What:    
VICE Summits Mount Whitney
When:     November 14-16, 2008


Where:     Mount Whitney, California
Who:     VICE member Ed Warren and climbing partners
Ed's Recap:    

Here is a quick account of my climb of Mt. Whitney’s Mountaineer’s route in November of 2008:

I began the climb with Mike Arth and Dan Swanton. Dan, unfortunately, had no mountaineering experience, so when we reached 12,000 feet, he made the wise choice to return to the camp we had established at 11,000 feet and wait for Mike and I as we continued on to the summit.

After leaving Dan at 1 pm we sped up to reach the summit as quickly as possible. It was obviously late in the day and we had much ground to cover. We hit a 50 degree snow chute that went from 12500 to 14000 feet. It was seemingly interminable, but the hard Styrofoam snow made for relatively quick travel.

Unfortunately, Mike had sold his plastic boots after our Aconcagua climb, so I had to kick deep steps so he would have steps to use in his light-hiking summer boots. It was exhausting work, but our only viable option.

At the top of the long snow chute, we found a 2000 foot drop off the opposite side of the mountain and to our left a very steep, 500ft section of rock. In summer time it would have been a straightforward scramble, but with the setting sun, the bitter cold, and the shallow snow drifts that clung precariously on top of the crumbly granite, it became a much more intense finish.

We quickly consulted with each other to see if we should continue and decided that it was at least worth an effort. We started up, using our hands and ice tools. Every section of rock got sketchier and sketchier especially as the sun got lower and lower. Not only were we worried about tumbling off the rock and then over the 2000ft cliff, but in our exhausted state, the option of down-climbing this same section in the dark was daunting.

After another reevaluation of our circumstances, we made the delicate decision that reaching the summit was still possible to do safely - barely. As we pushed farther up the rock, I had multiple moments when I thought we were climbing into an inescapable position - unable to climb further or down-climb, and unable to descend by rope without a prominent horn of rock to rappel off of.

Within a stone’s throw from the summit we got ourselves into a real pickle. Poised on our tip toes and gripping the icy rock with our finger tips (keep in mind that the temperature was 0 degrees) neither up nor down seemed possible. I tried inching my way out onto a snowy ledge, but when the whole snow band lurched, I realized that I was one step away from taking a potentially disastrous fall.

At that point I turned to Mike and said "Let's call it a day". Never before have I been willing to throw in the towel when we were so close to finishing successfully. But the prospect of going down was just as terrifying as going up, so after down-climbing 10 feet Mike pointed out a possible route to the left and began ascending. I followed. It was a small 25 foot chimney of near vertical rock with big hand holds. In warm weather and with rock shoes, it would have been a piece of cake; but with the cold, the plastic boots, the packs, and the setting sun, it was an intimidating affair. Somehow we pulled ourselves up through it, and a shade before 5pm, we made it to the summit as the sun dipped behind a distant ridge. We snapped a couple of photos and turned back to start our harrowing descent.

I hate descending. I’m terrible at it. Between my bad knees and an awful sense of balance, it’s either a miserable slog or a frightening barely-controlled tumble. As we descended, un-roped down the short, top vertical section I reaffirmed my hatred.

Somehow, miraculously, we managed to lower ourselves down one section after the next drytooling and gripping the rough granite. At multiple moments, I had to ignore that voice in my head that said, "If your ice tool pops off that nub of granite, you are going to have a God-awful fall."

By the time we dropped down onto the col above the snowy chute, it was completely dark. We whipped out our headlamps, roped up, and began descending the scree and snow chute. It was relatively easy going for me with my plastics and crampons, but much more delicate work for Mike in his sloppy summer hiking boots.

It took us a few, painful hours to descend all the way back to camp in the complete darkness, and by the time we arrived we were both stumbling with exhaustion, nauseous from the altitude, but ecstatic to be finished. We collapsed into the tent at 9pm. We had begun the day 13hours earlier at 8000 feet, climbed 6500 feet and then descended 3000 back to camp. It was a day, reminiscent of Aconcagua.

The next morning we woke up, descended, and gorged ourselves on the fine local cuisine of Lone Pine: McDonalds dollar menu.

Ed





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