This is lengthy, and I wish I had posted it sooner... But here is a summary of my day on Mount Whitney:
Two years ago, I decided that I wanted to climb Mount Whitney, and I knew that I wanted to do it in a day. I secured permits for Samantha (my girlfriend), Tim (her brother), and myself to climb the mountain in 2007, but college classes intervened at the last minute and we had to cancel. I was disappointed. We had been preparing for months—walking six miles a day, doing the bleachers at the high school football field, climbing nearby Pinnacle Mountain several times a week…
I was lucky enough this year to secure three single-day permits again, but this time Samantha’s father, Curtis, took the third permit instead of her brother.
I admit, after reading extensively about the tallest mountain in the continental U.S., I began to doubt our chances of making it… for several reasons. One, we’re from Arkansas, and Arkansas is a rugged, mountainous state, but our Ozarks and Ouachitas, as beautiful as they are, are not the Rockies or the Sierra Nevadas. Two, because of college, teaching jobs, and the death of Samantha’s grandfather, we did not get to train as much this year as we did in ‘07. Three, our day on Mount Whitney was placed right in the middle of a two-week vacation. We would not be able to properly acclimate before starting our climb.
It was hard to prepare myself for possible disappointment. Mount Whitney isn’t going anywhere, but Arkansas is a long way from California, and being on a teacher’s income, these opportunities don’t come around often.
We left Arkansas on July 3rd, spent some time in Arizona and Nevada, and arrived in Lone Pine at the end of the day on July 8th. While there was some daylight remaining, Samantha and I drove up to the Portal to find the trailhead.
The three of us were on the trail by 4:30 the next morning, half an hour later than I originally intended. And the climb did not start well. Curtis and I were fine, but Samantha was suffering a headache and was sick at her stomach. Two miles into the hike, while we were taking a break, Curtis pulled me aside and said, “You go on, I think you’ll make it. If she feels like going on, we will. If not, we’ll go back down. We’ll be here no matter what.” Samantha told me the same thing. I felt bad for her. She did not share my obsession with mountains, but she had been very supportive of me, and I know her legs were strong—it was the altitude that was holding her back.
I went on by myself and enjoyed a beautiful sunrise. I felt strong and confident on this first stage of the hike. I never stopped for an extended period of time, just long enough to put a piece of beef jerky in my mouth and take a sip of water or G2. My only frustration came from the mosquitoes. Of all the literature I’ve read about Mount Whitney, I don’t recall a proper warning being given concerning the millions of these little vampires that plague the trail between Lone Pine Lake and Outpost Camp… But considering the gorgeous scenery and the nature of what I was doing, the mosquitoes were a minor annoyance.
I reached Outpost Camp, had a brief sit on a log, and pressed on towards Trail Camp. As I hiked, I realized that my only regret about attempting a day hike is that you don’t have enough time to properly enjoy the terrain. Mirror Lake was crystal clear, and Trailside Meadow was a living postcard… I regretted having to leave both of these locations.
I was exhausted by the time I reached Trail Camp, but I was also relieved. I was well above the tree line, and I was ready for a break… But the altitude did not seem to be bothering me. I don’t know if taking an Advil before I set out helped or not, but I took another one at Trail Camp. I said hi to a few campers, sat down on a rock, and enjoyed a feast of peppered beef jerky, a Pay Day, and the rest of my G2. I only allowed myself five minutes of rest before I restored my Razorback hat to my head, threw on my backpack, grabbed my hiking pole, and started towards the switchbacks…
I was a little cocky as I ascended the first section of this infamous portion of the trail (even after getting my feet wet). The switchbacks were short, not very steep, and I found myself thinking, “97 switchbacks, 99? I can do twice that… No big deal.”
By the time I reached the cables, I was taking a break every twenty feet. I’m aware that my struggle wasn’t all because of the brutality of the switchbacks. I had, after all, been hiking uphill since four-thirty in the morning. But I now offer my complete respect for the hike from Trail Camp to Trail Crest… The view, at first of the campsite down below, and then, after a subtle turn, of the unbelievable east wall of the Sierra Nevada, still partially covered in snow, was unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Even my trip through the Rockies did not prepare me for these scenes.
Needless to say, I rested again at Trail Crest. And as the trail proceeded around the back of the massive ridge, as I passed into Sequoia National Park, I was again struck dumb by the view below me.
As I hiked along this rocky ridge, with a bit more exposure to my left than I had previously expected, I foolishly thought that the hard part was over, that I was home free, and I would be standing on top of Mount Whitney within half an hour. I was wrong. Perhaps if I had camped at Trail Camp and let my legs rest for an evening, the final push towards the summit wouldn’t have been so hard… As it was, though, noon was approaching, and I had been pushing uphill for more than nine miles… for hours… And I was not as close to the summit as I had thought. But I never considered turning back. Because, as tired as I was, I thought I was making good time, my legs were still carrying me, and the altitude was having little or no effect on me. No nausea, no headache, no dizziness…
I pressed on. The summit finally came into sight. I met a young couple, and the lady informed me that I would see the summit hut around the next turn. She was right.
I was reenergized, and I didn’t begin to feel tired again until I was on the actual backside of Whitney’s summit, pressing up the final few hundred yards… And then I saw the hut, right there in front of me, and I knew it was over. When I saw the hut, I wasn’t tired anymore. I rushed to it like it was a lost love. I signed the book with a shaking hand: Mitch Sebourn; Searcy, AR; HARD.
It wasn’t quite 12:30. I think I made decent time. And since I had ascended alone, I asked a very friendly woman from Dallas to take my picture, and after she took my picture, I think it was her son who offered me his cell phone. He was the only one on top who could get any signal. I knew I couldn’t reach Samantha or her dad, so I called my mother back in Arkansas:
“Mom, I know you told me not to call till I was safe at the bottom, but I can’t help it. I’m on top of Mount Whitney.”
I wish I had spent more time on the top. I rested for perhaps fifteen minutes, took several pictures, and enjoyed the views… And then I started back down. I knew that I was more tired than my body was telling me, and despite the beautiful weather, I knew that there was a good chance that an afternoon thunderstorm would build. I wanted to be below the tree line if this happened.
The hike back down was pleasant. Overall. I talked to many friendly people, including a couple of school teachers from the LA area who hiked with me till we got to Outpost Camp. There, I decided to take an extended break and crack open my last water bottle. They went on, and probably beat me down by at least half an hour.
I ran out of water a couple of miles from the bottom, and was undoubtedly dehydrated when I reached Samantha at the bottom of the trail at six ‘o clock... (or maybe six-thirty, I don’t remember). But bless her heart, she had a blue Powerade waiting for me, and I learned that despite her sickness, she and Curtis had pressed on and made it all the way to Mirror Lake. Given her condition, I find this as impressive as my hike to the summit.
Climbing Mount Whitney was the most rewarding thing I’ve ever done, and I know part of it involved luck. The air was clear of smoke. The weather was flawless. And yes, I met several people and never felt entirely alone, but I also found the trail itself to be sparsely populated and very peaceful. My only regret is that Samantha and Curtis didn’t make it to the top.
I’ll be back someday. I understand why people fall in love with this mountain—with the Sierra Nevada in general. I already have.
Last edited by Sebourn; 07/23/08 10:14 PM.
