On the Way to the Top
On the Way to the Top belongs to the following groups:
All Things Poetic, Artistic, PhilosophicalI first observed the grand vista on a trek to the Eastern Sierra Mountains over a decade ago. Our group leader commented about the mountain range passing by our bus window. Suddenly, the bus seemed to lurch sideways as everyone shifted position to gaze upon Mt. Whitney.
The journey to visit the 15,000-foot peak, the tallest in the continental United Sates, included a 22-mile hike. The high summit invited me, and my wife Linda, to engage in a new challenge. We always welcomed an adventure.
It was only a few months later when I discovered a group of Marines preparing to climb Mt. Whitney. Linda and I joined the group to prepare for our ultimate trek. Mt. San Jacinto and Mt. San Bernardino became our training grounds to adapt to high altitude. In three months, we acclimatized to hiking the 10,000-foot mountain peaks and the Whitney summit was in sight.
Linda and I launched our adventure from the small town of Lone Pine as we drove west, up a winding pass to an elevation of 8000 feet. We parked our van at the trailhead, prepared our backpacks, and slept until 4:00 a.m.
The full moon accompanied our early start as we began our slow and steady climb to our goal. No flashlights were required as the moon illuminated our steps.
Dawn finally appeared and the sun’s warm rays fell upon the pine trees; their needles glowed orange. Their long shadows stretched out to greet us. As the sun rose, it illuminated the meandering streams, bordered by patches of wild flowers.
We stepped from rock to rock, crossed the streams and pushed onward along the twisting trail to a 12,000-foot encampment. We could not camp without a permit and were forced to press onward past a pristine lake to challenge the trail’s switchbacks.
The steep switchbacks greeted us, one after the other. We found no respite by stopping, only an opportunity to catch our breaths. Looking down over a ledge, hikers resembled a line of ants dotting the trail behind us. We had trekked for nearly six hours and the summit pass was finally visible.
The hikers encountered over the next five miles were in various states of exertion. Some had claimed their prize of reaching the summit. Others, like us, still stepped forward; fatigue mixed with contemplation as we neared the peak.
Then, after all of the training, preparation and seemingly endless foot shuffle, we stepped onto the summit. The view from above was worth our effort. It was stunningly beautiful, and the image commemorated our dreams.
Our names, Chris and Linda Whitney, were documented forever in the hiking records of Mt. Whitney. A brief nap ended with the satisfaction of our accomplishment and understanding that it was time to leave the mountain.
I never truly left the mountain behind. When I walk through the Alabama Hills beneath the mountain, memories of our maiden adventure to Mt. Whitney are mixed with my admiration of the natural beauty of the mountain, a beauty that I continually revisit with my camera.
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