So after the success of Shasta, it was time to up the ante a little. Actually I had to apply for a Whitney permit in the lottery many months before Shasta, so I was counting on success or plain perserverence… And to be honest, Shasta is actually considerably more difficult than Whitney (via the standard Mule Trail anyway…) A former colleague at work with some mountaineering experience, upon learning I wanted to climb a 14er, got a big frown when I told him my plan to climb Shasta. He suggested White Mountain instead (the easiest one in CA by far).
Well regardless, the appointed weekend arrives and I drove to Lone Pine by myself. I couldn’t get any friends to commit in February to “any weekend in July or August, won’t find out until June.” Parked at Horseshoe Meadows for the night (10,000 feet elevation) to hopefully acclimate some. Only a 9 hour drive, leaving after work put me there at 2am or so. Slept on the asphalt in front of my car in the bivy sack. I recall sometime in the night hearing people shuffling around and seeing their headlamps, then hearing a loud whisper say “someone saw a mountain lion! Over there in the bushes!” Too tired to contemplate it, I went back to sleep and resigned myself to my fate.
Next morning, drove back to town to get my permit, drove up to Whitney Portal and started hiking. It’s a decent hike up to Trail Camp (~6 miles, and 4000 feet of elevation) but there was no drama. Saw a few marmots, set up my bivy, ate, and slept early. Set an alarm for early morning pre-dawn to look at the stars.
Started hiking just after dawn, with full gear (waterproof boots, crampons, down jacket, rain shell, ice axe). Turned out to all be unnecessary as there was just a bit of snow on the trail (though quite a bit of cold water running down the trail). Topped out over the switchbacks, crossed the one significant snowfield without my crampons, popped over Trail Crest. Traversing along the backside of the mountain at over 13,000 feet, a lean 40-something fellow JOGGED past wearing only trail runners, shorts, sunglasses, a hat, and a beltpack with some water. I churn along some more, sucking the thin air and watching my heart rate, and pretty soon he comes jogging back the other way, having summited and presumably headed back down to Whitney Portal. Sigh.
Passed by a legion of rangers keeping watch over the trail and the junctions. Passed a few portly fellows who should not have been up there and were somewhat the worse for wear. The summit of Mt. Whitney is a little anticlimactic, actually. The eastern faces of all the mountains in the Sierra are pretty dramatic – multi-thousand foot cliffs, sheer drops, very solid looking rock. The western slopes tend to be undramatic second-class hills, piled with boulders. The Whitney trail winds up a shallow slope through the boulders, then you’re there. Looked down the cliff, shot some photos, and started heading back.
I wanted time to climb Mt. Muir. There are four prominent peaks in the Whitney massif. Someone came up with some technical rules about prominence above saddle elevation, and distance apart, to distinguish which are true 14ers and which are merely “sub-peaks.” Somehow the much more impressive Keeler and Day Needles don’t count, but the next one over, Mt. Muir, does. Whatever. At a certain point back toward Trail Crest, you start up a 3rd class gully up to the top of Muir. Stashed my bag and stuff behind a rock, taking only my camera. It’s a 3rd class route according to the books, but the route I took had me making 8-12 foot vertical rock moves with substantial exposure and pretty skinny holds. In my book that’s 4th class, and if I had a rope and protection, I’d have wanted to use it. Regardless, I allowed no time for consideration or looking down, and just did it. It was impossible to limit my heart rate during this, so I just shut off my HRM. Soon I was sitting on top of a table-sized block of rock and signing the register left in an army ammo can. More photos, then the considerably more harrowing task of downclimbing those 8-12 foot vertical rock moves. Collected my things, back on the trail, and started making tracks for Trail Camp.
Got back, whipped up a quick dinner (this being around 4pm now), packed up and hit the trail. Ran out of food on the way down and begged a bag of trail mix off some other people headed down with excess food. Developed horrifying pain in my ankles from my full boots. I hadn’t worn boots for years before this and I think I’d gotten used to the freedom of low-cut shoes. Every step got to be agony and I strongly considered just cutting the ankles off the damn things. When I got home, those boots went straight in the trash. Darkness fell on the way down, but the trail is like a superhighway and one hardly even needs a headlamp. Got back to Whitney Portal around 10pm, drove down to town and ate at the 24-hour High Sierra Cafe. Slept, appropriately, at the Mt. Whitney Motor Lodge as I was in the mood for air conditioning and a real bed. Followed up with an afternoon at Devil’s Postpile the next day, sunset photos at Mono Lake, and got back for 4th of July fireworks the next night.
More photos here
