14,505 feet above sea level, highest point in the contiguous United States, "up there" . . . by whatever name one chooses to refer Mt. Whitney, some sort of superlative is in order. For a couple of years now, I have been hoping to conquer this mighty mountain on the eastern edge of California. Entering the lottery in the early sprint, I was lucky enough to secure three passes for late August. And now with the fateful date upon us, it is time for the test.
A couple of friends that had originally planned on joining me were unable to, but after asking around among other friends and co-workers I found two brave souls to accompany me. Bill, who recently backpacked through the Ruby Mountains with me, and his long-time friend, Van.
Heading down Friday morning, we stopped for a great lunch at the Whoa Nellie Deli outside of Lee Vining, which is one of my favorite stops. What other gas station servers lobster taquitos and bison meat loaf? Continuing on to the Ranger Station just outside of Death Valley, we picked up our passes and Bill rented a bear canister. Knowing the forest service requires these devices for food storage within the Whitney Zone, I had purchased one the week before.
Still having a fair amount of time before dark, we drove up through the Alabama Foothills at the base of Mt. Whitney, stumbling across a small natural bridge in the process - pretty cool. After a little exploration and rock scrambling in the desert, we headed on over to Whitney Portal and pitched our tents at the campground, grabbed some dinner at the burger joint at the trail head, and decided to call it a night.
Rising at 4:45, while it was still pitch black outside, we began to break camp and make our way back up the hill to the trail head. Amazingly, we still had to park my truck quite a ways down hill from the trail head, as most of the parking spots at the top were full. The trail head offers a scale for back packers to weigh in on. I was pretty happy to see my pack weigh in at only 35 pounds, including my water - not too bad.
We start up the trail, which immediately starts the long climb from 8,000 feet at the trail head all the way to 14,505 feet at the summit of Whitney. I know I have referred to some trails in the past as moving 'relentlessly' uphill, but I take it all back. This trial is truly relentless. We pass by small waterfalls and scramble across stepping stones to cross small creeks, all the while making our way up this fantastic white gorge with Whitney directly ahead of us most of the way. As the sun rises, I capture a great shot of the monstrous mountain above us.
Continuing on, we come across Lone Pine Lake, which is spectacular to behold while looking east. We also find a bridge made of logs through a shallow marsh/run-off, which makes for a fun little diversion.
Reaching Outpost Camp at about 4 miles in, we stop to fill our water supply and admire the small waterfall feeding the creek that runs right through the middle of this popular overnight spot. We continue on though.
Reaching about 11,500 feet, I begin to feel my head expanding and find it harder and harder to catch my breath. I'm a little concerned about these symptoms. Continuing on, I find it more and more difficult to keep my mind focused on any single thought for any amount of time. My companions, Bill and Van have continued on upon my urging.
As I stumble, much like a zombie, into Trail Camp, which sets in an granite gorge just below the 99 switchbacks leading to the crest, I find myself questioning my ability to continue on. We had always planned on camping here tonight, and so, once I find Bill and Van, we set up our tents and I tell them I need a bit to try and recover. We fix some lunch and I continue experiencing the onslaught of symptoms related to altitude sickness. Van agrees that these symptoms are indicative of the condition.
After about an hour, we decide to try and push on. I'm not convinced that I can make it, but I'm damn sure going to try. Stripping down my backpack and switching over to a lightweight day pack that I had brought along, I start up the 99 switchbacks. My body just isn't acclimating to this altitude though, and after a few hundred hard-fought yards, I decide that being able to breathe is probably more important than reaching the top. I turn back towards camp, as my companions continue upwards. I spend the rest of my afternoon and evening in and out of sleep in my tent, while hoping my head doesn't explode. After about six hours, my companions return with tales of the grandeur of the summit and the struggle to reach it. Bill also started getting sick from the thin air, but not until he had almost reached the top. It was a huge disappointment, but again, my health had to come first.
Overnight temperatures at Trail Camp, sunk below freezing as we found ice on some of our gear when we awoke. Marmots and chipmunks run rampant through camp scrounging for food scraps. As I rise at dawn and climb the hill behind us, I spot what I believe to be a fox off in the distance. I think the overnight stay has helped my altitude sickness and has give my body enough time to at least begin to become accustomed to this thin air. I feel significantly better this morning, and my head feels almost normal sized once again.
I hope someday to get another chance to hike up this mighty peak, but next time, I will most definitely give myself an extra day to acclimate better. I'm disappointed in myself, but I had a great time with some good people, and saw some amazing scenery over the 15 miles I was able to trek. It was still worth it, even though I didn't reach the peak.
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