Hiking Mt. Whitney in a day.

It would be easy to say we were reckless, but at that time, our fitness, relative youth and inexperience led us to believe it was not only possible, but simple.

I liked to pick things up and put them down.

I live in NYC, so none of my friends could really say I was foolish, as none had attempted a summit before. They thought the challenge sounded pretty cool. I was one year into Crossfit at that time, so anything short of the Iditarod I felt I could handle, and only because I didn’t have sled dogs.

Mt. Whitney is not tall by mountaineering standards, but has always loomed large in my mind. Just shy of 15,000 feet, on a good day you could climb it in under 14 hours with a fanny pack and shorts. Most people choose to take their time and split it up into a weekend affair: rational people with common sense and a healthy respect of nature.

Lifelong buddies of mine, Chris and Mike, are avid sportsman, and typically down to do anything involving fitness. They agreed to climb Whitney with me on the first call, and we quickly entered the raffle.

That’s about all that went quickly. It took us 4 years to get our spots (see resources at end for how to enter raffle). We since learned that if you climb on the shoulder seasons, you can usually get lucky and pick up passes the day of.

My visualization of what Whitney would be for the entire hike. Notice there is no snow. This was taken about 6 miles into our summit attempt, an hour after sunrise.

I am originally from the south, and camped out frequently as a little kid, so I thought the outdoors was in my blood. I’ve spent the night under the stars, I’ve made a fire with bow and rope, and I know how to fish with just fishing line and a lure. I did these things when I was 8, and it's like riding a bike. You only need to do it once, right?

With this background, I thought it perfectly suitable we tackle this mountain in a single day. Besides, we didn’t have the money for a good tent, and we lacked the days off to make this trip much longer. My buddy Mike had climbed Whitney over two days in the summer, and said it was a very possible feat. Did I mention I did Crossfit?

Our plan was pretty straightforward. I would fly from NYC to LA, and my buddy Chris would pick me up. We would drive to Lone Pine; the city at the base of the mountain, and spend the night at the Best Western. Here, we would meet up with my other childhood buddy, Mike. We would have a few beers, and go to sleep. The next day we would do an easy, short hike to 10,000 feet to acclimate.

Why acclimate? Going from sea level to the summit in a day or two would be a recipe for disaster. The altitude sickness would cripple us. Headaches would give way to nausea, which in extreme cases could lead to death, or so we heard from our very brief Google searches. So we played it safe. We would do this whole expedition in three days; with one back up day in case of poor weather. This seemed smart to us. I am laughing as I write this: we were such idiots (except Mike).

At first everything seemed to be going seamlessly. Upon arriving at the airport I learned I was upgraded to first class. Awesome! Free breakfast and a Mimosa. The breakfast was quiche, and it tasted strange. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I ate it all. Two Mimosas later, I started to feel very bloated, gassy and sick.

Something was wrong. I travel a lot, and I know altitude can really screw with my stomach, so I thought that must be it.

When I landed, per plan, Chris picked me up. As we drove out of LAX, my bloated feeling instantly turned to nausea. The quiche returned with a vengeance. It was confirmed; I had a quite severe case of food poisoning. #ThanksUnited.

Chris drove me to his apartment, where I collapsed on his couch and began a pattern of collapsing on the couch, and running to the bathroom to throw up, for the next 8 hours.

I’ve been food poisoned before (Wendy's and at NYU, both accidental and not intentional), and I knew the path to recovery. I was going to be ill for two days. The only solution I could think of would be to get an anti-nausea shot. I discovered this trick while on vacation with my wife in Puerto Rico. You can pay someone 50 bucks to come to your room to administer the shot. Unfortunately, on the mainland you needed to go to a clinic. Long story short, we went to the clinic, I got the shot, and I started to feel a bit better after 20 minutes.

The nice doctors at the clinic told me to take 2 days of bed rest and an easy week to recover. We left the clinic and drove three hours to Lone Pine. We had a schedule to stick to.

It’s kind of funny in retrospect, because it never once dawned on Chris or I to call off the climb. We were such idiots (except for Mike).

After a very bumpy and miserable car ride, we made it to the Lone Pine Best Western. That bed felt like a cloud. It was incredible, and I instantly fell asleep.

That next morning I was greeted by my buddy Mike, who was a bit miffed that my greeting to him was, “where’s the bed, goodnight.” He was also incredulous that I wanted to still do the climb.

“You’re nuts,” he simply said as he walked off to get coffee.

Mike is a very gifted athlete. A runner in High School, he kept up the sport and now does ultra marathons. He’s climbed major peaks, and he’s got the stamina of a mountain goat. He’s also very tall, which makes his athleticism a bit unexpected. Great guy.

Old blue in the Alabama foothills of Mt. Whitney. Back in the day, Hollywood movies would detonate explosions in these hills for war movies.

On the agenda this morning was the acclimatization hike. Just walking to the other side of the room was difficult, but this needed to be done. We all packed daypacks and got into Mike’s old, blue Jeep. The car is petty badass, but it had no AC. Hot cars do not do wonders for nausea, and I was feeling sick again.

(Not) Mt. Whitney as seen from Best Western parking lot.

The ride from Lone Pine to the Mount Whitney Portal is about 20 minutes. Before getting in the car, I saw Whitney for the first time (I learned later I actually didn’t).

Mt Whitney is one peak of many, and it’s tucked behind the ones in the front. So I saw the one in the front. Anyways, it was big, and I was in awe. And I forgot about my nausea for about 30 seconds.

At Whitney portal we parked, and started our two-mile hike.

Me, acclimating. Mike, force feeding me food.

I was a maestro with the curse words that day. The guys kept making me sip Gatorade and nibble on toast. Despite the beautiful scenery, I was sweating, sick and grumpy. After two miles we finally reached a lake, 10,000 feet up. I found a comfortable rock and laid down. I stayed like that for 4 hours… acclimating. I think acclimating is one of my favorite activities.

Chris, happy with a beer, and Mike with a concerned expression as he checks the snow conditions.

After a time, my strength returned, and I could finally appreciate the surroundings. The lake was crystal clear, and you could see small trout swimming by the shore. It wasn’t a large lake, but it would still be an effort swimming across, especially since the temperature was close to freezing. I was tempted to try. But I decided in my present condition it would be a bad idea.

This restraint in retrospect was nothing short of miraculous.

The hike down went very easy. It felt like ten minutes. When we got to the parking lot, we visited the small store that was managed by a very old couple. We ordered three hamburgers and beers. Alcohol was not my friend at the moment so I demurred and ordered a diet coke. The burgers were delicious, and I was starting to feel like myself. I recommend you visit this store on your hike.

I struck up a conversation with the old man, and out of the blue he told me that I needed walking sticks because there was still snow surrounding the summit.

"What? Snow?" I was incredulous.

“Yes, you need an ice axe and crampons,” he flatly stated.

“But you look more like a walking stick guy,” he added.

To this day I don’t know if this was a compliment or an insult.

Buying my micro-spikes as Mike looks at the crampons off picture and tries to convince me to buy those. Again, he's concerned. I highly recommend Lone Pine Outfitters.

We took the rest of our food to go, and drove back to Lone Pine to go to the outfitters before they closed. Apparently, we needed to buy some ice axes and crampons. And some walking sticks for me.

We got the full report at the outfitters. There was a snowstorm a week prior to our arrival. A man died while attempting to summit. Mike told us weeks previously that we might need crampons. However, the boots Chris and I purchased were not suitable for that type of gear. The shopkeeper let us know about an attachment called a micro-spike. These went over the soles of your boots, and would help you grip into snow. They spikes were about half an inch in length.

Mike had crampons with 3 inch spikes. Chris and I purchased the micro spikes. I’d like to note that Mike wasn’t really surprised by this snow info, and was confused why we hadn’t been checking climbing conditions, or why we didn't purchase rigid sole moutaineering boots that could attach crampons. Starting to see a pattern here? Mike had also brought an ice axe.

Some of the stuff we packed. We overpacked by a lot. If you're going for a day summit, heavily consider what to bring and what to leave behind.

So $200 later, we went back to the hotel to organize our packs, and go to sleep for the early morning summit attempt.

We overpacked for a day hike (more on that later), and my pack weighed around 25 lbs. Chris and Mike had larger packs that weighed about 35 lbs. I brought 3 quarts of water, 4 cliff bars and a sandwich. Chris brought similar but added 3 quarts of Gatorade in addition to the water, and Mike, the sensible one, brought a little more, as well as a portable stove and some coffee. I didn’t see the sense in bringing coffee.

This is actually from the previous day, but the first 4 hours of the hike were in the dark, so if it had been light, this is what it would have looked like.

We slept longer than planned, and started on the trailhead at 3am. The weather was good, low 50s, and the trail was familiar and visible thanks to our headlamps and previous day's hike.

I was pretty pleased with my progress. My strength had returned, and we were doing about 2-3 miles per hour. The entire round trip would be 22 miles and 6100 vertical feet. At this pace we would summit and be down by 2pm. Maybe 3pm if we took some rests. I was betting on 2pm.

The next 4 hours, and 8 miles, passed relatively uneventful. We saw a beautiful sunrise, and some deer. We passed sleeping campers, with soft smells of distant campfires that had just been started. Then we saw snow.

It was very pretty snow. Mike was concerned.

"I never saw snow this early in the hike before."

I didn't know what he meant by that.

Hiking a mountain in snowy conditions is hard to describe unless you’ve been in it before. There are many types of snow consistencies, terrains, and slope factors that can make a hike pleasant or miserable. All of the factors today were miserable. The snow was slushy, the terrain rocky and unpredictable, and the slope steep.

Below we are switching into our micro spikes, and setting off into the snow. And for me, the great unknown.

Around 4 miles from the summit there is a very famous part of the trail called, “The 97 switchbacks.”

This was one of the more difficult parts of the climb, where you have to ascend 1,738 feet of elevation in 2 miles. I was looking forward to this part of the climb, because I actually like switchbacks. Counting them down breaks up the monotony.

Here is where everything really went off the rails. The switchbacks were frozen over. The guy who died last week died on the switchbacks. The Park Rangers closed it shortly afterwards. Most everyone we talked to from Trail camp had turned around. We pressed on, because these same people said some intrepid hikers were just going to the side of the switchbacks. I didn’t know what that meant, but I wanted to summit. Mike knew what that meant, and said "I hope the snow isn't too slushy."

I still didn't understand his concern. At this point, snow was still just snow.

To the side of the switchbacks is a ravine in the summer, and a double black diamond ski slope in the winter (minus the skiers, because the rocks would kill you). If you wanted to summit, you had to go up just shy of 2000 vertical feel over a condensed distance of 800 meters. Did I mention the snow was mush? Which meant you post-holed the entire way up. Post-holing is sub-optimal (AKA soul crushing). With each step you sink three feet into cold, wet snow. It's like trying to run up a hill with 50 pound weights tied to each leg.

So we pressed on. At this point we were at 12,000 feet, and the altitude was beginning to be felt. Altitude sickness will hit you especially hard if you're dehydrated, or recovering from an illness (ouch).

I raced this spider for a better part of an hour. I named him Jonah.

Those 800 meters took me 5 hours. At hour 2, I ran out of water and started begging my friends for some, which they obliged, because they didn’t want me to die. To put this in perspective, my speed was averaging 8 feet per minute, which is 0.1 MPH. I saw spiders passing me.

I’ve done half Ironmans, summited higher mountains since, and I have a two year old. Those 5 hours were the most difficult of my life. It’s good to have friends who won’t leave you. Mike positioned himself behind me, and prevented me from turning back, and Chris gave me his endless supply of Gatorade and Advil.

This is when the cruelest joke happened. Upon cresting the ravine, you are greeted by a sign that says you still have 2 more miles to the summit. Man, talk about a buzz-kill. Mike started melting snow for some coffee. He was so smart to bring coffee. Smartest guy alive.

I’d like to say it was all rosy from here on out, but those 2 miles were pretty brutal. Not because of the vertical ascent, you really didn’t have many steep parts left, but because the altitude really starts to hit you. My eyes were bloodshot, and my head was ringing. If I had actually done the proper preparation for this trip, I would have known those are glaring red flags to DESCEND immediately. Luckily, I didn’t do the prep, and Mike didn’t really press the subject (but he told me later he was actually very worried).

After cresting the ravine, this is more or less what the rest of the hike will be. Exposed ridges with a lot of wind and impressive views.

I would stop every 100 meters or so to gulp some water, and to rest. Mike would stay with me to make sure my rests didn’t turn to naps, and we kept moving. This whole part was very blurry for me, but I kept thinking back to my wife and my unborn child. Yes, this mountain was a last hurrah before becoming a dad, and probably why I wanted to summit so badly. I wanted to tell my daughter about it some day.

At this point my thoughts actually did turn to the fact I was in trouble. I was young and novice enough to think the risk was much smaller than it probably was. Mike would later tell me he wasn’t with me to motivate me, he was with me to make sure I didn’t slip into high altitude edema, which if happened he was prepared to physically drag me back down the mountain. I weighed 200 lbs at the time, so I'm glad it didn't come to that.

As I summited, I cried. It felt incredible to be on top of that mountain. It felt good to have not given up.

Slowly coming up on the summit. Mike and Chris had gone ahead to get this photo of me. I kept them waiting a while.

Now, if you didn’t think I was an idiot yet, let me tell you why I ran out of water. You probably guessed already due to the epic picture at the introduction. Ready for it???

Half of my pack was reserved for a full tuxedo and glossy dress shoes. I wanted to take some cool pics on the summit and surprise my wife, who sanctioned the hike, but was unaware of the outfit change.

Notice the others in the picture at the summit. Only about 15 people made it that day, and while they called us crazy, they got a kick out of it. We even recruited one of them to take our picture, who happened to be a professional photographer. Funny how life works out when you do bold things (and survive).

Below are some outtakes. My favorite is of Mike trying to show me his "take a stand" stance. It looked more like a weird jazz/karate hands stance. You can see the utter disdain in my face. The money shot is the first picture in this story.

I can’t argue that they’re not cool, but I don’t think I’d advise anyone to repeat what we did.

The way down was uneventful. Except for the part where we all almost died when we glissaded down the ravine. The whole round trip took about 23.5 hours. We made it in one day, barely. As we finished at 2:30am, we passed a group of three younger hikers in shorts, who asked us if whether we summited. We said yes, but we don’t recommend they try it. It was obvious from their gear that they didn't have axes or crampons. At this point I was a wise mountain man, and I knew the danger they faced. They appreciated the advice, but we could obviously tell they were going to go for it. I didn’t see any reports of dead hikers the next day, so I am fairly certain they ended up turning around.

Take-aways

1. Crossfit is NOT a good method to get in shape for mountain climbing. Mountain climbing is the best way to get in shape for mountain climbing. Start small and build up. If you are in a city, hit the stair-master for some epic 6-8 hour sessions.

2. Check conditions daily as the hike approaches.

3. Bring more water than you think you need.

4. Hike with someone more knowledgeable than you.

5. Don't schedule a root canal before a mountain climb, or a mountain climb around the time of a root canal (I didn't mention this, but yeah, I had a root canal right before the trip).

6. If you get food poisoning, just call it a day and go home.

7. Don't bring tuxedos, but if you do, make sure they don't wrinkle easily and roll them instead of folding them. Also, black is best, because you can't see the wrinkles.

8. The glossy tuxedo shoes were completely unnecessary. I didn't even wear mine in the photos (take a look), as my feet were bleeding and cold.

9. Always bring Advil. Miracle drug.

10. Walking sticks are awesome, but with snow you're better off with an ice axe. The guy was right, I am a walking stick kind of guy.

Resources:

Hike Broken Down by Mile

Mt. Whitney Lottery

Mt. Whitney Weather Conditions (very important)