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| That's me! |
After three days of intense hiking in the snow and carrying thirty-nine pounds on my back, I woke on the fourth day in the dark, cold of 4:30 a.m. It was summit day. I got my daypack ready to go; I carried two liters of water, my ice axe, crampons, some snacks, and extra layers. After donning our gaiters and waterproof pants, the group hit the trail. Well, actually there was no trail because the mountain was covered in snow. So we made the trail.
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| Gaiters |
Upon reaching the bottom of a quarter-mile high, 45-50 degree angle snow slope, we fastened our crampons to our feet. (This snow slop is more famously known as The 97 Switchbacks, but the snow completely covered the trail. We were left to kick in our own paths: literally kicking into the snow to form footholds in order to climb this bad boy.) I ran into my first problem with the crampon process. My feet are too small for the crampons the university provided us with, and they fell off twice: the second time falling completely down the snow slope. Our trip leader, Natalie, had to trek down and retrieve them for me. I was pissed, and more importantly, she was pissed that she had to lose altitude and energy to fix my stupid mistake. I obviously felt like shit for that happening, but there really was nothing I could have done to prevent it. (I had never used crampons before, so I didn’t know how they should fit to begin with.)
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| The slope we climbed is on the far right |
Once that whole situation was sorted out and it was decided that I climb the mountain without crampons at all, we started again. After a good hour or so of punching holes in the side of this mountain with my boots and ice axe, I finally reached the top. Looking down the massive slope that I had just scaled was totally overwhelming!
We then rounded a corner of the mountain and continued on the trail. It meandered for about two miles, gaining about 1,500 feet in elevation. I was feeling the altitude at this point. I was nauseous, out of breath, and losing mental awareness. These two miles were the longest two miles of my life. I began hallucinating a bit: the rocks suddenly looked like faces! I exclaimed to Natalie, "Look at all these new friends!" How insane was I to be trekking on the edge of a fucking cliff while my whole world was spinning around me?
After what seemed like hours of grueling, heinous, suffocating hiking, I scrambled to the summit of Mount Whitney. I began to smile and laugh and almost cry! The high was so amazing that I’m still feeling it even now as I’m writing this. I scribbled my signature in the prized notebook that lay in a sheltered box fastened to the wall of a stone cabin at the summit. I put my name, the date, and a little note that said, “Even art majors can climb mountains!”
After reveling in the glory of standing on the highest peak in the contiguous United States, we began to head back to camp. About half a mile down from the summit, I began to have a full body meltdown. My altitude sickness had gotten worse, and my already severe headache had formed into a full-blown migraine. I began sobbing; I was in so much fucking pain. My head felt like it was splitting open, I could barely breathe, the sun was blinding me and cutting, nay, hacking into my eyes. That was the worst pain I had ever felt in my life.
But all pain passes, and I had gotten myself together. Now with only a severe headache, I began to descend further. Reaching the top of that snow slope once again was the turning point for me that day. How does one get down from a quarter-mile high slope of snow? You slide down, duh! Glissading is the appropriate mountaineering term. Fuck yeah!
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| Glissading: Ice axe in self-arrest mode! Let's fucking bomb this! |
I will never, ever forget my amazing accomplishment. I thank every single one of those in my group for helping me achieve such a fantastic feat.
So… Uh… What did you all do this weekend?
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