Day 65: Mount Whitney
And today Cookie and I summited Whitney, on a gorgeous day, where the clouds stayed high and white, letting through a sky blue and clear. And, despite our estimates and hedges of yesterday, there were no storms, and sunrise was clear: from the accounts of those passing us, coming down the mountain, sunrise was glorious: the sun rose of the far horizon, then passed through a layer of cloud, then rose *again* over those, for a kind of double sunrise.
But we did a day summit, leaving camp around 6am, and reaching the top around 11:30am, and I'm happy with our choice, because I got to *see* *things*.
And I got to see deer grazing in an meadow in the early morning, where the sky was lit bright but the shadows of the mountains still lay across the green grass and the meandering brooks. And they looked so much at home, grazing so easily and comfortably, without a care for predators or the two hikers above, passing by on the rim of a slopes above them.
And I got to see the first light of the day strike the mountainsides, golden in hue against the gray-blue of evening's last shadow.
And I got to see the reflections of tall mountains in Guitar Lake, its waters still crystal clear and calm.
(And I got to meet Tim and Emily as they readied for their ascent, and did get to give Emily my contact info so that hopefully I'll get to read that thesis.)
And I got to see the shadows of the clouds playing across mountainsides, their contrast drawing out the nooks and crannies and drawing those noble slopes from static two-dimensional surfaces, to dynamic three-dimensional life.
And I got to reach the Mount Whitney Trail Junction, where you divert from the JMT and climb the final two miles to the top, and from where--and I simply misunderstood other people's descriptions--from where I thought everything would be gravy, just a ridge walk to the top. But instead I got see, wait, there's *more* climbing, more riding in-and-out the now-shoulders of slopes? And it just keeps going? It looks so far: ack, we're not even *close* to done!
And I got to look out the "windows" of those last two miles, and gaze down sharp steep drops to the tucked-away lakes far far below, and then out to the desert, where stretches of open nothing were broken by patches of cultivated squares, their green still blue in the early light, and the little sprawls of civilization.
And at the top, I got to look back, out west, and see the roof of the Sierras. And as Olaf had said when he passed us on his way down, and we inquired about the summit, it's just peaks and peaks and so many peaks, uncountable peaks. Looking west, the eye doesn't see a range with peaks, then another range with peaks, it's not this ordered thing, but just a sea of peaks, so many peeking up almost at random, so many that it just boggles the imagination.
So, yes, I got to *see* *things*!
As for the physical side, the hike was pretty hard. In the beginning Cookie lead, but as we got to the climbs, I took the lead. I tried to strike a pace that was slow but steady, never pushing it, and never stopping for too long. (It's advised to take frequent breaks on the way up Whitney, but it's also advised to keep those breaks short--make them too long and it becomes too hard to start up again!) Towards the end I felt positively old-man-ish, taking one tiny step after another. But Cookie liked the pace: after we got down, she remarked that it was fast enough to keep moving, but slow enough that she was never huffing and puffing when we stopped. So that was good. As for my concerns with elevation: while I certainly felt light-headed--especially for the last couple miles--and while I certainly had a headache by the time we got down, I had no stomach problems, and was even able to eat at the top without issues. And this without taking anything to alleviate elevation symptoms (for example, Hangn' Out had recommended caffeine because it helps with elevation, and I had bought some Nuum with caffeine for this very purpose, but didn't end up using them). And my fear of heights didn't kick in, even though there are some rocky bits where the footing needs to be careful because the drop is precipitous. Maybe the light-headedness helped, but I was able to focus on just the trail and leave the fear aside. Even at the "windows" looking down to the valleys below--Emily would comment that she got queasy in those spots but for some reason I was fine. Again, I think I was able to focus, and I think also that the fact that there were so many people going up, and people of every stripe, so that feeling of, well if they can do it why can't I, started to kick in as well.
So it was a tough day, but rewarding. For me a bit of a blur--maybe that light-headedness again!--but Cookie said it was one of the best days on the PCT so far. For me, the best days are the most emotional ones: sunrise on the Sunrise Highway, the day of Silverwood Lake, the day before Big Bear walking through my kind of emptiness, even the night at Dove Spring Canyon Road perched between the road and a barbed wire fence, barely sheltered from the wind by a juniper bush, but seeing the Milky Way in the middle of the night when I got up to pee. These sorts of more "ordinary" days that are nonetheless very meaningful to me personally. And I think that Whitney was that for Cookie: it's been on her list for a long time and she's been looking forward to it; yesterday, she kept reiterating how excited she was. But for me, Whitney hasn't been on my radar beyond something to do when I do the PCT. For me, it's not even as big as Cactus to Clouds (in which I have a bigger emotional stake, it being in my backyard), or Santiago to the Sea (again, my backyard) or the CNF Main Divide Traverse (backyard, although I'm not even sure how to do this one). It's not even bigger than Bertha Peak on the PCT, where I met Michelle and heard her poignant story: *that* summiting was more significant for me than Whitney. But Whitney is still a Big Deal: it's still the highest point in the Lower 48 and if nothing else, it's a tough climb (for me) that I was able to nonetheless do, and that achievement counts for something satisfying!
-- Crabtree Meadow Ranger Station > Guitar Lake > Whitney Summit > Guitar Lake > Crabtree Meadow Ranger Station
-- As we headed out in the morning, I grabbed my poles and Cookie went to grab hers, only to belatedly realize that her poles are used to keep her tent up. Do I need to take down my tent, she asked, hoping not to. And so it was that, finally, my extra pole--the one I use just to make tripods for photos--came in handy in its natural form: as a trekking pole! It was about the right height for her--or she could grip it low enough that it became so--and she only had the one instead of the normal two, but that was enough! (Also, Cookie had rolled an ankle a couple days ago and had been babying it a bit--she didn't want to compromise a Whitney summit! Nonetheless, as a precaution I gave her my ace bandage and she wrapped the ankle. The common adage for gear is if you don't use it, lose it, but, see, these "extra" things can come in handy!)
-- Oh, speaking of gear: yes, I carried microspikes. There was one solitary spot where there was snow on the trail. It was shaped like a speed bump and lay across the trail. A bit too wide to step over, but at the edge you could easily step around and I did, not even getting snow on my shoes. So, yes, I carried microspikes. No, they weren't needed. At all.
-- I'm not the only one eager to *see* *things*. When we talked to Tim and Emily at their campsite by Guitar Lake, they explained how after they had left from Crabtree late in the afternoon, they had started crossing the moraines on the way to Guitar Lake, the sun was starting to set, and lighting up all the mountains in fire red and orange, and they were so slow because they couldn't stop taking photographs. (If you know this west approach of Whitney, you know that you basically walk into a half-bowl of mountains, where the open end is to the west: put the sun at that open end to light up the bowl and, yes, that would be extraordinary!) And when they got to Guitar Lake it was already dark, but the stars came out and they gaped in wonder at those too, further slowing their progress. But it was worth it!
-- We stopped by Guitar Lake on the way down, and sat down by the shores ostensibly to get water, but soon getting sucked into what Cookie called "Lake Time". I didn't know this was a thing but, as we sat there, comfortable in the sun, with nothing keeping time but the lapping of the waves, yes, lake time is definitely a thing, and it definitely draws you in! Add a slight breeze to cool off the heat every now and then, and the next thing you know it's been half an hour, and nothing's happened but you've sat for half an hour by a lake and haven't that half an hour has gone by!
-- Oh, and a fishing story! On the way back down, we stopped at Guitar Lake, where Cookie met two friends of hers, Red Stripe and Tiny House. They were sitting on the banks of one of the small tributary streams that flows into Guitar Lake and Tiny House. Now, there are trout in Guitar Lake, and they swim up and down the tributaries too, so Tiny House--who does a bit of fishing--he decided he wanted to catch one. With his bare hands. So he set up, crouching on the grassy bank, hovering over the water, gazing intently into the shallow tributary water, seeing some trout hiding under a rock, and asking Red Stripe to toss some pebbles over here to suss them out, and she does, and he's still there, motionless and eagle-eyed, his hands at the ready. And we're all loving this, and have cameras out ready for the Big Moment. And suddenly there's a sound and, about ten feet behind him, where the tributary runs into the lake, a trout beaches itself. Just straight up beaches itself, flopping around on the sand. The tributary is pretty shallow there, and it had taken a bad route. And Tiny House went over and picked it up. And he was so careful, he held it so gingerly--I don't want to break its bones, he said--and he felt so bad about catching it this way, that he promptly tossed it back into the water. At which point it beached itself again, and we *all* felt so bad, but this time after some flopping about it managed to get back into the water. But in the end, Tiny House did indeed catch a fish, and with his bare hands to boot!
-- Oh, I didn't mention much about the top of Whitney! Well, the last bit, when you make the turn east and start heading up a rock field, that's very tough. But when, after going up what seems a limitless slope, you look up and catch a glimpse of that emergency hut at the top, well, at that point you know you got this and everything is fine. We got to the top, took some pictures, then headed over to one of the semicircular forts just a ways down to block the wind and have lunch. As we did, I saw Tim and Emily come up--I waved, but they didn't see me. They set up on one of the rocks near to the top, exposed, but they had their jackets--with their windbreaker properties--on. After letting them enjoy the peak some themselves, and after finishing up my lunch, I went over to say hi, to congratulate them on making it, and also to help them take some summit photos. There were plenty of people at the peak all day--usually a dozen or more around the top, with plenty of flux--and I ended up taking summit photos for a few other folks too. Luckily, now having a smartphone myself, I know how photo apps work, so often I was able to get panoramas for folks to better capture the view, and folks always seem to like that. Emily offered to take (another) summit photo for me, so I said sure, and she tried to imitate the panorama effect by taking multiple offset shots, an kind effort that I appreciated. We left them at the summit--Tim was going to take a nap (there were actually a few people up there, dozing away)--and after signing the register at the hut, we headed down with Cookie now in the lead, setting a much faster pace than we had going up! It was astonishing really: on the way up, it's so hard going, but on the way down, down the *same* *path*, it's so much easier. As I passed folks, their faces drawn, their breath short, their expressions exhausted, I wanted to say to them, don't worry, that's exactly how I felt going up, but I made it, you're going to too. But I don't think they would have heard me, and with my easy step down, don't think they would have believed me either!
-- Oh, and finally a bit of Whitney summit geography. The summit is shaped like a doorstopper, with the shallower slope on the west side--you can look over a deep, gently sloped rock field and see the peaks of the Sierras beyond--and the sharper slope on the east side--you can stand on the edge and freak yourself out with heights as you look down at sheer drops into hidden lakes and, ultimately, down to the desert floor below. Both views are recommended, the first for its scope, the second because--as Doctor Who has proven for years--a good scare is just plain healthy. :p
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