Down the Mountain and Lessons Learned

Now for the easy part - right? Getting off this damn hill. If you watch those Everest documentaries, you'll always hear about how getting to the top is only half of the adventure. Well, the dangers on Whitney are nowhere near those on Everest, but the same adage holds true. The adrenaline has had a chance to wear off. The excitement of the conquest usually means that the climber has not been paying attention to some important things like eating and drinking. Coming downhill is the classic time to bonk.



After about 30 minutes on the top, Matt and I turned and put our energies into getting off the mountain. Matt was planning on getting back to our mid mountain camp and spending one more night, but my plan was to try to make it all the way down to the car. At this point we had been on the trail for a little over 5 hours. It occurred to both of us simultaneously that there had been no pee stops since starting out at the tents half an hour before that. Not good! Matt had left with 2 liters of water and me with 2.5, but the dryness of the altitude really sucks the moisture out of everything. We still had 4 miles to the next water (a seasonal spring at switchback 23), so we had to be careful with the water we had left. And while the going downhill was easier, it was still a slow go. We worked our way down the moonscape and made it back to Trail Crest at 2 PM.


From there, it was a slow but steady descent through the switchbacks. We were back at our tents at 3:30 PM. I hurriedly broke camp and packed up. I still had six miles ahead of me. My main concern were the granite slabs below where the trail was hard enough to follow in the light - much less in the dark. I wanted to make sure I got down to Outpost Camp while it was still light enough to see. Matt walked the first half mile with me where we filled our water bottles. We bid au revoir and I headed down the trail. By now it was 5 PM and the sun was starting to go down behind the ridges. I focused on making it down the trail. 5 miles left. One foot in front of the other. Repeat....

All I can say is that someone must have built a couple of extra miles of trail since Friday. The slog seemed to go on *forever*. I made it down out of the high country and to Outpost Camp by 7:15, where I stopped and had a quick snack and some water. I should have had a more substantial meal at that point, but I didn't want to spend any more time than necessary. My fuel for the day had consisted of an apple/cranberry bran muffin, one hammer gel, about two ounces of pretzels, and about 6 ounces of trail mix. Not a whole lot. I was to pay for this later. But, I just wanted to get back to the car. I replaced my cap with my headlamp, hoisted my pack, and continued on.

The last four miles seemed to take *forever*. In actuality it was only 2 hours. But I was definitely feeling the effects of a full day (remember - we had started at 7:30 AM) with little fuel. I was really struggling when I turned a corner and voila! The trail head kiosk! I made it! 9:15 PM. Just a little 14 hour, 16 mile hike in the woods!

Adventure officially over.
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I'm sitting here now on Thursday morning. Four days have passed. I'm just about ready to start running again. Most of the trip went per plan, but I did learn a couple valuable points:

(1) Fueling is not an option: When I look back to my problem on day 1, I can say that it *was* related to not fueling. I felt terrible when I got to camp. But, after a gel and some caffeine, I was feeling quite chipper. The problem? I was too eager to get up the hill. I didn't take the 30 minutes to get something for lunch and for another couple of snacks.


(2) Use gels and replace electrolytes: Just like a long run, these supplements have a place on these hikes. I failed to bring any. Thank God for Matt and his never ending stash of Hammer Gel and Endurolyte. Plan on one gel every couple of hours and one Endurolyte cap every hour - especially when sweating like a hog on the lower trail.

(3) Ibuprofen: Should be eaten like candy. Feel that altitude headache coming on? Pop an ibuprofen. Getting up in the morning? Pop an ibuprofen. Believe me - it beats the alternative.

(4) Run run run: Before you come up here, do whatever you can to get into cardio shape. Everything else up there is hard enough. At least being in cardio shape you will have one less thing to contribute to feeling blah and tired.

(5) Make sure you have good equipment and carry it: Should go without saying. There's no one to turn to when it starts snowing. Or worse - raining. You had better have a good tent that you can climb into and get and stay dry. If you don't then you better turn around. Or else be ready to pay the ultimate price (yes - a couple people have died up there this year).

(6) Finally - make sure you know your limitations. See the lady on the left in the red cap in this photo? She and her two friends started at 12:30 AM Saturday on a one day assault of the peak. One of the three never made it above Trail Camp before coming down with altitude sickness. At 9:00PM the second friend came racing down the trail. The lady in the red cap wasn't going to make it out Saturday night.

The bottom line? Tougher than any marathon. Day 1 was 6 miles and 5700 feet elevation gain. Day 2 was 16 miles with 2800 feet in gain and then 6300 feet down. 12 of those miles with a 30 pound pack on my back. Monday and Tuesday I couldn't walk down stairs without turning around and walking backwards (sound familiar?). My blisters (all from my final few mile push) are doing better (including the two blood blisters on my feet). Was I ready? For the most part. Next time I'll definitely pack the gels and Enduralyte. Oh - did I just say "next time"? Don't tell my wife.....

The Summit Push - Day 2

If you like to run alone, then you'll like backpacking. I say that because there's a lot of alone time involved. Even when hiking with a group. Once the sun goes down and the wind blows cold, there's no cabin to retire to, no campfire to gather around, no TV to turn on. It's pretty much yourself and your thoughts in your tent. Summertime isn't as bad, because dark happens late. But during this transition between summer and fall, dark comes a little earlier, and light comes a little later. That means being in your tent with your own thoughts. For 10 or more hours. And if you allow yourself to be miserable, that can lead to long, lonely night.

My alone time started about 7:15 Friday. But, despite my difficulties only a couple hours earlier, I was feeling pretty comfortable. The wind was blowing 20 to 30 mph outside, and the flapping of nylon was incessant, but my sleeping bag was toasty warm. The 12,000 foot altitude was not really affecting me the way I was expecting. Normally, my resting heart rate can be as high as 95 to 100 when I'm up above 10,000 feet. But, there was no gasping for air, no sensation of my heart trying to jump out of my chest. I checked and found that I had a 72 bpm heart rate laying in my bag. Wow! I guess all the running *has* paid off. I drifted into a twilight sleep looking forward to the next morning.

The plan was to be up at 5:00AM for our walk up to the top of the mountain. I had set my watch alarm and my iPod alarm. I had anticipated a fitful night of sleep, so I was a little surprised when I woke and checked my watch - 5:45 AM! Yikes! I got dressed, and threw the door to my tent open. Remember that view of the valley below? It was going to be a glorious day.

Matt and I grabbed a quick cup of coffee and some breakfast and headed off up the trail. Our first stop was the lake at Trail Camp to refill our water for the 10 mile round trip. This would be our last chance for reliable water along the way, so I filled up with 2.5 liters. Our challenge for the day was to climb from 12,000 feet up to 13,600 feet in two miles, down 300 feet in half a mile, and then up from 13,300 to 14,496 in two miles. Friday's "experience" was behind me, and I felt strong and up to the challenge. We started day two at 7:30.

The first challenge was the slope ahead of us - the dreaded 97 switchbacks up to Trail Crest. It's up up and up that slope.

Two miles of switchbacks. I dare you to try to count them.






And even though it was pushing 9 AM, water appeared only in solid form:



The views back to where we were camped at Consultation Lake were awesome as we moved up the slope.


What happens next is just absolutely breathtaking. As you clear the last switchback, there is short traverse across the east facing slope.




Then a step or two down and viola! The great canvas of the Sierra Nevada spreads across the sky and a thousand feet down.

This is California's version of the Continental Divide. Everything to the east drains toward the Great Basin and the Colorado River, everything to the west drains toward the San Joaquin River.

Now for the mean part. Down 300 feet. At 13,600 feet, every step is a physical challenge. To lose 300 feet is just downright wrong. In a short half mile though, the final 2 mile spur trail to Mt. Whitney takes off to the north.

The remaining two miles are a slog fest. There are a couple of challenging points along the trail (the "Windows", where the slope drops off precipitously for about 1500 feet), and a little rock scrambling here and there. But for the most part, it is one foot in front of the other for what seems like an eternity.

Frankly, this is where a lot of people end up dropping like flies. The elevation starts affecting those who are not ready. Lots of headaches, lots of light headedness, lots of puking, lots of not believing. I was ready for any/all of that. In the past, I had suffered from the light headedness at these altitudes. I had suffered from not being able to catch my breath. But I was not going to let that stop me today. When I was 12 years old, I set the goal to climb Mt. Whitney. 40 years later I could see the top.

I was still feeling pretty strong. I had expected to be lightheaded and be relegated to 5 steps, stop and suck air. But, there was no light headedness. I was moving slowly, but I was also able to take 50 steps at a time before taking a few moments to try to extract some oxygen from the thin air. I slowly made my way up into the deep azure sky. Then all of a sudden - up over a little hump, a quick turn to the left and there it was!

At this point, all bets were off. I clambered the remaining few hundred feet to the summit hut. Mt. Whitney. It had been 4 hours and 15 minutes since starting, but I was there. I have to admit - I shed a tear or two. I don't have a whole lot on my bucket list - but this is one of them. This was my reason for getting into shape and had really driven my running related goals for the last two years. And here I was.

Friday's storm had blown through and left us a pristine day for being on the top. Yesterday's smoky skies were deep blue and pristine. The views in every direction were amazing.


But, we couldn't stay up there forever. One thing anyone who does any hiking/climbing understands is that getting to the top is only half the adventure.

More day two photos on my Flickr site here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/glennsphotos2007/sets/72157622286900918/

Tomorrow - getting down off the mountain and lessons learned.