Mt. Whitney
Climbing the tallest mountain in the lower 48
Ever since I climbed Jade Mountain (玉山), the tallest mountain in Taiwan, I’ve been itching to get back to high elevation. The only problem is that in Washington, most of the mountains worth climbing are glaciated and require tools and training so that you don’t fall into a crevasse and die. Not wanting to risk death or dismemberment quite yet, I started looking into other options and that’s when I found Mt. Whitney.
Mt. Whitney is the highest mountain in the lower 48. Located in the Sierra Nevadas in Central California it scrapes the sky at 14,505ft of elevation. It is also non-technical, which means you basically just walk up to the summit. So it became, in the back of my mind a new goal. And it stayed in the back of my mind for three years until by chance Han won the permit lottery. Suddenly, it was go time.
We assembled a crew of Han and I’s mountain-tested friends, people who have bagged multiple summits and skied down.
Michael - already summited Whitney, back again for more.
Morgan - bagging her second Whitney summit.
Kirsten - Has Mt. Baker and Mt Saint Helens under her belt, also a Search and Rescue volunteer and accomplished skier.
Thomas - two time Mt. Rainier summiter, Mt. Baker, Mt. Saint Helens, name a mountain in the PNW this man’s probably been up it.
Han - Mt. Rainier (x2), Mt. Adams, Mt. Saint Helens (x3), Mt Baker (x2), Whitney once already, this man is ready.
My Mom - All around athlete and hiker. Never been at elevation and also 30 years older than everyone else, but she’s birthed two kids, and been hit by a train. So good enough.
We booked tickets, rented cars, got an AirBnB, drove through Death Valley and all converged at the foot of the Sierras. And so the journey began.
When I began high-alpine hiking in Taiwan, my friends handled most of the logistics. All the permits and rules were in Chinese, so they took care of those. They borrowed backpacks and cold-weather gear for me. They packed food and planned routes and basically did everything while I just tagged along for the ride. Together we summited five of the 100 百岳 peaks and it was some of the most challenging and best times of my life.
I was trying really hard not to get my hopes up too much for Mt. Whitney. Jade Mountain was such a magical experience, but mountains are so fickle I didn’t want to put too big of expectations on the experience. Plus I’d just spent the past seven months traveling and was wickedly out of shape. I wasn’t the only one in recovery either. Mom was rehabbing a torn rotator cuff and getting over shingles. Kirsten had broken her back four months prior and was just now getting back to running and working out. I was just hoping we’d all be able to summit.
Day 1
After a flurry of packing the night before, making sure we had the tent, enough cold weather clothes, enough hot weather clothes, and enough calories, we set off early the next morning to the trailhead. Our Air BnB was at 4,000ft of elevation and we climbed quickly to 8,000ft when the hike begins. Only 6,500ft of climbing left to go.
The trailhead has a neat spot where you can weigh your packs before you set off, mostly so you can regret all your packing choices. My pack weighed in at 30lbs and I was definitely rethinking some of my choices (Like the book that I didn’t even open. And the deck of cards we had no time to play.) At least it wasn’t the heaviest though, Michael took that crown with a pack weight of 37.5lbs.
Then it was time to hit the trail. We loaded up and started trekking through a beautiful valley. Every hour or so we stopped for snack breaks, water filtering, and to take in the mountains around us. It was perfect hiking weather, no bugs, light sunshine, occasional shade from a high-alpine pine tree. We were having a great time and making good time.
After several hours we took a long rest in a little valley by a stream. At 10,000 feet it was the last place we could relax before we began to feel the effects of the altitude. Altitude sickness can come in many forms including headache, nausea, fatigue, dizziness, insomnia and loss of appetite. When I’d hiked in Taiwan my friend Chu had always gotten me altitude sickness medication and so aside from the expected shortness of breath (the air gets thin past 10,000ft) I’d always had minimal side effects. Going into Whitney, I was definitely nervous about how my body would handle the altitude without medication.
After our respite, we started up again and the going got significantly slower. We reached camp around 3pm and at 12,200ft I was definitely feeling the effects of the altitude. As we set up camp I had a headache building at my temples. And just putting up the tent or walking to the lake to fetch water left me out of breath.
Cradled in a granite bowl, we could just make out the peak of Mt. Whitney from camp. It looked very far away. We crushed our dinners and settled in for the night, and this is about when the troubles began.
For me, my eyes swelled half-way shut and the headache and fatigue became so intense that I had to lie down. As I lay in my sleeping bag, I found myself gasping for air every five or six breaths. There were moments I felt like I was underwater and struggling to breathe. For mom, stomach troubles started to rear an ugly head, and she spent the evening taking multiple trips to the “bathroom” (AKA a plastic bag). On top of that, the wind had picked up and was careening through the valley at breakneck speeds. Our tent was battered, and all night the tent walls pushed my shoulder like someone trying to shake me awake. We didn’t sleep a wink.
Day 2
We climbed out of our tents at 3am and took in the Milky Way arcing across the night sky above us. The sight of a remote night sky is one of my favorite parts of backpacking. It makes me feel like I’m living hundreds or thousands of years ago and seeing the stars as they were back then.
In the red light of our headlamps, we quickly boiled water and scarfed down breakfast, hunkered together to avoid the raging wind. The long day to come hovered over us, a promise of pain and uncertainty. Would we all make it to the summit?
We began hiking around 4am, just as the first fingers of light began to brush back the night. Our world narrowed to the circle illuminated by our headlamps. We trekked slow and steady up the section of trail known as the 99 switchbacks. As we rose steadily in elevation, so too did the sun, dousing the towering granite columns above us in soft golden light. To our west silhouetted rolling mountains cascade toward Death Valley.
We stopped together to watch the sun come up. It is always a magical moment when the first sliver of glowing yellow comes into the sky. It is one of my other favorite parts of backpacking. I think it’s impossible to not be filled with an overwhelming awe and gratitude for the beauty of the world we live in.
However, once the sun comes up, reality sets in. We are still far from the summit. A headache builds with every step. My stomach has begun cramping severely. I take the most scenic and also most exposed poop of my life and that helps alleviate some of the cramping, but at this point my best solution is to retreat into my own mind and the rhythm of my breath. Just taking it one step at a time. One foot in front of the other.
Around 7:30am we reached the saddle marking the start of a long ridge traverse. Here the wind kicked in and the trail got technical, with panic-inducing 1,000ft drops far too close for comfort. As we split off the John Muir Trail, a sign read “1.9 mi to the summit”. I could squint and peer into the distance and just make out a shelter perched on top of a mountain. That was our destination. It seemed both incredibly far and also like I could reach out and touch it.
“That’ll take us another three hours.” Kirsten piped up. She’s the wizard with trail time management, always keeping us up to date on how much elevation we’ve gained, how many miles left to go, or how much time it’ll be until we’re done.
Most of the traverse along the ridge is above 14,000ft. At this elevation there is 40% less oxygen in the air. Reality narrows down to single steps and pressure breathing. A deep inhale through the nose and a slow breath out through pursed lips. I didn’t notice the stunning mountains on the backside, nor the staggering drops, I merely put my head down and breathed.
Not far from the summit there was a snow bridge crossing. A narrow track the width of a single foot carved out of the icy snow by all the previous hikers. I crossed it cautiously as one stumble could send you sliding down and off the edge. Then the summit lodge was in site. It moved steadily closer and closer until it was nearly within reach.
Han caught me right before I reached the summit. He’d been bouncing between the people in our group who needed help with the elevation but raced to catch up with me so we could summit together. Our last couple steps took us up onto large boulders and then to the edge of the world.
The valleys and mountains spread out below us as far as the eye could see. The ibuprofen I took 20 minutes previously had kicked in and I was feeling great! No headache, no stomach pain, no shortness of breath. I was on top of the literal world.
Mom wasn’t far behind, trudging slow and steady up to the summit. Under the crisp blue sky we hugged and took lots of photos. One by one, the rest of the group made it up to the summit. We all made it.
We can’t linger long though because we still have a grueling hike all the way out to the trailhead. At 10:30am we begin our descent. If I thought the way up was hard, the way out is even more difficult. There’s no light at the end of the tunnel, just the knowledge that we have 6,500ft of vert to descend in one long slog.
By the time we made it back to the saddle, flecks of blood were dripping from my nose. The bottoms of my feet were beginning to burn. As we descend the 99 switchbacks my stomach troubles returned, cramping and roiling in a state of constant nausea. The group spread out and I brought up the rear, slowly and painfully picking my way down the mountain. At one point I had to stop and take off my shoes and Han, ever the helper and amazing boyfriend, massaged my burning feet.
We made it back to camp at 3:00pm. We’d now been officially awake for 12 hours. In camp we found that while we were gone the wind had torn apart our tents. Unable to stake our tents down due to the rocky ground, we’d piled rocks in each corner and weighed the cords down with rocks as well. Since it had held through the night, we figured it would be fine while we were gone. It was not fine.
The wind was so strong it had snapped the paracord ties and tumbled the tents upside down. The rain fly and base were scored with jagged tears. It was a blow to morale that we didn’t need. We packed up our sleeping backs slowly and quietly, trying to break camp quickly to get out of the wind.
Han, having taken care of everyone but himself, bonked hard. He passed out in the shell of the tent until I forced fruit snacks and water into him. I crashed on the rocks, curled in the fetal position, both too hot and too cold, as my stomach roiled. I was reconsidering all of my life choices.
We broke camp as quickly as we could and started packing down the mountain. But I was having trouble. Overheated, dehydrated, and with a grumpy tummy, I had to stop several times. Finally Morgan and Michael volunteered to head down the mountain fast and get dinner ready. They set off as I was beset by another round of stomach troubles and had to duck behind a rock to visit the “toilet”.
It was a grind from there. We were discussing the potential of a two-headlamp day. Kirsten pulled aside and dry-heaved for a while, which finally connected the dots that between myself, mom and Kirsten we were dealing with some food poisoning. Most likely from the restaurant we’d visited the night before setting off. There were discussions of pitching camp and staying one more night if we couldn’t make it out. It was getting dire.
Finally, I couldn’t take it any more. Nauseous and cramping, I set off at breakneck speed for the trailhead. Han joined me as we walked as fast as I could manage, not stopping for food or water, just the occasional dry heave. The sunset turning the mountains red across the valley was beautiful, though I didn’t notice it. A pika munched quietly on the side of the trail, though I didn’t notice it. I just put my head down and walked.
We made it back to the trailhead at 8pm. I laid down, utterly spent, to wait for Thomas, Kirsten, and mom to arrive. Also arriving at the trailhead were the first finishers of the Badwater Ultramarathon, a race from -200ft in Badwater Basin, Death Valley across 140 miles to the Whitney portal at 8,000ft. It definitely put my pain and suffering into perspective real quick.
All in all, we had been awake and hiking for 17 hours. We drove back to the Air BnB where Morgan and Michael, with all the restaurants closed and or closing had quickly grabbed groceries and MADE DINNER. Angels, truly, heaven sent. We were able to eat some delicious pasta, decompress, go over the experience, and then crash for the night.
Final Thoughts
When asked the next morning how much fun I’d had, I’ve given my percentages as 10% Type 1 Fun, 20% Type 2 Fun, and 70% Type 3 Fun (AKA no fun at all). This summit wasn’t the awe-inducing, goal-crushing, sisterhood experience that I knew from Taiwan. Those moments are gilded in my memories. Climbing Mt. Whitney was a brutal, humbling endeavor.
However, as time has gone on, the worst of the memories have started to lose their sharpness. What remains in their place are the moments of beauty accompanied by a deep feeling of accomplishment. If asked now, I think I’d rate my fun at 20% Type 1 Fun, 65% Type 2 Fun, and 15% Type 3 Fun. More than anything else, this summit was a great reminder that I am capable of doing hard things and a reminder that I am able to push myself much further than I ever would have imagined possible.
