Winter Mt. Whitney 2013

To Summit or not To Summit – Musings of a Sierra Mountain Guide

As I put away the expedition gear from my recent trip and place the kit back on the
racks in the garage, I find myself reflecting on the outcome of the trip I am returning
from. Drying the tent out, I think about the locations we used for camps and add a
little self critique as to if they could be improved on or not. Cleaning and putting the
cooking equipment away reminds me to look into a new pump for that ten year old
Primus stove that acted up a little on this last trip and may just be plum worn out.
Grabbing for the rope and rack, this time it is hard not to be a little dismayed. On
this trip we didn’t get a chance to use the technical equipment; weather came in on
us just hours before the wake up call for our attempt on the summit of Mt Whitney
in winter. While we made a thoughtful decision that most of the members of the
group were hoping to hear, not trying for the summit is still a bitter pill for me.

Having climbed and guided peaks on six continents, it is always fascinating to me

how one can find a ready challenge in your own back yard. Climbing Mt Whitney
during the winter months will always provide a challenge, but it is easy to forget
that even with the best preparation, all you need is a sudden change in weather to
throw a curve at you. Winds that make it hard to stand on your feet on flat ground
prove especially troubling climbing a steep couloir with some 3 rd and 4th class
rock. The added snowfall needs to be taken into consideration as well, as you don’t
want to climb the mountain, only to find the avalanche conditions to have changed
significantly on the slopes now below that must be crossed to return back to camp.
These problems can appear as readily on peaks close to home as they may in the
Andes or the Himalaya.

Without a doubt, proper planning and preparation are the key ingredients to a
successful trip. As a guide, this is where I see most groups fail to achieve their goal.
Perhaps they misjudged the difficulty of the route and couldn’t move fast enough,
or maybe they climbed too high on the first day of their trip, rendering legs useless
from the climb and heads hurting from the altitude. It all comes down to having
a good plan and knowing what to bring. But in the end, the mountain still sets its
terms, and no matter your level of experience, you won’t know what exactly what
to expect until you arrive. Examples of this happening to me flood to mind; a recent
trip to New Zealand to climb Mt Cook that shut my partner and I down to the point
of never setting foot on the mountain. Another trip to Ecuador that stymied us twice
on peaks, when strong wind and snowfall made us wonder if a safe descent from the
summit would be possible. Hasty retreat ensued in both instances, and we never
questioned our decision having endured the torment of the weather for several
hours before coming to it.

Back to Mt Whitney, it was a tough call we had to make that morning. The
conditions were pretty bad; the gusting wind was carrying frozen droplets of
moisture that pelted you in the face like little bb’s, and it certainly didn’t make sense
to roust everyone for the climb when we were almost being blown from our feet

just coming to the decision. Yet when you don’t try for the summit, you will always
be left not knowing the outcome of the attempt, had one been made. Would we
have turned back at Iceberg Lake having found it too difficult to keep our feet on
the ground? Would the stinging snow in our faces been enough to turn us back?
Or would the weather have broken and the summit come cleanly into grasp? In
the end the stormy clouds clung to the peak well into mid-afternoon, and reflecting
with our team on the descent from high camp that day, most were concerned about
simply leaving the tents that morning, no less enduring the weather on the more
extreme terrain of the climb. Sometimes it is just better to turn back and appreciate
the defeat, knowing simply it just wasn’t your day. While I sometimes struggle with
the undesired outcome, I never bemoan the fact that I still have all my fingers and
toes, and good decision-making has kept my partners and I from having a serious
accident in the mountains. Besides, if every climb was guaranteed to be a success,
what kind of adventure would that be?

Cheers and good hunting,
Jeff Witt

Mt. Whintey Winter

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

Ice Climbing, Lee Vining CA

 Approach: Heinous. Ice: In, but thin in most places. Beta & Pics below provided by Dale Apgar.

 Dale Climbing this weekend  Photo Credit: Bryan Tucker