18-20.06.2018
Let's start from the beginning.
Mount Whitney is the jewel of the Sierra Nevada Mountains in central California, a 4421-foot peak of sharp, pillar-like rock formations that is the highest point in the United States outside of Alaska. One of the United States' "14'ers," or peaks over 14 feet high. There's probably no need to explain why you should go there.
Unfortunately or fortunately, I'm not the only one who finds these slogans attractive. As proof of this, during the six months I spent in SoCal (= Southern California), I didn't find a single hiking enthusiast who hadn't been there or who didn't have plans to go there... and hiking/climbing enthusiasts are everywhere. Probably because the weather is 10/10 for hiking there year-round. In addition, there is a "tourist trail" (Mount Whitney Trail) to Whitney, meaning any other physically fit nerd can walk to the top. I naturally considered myself a little cooler than the average US nerd, so I targeted the next route in terms of difficulty, the Mountaineer's Route. The other options require hardcore rock climbing, which only Alex Honhold juniors free solo. I'm not quite as tough a nerd as the "junior" yet. Anyway, continuing the crowd talk: so it's no wonder that a pass is required to enter the nature park. You go to the park ranger and buy one - easy, right? Nope. Since there are so many people who want to get a pass, a lottery is held every year for the passes. In winter, the conditions are a little snowier and there are significantly fewer people who want to get a pass, but in summer you still have to keep your finger on the pulse to get your hands on one. I think the application opened somewhere in March. I don't remember the number of passes numerically, but only 30% win it. But I wasn't among the 30% this time.
Party over without a peak? Obviously not, as I'm typing away. Fortunately, at some point, passes that weren't confirmed are put back on sale (the pass was about 10-20 USD). This happened on a predetermined date and around 8 am. I set an alarm and all that, but of course I managed to fall asleep anyway. At 10 am, I panicked and opened my computer and to my great joy, I discovered that there were only about 5 passes left for the period from June to August. Yay, in the bag! It's also worth mentioning that 1 and 2 day passes are offered. Since I had minimal equipment with me (none at all), I also wanted to spend as little as possible on rental - and also save time - so a 24-hour pass was the way to go. I knew that climbing to 4400+ meters in practically one day is quite a shock to the body... but more on that later.
The back seat of a car or the bed of dreams
So I set off on June 18th. Since I couldn't get to the "proper" hiking trails without a pass and I didn't have a tent, I had to come up with an alternative plan for acclimatization. So I drove as high as I could - Horseshoe Meadows campsite (3000 m). I left the car window slightly open and settled myself "comfortably" in the back seat to sleep. I had a very, very slight headache in the morning, but my sleep was quite okay. In the morning, however, I was greeted by a strong smell of manure, because in the morning I discovered that there were horse stables next door... you could have guessed from the name of the campsite. I put down my crutches and did a quick acclimatization hike there to ~3300-3400 m. Then I had to go to the pass, to the campsite below wild wild west to the town of Lone Pine. Of course, before that, we were loaded up with a decent XXL steak with fries for breakfast. Along with the pass, we were also given a portable toilet (a plastic bag with disinfectant powder, for example) and the words were read out loud that everything you bring up, you bring down. Reasonable.
I still had one thing left to do - rent a helmet, crampons, and a pickaxe, because previous research had suggested that there was still snow on the Mountaineer's trail in the culvert area along the road. At this point pro tip: The keywords “Mount Whitney Portal message board” and “Mount Whitney Zone forum” help find forums where trail information is posted almost daily. So I started looking for a rental place. It turned out that you can find rental places in the small town of Bishop, which is nearby. About an hour's drive. I got some nice cats and a pickaxe from there, which were in pretty good condition, although the cats did fall apart on the trail at one point. They basically don't rent helmets (for legal reasons), so I had to buy one. It's not a good idea to ride on this trail without a helmet. A quick visit to the grocery store and I was done. I spent some time in Lone Pine, enjoyed the interesting and beautiful wasteland on the border of desert/mountains, and headed to the hostel. The hostel was cheap, with bunk beds and full of hikers on the famous Pacific Trail. It looked like some of them hadn't showered in a month. Anyway, I went to bed around 20:00 PM, and the alarm was already set for 01:00 AM. My sleep was short and very poor, as is often the case before a summit day.
on the path in the moonlight
There was no difficulty in getting up, because sleep was non-existent anyway. I slipped on my clothes and stepped into a pleasantly crisp (still about +20 C) night. The start of the trail, Whitney Portal (2500 m) was a 30-minute drive away. At the starting point, there were quite a few people with headlamps on the same front as me and the parking lot was packed with cars. So at 02:00 I stepped onto the moderately crowded trail, which was very easily recognizable and well marked. The walk was pleasant and it was difficult to get lost when moving with others. However, I knew that I would have to turn off the main trail at some point, and right at the beginning. It happened that I walked about 15 minutes past the fork in the trail and only then did I realize my mistake by looking at the map. Fortunately, it was a small loss. However, the place where I turned onto the Mountaineer's trail was rather difficult to find in the dark and I had to double-check several times that I was going from the right place. Also, other people had disappeared from this trail, I was completely alone. The commendable AllTrails map application made it completely easy to follow the trail. At first, it was relatively bushy, which at one point was replaced by rocky outcrops. The trail became increasingly narrow, until it led to quite thin ledges, from which it was difficult to judge the height of the fall in the dark. However, I knew from the preliminary work that a fall here would probably be fatal. I also knew that there was a great risk of straying from the trail and getting trapped in a place where it would be very difficult to climb down. This has happened repeatedly here. The trail was very difficult to find and turning there in the dark was quite difficult. However, I knew which direction to go and soon I was back on easier ground.
At 5 o'clock the sun began to rise on the horizon and I saw my target for the first time, a sharp mountain range. It was a good time to empty my food supplies and watch the sunrise. The weather was perfect. I raced forward over rocky terrain, occasionally turning between large boulders and jumping from rock to rock. Soon I found myself facing a maze of creepers; I had deviated a little from the path. This meant that I had to squeeze through them and it was a very dull activity. I immediately cursed those claustrophobic creepers to my heart's content. The going was quite clear and pleasant, with some small boulders rolling around. I had not met a single human soul so far. However, when I reached a mountain lake at 3800 m, Iceberg Lake, I still saw 2 tents. So I knew I was in the right place. Now the awe-inspiring peak of Mt Whitney was also clearly visible (the pictures do not do this sight justice). The nature was rocky, but admirable under the bright sun. By this time I had already developed a slight dizziness and headache - the first symptoms of altitude sickness. I rested for a moment, because now the more serious part of the trail awaited me.
Hello, altitude sickness
With a helmet and a DIY solution made from a broken GoPro mount (see picture), I started walking towards the couloir leading to the summit at 09:30. Another pebble. When I reached the beginning of the couloir, I was greeted by snow, a semi-melted soup-like product. I tied my crampons to my feet and grabbed my weapon (read: pickaxe). I was in very good physical shape, but the thin air made struggling up the snow soup a good challenge. There I also saw my first hiking companions, with whom I exchanged a few words. Their acclimatization seemed better, because they passed me right away. At one point, however, one of the crampons gave up and came off the foot. I decided that there was no point in trying to fix it, because I was already at the end of the snowy part. I climbed the last section with 1 crampon and rested under the shadow of a large rock. My head was breaking more and more. I waited for the people ahead to complete the next section, because the risk of rockfall was considerable. I forced myself to eat something and took headache medicine, but it didn't help much.
Gradually, I reached the next intermediate point, panting over rocks. This was the decisive point. The last 400 meters to the top were rock climbing and there were only a few easier routes, which were not marked. I knew from the trail maps where I should stay. The easier routes were rated UIAA difficulty level 3-4, while the rest were already more difficult. This means that even the easiest route requires technique and an unprotected fall is most likely fatal. Many climb this section with a rope. Pleasant nervous tension and adrenaline took over at that moment. What made it even harder was that certain places were still covered in snow and ice, but not much. I took a few deep breaths and started climbing with my 12 kg bag. Headache, shortness of breath and drowsiness had already become a significant factor by this point (4000 m). Since the entire trail wasn't visible, I did my best to find the easiest sections and hoped that would lead me to the summit plateau. It's important to check that every hold, which you grab or step on, is strong and will break apart. That's what I did. At one point I grabbed the rock, shook it with moderate force before my body weight. HEAVY, the rock broke apart. My heart sank into my boot, as emptiness gaped behind me. I gathered myself for a moment, grateful that knowledge and preparation kept me alive at that moment.
The climb was hard, very hard. Physically too, but especially because of the worsening altitude sickness. There was no choice, because climbing down is always harder and more dangerous. I forced myself to keep going, always up. Finally I saw the edge. I reached the summit plateau. Oh, what a good feeling it was.
Top and name box
Altitude sickness
At 14:00 PM I reached the summit. There were quite a few people enjoying the view again on the summit plateau. In addition, there was a hut for emergencies, with a box with lists on it - hikers who had made it to the summit. I also put my hooks there, no other Estonians were on the list. I rested, took pictures of the summit, drank, tried to eat something. I think I basked there for about 10 minutes and after pushing myself up, I got a migraine-sized headache and nausea, and my chest started to hurt. I had already been walking like a fog before, but now I felt that things were getting serious. The symptoms only progressed. I knew that I had to go down - and fast. I had already planned to do a "traverse", that is, go down the other side, the easier Mount Whitney Trail. The only choice in my condition. I hobbled down the trail as if I had drunk a bottle of vodka. The only thought that kept running through my head was: "down, down, down, go down!". I wanted to throw up. I can't remember the last time I felt so bad. Luckily, the trail was easy. I picked up the pace... which looked like Pirokunn had run to Selver after his 5th bottle of vodka. I stumbled past people, my seemingly rubber ankles trying to survive on the boulders. Luckily, they were intact. Everything was a blur. I remember people realizing that I wasn't in shape. I bumped into a few, apologized with my soft tongue, and kept on stumbling. Someone asked me something - maybe how far to the top. I answered something, staggered on.
Down, still down
So it went, the only goal in life at that moment was to take the next step and get down. The nausea reached its peak and I vomited next to the trail. Maybe it made me feel a little better. Somewhere at 3500 m, the situation slowly started to improve. I felt that there was hope. I kept walking forward, taking increasingly longer breaks while sitting on a rock. A couple of times I fell asleep while sitting for a few or a few dozen minutes. My water supplies were also running low. I pushed on and soon it started to get dark. I couldn't wait for the end to come. By now I was back in the forest, which gave me hope that there wasn't much left. At least I was feeling better - surprisingly quickly. But this had now been replaced by exhaustion. At 21:30 I arrived back at the beginning of the trail in the dark. The headache had practically gone, but the fatigue wanted to take my sight. I had been on the trail for 19 hours and covered 50 km, 2000 meters of ascent and descent. I drove half an hour back to the hostel, having difficulty staying awake on the drive and having mild hallucinations from exhaustion. However, I made it back safely and fell straight into the bunk bed to sleep.
The next day, as I was driving back to San Diego, I thought I didn't want to see any more mountains. I was thinking classic thoughts about whether the risk was worth it, whether it was necessary. I think it took a few days, even a few weeks, for that grateful "I did it" feeling to arrive! That reward that comes with difficult self-transcendence. Sweet as honey. Yes, in September I was already on the top of Kilimanjaro, because... YOLO.
To experiences!
Adventure locomotive Allan