By Gail Wise
I missed summiting Whitney by that 🤏 much! (1.2 miles, 700′). Hiking partner and fellow GLS leader, Jen Dooley, made it to the top. Yaay, Jen!
A trip report was requested for TRACKS, so at the risk of sounding like a lame imitation of Jon Krakauer’s Into Thin Air, I am giving you the whole tale here. Even though Jen and I are not mountaineers and Mt. Whitney (elev. 14,504’) is not Everest, it was a big mountain for us. The round trip on the main trail is 22 miles long and ascends 6,500’.
Climbing Whitney involves preparation and advance planning. Since our experience may be instructive for others who want to try it, I’m providing some background and detail about our preparations and conditioning efforts.
2024 Attempt Is Derailed
Jen and I have actually been training to do Whitney for two years, since 2023. Both times, we entered the lottery for one-day permits because they are easier to get than overnight permits, and Jen wanted to see if she could summit in one day, as she had already done it in a multi-day effort. I had never summited Whitney at all.
We scored a one-day permit last year for August 23, 2024, but despite our best preparation and months of conditioning, life events and mountain weather intervened to stop us. Two weeks before that 2024 attempt, I had a heart attack at home one morning while making bread, and had to have a stent inserted. I could not even travel up to the trailhead at Whitney Portal to provide support and cheer on Jen, because the elevation was too high for me at the time. Jen made it all the way to Trail Crest (elev. 13,600’) two miles short of the summit, but was stopped there by high winds and storm clouds.
My cardiologist said my high level of fitness had protected me from more serious damage, and encouraged me to get back to hiking at whatever pace my body would tolerate. He cleared me to try Whitney again in 2025.
Preparation for 2025
I started my reconditioning just a week after my heart attack. I had to start from absolute zero, which was frustrating. Overnight, I had gone from comfortably doing 5,000 feet ascents on 10,000 foot mountains, to not even being able to manage 250 feet up Mt. Fiji, our local hill in Eagle Rock behind Occidental College. Despite my frustration, I felt fortunate and grateful to be able to return to hiking.
I increased my effort by no more than 10% a week, kept an eye on my heart rate, and got stronger very slowly. I was helped and supported by my regular hiking pals, Jen, Nancy Beverly, Shannon Leavitt and Mary Pickert, who accompanied me on many of those short, slow recovery hikes. Those initial hikes weren’t any kind of real workout for them but I’d be gassed after the slightest uphill. Many thanks to them for keeping me company and providing encouragement. Their support was a huge emotional lift.
After six months, by February, 2025, I had worked my way back up to 10 mile hikes with about 2,000 feet of gain. It was time to enter the Whitney permit lottery again. The hiking gods provided, and Jen and I got a permit with an August 18 date.
Meanwhile, I had another six months of conditioning in front of me. Every hike, no matter how short, is always a joy, especially post-heart attack, and now I got to the REALLY fun part of the preparations — the high local peaks. Over the spring and summer, I hiked Mount Pacifico (elev. 7,100’, 2300’ gain, 13 miles), Mt. Islip (elev. 8,300’, 2,400’ gain, 7.5 miles), Timber Mountain (elev. 8,400’, 3,400’gain, 10 miles), Mount Wilson from Chantry Flat (elev. 5,713’, 4,000’ gain,15 miles), Ontario Peak (8,700’, 3,700’ gain, 11.5 miles), the Three Ts trail (elev. 8,900’, 4,600’ gain, ca. 9 miles), Mount Baldy (elev. 10,064’, 4,000’ gain, ca. 10 miles), Mount San Jacinto (elev. 10,800’, 4,300’ gain, ca. 15 miles) and finally Mount San Gorgonio (elev. 11,503’, 5,500’ gain, ca. 19 miles).
The Wilson, Ontario Peak, Three Ts and San Gorgonio hikes were all new to me, so by the time our Whitney date came around, I already felt ahead of the game. The local peaks were joyous, fun challenges unto themselves, and worth all the effort I had put into re-conditioning. However, despite my best efforts, I still felt a couple of steps behind the fitness level I had been at the year before.
Some days you can start out on a hike not feeling as strong as you’d like, but then you go on to surpass what you thought possible that day. I was hoping I would feel that way on Whitney, but was prepared to stop short of the summit. I reckoned it would be a good day if I made it to Trail Crest (elev. 13,500’), while hoping to go further.
I also fell back on first principles. My guiding principle has always been that the mountain and an element of fate decide whether you get to any summit. For me hiking is not about conquering anything, but staying reasonably safe, making good decisions, and having a good day in the mountains. And that became my mantra: “Whether I summit or not, it will be a good day in the mountains.”
2025 Attempt
Jen and I had reserved a campsite at the Whitney Portal campground (elev. 8,000’) for a few nights in advance of our permit date. The idea was to spend some time at higher elevation to help acclimate to the high altitude. Altitude sickness is a real consideration on peaks like Mount Whitney, and it can strike anyone and seriously impair one’s judgment.
Indeed, “summit fever” can be a killer. My favorite mountain climber is the well-respected American Ed Viesturs, who once showed incredible discipline and good judgment by turning around just 300 feet from the summit of Mount Everest because weather conditions were deteriorating and he had hit his set turnaround time. (Viesturs went on to summit all the 8,000 meter peaks — without oxygen.)
Finally, the big day arrived. The temperature was perfect, the winds were light, the skies were clear, the campsite was idyllic and we had had good rest. I decided to take some Diamox, a medication that I had had prescribed for me to help with the effects of altitude. We were as prepared and acclimated as we were ever going to be. We started from the trailhead at 2 am. Afternoon storms are common in August, so a pre-dawn “alpine start” is recommended to avoid them.
An unexpected delight was hiking in the dark the first few hours. I used a red light, instead of a white one, so that I could see more of the surroundings. The stars were amazing, and the light at dawn was absolutely magical.
At that point we were almost at Trail Camp above the tree line, where we entered a moonscape. Rocks, rocks, nothing but rocks everywhere. Starkly beautiful.
About seven miles in, we hit the section known as the 99 switchbacks. Except there were only 97 — I was counting, ha! This section was tougher than I expected. Because the trail was so rocky, the footing was frequently dicey with lots of tiring steps up and over boulders — and all over 12,000 feet. None of it was dangerous, but it was exhausting. At the time, I was thinking I might not get beyond Trail Crest (13,500’), which is at the top of the switchbacks where the trail goes over the ridge from the East facing side toward Lone Pine to the West facing side toward Sequoia National Park.
At Trail Crest, we could see down both sides of the ridge with drop-offs of thousands of feet. We stopped here to reassess. We had 1.9 miles to go to the summit. Jen was stronger than me and being solicitous. I was initially dubious about continuing because the views downward gave me a scary feeling in the pit of my stomach. The Whitney approach is actually much less scary than the Devil’s Backbone by Mt. Baldy. But it’s also quite a thing to be staring a mile down in multiple directions.
I didn’t want to let an irrational fear of heights stop me, so we agreed to continue a few tenths of a mile more toward the junction with the John Muir Trail, which leads down the West face into Sequoia N.P. (A lot of hikers doing that trail drop their packs off at that junction and make a detour to go up and bag Whitney.) That stretch was rocky and exposed, but I got through it. We were a little behind schedule at that point. I think it was 11:00 am and we had wanted to be on the summit by then. But the skies were crystal clear and it was safe to continue, so we did.
Jen pointed out that the summit hut was visible not too far ahead of us. It was maybe a mile and a half away and another 700 vertical feet. We continued. We ascended a nice little stretch with an even dirt path. I thought that if most of the rest of the way were like that stretch, I could manage the summit. It then started to get a little rocky as we passed a couple of the iconic “windows” where you can see down both sides of the ridge again. I made it through those just fine.
Alas, the trail then got very rocky very quickly. We only had a little over a mile to go, but I knew that last mile was going to be very slow and difficult, and we were behind schedule. Jen was tired, but still spry and strong. Despite the Diamox, I was starting to get a tiny headache, which is a sign of incipient altitude sickness. My legs were starting to feel like jelly.
I knew I could will myself to the summit, but I was extremely concerned about descending. We were far above treeline, and it would take a few hours to get below it in intense UV rays and rocky terrain. Also, I did not want to go down the last miles in the dark.
I decided to turn around. I encouraged Jen to continue up to the summit. Jen, to her credit, initially refused to let me go down alone and started down with me. After about 100 yards, I said “Jen, you should really go up and finish.” I pointed out that we both had our satellite devices, and we could text each other with them, so I felt it was fine to split up.
Jen was a little unsure about my headache and wanted to test my cognition. I said the headache was just starting, was very minor and my cognition was fine. To test it, she insisted I recite the alphabet to her. What a great hiking partner Jen is, that’s exactly what you would want your partner to do. I machine-gunned the alphabet right out and offered to say it in German and Spanish, too. That satisfied Jen. So we tested our devices and agreed to give our locations every half hour.
So down I went and up she went. As promised, we texted our positions pretty much on the half hour. “Back at Trail Crest.” “On the 83rd switchback.” “Made it to the summit.” (!!) “Mirror Lake in the rear view mirror.” It was hours of tough, slow going down the rocky switchbacks, all above the treeline, but I kept a reasonably strong, steady pace so as to get back to the shade of the trees.
There was one exciting moment when I heard what sounded like a few gunshots. It was a small rockslide starting far above me. The heat of the afternoon makes the rocks expand and can start slides. Fortunately, this one posed no danger.
Once below treeline, a whole different kind of beauty appeared that had been concealed by darkness during our ascent. Mountain lakes, meadows, forests and waterfalls all appeared now. Hiking through John Muir’s High Sierra with its magical, astonishing scenery was a spiritually moving experience.
I was tired, but fortunately I had turned around in time and could descend calmly, slowly and steadily. I got back to the Portal at 8:00 pm, just as night fell. Jen had made up a lot of ground and arrived just 45 minutes behind me.
We got back to our campsite and were too tired to celebrate much. We had a slow morning and were able to relive the glory then.
What an epic journey! I am delighted for Jen, and I am very pleased that I got as far as I did and pushed beyond Trail Crest. I do not feel disappointed, but happy about every aspect of the trip and the hike.
I have also come to the realization that I may not be up to day hikes of quite this magnitude. I plan to try to keep my mountain climbs to 15 miles or less per day. For me, the time and commitment required to stay at the necessary level of fitness for 20 mile hikes is just too great at my age (60). That said, I would gladly try Whitney again as an overnight or multi-day backpack and hope to do so at some point in the next couple of years.
If you’ve gotten this far, thanks for joining me on this adventure! It was a long time in the making, a lot of fun along the way, and a delight to share with everyone.
