(I had some pictures to go with it but I don't know how to upload)

At Mount Whitney, I experienced something that I had never experienced before. Everything was below me as far as my eyes could reach. I was at the highest point of the lower 48 states. The gratification, together with the stunning view, overwhelmed me in forgetting about the exhaustion after an eleven hour hike.

The day was Tuesday, July 20, 2010. I started my journal at 2:20am in the morning. It was complete dark until I reached the Outpost Camp. After a break for snack, I continued my way up. The sceneries kept improving as the sky turned brighter. At 5:57am, the sun jumped out from the mountain in the east when I was just above the Mirror Lake. I capture this moment on my camera.


Figure 1 Sunrise on Mt Whitney Trail
I almost canceled my trip because my two other partners dropped out at the last minute. Not sure if I could hike the challenging trail by myself, I posted a message on WhitneyZone.com on Saturday, July 17. Soon I received a response from Rod. He assured that I would never be alone on the trail and urged me to go. I never met Rod. But it was the people I did not know who offered me help on and off the trail.

At 7:35am I reached the Trail Camp. The mountain crest was right in front of me. I felt great and it seemed the summit was within reach. A dozen hikers passed me by. At 12,000 feet, I had never come up to this altitude before and I wanted to take my time to get used to it. My pace was 50 minutes/mile so far.


Figure 2 Mt Whitney Summit within Reach
I chose a single-day over multi-day ascent because I wanted to keep my trip as short as possible. A timely advice from Steve C., also on WhitneyZone, saved me from making a serious mistake: shortcutting acclimatization. He suggested spending at least 24 hours on high elevation before the ascent. I received his message on Sunday and immediately left for Lone Pine and camped out at Whitney Portal on both Sunday and Monday evenings.

The climb to the Trail Crest was a severe physical challenge to me. The trail was steep and scary to some extent. There were metal rails to protect hikers from falling off. There were snow patches that were slippery. And the number of switchbacks seemed infinite. In fact there were ninety-seven of them. I was forced to slow down by my physical limitation. My pace became 66 minutes/mile.

I might be slow. However, with a 25 pound bag on my back and at this altitude, it wasn't too bad for a not-too-young man. To prepare for this hike, I trained for and completed LA Marathon in March. The physical and mental training was paying off. I was able to concentrate and move along with increasing difficulties.

At 10am, I reached Trail Crest. I was expecting western wind but it was such a balmy day that there was none. The view to the west was very pleasant to me. Below me were the John Muir Trail and meadows and lakes here and there. In the distance were the mountain ranges in the Sequoia National Park.


Figure 3 West View from Trail Crest
The scenery solved my mystery. Ever since I saw Mt Whitney for the first time while driving through Lone Pine on a skiing trip to Mammoth Lake a couple years ago, I had been wondering what it would look like on the other side of the mountain. It was at that time I came up with the idea of going up. I only became serious about this idea when I applied for a permit earlier this year. At the Trail Crest, I was content my job was not done yet.

The downhill hike to the junction at John Muir Trail was easy. But, all of a sudden, the uphill hike from there became extremely difficult. My heart was racing like horses and pounding like thunders. My backpack felt like there was a huge boulder in it. I gasped for air on every step. The altitude effect kicked in. I developed pains in my head and nausea in my throat. My pace dropped to 102 minutes/mile.

It was on this stretch of the trail when I saw immature summitting. A couple of young men stopped with mountain sickness. A few old men turned around and started descending. A man in his middle age sat down and told me he gave up. I felt miserable, too. I was a man with a strong will but I did not want to be stubborn and stupid and put my life at risk at the same time. So I told myself to move slowly for as far as I could.

It was also on this stretch that I needed encouragement most. Fortunately, I received plenty. "Move slowly but surely." "Just put one foot in front of the other." "You are 14,000 feet high, ease your way." "You are only a mile away." "You can see it, you can definite make it." "You are only half a mile away." "Pass that snow path. The rest is easy." "You are 15 minutes away." "You just need oxygen. Breath hard and you'll be fine." Rod, you are right. I was not alone.

At 1:05pm, I finally reached the summit. There were about a dozen people there. We congratulated each other, gave high fives, and traded photo shots. I proudly signed my name on the register by the hut,


Figure 4 Signing My Name at the Hut
A few days has passed since I came back home in San Diego. Nevertheless my emotions are still overwhelmed by this experience. The feeling at summit was unforgettable. It was very quiet up there. I was far away from city noise. Everything stood still. I could barely see running creeks or flying birds, but I could hear none. It was just extremely quite. No word can describe that quietness.

The hiking out took me seven and a half hour. I had a severe heartburn. I don't know if it was because of the altitude. It got so bad that it was the only reason I had to make frequent stops on my way back. I was racing against time otherwise. It was almost completely dark when I reached the parking lot at 8:45pm. I wanted to sleep badly. After shower, I managed to call my wife and then collapsed into my bed.

I was not an experienced hiker. Learning from this experience, if I ever hike that kind of trail again, I would pack less. I packed 13 bottles of waters, each 500ml. I only needed 10 of them. I would pack smart. I packed Subway sandwiches. It might be the culprit of my heartburn. I would just pack a couple of bagels. I did something right, too. I started early on the day. It turned out I needed every minute of my early start. I moved slowly, hence the altitude sickness never hit me. And I pack my back on my planning, preparation, and perseverance. The hike was brutal, but it was well worth it.