West Face of Mt. Whitney Photo: Cameron L. Martindell

Editor's Note: Read Part II of Cameron's climb of Mt. Whitney.

There may be two routes to approach hiking up Mount Whitney, but as far as I'm concerned, there's really only one way to go. Come from the west, my boy.

The highest peak in the lower 48 has been developed into a very straightforward hike up to the 14,496 foot summit. I say hike, not climb, in respect for those who really do climb Mount Whitney. The term 'climb' needs to be reserved for those who take the mountaineering trail up to Iceberg Lake, then proceed to place protection and belay each other to climb up hand over hand the 5.7 eastern face. It's not a hard climb, but it is a true climb, and not the hike that the masses do.

These masses pour in from all over and head up the 8.5-mile trail. Permits flapping wildly on the back of their packs in the stiff breeze give roughly 200 people a day access to the eastern approach and the summit. Some do it in a day, or 5-7 hours even. Most take a more sensible approach and hike up to one of the camps along the way, spend the night between 10,000-12,000 feet to acclimatize, then push on to the summit with a light day pack. Few depart in the wee dark hours of the early morning to make the summit for sunrise. Others depart as the sun rises, leaving their tent and sleeping bags as colorful spots on and among the light tan ground and rocks. These tents make up the tent city of High Camp, which was somewhat of an eyesore as my party hiked down this way after approaching from the pristine wilderness on the west side and spending the night on the summit.

Carolyn and I started from a parking lot just ten miles as the crow flies southeast of the popular Whitney Portal in Horseshoe Meadows. Starting at 9,500 feet we worked our way west on a trail popular with the horses across the dry and dusty flats. It made me think how normally we pull our boots from the closet and dust them off. In this case, I was dusting them on. The sparse clustering of living and dead Ponderosa Pine provided little shade, but it didn't really matter as the altitude kept the air cool and dry. The flat walking went for two miles when we hit a steady mile of switchbacks leading up to Cottonwood Pass at 11,000 feet. Heading up the switchbacks, we stayed in the protection of a moderate ravine and the trees got somewhat thicker. With the added effort of going up, the shade was most welcome.

Cottonwood Pass offered a great view of Horseshoe Meadows and the slope we had just come up. Beyond the pass lay an open meadow and more mountains beyond. Our track now turned north as we undulated along the west side of the ridge and hiked along the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT) past Chicken Spring Lake. After climbing back out of the deep Chicken Spring Lake cirque, we hovered along the 11,400 foot contour through various cirques and over a few small ridges until we finally descended into a small valley where the New Army Pass trail joined the PCT.

Night was nearly upon us and we found a nice grassy spot along the edge of a narrow meadow protected by a small grove of trees. The sun had set, but there was just enough twilight for me to drop my pack and dash off to find a good place to set a bear-bag line. When I got back, Carolyn had a nice hot cup of hot tea ready for me, and the water continued to boil to cook dinner. She had also laid out our tarp and bivy-sacks. We were all set for a great night of sleeping under the stars at 11,000 feet.

"Little did we know there was a small hut at the summit and we could have both the sunset and the sunrise..."

The tea and dinner provided a satisfying warm glow in our bellies. After brushing our teeth and hanging the bear-bag, it felt so great to finally lay down in our warm sleeping bags after the eight-mile and 3,000 vertical foot day. We could hear the cool breeze rush through the trees around us. On occasion the cool wind would dip down and nip at our faces, our only exposed bare skin.

We slept so well. With our stocking caps and sleeping bag hoods pulled over our eyes, we didn't even notice the just past full moon overhead, or the sky getting lighter from the glow of dawn. We were up and going by the time the sun crested over the ridgeline above us. Back on the trail we had to turn west again to go around Joe Devel Peak and Mount Chamberlin. The trail took us through thick woods and along some amazing mountain meadows over to Rock Creek. There is a ranger station at Rock Creek, and we wandered down the twisted trail to the small cabin, but the ranger was out on patrol. We made use of the chairs around the outside of the cabin and had a little snack next to the babbling brook while soaking up the sun sneaking past the canopy above.

Once we finally got going again, we started another climb up to Guyot Pass. The climb was much steeper than I had expected. Then I realized the contour interval on my map was 200 feet! So, we marched up to the pass and onto Guyot Flat.

Guyot Flat is a sparse and dry west facing basin. Even with Mount Guyot to the southwest, the direct exposure to the prevailing winds sucks the moisture right out of the ground and most of the few trees that remained were dead. The thick trunks of the dead Bristlecone Pine (Pinus longaeva & aristata) had been stripped of their thick protective bark The once tender interior now had a well weathered golden glow about them and contrasted against their red-brown barked living counterparts. The dead trees continue to be sculpted and polished by the wind and weather that is known to whip through the Inyo National Forest of the high Sierra. Some of them looked to me like giant squid, their exposed roots like a mass of tentacles holding the branchless and wind tapered trunk to the earth. Others were gnarled and twisted into corkscrew and various other forms from the constant winds.

Fortunately, the weather was pleasant and calm as Carolyn and I tramped along Guyot Flats. It was nearly 3pm when we dropped some elevation into the lush Crabtree Meadow and peeled off the trail along Whitney Creek. We were due for a wash, and our feet were ready for a soak in the cool water. After our rinse, we laid out in the warm afternoon sun to dry off and our bodies would shiver gently with each light breezy gust that worked its way up the valley.

Then came the discussion of our summit strategy. We were keen to get up early and catch the sunrise on the summit somehow. Our first plan was to hike up to Guitar Lake (11,400 feet) now, rest the remainder of the afternoon and evening and leave for the summit around 3am. But we were pretty tired after the 18 miles and 6,600 vertical feet we had hiked over the last two days. Another possibility that came to us was to delay for a day and just stay right here at Crabtree Meadows for the night. Then continue with the same schedule discussed earlier, resting at Guitar Lake. That made for a bit more time than we had planned, but it was what we were comfortable with. That is, until we met Max and his crew who told us about their plan to stay at Crabtree tonight then hike to the summit for a sleep! Little did we know there was a small hut at the summit and we could have both the sunset and the sunrise. Our decision was made- we decided to continue to the summit.

— Cameron L. Martindell, Livin' the Life for MountainZone.com