Mt Whitney | Favorable conditions in the high sierra
2021 was a surprisingly productive year for the business as we took on a handful of new clients and exciting projects that I’ll be sharing soon. But as the busy summer drew to an end, an even busier Fall season approached. This one full of travel and adventure however, and a little less work.
After spending a few weeks in Iceland and Kauai, and then road-tripping around Colorado, I hurried out West for a late season adventure on Mt. Whitney, the highest peak in the continental United States. My buddy Alex had scored permits earlier in the year and invited me along for a 3 day, 2 night backpacking trip to the top of the mountain. Side note, a lot of people attempt to climb Whitney in a single day to avoid the need for an overnight permit. Is it possible? Definitely. Would it be fun? Questionable. As frequently as the two of us have gotten after these massive days in the past, we both opted for a bit of a slower trip to stop and smell the roses, or something like that.
As the trip approached, the forecasts were looking a bit daunting. Walking the dog in Boulder while wearing shorts and a t-shirt, I pulled up the weather and saw single digits for the Whitney zone. Alex and I chatted through gear over the phone that night and I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t some uncertainty in the air. Better bring the boots, parkas, and micro spikes.
An easy flight to San Diego, a short drive to Temecula, a brief night of sleep at Alex’s brother’s house, a 5-hour drive to Whitney Portal, a gear explosion, and a quick stretch. We were on the trail just after noon and it was immediately clear that we would not see a downhill section until returning from the summit. From trailhead to summit as the crow flies, the distance is actually insanely short. Less than 3 miles according to Gaia GPS. But, due to the elevation you need to gain, and the way they decided to cut the trail with hundreds of unrelenting, but not very steep switchbacks, you end up hiking closer to 10 miles from bottom to top.
Anyways, day 1 was pretty steady going with beautifully sunny weather and plenty of snacks to fuel the climb. We almost missed a rock ptarmigan that was sitting about 2 feet off the trail but blended in perfectly. Finally, Consultation Lake came into view which indicated that we were close to camp 1. As we approached Trail Camp, our legs were tired and heads a bit foggy from the gain in elevation. We started the morning in Temecula at 1,000 feet above sea level and had since gained 11,000ft over the course of 8 hours or so. That can have a strange effect on the body but overall, I was feeling good and demolished my dehydrated dinner.
From the journal: “It is indeed late season up here. The alpine tarn next to camp is completely frozen over so we have to break holes in the ice and stick our hands in to filter water. It’s extremely painful. From my tent door I have a view of Whitney’s spires, just beneath the summit. This has to be one of the coolest places I’ve ever camped.”
As the sun went down, the spectacular alpenglow on the surrounding peaks accompanied plummeting temperatures. But somehow, the one thing that can ruin any high alpine trip like this was nowhere to be found; wind. We set alarms for 2:45am, bundled up in every layer we brought, and settled in for the night.
It was cold. Wearing my expedition parka inside my 15 degree down bag, I struggled to stay warm.
The early alarm came as they always do, but I was excited to get warm so getting up wasn’t actually that challenging. From camp you can see the entire wall of 99 switchbacks that take you to the ridge and looking up in the dark we could spot one pair of headlamps. Layers began shedding almost immediately as the blood started flowing and we made steady progress up the headwall. Doing this climb at night meant we could only see about one switchback ahead of us so we had no idea how close we were to the top of the ridge. I think that actually made for a much quicker climb (and easier mentally). It wasn’t long until we passed the older couple we spotted from below, who had started the previous morning and hadn’t stopped yet. They were doing it all in one push and were moving slow.
Nearing the ridge, we found a good sitting rock sheltered from the breeze and took our first snack break. Sitting there above 13,000ft in complete darkness, I counted 5 shooting stars streak across the sky. I can’t imagine many people have witnessed silence quite like this.
A few more turns to the crest of the ridge where we began a several hundred foot descent down and around the back side of the spires. This section boasts some serious exposure which in the darkness, appears twice as extreme. You look down off the left side of the narrow trail and your headlamp fades black into the abyss. Don’t fall here.
I was feeling strong and acclimated this morning and a little giddy to see what the sunrise had in store for us. Blue hour settled in as the ambient light lifted and washed the surrounding granite peaks in a steely blue haze. Next came the spectacular gradient on the horizon shortly before sunrise as we made the final turn towards the top. We touched the summit marker, at 14,505ft, just as the sun peaked over the horizon and we both dropped our packs and scrambled to photograph everything. It was like a couple of mad men had just picked up their first camera and were dropped into this massive landscape with absolutely perfect light.
Once the sun was high enough and the good light receded, we put the cameras down and stood there in silence. Hardly a lick of wind. I couldn’t believe how lucky we were to catch such an incredible sunrise on top of the country with only a whisper of a breeze. It’s unheard of! For the next two hours, we made hot coffee and oatmeal and snacked on our remaining candy and bacon jerky, all while having the summit completely to ourselves.
We spent a total of three hours up there and when people finally started filling in, we decided to head back down to camp for another night in the basin. The older couple we saw this morning was nearing the top and ended up reaching it shortly after we passed. They would have a long day back to the parking lot, we just hoped they had enough food and water. We flew on the downhill with our light day packs. Stepping off trail to let the uphill folks have the right of way, they would tell us to keep moving because they needed the break. That’s fair. And just so I’m clear, Alex and I are NOT the “you’re almost there” kind of people. We stopped to make conversation with a lot of them and repeatedly heard about the incoming weather with negative wind chills, snow, and 55mph wind. As we descended the switchbacks we made the decision to pack up our tents and move everything down to the much lower Outpost Camp which offered some shelter among the towering cliffs and Bristlecone Pines. Again, we felt incredibly lucky to get one night with no wind up in that exposed basin, but there was no chance of that happening two nights in a row.
We made it down to Outpost camp that afternoon and set up our tents on a nice flat section of gravel. “We were hoping this would be a nice relaxing evening but as soon as the temperatures dropped and the wind picked up, it became far too cold to sit around and chat. As we rehydrated our dinners, the wind began tearing down the valley above in tremendous gusts.”
“Funneled between the towering granite cliffs on either side of the valley, the gusts raged through the night sounding like a derailed freight train. It continued throughout the night as steady streams of headlamps passed through camp in both directions, that older couple and many others heading back down to the trailhead, and a few brave souls heading straight up into the storm.” Once again we counted our blessings to be inside our tents and sleeping bags, and heading in the right direction in the morning.
Since it got so cold so early last night, we were in our tents around 6:00pm and I got about 12-14 hours of sleep which was incredibly rejuvenating for my body. A quick coffee and breakfast in the morning and then we cruised on down to the trailhead in no time. Towards the bottom, white flecks began falling from the sky. I figured the new wind might be carrying ash from all the wildfires going on nearby but as the pieces got bigger and I could catch a few, they melted in the palm of my hand. Snow was flying, and looking back up the valley towards the summit, a total whiteout. Gusting wind and snow were raging on above us as we changed into fresh t-shirts at the car and packed our things to hit the road. On deck for us were burgers and beers in Lone Pine, and for the poor souls who picked the wrong day, most likely mayhem in the upper alpine.
I know from years of experience that conditions can be brutal up high. We plan for them, expect them, and endure them. But every once in a while you’re blessed with a perfect day. When you can actually sit at the top of the mountain and soak in the views, ponder your existence, and practice photography. Feeling grateful to have gotten one of those days in the right place at the right time.
The long drive back to Temecula grew longer with horrible traffic and dust storms rendering visibility to almost nothing. Seven hours later, sitting on the interstate in bumper to bumper traffic, we were already dreaming about the next trip into the mountains.
Stay adventurous.
-Nate
