It’s been over a week since we conquered Mt. Whitney, the highest summit in the Lower 48 United States and there’s a whole lot of stuff to write about. We did something that very few accomplish, climbing the entire Mt. Whitney Trail, 22 miles round trip, from 8,200’ to 14,497’ in one day. Many people ascend Whitney in two or more days, camping along the trail. Few attempt to do it in one day and for good reasons. The change in altitude is dramatic, the trail is rocky and difficult, and climbing the entire trail in one day requires starting in the middle of the night and, for many hikers, finishing in the dark. On the other hand, you don’t have to carry camping gear and sleep on the ground.
There are many stories, so this will be the first of a few that will likely follow as some of the memories crystalize.
My sister, Sheryl, has never been considered an athlete. Growing up, she was more likely to be called a book worm and probably dreaded Physical Education classes. For you readers under 30 years old, this is a historical reference to a time when schools required you to do things like push-ups, pull-ups, sit-ups, and jumping jacks. What are those? Oh, never mind. It involved more than shifting your numb butt in the chair and moving your thumbs. Anyways, until less than a year ago, Sheryl was a self-proclaimed couch potato and while she admired the feats of others, I doubt she ever pictured herself doing them. The other five members of our mini-expedition had completed marathons, double century bike rides (200 miles in one day), rock climbing, full and half Ironmans, and hundreds of other races. Sheryl might have last run a mile in 1978. Our mother was pretty certain that Sheryl would die on the mountain. I was betting against death but wasn’t quite sure if she was tough enough.
People have a long list of reasons for pushing their bodies to new extremes. Proving a point, exorcising demons, seeking a thrill, postponing death, and sharing the experience with a loved one are just a few. I don’t know what Sheryl’s reasons were for tackling such a huge goal, but I suspect that they included a little bit of all of these. Whatever it was that drove her, she would need a lot of it to prepare for this adventure. We knew that she had a PLAAAAN but with two weeks of business travel every month, it was hard for her to fit in all of the training. She hiked and squeezed in workouts wherever she could. We got to hike all around the San Francisco Bay while Sheryl was grinding away on a crappy hotel treadmill in Wichita.
Our group of six embarked on Mt. Whitney Trail at 2:15am and were together for the first five hours before the terrain and pace split us into several groups. Bev and I regrouped with Tom on the summit and we were descending when we came across Sheryl, Laura, and Steve on their way up, about 30 minutes from the top. My brain was processing information slower than normal in the higher altitude, so I didn’t even recognize Sheryl leading them across a snowfield. Seeing my sister hiking through snow at 14,000′ with trekking poles and a backpack was simply bizarre. I might as well have sighted Santa’s workshop on the North Pole. Yet here she was, looking great, showing no signs of altitude sickness, and leading the others (who didn’t look nearly so perky) to the summit. I was proud and thoroughly confused. I’ll remember that moment for a long time. I’ll also remember her afterwards at the hotel, looking like she’d just taken a short stroll while most of us were still trying to remember where we left our legs.
In the end, everyone summited. Six went up and six came down. Nobody died. And my sister? No altitude sickness. No blisters. No issues. She’s damn tough enough.
Brother-in-law Bob came to town for a day of hiking, eating pizza, and drinking beer. We took him out to Lake Chabot, where we hiked six or so miles. After stopping in one of the campgrounds to eat some Togos sandwiches, we did a little bit of butt model auditioning.
