State Of The Creation

Archive for the ‘Life Lessons’ Category

Continued from prior post…

I was arriving at the summit at rush hour.  Whether you are doing Whitney as an extreme day hike or as part of a three day backpacking trip, the standard itinerary would have you on the summit around lunch-time—or very shortly thereafter.  This puts you back at your campsite just before dinner time or most of the way down the mountain trail to your car by the time the sun sets.  When we reached the summit of Half Dome in Yosemite National Park the year before, we had the place to ourselves.  We were quite literally the only people on the summit of this iconic peak.  But, on that trip, we had camped quite close to the summit and were up there at dinner time—when everyone else would be trying to beat the sunset back to the valley floor below us.

Regardless of all the people at the top of Mount Whitney, it was still great to reach our goal and I did get my second wind up there.  My hiking companion, who had taken off for the summit on pure adrenalin more than an hour prior, was resting comfortably in the sun, catching a little nap.  He had reached his goal on his third attempt.  He was understandably content in the moment and proud of the accomplishment.  As for me, my body was glad to be at a point where I would actually let it rest for a while and recuperate a bit.  I surveyed the scene, drank some water, and ate my lunch.  The third member of our party arrived a while later and we set about taking the obligatory pictures—individual and group shots on the summit. We all signed the log maintained by the National Park Service to document who reaches the summit each day, checked-out the primitive emergency shelter on the summit, and snapped quite a few other pictures.

On the last two of our training hikes for this big adventure, I had experienced significant problems with my knees on the steep downhill portions of the hikes.  This is the first time I had ever had any real trouble hiking.  In fact, the first time this happened, it actually took several weeks for my knees to heal from the damage that was done.  Unfortunately, I redid all the damage on the very next high-altitude training hike.  On both occasions, I slowed so much that I was the last of our group back to the trailhead.  The other guys were waiting on me when I got there.  In the intervening weeks, I received quite a few suggestions on what to do about this new challenge that was presumably brought on by the fact I was now in my 40’s and subjecting my body to some significant stresses and strains on steep downhill hikes with a pack.

I implemented all the suggestions, but was still a bit apprehensive about the hike back to camp down the mountain.  I knew from our injured hiker experience the prior night, there were no good alternatives for help on this trail if I started experiencing major issues.  Hopefully, the suggestions were going to help.  I also asked for plenty of prayer on this issue back at church.  But my concerns and wanting to be prudent caused me not to linger too long on the summit.  While I enjoyed the accomplishment and the view and got to spend enough time to see everything up there, I was also the first in our group to start back down the mountain.  I wanted that head start in case I had issues again on the downhill portion and I did not want to feel rushed if I did get into such a situation.  This also put me ahead of the crowd on the trail as everyone else was enjoying a little down-time on the summit.

To be continued…

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The final half mile or so of the trail to the summit of Mount Whitney is just the process of making your way through a series of switchbacks and twists and turns up the western side of the mountain.  You cannot even see the emergency shelter shack erected more than 100 years ago by the Smithsonian Institution at the summit until you are only a couple of hundred feet from it.  Therefore, you do not see the summit—the goal you have been striving for—until you are almost on top of it.

If the first day was any indication, I was going to get a second wind once I reached it.  But in the final half hour of hiking to the summit, my body was telling me to just give up while my mind would not let me even consider it.  This is the part of hiking that is more mental than physical.  I had not trained and come all this way to turn back when I knew I was less than a mile from the summit.  I was also being careful to learn from our friend who had been taken off the mountain by helicopter just hours earlier.  I was stopping to drink water quite often, was eating snacks along the trail, and was trying to regulate my breathing to do the best I could to get oxygen into by bloodstream and establish a reasonable rhythm of stepping.  I was also keeping tabs on my heart rate.  The high altitude was having an impact.

The trail was relatively quiet at this point.  Although there was an occasional person I would pass going one direction or the other, it was so peaceful to be on long stretches of trail with no other human sound around and just an amazing and breathtaking vista of the eastern edge of Sequoia National Park—the area of the park that is almost pure wilderness and includes the John Muir Trail that comes from Yosemite National Park to the north.  We were a full day’s hike from the nearest paved road and even further from any real civilization.  I love the peacefulness of such settings and the sense of accomplishment in getting there.

As the trail crested again at the summit, it was quite a contrast.  It looked like a tour bus had just dropped off a load of tourists–complete with sack lunches and their cameras.  There appeared to be about 40 people covering the summit snapping pictures of one another at the edge, eating, signing the National Park Service Log to document that they had reached the highest point in the continental United States.  It looked a little like I had just walked into a theme park instead of reaching a difficult to get to spot in the wilderness.  This was not what I had expected.  But, when I thought about it, I probably should have.

To be continued…

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From the heights of Trail Crest, just above the 97 Switchbacks, we actually had to descend for a while on the other side of the mountain before the trail headed up again to approach the summit.  It was a little discouraging to know we were losing ground on the height of the summit as we started picking our way along the narrow trail cut in the side of the mountains that towered over the eastern edge of Sequoia National Park.  From time to time, we could see both east and west as the trail became a short bridge between peaks with nearly sheer drops on either side of us.  At one point, the trail was almost completely washed out and we had to carefully step over a gap with nothing but air below us.  But we were now so close we could start to anticipate the summit.

It was an odd combination of adrenalin and physical exhaustion.  I felt quite fatigued physically, yet there was some energy source propelling me on to the summit.  One of the guys I was hiking with took a spill on the trail just ahead of me and snapped one of his metal hiking sticks off mid-staff on the way down.  Luckily, this was at a point on the trail where there was plenty of trail to catch him, but it was a good reminder of the level of physical exhaustion we were working under.  We still needed to be careful on this side of the mountain.

This is not that different than the lesson we took away from the hiker we helped get off the mountain the prior night.  He was a young man who was part of a jogging club, in good physical condition, who had specifically trained at high altitude for his ascent of Mount Whitney.  But he ignored some symptoms when they started presenting themselves and quickly wound up in a life-threatening situation, depending on others for a chance at survival.  This was a sobering reminder for our hiking party – three guys in their 40’s who did three training hikes to get ready for Mount Whitney.  Although this endeavor was not so extreme we needed special mountain climbing gear or training, it was still serious business.  If we were not careful and prudent, we could wind-up being pulled from the mountain in a helicopter with serious health issues—or worse.  It was a good reminder for us as we were on the highest part of the mountain picking our way to the summit of the highest point in the continental United States.  But then again, earlier this year, a 7 year old did it in one day—another check on our perspective.

To be continued…

Continued From Prior Post…

Even going up in late September, there was still plenty of ice and snow on certain sections of the trail.  It was easy to see why they installed steel cables to hold on to on one section of the trail that is in shade almost all day long.  I stopped for a while to watch the CHP helicopter fly in and pick-up the sick hiker back at Trail Camp immediately below us on the trail.  You would think it is no big deal to fly a helicopter in to pick-up a sick hiker.  But the pilot appeared to have some difficulty navigating the wind currents and natural obstacles as he was coming in for a landing on a small patch of rock near the lake.  He circled quite a few times and was quite cautious in making his approach to this little spot tucked in between a number of high mountain peaks—including the highest one in the continental United States.

We made Trail Crest in reasonably good time and encountered a party.  Quite a few different groups were stopped at this point—resting, drinking, grabbing a bite to eat from their food supplies, snapping pictures in precarious locations, etc.  We did the same.  Trail Crest is a narrow spot on the trail that passes through a saddle in the mountain range with large drop-offs on each side of the trail.  It is also where the eastern border to Sequoia National Park crosses the trail.  Now, as we passed to the other side of the mountains we camped under the prior night, we could look down into the National Park for the first time and see the John Muir Trail make its way through the Park and up to this spot.  Instead of following that path, though, we were going to hike along the back edge of these enormous mountains and gradually pick our way along the trail to the summit of Mount Whitney—now only a little more than 2 miles away.

It was about this time that we lost one of our group.  As you may recall from an earlier post in this series, one of the guys I was hiking with had attempted to reach the summit of Whitney before, but was turned back due to circumstances beyond his control.  Reaching the summit was quite literally on his bucket list.  And a storm was due to blow through camp the next day, making another summit attempt much more difficult or impossible.  So, now that we were so close to our goal and circumstances seemed ideal, my friend sheepishly asked if we would mind him hiking on ahead of us—that we could catch-up with him at the summit.  Of course, we said that was fine and that was the last we saw of him until the summit.  A small grin emerged on his face as he took-off on pure adrenalin and we never saw him ahead of us on the trail until we reached the top.

To be continued…

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As luck would have it the next morning, day-hikers were the alarm clock for everyone.  As they start coming through Trail Camp just before sunrise on their way to the summit, they cannot seem to help but let out shouts to the rest of their group that they have reached the base of the 97 switchbacks, or that they can now see the summit they are hiking to, or that everyone should stop to filter some water out of the lake.  While I can appreciate their enthusiasm, they seem completely oblivious to the fact there are many of us just off the path still trying to sleep in our tents before we start our attack on the summit that day.  Or that we did not get the rest we wanted the prior evening due to an injured hiker stuck up higher on the mountain.

Before long, it seems like everyone in Trail Camp is stirring.  Most are cooking breakfast and are preparing to hike to the summit of Mount Whitney.  The lone Ranger on the mountain has emerged again and is assessing our ill hiker.  Apparently, the day-hiker is still struggling.  At some point during the night, where it got down into the 30’s with wind, it made sense to him to strip all of his clothing off and sleep on the floor of the tent he had been provided, with only a sleeping bag partially draped over him.  He also still could not answer certain basic questions about himself.

The Ranger was using his radio to make arrangements to have the nearest helicopter, which was owned and operated by the California Highway Patrol, set-down on a small flat pad next to the lake that runs along the side of Trail Camp.  The ill day-hiker was in no condition to hike down the mountain to secure needed medical attention.

Trail Camp slowly emptied out as all of our fellow mountaineers left their campsites with day-packs on their backs to reach the summit.  We actually wound-up being one of the last groups to leave the camp that morning, but that also gave us a nice clear trail to navigate without needing to pass or be passed by other hikers on the narrow path.  So we started up the 97 switchbacks to reach Trail Crest—the next major trail junction and landmark on our journey.

To be continued…

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With no helicopter coming in or gear available, the Ranger told us the day-hiker, suffering from H.A.C.E., was just going to have to ride out the night at Trail Camp.  Admittedly, while he was still weak, disoriented, and somewhat incoherent, the hiker no longer looked to be as close to collapse as he was higher up on the mountain.  He was not out of danger, but riding out the night on the mountain did not seem like a death sentence, at least not to me.

The Ranger brought up an extra sleeping bag from a stash further down the mountain and one of the guys helping had volunteered his tent.  They continued to work on fluids and nutrition while everything was put in place.  The Ranger and the day-hiker’s two friends would hike part-way down the mountain to a crude shelter and the rest of us would be in Trail Camp for the remainder of the night.

I slept fairly soundly the rest of the night—probably due to the major interruption of heading up the mountain in the middle of the night to try and help the sick hiker.  Occasionally, the wind would blow through camp and make it sound like someone was walking right by my tent in the middle of the night.  That took a little to get used to.  When I got up in the middle of the night to take care of a bodily function, I also enjoyed the unbelievable view of the stars you get from high altitudes in remote locations.  It is almost as if you can touch them.  I love that!

And, as far as I knew, our injured day-hiker was resting comfortably a few tents away from me.

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Upon arriving at the scene, it did not look good.  One of the guys, who went up to help, had put his jacket on the struggling hiker to try and keep him warm.  They were also trying to get fluids into him, and give him bites of an energy bar, all while also trying to move him down the trail.  The trail is so narrow, at this point, we had to move single file.  One good Samaritan was in front, trying to hold the guy up by his arms and keep him from falling forward, while the other guy was in back, trying to hold him up by his waste and not let him tip backwards.

Every step required huge effort and, periodically, our distressed hiker would just collapse in a heap on the trail, despite the efforts of these two men.  His motor skills were so diminished, and he was so weak, that every step forward was difficult, but it had to be done.  He was too heavy to be carried and the trail too treacherous to even attempt it without special equipment, which was not immediately available.  His mental capacity and ability to communicate was also severely diminished.  It took a lot of focused attention just to keep him from lapsing into unconsciousness, which we think he did from time to time for short periods.

I could now see more clearly the urgency of the situation.  I became the gear carrier and an additional light on the trail while my friend, the ER Nurse, stepped in to relieve the guy who had been helping at the back of the procession, who then quickly went back down the mountain to determine the status of alerting the authorities to the emergency. We continued to struggle to get this largely incoherent and nearly unconscious man down the trail of switchbacks to Trail Camp.  The hope was that a helicopter would come and pick him up to take him to the nearest hospital for needed treatment.  Alternatively, we hoped the Ranger had been located and he had the necessary equipment (and perhaps personnel) to allow carrying the sick man down to Whitney Portal on the trail.

It was slow going, but we finally got to Trail Camp, which is situated at about 12,000 feet—not an ideal altitude for someone suffering from H.A.C.E.  The Ranger had not yet been located.  Some of the guys had been able to get word out that there was a hiker in trouble on the mountain, but had not received any confirmation on what the authorities were going to do.  As the options were being considered, the only Ranger on the mountain finally arrived.  He was quick to indicate that a helicopter was not coming in at night and the only real choice was to try and ride out the night at Trail Camp.

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Their day-hiking friend actually started exhibiting signs of altitude sickness before lunch on the mountain just above our campsite.  They decided to push on, though.  To make matters worse, they said they were having to remind him to drink water along the way and had run out of food much earlier in the day.  They made the summit, but by the time they made it back to Trail Crest where the John Muir Trail comes over the mountain from Sequoia National Park, their friend was not doing well at all and sat down to rest.

Instead of getting some renewed energy with the rest, his condition continued to deteriorate.  It got to the point where he did not know his name or where he was from or what he did for a living and was on the verge of collapsing.  The first two guys who sprinted up the mountain to help in the dark were experienced mountaineers.  These guys recounted experiences climbing in Nepal and on other much higher peaks.  They quickly relayed down that the hiker in trouble had High Altitude Cerebral Edema (H.A.C.E.) and wanted that information relayed to the Ranger and to any reachable emergency personnel.

H.A.C.E. is a potentially fatal medical condition that can happen when climbing at high altitudes—especially if the symptoms are not quickly spotted and mitigating measures put in place.  I was vaguely familiar with it from documentaries I had watched on mountain climbing and from some basic first aid research I had done for the trip.  My friend, the ER Nurse, was familiar enough with it to know it was life threatening and we had to get this guy to lower altitude and take some other steps or he would die.

We were heading up the mountain with a splint and basic first aid supplies – none of which would be helpful in the case of a hiker with H.A.C.E.  So, we quickly ran back to our campsite and regrouped.  We dropped off the useless first aid gear.  We also prepared ourselves for a worst case possibility of needing to help this guy all the way back down the mountain to Whitney Portal through the cold of the night.  We grabbed more layers of clothing, gloves, water, and a few energy bars and hoped for the best.  If we spent the night helping get this guy off the mountain, we would also likely need to adjust our plans to attack the Mount Whitney summit the next day.

Once we were regrouped, we headed up the trail to see what we would find and how we could help.  Others in camp were busy trying to get messages out to the authorities and determine where the nearest ranger would likely be.

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It was my first night camping on Mount Whitney.  We had successfully beat the sunset to Trail Camp and would be making our attempt to reach the summit the next day by hiking with just day packs from our camp to the summit and back.  I had drifted off into a peaceful sleep in my tent when I was startled awake by shouting voices.  Within a few seconds, I could tell the voices were coming from high on the mountain looming over our campsite.

These were shouts of distress—calls for help.  They were yelling for someone to go and get the ranger (wherever he was) for a hiker on the trail who needed help.  Immediately, there was stirring in Trail Camp as people tried to decide on the best course of action.  I was hiking with an Emergency Room Nurse so he and I decided to head up the trail with some first aid supplies to see if we could help.

We were only a hundred yards or so from camp when we met two guys coming down the trail.  They turned out to be the injured hiker’s friends who came down the mountain looking for more help as soon as the first two guys from our camp reached them to lend a hand.  They were exhausted and had been trying to get their friend down off the highest point of the mountain for half the day now and things had been getting worse all afternoon.

These guys were day hikers from southern California.  They were part of a running club who had done some special altitude training, much like we did, to get ready for their assault on Mount Whitney.  They actually started hiking at Whitney Portal when we were waking up in Sacramento that morning.  They reached the summit about the same time we were beginning our hike at Whitney Portal.  But now, well after dark, they were still high up on the mountain, a long way from their car, without the clothing or supplies to be on the mountain any longer.

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It was fascinating to see the two different groups using this trail on the mountain.  The backpackers were all settled in for the night and were having dinner.  In fact, some were already asleep, with plans to start for the summit before the sun was even up the next morning.  On the other hand, the day-hikers, with light packs, had hours more hiking to do in the dark.

Mount Whitney is the tallest peak in the continental United States.  If you are in good shape and plan well, you can actually get from the trailhead at Whitney Portal all the way to the summit and back to the trailhead in a day.  The typical approach seems to be to start at Whitney Portal around 2:30am with a day pack, extra layers of clothing, water filter, and food.  That will put you at Trail Camp just as the sun is rising.  Then you attack the 97 switchbacks and traverse to the summit by midday and then reverse it, which usually goes a bit quicker.

This means many day-hikers on Mount Whitney are doing the first and last parts of their hike in the dark—depending upon the time of year when they are doing it.  It also means they are heading through Trail Camp at sunrise and close to sunset—often stopping to filter some water out of the nearby lake.

Unfortunately, many of the people who attempt to do Mount Whitney as a day-hike are not prepared for it and do not respond well to variables presented to them during their journey.  This is the reason we continued to see lights coming down the mountain trail above our camp long after the sun set—day-hikers not prepared to spend the night on the mountain, who were fatigued and still had hours of hiking in front of them with limited or depleted supplies.  There is very little margin for error when attempting to ascend Mount Whitney as a day-hike and yet many of the day-hikers we saw did not appear to have prepared well for that reality.

As I fell asleep that night, I continued to hear the footsteps of behind schedule day-hikers passing by the camp on the nearby trail.  It seemed like I had not been asleep long when I was suddenly startled awake by shouts for help from one of those hikers high up on the mountain above our camp.

To be continued…