Mt Whitney Zone Forums Trip Reports Whitney hike today

Well, my summit plans didn't get "blown up". With the incoming weather, I was happy that we turned around. Seeing the snow and feeling the cold, only at 7k elevation over on the west side....



it would have been awful on Whitney. And furthermore, it gave me an opportunity to have a different alpine experience.



My only issue now is that my quads are SO sore from hustling down to the Portal with the extra pack. I like to hurry at the end of a hike, and I am paying the price now!

I've posted a few pictures from the hike.

Did you use crampons on the way up the Chute or did you use the switchbacks? Did you glissade down? Could microspikes be used at this point? I'm wondering what I need to bring equipment wise when I go in a few days. thanks

Lane, I see you were responding to Mountainwalker85.

I am not sure what he used, but I talked with people who were climbing in trail runners. I posted a picture taken by Richard P in the Current Conditions thread.

I understand that is the worst place (the cables) on the entire trail.

mountainwalker85: you did all you could. I was confident and tired and the back didn't go out till you ran ahead (in my world, everyone runs ahead). you can see you made the story. interesting how when you look back, you have a soft spot for people. my heart still wrenches when I remember your whistle and direction. can you imagine if you weren't there? i wouldn't be!

I hope more people see this site and know the depth of my appreciation.

Number 1 favorite and most grateful: the girls who gave me refuge.
Number 0: the guys who didn't.

This is how I saw it, and thanks again:

TO: Those Who Have Climbed with Me, or Otherwise Know and Love Me; Those Who Know I Am Given to Exaggeration

This is all true with no exaggeration. Mikey's comment is the best: You say it sounds cool, but all it sounds is dumb. Really dumb.

It started last October when me, Dan, Bob and Jake were taking the Mountaineers Trail up Whitney. We took about 15 hours to get to Iceberg Lake and back. Bob, Jake and Dan, I read a blog where some experienced climbers went from Iceberg to Summit in 6 hours. Anyway, Dan had this great thought: wouldn't it be cool to summit at, say midnight, maybe stay out at the Summit, speed down the easy way (Whitney Trail), hop on our bikes at Whitney Portal, and ride to Death Valley. Highest Point to Lowest Point in continental U.S. all on human power alone. Sounded good too. All the way up until I summitted on Wednesday.

The original thought a couple of months ago was to do it. So I reserved the trail passes and campsites for 6. Well, all my friends had something else to do. I scheduled the trip, got out of work, and decided to go, just to check out the timing and trail. No big deal. Shasta last August (14,172 feet). Whitney last October (I'm guessing 13,000 feet at Iceberg). Izta last February (up to 15,600 at the Refugio). This boy is ready! Besides, they say Whitney Trail is the easy way. Just some switchbacks near the top. That's actually what Rick Graziano said to me. And he did it with his daughter Jen when she was a teenager.

So off I go with all my great equipment Scotty and Gregor got with me at Mountain Hardware. Drive down to Lone Pine and Whitney Portal Wednesday about 5 p.m. Just enough time to acclimatize. Sleep in the car (easier than the tent) til 1 a.m. Thursday. If you care, I am 6 feet and the diagonal in the Touareg is about 5' 10." Hey, I'm a rugged guy. Off at 1:30 a.m.

As an interlude. Pretty much everyone I know knows I'm the slowest guy on the mountain. Any mountain. Like half the speed of the second slowest guy. Regardless of my speed, I think (no one else does; just me) that I'm strong. And I still do. Legs never got tired!

This is not an easy climb. Well for some (the last people I met at the Summit had covered 36 miles in less time than I covered 10). The climb up was relatively uneventful, except I didn't know the time until Summit at 5 p.m. Oops. OOPS. Probably the only notable thing was that at the Trail Crest, top of the 97 switchbacks), I unloaded the snow boots and some water. I was tired and had a small case of altitude sickness (minor headache, breathing that felt like tuberculosis, ready to throw up with the thought of food. Could have used Marty's Miracle Magic Mountain Medicine. But great legs and feet).

SUMMIT. Yahoo! Note to Dan, we may have to modify that Whitney to Death Valley idea. Proof:






Over 14,500 feet if you stand on that rock. See the video for the wind noise.

The horror begins. I start down, fortunately just before the two cool people. I start off in the wrong direction. I whistle from the guy and 200 feet to the left was the right trail. They pass me about 20 minutes later and ask if all is well. Yup. Just a quick check to make sure I had the safety equipment. Off they go. One minute later: BACK SPASM. As in I'm crippled. Joey: this is what happened to Ashmore who couldn't move for 4 days. And I'm at 14,500 feet at 5 pm. Alone. Three hours to get to Trail Crest (I'm gonna stop using exclamation points, since I would for every sentence! (sic)). OK. Everything is tapioca. I can't walk and the sun is on the horizon and I was determined never to climb again, so I left my boots there and took the water. Anyone wants 'em, they are right under that rock on the right heading up just as you cross the Crest. $50 from Marmot Mountain works, used. Cross the Trail Crest. Look over my shoulder to watch the sun go down. Headlamp works. Clothes are good. Marty: I got that same Patagonia down fleece we had on Izta; saved my life.

How does one describe this. Prayer: help me live through this for my kids. Only answer: the batteries will not die on the headlamp. Of course you don't know that's an answer until you finish the trip. So first, some highlights. Second, my internal discussion. Equipment worked great, almost. The clothes were adequate, meaning I didn't die of cold. Almost enough water. Not nearly enough. I remember in Business School discussing Apollo XIII with the guys who actually figured out the problem and fixed it! (had to be there) They said the number one problem for the astronauts was they disobeyed the order not to conserve water. Seems you dehydrate faster if you conserve. Of course I conserved. Let's see. I fell a lot. Remember, no back. I was in excruciating pain. I should have been lying down. It was cry quality pain. There was a lot of ice on the trail. 97 switchbacks. I'm guessing half to three quarters of a mile as the bird flies. Steep. Had one trekking pole snap in two. Had the other break so it would come undone once in a while. Marty, remember how it behaved on Izta til you fixed it? That. Didn't get lost until the end of the trek. Another answer no doubt.

Three internal speeches. First, my plan at the end. Well first, you gotta realize that this took a long time, so there was a lot of repeat. I was so miserable that I didn't get very deep. (i) When I went up through Trail Camp at the bottom of the switchbacks there were maybe 10 tents there. Who wouldn't want to help the old fool coming down at night. Of course everyone would be asleep in the middle of the night. So: "Emergency. I am in dire need of help. Does someone have some room in his tent." The fantasy vision: oh sir, please let us help you. What happened. Oh, that's a horrible story. And I would crawl into the tent, curl up, get warm and sleep for a few hours. Right. (ii) Laura, I am so sorry. So Sorry. So sorry. Repeated for about ____ hours. (I'll fill in the blank in a minute.) (iii) who else will cry at my funeral. In total, you could cycle through the whole thing in maybe three minutes. The speech took the longest.

Every step was tears to the eyes. 20 paces. Rest 20 breaths. Repeat. The water didn't freeze in the Nalgene, but would have in the Camelback. I was frozen, but wasn't shivering. The altitude sickness was way at the bottom of the litany of agonies. I was very thirsty but only had one liter left. I guzzled one and a half at the Crest. Oh yeah. At the Crest my Yellow Plastic Shoo-Bee-Doo (Genesis, the Lamb Lies Down on Broadway) (yellow one liter Nalgene) was full and the blue one easy to unload so I left it and some bottled water with the snow boots. There was no way I was leaving the blue one behind. It's been a part of the rowing machine for 20 years. I mistakenly dropped the YPSBD later on and heard it fly to oblivion. Man can those things bounce.

Another interlude for Andy. Guess what moron left his sunglasses in the car? At first I thought I would get a pair of glacier glasses and leave them in the backpack. Second thought was, why spend the money when I am never climbing again?

So, the speeches an infinite number of times. Pain. Just nothing good. And, I was afraid. Not the kind that just fills the space when something bad happens. Real fear. As in, you don't do this right, you die. And I have no clue what to do differently. Tell me what to do and I can do it. Marty has gotten me out of trouble. So has Ethan. But I'm solo. I was afraid. And then!!!!!!

I look up at the eastern horizon (the switchbacks face east) and dawn. DAWN. DAWN. I have been doing this all night long. I do not know how to write well, so I can't describe this. I have not stopped since 1:30, what, yesterday? And all those bad things and I'm not even at Trail Camp with the 10 tents and my Speech. I start to get lost, but because snow is white, even at night, I had bearings. I lost the trail a lot then. Still dark as night, but the horizon is getting lighter. I tried to modify the Speech, but it was perfected hours ago. I'm sliding down the rocks on my butt, following false trails, tripping on rocks, sliding on ice, falling. The other thing is you get really good at the type of rock to rest on and not leading with the right foot. A step down with the right foot lead to audible, loud audible, groans.

FINALLY. I'm in the midst of the tents. The dawn is gray and I go to make my first speech. It's like 5 a.m. I've been descending for 12 hours. I go up to a tent. My tubercular voice even scared me it was so weak and raspy. "Excuse me. I have a medical emergency. May I please climb into your tent for a little while?" You have to understand that it was so windy that I could hardly walk into the wind at all. The tent is flapping like flags at an A's game. Sounds like a young guy. "Sorry. We don't have any room." Ok. What? Let me tell you, and I've talked to my kids. You say that to my kids and they fix it. You come in and there's space, or you come in and they find space elsewhere. Or they find you space. "Sorry"? What the _____. Nine hours of speech writing and "Sorry"? I had nothing left. "What's the emergency?" "I've been climbing down since I summitted at 5 yesterday afternoon. I'm frozen. I threw out my back and can't walk. I have nothing left and I don't want to die." "Yeah. We have no room. There's gonna be someone else. Hey. Good luck, man." I don't swear, except internally when I ski (Craigy knows this; he causes me to more than anyone I know). This would have been a good time to start.


Next tent. "Excuse me." OK. My voice was scary, but still. Who pleads for help at 5 a.m. here. Duh. Maybe someone who needs it? "I am in dire need of help and have a medical problem. May I please just come into your tent for a while?" Young girl this time. "I'm sorry but this is a very small tent and we are crowded. No room." I get that. Who lets a strange man into her tent at 5 a.m. I mean the danger of it all.

Talk about dejection. So off to the next tent. Wait. It's a friggin' rock. In fact, in the gray dawn, all the tents are boulders. THERE ARE NO TENTS. EVERYONE IS GONE. Picture me: that hunch of a thrown out back; realizing there is no place left. I have no more steps left. I find the perfect rock to sit on (it's almost at butt level; a slight lift to rest the pack on; a slight tilt down to the left for the weight to be favored on that side. This comes up again later.) I need to come up with a whole new thought process, since there was no other plan. This was the end. I'm at 12,039 feet and had nothing. Just as I thought this was a good time to cry, out came one of the girls. "Hey, my friend and I are going to leave for the Summit now. Come. Stay in our tent. Seems like it took forever to walk the 200 feet. I said, look, you saved my life. I just want to curl up. I won't touch anything. I just need to sleep. No, it's OK. Climb in my bag, get warm, we have water, we have food. Thanks, but I have to sleep. And off they went. I started to shiver, calm down, have freaky dreams in a half sleep. Shivering stopped, out cold.

The clown in the tent next door (sorry, buddy, you are not my friend) comes by three hours later. Hey man, you in there? Seriously. Some of you remember this, "Have you no respect for the sleeping and the sick?" I told that guy my story. He threw me out of the inn. There's my pack right under his foot. What did he think? In fairness to him he offered me a banana. Well, now I'm awake. So, time to get up and start. I think the back is doing better. I dress (boots and gloves. I didn't undress). Gear up. John Wayne and me, baby, "Come on. We're burnin' daylight." Three steps and the back seizes up again. I have miles to go. Oh, yeah. I slept for 3 hours. It's 8 in the morning. The trip down from my physical perspective was almost the same. very serious "I can't move at all" pain. On the good side, the altitude sickness wasn't so bad, but every time i tried to eat, my stomach got upset. I was so dehydrated that the granola bars did no better than a mortar and pestle. ZERO saliva. No headache. Cold enough to freeze water (my Nalgene started to freeze up in the tent), but that is very workable. I was not going to freeze today. Another thing. I have great hiking boots, so they are very waterproof. Coming down the switchbacks, I go through a stream, break the ice and my foot goes in. I pull it out and the water immediately ices up and my foot gets very cold. Imagine if it got inside? I mean, talk about quick freeze! On the bad side, the back was the same. 20 paces, 20 breathes. Only tears came when I led with the right foot.

Off I go. I'm thinking this is a six hour hike for a normal hiker, up. So I can probably do it in six to eight. I have no clue. This is why I should never be alone. Pretty much the same all the way down, but some really fun moments:

• Every group I met started out the same way. And maybe there were ten to 15. Did you summit? Yup. How long did it take? 16 hours but I am he slowest guy in the world. What's the weather like? Very cold, very windy. How long to get down. They begin to understand that the arithmetic is bad. Well, I had a medical emergency. Then I tell the story. It was always a great resting moment. Everyone was SO sympathetic. The best ones laughed with me. Hey I tell funny stories.
• First group was a bunch of young twenty year olds. We just laughed. "That is the best story I ever heard. You should write a book."
• "Is there anything I can do?" "Helicopter?" "Motrin?" So I took my first pills. They gave me extra. The guy (of course the Motrin came from the girl. It's a girl's drug right?) actually unzipped my pocket for me and put some extras in.
• Advil from the next group.
• Water from the next
• Alleve from the next
• Advice on showering when I get down
• A bottle of oxygen. Huh? It's like a can of hairspray with a mouthpiece
• Guy gives me a bite of salami which I can't swallow because I have no saliva
• Then the group with the guy whom Laura is not fond of, and with good reason (can't call Laura and tell her her dad is in trouble, just can't). Sorry. I feel differently. Steve and Bob (Jay joins later). Can we get you anything. Anything? No I'm good. Told him about the pills. Told me they upset my stomach cause I had to eat. Told 'em I couldn't. Steve says, want some Vicodin? Oh, yeah. For the rest of the trip, 40 paces and rest instead of 20.
• The next group of young kids. The girl is sitting next to me on the rock. You have to realize that by the end of the discussion these people were all my friends. We had a really fun time. And I got to rest. So the girl says, man, what a horrible trip. The high point is sitting on rocks and this hurts. I said, let me tell you. I know the perfect rock shape for me. I can get really comfortable on one of these if it's the right one. It was wonderful to laugh out heads off.
• I'm limping through a lower campground. Outpost, I think. Lady comes running up to me from one side. Guy from the other. The guy has lots of water. The lady sympathy. Behind the lady, the guy she was with. She says, "you look horrible. Is it altitude sickness? What can we do..." "He says, "No he threw his back out." He smiles, I smile. "How did you know?" "Only one thing makes a person walk like that."
• Lots of people saying, hey you're doing great. Almost there.
• The first group comes by and they were so enthusiastic. "Hey, Back Guy!" So we hung out and drank water. "You are like the coolest guy on the mountain. You need to write a book. You are like a legend." Turns out all the way down they would ask people if they met the Back Guy. Then everyone would laugh and tell the story about meeting me and what we did and what they gave me. Everyone had a blast hearing of my agony. Good thing I'm really an upbeat guy. I loved that. "Back Guy, you are a legend on this mountain."
• Next group. Hey you must be the Back Guy. Those last people said we had to hear the story.
• Next group is Steve (the Vicodin guy), Bob and Jay. Steve was so worried about Laura calling the sheriff and worrying when I didn't call, he wanted to be the one to tell her I was safe. No way, buddy. But on the way down, well. Bob is the number one search and rescue guy in California. Climbed Whitney 160 times. Marty: he's been up Izta, Orizaba and Popo. Stayed in the Refugio. So Bob takes my picture and tells me he's going to escort me down so he gets credit for a rescue. OK, I guess. Steve takes my pack and gets Laura's number. His promised speech was, Hey, your dad's phone battery is dead (true) and he will call you when he get's down and buys a charger. What a mistake. I love him because he gave me Vicodin and carried my pack to the last 3 or 4 miles. The speech was not as promised. It followed the lines of, Your dad didn't die and we have almost completed the rescue. Not what you tell a guy's kids. They were good guys. Our discussions ran from quantum mechanics to the Facebook offering. The terrain was better. So I could get more than 40 steps. Stopped counting after a while.
• Last guy, less than a mile to go, was a ranger going to help a group we met. Seems like the girl's feet hurt because her boots were a little small. He was bringing her thinner socks. As he passed me he must have noticed how I was walking. "You must be the guy that spent the night on the mountain. Nice job. Not far to go." Would have been funnier if he said, "You must be the Back Guy."
That's it. 8 p.m. That's a day trip from Portal to Summit to Portal. About 21 miles. About 43 hours (right, 1 a.m. Thursday morning til 8 p.m. Friday night?); including three hours sleep. THANK YOU, GIRLS for saving me. So sad I can never tell them that. I'm serious. Something else may have happened, but it happened with them.
Tried to find a charger. Needed a nap. Found a charger. Called Laura; she was right to yell, but not as loud as Catty the next day. She convinced me to get a motel and not drive home, except Memorial Day at Yosemite? Good luck. Slept in the car at the Ranger Station. Actually, not bad. It was all set up from Portal, except the car still needed to grow 2 inches. Drove home Saturday.
I'm still in agony. Lost a lot of weight. Just beginning to rehydrate. Danny thinks I'm a legend. The other kids an idiot. All the way down the mountain I swore off mountains. Glad I left my boots up there; no need to replace the trekking poles; no new glacier glasses. Hang up my ice axe. Then horror of horrors. I get out of the shower and look at my sunburned face in the mirror. Cool. You just climbed the highest mountain in the country, solo, injured and lived to tell about it. Legend, Back Guy."

Back Guy. I am so glad you: 1. took time to post your side of the story (adventure ) 2. Most importantly - you did rest before your journey home . I am very glad you had such a good outcome when it could have easily been so very much worse. Good news, you adventure re-enforces my reason for only climbing with a hiking buddy.
Welcome home.

BackGuy as in you made it back, too!

Laura, I assume is your daughter, not our Moosetracks?

I'm officially awarding you +1 Internets for your story.

No,not a legend, Back Guy - just another Delta Sierra on Whitney at 1700 who claims he didn't realize the time, who couldn't find the trail, with no shelter, and no Plan B. Guys like Durkee and Rockwell are legends - don't insult them or us by using that term to describe yourself.

Let's see - you get a guy to carry your pack (along with his) four miles. Yet all you do is complain because the call to your daughter didn't go as planned. Something to remember next time your arrogance gets you in trouble in the Sierra - unlike the Bay Area, when someone calls the Inyo Sherrif, stuff immediately happens - as in launching an unneeded rescue effort.


You also had two guys descend with you at a 1/2 mile per hour pace for many hours. Never mind that they may have had other plans that they abandoned to take care of you.

Finally, not a word of specific thanks to those guys who ensured you got off the mountain - your 44-hour dayhike falling just short of the current 50 hour record.

You can color it any way you want - but your arrogance and poor decision making got you rescued off Whitney.

booger, you're the guy from the first tent right?

Lane

The trail is in great shape all the way up to the cables, from there I would recommend spikes or crampons, its a short distance maybe 20 yards ,almost seems silly to carry them ,however if you were to fall here it could be a bad day so spikes at the minimum are a good Idea.. The shute or draw as we call it is great to climb. Its faster than the switch backs ,if you hit the snow around 6:30 AM. I would not want to climb the draw after the sun has been on it for long as it is post holy and rotten which makes travel slow.....

Back Guy

We are so thankful you are home safe and sound with your family and friends, thank you for sharing your story, I will always remember worrying about you until we had heard the outcome . I know the guys you are talking about who denied you their tent, from a quick conversation about the weather change, it didn't surprise me when we heard they said NO to you resting there, terrible educate and terrible Mountain Practice , and also we remember the gals cutto's to them thanks Lady's for helping .....Get some rest re focus and we will see you next time .

BackGuy has a sense of humor. Nice job on the story, and glad it ultimately worked out okay.

Booger: Everyone comes to Mt Whitney with a different background, experience and perspective. I do think BackGuy is a legend. He was called that by others, and 44 hours is legendary. He certainly could and should have done things differently, but I am just glad he made it out ok, and that others can learn from his experience. (Now I want to learn about that 50-hour record. I am sure there can be lessons learned from it, as well.)

BackGuy, I am sorry I didn't tell your daughter, Laura, your story. I have a tough time with "stories", I don't make speeches and don't practice them when I am walking; I did the best I could. I am glad I could help you out.

I am really glad you posted your long story. Many can marvel at your experience, and at the same time, learn some lessons. It is bizarre reading about your experience, and then comparing that to the ranger taking a pair of socks to a hiker with sore feet.

The several I have (and these are for others reading, not you, since you don't plan any more "epics".   )
1. Set a turnaround time, and stick to it.
2. Drink water, LOTS of water. It helps with the altitude issues. (and you don't need to filter or treat it.)
3. Acclimate before a hike. Driving to the Portal for a wink, and then hiking is a recipe for AMS trouble for at least 50% of all Mt Whitney hikers.

Bob R added these "lessons" when he posted his write-up on wpsmb:

Booger
Sorry. I am well aware that unneeded rescue efforts take place all the time and it can be a really frustrating matter to those involved. But I am quite certain that Stephan has had plenty of time to reflect, and so personal insults at this point...are hardly necessary.

Thank you Steve C and Bob R for both of your input on this situation!!

Great Job, Guys!

Steve, remember my story about exhaustion on the Panorama Trail? I know from that experience that this is what Stephan was experiencing and its just as much a medical emergency as AMS. Not necessarily dangerous in itself, but the wandering off the trail is just one of the possibly deadly symptoms. Shame on anyone not to help this guy, a reminder to all how fortunate we all are to have guys like you on the trail.

And hey, if you haven't been backed off Whitney by unseasonable weather, you haven't been trying.

I'll be out there in early Aug, and may try the HST again.

let me get serious and humble.

booger: i'm sorry. I know what was dumb and what i could do. almost. and as the bard says, therein lies the rub. be assured, I WILL NEVER NE IN THAT POSITION AGAIN.


the advice is good. the help was wonderful. at least for me, i probably had more than i thought. i didn't need as much with you there. I was fortunate and grateful, not arrogant.

i do have a sense of humor. i laughed with EVERYONE on the way down. "Legend" is not from me, but from the kids i met. i made them happy, they made me laugh. a lot of people laughed coming down. it was good.

and those with me at the summit (I forgot the user id: mountain 85 something): of the memories of gratitude burned into my mind, two: the guy and his whistle and direction to the trail. I choke because i love that courtesy. every time, any situation. a man among men. the girl: do you have everything? your safety gear? a headlamp? a woman among women.

thanks to all. kidding aside: i know what happened; i know that i needed the help. i know i was an inconvenience but as a guy once said helping my dead boat on the river: we've all been towed.

First of all, BackGuy - Congratulations on the summit. Even though the circumstances were certainly not preferable, you made the summit and returned safely.

To Booger: I live well into the Sierra foothills and two of my neighbors are Placer County SAR. As such, I am well aware of the common stupidity and shortsightedness of many in the wilderness, and have very little patience for those who refuse to care. That said, I think you're reaction is wholly inappropriate, based on the information I read above and elsewhere of the incident.

Someone I know well visited Yosemite this weekend. His car slid when it snowed and he totaled it, his life saved by a two inch tree several feet down the slope. The response to the incident? It was the ranger's fault, for not properly warning him of impending snow. Did this guy learn anything from the situation, in regards to safer driving, more thorough research into possible conditions or respect of the change-in-a-moment mountain weather? No. Did BackGuy learn from this situation and grow as a result of it? I believe so, based on what I read above.

I think the most important thing BG can do is spread the word to all who will hear about his experience and what could have been done to prevent. Those who survive situations like his are saddled with the responsibility to warn others. If BG moves on from this event and has learned nothing, and does not pass along new-found words of wisdom, I think a harsher response is acceptable.

BackGuy,

Never say never!

Essentially, you've got down on your own power. You will psychologically recover from this "adventure" and may resume hiking in the mountains starting with less ambitious goals. (You definitely need to understand the root cause of this back pain and an advice from a physician may be helpful.)

Could you please clarify your original plan?
By what time have you planned to reach Mt.Whitney summit and what was the planned round trip time?

I think that Backguy wrote with an ironic pen in his narrative, which unfortunately often does not translate well.

Irony often comes off as arrogance, or minimization...when it never was meant to.

That being said, I can understand Booger's response to what might have seemed an inappropriate posting, though it was not meant that way.

Sleeping for hours in a bent position of a too-small space can mess up a person's back. Perhaps accounts for the back problem.

Steve, did you weigh his pack at the trailhead, or have a sense of the weight?

Backguy, you really put yourself at risk, and perhaps more important to you, put your family at risk of having to deal with a tragedy upon the mountain. You came close, particularly your ramblings in the dark.

You KNEW that you are a extraordinarily slow hiker. You could not have possibly done this as a dayhike safely the way you appear to have planned it.

I put this down to the typical thing we see, of people not understanding the mountain, their limitations, and how to protect themselves from bad things.