sleeping bag, over my buddy and out the tent, with my head still in a haze from the early morning and residual effects of early celebration whiskey. As the brisk air met my face, my thoughts began to clear up and the realization of the tough task at hand began to settle. Dan began the oatmeal and coffee as Rick, Casey, and I began to layer up and secure our boots to a snug fit. We chowed down and chugged water to stave off dehydration from the dry, cold air and impending physical exertion. We put our headlamps on and made our way off the camp and onto the trail head, with our lights clearing a path in the eerily dark night of a new moon.
Preparations for our plan to summit Mt. Whitney began approximately a year prior. Seemingly out of nowhere, we all decided we wanted to reach the closest point to the heavens on the lower 48 states. It all sounded like fun and games with a few beers in us, until we sobered up to the fact that it would actually take a lot of hard work to get there. Initial hikes were a few miles long and varying degrees of uphill grades. My first "long" hike was three weeks into my training and consisted of a 24-mile round trip to the top of Mt. Wilson, at roughly 5,500 ft elevation. Needless to say, it was brutal. The over-exerted feeling in my legs was a new experience and my feet ached a new level of ache. You never want to get off a mountain more than on a descent from the summit. Getting up there is just half the battle. Thoughts of zip-lines and para-gliding jump to mind. The majority of hiking and mountaineering accidents happen on the descent. You're tired, lethargic, muscles and joints also undergo more stress going downhill. It was after that Mt. Wilson hike that I began to measure the magnitude of our ambition. Mt. Wilson is 5,500 ft. Mt Whitney is 14,505 ft. Mt Whitney features a 22-mile round-trip at a steeper grade than Mt. Wilson, and a lower oxygen concentration, due to elevation.
The more I researched Mt. Whitney, the more danger I found. I once read a quote that said, "A mountain is not a mountain without the element of danger." Really, nobody aspires to climb a mountain that isn't dangerous. Danger brings thrill. The high elevation of Mt. Whitney alone makes it dangerous. Altitude Sickness(nausea, headache, loss of appetite) can begin to settle in, above 9,000 feet. High Altitude Cerebral Edema( swelling of the brain,)High Altitude Pulmonary Edema(fluid in the lungs) are also dangers, if not properly acclimatized, above 9,000 feet. Those physiological dangers are not including the physical dangers such as climate, and terrain.
The beginning of our summit attempt began with three days of acclimating at Whitney Portal Campground at 8,000 feet. The campground is cradled in between huge, imposing granite walls. It is at the campground where I caught my first close-up glimpse of the sawtoothed giant towering 6,000 feet above me.
On the second day, we rested our bodies and minds, which is easy, surrounded by the pristine alpine landscapes the Sierra Nevada mountain range is known for. We were also mentally preparing ourselves for an adventure into the unknown. We hit the sack early and gulped some Whiskey, for good measure, or not.
At 3:15 am summit day, we were at the trail head. The summit was 11 miles ahead.There were more people lining up to blitz the mountain than I felt comfortable with. The line at the trail head resembled a wait for Splash Mountain at Disneyland. It was peak season, afterall. We powered our way through the first few miles, passing several groups ahead of us. Our bodies were working hard, in the high country, and with every step we advanced the air became thinner. The groups of people finally began to dissipate and our trek no longer felt like an amusement park theme ride.
Full attention must be paid to your headlamp, in the pitch black wilderness, as one misstep can cause injury, or even death, so it's hard to focus on anything but that light, casting a safety net on the cold, rocky ground. My actions began to feel mechanical. The only sounds I heard were of my heavy breathing and my boots mediating with the granite below me.
Breaks were few and far between, since we wanted to get to the summit before the possible afternoon thunderstorms. We arrived at Trail Camp at 6:00 am, elevation 12,000 feet, just in time for a sunrise show, and a much needed break. We hid behind a large boulder that was sheltering us from the gentle, yet cold, wind. Sharp, angled, jagged silhouettes began to morph as the sun's soft glow began to fill the sky, while I filled my stomach with Clif bars and water. We looked beaten, but we still had 2,500 more feet to gain and the infamous 97 switchbacks were next up on the gauntlet toward the summit.
The landscape was now fully lit by the morning's light, so we proceeded up the switchbacks. The summit of Mt. Whitney was in clear view and seemed so close, still a towering mass, though. Aside from an icy section, the switchbacks seemed easier than I anticipated, which brought me some relief. We were getting closer and closer to the top but were also receiving less oxygen with every inch we climbed.
We reached Trail Crest-- the end of the switchbacks and cross section of the 200 mile John Muir Trail and Mt. Whitney Trail-- some time after 9:00 am. The elevation was now 13,600 feet. At this point, the classic symptoms of Altitude Sickness were beginning to settle in for me, so we took another break. Headache, nausea, fatigue, lethargy, began to test my body and mind. Actually, it feels really similar to a hangover. The views over the high ridges were breath taking. Tall, stone, serrated masterpieces cut through the horizon, surrounding deep blue lakes. Sierra Nevada means snowy, jagged mountain range, in Spanish.
From Trail Crest, the summit is still roughly two miles away. My energy was drained and altitude sickness never gets better unless you descend to lower elevations. I pushed on with my friends at a much slower pace than before. Dan and Rick accelerated their pace, while Casey and I stayed behind. In the distance, the summit, and summit hut were now within reach. My body was demanding that I stop and turn around but there was no way I was going to turn around at that point. Very slowly, I was gaining ground. Dan and Rick were already basking in the glory of the summit. Casey was just arriving, and I was a few minutes behind. And then, I finally got there, short of noon.
Standing at the summit of Mt. Whitney actually gave me a very calm feeling. Sweeping, unobstructed views of the Sierra Nevada mountain range and Sequoia National Park, in the distance, filled every corner of my eyes. At that moment, no other human being in the lower 48 states, standing on solid ground, was higher than I was, nearly three miles above sea-level. My friends and I took obligatory pictures on the summit and decided to continue forth to our 11-mile descent.
The way down, I felt like I was going to collapse at any moment. My body didn't want to go, my mind was somewhere else. Everything hurt and I was irritable. I seemed to have the worst case of Altitude Sickness, out of my group of friends. At Trail Camp, on the way down, I separated from my friends to find a hidden place to pee. I ended up getting lost and wandering around for about 15 minutes. I sat down to collect myself. I knew I wasn't that far off from the trail. I was just extremely fatigued. I remember seeing a fat, furry marmot atop a rock, indifferent to my presence. It didn't care if I was lost, hungry, or happy. That's the way nature is. I eventually found my way back and met up with my friends who were concerned and looking for me.
As we descended back down to about 9,000 feet, my spirits improved dramatically. I was soon leading the way back down at break neck pace just shy of a jog. By around 6:00 pm, 15 hours after we started, we were finally back at Whitney Portal Campground. We packed our stuff and headed down the mountain for a pizza dinner in Lone Pine, CA, at the base of the mountain. I was relieved that it was over, and I didn't want to set foot on another mountain for a long time.
