Day 62: Whitney
June 5; Mile 767-770 + 17
I slept for maybe two hours before my alarm went off at midnight. I packed all my clothes, my sleeping bag, and food for the climb. Then I donned my headlamp and joined Snowshoe and Sailor as we crossed the creek and headed toward Mt. Whitney. Finja had left before me so that we would hopefully reach the top at the same time.
The sky was dark and moonless, yet the stars seemed distant and dim. The three of us walked through the pitch-black forest. Occasionally the air would grow cold and I’d sense a great void to one side – only in the daylight on the descent did I see the lakes and meadows that had caused the feeling.
We reached the last water source over an hour later and filled up our bottles. Finja was there filtering water, and soon Petra arrived and asked if she could hike with us. Petra and I set off up the switchbacks, and I fell into my mountaineering mode: fast enough to stay warm and get to the top for sunrise, but slow enough to avoid getting sweaty and out of breath.
Hikers’ headlamps shone ahead and behind like twinkling stars – a moving constellation. Petra’s headlamp ran out of juice after an hour, and I paused to shine my light so that she could swap in fresh batteries.
The climb was a steady upward grade, and the trail had alternating sections of smooth dirt and boulder-hopping. At the junction to Whitney Portal – about 13,000’ above sea level – the wind dug its icy claws into any exposed skin, and Petra and I threw on our rain pants, puffy coats, and rain jackets to stay warm. I pulled my buff over my chin and nose to keep my face from freezing and to help warm the thin air as I breathed in.
At this point the trail began its winding path around jagged teeth of granite, each one stabbing the sky thirty feet above. But at 3am they were cloaked in darkness, and all I saw of the trail were the rocks beneath my feet and the edge where it dropped off into the abyss.
Weeks ago when I’d pictured myself climbing Mt. Whitney, I’d thought that I would ruminate on the injuries I’d overcome to get here. But the thoughts that came unbidden through the dark were memories of my first hikes in Washington. I would come home after ascending to 3000’ or 4000’ with terrible headaches and nausea. After hiking Mt Si my freshman year at UW, I had to lie in a dark room while Dov brought me tea and advil since I felt so sick.
Here I was almost 10,000’ higher without a headache, without nausea, without even needing to do pressure breaths to get more oxygen. Slowly, imperceptibly, my body had adjusted to the trials and altitudes of the past two months – and of the past nine years since moving to Washington. As a result I was able to summit the tallest peak in the contiguous US on June 5th at 4:45 am, just in time for sunrise.
And what was that experience like?
In the final push to the summit, I kept thinking about the sign I’d read back at the junction warning of extreme lightning danger. It had said to vacate the area if there were dark clouds. As I climbed higher, it was clear that the summit and surrounding mountains were wrapped in clouds. Plus everything was dark – it was 4:30 in the morning. I finally reached the shelter on top and joined the two hikers inside to escape from the frigid wind. As gusts whipped past the building they sounded like distant thunder.
Half of the shelter was taken up by a mound of ice, and I set down my foam pad to insulate me from the cold. I wrapped myself in my sleeping bag and sat in the dark as we all shivered. Sunrise came and went, its passing marked only by a slight lightening of the wall of gray outside the hut. There were no views. I sat inside for an hour and a half hoping that the sky would clear. It didn’t.
At 6:15 I’d had enough and headed out into the cold, and there was Finja walking the last 100 ft to the top. We quickly took pictures at the summit, and then I was headed down, down, down to escape the wind and cold.
A few hundred feet lower the skies opened up to majestic views of the Range of Light. Orange peaks gleamed across the horizon, shedding their winter coats. Clouds caught the sun’s rays and dappled the mountains beyond. Guitar Lake glittered below, and to the east the mountain ranges were silhouetted in blue against the golden sky. The Sierras shone in the morning light, and I stood transfixed.
It was a long walk down, and I stopped before Guitar Lake to lie in the sun and soak up its warmth. I finally reached camp at 11am and fell fast asleep. We had another few miles to go that evening to get close to the approach to Forester Pass. Today I had summited Mt. Whitney – tomorrow I’d summit the highest point of the PCT.
18 Comments
Dov
OMG that last photo is just stunning! And the one before it! And kudos to Spicy Batman for showing the headlamp conga line for evening ascenders. I’m so glad to hear you weren’t having a hard time with elevation, I was a little worried. The lake/meadow void effect is so eerie! I hope you weren’t disconcerted feeling the abysses to your side.
Totally worth it, you’ve been so high up now 😀
chasingalpenglow
Thanks! It was a wonderful view while I ate a snack
Norene Lewis
Interesting that you seem to have acclimated to higher altitudes so relatively quickly… didn’t take, say, a generation. More interesting: Just when I think I’ve seen your most awe-inspiring photo, you top it, Karen. Literally: Atop Mt. Whitney, the Sierras highlit by the sun…and then the stunning mirrored mountains shot. Wow! Keep climbing…
Sheila
!!! WoW WoW WoW !!! you’re making so many wonderful memories and I’m so glad we get to come along for the ride 🙂 and I’m happy that you’re taking the altitude in stride, and it was fun to see your latest mapshare point show that you camped very close to where we camped in August 2018, along Palisade Creek, near Deer Meadow — I can’t wait to read your posts that overlap the section of PCT that we hiked back then!
chasingalpenglow
Thank you!!
Tom
Well, that was one hell of a day after two months of incredible day after day. So proud of you!
chasingalpenglow
Thank you!!
kate
Again, truly stunning photos, with excellent juxtaposition of light/shadow, colors, structures, and just a lot of variety in subject matter. I am so impressed and pleased by your improved altitude tolerance. Without it, that could have been a truly brutal slog, whereas you got a chance to enjoy all the good bits.
Thanks for the wonderful post.
Dov
She takes such excellent photos. It’s great to have a shutter bug around sometimes.
chasingalpenglow
I’m glad you’re enjoying the photos!
Therese
Congratulations on conquering Mount Whitney!! That is so amazing. Looks like the clouds at the summit didn’t detract from the magnificient vistas you encountered on your descent. Your photos are breath-taking. I’m happy you took the time to tackle Mount Whitney; the conditioning of the past 770 miles served you well. I hope the abundance of water continues, and I can’t wait to talk to you when you reach your next port of call. xoxo
peggy
Echoing the Wow, Wow WOW ! and the stunning photos. So awecome to have summited this peak after overcoming injuries. Bob’s done a lot of high peaks and your progress in altitude tolerance is impressive. I am back to reiterating my appreciation of your wonderful descriptive phrases: “a moving constellation” and “orange peaks…shedding their winter coats” are my favorites from this episode. Very glad you got some lovely views after dropping below the cloud cover.
chasingalpenglow
Oh yay! I was particularly proud of those phrases too, to be honest 🙂
Ray
Holy moly, what a story . . . !! Transfixed by your narrative and images. The “firefly” caravan says it all . . . topped only by your freezing profile atop Whitney. Gold stars to you and fellow trekkers . . .
chasingalpenglow
Thanks! It was certainly unforgettable
Pierre
An amazing post, and the pictures were stunning. The picture of the stars and the night sky, the mirrored mountains, just amazing. Safe journeys.
chasingalpenglow
Thank you!! Hope you all are doing well!
Carole Jacobson
Thank you sharing the summit and ascent views-always the favorite part of hiking.