This has been the best summer of my life.  I won’t bore you with where it began and what happened before its magnificent culmination.  Scaling Mount Whitney, the tallest mountain in the contiguous United States reaching to 14,497 feet above sea level, gave me a continuous endorphin high that lasted a week.

For the last six years (after reaching the ripe age of 50) my husband, Scott, and I have been planning to climb Mt. Whitney.  Our efforts were thwarted by the inability to obtain the permit from the Ranger service despite continually applying.  Deciding to circumvent bureaucracy, we left early Monday morning, August 13^th meeting our co-adventurers, Frank Riley and Brad Winn at 5 a.m. and drove to Lone Pine to present ourselves to the Rangers for a permit.  The anticipation of the adventure made it impossible to sleep prior to leaving, so I did not have a restful night. Presenting ourselves at the Ranger Station for the permit was almost an exercise in futility.   Suffice it to say that despite the expected government ineptitude, we had our permit and were on the trail by 12:30 p.m.  It was probably a blessing that Frank was jet lagged having just returned from Japan.  As a Lieutenant and Chaplain in the United States Navy he is in excellent physical condition.  Being jet lagged brought him closer to our physical level.  Brad on the other hand had the advantage of age.  He is a mere thirty-three.

The first day on the trail was arduous.  I had no time to adjust my backpack.  The strap connecting my shoulder straps kept choking me.  We had 4000 feet to ascend and no time to dilly dally.  Beginning the trail at 8300 feet and ending the day just above 12000 feet meant that we kept our eyes on the trail with no time to look at the flowers.  Truly, I did not see a large stream along which we walked nor a lake that we passed.  My only question was “could I take the next step?” as my heart pounded in my chest and my lungs struggled to expand enough to get the necessary oxygen.  Knowing how my body responds to physical stress, I did not let Frank and Brad see that I was reaching my limits.  Only Scott, my beloved husband, heard me dry heaving on the trail.

Five years ago Scott and I hiked the Grand Canyon in one day.  A sign on the trail warns adventurers not to attempt the descent from the Rim to the River and back in a day.  But we ignored the warning and plunged ahead.  During the ascent it was the plodding of an older Indian man (from India) that brought me out of the canyon.  He’ll never know that during the ascent of Mt. Whitney, I visualized him in front of me.  Once again his plodding got me up that mountain.

Upon arriving at our base camp (just before Trail Head Camp) I threw down my pack, rolled out my sleeping bag and practically did a face plant on my bag.  Unknown to me at the time, young Brad was also experiencing the trauma of the hike.  Scott was light headed from the altitude.   Being allergic to nature, my nose was stuffed up and no matter how I tried I could not seem to fill my lungs with air.   Having no energy to eat, I forced myself to eat my pasta MRE knowing I would need the sustenance for the next phase of the journey.  We slept under the stars watching the drama of the meteor showers and the Milky Way.  It was an unbelievably spectacular display of God’s greatness.

I slept sporadically with several concerns.  Would my body adjust to the altitude by morning so that I could breathe better?  Would I be able to summit?  Would the bears find us in the middle of the night? Earlier in summer while hiking in the Grand Tetons, Yellowstone and Glacier National Park we counted nine bears.   I slept with one eye open.

We awoke early and were on the trail by 7 a.m.  While Frank and Brad refilled water bottles, Scott and I began the ascent of the 99 switchbacks. (I counted them on the way down.)  But on the way up the mountain a young man from Connecticut kept us focused by letting us know how far we had come.   Our hearts pounded so hard we could barely hear.  Scott thought that a Pay Day bar might give him some energy.  He took a bite and did not have the energy to chew.  I kept on asking, “Can I take the next step?”   The answer was always “Yes”.

We completed the 99 switchbacks by 10 a.m.  The next phase of the ascent is across the backside of the mountains leading to Whitney.  Above the tree line there is only granite rock.  It is not a safe trail.  On one side is the mountain.  On the other side is a precipitous drop off.  Sometimes there are granite bridges connecting the mountains with drop offs on both sides.  I did not look.  Climbing over rocks, the exercise was more like bouldering than hiking on a trail.  At one point Scott warned me that I would never get up the mountain if I kept stopping to sit down and rest.  I never sat down again until I reached the summit.

Hiking Mt. Whitney is more of a social experience than any hike I have ever taken.  I usually greet fellow hikers and they usually ignore me.  But on Mt. Whitney everyone wants information.  From where are you coming?  How long did it take you?  Of course you get a variety of answers depending on the hiker’s ability and condition.  One hiker coming down the trail stepped aside to let us pass.  We asked him for some pertinent information to encourage us in the climb.  He, however, could not express a coherent thought.  His inability did give me pause.  I did not want the altitude to adversely affect my cognitive ability and cause me to make dumb decisions.

Frank and Brad reached the summit an hour before Scott and me.  They waited patiently for us to arrive since Scott had lunch for everyone.  But we could barely eat.  The panoramic view was spectacular.  Someone took our group picture.  I wanted to lift my hiking poles in victory, but I knew I had to conserve my energy.  I did not even want to expend the energy to lift the corners of my mouth in a smile.  But I was beaming on the inside.

We only stayed on the summit for 30 minutes.  After all we had a lot more hiking to do.  I thought the descent would be easier.  Every step brought me more oxygen and gravity could do some of the work for me.  I did not realize that in some of the ascent we had gone up and down.  So, on the return path sometimes we had to go up.  The part of the trail just prior to the 99 switchbacks was like a landslide.  Crawling up the loose dirt was almost too difficult to traverse.  Besides I hate getting dirty.

Descending the 99 switchbacks was a joy, except that we ran out of water.  I wanted to capture some of the water coming right out of the granite, but feared bacteria and subsequent disease.  We suffered thirst.  Arriving back at trail camp Frank and Brad were well rested and ready to pack up and go.  Frank pointed to a lake below and said that we would re-establish our camp at Lone Pine Lake.  It looked close, after all we could SEE it.  We saddled our packs on our backs and three hours later we arrived at the camp.

Arriving at Lone Pine Lake Scott was so weary that he sat down and could not move.  I unlaced his boots and pulled them off.  Recovering slightly he made our MRE’s, definitely a man’s job.  Storing our food etc. in the bear containers we placed them at the edge of our camp once again.  To me the distance was never far enough away from us.  Trees blocked some of the view, but once again I slept with one eye open, watching the stars.

I love to see the crack of dawn.  Awakening at the crack of dawn is even better and this time I did sleep a little.  I needed the rest to ascend from the lake back to the trail.  It was a short climb and my heart was pounding again as we began our final descent.  We were still around 10000 feet above sea level.  Walking on logs over streams and walking on rocks over streams this time I did not step in the stream.  With dry feet we continued our descent and met other hikers beginning their adventure.  Encouraging them we said from where we had come.  To get to the top, they just had to take the next step.

Marie de Putron                5 September 2007