Mounting Whitney
April 26, 2020
Driving past Mt. Whitney on the way to Mammoth this weekend has me thinking a lot about the days we spent hiking last year. I wrote a full, but slightly scattered account of the experience after returning home and am only just now re-reading it and subsequently reliving some of it. Read on, if it pleases you. I should warn you though, I do talk about poop.
Written September 10, 2019
It’s a little daunting to try to fit almost 30 miles’ worth of hiking thoughts onto the page, but I’ll give it a go.
This weekend I hiked up Mt. Whitney with Jay, Doug, Joe, and Spencer. Kent was also with us for the pre-hike hike, which was the cottonwood lake trail from Horseshoe meadows. Most of us had planned to do around 6 miles to loosen up and get acclimated, but Joe chose this trail and said it was around 8 miles. It ended up being a BEAUTIFUL hike. The meadow and lake that we saw at the top were entirely worth the extra couple of miles. Unfortunately, it was enough for Kent to learn that his body was not in the right condition to attempt to summit Whitney and he ended up driving back to Santa Barbara the next morning. As he said, it was a long way to drive for a day hike. But, ultimately better to find out and not get himself into a sticky and more frustrating situation.
Joe on our warm up trail
So, the five of us set out Sunday morning at 7:30 am, already an hour behind schedule. Some of us had camped at the Whitney Portal campground and some had stayed at a hotel in Lone Pine to get that one last shower in. It took a bit longer than expected for all of us to eat and pack up, pack down (lighten the load as much as possible) and try just one last time to poop before we start (if you’ve hiked Whitney, or really just backpacked in general, you’ll know why that matters). We got to the trail head, weighed our packs and finally got moving. Our packs were all pretty similar in weight. Jay’s was 32 lbs, Doug’s and mine were 34 lbs and Joe weighed in at 36 lbs. Spencer’s was only 25 lbs or so, but he’s only thirteen years old and sharing a tent with his uncle Jay, so that was to be expected.
Within about 10 seconds of hiking, I realized, and said out loud, “Wow, I think this is going to be pretty hard!” If I only knew what an understatement that was…
We set a timer to rest every hour for at least five minutes. The actual length of those rests usually ended up being at least 10, if not more. We snacked, stayed hydrated and mostly just kept moving. Doug was feeling the altitude more than usual this trip (he has successfully summited before), so he moved at a bit of a slower pace while Joe, Jay, Spencer and I tried to push along, knowing that we were trying to make it all the way to the summit that day. Hiking uphill at high altitude with a full pack with 3 males does not result in a plethora of conversation. Perhaps mostly due to the fact that we are all just trying to breathe. It was a lot of time in my own head with occasional small bursts of conversation, or mostly just small comments.
The trail is quite long, but because the terrain changes significantly fairly often, it stays interesting. It went from dry dirt and boring rocks to luscious ferns alongside a gushing waterfall to gorgeous tall trees to snowbanks melting into a mountain meadow to imposing rock mountain formations. That’s a lot in one hike! But considering it covered 11 miles, it was nice to have some variety. Good job, Earth.
What I really found amazing was that from down below you can’t see the lakes and meadows and waterfalls that are tucked up along the trail. Only by physically hoisting your body up that trail do you get the rare treat of witnessing some of nature’s true gems. It makes sense to me that people get addicted to adventure, when that is your reward, who can resist seeing what’s beyond one more mountain, or down one more river?! Disney’s Pocahontas said it best…
A couple weeks ago when I was doing a training hike with my bestie Kiel he asked me what my most random thought was up to that point. I was pretty cranky that day and worrying about “real life” things, so I didn’t have a great answer. I think I can make up for that now. Here are my top two most random thoughts that I caught myself thinking on the Whitney trail:
The vibraslap. Ever heard one? They are both hilarious and awesome. Watch this if you don’t know what it is.
Conquering that mountain was much less a feat of strength and much more of a strength of feet. Thank you, Robin Hood Men in Tights, for distinguishing the two.
Getting to Trail Camp, which is 6 miles up the trail, took much longer and was much more tiring than I expected. After a fairly quick camp set up, Jay told us we needed to get moving in order to have enough day light to summit. At this point, I had a pretty strong headache that persisted even through a couple ibuprofen, lots of water and snacks. I was hoping to have time to lie down, rest, and try to acclimate a bit. But, no such luck. I was weighing the option of staying at camp and summiting in the early morning, but that didn’t seem to fit everyone else’s timeline, so it was time to go up.
Aside from the headache, I was feeling surprisingly fine. The switchbacks are no joke, they were definitely one of the more challenging sections, but the last mile we had gone to get to trail camp felt much worse to me, so without my full pack I was feeling a bit better. Midway through the switchbacks I pulled out my old-ass iPod. I truly don’t think I had used it in at least two years, but it was charged and ready to go and it gave me at least an hour of entertainment to hear which songs 20-year-old Jessie downloaded onto that baby. After a while though, the music was more of a negative distraction than a positive one and I returned to the plodding thoughts in my head.
At the top of the switchbacks is Trail Crest. Coming up over that crest and seeing into the valley with the Sierras extending beyond was one of the most stunningly breathtaking moments I have every experienced. It was so astounding that it actually brought me to tears. Joe, who had scooted rather quickly up the switchbacks was there, soaking in the view, waiting for us. I sat with him for just a few minutes and all I kept saying was WOW. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Even after summiting and doing the whole thing, I think that moment of first witnessing that expansive beauty was my absolute favorite.
From there, it feels like you are close to the summit, but we had another few miles to get to the top. From Trail Crest we entered the windows section. At this point the elevation is over 13,000 feet and there is no avoiding it’s power. My head was still pounding and breathing was not getting any easier. Everyone was hurting enough that there was essentially no talking at this point past the occasional “You ok? Yeah, you ok?” I sank deeper and deeper into my own thoughts.
Once the tears had started at the crest, they kept creeping back. As a point of reference, a very close friend of mine died a few months previous. The last time I had climbed a mountain, Half Dome, he had been with me. It also happened to be the weekend of his celebration of life, which I had chosen to skip in order to hike Whitney. I truly believe that it was a more fitting way for me to celebrate in his honor. He would have been right there by my side if he could have been and he would have charged it with good humor all the way up. The grief I feel over losing him has been lingering just below the surface and all sorts of little thoughts and reminders easily draw it up. Tears are never far away. Adding altitude, deep fatigue and extreme mental solitude exacerbated this state for me. If it hadn’t been for the fact that every time I started crying I couldn’t see where I was walking I’m sure I would have had a full sob. As it was, I knew that retaining all faculties possible - especially my vision - surpassed my need for a good cry. So, I cried in small doses behind my sunglasses and kept my eyes on the trail.
Truthfully, between the switchbacks and the last couple of miles on the crest I felt a very full range of human emotion: sadness, profound grief, elation, pure adventurous joy, anger, confusion, fear, and most definitely some anxiety. Let me tell you, it’s rather exhausting to feel that much in such a condensed time. It strangely pulled me out of my physical body in a way that I have only experienced maybe once before. My head was a roller coaster and my body was almost on auto-pilot. I felt in some ways that I could have walked forever. In fact, it felt like we did walk forever. Joe was in such physical pain and every time I looked at him I felt for him, but when I checked in with my own body I felt nothing - except apparently every emotion ever known to man. It is difficult to explain.
I prayed a lot on this trip, but never more than in those last few miles. I promised myself that in this account I would be wholly, completely, and awkwardly honest, so here it is: I felt a time of clarity in my spirituality. Religious studies and exploration have been forefront on my mind for a while, but with little to no clarity besides this hike. I prayed every hour or so for my own safety and for the safety of my companions. As I got closer, I asked for more. I didn’t bargain or make any promises. I told God that I truly needed him. That it mattered to me more than I realized to get to the top of that stinkin’ mountain and that I knew I couldn’t do it alone. I needed some help and I was unashamed to ask for it. I suddenly realized without any doubt that I love God and believe in his love for me. Thinking about it now that I am back in the “Real world” (up to you to decide which is really more “real”), I find it astounding, strange, and endlessly surprising that I could know that without doubt. I cannot logically even begin to explain it, but I can tell you that I felt it at the time. And wouldn’t you know, that made me cry, too. Did I mention that I’ve been crying a lot lately??
At this point, it may not come as a surprise that summiting Mt. Whitney did not feel half as exciting as I expected at the time. I was exhausted, wrung out, extremely anxious and worried about getting back down to trail camp safely, especially as I watched the sun dip closer and closer to the Sierras that extended beyond the western side of the great mountain. Looking back now I can picture it and appreciate it in a way that was beyond me at the moment. The view was spectacular: three hundred and sixty degrees of pure earthly wonder. And I was still just mostly trying not to completely lose my cool.
Joe and Spencer were just behind me. Spencer took shelter from the wind under a larger rock, trying to coax feeling back into his frozen fingers and Joe collapsed beside me on the flat-ish rock at the tallest point. I’ve never seen someone so tired push themselves to such great (literal) heights. Impressive. We took a few photos using the sign that someone had thoughtfully left under a few small rocks. It was windy, cold and beautiful in every direction. The only blemish on the view was a layer of smoke on the eastern side due to a nearby fire. While we were up there a small fire plane swooped us. It flew so close that I’m sure the pilot got a good giggle watching Joe hit the deck as it scared the crappola out of him. I felt like I could have grabbed a wing and hitched a ride.
We didn’t stay long. We were the second to last group to summit that day and it felt a little eerie to be up there in the wind alone, knowing that daylight was rapidly dwindling. We had a bit of trouble finding the trail back down at the start, but once we reconnected I was ready to GO. The guys were moving pretty slowly, but I seemed to get my fifth wind, or however many it had been at that point, and practically could have run down to camp. Except for the few short uphill sections that we had to climb, those exposed how tired my body truly was underneath all the adrenaline and anxiety that was fueling my descent.
I had one more grand revelation at this point. I realized that I was only able to conquer this mountain (and I say that with great humility and deference to her awe-inspiring grandeur), because of the people who believe in me. My roommates, my family, my closest friends, the guy that I thought was something special for a minute, the fellow friends of the friend who died, even some friends who only know me from a distance. All of those people believed and expressed that I would have “no problem” getting to the very tippy top. Before I left, I found that very complimentary and sometimes annoying. How did they know? They couldn’t possibly understand that I am not as fit or as able as they think I am. And yet when I got up there I found that I was. And I wanted to be because they believed in me. I wanted to live up to their expectations and show them that I am all the things that they see in me. I could see how this may not always work for the better, but in this case it felt really good. It felt good to surpass my own expectations and recognize that these people believe in more than just my physical capabilities - they believe in me as a person. And that is beyond powerful. Especially when you forgot for a while how to believe in yourself.
Descending the switchbacks in the dark honestly scared the crap out of me. Luckily, I teamed up with a couple who were heading the same way and chatting with them distracted me from my fear. I felt like a little kid when I asked if I could hike with them instead of passing by and continuing on my own. Since they had approached the summit from a different direction, they didn’t know that there was an icy section on the switchbacks, so we were able to help each other. We made it down to camp. I was met by Doug, who was coming to look for us and appeared to be getting a bit worried, at the edge of camp just after 8:30 pm. He passed me off to Jay to make me eat some dinner and he continued on to meet Spencer and Joe. We were all just fine. We each ate a few bites of freeze dried sustenance and pretty much fell into our tents to sleep. There was little to no sense of accomplishment at this point, was still very much stuck in survival mode.
Descending the switchbacks at sunset
The next day dawned bright and freezing. Literally freezing. I used a small camp towel to wipe up some spilled water in my tent as I packed up. I set the towel on top of my tent to dry while I ate breakfast and when I came back ten minutes later the towel had frozen! No wonder I couldn’t feel my fingers. We packed up and hiked down without any notable anything. Each step closer to the bottom brought me closer to the excitement I thought I would have felt at the top. The sense of accomplishment that I was missing at the summit came when we all safely reached the bottom and had a beer and a burger in front of us. No meal has ever tasted as good.
There is one more topic that needs to be addressed: pooping in a bag. It is the rule of the trail that anything you bring in must be brought out. That includes your own excrement. I have to admit, it’s one of the only times that I have been disappointed in my own regularity. No one in the rest of our group used a single bag! Myself, I used 3. I even make-shifted by own because I had already used the two official Wag-Bags (I shit you not…). And then I got to carry them all the way down the mountain to throw them away at the portal. Nothing like getting to know people while you carry a bag of your own poo. Really bonds people.
“Is there such a thing as a post-adventure real life anxiety hangover?” As I lay in bed Tuesday morning after a rock-solid eight hour sleep my first night back, I felt all the anxiety of daily reality coming back: I need a job, I don’t think that guy I’ve been seeing really wants to date, I don’t have any groceries, what am I going to do all week? There is a very real need to integrate these intense outdoor experiences with the realities of daily life. I am glad to have this day to read, write, grocery shop and reconcile all the thoughts that came on the trail with the thoughts that I have being back in Santa Barbara. We have to assimilate and integrate that experience into our being. It is a part of us now. How and what does that feel like? Depends. Always depends. But trying to give it space to sink in and come along with me. Just like the grief of losing Carlin will always be a part of me, so will this life-affirming, life-giving experience of standing on top of the world and knowing that I got there by my own two feet.
Reading this now, some of it seems so dramatic and intense. And I remember at the time things felt so dramatic and intense. There is something special about the Eastern Sierras that ignites these strong feelings. I felt it again last night as we sat in a hot spring in Mammoth surrounded on all sides by wide open plains that grew into epic mountain ranges. We walk around often feeling so important to ourselves, I think it is crucial to go to places that remind us of how small we are and how important and beautiful the Earth is.
Thanks, Earth, you’re pretty neat. And thanks to Jay and the rest of the guys, for quite the adventure.
Joe, Jay, Me, Doug, and Spencer at Trail Camp
