I had my sights set on Mount Whitney last summer when I learned that it was the highest point in the contiguous United States (yes, I am a sucker for superlatives). That hard-fought passes were required for the trail just made it more enticing. So this summer, passes were obtained, bags were packed and hiking boots were rediscovered. We embarked on the 9 hour drive to Lone Pine, California, the gateway to Mt. Whitney. We checked into the inn and made small talk with the receptionist. She pointed behind us saying “There’s Whitney sticking out near the needles”. I shuddered, more out of anticipation than fear. After the obligatory carb-loading for dinner, we retired early. I rarely sleep before big hikes, and that night was no exception. When the alarm rang at 1am, I got up with a vague feeling that I had never closed my eyes. How could we sleep anyway, when the mountains beckoned with persistence? The earlier we started out, the better our chances of hitting the summit and of avoiding any thunderstorms that may choose to make an appearance in the afternoon.The only time I am glad for company in the mountains is when I am hiking in the dark with headlamps. Shadows dance around and every twig under my feet sounds like an approaching mountain lion. Even with company, I cast periodic glances behind me, just in case. But all the fear melted away with one look at the night sky. I drank in the darkness of the sky speckled with its canopy of stars. I was mesmerized by the sheer cheeriness of their incessant twinkling. But we needed to plod on, and I tore my eyes away from the sky to return to the trail. Multiple stream crossings and reluctant trail map referrals later, we arrived at Outpost Camp, 3.8 miles into the 11 mile trail to the summit. A mile and a half more and we were at Trailside Meadow. Everyone has a vision of paradise, and mine definitely has a meadow in it. Trailside Meadow even has a stream running through it, carrying the melting snow to the valley. The sun rose behind us and gradually drenched the mountains in her yellow haze. After a quick snack, we continued up and soon reached Trail Camp, where the marmots give us a friendly reception.
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Consultation Lake from Trail Crest
The 97 switchbacks from Trail Camp to Trail Crest constitute the most infamous portion of the hike. As I sat by a brook, eating my energy gel and refilling our water supply, I looked up and saw the many snow fields that were to come. There was more snow that we had expected, and we set out with a mixture of brash confidence and apprehension. I did not bother to count the number of switchbacks. I found the switchbacks navigable, and I was beginning to wonder what all the hype about the switchbacks had been. Until we came to about 500 yards of snow on the trail. Unlike the previous snow patches, where we used footholds from those that preceded us, this snow patch seemed formidable and uninviting. With no ice axes for grip, there was no way we were going to cross over on the snow. We spotted a girl and her father ahead of us; they had left the trail and scrambled on the rocks to the left and essentially climbed over the trail to avoid the patch. Scouting around the right was not an option because, well, it was a sheer drop. So we left the trail and took off on all fours to the left, hugging the mountain as much as we could, and not daring to look away at the chasm. As the others picked the right boulders to step on, I stood alone on a rock, with an aerial view of the melting Consultation Lake on one side and a wall of rocks which hid a route back to the trail on the other. I stopped to take in the moment, but turned away to the trail before my awe turned to fear! We made it back to the trail and found ourselves at Trail Crest; three-fourths of the way there.
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Making our way to the switchbacks
This last portion of the trail feels the longest. By this time, conversation ceased except for the perfunctory “Are you doing ok?” I remember passing through one “window” - a narrow strip of trail with sheer drop-offs on either side. The mind didn’t really register much and I remember very little of this portion of the trail. After we slipped and slid through another snow patch, we came to the home stretch. This portion is painstaking because you know you are really close, but you cannot see the peak. It is a blind climb until you suddenly see people standing near the shed.
The top is curiously flat; it’s a plateau really, not a peak. But I did not care, we were at the summit! It was cold and windy. My head felt light; I was overwhelmed by the spectacular sight. The mountains majestically staked claim to the skies. I could not take my eyes off the mountains, but I did not have to, they surrounded me. And then, just like that, I felt like an intruder. Was I supposed to be standing here, with my camera and fancy hiking boots? Would this glorious sight be better unexplored? Just by virtue of being there, had I taken away some of its pristine and virgin beauty? Feeling an odd sense of guilt mixed with euphoria, I turned away. We took the victory photos and began the descent. But before I left the peak, I turned to take one last look. I remembered how perfect the weather had been, and how every single thing had gone according to plan. I thanked my stars that nature had not turned against us during our ascent. Maybe we had not disturbed the peace after all. I turned away, sated. But, as they say in mountain lore, the peak is only half the journey.
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The view from the top
Photos Courtesy: AR
Also by Hafta
- A walk in the clouds - February 26th, 2007
- Off the beaten path in Toledo - February 26th, 2007
- Lazy French Holiday - January 22nd, 2007
- Mumbai Votes - January 15th, 2007
- Full House Mumbai - December 4th, 2006