There are a multitude of reasons for wanting to climb a mountain,
particularly in winter, when the forecast is for high winds and brutal
cold."Because it's there"might suffice as an answer if you were George
Mallory and equipped with the nearly extinct elan that possessed his
generation of climbers. Meeting the group that morning, appropriately if
inauspiciously, at the Mt. Whitney cafe, I caught myself asking the
same question. How do a group of nine people, whose backgrounds are as
varied as a former British commando, a prison guard and a couple of
special effects wizards, largely exclusive of each other come together
and decide to climb a mountain? The answers, I was sure, would be as
varied as the climbers themselves.
After checking our packs for the requisite items, and dividing group
gear into the ever increasing piles of things that we were faced with
carrying up a mountain we started in a convoy of three SUV's up the
Whitney Portal road. The drive consisted of a sinuous stretch of steady
climbing, skirting an enormous Road Closed sign, and working our way
through the kind of rock fall one would expect from the shaky camera
footage of an Afghan war zone. The parking lot by comparison was cool,
and the trail itself bordered by massive Jeffrey pines that provided an
immediate sense of remoteness and adventure. Thirty minutes of walking
found us in a broad snow filled canyon, battling willows for supremacy
over the trail and back in the warm winter sun. Arriving at the base of
the ledges we ferried the groups packs over the narrow and grit covered
scramble that lead off the canyon floor and up to the last section of
trail before our first camp. The sun was threatening to dip behind the
mountains and plunge us back into the chill of winter as we arrived at
Boy Scout lake. We set up camp and shortly had water boiling to combat
the encroaching cold with steaming cups of hot chocolate. After Bernd
and Lyra demonstrated their exemplary backcountry cooking skills with
dinner and boiled another pot of water for a second round of hot drinks
before the group dispersed to their tents for the night.
The sun, which from our vantage rose virtually unimpeded in the east
shone on us early and we begrudgingly made our way out into the cold and
begun to deconstruct our tents and repack our bags. The conditions
above boy Scout lake alternated between firm wind bored snow, perfect
for crampons, and post holing through feet of sugar and willows that was
so bad it inspired one of our team, a hardened veteran of an Everest
expedition to write a limerick lamenting his trials.There was also the
view. Tiers of brilliantly blue water ice beckoned, to those heedless of
the their natural apprehensions, to be climbed. The sun glowed red on
the rock, clouds whipped by high winds into strands wavered like banners
across the sky, and the spire of Whitney rose before us. We camped that
evening on the moraine below Iceberg lake, re-hydrating with mugfuls of
hot Miso soup and eating heaping bowls of pasta before turning in.
The morning of the summit we woke at some excruciating hour that left
you immediately convinced that you'd only been asleep for a few minutes.
After oatmeal, and enough coffee induced clarity to realize that we
weren't dreaming and that we were indeed going to climb a 14 thousand
foot mountain in winter, we shouldered our light summit packs and move
single file into the darkness. When the sun emerged it seemed to bring
little warmth, our first break resembled a survival huddle and we were
hard pressed to remove our down jackets for the next leg in spite of the
level of exertion it promised. Now, the snow conditions could be
described as something close to sublime, with each step cutting a
perfect foothold in the snow. We climbed steeply up the Couloir, using a
crossover step to switchback between the rock walls. Our next break saw
us at the top of the Couloir with the rocky summit of Whitney ahead of
us just beyond sight. The wind cut through layers of soft shell and
insulation and brought with it a bone chilling cold as we removed our
crampons and stowed our axes in preparation for the climb that stood
between us and the summit. We stretched out our ropes, put gloved hands
on the warmth leeching rock and began to climb. The team was fit, and
moved with surprising grace and speed, sometimes on belay, sometimes
completely relying on each others ability for that extra measure of
safety. Soon we reached up and pulled over the last rock step and
realized there was no more vertical terrain in front of us, that we were
standing on top. The cold didn't curb our enthusiasm, but the photos at
the top were taken quickly, and after a quick snack and some water we
began our descent retreating from the wind.
The last day the group got up and broke down camp as if running through
some lifelong routine. The wind had abated and before long we were
stopping to shed layers in the sudden warmth. The team dispensed with
the descent of the ledges efficiently and before long we were back in
the cool of the pines that offered a surprisingly welcome shade. A few
days of dis-habituating in the wilds of the Sierra and Lone Pine had the
buzz and tempo of New York, but we still retained our fundamental
survival instincts and quickly made our way to a local pizza joint to
celebrate and say our goodbyes
So why did a bunch of people from all over and America and the world
show up and decide to climb a mountain. Probably no far reaching or
transcendent purpose, certainly for reasons beneath divine interest.
Most likely because there are few things that serve to challenge us as
physically, mentally, emotionally as climbing a big mountain. Few things
as incredible or inspiring, as being there with friends, and others
that seek their inspiration in the thin air and stark beauty of the
mountains. Or maybe just because it was there.
-Thomas Greene
