Advertisement
We wake up at 1:30AM. Pitch black. On goes the head-light, the backpack with dromedary, extra water, plenty of power-bars. We begin to hike at 2:30AM (1/2hr later than we wanted). Just dark walking, easy walking, with the moonlight and the silhouettes of foliage to guide us. We pass a few hikers taking a break for breakfast. “We’re in the lead…” Andy says.
By the time the sun awakens we are t hree miles up, past Miur Lake and taking photos at a boulder. Pretty soon we pass the tree-line and I start to get a headache. The day comes up fast with no trees for shade. Before we know it Jason joins us. We quickly find that Jason is a beast of a hiker. He has come the same distance in 2 hours that it took the rest of us 4 hours to hike. Right around the time that I get a bloody nose, Joel is starting to feel the altitude and gets sick behind some rocks. We wait for a while and let him relax and acclimate, filter some water at a lake campsite and begin the dreaded switchbacks. There are 97 switchbacks that rise steeply to
nearly the altitude of the summit.
While Jason, Andy and Andrew practically run up the mountain - Joel and I take an altitude friendly pace. I have never felt fatigue like the altitude can cause. The mileage is not a problem, the steepness is not a problem - breathing is the problem. When I want to take a drink from my dromedary I have to suck the water to my lips and keep the pressure there with my mouth while a take an intermediate breath through my nose. I’m lucky to get three drinks in between breaths before I have to stop and just focus on breathing. Breathe deeply, take the oxygen straight to your brain. I find myself blinking and when I open my eyes things stay black for too long before the picture comes back. Am I going to black out? I find myself walking on the inside on the narrow trail, hoping that if I black out I will fall into the mountain, rather than off the edge.
I overhear a guy talking to his girlfriend, “The sooner we get this done the sooner we get to go home.” She responds “I don’t give a damn
about going home, I’m trying not to pass out.”
It’s not a race, and it’s not a sprint, it’s a marathon. You have to keep telling yourself that. I keep remembering Jack Sheldon from the documentary I’m editing saying “I can do this” when he’s feeling like he can’t.
When we make it to the top of the switchbacks there is a tremendous sense of accomplishment. Joel gets sick behind some rocks. We rest a while with Jason, Andy and Andrew. We are now at nearly the height of the summit, and are pretty proud of ourselves, ignorant that we still have a long way to go. From here we must still travel another 2.5 miles across and that takes us down and back up again, along very narrow trails and even more switchbacks near the end. When we see the cabin at the summit of Whitney it gives us more energy. We know we are close now, but it is deceptive. It seems to take ages to get there. Joel is really moving now though, he knows he has it in him to reach the summit he struggled for 2 years ago.
At the summit the
wind is refreshing and the company equally energetic. We take hours of pictures in every position. I’m jumping on boulders, Andy finds the perfect bed on a flat shady rock, Joel shoot a panoramic shot with all of us, Andrew photographs another group of hikers, Jason just plays it cool.
As much work as it was, it’s time to begin the journey back. We sign the summit log at the top and begin our descent. Down is easy, at least at first. I take the lead for a while before the mountaineer-beast Jason can be held back no longer. He races down and all of us scramble after him. The sun beats down on us and I can feel my neck scalding. We rehydrate when we reach the middle of the switchbacks, pumping the filtered water into our camelbacks and bottles. The cool water refreshes - for a while.
Going down, you have gravity on your side. Your feet race underneath you, trying to keep your body in toe. I fall on my face and scrape my hands and knee. My knee joints are beginning to ache when we reach the tree-line, but something amazing is starting to
happen. As we reach lower altitude my body begins to re-function. My once dried bloody nose becomes a runny snotty nose. It’s great. And my headache is waning. The pain is now being displaced in my body, from my head to my feet. My knee joints cut pain through me with every step. Andrew leads now, Jason is gone (probably at the bottom by now). Andrew tells me that Jason has taught him the secret, that you have to learn to ignore the pain. “Oh,” I think, “That easy huh.”
When we reach the bottom my body shuts down and stiffens up. I try to stretch my muscles in the hopes that it will ease the stiffness in the coming days. We gather around burgers and beer and we all walk and sit like old men who have experienced a life event together and bonded in a new way that I have never before known. And I realize that you’re wrong Andrew, you can’t ignore the pain, because the pain is the life.
Why would someone climb a mountain? I’d always wondered that. Why, when people come back from Everest missing their nose and fingers and their manhood
do they say “Oh yeah, I’d climb it again if I had the chance.” Well the journey with friends is important, but that’s not the thing that sticks out in my mind as why. After all, we all could have just gone for a game of bowling. The thing that I think climbing a mountain is about is living. When you are up there, the struggle makes you aware of living and how precious and fleeting your life truly is. Simultaneously there is a sense of mastery over your world and an understanding of your minuscule place in the universe. The daunting and overpowering scope of nature at that scale is undeniable when you’re standing in the summit winds. Now I’m not going to go climb Everest, and I’m not really looking forward to climbing Whitney again any time soon; as Joel said, “We have to really wait to forget the pain.” But I do see now the thrill of climbing a mountain is altitude appreciation - the high of life.
At 14,400ft, Mt. Whitney is the tallest mountain in the continental United States.
Advertisement
Tot: 0.201s; Tpl: 0.013s; cc: 13; qc: 66; dbt: 0.0944s; 1; m:domysql w:travelblog (10.17.0.13); sld: 1;
; mem: 1.1mb
Joel
non-member comment
14,497 feet
wow, i sure get sick behind rocks a lot. really great story of the hike, matt. pure poetry. i think i'm already starting to forget the pain...but the thrill of the summit is still clear as day.