Love and light to all who are reading.  I wish you all a happy beginning to the fall season.  As the trees begin their annual fireworks display and the mornings and nights become cooler and filled with autumn magic, I hope you all take the time to reflect on the passing of summer and all the memories, laughter and happiness experienced during that time.

This past summer concluded with a hiking trip, years in the making.  As my Keens began to carry my soul all over the Sierra Nevada's beginning in the summer of 2003, I longed to stand atop the loftiest mountains.  The more books on California Hiking and the Sierra Nevada I placed on my shelves at home, the more the I dreamt about climbing peaks of talus and scree, descending into valleys brimming with flora and fauna and the post hike soreness that breeds smile after smile.  The tales to tell fellow adventurers and friends alike, while showing photos of alpine beauty most people in this country will never experience.   

Roughly 4 years ago, whilst I was reading my "California Hiking" book, I stumbled upon the section just north, of Southern California.  The first hike the book showed was of the Discovery Trail, in the White Mountains, east of Big Pine.  The subject of the hike was the Ancient Bristlecone Pine Tree forest.  I have written about these majestic organisms in the summer of 2017 blog and the absolute magical nature they exude.  As I read about the area, my fingers found her.  They found the hike that my soul would spend 4 years dreaming about.  Mount Whitney.  14,505 feet of wonder, awe, amazement, pain, agony, fear and trepidation.  I had to climb it.  I had to stand atop the highest mountain top in the continental United States.  It was destiny.  It was my calling.  It became an obsession.

That first year (Spring of 2014), I entered the lottery for permits.  The National Parks Service (NPS) restricts the number of travelers on certain trails in an effort to maintain the wilderness feel and impact on the local ecosystem.  I selected my dates, and hit "enter".  Six (6) weeks later, I receive an email informing me that my application was chosen and all I had to do was pay the $15 for my permit and I was set to hike Mount Whitney.  I smiled and thought, "Here we go!".  But, that year did not happen as a trip to Cabo San Lucas and a permit lottery win for the Half Dome Trail were more important.  Whitney would have to wait.

February of 2015 dawned and I was ready.  Ready to conquer Whitney.  Ready to see her and experience all she had to offer.  Again, I placed my lottery application into the cue, and waited.  The devastation on St. Patrick's day and the aftermath of my fathers diagnosis of brain cancer derailed the eventual excitement of my successful lottery application.  Again, Whitney would have to wait.  That year, Mount Tallac and Clouds Rest (twice that year) were checked off the peak list.  The rest of the year, hiking became secondary.  My father was the focus.  

Here we are. February 2016, application filed, again.  Again, success in the lottery.  This time it was going to happen!  This time, I booked a campsite at Whitney Portal even.  I was ready.  I called my two (2) favorite hiking friends I had just met that prior fall and told them we were a go.  This was the year we were going to summit Whitney.  Spring passed into summer, summer melted into fall, and again, Mount Whitney sat there, unconquered by our group.  No six (6) hour drive down I-395 passing through Bridgeport, Bishop, Big Pine and onto the streets of Lone Pine where the soaring presence of Mount Whitney looms high over the small little town in the Owens Valley.  There that gorgeous peak sat.  There it would continue to rest another year.  Next year was our year.  We were going to do it.  We had to do it.  It was our destiny.

February of 2017 begins with a winter that would go down in the annals of California history as one of the single greatest snowfall years the Golden State has ever seen.  My group was undaunted.  We were going to climb her.  We bought crampons, ice axes, climbing carabiners and paracord to ensure the safe ascent up the mountain.  We even spent hours talking about going "The Mountaineers Route".  We were ready.  The hell with the snow and ice.  This was our year!  We planned our trip to happen over the July 4th holiday.  We booked a campground in the Inyo National Forest (for those of you who have never experienced the Inyo National Forest near Lone Pine, CA, it is more like sage and scrub brush, not a forest per se) and we planned meals, day hikes and our time there in Lone Pine.  When we arrived in the town of Lone Pine, CA on July 2, 2017, it was hot.  Brutally hot.  Our campground in Lone Pine (elevation 3,900 feet.  Almost 5,000 feet below the Mount Whitney Trailhead) was scorching.  108 degrees.  It was a desert.  We were lucky to have a stream next to our tents which offered some relief as we would sit in it in an effort to cool our toasted bodies.  The heat was relentless. 

We enjoyed the White Mountain magic of the Ancient Bristlecone Pine Forest.  We day hiked the Alabama Foothills and explored the beauty this desolate area held.  We gazed up at the sheer magnificence of Eastern Sierra's and of Mount Whitney.  We wondered what it would be like on the summit.  The day prior to our hike, we set out after breakfast on a day hike to Lone Pine lake, about 2.5 miles up the Mount Whitney Trail.  The stream crossings were intense.  Melting snow from a colossal winter made these crossings an adventure in themselves.  We forded each with great caution and wondered, "How will this go at 2 o'clock in the morning while wearing our headlamps?".  As we crossed the 9,700 foot elevation mark, a friend of mine and I were experiencing fatigue and the early onset of Acute Mountain Sickness (AMS).  (I think we were more just out of shape and maybe, just maybe, a little intimidated by the looming nature of this gigantic monolith of a mountain).  We turned around shortly thereafter, headed back for our campsite and made the determination that we were still, not ready to conquer this peak.  We left dejected, but reveled in the fact we spent 4 glorious days of friendship hiking with each other, laughing and making memories.  Hiking friends are truly some of the best friends a human can have.

All throughout the year, our little band of hikers talked, planned and kept each other honest on training.  We encouraged each other and pushed each other to be ready for 2018.  THAT, was our year.  We are GOING to summit.  

February 2018, permit lottery application filed.  March 2018, successful lottery application.  Campground at Whitney Portal ; secured.  Site #44.  Right next to Whitney Creek.  7,463 feet in elevation.  1,000 feet below the trailhead.  It's on. 

Weeks melted into months, summer flew by.  A Disneyland trip for my daughters, a backpacking trip with them as well.  All the while, Mount Whitney was on my mind.  She sat there, radiating her beauty in my minds eye.  Landscaped photos of her adorn the main wall in my humble business services office.  This is our year.

September 15th came and the car was packed with hiking and camping gear.  It was time to go.  Heading south on I-395, my mind found its way to the trail.  To the failure of the year prior.  "It will not happen again", I said ever so silently to myself.  This is our year.

Pulling into campsite #44, my friend and I were greeted with the happy call of another trail pal who was already there and busily setting up her tent.  We exchange our hugs, travel details, discussed our kids, spouses and how excited we were to be here.  We threw our tents up, got set, jumped back into my Subaru Forester and headed back down Whitney Portal road to the Alabama Hills to wander around and see the Mobius Arch.

The afternoon was windy and nothing like the summer of 2017.  It wasn't scorching.  Our boots didn't feel like the rubber would delaminate from the soles.  We explored while laughing, taking hundreds of photos and stealing glances of Mount Whitney in the distance.  Again, she loomed over us with a certain magical presence.  We talked about the summit and again, how it would feel to stand atop her.

Day two carried us to the town of Big Pine and to the Big Pine Lakes trail.  A "Little warm-up" hike of 11 miles and 2,300 feet of gain.  Miles melted away under our boots under a warmer than average September afternoon.  The Palisades rose out of the ground like spires which would sit atop of a Medieval castle.  We marveled at the beauty of the emerald waters of the Big Pine lakes and how they chilled our bodies to the bone when we plunged into them.  We sat in quiet awe of where we were and what our mission was.  What our destiny, was to be.  This was our year.

The fourth member of our group joined us that evening and as we sat and enjoyed cold beer and burgers at the "Mt. Whitney Restaurant" we turned our focus to the following day and to the summit attempt which would begin in roughly 36 hours.

Monday, the 17th of September was to be a rest day, but our nervous energy saw us back out in the Alabama Foothills exploring again and gazing at the her.  God, she was huge.  Her peak was over 10,000 feet above us now and yet, we laughed and knew, this was our year.

Back at our campsite later that afternoon, we began sorting through our gear.  First aid kits, water purifiers, snacks and other essentials.  We were planning on being in bed at dusk (7 pm) and awake at 1 am, and on the trail at 1:30 am.  Preparations were set, water bladders and bottles were full, snacks and summit sandwiches were made.  All we had to do was toss in our summit beers in the morning and we were ready.  This was our year.

Heading to bed that evening, we all knew what the next 24 hours would hold.  We saw our challenge and were determined to meet it.

Awakened at 12:45 am by the rustling of my tent by an overly eager hiking pal, I began to dress.  My long, tan, Prana pants had kept me warm and dry through miles of Desolation Wilderness outside of Lake Tahoe, and I was hoping they were once again, up to the task.  Slipping on my silk liners, then my heavy merino wool socks, my mind was preparing itself to do battle with this mountain.  Lacing up my size 12 Keens, and strapping on the Outdoor Research gaiters, I stepped out of my tent and breathed deeply the cool, midnight air.  It was time.  We quietly placed our backpacks into the back of my Subaru, and were off.  Headlights illuminating the short mile from our campsite to the trailhead.  We parked in the stall adjacent to the pit toilet and climbed out, ready to go.  We weighed our packs on the scale by the trailhead.  Pack one was 18.5 lbs, pack two was 20 lbs, packs 3 and 4 were 22 lbs.  We fastened the hip straps around our waists, pulled our wool beanies onto our heads, switched on our headlamps and were off. 

The clinking of our trekking pole tips was all that was heard for the first 2 hours.  We were, each, establishing our "Hiking Rhythm".  Everyone has one, and it takes time to get into it.  The methodical nature of your body as it falls into the steps of your journey.  Somedays it is easy to find, others not so much.  Mine hit me as we hit the 3 mile mark.  Crossing the log bridge just before Outpost Camp, my soul settled and I knew, this was our year.

The moon was long gone from the sky.  The only luminance we had was from our headlamps and the subtle glow of starlight, millions of light years away.  Passing through Outpost Camp, two (2) does greeted us as they chewed on marsh grasses and probably wondered, "What are these beings doing at an hour where nothing should be moving?".  

We pressed onward and upward.  Climbing granite slabs and elevation.  Four (4) hours into our journey we began to see the faint traces of dawn in the form of a subtle glow to the east.  Wotan's Throne loomed ahead of us and it was massive.  Standing 12,000 above sea level, this granite monstrosity was impeding our view of the destination we so hungrily sought.  

An hour later, the Alpine Glow of a new morning was present and shining brightly on Mount Whitney.  We could see her.  Oh my god, she is enormous...  Our clicking poles and rubber soled boots were nearing the 6.7 mile mark of Trail Camp.  Sitting at just under 12,000 feet up, we stopped and filtered water as the light of dawn caressed the backpackers who were arising to get themselves ready for their summit bids as well.  We marveled at the height of the mountains around us, but realized that we had made a huge dent in what our objective was.  The summit was a mere 4.3 miles away.  Only another 2,500 feet to climb.  The switchbacks.  Oh...  Those 99 switchbacks...

Ask any hiker who has spent time on the trail, what something they hate is, and likely, switchbacks will be high up there in the comments.  Switchbacks are man's attempt to lessen the intensity of the climb and make the route to the top a little more bearable.  No one ever thought 99 in a row would be a good idea, but here we are.  7 miles in facing a 2,100 foot climb over 2 miles and 99 of these back and forth up, up and more up, switchbacks.  Someone actually counted them?  Yes.  They did, and as one of my hiking pals confirmed, there are, in fact, 99, and they are neverending.  Somewhere around number 70, we could begin to see the light at the end of the tunnel which was Trail Crest.  The great divide of the Mount Whitney Trail and the John Muir Trail.  We were tantalizingly close now.  Our boots crossed over that final switchback, and at 13,600 feet (5,300 feet above the trailhead and 8.9 miles into this hike) we realized just how close we were.  A short descent from the Trail Crest, we met up with the John Muir Trail.  The summit of Mount Whitney was only 1.9 miles away and we could see the Sierra Hut atop it.  Only 1.9 miles.  "Holy shit, this can't be 1.9 miles??!!??", we all thought.  I think it fell out of my lips first.  Disheartened is the best way to describe how far away it seemed.  It was 9:54 am when we began our slow crawl to the summit.  

One of our group members was an asthmatic and he was feeling every foot of altitude.  I have many hero's in my life, and because of his struggle with this disease, he is now one as well.  He persevered and forever won respect from each of us that 18th day of September, 2018.

Slowly, we traversed the talus and bouldered landscape.  Panting and puffing, we neared the summit of her.  Each step was a step closer.  I think that by the time we passed Keeler Needle, I felt the surge of emotion in me.  Tears began to well up.  The emotions of the past 4 years were sitting squarely on my mind, heart, soul and now falling onto my black Marmot jacket.  

We regrouped 500 yards below the summit to let our asthmatic friend lead our group to the apex.  He lead on with the pride that only a peak bagger can exude.  He was confident.  He was empowered.  He looked Mount Whitney in her gorgeous, granite eyes, and smiled.  We all smiled.  Our cell phones captured the those final 500 yards in video form.  The shortness of breath and talus underfoot are clear as that 1 pm sun.  At 1:05 pm, the first of our hands touched the summit box, grabbed that Bic pen and left our mark on the USGS summit log.  This was indeed, our year.  We did it.  

The tears dropped from my eyes with force.  The emotions in me turned back to watching my father face, and beat brain cancer.  To hear the fear in my mothers voice just one year ago, about him facing open heart surgery while I was down here in Lone Pine trying to conquer my own demons.  To this day, when again, he lay on the operating table undergoing a knee replacement.  I dialed her number and waited.  She answered and my voice quivered, shook and I cried, "Mom, we did it.  I am on the top of the continental US.  14,505 feet up.  Tell dad we did it.  I did it for him.  I did it for everyone who ever doubted themselves, who overcame illness or trauma.  We did it."

 I am not a confident person.  I do not possess high self esteem.  I doubt myself and my abilities daily.  I doubted I would ever stand on the top of the US and look out over the Owens Valley.  Sure, I have bagged peaks in the Sierra's, but this was different.  This was the I Ching of California hiking.  This was the "Big One".  This was Whitney.  I never will say we "Conquered" her.  We didn't.  We were humbled by her.  We faced her challenge and we succeeded.  We summited the highest peak in the Lower 48 states.  

I learned a lot about my abilities that afternoon.  I learned that my 40 year old body can be pushed to the point of exhaustion, and then continue to go.  I learned that my mental toughness is still there.  That the tenacity of a former competitive swimmer is still intact and can be pushed to do things I don't think I can do.  I learned that being with my friends atop the highest summit in the Lower 48 is an experience I will tell my grandchildren about with pride.  As my fingers depress keys of plastic, my eyes are again, welled up with tears as I recount the story of our Mount Whitney experience.  It didn't make my inner demons go away, but it showed me that I can fight them.  That I can climb mountains and push through any self doubt I have.    

This mountain is beautiful.  This mountain is full of such magnificent energy.  This mountain pushed me to my limit and I love her.  

I hope this story touches you.  I hope you feel the emotion as I retold it from my minds eye.  I hope that you can look within and know that whatever you face, you can meet that challenge and succeed.  This mountain humbled me.  But, this mountain gave me confidence.  Never again will I doubt myself and my abilities.  I have nothing but respect for nature, mountain peaks and the sound of the wind as it thunders through valleys.  My heart lives amongst the trees, alpine peaks and forested wilderness.  It is here, I am home.  I hope everyone of you who has made it this far, can smile and experience and challenge like this.  I hope you look inward and know, you are worthy.  You are strong.  You are capable of doing anything.  

Sending love and light to all.  I hope you have enjoyed this tale and that it is somewhat, relatable to your own life.  I hope you put your boots or sneakers on and get outside and experience the wonder of this planet especially now that the fall season and its beauty are becoming even more apparent.  I hope you smile with happiness one every journey you embark on whether it be summiting a mountain or a simple walk around the woods.  Everyday brings beauty and challenges alike.  It is how we meet them that determines how deeply our soul can truly smile.  

"Leave nothing but footprints, take nothing but pictures, kill nothing but time..."

Namaste, friends.