Mt. Whitney

Current Trail Conditions on the Mt. Whitney Trail, May 2012

Hikers consider the cables on Mt. Whitney, 05/28/12

Alright, just the facts about the Mt. Whitney trail today, I’ll get to my thoughts about the hike tomorrow.

Trail Conditions: The conditions are good for hiking. As I have said innumerable times in 2012, California has had a dry winter, and nowhere is this more evident than in the Sierra Nevada mountain range right now. This is the fourth consecutive year I’ve been on Whitney (2012-2009) around the same time (May to mid-June), and this is the least amount of snow and ice I’ve seen on the mountain in a long time. There is a dramatic drop off from the amount of snow that was present in 2011 and 2010 and I’d say that the amount of snow on Whitney and in the Sierras as a whole is more emblematic of early August than late May!

Yesterday, May 28, 2012, I hiked the Mt. Whitney trail from Whitney Portal to the summit. I got an early start, leaving the Portal at around 4:00 a.m. from the overnight hikers campground, and I was carrying the gear that I discussed in Thursday’s post. (http://lastadventurer.com/last-adventurers-fieldnotes/2012/5/24/gear-list-for-a-single-day-ascent-of-the-mt-whitney-trail-sp.html). From the Portal, the trail is clear of snow, ice, and mostly all debris all the way through Trail Camp and up past the first section of switchbacks ascending Mt. Whitney. (There are some small deadfalls on and around the trail, but there are trail crews out and working on these areas, and these spots are nothing to be concerned about). From what I saw, I would say that the snowline is currently running at approximately 10,000 feet or higher, although some very very small patches of snow do exist between 9,000-10,000 feet. The standard creek crossings prior to Outpost Camp are flowing, but due to the dry winter, such crossings are low, and likely to subside within the next couple weeks.

The remaining snowfield on the chute, 05/28/12

Since there were no obstacles or other problems, I rolled through Trail Camp at around ~7:35 a.m. At that point, most of Trail Camp was stirring, and I took the opportunity to climb up the first section of switchbacks to where the snowfield from the Whitney “chute” stopped. My plan was to climb the chute as I had done in 2010/2011 in order to avoid six miles of hiking on the switchbacks. However, even though it was a cool morning (at that point it was around 30 degrees, with a steady 10-15mph cool breeze coming from the West, off the mountain), the snowfield next to the switchbacks was already fairly soft and sloppy. I traversed approximately fifteen feet into the snowfield to satisfy myself that the snow was indeed slushy, and not just melting by the edges; and I found that it was very sloppy, slushy, and the consistency of a slurpee pretty much throughout.

At this point, it was around 8:00 a.m., and I knew that it would only be getting warmer in the chute and on the snowfield with the sun shining directly on it for the next several hours. As I had no desire to repeat my experience of 2011, when my group and I slogged up the chute in molasses-like conditions, I elected to continue up the switchbacks. At that point, 8:00 a.m., there was a team of climbers leaving Trail Camp who had the gear to ascend the chute (ice axes and crampons) and elected to take the chute rather than hike the switchbacks with me. By the time I reached Trail Crest, I could see them only a quarter of the way up the chute; and they eventually elected to turn back to Trail Camp as they were exhausted from attempting to traverse the sloppy, slushy snow of the chute.

View from Trail Crest, 05/28/12

It’s also worth noting that there are many exposed rocks and boulders in the chute at this point in time, as well as other unseen hazards that are likely lurking underneath the surface.  While all of this discussion about the chute is likely academic, as the remainder of it will probably melt off within the next two weeks, I would not recommend that anyone attempt it at this point in time unless they are climbing it while it is still frozen – i.e., before 8:00 a.m. I did speak to one climber who summited yesterday who did take the chute – but he traversed it at 6:00 a.m., and walked back down the switchbacks. As far as I’m aware, he’s the only one who made the summit yesterday who did take the chute.

As for the switchbacks, the first third of them are completely snow and ice free and are in good condition. The place where snow and ice becomes an issue is at the cables. While the first section of the cables has snow against the mountain, they are passable. However, the last section of the cables and trail is blocked completely by a mass of ice (and some snow)(as pictured). Due to the steep drop off next to the cables, this is a bad spot for a large mass of ice and snow to be. At this point, there were a number of people surveying the situation, with most parties electing to turn around rather than risk a fall. There were a number of people (myself included), who elected to proceed around the cables as best as possible. Even though I had crampons and an ice axe, I decided not to use them at this point as I saw them as being of no benefit in that situation. Instead, I managed to lever myself around on the cables before proceeding up the trail. This seemed to be the popular approach to the problem; but obviously, judge the conditions and your skill level accordingly before attempting to pass. Again, I imagine this is an academic discussion, as this obstacle is melting out and should be completely passable within the next two weeks, I would think.

Final snowfield near Whitney summit, 05/28/12

The remainder of the switchbacks and Trail Crest were also mostly free of snow and ice. From Trail Crest to the summit, there are a couple of patches of ice and snow; and there was one problem area near the “windows”. This problem was a four foot by three foot block of compressed ice lying up against the mountain on a downhill section of trail. Directly past this area was a drop off of twenty to several hundred feet. At this point, even though it was a short distance – four feet, maximum, I elected to use my ice axe and crampons. The ice in this block was very solid. Once I was back on the trail, I cut steps in the ice for the three climbers behind me in order that they could safely continue their ascent. While I’m not sure if a fall from this spot would be immediately fatal, it certainly seemed more treacherous than the segment by the cables to me. I also think that this obstacle will remain on the trail for a longer period of time, given that it is solid ice in shadow at a high elevation. From the windows to the summit, there were a few sections of snow on the trail, and a last snowfield (also slushy in the mid-afternoon) that was thirty feet across.

The summit itself was nearly completely snow-free, and I summited at around 11:15 a.m.(http://youtu.be/j364VWB-rPA) Due to the wind, slushy chute, obstacles near the cables, and other standard mountaineering issues, there weren’t many people on the summit yesterday. I passed four people coming down on my ascent, and was joined on the summit by five other people. At the time of my descent (~12:00 p.m.), I passed four people who had a reasonable expectation of summiting, leaving the mountain with an unofficial summit total of 14 people, somewhat low considering there was a lack of snow on the trail. Nevertheless, it was a great hike, and I’d say that within two weeks, there will be no need to carry ice axes or crampons, as there will be no snowfields or other snow related obstacles.

,

Mt. Whitney Trail (Whitney Portal to Summit)

,

Snowfield in Consultation Lake drainage, June 2011

At 14,505 feet, Mt. Whitney is the highest peak in the continental United States. As the “highest peak”, it carries a certain amount of mountaineering cache. How much mountaineering cache? Well, that depends on what kind of a mountaineer one aspires to be; and when one climbs the mountain. Some mountaineers dismiss the peak as a “walk-up” because in July and August when the snow melts, a summit attempt only requires hiking eleven miles to the summit and eleven miles back down to the trailhead, which requires no technical climbing skills at all. From late fall to mid-summer, when the trail is covered with snow, the peak is not a mere “walk-up”, and technical skills are required to traverse snowfields safely while climbing up to the summit. I’ve been on the peak – and on the mountain a number of times, and what I can say about the mountain is this: there are prettier mountains; there are uglier mountains; it can be a place of mystic serenity; and it can be a place of brutal despair; but even though I’ve summited it seven times, I keep going back because it’s there, and because I like to go to the mountains to seek their tidings for my own inner peace.

But let’s talk about the facts about Mt. Whitney. Assuming you are taking the Whitney Portal Trail – the most popular trail, and the one that is run by a lottery, you are talking about over 6,000 feet of elevation gain to the summit; and 6,000 feet of elevation loss from the summit. You are talking about a total distance of twenty-two miles roundtrip. While these numbers won’t confuse anyone with the distances and the elevations gained and lost in the Himalayas, they’re nothing to take lightly either. This is to say nothing of the other hazards that you will encounter on the mountain: acclimatization issues, heatstroke, dehydration, hypothermia, weather, bears, and yes, marmots. (http://lastadventurer.com/last-adventurers-fieldnotes/2007/11/21/las-guide-to-summiting-whitney-part-v-minor-to-major-potenti.html).

 The "chute", June, 2011

As I mentioned above, I’ve been on the peak a number of times (11); and I’ve summited seven times – this may seem like a lot, until you realize that other, more experienced climbers have been on the peak many more times than you (26 weeks in a row consecutively; 10 times in a week). The best things to know about Whitney are to know your limits and be prepared. What is the best resource for information about Mt. Whitney and current conditions? The Mt. Whitney Portal message board. Every time that I’ve climbed Mt. Whitney (in the internet age), this board has provided me with invaluable resources about conditions and what to expect. This information is crucial, because conditions vary on the mountain from day to day, and month to month. In 2001, when I summited Whitney, it was 95 degrees on the switchbacks – and it felt like 120 in the direct sun. In 2005, I couldn’t make it past Trail Camp in early May because I had no snowshoes, and was breaking trail the whole way. In 2007, when I backpacked up with a group, we had 50-70 mph winds ripping through our camp at Trail Camp all night before our summit bid the next day.

In 2009, I got off the summit just before clouds rolled in and the thundersnow began. In 2010 I got my group off of the summit and trail crest just as it began to snow on the day of the summer solstice. This is to say nothing of what happened in 2002, or any other year. In order to summit the mountain, you have to know the conditions, and be prepared for the conditions, as well as know your own physical condition and limits. Last year, in 2011, when I led my group up in mid-June (when all of these pictures were taken), there was still quite a bit of snow. In fact, there was more snow than when I had taken my group up on June 20, 2010. (Pictures here: http://lastadventurer.com/last-adventurers-fieldnotes/2010/7/1/mt-whitney-portal-to-summit-june-21-2010-part-two.html).

Looking back down the chute, June 2011

Like 2010, we had decided that we were going up the mountain in one day, and we were taking the main trail. Unlike 2010, however, we ran into snow covering the trail from a point just beyond Lone Pine Lake. At that point, it was no problem – since we had the proper gear and knowledge, we traversed firm, packed snow through the drainage of Consultation Lake up toward trail camp. We arrived at Trail Camp at around ~9 a.m., which we assumed would give us plenty of time to traverse the snow covering the “chute” to Trail Crest. However, unlike 2010, the snow in the chute was already warm and slightly sloppy at that time of day. The result? We spent a brutal two hours slogging through knee high soft snow to Trail Crest in the direct sun, which totally destroyed our energy levels.

After a rest, we headed out toward the summit along the backside. While my two climbing partners were still in good form, I was dragging. Even worse, having been up the summit seven times, I knew I was dragging. And this is where the first lesson about Mt. Whitney comes in: know your limits. In the 11 times I have been on the mountain, I have seen all sorts of crazy things, mostly involving people not being prepared, and not knowing their limits. Now, there’s a fine line here: as a mountaineer, you want to push yourself to accomplish your goal; but you also want to be safe. As Sir Edmund Hillary noted, a successful climb of any mountain involves descending. On Whitney, like any mountain, you have to know your limits, especially when risks like altitude sickness do exist. You have to know that when you are on the summit you are only halfway done with the hike. Think about that: on Whitney, when you are on the summit, you still have to descend 11 miles safely, which, like in 2011 and 2010, may be treacherous due to snow and ice. You have to apportion your energy accordingly, and know your limits.

 West Side,Mt. Whitney Trail, June 2011

As for me in 2011, I sat down on the crest within a quarter mile of the summit (how do I know it was ¼ mile or less? Really? After being there past there 7 times, you know) and waited for my friends to come down. Could I have made it to the summit? Sure, I could have made it. Did I have to make it? No. Would anything bad have happened to me on the descent had I gone for it? Probably not. But stopping to rest; take in the view; and the mountain was the right decision and one that I would make again. (More on that here: http://youtu.be/Up-KyPn5Y8g). Was it easy? Nope, I am a very competitive person, and having been to the summit seven times before doesn’t make me less competitive, especially knowing how close I was. Still, it was the right decision, and next week I’ll be going back – and stay tuned to see where I end up on the mountain. But if you are considering attempting to summit, be prepared – and know your limits!

Current Conditions for 2012: There was not much snow this year in the Sierra, so from what I hear, the trail is pretty clear to Trail Camp. However, check back in next week for my report on the trail conditions. At this point, it still appears that you will need an ice axe, and crampons. 

Whitney Portal Message Boards: http://www.whitneyportalstore.com/forum/ubbthreads.php?ubb=postlist&Board=1&page=1

The Best of the 2010 Whitney Excursion - the FOOD!

You know you're on an expedition when the stove says so.

Every expedition has at least one moment that stands out from the faded memories of the actual adventure with color enhanced clarity. It’s that point where a day later, you laugh, go “I can’t believe that happened/you did that/we survived/oh my god you wouldn’t believe”, and then when you think about the trip twenty years later, the same memory creeps into your mind. It’s that story you try to relate to your friends with the disclaimer of, “you had to have been there, but, let me tell you…”, and then when they don’t laugh at your story, you pause, and go lamely, “well, you had to have been there”. Then, even worse, when your friends make the mistake about asking about the main, exciting part of the trip – for example, where you summitted the peak in gale force winds in snow both ways and found the lost Ark of the Covenant; you brighten and, before telling the story about how you made the summit and lost your nose in the process, you say, “but first, let me tell you a side story about the frozen macaroni squirrel incident”, which causes them to roll their eyes, groan, and regret talking to you in the first place. At the same time though, the thing that no one realizes about these stories is that without the frozen macaroni squirrel incidents, climbs are by and large similar. After all, mountains are the same in many ways – they are made of rocks and they are tall. Some have snow. Some do not. Some have climbers on them, some do not. But what differs on each climb is the experience and the stories that follow from the experiences – whether people want to hear them or not.

There were so many things that happened on this last trip to Whitney that made the experience an epic adventure. In general, one would think that since it was my seventh time on the summit, I’d have some insightful observations about the peak, or the conditions, but I’ve covered that already. All that I’m left with is that Whitney is a big mountain. Really really big. Biggest in the lower forty-eight states, I’ve been told, and if Wikipedia says it, it must be true. Also, having been up it a fair few times, I can attest that it is large. There are so many little things from the planning, and the drama that entailed, and the bookkeeping that followed it. Roughly, I can count over 234 separate e-mails between myself, group members, and prospective group members about the trip.  In this respect, Whitney seemed less like an adventure, and more like bookkeeping. Or, I could talk about the training hikes, and using lots of mountaineering technique, while being told by group members, “I don’t know what I’m doing, but it just seems like we could go this way, with no problems, and not get lost whatsoever, but I don’t know what I’m talking about.” (Readers: note that “that way” was a random undefined direction. Also note that if someone tells you that you should go in a random undefined direction, contrary to what anyone tells you, you will get lost – at least for the short term. Long term, you might find your way back – eventually.)

Practically, I could also talk about the terror of watching people traverse in strange ways, or wondering at times where people were and what they were doing, or how they got lost when all they were supposed to be doing was following a silver car. Or I could cite to the numerous moments of comic relief, where people insisted on saying, “that’s what she said”, at every opportunity even though it wasn’t funny, and had never really been funny in the first place, and even though they weren’t drunk. But – and I say this with great difficulty (insert: “that’s what she said here” line to get a sampling of how it works), what really sticks out in my mind is the food.

That's right: food. I'm still eating cookies for breakfast, though!

That’s right, I said food. And not because it was bad. Too often on mountaineering, climbing, or any sort of expedition, the food is god-awful. It’s one of those things that ends up going by the wayside, in a, “I have too many things to do type of way, so I’ll just grab some nutrition bars”. Then, on mile thirty of the trip, you say to yourself, “for the love of all that is holy in the universe, why did I pack so many goddam nutrition bars!??!”. Placing aside Powerbars, Clif Bars, Luna Bars, Bar Bars, and whatever else comes in bar form, the other options aren’t usually good either. Although there’s been massive developments in freeze dried food technology in the last fifteen years (don’t ask me to name them), freeze dried food still tastes like, well, freeze dried food. Which is not good. It’ll keep you alive, but then again, so will paint chips, I hear – at least for the short term.

On this trip, the food was good because we had Chef Jaime and his miraculous grill. Miraculous is not too strong of a word in this respect. The grill took up a fair portion of the back of his truck, and had its own apparatus that you had to assemble to get it together, including its own supporting legs, side infrastructure, and propane tank. Someday, when I am old and wizened, I hope to have something as fancy as Jaime’s traveling grill installed in my house. It was that impressive. But, equipment is nothing without the right personnel to operate it (insert: “that’s what she said” again). Chef Jaime, for many reasons was an invaluable asset of the group, because he knew to bring and make the good food. On Saturday night, he brought fresh homemade salsa for the group for the carne asada, and then made fresh Pico de Gallo on the spot. (Honorable mention here to Rude Boy for trying to cook beans in a can over an open fire with nothing but a wooden spoon, but then rallying to make fresh guacamole that same night.)

Most people would take a break at that point – after all, we were camping and fresh salsa and fresh Pico de Gallo is hard to beat, but the next morning, Chef Jaime was back at it, brewing fresh coffee in his percolator, cooking free and non-free range eggs into omelets, cooking bacon, and grilling some champion non-cajun style flapjacks. As Pratt put it, “this is the one trip I’m going to gain weight on”. More than the fifty pounds we packed on before climbing the mountain, what I’ll remember about that trip to Whitney is that morning before at eight thousand feet, watching the sun rise, feeling full and content, and ready to take on the world, as I read lazily from the Kodiak Cakes Box to the group, while listening to the frequent “that’s what she said” comments. Even though my box reading skills are quite dramatic, none of that would have happened without the great food – so, thanks Chef Jaime, I’ll always remember that – and I’ll be dragging you along on whatever trips I can from now on. (“That’s what she said!”). 

Mt. Whitney, Portal to Summit, June 21, 2010, Part Three

Rush hour on the Mt. Whitney chute, June 21, 2010

This. This.Is.The.Greatest.Day.Ever. Rude Boy said, two feet upslope from me. I took a deep breath, steadied my right hand on my planted ice axe, checked my feet, swept my eyes past his form and paused everything that had been going in my head for the last months, weeks, days, hours, minutes, and seconds. I shut down the machinery of everyday life, the narrative of what I had left behind, and what waited in front of me. I turned down the volume of the survival narrative that lurked beneath every step on the snowy, icy, chute that I was traversing, and looked up. The world was white in front of me, glistening and pure. Up above the snow, the jagged teeth of the skyline of the Sierras waited, eternally calm. Just beyond that the roof of the world rested, a perfect shade of cerulean blue. And, somewhere just beyond that roof lurked the warmth of the blazing sun, bathing my body in rays of light that were not much more than eight minutes old. Rude Boy was right. It was a great day; and I was lucky to be there; and this was one of the reasons I climbed, to experience these perfect slices of time. I took another deep breath, closed my eyes, and felt the planet come to a stop as I focused solely on the moment.

After a minute, the planet re-started, and I joked with Rude Boy about his comments, checked with Cash to make sure he was doing alright, and even made out the form of Pratt charging hard up the slope in our wake. Then, I carefully did what I had been doing for the last half hour – checked my points, and again began to traverse the up the melting ice to Trail Crest. After our quick meal, marmot experience, and conversation with new climbing friends, I had led Rude Boy and Cash up the remainder of the trail from Trail Camp - a distance of about ten feet. From that point on, the switchbacks, the main trail, and the mountainside were all covered with a substantial amount of ice and snow. As the message boards and Rangers had said, there was no trail after Trail Camp. It wasn’t a big deal, however, since we could follow the line of climbers trickling up the ice chute. From the start of the snowfield just outside Trail Camp, the going was passable in boots alone – there was enough of a trail, and it was easy enough to kick in to the snow.

At the start of the chute, the terrain turned steeper, and icier. The snow there had that persistent late spring suncupped/cheese grater look, and was iced over in patches, which were melting out in the mid-morning sun. As my entire group had crampons, we stopped at a convenient boulder, and strapped them on before proceeding any further. From that point on, we joined the line of climbers from Trail Camp attempting the climb. Fortunately, we were in great shape, still had plenty of energy, and warmed up by the six mile hike we had already completed. As such, we found ourselves passed slower and less well equipped groups, some of which turned around, and startled some of the other climbing teams with Rude Boy’s reggae karaoke hour. After a brutal uphill slog in the morning sun, we ended up at Trail Crest. The combination of the steep uphill – if not almost vertical climb through the snow and ice combined with the high altitude and serious sun exposure did leave us a little gassed for a couple minutes, so we stopped to eat an early lunch at Trail Crest.

Trail Crest, Sequoia National Park, Mt. Whitney Trail, June 21, 2010

While we waited, Pratt powered his way up the remaining distance, and joined us and another climbing team on the ridgeline. To the South, we could see the remnants of the actual trail peeking out of the snow, before snaking down to our rocky position. Down to the West, Sequoia National Park and Crabtree remained caught in the icy grip of winter – even though it was the first day of summer. After our brief break, we elected to gear down – and took off our crampons before proceeding along the ridgeline. The trail from Trail Crest was mostly clear of snow, and the few patches that remained along the route were easily traversable in boots.

As we approached the last final push up the backside of the summit, there was a snowfield that had not melted out, and had a single track of bootprints  leading up through its roughly knee high height. I briefly debated having the group put their crampons back on for this section, but after finding out that the snow was soft, and a minimal fall existed on the downhill side, we elected to traverse across by kicking in and utilizing our ice axes alone, which seemed to be the preferred method in any case. After that last snowfield, it was a straight – albeit uphill shot to the cabin, where Rude Boy, Pratt, and I joined the other climbers in celebrating. After a little bit, Cash joined us, and we took the requisite pictures and marked our names in the log. Although it was my seventh time on the summit, out of the ten times I had been, I still felt the euphoria of the others as we basked on the rocks.

Summit, Mt. Whitney, June 21, 2010

Sadly, my euphoria was short lived, as I could see a fair amount of clouds building over the mountains to the West. I waited about five minutes, and then gathered my team to turn them back down as a precautionary measure. As we came back down the backside, the skies turned from perfect blue to a dark grey, and the temperature dropped dramatically. Even worse, we ran into Tan a quarter mile out from the summit, and I had to turn him back around, based on the conditions, as I did not want him to get stuck at 14,500 feet in a storm.

By the time we reached the top of the chute, the sky was quite dark and foreboding, which made the descent a little more harrowing than it needed to be. At that point in the day, also, the chute had become quite slushy due to the warm conditions; which made either traversing or glissading equally tricky. Most of my team took the well plowed out and equally slick glissade, “ice luge” of death tunnel, which worked out, while I traversed my way down after taking a small wound on the ice in the early stages of glissading. Despite some close calls, everyone made it down, and by the time we reached Trail Camp, it had begun to snow lumpy icy chunks on us, which continued on until we dropped below 9500 feet. We made it back to the parking lot just before six thirty, and even though the group was tired, exhausted, and smelled, we had broad grins from the adventure that we had just experienced.

Mt. Whitney, Portal to Summit, June 21, 2010, Part Two

 

Slow down. I chided Rude Boy as he shot up the first section of the main Mt. Whitney Trail. We had just left the Portal fifteen minutes before, and he was rumbling along at a champion four to five mile per hour pace. Initially, I had told the group that I would let one of the slower members lead the initial miles, but after thinking about the conditions, namely the snow at higher elevations, I had decided to either start the hike in the lead, or let one of the faster members lead out, in order to get through the easier sections of the trail. While I wanted a brisk pace, I didn’t want anyone to tire themselves out early in the day, which is why I kept telling Rude Boy to slow down. We had already outpaced two thirds of the group; I could see them strung out on the initial switchbacks above the Portal, their headlamps shining like low flying stars.

The initial section of the main Whitney Trail was dry, and aside from the two stream crossings, which were running a little high, we had no difficulties as we ascended. At approximately two miles in, we began to pass other single day climbers who had left before us, and at three miles, just outside of Outpost Camp, the first rays of the summer solstice had crested the mountains to the East (Check out the photo here: http://www.lastadventurer.com/last-adventurers-fieldnotes/2010/6/24/mt-whitney-portal-to-summit-june-21-2010-part-one.html). Just prior to the three mile marker (delineated by faded blue paint on a weathered rock), we had passed several large snow drifts, although none of them blocked the trail. At Outpost Camp, we stopped for a short breather, and allowed the rest of the group to catch up as we watched the multi-day climbers begin to stir. At this point, my group of six had fallen naturally into two groups of three. After applying sunscreen, and gulping some water and food, I had Rude Boy lead us out again.

From Outpost Camp, the switchbacks were clear and free of snow to Mirror Lake, which glistened in the early morning sun. Directly above Mirror Lake, patchy snow began to appear on the trail in drifts and icy clumps. I didn’t feel like complaining, as the trail had been easy to follow and find for that first four miles, up to approximately 9600-9700 feet. Just past Trailside Meadows, the trail completely vanished in a large drift of snow. I wasn’t overly concerned – I could see the well worn footsteps of many climbers through the snow, and could see a couple of groups just a bit above us approaching the rise before trail camp. Off to the South, I could also see a well worn path going up the snowfield to the drainage at Consultation Lake.

There were a number of hikers and climbers clustered around this first, actual impediment, some wearing sneakers, and some that were geared out like my group. As I watched them put on crampons, I wondered how soft the snow actually was on the slope. I unclipped my ice axe, and took a cautious step or two. It wasn’t packed solid, nor iced over. It was perfectly easy to kick steps in to, so I led my group out. It was probably overkill, having my ice axe out, as a potential fall would only have been about thirty feet on a slope that was not that steep. However, I didn’t see the need to be careless, and it was good for my group to get a little extra practical ice axe warm-up usage. As we kicked in up the slope, the remainder of the hikers and climbers clumped in and followed our steps.

From the saddle approaching Trail Camp, the snow thinned out, and we could see a number of dry spots in between the rocks, where the overnight climbers had pitched camp and were beginning to stir. We walked through Trail Camp, and reached the outer (Western) most boundary, which was covered again in snow. From there we could see a daisy chain of climbers heading up the snowfield facing the mountain, and into the chute. At that point, the main trail was almost totally covered, if not completely covered with snow and or ice. I could see that from that point on, the climb was going to be difficult, so I told Rude Boy and Cash to take an extended break to drink some water, eat some food, and prepare for the section of the climb that would determine whether we would summit or turn around empty handed.  

Mt. Whitney, Portal to Summit, June 21, 2010, Part One

Checking down group gear at the Portal, June 20, 2010

I could hear low, repeated murmurs just a few feet away from my body. And, as I rolled over, I could see odd shadowy forms passing over the fabric of my bivy sack again and again. I waited for a second to see if they were just lost, like the midnight arrivals at Campsite Six, or if something was actually going on that I needed to address. After listening to several more minutes of shuffling and muttering, I realized that if it wasn’t my group, I should at the very least, find out what was going on. Before I unzipped my bivy sack, I looked at my watch. 3:23 a.m. At least it’s close to when everyone has to be up, I thought grumpily. A second later, I had my body outside, and shivered in the cool morning air of the Sierras. As I pulled on my boots, I saw one of my group walking by; and demanded to know what he was doing. “I’m getting ready early”, he replied, to my astonishment. At that point, I realized that I had somehow lucked into a great group of guys to follow me up Whitney again, and that I’d better get up so that I could lead them properly.

The only problem about leading people properly is that at 3:23 a.m., is that one’s brain doesn’t work immediately. For a period of time, it seemed surreal to me that we were even on Whitney, because it had just seemed like a number of days since the last training hikes on San Jacinto and Iron Mountain, and a number of minutes since we had been at Mahogany Flat and Rodger’s Peak acclimatizing. For that matter, it seemed a lot like a dream that I was back to lead yet another group, or that I was back on the mountain for the tenth time. But as I watched my group scurry around the campsite, breaking down tents and checking down their gear, my adrenaline kicked in and woke me up. It was a cold summer solistice, and no one wanted to stand around long under the trees at the Portal. Unlike the groups that had come down the mountain the day before from seven o’clock on, my group was prepared for the morning chill in long pants and jackets. For the five weeks prior to the climb, I had been monitoring the conditions on Whitney, by speaking to friends of mine in the climbing community, and checking the internet for trail reports and mountain conditions. In this respect, the largest asset I had was the forums at the Whitney Portal Store (http://www.whitneyportalstore.com/forum/ubbthreads.php/ubb/cfrm), which had always provided me with reliable information in the past.

Based on the information I had reviewed, I had repeatedly told my group that the climb was going to be grueling as there was still a substantial amount of snow and ice along the route, and that they were going to need ice axes and crampons. I had spent a great deal of time talking to them about the proper use of such equipment, and had even been able to give some people practical lessons on San Jacinto several weeks earlier. (http://last-adventurer.squarespace.com/last-adventurers-fieldnotes/2010/6/6/san-jacinto-tram-to-summit-may-31-2010.html). Additionally, I had talked to them about the dangers of hypothermia, heatstroke, exhaustion, sunstroke, altitude sickness, and had gone over routes, gear, and conditioning. Fortunately, they had soaked up my advice like sponges, which left me optimistic about our chances to summit. However, the best news I received about our summit bid had been the day before, when I had picked up our permits at the Eastern Sierra Interagency Visitor Center. The forecast called for little to no wind, sun, and highs in the low forties at the summit. It looked like we would have a great day for climbing.Sunrise, Summer Solstice, Mt. Whitney Main Trail, June 21, 2010

The night before, I had called one last meeting by the fire, and gone over some minor basics, before concluding by telling each of them that they had the potential to reach the summit if they had the mental fortitude to withstand the rigors of the climb. It wasn’t something I was just telling them; it was something I believed; placing aside the unpredictable and unquantifiable risks that could crop up on the climb. As I watched them making their final preparations, I felt even better about our chances, until people began to dawdle over breakfast. At that point it was time to lead, so, I exercised some gruff early morning persuasion, and soon had everyone standing at the foot of the trail at 4:20 a.m., in a slightly tired nervous state, hoping to reach the summit. I didn’t waste any words, but merely said, “let’s go”, and with that, we set out.