Mount Whitney - part II

The wind slamming into our tent wakes me up before the 4am alarm goes off. I stumble into the darkness, surprised to find I’m feeling great, and see clusters of headlamps already sprinkled across the upper trail. We set off on the endless switchbacks before us and exchange pleasantries with other groups we come across on the way.

We pause to take in the sunrise halfway up the switchbacks while a pal whips out a harmonica for a quick rendition of “Amazing Grace”.  Watching the pinks and yellows emerge from the blackness to the soundtrack of that unexpected tune is enough to lift your soul up through your shoulders until you’re floating. The whole
event gives us all a charge and we bound up the rest of switchbacks.

At the Trail Crest my headache comes back with a screaming vengeance and the focus becomes plodding one foot in front of the other in an effort to take my mind of the pounding. The hut on the top of Mount Whitney comes into view and seems tantalizingly close. But it’s not. It’s a slog and the clouds are rolling in and my head is throbbing and if one more person tells us ‘you’re almost there’ with a smirk I’ll harpoon them in the thigh with my trekking pole…

Finally we make it to the top and I feel a bubble of emotion well up in my throat. I was nervous about this hike, my first of significant distance with real weight on my back.  The altitude hangover did not make it any easier. I’m happy and proud of myself for making it without having to ask any of the boys to take some weight for me. I’m snapped out of my moment when a buddy slaps my back.

“Let’s get a photo by the elevation marker” He says.

I grunt in agreement and trudge to the sign to get the requisite photo. The sky looks menacing so we don’t linger. I’m happy to descend and each section of elevation loss alleviates the pressure in my temple. A hundred times I think “You couldn’t pay me to swap places with you” to passerby who gasp “How much further” at us as we make our way down.

The descent is uneventful and dominated by conversation around the various toppings we’ll have on our burgers once we get to town.  Mine will include bacon and jalapenos and be washed down with well-deserved pints of IPA. We’ll spend one more night in tents near the town of Lone Pine before making the several hour drive back north with shredded knees and happy hearts, thoughts for the next big adventure already bouncing around in our noggins.