It’s been five years since the last time I was in Ouray for the annual Ice Festival. The Ouray Ice Festival was first organized in 1996 by Jeff Lowe, and events such as the elite ice climbing competition, myriads of climbing clinics, slideshows and dinners generate proceeds toward the maintenance of the Ouray Ice Park.

I had a fabulous time in 2007, but I wasn’t sure if my newly reconstructed knee could handle ice climbing and the steep descents into the Park. However, all the other stars were aligning – I would be in Colorado for a NOLS Wilderness First Responder course and for a client board meeting. How could I be so close to Ouray and not at least take a peek?

After the final exam of the WFR course, I swung by Neptune Mountaineering on my way out of Boulder. After suffering year after year climbing in my Scarpa Inverno double plastics with intuition liners (the space age material that keeps your feet dry in tough mountain conditions, but can let your heels slide right up on technical terrain), I decided my Christmas present for myself would be a pair of more specific ice climbing boots and crampons. Perhaps if I suffered less, because I couldn’t trust my feet, I would ice climb more. I fully expected to be s.o.l. given the small window of time I allotted to shop for them, but I was pleasantly surprised with the wide selection of boots, including women-specific boots. A friendly fellow named Dan patiently helped me find the right fit of La Sportiva Nepal Evo’s and sized my new Black Diamond Stinger mono-point crampons so I could hit the ice climbing (Thanks, Dan!).

A painful solo six hour drive later, I was beat. I drove past my usual camping spot – the ice rink which is usually blanketed by snow – and was shocked to see the ice rink fully exposed and flood lights illuminating the entire area. Foiled! No way I could camp there! My BAMRU friends had mercilessly teased me when I would say things like “Why would you sleep indoors when you can snow camp?” I knew I would never live it down, but I texted Eszter, “Sooooo, about that space on the floor…”

The next morning I wolfed down an amazing breakfast burrito at Backstreet Bagel & Deli, parked near the Box Canyon trailhead, and hoofed it up the road to the vendor area, soy latte in hand. Ouray is located at ~8,000ft and I hadn’t been to altitude since my accident in April. I huffed and puffed up to the vendor area. Doh! But what vision graced my eyes when I crested the final hill??? The Arc’teryx tent! I ran/walked up to the tent and introduced myself to the wide eyed crew as a self-described “Arc’teryx whore.” They said they loved Arc’teryx whores and chided me for wearing Patagonia Alpine Guide pants. I swore that my Arc’teryx bibs were stashed in my rental and I would have worn them if it were colder. Of course, they couldn’t doubt my sincerity, gave me a special hat, and later treated me to a special hot chocolate and peppermint Schnapps pick-me-up. Brandon, the US sales rep, christened me with a new nickname, ArcHo. I dig it.

The festival provides a great learning opportunity by offering many half- and full-day clinic options. There are Intro to Ice, Steep Ice, Learning to Lead, women only, and many more clinics. I signed up for a the Outdoor Research Intro to Ice clinic because I wasn’t sure my post-surgery knee could handle ice climbing at all and was looking for a super mellow class. I also had some bad habits and could benefit from some remedial coaching. We had two instructors, Shingo and Dave, who were awesome. Before we even touched the ice, Shingo had all the students doing tool swing drills and demonstrated the “isosceles triangle technique.”

I hesitated getting on the ice, nervous about whether I would be disappointed by my knee or my fitness, but Dave seemed to notice and offered to give me a belay. I focused intently on swinging efficiently, hanging straight-armed and sticking my butt out to look where to place my feet, trusting my feet and standing up on them leaning my hips toward the ice. Dave shouted tips and words of encouragement as I slowly and efficiently worked my way up to the top…

It seemed my lack of strength and concern over my knee was actually making me a better climber! I found that more deliberate, thoughtful movements were efficient and less tiring. I was completely shocked that I reached the top without falling or having to hang. Second route, third route, then finally I had to hang to rest midway up the fourth route. I far exceeded my expectations and left the climbing area floating on a cloud.

After a long day of climbing, I hit the Ouray Hot Springs with the BAMRU crew. A $12 admission provides access to three pools: cold, warm and hot. Watching fluffy snow flakes drift down from the sky while alternating between the cold and hot pools was nothing short of magical.

The evenings in Ouray are filled with slideshows, good food, and a wee bit of debauchery. The main event Saturday night was the live auction of gear donated to benefit the Ouray Ice Park. Lots of great items were auctioned off, most staying below retail, such as down jackets, a tent, boots, axes, etc. Two of the most unique items were an ice axe signed by Ed Hillary which fetched $2,500 and a print of Vince Anderson taken by Steve House at the summit of Nanga Parbat went for $2,200.

Kelly Cordes, an American Alpine Journal editor, presented a thoughtful and hilarious slideshow musing on climbing, frustration of injuries, life in general, and most importantly, striped mullets. Having been through nine months of a difficult knee rehabilitation, I identified with much of what he said and was laughing and crying at the same time. Kyle Dempster presented a multi-media show about his solo climbing in Pakistan, solo bike touring and climbing in Kyrgyzstan, and several first ascents in China. The show was going way over the allotted time, but every time Kyle said “I will skip this part ‘cause it’s getting late,” the crowd would shout “no!”

After another half day of climbing on Sunday, I left Ouray for Denver with a heavy heart – sad to go after such a short visit, but feeling like I was part of the climbing community again…a community of people who’s lives are enriched by the challenge, thrill, and camaraderie of this unusual sport. With any luck, I‘ll be back next year, but I still insist on snow camping!

Alta Peak in Sequoia National Park is not particularly “alta” as it stands at 11,200ft high, but it is known for having Eastside-like views without the drive.  It draws hikers and backpackers in the summer and skiers and mountaineers in the winter.  I was successful in corralling a small team to climb Alta in early April 2011.

The team consisted of Patrick M, with whom I had climbed the North Arête of Matterhorn, and Eszter T and Chris K, who are both members of the Bay Area Mountain Rescue Unit.  In the week before our planned climb, we monitored the weather closely and extrapolated what the avalanche conditions might be.  You know you have found just the right team when a weather forecast like this…

Friday Night: A 40 percent chance of snow showers. Mostly cloudy, with a low around -10. Wind chill values as low as -24. South southwest wind around 6 mph becoming calm. New snow accumulation of less than a half inch possible.
Saturday: A 20 percent chance of snow showers. Mostly cloudy and cold, with a high near 6. Wind chill values as low as -24. North northwest wind around 10 mph.
Saturday Night: Partly cloudy, with a low around -4. North northwest wind around 13 mph.
Sunday: Partly sunny, with a high near 20.

…causes squeals of delight and endless derivations of misery loves company, insanity loves company, insanity loves misery via email.

Beyond potentially challenging weather conditions, there was just one additional obstacle to which we turned our attention – the possible government shutdown!  It’s quite rare that politics influence my trip planning, but given we were heading to a national park and the budget negotiations were looking more and more dire, we sprang into action.

Through research on the internet and conversations with the Lodgepole Visitors Center, we determined that the chances were good to avert the shutdown if we got into Sequoia before midnight and left the trailhead by 7am at the latest, figuring that most rangers would not be reporting to duty any earlier than usual.  We learned that if a shutdown occurred, the park staff would have 48 hours to clear out people out of the park boundaries.  Perfect!  Our climb was expected to last less than 48 hours anyway.

Adrenaline pumping and already excited about what a great story we would have about this climb, summit or no summit, Patrick and I left the Bay Area with Chris and Eszter about an hour ahead of us.  As we finished up dinner at the Panda Express in Los Banos, Chris called saying the road about 30 miles from the Lodgepole Visitor center was closed for 2 miles.  It had not yet been plowed from a recent storm.  We were crestfallen that with all our research and preparation, we failed to learn that the year round North access route had this short section that could not be circumvented.

Lucky for us, Chris happens to own a small cabin in Oakhurst, just a few miles south of Yosemite.  We decided to regroup and headed north.  It was surreal that we would be sleeping in real beds in a heated cabin instead of surviving a night sleeping outside in subzero temps!  Chris had a solid collection of maps and after reviewing the surrounding areas for options that 1) were not in National Park territory and 2) did not require an overnight permit, we settled on Raymond and White Chief Mountains.  Both were ~8-9,000ft, accessible by snowshoeing up 4WD roads, and would at least give us the opportunity to camp overnight.

Unfortunately, the next morning we discovered the access road we needed was also closed and the Yosemite National Park chain control station was set up right in front of the road closure.  Thwarted again!  We seriously considered going home, but it just seemed like such a waste to be in a winter wonderland with our packs all ready but nowhere to go.

Chris remembered a nice section of Forest Service trail called the Lewis Creek Trail near his cabin that had a couple of picturesque waterfalls. We settled on doing a plain vanilla snowshoeing excursion to breathe some fresh air and get a workout.  Keeping our 40+ packs on for training purposes, we headed out to get our zen on.

Chris K surmounting one of many obstacles.

First, turning right on the trail takes you downhill to the Corlieu Falls.  There were numerous downed trees we had to climb over or bypass.  We reached the falls quickly and found them to be beautiful and overflowing.  We took our time photographing the falls from every angle and soaking up the soothing sound of rushing water.

Corlieu Falls.

Heading back the way we came, we headed north for nearly two miles, climbing over numerous other downed trees along the trail.  The trail was relatively flat, but we still enjoyed getting the blood flowing and following pretty closely along Lewis Creek.  When we reached another spectacular set of falls, we set up an extended picnic and soaked in the sun and the sounds, grateful to have that experience even if our original ambitious objective had not even been attempted.

Relaxing stroll along Lewis Creek Trail.

On the way back, we reversed our path and re-climbed or went around all the downed trees, coming to the very last section.  As I stepped over a large log , I put my left snowshoe down on the far side.  I transferred my body weight onto my left leg, and as I did so, the branches and snow I was stepping on gave way ever so slightly but in a way I wasn’t expecting.  I fell in slow motion and landed softly onto the snow and my pack, but as I fell, I felt a strong ‘pop’ and searing pain flooded my knee.  “This can’t be good,” was my first thought, and I focused on breathing through the pain to avoid screaming.

The author has fallen and she can’t get up!

It occurred to me that getting injured with two mountain rescuers in tow could be a good thing.  Chris and Eszter made quick work of a wilderness medical assessment while Patrick helped me get more comfortable.  Given there was no trauma to any other part of my body, no blood, and the pain was dissipating quickly, we decided to gently try weighting the left leg.  I was surprised that it could take the weight but it felt weird and unstable in a way I could not articulate.  Patrick and Chris took turns carrying my pack less than a mile to the trailhead while Eszter spotted me as I used my hiking poles like crutches.

As soon as we got to the cars, we elevated my leg, made ice out of a Ziploc bag and snow, and I popped some Ibuprofen.  It was the right thing to do to minimize the swelling that had already begun, but it didn’t change the final diagnosis.  I learned on Monday morning that I sustained a complete tear of the ACL and surgery would be required if I wanted to return to my normal activity level.

Now three weeks later, I write this in my bed as I recover from surgery.  The next 6 months at the very least will look very different than I planned.  Apparently lots of cycling will be in my future, but no Split Mountain, Matthes Crest, Tenaya Peak, Cathedral Peak, 8 peaks of the Desolation Death March, Shasta, Trinity Alps or John Muir Trail as I had planned.

I’ll be back next year to try Alta Peak again.  They tell me the mountain will always be there…

Editor’s note: We’re all in the swing of ski season, but it’s nice to be treated to a late summer alpine rock romp from the amazing Emilie!

Day 1 – The Approach

Patrick and I woke early at the Paha Campground after freezing our butts off sleeping on the ground. It was so cold that I had to get up at 3:45am, wake Patrick for the car keys, and put more layers on inside my sleeping bag.

Otherwise, I was feeling pretty good. My (whooping?) cough was beginning to subside. We had a hearty breakfast at Annette’s Café of eggs, sausage, and strong coffee. We met our Mountain Adventure Seminars guide, Tony, who I remembered from a self-rescue course a couple of years prior. We did a quick gear check and divided up the group climbing gear and food. Patrick and I were both a bit worried about not feeling in great shape having both been too swamped by work to properly train. We learned that Tony was a bit apprehensive as none of his guided trips up the North Arête made it to the summit, and at least one had a wee bit of an epic bail. In most cases, the clients were overconfident of their technical skills or didn’t have the fitness level required. He said if we took more than 5 hours to hike to the intended camp site, we would have to have a difficult conversation. Doh!

My pack felt super heavy and I was cursing not fitting in more training hikes beforehand; however, the pace was very moderate and the long switchbacks in the trail were gently graded. I was breathing hard but just focused on keeping my exertion from spiking too much. After we surpassed the never ending switchback section, the trail leveled out and we entered the valley with expanding views of the Sawtooth Range. We took an extended break where I duct-taped my left foot and focused on staying hydrated.

It was hot – Patrick said it was 90 degrees! I do much better in the cold – heat makes me wilt like a delicate flower. Thankfully, we hit an extended flattish section that follows Horse Creek. We could see a steep wall of scree that would need to be surmounted. It seemed daunting, especially with the heat. We took our time rest-stepping and plodding along, and I felt shockingly good. Patrick was beginning to feel the heat beat him down so we took another little break among a small clump of trees. We were still conscious of meeting that 5-hour deadline, but it was looking promising.

We braced ourselves as Tony called the last section “the final kick in the teeth!” It was all trail, but very steep ball-bearing gravel that would slide backwards. Patrick was just beginning to bonk, but we were graced with the sight of a gorgeous little alpine lake and Horse Creek Tower. Our new home would be located on the far side of the alpine lake. We ascended 2600ft in 4 hours and 8 minutes and rejoiced with relief. Tony said he had already stopped worrying about us hours ago.

We had a great view of Matterhorn and could pick out the North Arête – it looked intimidating and still seemed far away. Hors d’ouevres of Triskets, cheese, and tuna, water filtering, napping, getting packs ready, parmesan fettuccine alfredo for dinner, and in bed by 8pm!

Day 2 – Matterhorn Peak (12,279ft)

Up at 4am for an alpine start. We were dialed and hit the trail at 5am sharp. We all seemed to be feeling pretty good and kept a moderate pace to conserve energy. We circumnavigated the alpine lake, ascended a mossy section, and gained the glacial moraine. The moraine was the usual unpleasantness of unstable talus and boulders. I was thankful to reach the snowfield and bust out the crampons and ice axe. Tony offered to rope up at any time we felt uncomfortable with the slope as the snow was quite firm, but the slope was also sun-cupped which made for comfy foot placements. This is where I get in my groove with solid crampon steps and the slight sounds of metal creaking in snow with each axe placement. The alpenglow was heart stopping and we remembered why alpine starts are oh so worth it!

The snowfield section passed too quickly and we were at the base of the Matterhorn peak. We ditched the snow gear and headed up uncomfortably steep, loose scree trying not to knock anything down on each other. An eternity passed. Tony found the ramp of ledges that are the beginning of the North Arête. Tony led, I climbed in the middle, and Patrick cleaned. Starting off on the first pitch, I felt a welling up of nerves. It had been a while since I was on rock, and the usual thought of “why do I do this to myself?” crossed my mind.

Pitch 1 – The climbing was not physically challenging, but the exposure was unnerving. The route goes straight up a block section, over an awkward knob, and traverses (with no hand holds) to a mild overhang with a layer of choss right at the top out. Was I a wimp for not having much fun on this part???

Pitch 2 – Up some more loose blocky stuff and around to the right. Argh – another traverse with some stomach lurching exposure.

Pitch 3 – Up a narrow chute that was downright comforting (no sense of exposure) and then what I considered to be one of the two crux moves. There was a flake with an undercling hold combined with crappy feet up to a reachy move to grab a positive flake. I fell on my first try and let out a yelp like a wounded puppy. Tony asked if I was OK and I said “yeah, just had to fall to get out some jitters!” That pitch was supposed to be 5.4 and I remember thinking I was in trouble if the main crux was 5.7 and yet to come!

Pitch 4 – Fortunately, the next pitch was amazing. Just 5.6 but clean and straight forward crack with a good hand or foot option somewhere to be found if one paid attention. I told Tony that pitch made me a happy camper and restored my desire to do more alpine climbing. Patrick fell on that pitch – I think he just did it just to make me feel better.

Pitch 5 – Around the corner and that was easy but super exposed again. This short section positions you for the last, best, and hardest pitch – the 5.7 corner. I really dug this section, as corners are more about opposing friction and faith in your feet than pure physical strength. There were some tough sections but I could always find some way to rely on a nubbin or get back in the crack. Little did we know that the top of the supposed crux was a short (15ft?) chimney that was tight. I could barely fit and I shimmied up inside and utilizing the rarely utilized “shoulder jam.” The top of the chimney has a small overhanging bulge that took some commitment and, voila!, we reached the end of the technical difficulties!

We could see the summit just to the south. Crappy exposed “Sierra 4th class” was all that stood between us and the summit. Thank goodness for guides that have to keep their clients alive! Any slip on that section would have held no chance for recovery, so I was most pleased to stay roped.

There were three hikers at the top that were in awe of what we had climbed. We chatted, ate, and drank in the views. As is often the case, once I reached the top I began to dread the descent. I could not wait to get down to the snowfield where I knew the going would get easy again. However, the trail off the top was super cush, kind of sandy with rocks and flowers. Some easy scrambling around the backside led us to the top of the couloir. Super loose, sandy switchbacks snaked down the couloir, but the sliding was easy to control. Before we knew it, we made it back to our packs and boots. However, the scree got much worse between there and the snowfield. We were slipping and setting off rock avalanches all the way down.

Finally at the snowfield! I was excited to be back on snow but it was super slushy and difficult to plunge step in with out sliding out. We did three long glissades down the dirty glacier bouncing around. Patrick said his underwear got stuck up his intestinal tract as a result of the glissade. Good times!!!

After surmounting the glacial moraine once again, we made our way back to our sweet little home next to the alpine lake. We lounged around and basked in the warmth and our success. We were also happy for Tony to have completed his first guided ascent sans epic!

Day 3 – Horse Creek Tower (11,320ft) and Descent

We slept in a bit and prepared for the objective of the day. Patrick and I were just a teeny bit tired from the efforts from the day before, but not bad for a couple of out-of-shape climbers! The Northwest Face route, which is the prominent line on the right hand skyline, is a 5.8 three pitch climb considered a bonus if we were able to summit Matterhorn in just two days. A quick 45 minute hike brought us to the base of the climb and we donned our rock gear one more time.

Pitch 1 – A straightforward enjoyable 5.7 crack up to a ledge with a tree belay.

Pitch 2 – Another great crack section, 5.8, up to another solid ledge belay right at the base of the “guillotine flake.”

Pitch 3 – This supposedly 5.4 section was intimidating. The flake looked like any of its layers were ready to peel off and there was a large void between the flake and the tower, creating an open-air chimney. To make matters worse, the route snaked backwards so that the rope actually pulled us backwards and a fall would result in a major pendulum. We surmounted the hair-raising obstacle and climbed around to the South side where Tony was patiently belaying. Patrick and I both took turns eeking out the dive board summit and carefully inched back down.

After one rappel, we climbed around to the West side of the tower and carefully descended fourth class terrain. I kissed the ground and strode with satisfaction back to our camp to break it down and end another glorious adventure. Horse Creek Tower was definitely the cherry on top!

What do you do when you’ve had a four day trip on the calendar for the last year, two days of approved vacation, and your partner-in-crime can’t make it due to an unavoidable last minute work conflict? You plan something even more ambitious and go solo! At least that’s the way my mind works…

Whitney has eluded me since 2005 with three unsuccessful winter attempts on the mountaineer’s route. First time turned back by a storm, then by scary spring time avy conditions, and finally when I realized I would have to down climb the rock bands above the notch with my crampons skittering across hard surfaced under unnerving layers of thin snow.

As you probably know, approaching from the Whitney Portal requires participating in the lottery system well in advance to get a permit. I decided it would be easier and more adventurous to sneak up on Whitney’s backside. However, this would be a committing 47 miles (including a side trip up Mt Langley) alone. I’m admittedly not in the most amazing shape, but I can grind along at my own pace for many hours. No problem, right?

I landed at San Jose Airport Friday at 4pm having left the car behind all packed and ready for the weekend, took off into Bay Area traffic, and rolled into Lone Pine at the painful hour of midnight. Slept in a bit Saturday morning, had a heart-attack-worthy breakfast at the High Sierra Café, and successfully secured a 3 night permit entering Sequoia via Horseshoe Meadow.

Read on for the gory details of my solo journey…

DAY 1 – Horseshoe Meadows to Old Army Pass →7-8 miles, 2100ft cumulative gain, arrived @ 12,000ft, 5:05 hours

I left Horseshoe Meadows at 10:45am after breakfast and permit. I started driving up the 23 miles to the Horseshoe Meadow trailhead when my gas light went on. I debated for a few miles about whether to lose time and fill up back in Lone Pine. Why did it go on so early? How many miles did I have left? Could I conserve gas by coasting on the way back down? Anxiety got the better of me and I drove several miles back to Lone Pine to allay my worries.

Driving to the trailhead is an adventure in itself as you gain 6,000ft in elevation along long tight switchbacks with dramatic backdrops and numerous small rock falls to avoid. I got the second to last parking spot in the backpackers lot, thankfully, and got to work de-bear-izing my car. The rangers warned not to leave anything visible in the car, not even empty water bottles, as bears have learned to associate certain objects with the potential for food. I talked to a few guys parked next to me who all seemed blown away that I was a woman planning to travel solo in the backcountry. I appreciated the respect, but couldn’t help but wonder if they would be as blown away if I were male.

I set off with doubts and anticipation, but although my pack was heavy, the trail was easy. I made 3.3 miles to the first trail junction in less than 1:45 hrs. I turned right toward the Cottonwood Lakes and got my first taste of uphill at over 10,000ft. Soon the views began to open up through the trees and I remembered why I love this area so much.

Cottonwood Lakes

The next trail junction is with Muir Lake and I stayed left to hit the Cottonwood Lakes. I was uncertain through this entire area as there are quite a few lakes and use trails between them. I stayed on the most worn trail which worked out well. I finally started seeing a pass in the distance that looked gnarly and was capped out with a big overhanging snow cornice. I was worried that was mine and began to regret my decision to take Old Army Pass, the less maintained route, as it would set me up closer to Mt Langley. I saw some guys coming down and inquired – fortunately, they said Old Army Pass was over a little hill and around a corner that was not visible. Whew! However, these four friends all looked at me with horror and disbelief when I said the top of Old Army Pass was my objective for the day. They seemed to think the trail was really rough and kept remarking how big my pack was. Hmm. I took a long break there – filled up my water (there would be none at the Pass), dried out my feet and shoes, ate lunch, and left with renewed vigor to attack Old Army Pass.

However, when I surmounted the small hill blocking my view and got a good look at the pass, I was totally shocked. It was completely cliffed out and seemingly vertical. I could see a few small pinpoints in the distance that appeared to be inkling along a death-defying ledge. I began to kick myself for being greedy and taking the shorter, more direct, but less maintained route. I was also cursing Jesper who told me the pass was “no problem.” My heart sank but I saw some more folks coming along a well defined trail the lake

Lopsided tent.

I hurried to meet them and asked about the trail. They all thought it would be tough for me with a heavy pack but said the trail itself was fine and well worn. One guy pointed out the switchbacks’ to me and I felt much better – he thought it might take me 1.5 hrs because I looked in shape (woo hoo!). I prepped myself for 2 hrs; however, it only took me 1 hr and I chatted with everyone I saw coming down.

Sunset and moonrise over Old Army Pass.

I gained the pass and got knocked in the face with the full force of the wind. Old Army Pass looked like the moon – a wind scoured moonscape. There was only one small boulder that provided any shelter from the wind and I tucked a lopsided tent next to it. Putting up the tent along in that wind was character building to say the least, but I got it done with the help of a big rock I put inside the tent to hold it steady. I witnessed a stunning sunset and moonrise and went to bed at 7pm.

DAY 2 –Old Army Pass to Langley and on to Lower Crabtree Meadow →18 miles, 3840ft cumulative gain, 5460ft cumulative loss, arrived @ 10,400ft, 11:30 hours

I slept through my alarm by accident and woke at 5:45am. Got a descent night sleep despite the constant wild flapping at the tent. Made a quick breakfast of chicken ramen (yum!), packed my entire backpack, and left for Langley with the bare essentials in my top pack at 6:45am. The trail was gradual, sandy, and well worn. I moved quickly but kept my pace under control to minimize energy expenditure. I gained a plateau and went along practically flat ground for a while.

After 1 hour, I reached the base of Langley where you begin to ascend more steeply. I knew the advice to stay left and avoid tougher scrambling, but there were many paths from which to choose. I picked one and stuck with it. It switchbacked up through rough terrain until a small plateau. The wind was really howling now so I took refuge behind a large boulder for a snack break. The next section was a bit steeper and I had to scramble a very short class 3 section. The steepness quickly angled off and the slog up the gentle sloped summit plateau began. It seemed to stretch on and on. Finally the high point became obvious and the summit register came into view at 9:10am and 14,042ft. The wind was still relentless so I signed the summit register, down a quick bite and drink, and got the heck out of dodge.

The "trail" up Mt Langley.

The descent was fast and easy – plunge stepping all the way down to the flat spot. I tried to stay right to reverse my ascent but I didn’t go far enough. I ended up in the middle of class 3 terrain and decided to keep downclimbing rather than correct my error. It was unnerving to look straight down the rocks, but each move felt pretty secure and I made quick work of the section. As I neared my camp, I bumped into two of the fellows I met in the parking lot. They gave me kudos for already summiting and we bid adieu.

I noticed three guys heading down from New Army Pass and I decided to pick up the pace. I was committing now by going deeper into the backcountry and was worried abound making any mistakes in route finding. Maybe these guys had the same idea…I threw my bear canister into my pack, reattached my top pack, and ran down the trail to catch them. I came up on the first guy, we’ll call him Brent, and scared the beejeezus out of him as he was listening to his iPod. Sure enough, they were on the same itinerary! He said he was taking his time but was with a thoroughbred way ahead. I kept booking down the trail, crossed my first creek of many, and came across the two others in the group. We’ll call them Bryan and Thoroughbred Bill. We exchanged pleasantries and compared notes on the goal for the day – turns out we were all aiming for Lower Crabtree Meadow but also knowing it was a real long shot. I was especially doubtful I would make it that far since I had also summitted Langley that morning. I pressed forward…

At the next creek crossing, I met two 80-year-old blokes and had a nice chat with them while I took a break to ice and dry my feet again. Even though I had already gone nearly 8 miles and Lower Crabtree was another 10.2, they were optimistic and encouraged me to go for it. I again pressed on, this time with serious conviction to go as far as I could during the daylight hours. The next 3.4 miles to the PCT junction were never ending and doubtful thoughts crept back into my mind. After 1.1 miles, I reached Rock Creek to yet again dry out my feet and shoes and spent some time really studying the map. I still had 5.6 miles to go at it was 2:30pm. Plus the next 1 mile had nearly 1,000ft gain. I decided that the next couple of miles would basically suck, but if I could get through it, the descent on the other side of Guyot Pass would be my reward as it was all downhill from there.

I struggled up Guyot Pass and forbade myself from looking at my watch for the time or the altitude. It would take as long as it would take and that was that. I refused to stop moving and made slow and steady progress towards Guyot Pass. I was beginning to feel the loneliness of not seeing a soul since Soldier Lake and getting deeper into the backcountry. I would bang my hiking poles together from time to time to alert any unsuspecting animals of my approach. I stayed in the zone and reached the pass at 4:30pm, delighted to see a solo hiker bombing down. I confirmed with him that I was about to reach the top of Guyot Pass and asked about the way to Lower Crabtree Meadow. Music to my ears – all downhill and about an hour and a half. OK…6pm…not too bad…better book it to make it before sundown!

I literally jogged down from Guyot Pass and kept jogging on the sandy flats, reenergized from knowing rest and relaxation were within my reach! I started to slow down and my feet began to ache from the miles under them and the terrain became rockier. A few inconsequential hills took all my energy from me and I began to shuffle along wondering how these last 3.3 miles of downhill could be taking so long. I was running low on water and knew I had to get to a water source that night…the only one being Lower Crabtree. Almost 1.5 hours on the dot and Lower Crabtree Meadow came into view below in the distance. I suffered with each pound of the foot and descending over trickier rocky trail and big drops.

I rolled into the established campsite there with an intense satisfaction but an equally overwhelming uneasiness as the sun began to drop behind the ridges. I was disappointed to see I was alone again and went about the quick work of setting up camp and getting my food into the bear locker to avoid any unpleasant surprises. My uneasiness was unshakable though as I headed to the stream hugging the meadow to ice my swollen feet and purify my water. Nine or ten deer graced the meadow with their evening grazing. They checked me out as I approached but did not seem concerned about my presence.

As I sat there getting my zen on, one of the deer jerked up and stared right at me. I hadn’t moved a muscle and my first reaction was to look behind me to see what he was looking at. He relaxed and so did I. Not 30 seconds later did I hear a sound that will never fade from my memory – an absolutely blood curdling scream that sounded like a woman being murdered followed by a “yip, yip.” Coyotes! The deer scattered and my blood turned to ice as I realized I was too far from my campsite and had nothing with which to defend myself. My instincts told me to go ahead and run toward the sound to be able to fight back.

I threw all my food and toiletries into the bear locker, grabbed my hiking poles, and dove into my tent. I arranged the hiking poles so that I could easily reach them and try to keep the coyotes at bay. I strategically placed my full water bottles for ease of throwing. Most importantly, I set up my stove right at the entrance of my tent and practiced how quickly I could light the stove. My best defense was going to be an open flame. The screams continued as I prepared for battle and then stopped. My heat was pounding so hard I swear I could hear the blood and feel the adrenaline pulsing through my veins. I laid in a total state of alert for several hours and finally convinced myself that if they hadn’t come for me yet, they probably weren’t. But the screams came again at 8:55 and again at 10:00pm. I slept with one eye open and the lighter in my hand. The thought that solo backpacking is really stupid crossed my mind more than once.

DAY 3 – Lower Crabtree Meadow to Guitar Lake →6 miles, 1400ft cumulative gain, arrived @ 11,800ft, 3:30 hours

Morning could not have come soon enough and I awoke to another beautiful blue bird day. I felt a complete calm and confidence that I was no longer in danger. I couldn’t help contrast that with the uneasiness I felt when I rolled into camp. Somehow our instincts are still buried deep down and it’s only the rare encounter with a predator that makes us realize they are really powerful.

Guitar Lake.

I took it easy around camp and moved in slow motion. Today would be an easy day – just 6 miles up to Guitar Lake where I could lounge in flip-flops, treat my blisters, and make up for the dinner I skipped the night before. My left foot was really hurting, felt like my Achilles heel was seizing up, and I had developed what I call shelf blisters around my heels from the endless striking on the edge of my insoles. I also had big puffy blisters on the bottom of my toes. The deer came back out into the meadow as I limped along happy to be forced to smell the flowers.

It was just 1.2 miles to the Ranger Station at Upper Crabtree Meadow. I was disappointed to hike the additional .2 miles to the station in hopes of some conversation before heading on as I discovered Ranger Bob was on patrol for a few days. I returned, crossed a creek, and met two couples at the John Muir Trail junction. This was their final leg to complete the JMT but going up and over Whitney. We chatted for a bit and I remarked to myself that they were the first people that did not seem surprised to see a woman out by herself. They were also planning to camp at Guitar Lake and I was looking forward to some company for a change.

This section was hot, no shade, and all uphill. The terrain became more spectacular as I left the forest again and entered the alpine environment where I feel more comfortable. I passed Timberline Lake, wishing it was Guitar Lake, and plodded along in the heat. After a couple of hours, I came around a corner and Guitar Lake stretched out in front of me. The two couples continued on and I wondered where they were going to camp as I didn’t think there were any more spots up higher. I took the time to wade in Guitar Lake, dry out my feet again, drain a few blisters, and have a small feast. I began to have my doubts again and thought they must know something I don’t know. Looking at the map, I realized there was another small lake above Guitar Lake and the last water source before committing to Whitney. Surely they will be camping there!

I couldn’t bear the thought of putting my hiking boots back on so I repacked my pack and hiked in my flip-flops. The small lake was a beautiful little oasis and my efforts would save some time in the wee hours in the morning. I was impressed that apparently both the couples decided to try to summit Whitney in the afternoon and likely descend in the dark. I was also disappointed that my third and last night would be alone again, but I was getting closer to my goal and getting used to being alone. I busied myself with camping chores – set up my tent, filled 3 water bottles, cooked a multi-course meal, and prepared my gear for optimal efficiency in the morning.

I saw a lone hiker descending and grabbed him as he passed my campsite. He was just giving me the lowdown on his hike up Whitney when another fellow crested on the horizon and said, “Is that Emilie? We thought you were a myth!” I was delighted to see Thoroughbred Bill! Brent and Bryan followed shortly and we all reunited as if we were old friends. The boys set up camp while we caught up about our respective experiences. I mentioned hiking up from Guitar Lake in my flops because of my feet issues and they said I would definitely become myth if they had seen that.

Thoroughbred Bill began to cook cheese and tuna quesadillas and became my new best friend when he offered me the first one. I basically gorged on quesadillas to make up for the power food I brought along. We discussed strategy and decided to team up, waking at 1am and setting off at 2am. Working backwards, it seemed to get us to the top of Whitney around sunrise and down the other side at a reasonable hour…

Sunset on the backside of Whitney.

DAY 4 – Guitar Lake to Whitney Portal →15 miles, 2960ft cumulative gain, 6260 cumulative loss, arrived @ 8.600ft, 13:30 hours

My alarm went off at 1am and I said loudly, “Did you guys hear that?” Brent and Bryan groaned. Thoroughbred Bill said, “Let’s do this!” If I had been alone, I most certainly would have snoozed a time or two, but there was something about the tone in T-Bill’s voice that popped my eyes open and helped me spring into action. Zombies bustled in the night to get ready and amazingly, we set off at 2:05am. T-Bill asked me if I would like to lead off and I happily obliged. The moon was so bright that I didn’t need my headlamp. I began to set a slow and steady pace that I thought I could keep for hours. I listened intently to the boys breathing to make sure it didn’t become too labored, knowing that overexertion at this altitude means a sit down break to recover that can be lengthy. We moved quietly and intently through the blackness, aware that every step was leading closer to our now collective goal.

The John Muir trail at 3 am.

The silhouettes of Trail Crest and Mt Hitchcock were eerie in the moonlight and distances were impossible to perceive. All we were aware of were the sounds of pressure breathing, rock under our soles, and darkness all around. We only had to take 2 short food and layer breaks before we surprised ourselves and arrived at “pack drop” at 4:45 – I had budgeted 4 hours and it only took 2:45.

Just 1.9 miles between us and the highest point of the continental U.S! I led on in the darkness, finally turning on my headlamp as the moon had set. I could feel the exposure but not see it, and the trail became more rugged and required heightened attention. We passed through the “windows” with the wind tearing through and the first rays of dawn becoming visible. Whitney still seemed far away, but we plugged away with our goal now in view. The alpenglow was astounding, striking Whitney from the East and all the surrounding peaks as Whitney cast an impressive summit pyramid shadow.

I could feel the altitude weighting on me in the last section toward the summit. You weave through the jumble of boulders with the summit hut seeming so close, yet so far. The wind was howling and the temperature was slow to warm up despite the rising of the sun. We took refuge from the cold and wind in the hut. Our celebration was limited to a few photos to mark the accomplishment and memorialize the views that our tired bodies would keep us from truly appreciating at the time. We lingered for a short while and remembering that the summit is only half way (and our heavy packs awaited us at “pack drop”), we reversed our path with similar determination.

The author on the summit of Mt. Whitney

I remarked that all the people who summitted in this early hour were very competent looking men. I wondered where all the women were. I also noticed that, as we descended, the hikers slowly became more and more incompetent in appearance until we reached a gentleman that took the cake – he was wearing a down jacket, had no backpack, and was carrying a half empty Nalgene in his hand. Clearly the experienced budgeted well and realized that alpine start maximizes the probability of success.

I knew the descent would be epic after so much mileage, but it was even more so. At Mirror Lake, with still 6 miles to go, I took my boots off knowing that I would not be able to get them back on again. The combination of the mileage, back-to-back days, and heavy pack were unprecedented for me and my boots were not up to the task. I hiked the last 6 miles in my flip-flops and reduced to a painful shuffle at the end. The boys called me their “trail angel” for setting the pace and leading them up Whitney. I think they were my trail angels for sticking with me as I suffered the last few miles.

The author's destroyed feet.

All is well that ends well, and having gained enough time and distance from the sufferfest, I would tell you I would do it again in a heartbeat. I challenged my limits, surprised myself in many ways (didn’t listen to my iPod once), met some new friends, and finally got Whitney off my grudge list. I’ll be back again for the Mountaineer’s Route or the East Buttress, but now it will be more about the journey than the destination…