Okay, so some of you know that I hiked up Whitney awhile ago. And some of you dont. This is a paper that I did for my eng 101 class, so that is why it is soooo long. This is the story of that.
Matthew Feiler
Ms. Snyder
English 101
September 25, 2005
Start: July 14. Mom left two days earlier for
Start out, and twenty-eight switchbacks later, there is a couple coming down; they ask us how far we are going. After we give our answer, they look at us with aghast, for they started at four, and did not make it all the way due to altitude sickness. So that put a little scare into us, but we had already read about that information, so we were as prepared as we could be. Of course, there is not really a whole lot you can do about acclimating yourself to the altitude, unless you have a few days to spend just meandering around. We came across a rather large campground, I would say a few acres in area. There were not a huge number of people there, but the signs of people who had camped there were defiantly present. Crossed a river over a bridge, we did not have to ford it, and continued on our trip. When we had passed this camping point, we probably thought that our trip was going to continue as it had previously. Obviously, we did not know the first thing about our Whitney hike.
After the camp site, there was a trail that lead to a small lake. As we followed the trail, we were not really able to look ahead, for the undergrowth at this point was well above our heads. When we started down this trail, the ascent continued on our left, and from it was a steep incline, which was increasing in length and in its angle as we continued down the trail. The trail took us between the edge of the lake and the incline, which led up to the top of the ascent. Then we found out that the trail ended at the base of a wall of stone. We had been following this, the wrong trail, for nearly fifteen minutes. We made the decision to head up the incline on our left, instead of backtracking, which would probably have been the smarter choice. So, we started the actual hiking part of our trek where we had to climb off the trail. It started out as an easy enough climb. Big stones, with a surface potted enough for easy hand holds. That lasted all of two minutes. Then it nearly became a cliff. We did not really take the time to measure, but I guessed it to be 60 degrees steep or so. While I was climbing and thinking, it did not seem to be too bad of an incline. But then I would get a grip, and look down and behind me. Right when I did, I wish I hadnt. I was able to see Luke and Dad below me still climbing. It seemed as if I was back home on the second floor, looking down at them over the railing. It just seemed as if I could drop a rock and hit them, without hitting the wall. I thought that I could actually die here if I did not stay focused. That thought alone put me in the right frame of mind to continue onward. Needless to say, none of us ended up falling and killing ourselves.
Once we reached the top, we took a breather, and looked back on where we were supposed to have gone. It looked spectacular, with majestic pines arcing far overhead, and a view of the valley from whence we had started. Once we looked back, we realized that we had ended up saving time on our accidental shortcut. We continued up the mountain. A short time later, we were able to get to a small peak of not only our cliff, but on the other side of the proper path. Invisible to us at the time was another lake, this one far more pristine in nature, with sparkling blue waters, and lush, tall trees surrounding it from all sides. Nearly circular in shape, with its blue hues growing deeper as your gaze approached the center, it was just a beautiful site to behold. While we took the sight in, we knew we had to keep pressing onward.
About a month before we took the hike, we looked up what people had to say about the climbing of Whitney. Accounts varied, but one thing everybody had in common was the beauty of the hike itself. People who had successfully made the trip said that the easiest way to make it was to bring adequate supplies for a few days hike, staying at two places designated specifically for that purpose. There was no way we were going to take a few days to climb some mountain. Then there were the people who said that you could make the entire trip in the amount of sunshine of one day. That was more our plan. Again, accounts varied, but times ranged from ten to sixteen hours in length. People had said that this was an extremely challenging hike, and only those who were in above average shape should do this.
Onward we went. While nothing out of the ordinary happened for the next few hours, the hike itself was still a great thing to partake. Although not out of the ordinary, we did pass the tree line during this point. So the only plant that we were to encounter was low shrubs and grass-like vegetation.
We came upon a running brook, no more than two feet across in width, but it was also near two feet deep, which I though somewhat surprising. Now, if we were experienced wilderness hikers and experts, we would have brought the iodine tablets, or whatever they tell you to put in the water to purify it. We were not experienced wilderness hikers and experts. Yes, we knew the risks of deer-fever and the like, but we tried to reason them. We knew that we were going to be hiking very high, where most life forms did not make a regular existence. And we knew we were going to be among snow that does not melt throughout the year. So knowing those facts, and paired with some other form of not quite right logic, we decided that we were going to drink the water straight from the babbling brook. And were we glad for it. All I am going to say is this. The bottled water you buy from the stores, claiming to be from the mountain springs, at no point, would be able to compare with this water. This water was straight from melted snow, that has remained untainted from any outside source. Running along a bed of fine grain sand, visible from the surface, this is quite possibly the most refreshing and purest water I have ever tasted. After four hours on the trail, we had exhausted our water supply. So we decided to refill our two liter camel-backs. It is surprising to think that added weight on your back would be a welcome feeling.
Onward we trekked. At this point, although we did not know it, we had traveled about two-thirds of the way up the mountain. In four hours, we were more than half-way to the top, but we had experienced only a few of the choice jewels Whitney had to offer.
As we traveled, we met up with our first victim of altitude sickness. Although his symptoms were relatively minor, a headache and shortness of breath, his age was what really caught us off guard. While not a small child for his age, his willingness to make an attempt at completing a feat that few would ever want to do made me really toss aside any judgment of age or size. A ten year old making a climb this far is admirable in my eyes. After regretting his need to go back down, we continued upward. Now is when we encountered one of our highlights of the trek. After climbing upwards and around a bend, there was a small straightaway with a bend at the end. Once we cleared the bend, I was taken back.
Here was a small valley, a picture taken directly from an artists conception of a winter transforming to spring. Here was a field with green grass as a backdrop, and purple flowers, bejeweling the landscape with a timeless grace. Over 100 feet in length and forty wide, with a stream running through the middle, it was a small paradise in the midst of our journey. Towards the end of the valley, there was a snow bank, reaching up and back as it came down into the valley, yet yielding to the sun as it melted and gave forth water. While preparing to leave, we spotted a small animal, and although we were able to get closer, we could not confidently figure out what it was. So on we went.
When time had passed, we approached a huge face of the mountain, easily fifteen hundred feet high. At the base of this wall, there was a lake, easily the largest we had seen on the mountain. This lake was also the base site of another campground, the last of the two on the mountain. This one, while smaller, was obviously more popular then the first one.
Once we were closer to the base of the seemingly impassable cliff, we were able to make out small etchings on the face of it. These were the switchbacks, ones of the like that I had never had the chance or desire to surpass. At switchback ninety-nine, I knew that I had to really take my time and cautions while making my way up these. While easily tiring, once you made it one third the way through or so, your legs quickly lost their fatigue and you just had to make up your mind to be done with them. Needless to say, our legs felt as if they were going to give out from under us once we had reached the top, and we made our way quite slowly to our next marker. At the end of the switchbacks, the wall was still going upwards, but the trail went off to the right. As we traveled along the top, we were able to get our first real look at the valley from where we had come. What a site it was.
With the surrounding mountains forming a V, our view was framed. Along the center was a winding body of water, making its way from the base of the mountain. But the best sight was just ahead. After we had passed from the cliff with the switchbacks on it, there was a saddle, where two inclines had met in the mountain. We passed through this, on the other side of the mountain where we were finally able to see the other side. And this side was by far the most desirable view. This was the side that had
This leg of the hike was probably easier than the rest of the hike, as far as the difficultly of the terrain. What made it so hard was the fact that the path was extremely narrow, often with nothing separating you from the side of the mountain, and the side of the mountain you did not want to approach. For more than half of the trail, you were less than two feet away from a sheer drop down three hundred feet of rocky precipices. And for that reason alone, you had to keep your eyes on the trail directly in front of you. If you did not, then you would probably have something bad happen to you. At one point on the trail, there was a ten foot length where you had the drop on both sides of you. This was undoubtedly the scariest part of the climb. The trail crossing it was no more than three and a half feet wide. I wanted to gather myself before I went across, so I stopped and caught my breath. I was almost scared that I did. My view had been accustomed to looking directly down in front of me while walking. When I looked up and around, everything seemed as if it was making its way towards me. I had to sit, as I did not really feel like falling off of the trail. We passed that point with nothing bad happening.
Ever since we passed the switchbacks, the altitude and lack of proper oxygen started to get to us. It affected my dad most of all. Once he was getting closer to the end he was having to rest every twenty seconds or so. Luke and I were not as bad. Although I did not have to rest as much as Luke, we still could only last a few minutes without resting. That is weird also, because I was the one most out of shape, but the one that required the least amount of rest.
Once I approached the top, my head was throbbing. Every time my heart beat, I would feel it ten times as strong in my head. As I got closer and closer I had to rest more often. But I would not let that overcome me. I knew I was less than five minutes from the peak. I had to keep on going. When I reached the top, I knew it had all been worth it. Pictures do not do the view justice. The best way I think I could describe it was the scene from Return of the King. When the camera has a view from the top of the
After we made our way back to the top of the switchbacks, we basically ran the entirety of the path back to the car. I think we took one break back at the meadow, but we knew we were pressed for time. And we were. Once we got to the point where we scaled the cliff face, we were on the correct trail, which was really good for the running part. It was a gentle descent, and was composed of nice iron-rich dirt. When we got to the beginning set of switchbacks, we could not see twenty feet ahead of us. We made it to the base just in time. At that point, we had to look indirectly at our intended object just to get a clear view of it. And when we got to the parking lot, we saw three guys going up the trail with their lit helmets, and I just thought good luck. We got in the car and tried to stay awake for dads sake. If we were tired, then imagine a forty-seven year old making the climb, and not being able to sleep immediately afterwards.
When we got back to town I was able to take off my shoes and take a shower. But before I hobbled to bed I took a look at my feet, and wished I hadnt. Three blisters on the left foot and four on the right. And I was wondering why I felt bad running down the mountain. This was a great experience, and since I have been recalling it while writing it down, I am thinking it would not be so bad to do again.
