Alone in the High Sierra
Part I

"Still, the last sad memory hovers round, and sometimes drifts across like floating mist, cutting off sunshine and chilling the remembrance of happier times.
There have been joys too great to be described in words, and there have been griefs upon which I have not dared to dwell; and with these in mind I say:
Climb if you will, but remember that courage and strength are nought without prudence, and that a momentary negligence may destroy the happiness
of a lifetime. Do nothing in haste; look well to each step; and from the beginning think what may be the end."
- Edward Whymper, Scrambles Amongst The Alps

The scorching, desolate highway through Death Valley National Park

Death Valley, land of extremes. There are several points even lower in elevation than this within the park and, contrary to what you might think,
peaks over 10,000 feet as well. The lowest point in the contiguous 48, in Death Valley NP, is actually only about 60 miles from Mt. Whitney.


Scrub brush, the “Devil’s Cornfield”, and mountains kicking up a storm beyond.

After clearing the last of the Death Valley ranges, there’s only one place to go. There’s no roads passing through these mountains,
without traveling several hundred miles out of the way. Mt. Whitney is visible here, the distant peak just to the right of center and touching a cloud.

This photo and the next were taken from the Eastern Sierra Inter-Agency Visitor Center’s parking lot. Just outside Lone Pine and a mere twelve miles from the mountain.

Whitney looms over the valley and the small town of Lone Pine, CA

The road into Lone Pine, looking due west. At this point I was feeling, to put it mildly, somewhat intimidated.

Mt. Whitney from a mere twelve miles away in Owens Valley



An overlook halfway to Whitney Portal, looking down on Whitney Portal Road, Lone Pine, and the Owens Valley beyond.

Camp 1, at Whitney Portal, elevation 8,300 feet.



The main Mt. Whitney Trailhead at dawn. The Mountaineer’s route follows the main trail for the first mile or so, before breaking
off and heading almost straight up alongside the North Fork of Lone Pine Creek.



I may not look it, but I’m excited to be off and on the trail. Just getting to that point, where boot finally meets trail, can really take a lot out of you.



The break-off point for mountaineers. The main trail crosses the North Fork of Lone Pine Creek, the Mountaineer’s Route
takes a direct right turn and follows the creek closely, and steeply straight up the rocky and willow choked valley.



My first look at the famed Ebersbacher Ledges. The ‘trail’ or climb starts at the tall lone pine in the lower left of the frame and works it’s way up and to the right,
before eventually zagging back to the left toward the stand of pines higher up. It’s quite difficult to follow, but easy enough to know when you’ve gone the wrong way.
If you do you’ll soon find yourself on the gravelly edge of a sheer 150 foot drop.



The approach to the base of the ledges, barely wide enough for me and my pack to get
through. My foot is in the bottom of the picture, an attempt to give some scale to the wall.



The first section of climbing on the Mountaineer’s Route, the beginning of the ledges.
This view is looking almost straight up, and those boulders are roughly dining room table sized.



Once up the boulders at the start, this is what confronts you. A sheer vertical wall on your left and a steep, though not yet high, drop off to the right.



The first turn on the ledges, the path here is straight ahead in the picture and only about a foot wide. You can see what awaits a slip on the right.



A cairn helps mark the way, although it’s halfway up the ledges so you’ve got to find your way there first. Reassuring nonetheless.



At this point I’m past the Ebersbacher Ledges, hence the smile. It was certainly hair raising, but I managed to avoid any serious slips or wrong turns.



Some flora of the upper alpine region in a nice meadow on the way to Lower Boyscout Lake.



One of the many waterfalls making up these high parts of Lone Pine Creek. You can hear the creek constantly and from far off due to it’s constantly cascading steepness.



For the first time since hitting the trail Mt. Whitney Comes into view, looking no less intimidating of course.



Finally gaining some height. You can get a sense of the grade of the creek here,
and I was really starting to feel the elevation after crossing the 10,000 foot mark, despite having spent a night at 8,500.



The next step is to conquer those slabs in the foreground, and from this vantage the famed ‘chute’ or couloir that marks the way up to the summit block is almost straight ahead.
From here I could already tell the couloir was still at least partially snow-covered.



The Whitney region as seen from Lower Boyscout Lake, elevation 10,500 feet.



Lower Boyscout Lake from above, about halfway up the massive boulder/talus field that leads to the ‘slabs’.



Ascending endless boulders, constantly aware of the disaster a broken leg, ankle, wrist, or arm would be at this point.
Maintaining balance on this terrain is hard enough already without the fifty pound pack I’ve got.



Boulders – nature’s tripod.



Now high above Lower Boyscout Lake, ascending the slabs visible to the left in the foreground. Steep but at least easily gripped where dry.



At last Upper Boyscout Lake, elevation 11,400 feet. Here I made my first mistake by continuing on to Iceberg Lake. I’d planned on spending the night at upper
Boyscout to rest and acclimatize some more. Then attempting the summit from there. As they say; climb high, sleep low.



The road out of the Upper Boyscout Lake region, going from mostly barren to totally so.
This picture was taken looking almost straight up, and unfortunately was where I had to go.



Mt. Whitney and The Needles are obviously closer now, and their full magnitude is now undeniable.



Here I am feeling extremely winded, dehydrated, and more lost by the minute. At this point the mistake started to hit me.
It was getting late (relatively, the sun would be dropping behind the very high mountains early, around 4:30pm).
And on this section I was going from one lake to another but was no longer following the creek, and therefore running dangerously low on water.



Mt. Whitney on the right, and what are called the 'Needles' to the left. They're a big climbing destination for the more experienced.
Actually met several people headed to or from the Needles on my hike.



The 'sunset', if you can call it that, behind Whitney and the notch, at around 4:30pm. Made it up to my destination just in time,
after the sun dropped behind the range I lost light and warmth extremely fast.



In the tent, after dinner, whipped and ready for bed by about 7pm.
Wrote for a bit but was having trouble keeping my thoughts on the simplest things, a testament to the elevation.



The moonscape outside my tent and camp at Iceberg Lake, elevation 12,600 feet.

"I cannot now tell exactly, it was so long ago, under what circumstances I first ascended, only that I shuddered as I went along (I have an indistinct remembrance of having been out overnight alone),
- and then I steadily ascended along a rocky ridge half clad with stinted trees, where wild beasts haunted, till I lost myself quite in the upper air and clouds, seeming to pass an imaginary
line which separates a hill, mere earth heaped up, from a mountain, into a superterranean grandeur and sublimity. What distinguishes that summit above the earthly line,
is that it is unhandselled, awful, grand. It can never become familiar; you are lost the moment you set foot there. You know the path, but wander, thrilled,
over the bare and pathless rock, as if it were solidified air and cloud. That rocky, misty summit, secreted in the clouds, was far more thrillingly awful
and sublime than the crater of a volcano spouting fire."
- Thoreau, Journal

to be continued in issue 52...