PART II OF III
Departing my new friends in Lone Pine I headed up the road to the Mt. Whitney Portal. The drive up provides gorgeous views during the ascent from the valley floor.
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My intent was to eat some lunch and fish the lake at the Portal which Gus explained was some great fishing. Grabbing my lunch I walked through the parking lot to what looked like it might be the direction of the lake. Over the curb and around a large rock I found it…..it was not a lake, it might meet pond criteria, but just barley. I climbed up on the rock and saw it was full of tiny obviously stocked fish. The banks were lined with fisherman (I should clarify, men fishing), likened to the ones at Bill’s store, clunking what ever they could find into the water and not understanding why the 5 fish right next to it won’t bite. I considered grabbing a fly rod and showing off a little….maybe later. After eating I decided to hike up to Lone Pine Lake which is 2.5 miles up the main Mt. Whitney trail, and thought I’d bring some fly fishing gear to get some use out of my fishing license, and to warm-up before putting on a show tonight at the ”Portal Lake”. Well thinking is as far as I got with it. So proud of packing all my gear the night before, I forgot my fly rod….crap, sh*%, %4^($. Even thinking about it now relinquishes the “strong” emotions. It was an uneventful trip to Lone Pine Lake, except my knee hurt most of the way sequestering further questions of the trip and motives.
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Hiking down I noticed the top half of a fishing pole stuck in the weeds…….jamming it in my pack and continuing I immediately had a plan of reel attachment via the rubber band I had on my wrist (“Where did this come from?”) and determined it is possible to fly fishing with a 3′ pole. I briefly ponder the strange way things work out….random fishing rod piece, rubber band….? The sense of death and/or injury started to wander away, but in no obvious hurry. I swung into the Mt. Whitney Portal Store (MWPS) to refuel on a chicken sandwich, saving the legendary burger for my return tomorrow, if I returned that is. Back at my pickup I held the fishing rod piece and contemplated its use. Not sure if I was embarrassed or tired, but I thought about it a long time. Risking laugher by the little kids and “fisherman” I rubber banded my reel to the rod piece, tied on a #12 elk, and confidently walked to the “lake.” I found a spot open enough to facilitate fly fishing, actually thinking the “mini” rod might be a good fit. I watched the others…..cast, reel, drink….cast, reel, drink, cuss…..cast, reel, drink, cuss, yell at the kids……cast, reel, drink, cuss, yell at the kids, cuss at the fish. I, at the moment am in the midst of a book revolving around fishing, and was prepared to show these hillbillies a thing or two. Craftily I cast (this took some getting used to with a three foot rod) my fly into the mouth of a small creek entering the “lake.” I felt the stares of the other fisherman, unsure if they were judging my equipment or just checking out the new guy. Ten seconds after landing the fly…..water exploded at the spot of my fly…..I fought the urge to set the hook and waited until the fish was back in the water, setting the hook and bringing him in. My first golden trout, he wasn’t big, maybe 7″. Looking up as I released him, I had everyone’s attention. I played it up, catching left and right, setting the drag low so any fight from the small fish resulted in a pulse quickening zing as line unraveled. Kids gathered and I let them touch the fish and then we’d posed as parents took pictures. Bedtime was near and I walked cockily to my pickup. I made up my bed in the backseat and settled in for some sleep. The premonitions and the realization of how I truly had no idea where I was going in the morning sank in with sleep. Most people speak of restless nights before the “big” climb, their nerves and synapse firing all night long. I was out, roused only occasionally to the sound of the early morning ascents passing by. At 3:30 my Timex Trailrunner watch alarm went off. Time to go, I laid there comfortably in my back seat thinking about the upcoming day. Pulling myself through wakeup hazy land, I thought how nice it would be to just sleep, “why do I feel the need to climb peaks continually seeking new adventures?”…..a question I have asked many times no sooner to answer it this time than any. The haze was lifting and I was starting to get a taste of the delicious juices my adrenal glad was beginning to manufacture and deliver. First thing is eat and get some water down. From the all the cycling and running of the last six months I learned how and the importance of fueling the body. I watched a few more groups beginning the trek, single headlights bobbing up the mountain. It wasn’t the mad house group of people I was expecting to see after hearing many tales of the crowds. Geared up and ready to go I stopped at the trailhead for a couple self portraits.
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As soon as I was on the trail every premonition of death/injury and doubt about the trip were immediately gone. I began on the main Mt. Whitney trail and picked up the North Fork trail after 3/4 of a mile. This is the start of the Mountaineering Route commonly abbreviated MR.
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Blindly I started up the trail which is much steeper and more aggressive than the main trail. Each sensory fully tuned as I realized nobody had been up the trail yet this morning and no headlights were tailing me. I needed to take care of myself. It was a refreshing and exciting feeling. Knowing that people are at least in the area, I tried to imagine true explorers soloing into the unknown, where there is nobody….. I soon came to a spot where the trail looked like it ended at a creek engulfed by bushes, which was right next to some steep rock. I heard of the ledges and surmised this must be them…I thought they would be on the other side of the trail for some reason. I started up the rock impressed by the steepness and unsure of the line of ascent my headlight was seeking. After 20 of 30 feet up, climbing a crack to a point where the ledge overhung…. I had thought the ledges created a path, not technical climbing. This wasn’t right, and if it was, not a good thing to do alone.
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I down climbed. I wandered back to where the trail met the bushes and creek, after pondering decided to venture through. It seemed to be a trail sometimes…..I soon grabbed a branch while scrambling up a steep watery section and felt the smoothness of a commonly used handhold and knew I was on the correct trail. I laughed thinking I already got lost just going up the main trail. Maybe a little more research should have been done. Oh well, too late now. I did find the Ledges and headed up them. The path well defined by many ascents and did not live up to the stories I’d heard…..this was in comparison to my “first” Ledges though. It was pretty straight forward though with minimal exposure and would not hesitate doing it in the dark again even with an inexperienced climber. The trail to Lower Boy Scout Lake from the Ledges was very enjoyable, my spirits were high and my knee felt good. Cresting the plateau to Lower Boy Scout Lake I turned back and took in the rising sun. A mildly euphoric experience each time, could have been the Clif Bar I was eating too. I documented and watched, mind clear, realizing a voice recorder would have been dead weight as my thoughts were fully consumed with what was ahead.
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Going past Lower Boy Scout I lost the trail and ended up with a choice to make, unaware of the true route. I likened it to John Muir’s first ascent. Option 1: I could walk all the way over to the stream on my left knowing it would be an accessible route even if it was not the trail and would lead me to Upper Boy Scout Lake. Option 2: Straight ahead, which looked like it would require climbing a crack with some vegetation, looked like a fun route and about 75% passable. Option 3: Was to my right staying high, looked like a passable route, but I couldn’t get a feeling of where it would spit me out. My contemplations resulted in Option 2, with the ability to cut over to Option 1 if necessary. Getting up closer it was as usual, steeper than expected but still ascendable and more importantly desendable. Where the vegetation ended I found another crack hidden from all previous view points. This still met my criteria but just barley. It was wet and very slippery, and lacked handholds halfway up. I was at a crucial decision point, up or down, as my hold weakened. Naturally I continued up to satisfy my curiosity, much to the approval of my adrenal gland buddy. Upon cresting I found another face hidden from below. I walked cattily up the slanted slab, nervous of my wet and slippery soles and the ever apparent cliff edges. Faced again with decisions of climbing up further, I scratched that option pretty quickly starting to think with my head again. I wandered further around the nose and found a crack which would require jumping. Another poor option. I faced the fact I would have to down climb.
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Unenthused about descending my ascent route, I noticed another crack worthy of a closer look. I sidestepped cautiously down the wet steepening slab and peered down. This was much better, dry and lots of hand/foot holds, why didn’t I come up this way. I started down pleased with my discovery despite my annoyance with the wasted time and energy. Dead ended again and I wasn’t even halfway to the top, tis’ the way of first ascents I surmised and wondered if John Muir did the same thing. The nice down climbing quickly gave way to tightly grouped bushes….this must of been why I didn’t come up this way. The bushes 5 to 8 foot tall and so dense they were impassable, but were dense enough to walk on top of. I stayed along one side of the crack face for balance and walked down the bushes, maybe they were trees, hard to tell. I laughed out loud at the unorthodox method. Not thinking ahead to how I would get off the tree tops, I found myself stopped along with the trees at a cliff edge……this was the true reason I didn’t come this way! The adventures never end I thought while determining a solution. The cliff was about 20 - 25 feet to the ground from my tree top elevation. I couldn’t climb back up because as I stepped off the tree tops, they bent back up and I didn’t want to waste anymore time. There were similar tree below. My plan of attack would be to sit and shimmy out the to edge of current tree top perch until they bowed down as far they could, dangling with my hands holding on to the tree tops I determined my drop would be 5 feet to the tree tops and maybe 10 feet to the ground. With the tree bent out, it should be far enough out to land me on the tree tops below. Nervously, I scooted out, ol’ adrenal keeping my senses and wits sharp. I reached the vertex and the edge trees started their downward parabolic movement, I rolled to my stomach to get a good hand hold. My descent ended much sooner and higher than I’d hoped. I let go of one handful of branches and gained a couple more feet. I looked down seeing trees and a lot of air. Dangling there I really wished I could get a picture of my current quandary. I decided to slip additional branch from my hold and drop from there remembering to cover my face with my arms. The branches quickly went as did my elevation and SNAP the last branches broke. I crashed into the tree tops below somehow managing to cover my face and lean back a little to let my backpack absorb some of the blow. I did a quick assessment and smiled. I fought my way from the tree top landing pad and made a beeline for the stream. Crossing the slabs next to the creek I saw someone further up. Once on the trail I found my rhythm and quickly caught up with the solo stranger. We stopped and chitchatted for awhile…..I was eager to tell my recent tale. He likened me to Bear Grylls on Man vs. Wild, a show I’d only briefly seen and thought not highly of…..did his comparison equal? Oh well, I was on a mission. I wished him well and continued up arriving shortly at Upper Boy Scout Lake to the few people camping just waking up. I saw a trail around the right side of the lake and started heading around it. About halfway around it I turned startled by a yell, looking I realized it was the guy I passed on the trail and he must be warning me I’m going the wrong way….again. I turned and trotted back. He pointed up to the left and around a nose and gave some descriptions of going past a waterfall and then up to Iceberg Lake. Direction which proved very useful. Ascending I passed a large moraine which I would have naturally thought created the dam for the Iceberg lake and would have again wasted time walking over the moraine to discover nothing.
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About halfway to Iceberg Lake my energy and motivation began to wane in a big way. The huge desolate area seemed to never end….I realized two things. I was hitting a wall and that I hadn’t ate in a couple hours. I mowed down another Clif Bar and put my head down following the discernable trail letting my mind battle the masons and the wall they were building. I’ve dealt with “The Wall” before and knew I’d climb that too. I crested the edge and found Iceberg Lake where a couple guys were rousing themselves to climb the East Buttress which they said was 5.11+. They pointed out the route which looked amazingly intimidating from our vantage. I caught a whiff their previous nights “medication” and laughed, thinking I would want to rock climb with a clear head, but they fit the bill in all accounts as veterans. Their “medication” was probably the most consistent thing in their life. Still not 100% reenergized I decided to sit for a bit and rest. Sitting down I realized the wind was howling and clouds were building. Strange I thought for an early morning. I quickly became cold and bored sitting and decided to press on after about 5 minutes. I put on my helmet and studied the route momentarily. I made out the specs of two groups already on the route 1/2 way and 3/4 of the way up to what must be the notch. They looked high enough I shouldn’t have to worry as much about rocks as I was starting much left of them.
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Heading up for the summit, ”The Wall” was a distant memory as I started picking my line through the block ledges. Ascending at a pace that was just starting to tax my lungs I made steady progress. Climbing I felt the ledges splitting around a nose. I chose to stay left in line with my route. Feeling an early ridge coming I realized I need to go right at the nose, but decided to climb to the ridge and check it out. The ridge came quickly and un expectantly as I peered down a shear face of rock. I pulled myself up to stand on the sturdy flat ridge rock and felt the veins in my legs fill with nerve juices as I peered over the edge. I hadn’t felt this feeling since I spent a summer erecting steel. The jello like, lack of muscle control as your body locks up to protect itself from further nearing danger. I learned that summer by acknowledging the danger and taking responsibility your body will release control back to you. Once I figured out it was a natural safety mechanism, I learned how to listen and use it. Gaining control of my legs again I took in the amazing view and snapped some shots which failed to expose the true ruggedness and beauty.
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I down climbed a little and found a spot to climb around the nose at a natural rock bridge. In the loose rock gully I noticed I’d gained a lot of ground on the climbers I’d seen from the bottom. I continued scrambling up staying near the solid rock edges where I could gain better footing. I reached the notch at the same time as the group 1/2 way up and noticed the other group just a little ways up the final pitch were roped up and belaying each move. Not really sure where the top was I followed them for a couple of moves up the final pitch. This was probably the most technical part of the whole trip, but offered little exposure and easy ledge to ledge climbing. I surpassed them and went up the left side of the gully as opposed to the roped up group on the right which actually looked like the best route with lots of big ledges. The left offered some challenges near the top completed in part to my height.
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Suddenly I was at the top, 9:30. I did the customary pictures and book sign in, ate a Clif Bar and growing tired of the howling wind started descending at 10:00.
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I opted for the main trail back down to see some new terrain. I was again expecting to meet an almost continual line of people from stories I’d heard of the Mt. Whitney crowds, but was pleasantly surprised to meet only a handful of groups ascending. Feeling in great spirits I encouraged the people I met giving them elevations and distances from my Timex Trail Runner, which proved to be very accurate. I was eager to get down and back, for a reason I’ll get into soon, and set a brisk pace average about 3 mph, passing many people on the descent. The trail from the summit to the 97 switchbacks offered amazing views into the vast space of the Sierras.
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Once transferring from the west side to the east side and viewing the 97 switchbacks I impressed at the trail and very glad I’d opted to go down these and not up. About halfway down I come up a gentleman in a red coat walking with legs I could tell near exhaustion. Noticing no backpack or water bottles as I passed, I stopped and could see he was struggling. I asked him if he had anyway water and he produced a single Naglene bottle which barley had a sip left. I told him to sit down while I got my water bottle out, at which he did not argue. I had half a bottle of water and was sure my Camelback was at least half full. I drained my bottle into his and could see his expression brighten. I asked where he was going and he said they had a campsite at the base of the switchbacks. Two of his friends were behind him and one was already down. I decided he was ok and would make it down safely. I told him sit and slowly drink half that water and then carefully make his way down and get some more water, even if it meant drinking water straight out of the creek. He obliged and I hesitantly left him, looking up at the bottom of the switchbacks to see him making progress down. As I said before I was eager to get back. That morning I neglected stopping at the John on my way out and forgot to bring TP. How I made these two mistakes baffles me. Well you could say the grease and egg burrito from the previous morning was making its presence known. When picking up my permit from the Ranger Station I received a plastic bag and lecture on packing it out. I did not want to substitute rocks or weeds for TP and I did not want to use the bag, nor did I want to break the rules, so I set my sights on the bottom. From the bottom of the switchbacks to Lone Pine Lake is a blur. I found my zone and covered some miles. Coming onto a familiar trail from the day before I came out of the zone and was forced to deal with my situation head on. It was 2.5 miles. I could run that in 20 minutes versus the 45 miles it could take to walk out. I deemed it a poor idea to run for fear I would blow the back out of my pants. Despite my condition I resisted the urge cut the trail at switchbacks simply because I despise other people who do it and determined this was just another good mental and physical test. Passing the North Fork trailhead we knew we were close (I’d starting referring to my issue as a being at this point) which didn’t help matters and the battle raged. I caught sight of the palace that held my throne. Sweating not from the heat, I straight lined from the trailhead unclipping buckles as I went, giving silent praise as I saw someone exit dropping my pack and the rest….well we don’t need to revisit that. Return time was 2 o’clock and I was ready for the legendary burger and beer at the Portal Store.
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