I drove down from Mammoth on Friday after school, and met Adam at Whitney Portal. We left his rental car there, and drove together to the Shepherd Pass Trailhead. My car bottomed out and didn’t quite make it to the hiker trailhead. By the time we reversed down the road and found a spot to park, last light was upon us. We decided to camp there, and set out early the next morning. All night, I heard other cars bottoming out on the exact same rock, and animated conversations about what to do.
At 5:20am, my alarm went off, and soon after we were making our way up towards Shepherd Pass. The lower part of the trail along the creek provided beautiful views, and less bushwhacking than I remembered. The switchbacks were gradual, and we managed to stay in the shade all the way till Sammy’s Saddle.
Some people complain about the 500 ft descent after the saddle, but I found it was a nice opportunity to rest the legs and prepare for the second half of the climb. Not until half a mile past Anvil camp did we meet our first person of the trip — an apprehensive Canadian who was debating multiple options for his trip. I offered to talk through his options with him, and he was grateful to have an audience to talk things through with.
It was around 10am. He was debating either hiking back down to Anvil to leave his stuff and heading for Williamson, or making camp near Shepherd Pass. His morale seemed quite low. He complained about “the trail starting so low that there were cacti” and “having already gained the equivalent elevation of Whitney but not being on the summit”. Based on the late hour, and his low morale, I recommended he camp atop Shepherd Pass, or even in the Williamson Bowl, to minimize his mileage for the day. He did not like the idea of lugging his overnight gear any further. He hemmed and hawed, “how long does it take to cross the Williamson Bowl”, he asked. “An hour or two, I don’t remember, it was eight years ago”, I replied, “but the real thing that took a while is the chute, that was slow”. He replied that he was not worried about the chute, just about crossing the bowl. He told us he was going to take a break and think about his options further. We wished him well, and told him we would see him soon. If his hike was to match his ambitions, he would surely pass us soon. We did not see the man again.
Soon, we were atop Shepherd Pass, greeted by the sign reminding of that loose herding is prohibited. We set out towards the Williamson Bowl, and had lunch by a beautiful lake. Knowing we would either camp before or after Barnard and Trojan, we went with the conservative option of camping just before the two peaks. This left us only a mile or so more to go to camp.
We passed three people heading down Williamson, a Chinese couple and a Swiss women. All three were clad in layers of mountaineering gear. They were all in good spirits, and we wished each other well. It was nearing 2pm now, so we warned them that if they saw the man from earlier, they may want to tell him to turn around. They were all shocked at his plan to head up the mountain so late, and agreed they would talk him out of it. “Hope you all are following rule #1: have fun”, Adam said as we departed. “Rule #1 is to be safe”, the Swiss women replied with a laugh. We bid them farewell, and made our way to Lake Helen of Troy to settle in for the night.
It was only 3pm, but I was pleased with the day’s progress. We had ascended 7500ft or so, which was impressive given Adam had come from sea level. We debated pushing on over the two peaks, but this seemed risky at this hour. As soon as we arrived in camp, we realized how cold it was. I bundled up in all my layers, and set up my gear behind a rock. The howling wind lead me to not even attempt to setup my tarp. Sleep came in fits and starts. The wind would wake me up, and I would curl into a ball to warm back up. Adam didn’t fare much better in his tent, which he set up in a small ditch. When I went to fetch him in the morning, half of the stakes were missing, and he rain fly way flapping around in the howling wind. We both agreed we had managed to get enough sleep, just not all in one stretch.
I kept all my layers on for the climb up Trojan and even stowed my poles in my pack to avoid having cold hands. Summer in the Sierra was over, I thought to myself as I shivered up the shaded slope of the peak. Somehow Adam managed in shorts. Atop the peak, the wind picked up, and we picked our way carefully through the rocks. We sat very briefly on the summit, and headed down into the valley below Barnard.
The wind mercifully died down for a minute, and we took a proper break. As we began the climb the wind picked up in earnest. I would take a step and get blown five feet to the side. The gusts were so powerful, we were both beginning to feel a bit unsafe. We discussed our options, but agreed in this case going a few hundred feet up and over Barnard was probably our best bet to get to a safer place soon. The clouds darkened menacingly on the horizon. Adam suggested trying to find another pass, or contouring around the peak, but both of these options looked very cliffy on my topo. The only way out was up. I braced behind a rock as the wind howled. 10 quick powerful steps. Bracing behind another rock to catch my breath and build up the strength to face the wind. This pattern repeated itself. I reached the summit and curled in a ball behind a small rock.
Mercifully, the wind relented on the south side of the peak. Talus gave way to sandy slopes, and we slid down to Wallace Lake for lunch. The serene setting was just as I had remembered it six years prior. The ensuing few miles were similarly uneventful as we gradually wound our way up towards Tulainlyo Lake. Adam suggested going ahead here while I hiked Tunnabora, and it seemed to me a good idea. While our paces matched on flats and downs, at this altitude, I far outpaced him on climbs. This would give him a head start on the final pass, and allow me to jog up Tunnabora. We briefly discussed which pass he was heading for. He pointed to the gap between the Cleaver and Carillon, but I corrected him pointing towards Russel-Carillon Col. We agreed if he was confused he could just wait and I would be right behind. As we split, we saw a man clad in all red in the distance, and I told Adam foolishly that if he got lost he could probably just follow the man.
I made very quick work of Tunnabora, covering the 700ft of gain and half mile of distance in 17 minutes. I spared little time on the summit, and hurried down to catch up to Adam. I maintained a break-neck pace up to the col and jogged down the other side. Atop the chute, I checked my phone as we had discussed and sent Adam a text: “bout to drop chute, 3:24”. I was a little surprised to not see him down the chute, but I had given him quite the head start by hiking Tunnabora. I figured I’d see him down on the trail, and blasted down the chute.
As I neared the bottom of the chute, I found a text from Adam saying he had taken the wrong pass, had gotten in a hairy situation and was a ways behind. I sat down beneath a tree, and texted Adam some beta. I waited nervously, but was heartened to see a text update from Adam saying he was at the correct pass. Soon I watched him make his way down the chute above. Nearly an hour later, Adam walked in with quite the tale to tell.
I could immediately tell he was shaken from the whole ordeal. In the two hours we were separated, Adam had lost both poles, lost his water filter, and scraped up both of his legs. He reported taking a long slide down some talus. Upon splitting up near Tulainyo Lake, he had followed the guy wearing all red. Instead of following his GPS, he followed big red all the way up to Cleaver Col.
Atop Cleaver Col, he briefly caught up with Big Red. Big Red had been feeling cold up atop Shepherd Pass the night prior, so he put into AI to ask the quickest way to get back to his car at Whitney Portal. For some reason, AI had taken him on a circuitous path up and over Cleaver Col, totally the wrong way to go to Whitney Portal. Adam was shocked at the man’s blind allegiance to his AI, but before he could get a word in the man was off, going up some Ridgeline. Adam warned him to be careful, and the man replied that he had 50 feet of rope in case things get hairy. Luckily, Adam realized his error and made his way back to the correct route.
Unfortunately, on top of all of this, Adam began to vomit. We slowly made our way down the trail, balancing getting to a lower elevation with not over exerting Adam. We kept our eyes open to our right to see if we would see Big Red coming down some obscure ridgeline, or whatever hair brained route AI had set him on. As we descended the E-ledges, I hoped that AI had given him good beta. One wrong turn here could put someone in a hair situation. 50 feet of rope may not be enough on some of these huge cliffs. As we neared the Whitney trail, I hoped that we would meet a kook.
I always had met a kook on this trail. Never fails. The mountain acts like a siren attracting them from far and wide. Bragging rights over the highest peak in the land too strong a pull to make good decisions. We had seen five people in the last two days, but suddenly there was a group of five all chatting on the trail. A couple with two dogs, who seemed high as kites, I thought I had my kooks. We got to walking with them, and they were just starting to tell us about how he had moved to Mexico because people appreciated his murals there more, and suddenly Adam vomited again all over the trail.
We were sitting on the side of the trail, the couple offering food, water electrolytes, and a whole pharmacy to Adam. That’s when it hit me. This time, we were the kooks. Hiking peaks in a big windstorm, when summer had already passed, splitting up, following some crazy guy who used AI, vomiting all over the trail. We all take our turn, and this day it was ours. Surely the crowds we met at Whitney Portal will go home and tell of the two kooks they met. If those boys can do it, so can I. Word will spread. More kooks try their hand at ol’ Mt. Whitney.
Anthony Ottati 