43 — Mt Whitney

Side trail to Mt Whitney Summit (14.2 miles)

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Rose: recognizing the little wildflowers alongside the trail (shooting stars, mountain heather) Thorn: the wind, the climb Bud: trail, maybe fairer weather (fingers crossed)

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I never sleep fully through the night while backpacking. I wake to a sore hip or neck and need to flip. Ever few hours. The new sleeping pad has done wonders for my sleep quality. My hip never bottoms out. It’s bulky when I fold it—I think they put an insulating layer in there—but it’s better than any other mattress I’ve had.

I awoke about 1:20 in order to flip. I knew I had an alarm for 2am. It wasn’t enough sleep, so I reset my alarm for 3am, which I mostly obeyed. A swift preparation (I had prepped everything the night before for an easy exit), and I was marching up trail by headlamp by 3:45—in the wrong direction, toward the Ranger cabin. After the trail petered out by my headlamp, I realized my mistake, backtracked, and got on the correct trail.

I was fast in the morning, passing people. That didn’t last long. My speed waned as the night sky lightened. I had long since given up hope of making the summit by sunrise. By Guitar Lake, I was letting many pass.

The first two thousand feet were tough. Not only was I slow, but I was nauseous. I don’t attribute the nausea to AMS (although altitude didn’t help) but rather to my having not eaten that much this morning. I couldn’t stomach food so early accompanied with so much exercise. I was reduced to stopping every switchback, forcing myself to eat 1–2 bites of granola bar, then proceeding. My body wouldn’t tolerate eating more at a time. Also my nose ran like crazy; it always does when I ascend, but I had to stop every twenty feet to blow it. My handkerchief was sodden in no time. As I always think, man would I love to see an ENT and get this post nasal drip taken care of, but I live in America and will never be able to afford any fix.

The sky never fully lightened. High stratus clouds lined the sky. I kept a close eye on them the whole climb, making sure they weren’t plumping up for rain, thunder, or the worst, lightning.

After 2,000 feet vertical gain, the wind picked up. The kind of wind that steals the breath from your mouth if you don’t have a handkerchief over it. People who had made the summit for dawn were descending by now. At 3,000 up, the trail momentarily stopped switchbacks and started a long, perilous traverse to below the summit. The trail narrowed and wove around and through spires of rock, between wind tunnels created by notches between the towers. I had one hand on the rock to steady me, as much for my balance as for the wind rocking me through out.

The wind only increased as the trail widened to the final set of switchbacks to the summit. The wind was buffeting me around violently at this point: probably sustained winds of 20 miles per hour and gusts to 40ish. I almost threw up with the summit hut in sight, but I ate some more granola and made it to the summit.

The summit hut had two doors and three rooms. One doorway was missing a door. The second door had broken in the winter so the entry room had piles of melt-freeze snow and ice that prevented it from being very useful. The room nestled in the middle was drafty with the wind but had a pile of sleeping bags on the floor. This is where all the frozen summiters cuddled under the blankets, trying to stop shivering and regain feeling jn our fingers. I shoveled food in my mouth.

I wore every stitch of clothing I had packed for the PCT except for the sun gloves and baseball hat. I looked ridiculous. I longed for appropriate gear that the day hikers were wearing: fleece lined pants, thick gloves, balaclavas, thicker puffies, tailored hard shells. Instead, I wore my sun shirt, light fleece sleeping shirt, wind jacket, puffy, and frog toggs rain jacket on top (with beanie and light wool gloves) and base layer, shorts, and wind pants on bottom. It was so cold jn the wind.

I didn’t want to stay too long in case the wind picked up, as it’s wont to do in the mountains. I warmed up as best I could, ran outside to take some summit selfies, ran back inside to warm up again, and then started to descend. I practically ran down to get out of the wind. I slowed slightly on the windy traverse then slowed more as the wind lessened on the switchbacks down to Guitar Lake. I walked with a woman for the last 30 minutes before came.

The sky remained dark and the wind stayed too. I wanted to get back to camp to warm up and hunker down for any storm.

Upon arriving at camp, I met hikers who had summited and now were headed out to do more miles before the day was out. It was only two pm. I could rest then move on like them, but I knew as soon as I crawled into my sleeping bag, I wasn’t going to emerge.

And so it went, I crawled into my tent and my cozy sleeping bag, listened to my audiobook, and dozed for the rest of the afternoon. Last night had been a very quiet crowd. Tonight there was laughing, giggling, and socializing right outside my tent. I did not join in. I just wanted to be out of the elements and warm. I didn’t emerge from my tent until dark had descended and everyone had gone to sleep.

Tomorrow will be an equally tough day: Forester Pass. I had no idea the highest pass in the Sierras would be the day after Whitney. A day nearly equivalent in scale: 16–17 miles, 4000’ up, 3500’ down. The pass itself is at mile 13. It would have been favorable to have hiked a little farther tonight so that the pass crossing would be earlier in the day but shoulda woulda coulda. I have enough food that if the weather is like it was today, I could do a short day to the bottom of the pass, then do the pass in the morning (although that would put two passes on the second day out) and Kearsage pass on the third day in the morning. We will see how my body feels and the weather presents itself. It would be nice to feel warmth on my skin again (fingers crossed). Jo