My Mt. Whitney Adventure

Now that I'm back to the daily grind, it's time for me to take you on a journey to the summit of the highest peak in the lower 48 states.  Today's blog will take you 14,500 feet up and back down to camp. The journey lasted 18-hours and we hiked for 22-miles.  Join me for the next few minutes as you embark on Arturo's Magical Mt. Whitney Adventure.

Be prepared.

I believe in preparation.  When I realized there was no backing out of this trip, I decided to start researching the climb.  I read two books that dealt with the Mt. Whitney day hike, watched several documentaries, and then examined YouTube videos of others who had challenged this rock.

There was never any doubt in my mind that I could reach the top.  I knew I was mentally tough enough but I had some doubts as to whether or not I could physically accomplish what lay ahead.

I realized early that I needed to get serious about my physical conditioning.  I joined the new Planet Fitness in Derby and was able to run on the treadmill continuously at 6 mph for an hour without a break.  I was feeling good about this since I really hadn't done much running in about six years.

Trained at PF 06418

When the first of my books arrived, their advise was to get outdoors and start hiking.  There was very little mention of using treadmills to run.  When you think about it, I wasn't going to be running up anything.  The book stressed time and time again, the need for stamina.  When it discussed gym equipment, it usually focused on cycling.  When treadmills were discussed, the incline function was stressed.

I did the math.  If I was going to be hiking for 18 hours and covering 22 miles, my average pace would need to be roughly 1.25 miles per hour.

This seemed like a ridiculously slow pace to me.  In fact, I was embarrassed to put the speed of the treadmill at 1.25 miles per hour.  It seemed like it was barely moving and even though Planet Fitness is the No Judgement Zone, I couldn't help but feel all eyes were on me as I walked a mere 1.25 miles per hour.

I thought I'd be better served by putting the incline as high as it would go (level 15) and try not to dip below 2.5 miles per hour.  I was able to accomplish this pace but was drenched in sweat by the end of my hour-long workout.

Although I was proving to myself that I could maintain 2.5 miles per hour at the level 15 incline for sixty minutes, the reality was there was no way I'd be able to maintain that pace for 18 hours.

Training in the gym was helpful, but it wasn't until I started hiking the mountains (more like hills in retrospect) here in Connecticut to make me feel like I had bitten off more than I could chew.

Sleeping Giant

My first hike was up Sleeping Giant.  True to my nature, I tried the double blue trail which was the hardest this hike had to offer.  That first hike was tough.  I thought my workouts prepared me, but there was a big difference between hiking on a trail and scrambling over rocks (which is what I did at Sleeping Giant) and working out on a treadmill.  I was exhausted and a little unnerved after that first hike.

The next hike I tried was a 7-mile hike on the Appalachian Trail. Although I felt pretty good, my knees gave out during the last 1 1/2 miles back to my car.  I was literally wincing in pain with each step.

By the time I tackled my third hike (Bear Mountain, the highest summit in Connecticut), I was

Summit of Bear Mtn

donning knee pads.  This really helped my knees and for the first time I felt I could climb and walk a reasonably far distance without pain.

I hiked every weekend leading up to Mt. Whitney and was feeling more and more confident in my abilities and in the shape I was getting in.  My leg muscles grew and I had dropped about 10 pounds.

The next big concern for me physically was how would my body react to the high altitude?  Both books suggested getting out and doing one or two 10,000 foot hikes so that your body could acclimate to the high altitude.  This sounded good in theory, but we just don't have any big mountains around here. Everyone was saying, "why don't you go to Mt. Washington in New Hampshire?"

I'm sure Mt. Washington would have been challenging but it was still only 6,288 feet.  To give you food for thought, 2 and a quarter Mt. Washington's could fit in Mt. Whitney.

The books discussed how everybody's body reacts differently to high altitude.  Some people are fine and others get headaches and then very sick.  The only thing to do for high altitude sickness (which can be very serious) is to go back down the mountain.  My wife, suggested that I get a prescription for some anti-high altitude sickness medicine as a precaution.  I did.

The other physical challenge I would face would be my asthma.

My trusty inhaler

I've had asthma ever since I was a child.  It never stopped me from playing sports, but it was always present.  I would get short of breath and wheeze when I over exerted myself. During the last twenty five years, they've made great strides in treating asthma and for the most part I am able to keep it in check.  Still, I use maintenance inhalers just about every day and occasionally need my rescue inhaler when I hear myself wheezing.

The final physical concern was that my gall bladder was removed several years ago.  This in and of itself is not a major concern except for one embarrassing side effect.  There have been times when I would literally get about a one minute warning before needing to use the bathroom.

After a year of dealing with this nasty little side effect of gall bladder surgery, I finally saw the doctor

Side effects?

and he prescribed something that has helped that issue.

So there you have it.  Mentally I was ready, but I was concerned over my knees, high altitude sickness, asthma, and my little missing gall bladder problem.  These issues planted a slight seed of doubt in my mind as to whether or not I could make it to the top.

After a 4 1/2 hour drive from Tracy, California through some gorgeous mountain passes, we entered the town of Lone Pine.  Lone Pine is in the shadow of Mt. Whitney.  We drove to the Visitor Center to pick up our hiking passes.

My buddy Scott, who had arranged this trip was surprised to learn that you needed to pick up your hiking passes before noon, otherwise the passes could be given away.  Since it was 3:30 in the afternoon, our passes were distributed to some other party.  This meant that the training, the planning, the cost of flying to San Francisco and back was wasted because Scott didn't read the fine print on the web site that issued the passes.

I mentioned that we were in the shadow of Mt. Whitney.  We still couldn't see Mt. Whitney because it was tucked behind other ferocious looking ranges, but when we first entered this valley I felt a little bit of apprehension.  This uneasy feeling quickly caused my little gall bladder issue to flare up which sent me scrambling for the men's room.  This caused further discomfort since this problem had all but gone away and now less than 24 hours from embarking up the mountain, I felt like I was in deep shall we say do-do.

Most people would be pissed at Scott for screwing up the hiking passes.  Not me.  This was actually the best thing that could have happened.  I would be able to triumphantly return to Derby and say that I could have ascended the summit if Scott hadn't screwed up.

I emerged from the rest room to learn that the park ranger had located 4 passes from some other group that didn't meet the noon deadline.  The climb was back on.

Rock formation in Alabama Hills

We decided to get lunch in town before heading up to our camp site.  Lunch was good, but I was more impressed with the Alabama Hills which surrounded us.  We learned this area was a popular filming location for many of John Wayne's westerns. There were pictures of John Wayne everywhere we looked in this little town of Lone Pine.

We returned to our car and took a narrow, windy 13-mile road through the mountains to our camp located at Whitney Portal.  The temperature in Lone Pine was in the mid-90's.  As we arrived at our camp area, there was a late afternoon chill in the air.  Although it wouldn't be sunset for another 4 hours, the sun was blocked from our site by the imposing mountains that lay ahead.

We arrived at our camp site and were greeted by signs that informed us we were in bear country. There were bear lockers on the other side of the road from our camp and the signs read not to leave food in our car, inside our tent, or anywhere other than the bear lockers.  My stomach started acting up again once I read these warning signs causing me to head for the latrine.

My worst nightmare seemed like it was going to be realized.  Knowing I had this little problem, I was very interested in what the books had to say about this subject matter.  I had medicine to control the problem, but it looked like with less than 12-hours to go, medical science was going to fail me and I was going to need to adapt to the situation.  This was a real crappy turn of events.

When one hikes Mt. Whitney, everything you carry in must be carried out.  This includes human waste.  Each person issued a hiking pass is also issued what is called a WAG bag.  The books all said that it's an easy process to find some privacy at the beginning of the climb while you are still surrounded by trees.

An official Mt. Whitney WAG bag

Apparently, it's a lot harder to find privacy once you hit about 12,000 feet and are above the tree line.  Knowing how my luck runs, I knew I would be fine until getting above 12,000 feet.  

We set up camp and I suggested to Scott and our group which included his 19-year old son, Gus, Gus's 25-year old friend, Tim, and me and Scott (both 53) that since it was still daylight, we should go on a brief half hour hike to get acclimated to the altitude.

With that, we left camp and stepped foot on the Whitney Trail.  We were certainly in the wilderness, but those first few miles didn't seem too bad.  I seemed to regain my confidence and I felt better with the knowledge that I had been walking trails for four months.  I could do this.

We settled in at camp and I asked Scott what time we were going to head out in the morning.  Scott replied, "I thought we'd get up around 8, have some breakfast and then head out by 10."  I replied, "Scott, every book I read said that this could be an 18-hour or more hike.  Most people leave in the darkness at around 3 or 4 in the morning.  The books say that we need to reach the summit and start heading back down before the afternoon lightning strikes hit the peak."  Scott looked at me like this was all news to him.  "Really, okay Arturo, how about we leave at three then?"  Scott's lack of knowing or even caring what we were about to do caused a new wave of nausea, which sent me running for the latrine.  I tripled up on my medication and hoped the nausea would be gone by morning.

I went in my tent and bundled up.  Although it was in the 90's in the Valley, the temperature was cold at the camp.  I zipped up my sleeping bag and fell into a deep sleep.

Our heros at the start

I remember being roused from sleep and thinking there must be an animal outside.  After a few moments, I realized Scott was awake and then I heard, "Arturo, it's 3:15, time to go."

Art/Tim in the a.m.

I gathered my wits about me and started putting on layers of clothes.  I took my high altitude sickness pill, swallowed some water, grabbed my backpack and headed towards the waiting car.  Once the four of us were inside, we drove the half mile to the start of the trail.  We parked the car, gathered our gear, strapped tiny little lamps on our heads, and started our journey.

During the first 2-hours of our hike, we were in total darkness (except for the tiny 18-inch diameter beam of light that emitted from our heads and lit the path in front of us.  I took the lead position and despite Scott's warnings, "Arturo, you're going too fast," I continued setting the pace.

Scott at daybreak

We climbed and sipped water as we went.  We crossed streams and fields as we steadily gained elevation in the darkness.  Every now and then, my mind would wander and think, "Hmm, if I were a bear, this is where I would hide."  We walked and made noise as we traveled which the guide books had said to do.  The last thing you wanted was to walk quietly and startle any bears one might encounter.

I failed to mention that since our plans had changed from a leisurely wake-up call with breakfast beginning around 10, to waking up at 3:15 and getting on the trail in darkness, we had missed one essential thing...breakfast.  The sun was starting to rise and we had been walking at a pretty good clip for nearly 3 hours.

Banana break

I could feel the hunger pains in my gut and stopped.  "Scott, I think we should take a food break."  He agreed, and I took a banana out of my pack and promptly devoured it.  I then ate an energy bar, took a swig of water and once again, started to climb.

We were now moving at a pretty good clip.  I was no longer leading the group, but was still feeling pretty good.  One thing I noticed as the sun rose was it was no longer in the 90's.  There was a pretty good chill in the air and I was glad I was wearing a jacket.

During my training hikes, the longest hike I completed was a section of the Appalachian Trail in Kent.  It surely had some tough sections, but for the most part, after getting to the top, it was level hiking.

This was not the case on the Whitney Trail.  We were constantly climbing.  As we were approaching the base of the fabled 99 switchbacks, a wave of nausea hit me like a ton of bricks.  I slowed my pace and felt the sweat start to pour of my body.  I was in trouble, my little gall bladder issue had finally decided to pay me a visit. I kept proceeding forward, but it was pointless...the time had come to search for some privacy.

I called out to Scott and the rest of our group and told them that I needed to stop to take care of some business.  They thought this was funny because we were above the timberline and there were precious few areas that one would consider private.

At this point, the nausea, the sweating, and my mind knowing that I had been given ample warning to find someplace, made me realize that I was now in emergency mode...it caused me to throw caution to the wind.  I left the trail and found a boulder about 4 feet off the trail.  I took out my trusty WAG bag and with no time to spare did what needed to be done as I watched a seemingly never-ending procession of hikers walk a mere 4-feet from where I was crouched.

My WAG bag spot

Now, I should add that Scott and our team were relishing this moment and Scott even took a picture of my head rising over my rock.  This did not phase me in the least, since I instantly felt the wave of nausea leave.

What did phase me was the disappointment in my WAG bag.  Apparently, these things are designed for the healthy diet of native Californians and not for us meat eating East Coasters.  In order to keep some dignity with this part of my tale, I will simply say, "...the WAG bag was too small and they could use a few more wipes."  Since my WAG bag was going to be strapped to my backpack for the rest of the trip, I must say nobody ever walked behind me for the rest of our adventure.

We arrived at the base of the 99 switchbacks and by now, I could feel my boots cutting into the back of my heels.  We decided to rest and I took my boots off, placed a band-aid on the backs of both heels, and changed my socks.

We decided to have lunch before tackling the hardest part of our climb.

Now when I had asked Scott, if he had plenty of food for us, he replied, "Don't worry about anything, Arturo.  I have so much food, there will be no worries."  He was right.  He had peanut butter sandwiches, peanut butter energy bars, trail mix (composed mainly of nuts), and beef jerky.

Certainly, this is food that one could sustain themselves on, however, this food was very dry.  I was having a problem staying hydrated.  I had a mouthful of trail mix, and then needed water.  I took a bite of beef jerky and had to spit it out before I was done.  I simply could not keep my mouth from feeling like it was drying up.

We rested for a bit while Scott refilled our water from a very green mountain lake.  He had a filter on a pump which was able to make the worst looking water drinkable and let me tell you, this water was not Fiji water.  The filter worked incredibly though, and despite the appearance, the water was welcomed and refreshing.

Climbing the switchbacks

We started up the switchbacks and words can not describe how high they rose.  From the starting point you could look up the mountain and every now and then you could see little dots moving near the top of the mountain.  These dots were actually people climbing ahead of us.

Somewhere near the bottom third of the switchbacks, I realized I would need to take it very slow if I wanted to make it to the top.  The high altitude medicine I took was working.  The others were complaining of mild headaches.  Not me, I never once had a headache.

The thing giving me the most trouble was my asthma was flaring up.  Somewhere around switchback 33, I took my first puff of my rescue inhaler.  I instantly heard the wheeze go away, but knew from experience that the wheezing and shortness of breath would be nearby for the rest of the ascent and descent.

I made up my mind that I wasn't in a race and decided to climb the mountain on my terms.  This meant I was going to control my breathing and I wouldn't let other circumstances get in my mind.

I had used this technique before when I started scuba diving.  For many asthmatics, scuba diving is a frowned upon activity.  When I started diving, my doctor told me to puff on my inhaler before going in the water and then to focus on my breathing.  I would take long, slow, breaths and never had any problems while diving.  I would use the same method to continue up Mt. Whitney.

I measured my paces and breaths and soon realized that I could walk 100 steps at this altitude before I would hear a slight wheeze.  If I rested for 30 seconds, the wheeze would go away.  This became my plan and I would not deviate.

For the rest of the climb, I would take 100 steps and then stop for thirty seconds.  This slow ascent

Walking up the switchbacks

went on for hours and hours, but I finally reached the top of the 99 switchbacks.

From here, we crossed into the back side of the mountain across what is known as the "windows."  This section is called the windows because although the trail is nearly 8-feet wide (which is relatively wide), on either side of you there are 10,000 foot drops.

Left is our green water supply

From one of these windows, I looked down at the green putrid looking lake that we had last filled our packs with water and pointed to Scott the crystal clear blue lake that was unseen but perhaps 100 yards from our little scummy pond.  We laughed.

We now entered a portion of the legendary John Muir trail and

At the trail crest

walked along a ridge line to a marker post that read that the summit was 1.9 miles away.  I was relieved.  Heck, we all were.  We had completed the hardest part of the journey (or so we thought).  We still couldn't see the summit, but just knowing we were a mere 2-miles away was reassuring.

Since I'm the person who read about the climb, I didn't want to be the "Debbie Downer" of the group, but felt it necessary to tell everyone that many consider the final 2-miles extremely difficult.  I read it, but could not believe anything could be tougher than those switchbacks.

2-miles to go

This part of the trail became tougher to walk on.  The trail wasn't as wide and often we had to scale over boulders.  It was draining and combined with my breathing strategy and my unwillingness to eat the dried food for fear of becoming dehydrated, I could feel my energy leaving me.

We pressed on.  There were no trees to block the wind.  The wind was gusting and we passed snow and ice tucked behind some of the boulders where the sun couldn't shine.  It was amazing to realize that it was in the mid-90's down in the valley and up here the temperature was in the high 30's with the wind gusting.

Off in the distance, I could see the Smithsonian summit shelter signifying the end of our climb.  I knew the shelter

The shelter...so close, yet so far

was the top and although I could see it, it still seemed far off.  From my training routine at Planet Fitness and my training hikes, I knew 2-miles was nothing.  Still, it seemed to take forever to walk towards the summit through this moon like landscape.  The trail was very hard to follow at this point and if you missed a turn, you would find yourself scaling over boulders until you saw the faint traces of the trail underfoot.

For the final hundred yards or so, I knew I was about to accomplish something very few people get to write about.  I was about to stand on the highest point in the continental United States.  I did this at 53-years of age and battled my asthma for much of the way.  I thought of the nausea that hit me so many hours ago and felt proud that none of these very real impediments were enough to stop me on my goal to reach the summit.

Made it

I was out of breath, so I decided to stop and go inside the summit hut.  I had seen pictures of the hut and read the ominous warning not to go in the hut during thunderstorms.  In fact, the hut is the worst place you could be in a storm.  I looked for the guest book that climbers sign and thought about what I would write for my entry into the book.

I wrote the following in reference to the first Rocky movie:  Art Gerckens, Derby, CT.  "Ain't gonna be no rematch, rock.  Ain't gonna be no rematch."

I was so glad to be at the top, I felt that I needed to give Mt Whitney (the rock) the respect it deserved.  I was letting it know that through perseverance, I had made it to the top, but there was no way I was going to ever attempt this again.

I left the hut and quickly found Scott and the others passed out in between the crevices of boulders. They were in between boulders in a feeble attempt to see if the rocks would offer protection from the wind which was dancing around the top of the peak like some macabre ballerina.

I tried some jerky, but spit it out.  I couldn't stop the wind, so I decided to take off my jacket for a quick photo op.  I had worn a DeFilippo shirt under my jacket during the climb.  I chose this shirt

Summit of Mt. Whitney

because, "hey, I'm from Derby," but more importantly because Coach hated quitters.  It was one thing, if I physically couldn't do the climb, but for those times (and there were a few) when my mind played games and whispered to my subconscious to give it up, I remembered the words of my old high school football coach, "There's nothing worse than a quitter.  If you get into a pattern of quitting, you will quit your team, your wife, your kids, your family, your job.  Boys, don't ever quit."

If you've read this far, we've made it to the halfway point in our journey.  We stayed on top of the mountain for nearly an hour but realized we needed to start heading down.  Lightening strikes and daily afternoon thunderstorms are a real concern at Mt. Whitney, and everything you read reminds you to get off the mountain before late afternoon.  It was now 2 p.m.

The view from the top of Mt. Whitney

As I started walking the 2-miles to the marker, my knees started to give out.  It became extremely painful to scale the return trip boulders and each step I winced in pain.  My trusty knee pads were no longer able to provide any comfort and I accepted the fact that it would be a painful return trip.

What goes up, must come down

Since I had eaten very little and kept drinking to stay hydrated, I was now almost out of water.  Scott gave me a precious few swallows out of his canteen, but it would be about 5-miles before we got back to lake putrid.  Besides not having any food, I would now need to monitor my water intake.

I continued my 100 step pace only this time I was limping with each step.  We made it to the top of the 99 switchbacks and there was a marker that read 7 miles to the end of the trail.  These 7 miles would seem like an eternity.

There would be hours when I was walking alone.  I had told Scott and the guys to go ahead of me, but the sun was now blocked behind the mountain I was descending and it seemed like hours since I had last seen them.

I finally emerged from the switchbacks and saw Scott and my team waiting for me.  I was out of

Trying to get back before sundown...we failed

water and they promptly filled up my canteen. It was now dusk as we finally walked below the treeline and I once again thought what a great place to be a bear or hungry mountain lion.

The sun finally set and once again I had to strap the tiny light to the top of my hat so I could see.  My mind once again started to wander.  Boy, it's been a while since I last saw Scott.  What would I do if a wild animal came at me?  I had a little carving knife, but certainly nothing that would enable me to protect myself.  I picked up my pace and made noise as I entered into some secluded wetlands.

Ahead in the distance I could make the faint outline of Whitney Portal (the entrance and end of the trail).  I could see in the distance the tiny beam emitting from Scott's light as it circled downward towards the end of the trail.

In the darkness I could hear Scott and Gus and Tim at the bottom of the trail.  I emerged to find them lying on boulders at the end of the trail.

We high-fived each other and congratulated ourselves on a job well done.  We had visions of coming off the trail and getting a bite to eat.  This did not happen since it was 9:30 p.m. and the tiny general store was closed.

We got in the car and drove the 1/2 mile back to our tents.  We were going to cook and stay up and chat.  Instead, we each drank two Gatorades and went straight into our tents, exhausted.

So there you have it.  Since the people of the valley like records, I thought I would compile a few records that may have been set with this climb.  Until proven otherwise, Scott and I proudly claim the following:

• Only St. Mary School of Derby graduates to summit Mt. Whitney and return in a single day.
• First Derby High School graduates to summit Mt. Whitney and return in a single day.
• Only teammates in the history of the DHS wrestling team to summit Mt. Whitney and return in a single day.
• Oldest (53 years) Derbyites to summit Mt. Whitney and return in a single day.
• Only ex-DHS football player to summit Mt. Whitney and return in a single day.
• Highest ranking government official of the City of Derby (BOA President) to summit Mt. Whitney and return in a single day.
• First asthmatic DHS graduate to summit Mt. Whitney and return in a single day.
• Highest altitude (13,600 feet) that a DHS graduate and elected official from the City of Derby has used a WAG bag.

Bad Attitude

I love music.  As a kid, I used to listen to Casy Kasem's American Top 40 every Sunday morning.  I remember getting introduced to rock through hand-me-down albums from one of my older neighbors.  My first concert was Frampton and I followed that up with The Doobie Brothers.

In high school, I heard rumors of a hole in the wall of the New Haven Coliseum.  I was taken to the hole and learned how to sneak in through the roof of that venue.  Throughout high school I became one of the "wall people" who snuck into every concert that came to New Haven.  If an artist or band came to the Coliseum, I saw them and usually for free.

As I got older, I discovered local bands.  I've been supporting local bands ever since.  I forget all the names, but followed Wildcat Strike, Overture, and any band featuring Nick DeFala or Junior Palmieri.

These days, I've been following Flying Meat, Lost Rebel, Crossroads, The Juicy Grapes, and The Dixie Rebel Band.  The one group that I was closest to in my twenties was a band called Bad Attitude.

Bad Attitude spoke to the rebel inside of me.  They were loud, rude and crude.  My buddy Joe and I became their roadies and unofficial rehearsal singers.  Since the vocals were so loud, we stepped up so the lead singer, Wayne wouldn't strain his vocal cords before a gig.  Joe and I didn't mind.

In true rock and roll fashion, we drank, we fought, and we were all about having a good time.

I've learned that everything you do as a youth helps shape and create the person you become as an adult.  Did I make mistakes...absolutely, but the friends and experiences I've shared have become a treasured part of me.

The drummer for Bad Attitude is a friend named Tommy Dow.  Tommy was the comedian in the group and the driving beat behind the music.  Tommy has been playing in different local bands all

these years and I have to admire someone who has remained dedicated to his craft for all this time.

Recently, Tommy has had some health issues.  His friends are hosting a fundraiser to help with his medical expenses this Sunday at Cherry Street Station in Wallingford.  His band, Crossroads will be hitting the stage at 3.  I'm crossing my fingers that maybe, just maybe there might be a Bad Attitude reunion.  I know one thing, I'll be there to lend my support to a friend from many years ago.