SIERRA NEVADA MOUNTAINS, CALIFORNIA
JOHN MUIR WILDERNESS
MT. WHITNEY TRIP
OCTOBER, 1993
INTRODUCTION
A few years back, I had tried this hike with
a group of four friends from work. Our itinerary had us
going in from Cottonwood Lakes, to the south, hiking the
backcountry north to Mt. Whitney, making the summit, and
returning to Whitney Portal, where we had left a shuttle
car. One night in, some of the group found they couldn't
shake altitude sickness, and I came down with a raging sore
throat that quickly spread to my ears. I had gotten sick.
We aborted the trip and came down. I eventually ended up
with pneumonia from this. A couple of years later, Bob and
I tried this trip again when we were trying to salvage his
Death Valley to Mt. Whitney hike. We had chosen the
mountaineer's route, which didn't follow the heavily
trodden main trail. This is where we ran into a heavy early
season snowstorm that stopped us. We retreated. Finally, in
1993, we decided to try it again. This time we had a
permit, like most everyone else, for the main trail. What a
great hike it was. Bob had been in the hiking mode for a
week before I met up with him. I had been working on a
project at work that week that left me exhausted from very
little sleep. I wasn't in the best of shape, but made it
nonetheless.
Sunday, October 24
I drove to Lone Pine today and met Bob at Whitney Creek
Campground about 1:45 p.m. We had a beer and he told me
about his week alone, hiking up the backside of the Inyo's,
tackling Long John canyon, and his hike across Owens
Valley. I rearranged my pack, changed clothes, and we
headed to Whitney Portal. In contrast to mid-summer, there
were relatively few cars in the parking lot. It was no
problem finding spots for both my car and truck, which Bob
had been using the previous week. We were on the trail in a
matter of minutes. It was about 3 p.m. The weather was a
perfect autumn day. Warm in the sun, a slightly crisp cool
in the shade, and that wonderful Sierra smell in the air.
The fall colors in the drainages were stunning. We set a
leisurely pace and after a few stops were at Lone Pine
Lake, a distance of 2.5 miles. It took about 3 hours to get
there. Along this stretch of trail we met several people
coming down from the summit. Most looked tired. In
particular I remember seeing a group of young boys, one
lagging far behind and quite disgruntled. It was nearly
dark when we finally found a suitable place to camp. We
made dinner, something simple as I recall, followed by a
shot of medicinal elixir. Finally, laying there under the
trees without a tent to hinder my view of the stars, I fell
asleep.
Monday, October 25
I awoke this morning, a little stiff from the sudden shock
of hiking the afternoon before, but nonetheless ready for
another day of punishment. It was quite cold during the
night, but the liner I had bought for my down sleeping bag
worked very well. I slept soundly, except that my trusty
Thermarest pad sprung a leak after 10 years of use, so it
was a little rocky, but not unbearable. We had a short
breakfast, packed, and while Bob was still packing, I took
a walk around Lone Pine Lake. Shrunken from a greater size,
probably no more than a few weeks before, it was still
pretty. The water was perfectly calm, with the reflection
of the towering amber walls and deep blue sky painted on
the surface. There was not a cloud in sight. By the time I
reached the half way point around the lake, Bob was done
packing and motioned to me that he wanted to get moving. I
quickly returned to camp and he told me that his feet were
really cold and he needed to hit the trail to warm them up.
After just a few minutes on the trail, the feeling of
exhaustion settled in for me. It was at this point I
realized that this was going to be a mother of a hike. I
knew I would warm up eventually and overcome the
exhaustion, but at that moment I was beat. We tackled a
hill and, after a mile or so, came upon a meadow. This was
Outpost Camp. The trail dropped to the meadow and skirted
the southern edge, where we met a group taking photographs.
One of them had a video camera also. The thought of
carrying one of those up here is not worth the effort to
me. The trail curved around the head of the meadow, taking
us over pumice flats and crossed Lone Pine Creek. Here we
came upon a solar outhouse, which we both used.
After a little foot care and a clothing adjustment, we left
Outpost Camp, switch-backing up a slope to Mirror Lake. The
air was becoming a bit thinner now, and my exercise starved
body was beginning to complain. Passing Mirror Lake with
little notice, except for a glance over my shoulder to see
it, we began to climb through the granite. Just below the
top of this ascent, where the last of the trees we would be
seeing could be found, we took a lunch break. We ate some
salami and crackers and a few other goodies I took a couple
of photographs of Bob and me. The view here was mainly down
canyon. While we were there, a happy looking couple and
their dog came down the trail.
We hit the trail again after maybe 20 minutes rest. The
remainder of the afternoon was a long series of
switch-backs and stair-climbing to reach Trail Camp. We
passed a few more people coming down, and a few passing us
going up. By the time we reached Trail Camp, I was so
exhausted I could barely function. I remember being within
sight of the outhouses, removing my pack. I wandered around
without an ounce of energy left in me, unable to proceed
and find a place to camp. I was a bit worried about this. I
had never been so exhausted. It was late in the afternoon.
Bob had disappeared looking for a place to camp. I climbed
the rocks to the north of the trail and looked a little
bit, finding some suitable spots, but returned to where my
pack was. Bob soon returned from his search, and we both
climbed back up the rocks and found a spot sheltered by a
big boulder. Someone had arranged a rock wall to surround
the camp, I assume to act as a windbreak. Here at last,
beneath Wotans Throne, was home sweet home.
It was getting cold, so I set up the tent and put some warm
clothes on. I mustered up the energy to take some
photographs of the sun setting on Mt. Irvine and Mt. McAdie
to the south of our camp, above Consultation Lake. There
was quite a bit of snow on the slopes below Arc Pass which
connected the two peaks. A half moon was rising above Mt.
Irvine, making for a great shot. After the last bit of
direct sunlight disappeared, the glow on the surrounding
granite walls lingered for a long time, slowly merging with
the night sky. With this fading glow we made a warm dinner,
which rejuvenated me, but once again reminded me of how
much I hate making dinner after dark. Somehow I always end
up in this situation. I suppose it's because there is
always so much to see right up until the sun sets that I
don't care until I actually have to do it. Some things seem
destined to never change. With the last bit of light, we
watched as some people were coming down from Trail Crest
and speculated as to where the trail actually went. We
watched and listened as some people hiked up in the dark
and setup camp on the south side of the trail. Bob settled
in for the night and I wandered around with my last bit of
energy still taking in the surroundings with the help of
the light of the moon. I finally gave up and went to bed,
quickly falling asleep.
Tuesday, October 26
This morning I awoke before sunrise and eventually crawled
out of my cocoon. I warmed up as much as I could, and
achingly made my way to the outhouse. That done, we made
breakfast. While eating, we again watched as some people
were going up to Trail Crest. After discussing what we
should bring with us, I changed into my hiking shorts
retaining my thermals underneath. With a later than desired
start, we set off to conquer the great Mount Whitney. After
about 20 feet, I was exhausted. This was going to be an
even longer day than before.
We reached the bottom of the Trail Crest trail and,
beginning the nearly one hundred switch-backs, settled in
to a slow steady pace. This pace was broken by frequent
stops for water and rest, or a change of shirt. I took some
photographs at some of these rest stops also. Once Mt.
Whitney came into view, I couldn't resist taking some shots
of us with the peak in the background. It looked so close
now. I also took some shots looking back toward the west,
showing from where we had come. It was at once close and
yet so far, my feet confirming the how far. We searched for
our campsite, and could just barely see the blue of the
tent, camouflaged in the granite and boulders above
Consultation Lake which in itself seemed small. We
continued at a steady pace, slowing down a bit when we
encountered a section of the trail covered with permanent
ice. There is a cabled hand hold here, but if one slips,
it's a long way down. The weather was alternately warm in
the sun, and quit chilly in the shade, and nearer the
crest, very windy. The last few hundred feet of the trail
was shaded and covered in snow. Reaching a state of
exhaustion, I was once again asking myself "why the hell do
I do these hikes?" I had to convince myself that I would
feel different about it when we reached the top. I was
particularly slow through here. Bob was probably a good ten
minutes ahead of me.
Once at Trail Crest though, the view was spectacular.
Looking east was Owens Valley in the distance and the
drainage we had followed up the previous two days. Looking
west was the High Sierra backcountry, which appeared to go
on forever, meeting on the horizon with a deep blue
cloudless sky. Hitchcock Lakes were directly below us,
protected by their namesake Mt. Hitchcock. A little north
of there was Guitar Lake. The John Muir trail, which
wandered through this basin, was easily spotted. Bob and I
had some snacks and rested for a while. I took some
photographs, finished one roll of film and reloaded. We
then forged on, me believing the worst was behind us.
After a short while and a slight loss of elevation, we came
upon the junction with the John Muir Trail, where it
descends to Hitchcock Lakes. At this point there is a sign
warning hikers of one of the dangers of Mt. Whitney:
lightning. The trail narrows and for the next two miles
starts a relentless and winding climb. From this point
until we reached the top, I found that my stops for air
were becoming more frequent. After a while, it seemed as if
I could go no further than 50 feet before I had to stop and
rest for ten minutes. My energy was very low and I found
myself having to eat more snacks than I usually do to
continue. Bob was beginning to pull away from me. It was
apparent that he was in far better shape than me, a fact I
chose to ignore the day before. The recent lack of exercise
I had been getting and the fact that I had just finished a
job that had me working practically around the clock had
taken it's toll.
Aside from the pain of it all, I was still able to stop and
observe, as I usually do, the things around me. One of
these things was the Pinnacles and the windows between them
that lie just south of Mt. Whitney. The wind was fairly
strong throughout most of our walk up the backside, but
particularly strong while crossing these windows. I found
that I had to lean slightly into the wind blowing up them
to remain stable and upright. I looked forward to each of
these windows and enjoyed the view down to Owens Valley, as
well as the queasy feeling in my stomach while peering
down. Speaking of queasy, I was beginning to feel a bit
nauseous, something I had never experienced before while
hiking. I suppose it was all things combined that was
making me feel sick. To add to my misery, the wind blew
hard enough at times that I had to pull my balaclava over
my face. The capper was having to greet the people now
coming down from the peak that had passed us as if we were
standing still earlier in the day when we were going up the
one hundred switch-backs.
By now, Bob was far ahead of me. It looked, when I could
see him rounding turns in the trail, as if he was half a
mile or more ahead of me. This bothered me somewhat, not
because he was so far ahead and not keeping pace with me,
but because I remembered just two years before, when I was
in what was probably the best shape I've ever been in, that
I was hiking far ahead of him in the Hoover Lakes
Wilderness. The tide had turned.
After another stop where I found Bob waiting for me, we
rested for a bit and then began the final assault. Bob shot
ahead again and eventually was on top for close to half an
hour before me. What good fortune it was for him. He was
the only one on top. Considering that the ranger who issued
us our permit had told us that some 60 people reached the
peak over the weekend, to have a half hour to yourself must
be very special indeed. While Bob was enjoying the
solitude, I was crawling up the last stretch of trail on
Mt. Whitney's back slope. It was excruciating for me. I was
so exhausted I even contemplated stopping short and
aborting the trip to the top. The trail had splintered into
a myriad of trails and was difficult to follow. My mind was
beginning to splinter also. The last few yards, I was
planting a foot down every 2 or 3 seconds, a snails pace.
Within sight of the shelter, Bob appeared and out of
concern asked if I needed help. Determined to make it on my
own, I said no and continued. Upon reaching the shelter,
the jubilation of making it kept me going long enough to go
a little further to the actual summit and take some
pictures. We were still the only ones on the summit.
Patting each other on the back, we congratulated ourselves.
Walking a few feet back down to the shelter for lunch and a
rest, I thought I would feel a sense of relief. This was
not to come. My stomach was bothering me even more, and
although we made some soup in the shelter to warm us up, I
never quite recovered as quickly or to the degree I thought
I would. Although, laying on the wooden floor felt good, It
was cold up there, even without the wind, so the shelter
didn't provide much comfort.
After lunch and a try at resting, we packed up for the
anti-climactic hike back down. Upon leaving the shelter, I
glanced north and noticed a small structure which I
presumed was an outhouse, but was too tired to walk over
and inspect. Next time perhaps.
The exact path down the backside was again a challenge due
to the myriad of trails, but nonetheless was obvious in
that it could only go down and end up flowing into the main
trail. We remained closer to one another now since we were
headed down, but my enthusiasm for the sights around me was
not what it was when we were coming up the trail, so the
hike down was faster and uneventful. Reaching the uphill
section of trail past the John Muir Trail junction made my
body protest immediately. I had to rest a couple times
here.
In what seemed like short order, we were once again at
Trail Crest saddle. It was getting late and becoming
cooler, so we didn't spend much time here. The feeling of
nausea was becoming stronger and at times, while making our
way down the switch-backs, I felt like vomiting. Nearer the
bottom of the switch-backs, Bob and I discussed this and he
related that he had been feeling the same way. It was
becoming dark and quite cold by the time we reached camp,
but was as welcome a sight as my home in Glendale.
I changed out of my sweaty clothes into something dry and
warm. Looking to Mt. Irvine above Consultation Lake again,
I saw yet another photo opportunity. The yellow-orange of
the days last light was softly spread on the peak with the
moon again perched above it in a deep purple-blue sky. A
short time exposure was made with hopes for the best
results. We were then confronted with the task, one more
time, of preparing dinner in the dark, but were in need of
water. So I took my trusty Pur filter and headed for the
small creek flowing through a little pocket meadow near us.
In the morning I had filled our bottles from this creek and
enjoyed the sound of the trickling water. Now, as I
approached in the dark, I noticed an absence of sound,
except the hiss of some creature that I startled. This in
turn caused startled me and caused me to jump. I used my
flashlight to try to locate this creature but saw nothing.
I continued my quest for a suitable place to take water,
but noticed that the creek was frozen over. No problem I
thought. Just break the ice with my boot, drop the intake
in the flowing water underneath and pump. Well, this worked
fine for about 10 strokes. The filter became very hard to
pump, and I thought that perhaps I had dropped the intake
in some sludge or something. An inspection revealed no such
sludge. I tried to pump again. This time it not only was
harder to pump, but actually froze in place while pumping.
Froze? Could it be that it was cold enough that my pump was
freezing? You bet. I realized it wouldn't thaw out until
the sun hit it in the morning. We were still without safe
water, so using my brain I did the next best thing. I
gathered about 10 pots full of snow - enough to make about
a quarter of a pot of water after heating. Needless to say,
we were sparing with our water supply that night. A fine
dinner and off to bed we went, leaky Thermarest mattress
and all. I slept quite well.
Wednesday, October 27
I awoke before sunrise this morning and lay there trying to
decide between sleeping in and getting up to take
photographs of the impending sunrise. I was comfortable in
my sleeping bag and knew that it would be cold outside. I
was also still exhausted from the previous days activity. I
made the obvious choice; I got up. I was able to get a few
shots before and after the sun broke over the Inyo
Mountains across Owens Valley. I wanted to try to capture
the stages of sunrise, beginning with a red-orange glow
that slowly changes to golden-yellow, eventually flooding
the surrounding walls and peaks with daylight. The Sierra
Crest is magnificent in this light, and I knew exactly how
Ansel Adams must have felt every time he saw this. However,
he could capture it on film with a much greater degree of
confidence than I will ever have. I merely hope.
With this daylight and it's warmth, I began to thaw out. I
made some hot water for coffee and breakfast, using the
last of my fuel. Bob and I sat on a small ridge near camp
and had breakfast. We took our time this morning. As
always, the trip had been too short and I didn't want to
go. I would have liked to stay another day, but since I was
the one who had delayed the start of this trip and Bob had
to be back in Hawaii, we had to go down this day.
We packed up and began the trip down. We saw a few groups
of people coming up. The first appeared as we were leaving
camp, eager to claim a campsite. They must have stayed
somewhere nearby the previous night or were full of energy
and started their hike before daybreak. Nearly everyone I
met on this trip seemed to have much more energy than me,
except the young boys we had met on Sunday. Again, I could
attribute this dilapidated state to all the hours I had
been putting in at The Wrightwood Group. For the most part,
the trip down was uneventful, save a few painful blisters I
accumulated on my abused feet. In general, I rarely suffer
from blisters. Bob usually has more problems in this area
than I do. However on this trip my tender feet took a
beating. I remember the last part of the descent, the
switch-backs below Lone Pine Lake, was extremely painful
for me. I didn't want to think about how my feet looked.
They felt like bloody stumps. Reaching the trail head, it
was all I could do to get to the truck. I lowered the
tailgate and we threw our packs in the bed. We crawled up
into the bed and unfolded the lawn chairs I had brought
along, and popped a couple of beers. We had finally done
it.
We discussed what our next plan of action would be. A
shower and food, in that order, was decided on. Bob
followed me down to Kirk's barber shop, bathhouse and pool
room in Lone Pine. On entering the shop, Kirk and one of
his customers were engrossed in watching the television
mounted on the wall by the door. There was a big fire
burning somewhere. On inquiring, we found out there were
several big fires burning in the L.A. area. My feeling of
grunginess overcame my curiosity, and I made my way to the
shower.
Cleaner now, we set our sites on dinner. It was still
early, sometime around 4:30 or 5:00 as I recall. We checked
out our favorite place, The Merry-Go-Round, and found it
wasn't open for about an hour. We searched the town for
another suitable place to eat and found nothing. So we
decided to wait it out and do the next best thing; hit the
Silver Dollar saloon. Upon entering, we were greeted by
some locals and found them engaged in what everyone else in
town was probably doing. They were watching L.A. burn. So
we sat down and joined them. Two or three beers later, we
wandered down the street to the restaurant and had our much
awaited dinner. The Merry-Go-Round is a funky little place,
with a circular layout inside, but excellent food. A steak
and all the trimmings filled me up just fine.
Earlier, we had discussed spending the night at Whitney
Creek Campground. Now though, the thought of driving back
up there and setting up camp seemed too taxing, so we
sought out a motel. The Alabama Hills Inn, the newest motel
on the southern edge of town appeared to be as good if not
better than the rest, so we chose to stay there. We had a
very comfortable room. We watched a little television,
talked a little, and even contemplated going out for ice
cream. Our exhaustion eventually caught up with us though,
and we soon crashed.
Thursday, October 28
In the morning we made our way to a little coffee shop Bob
had eaten at and enjoyed the previous week. After
breakfast, we checked out of the motel and unexcitedly
pointed our vehicles south on U.S. 395. Leaving town, I
glanced over my shoulder several times, trying to catch a
glimpse of Mount Whitney. It seemed hard to believe, as it
always does after a hike, that less than a day earlier I
was up in the mountains, heading down from the tallest peak
in the "lower forty-eight". I was a little beat up and
exhausted, but already the feeling that I had near Trail
Crest of "why the hell do I do these hikes?" was subsiding
and the answer was clear. I need it, that's why. I feel I
am fortunate in that I have been exposed to these
mountains. It has become somewhat like an addiction. I've
just got to return to them. I've got to return to the smell
of the crisp mountain air, filtered through the trees. I
need to see and taste the water. The sound of the trail
beneath my boots and the feeling in my feet connects me
with them. The incredibly bright, clear daylight cleanses
everything I see. In the evening, the dark sky with it's
billions of stars always astonishes me. I never see night
skies like this living in the Glendale. Yes, I'm addicted.
I will always come back, no matter how long the distance or
how great the time. The need will always be there.