The high sierra trail (HST)
runs from the summit of Mount Whitney to Crescent Meadow in Sequoia National
Park. A push from Whitney Portal to the parking lot in Sequoia National Park is
70+ miles with ~ 14000 feet of elevation gain. There are no good bailout points
and a mistake on the HST will likely mean a cold bivouac deep in the Sierra. I
need a safety net in the form of a partner for something this big, so in an
email titled ‘stupid ideas’ I invite FDK, who is immediately and absurdly
positive about the concept. We obtain a Whitney summit permit for the night of
the harvest moon in late September.
The logistical support for
the trip comes from my dad. It’s his first trip to Sequoia national park and
he’s impressed by the big trees and the roughness of the terrain. He picks us
up from the trail’s western end point at Crescent Meadow where we’ve left a car
and drives us around the southern tip of the Sierra to the east side town of
Lone Pine. Under a full moon we hike up the Whitney trail with 9 pound
running vests.
Whitney has never been kind
to me and I am overcome with nausea at the summit hut. FDK is doing something
important with our satellite beacon but I threaten to ‘projectile vomit on you
like in The Exorcist’ and rudely start back down without her. In her hurry to
catch up with me she crashes head first into a rock on the technical summit
trail and gashes her leg and hand and pops a water bottle in her chest pocket.
At the junction with the trail down into Sequoia NP, we assess our condition.
I’m recovering from my bout with AMS and FDK is bleeding and ice-encrusted from
the re-freezing of her burst water bottle. In a bout of intellectual dishonesty
we decide that ‘nothing has changed in our condition’ since the morning and we
take the semi-irreversible step of descending down, down, down into the vast
backcountry west of Whitney.
Incredibly, we have about 20
very easy miles of rolling and then downhill running through the Kern River
valley. FDK trips once more and we have a brief moment where it seems she may
have knocked loose a tooth, but it’s a false alarm. At both the mid-point and
the low elevation point of the trip we’ve fully committed ourselves to
completing the run. I feel shockingly comfortable there, 35 miles deep in the
Sierra, with minimal supplies and clothing, as if the mountains are insulating
me from the outside world.
We can’t stay in the Kern
River valley and we begin a distressing trudge up the dusty Chagoopa Plateau.
In this heat it’s hard to believe that hours earlier we had frozen fingers and
noses. We dunk hats and buffs into the river and let the water drip down
our necks. FDK stops now and then to listen for rattlesnakes. I think it’s here
that we lose the most time. If Mt Whitney, with its extreme altitude and cold,
was the technical crux of the day then the Chagoopa Plateau, with its
neverending gradual ascent through nondescript pine forest, is the
psychological crux. My lungs slowly fill with dust, and a subtle rattle
vibrates in my chest. Is this asthma, or am I just tired? Ultimately it doesn’t
matter.
Finally we climb up into
Kaweah Gap, and the whole of Valhalla and Hamilton lakes is laid out before us.
This is the image that has stuck with me since the trip; FDK striding forward
downhill, the sun setting fast into the haze of the central valley, and 20
miles to go over the most technical and exposed section of trail. As darkness
falls we jog slowly downward. The trail is sliced into the cliff side and I’m
nominally aware of a void on my left side. We pass through a tunnel blasted
into bare granite. As the moon comes up it reflects off the sparkly white
granite to illuminate the soaring buttress of Angels’ Wings and Cherubim
Dome. I start to notice creatures in the
forest. Tiny scorpions on the trail. Monstrous salamanders. My headlamp beam
catches eyes in the trees- deer, most likely. We cross a gorge on a huge wooden
bridge and we peer over the edge. We can’t see the bottom but we can hear water
rushing a thousand feet below us.
There’s a party in the forest
at Bearpaw Meadow. FDK walks out the of woods right into it. I hear a man
shouting “What the hell! What the hell! Where did you come from?” I almost want
to join them and sleep by their fire.
I’m not in shape to run 72
miles and I learn this lesson hard near the 70 mile mark. My quads are wrecked
and I’m running by using my hips to swing my legs around, using a hard effort
to maintain about a 3 mph pace. FDK seems strong and she reminds me to eat and
drink. I knew I had the guts to get us started on this journey, but she’s got
the tenacity to see it through to the end. She could take hours off of our time
with the right partner, now that she knows this is possible.
We actually do run in to the
trailhead to come in just under the 24 hour mark. My dad has left back for the
hotel as the night progressed, so we’re alone in the empty parking lot, the
only thing left to drive ourselves down the hill to our hotel in Three Rivers.
I feel like I’ve lived a whole lifetime in one day, my head full of alpine
beauty and my body utterly wrecked.
Deep thanks to the people who
supported this trip, including Tim Roake for driving 15+ hours to complete the
shuttle and feeding and watering us; Natalie Kelly, Ben Gutman, Kelsey Dutton,
Greg Gaskin and Kari Rust for monitoring our progress and sending messages
of support; Greg Gaskin for endless training runs over the summer; Jim
Hornibrook for use of his ultralight bivy bag. We received financial support
from the American Alpine Club Live Your Dream Grant.
