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

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

The sunset at Crabtree Meadows was spectacular. As the sun got lower and closer to sneaking behind the Red Spur ridgeline, the long red beams cast a wonderful glow on Mount Chamberlain looming above us to the southeast. There was a forest fire way to the south and the smoke muted some of the red glow, but the next morning the sky had cleared and the alpenglow on Red Spur was stunning. Sunbeams started to pour in from between Mount Chamberlain and Mount Hitchcock as we continued up Whitney Creek and the lush riparian meadows it supports. The tree stands were thick along the edges of the meadows and we were now on our final approach into the western basin below Mount Whitney.

As the trees started to thin out, the majestic peaks of Young, Hale, Russell, and Hitchcock started to enclose around us. By the time we got to Timberline Lake, Mount Whitney had stepped out in full view. Although the true summit couldn't be seen from this approach, it was very encouraging to have our goal laid our before us.

Slowly, the grass carpet of the meadows started to thin out into tufts, and the long early morning beams of sunlight dappled across the patchy grass and made the water in the brook beside us sparkle. Just as the trees gave way to the patchy meadows with our constant altitude gain, so the thin meadows finally gave away to the barren lands of jagged fields of granite rocks. As we continued to move west, the sun was to our right and would glisten on the smooth surface of the rocks.

We stopped at Guitar Lake to stock up on water. This was our last water source for the next 24 hours. We still had 2,000 vertical feet to gain to the summit, two water intense meals to cook and another 2,000 vertical feet to come down the next morning. In all we had about a gallon of water each. It proved to be plenty. We even had some to share with other hikers who had very little left by the time they reached the summit.

Beyond Guitar Lake, the serious ups started. We turned south and were now marching up the switchbacks on the west side of Mount Whitney. The immense Mount Hitchcock and its daunting ragged ridgeline, jagged flying buttresses, deep crags, and huge talus cone piles paralleled along side to us. At one point we could hear a rock slide, but couldn't see it hidden in one of the deep grooves along Hitchcock's broad side.

Come lunch-time, we stopped where there was a little jog in the trail, and provide a bit more width than the rest of the narrow catwalk-esque track. The wind was cold and constant. Our synthetic t-shirts were good while we were climbing, but the body demanded more layers once we stopped and wolfed down a few PB&J tortillas.

The next segment put us at Trail Crest Junction at 13,500 feet. It was like a busy train station. Most of the people had come up the popular approach from the east and were on their way back down from the summit. There was one other party who had come up the western side as we had. And bless one of them, Greg, who had a spare set of 3-volt batteries because the set in my SLR camera had decided to die the evening of the first day.

From the junction we still had 1.6 miles to go and just over a thousand feet to gain. The trail had few switchbacks and the grade was moderate as we hiked north just below the western ridge leading up to Mount Whitney. We passed Muir Peak, and there were a few places where the ridge dipped down to the trail giving us our first glimpses of the eastern valleys and peaks. We finally crested onto the summit around three o'clock. The sun was bright and the wind was calm. High patchy clouds and active winds aloft would put eastward drifting blobs of shadows on the ragged terrain all around us. The contrast between light and dark only accentuated the dramatic ups and downs. From the top, Lone Pine peak is just to the south, Iceberg Lake straight down off the eastern face (remember the 5.7 climb), and looking back west we can now see over the once looming, now dwarfed, Mount Hitchcock.

As the day moved on, and the sun started to get close to the horizon, the slow flow of visitors to the summit continued to diminish. We again watched the sun set behind Red Spur, and now that we were higher, the more distant and bigger Kaweah Peaks Ridge silhouetted against the horizon. The wind started to pick up and we retreated into the small hut to cook dinner. As we were finishing up, we were surprised to see three more hikers come up, bounding over the rocks in the early dusk light. At first we were a bit concerned, as the hut would just fit the five of us. Then we noticed they didn't have any packs with them as they hit the summit and turned to head back down. We didn't envy the dark descent ahead of them.

"As the orange and red glow of the set sun faded and gave way to darkness, the pristine view of the stars started to take over. We hunkered down in our little hut for the night and the thin air of 14,500 feet made for a long night for all of us."

As the orange and red glow of the set sun faded and gave way to darkness, the pristine view of the stars started to take over. We hunkered down in our little hut for the night and the thin air of 14,500 feet made for a long night for all of us. I felt tired, but after lying there for two hours, I couldn't fall asleep. I was using my camp chair as a sleeping pad and finally opted to clip it back into a chair and try to sit up for a while. Oh, what I would have given for a book! Always take a book. The change in position was a welcome adjustment but of little help. The next morning I found out I wasn't the only one having trouble. We all tossed and turned throughout the night, jockeying for position as the five of us abreast barely fit between the narrow walls of the small hut.

Around 10:30 that evening, the door of the hut suddenly swung open. I had lain back down by then and only noticed the flash of a headlamp as whoever poked in surveyed the full hut. The door shut again and my oxygen deprived, half-asleep brain wondered what the heck that was and wrote it off as one of the five of us who had gotten up to go to the bathroom. A few hours later, our visitor, Nick, returns and under his breath says that he has to squeeze in. Carolyn and I sit up and welcome him in. She tells him he should have come on in the first time. Nick continues to comment that he hiked 40 miles to get here and only has a 40 degree bag!

The rest of the night faded away to a fitful half-sleep for me. At one point I did have to get up for a visit with mother nature. I reached up and pressed against the ceiling to gingerly balance myself past the tightly packed semi-sleeping bodies. When I made it to the door I stepped out to the blinding glare of the moon. The light granite of the summit magnified the reflection of the four-day waning gibbous moon. The wind was still howling from the west, and the stars were bright and clear regardless as the moon glare infested the sky making it more grey than black. I knew it was pretty late, as Orion (a winter constellation) was high in the sky. But my bare-chested, naked feet, exposed body demanded focus be kept on the task at hand.

It wasn't hard to re-warm my sleeping bag and I zoned out for the most part until morning. Carolyn had set her alarm for 5am so we could be up to see the sunrise. She started rummaging around and realized it was 6am! We must have all been out when it went off. We scrambled and got up and out to the still windy summit and were just half an hour ahead of the sun peaking up from the horizon. The sunrise seemed to take much longer than the sunset, but it was worth the wait, along with the three or four folks who hiked up from High Camp early that morning.

After we had our fill of the sunrise and cold wind, we mustered back in the hut to start boiling tea and to get some breakfast. Some of the morning hikers joined us and we slowly packed our gear and started to head down. It was pretty easy going and we had to stay pretty well bundled up until we crested over the ridge at Trail Crest to the east side where we got out of the wind and into the morning sun. I was just glad I was going down and not among the nearly 100 people slogging up the estimated 96 switchbacks. As we got closer to and beyond High Camp, we started seeing the trailside lost and found. There was a key on a chain, a pair of shorts, a few sets of insoles, and a rag (or something?) on a rock along the creek.

The whole seven and some odd miles down from Trail Crest to Whitney Portal just felt over-populated and again the thought of hiking against the flow was one I appreciated as I thought back on our four-day backcountry approach to the highest peak in the lower 48. We finally meandered our way down the last set of switchbacks and into the Whitney Portal Shop where the rumor of a great burger awaited us.

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