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JIM EMERY

On September 16th, 2009, I accomplished something that I was unsure I would be able to do: I summited Mount Whitney, the highest peak in the lower 48 United States of America. This section of my web site is a brief pictorial account of my adventure. First, some background:

Mount Whitney lies in the Eastern Sierra range, near its southern terminus, along the mighty Sierra Crest as it straddles Inyo National Forest and Sequoia National Park in southeastern California. The average person knows very little about this notable peak, probably because of its proximity to many other mountains, and because of its relatively low level of "prominence" (compare, for example, to Mount Rainier, or Mount McKinley). I'd guess that even most people that drive along the Sierra Crest on Rt. 395 would scarcely notice this, the highest of all peaks in the lower 48.

On the other hand, in the outdoor recreation world, Mount Whitney is one of the most popular trails in the country, and likely is the most frequented in the Sierra. For obvious reasons, it is a goal of many experienced hikers and dilettantes, to bag the "Big One".

Whitney can be summited, primarily, by any of four routes, depending (hopefully) on the experience level of, and/or the level of challenge desired by the hiker, climber, or mountaineer; by far the most popular route is the Main Mount Whitney Trail (MMWT), which reaches the summit from the east, beginning in Whitney Portal 12 miles west of the desert town of Lone Pine, CA, and climbs approximately 11 miles and 6000 feet to the top. It is popular to remind folks that the summit is only half way.

The MMWT can be hiked as either a one-night or multiple-night backpacking adventure, or, as is very popular, a day-hike. The average hiker opting for a day-hike will depart Whitney Portal in the dark sometime after midnight, and return to the Portal sometime in the late afternoon. The physical challenge, not even considering the altitude, is substantial and is often attempted by hikers who are woefully underprepared. I've seen estimates that 2/3 of the challengers are unsuccessful. Add the unpredictable effects of high altitude into the mix, and the challenge becomes downright risky.

In June of 2004, Chris and I hiked the great granite monolith, Half Dome , in Yosemite National Park. The hiking distance of Half Dome is about 9 miles each way, and includes about 5000' of elevation gan; this was no small feat for the two of us, and on that trip a seed was planted for my next big adventure, perhaps to summit Mount Whitney. At that time, I was hopeful, yet uncertain, that Mount Whitney could even be hiked (vs. climbed) to its summit, which would be a requirement based on my existing skills.

Sometime last year, the seed began germinating, and I set my sights on entering the lottery for a permit to backpack--not day-hike--the mountain. When the lottery opened in February, I promptly entered, listing only a few possible dates of interest, and I began my preparation  based on the distinct possibility that my choice of 3 midweek September dates (15-17) would be available.

While I have done plenty of day-hiking, backpacking has never been a routine activity for me; I have done several overnight and a few multi-night pack trips, but the last one I did was in 1985. This aspect alone would require a lot of research, gear-collection, and practice if I was to accomplish my goal of spending 2 nights on the mountain, and another 3 in the vicinity acclimatizing to high altitude.

Polishing my backpacking chops would only be part of the intense preparation necessary for me to reach my (grandiose?) goal. In February I was about 25 lbs overweight, and had been about as physically active as a slug for many years, despite the physical nature of my job. I felt heavy and weak.

So I timidly entered my community gym (a paid-for resource I had not exploited for the 11 years we've lived here), and starting with baby steps, worked my way up to a rigorous routine of weight and cardio training. I dove headlong into the Encyclopedia of Bodybuilding, and the M.A.S.S. system of training, personalized my program, and supplemented the gym time with a large-calorie diet for adding mass.

I felt good from the beginning; I pushed myself pretty hard, but not out of control, since I realized that staying healthy was the only way I could succeed. I began calorie counting in earnest, and feeling good outside the gym. My discipline and level of comittment were excellent, and people took notice. Certain aspects of my training I did not like, but I really learned unexpectedly to enjoy others. I was strongly encouraged by my likeminded friends at work, who clearly had some experience in this arena.

When not in the gym, I was voraciously researching the state-of-the-art in backpacking and other outdoor gear. Lots had changed since the last time I participated in such activities. Most significant was the movement towards "light" and "ultralight" gear and practices. It became plain to see that outfitted with the proper gear, the backcountry adventurer could actually enjoy the journey en route to the destination. I stopped short of subscribing to an "ultralight" mentality (I intuited then, and now believe from experience that one must experience their way into such a mind- and gear-set) which, if followed cavalierly, can be disastrous under harsh and unpredictable wilderness conditions.

As I began to acquire and experiment with new gear, I got out on the trail as often as I could. I quickly found some good gear, and just-as-quickly exchanged others. My first hikes were on relatively flat local terrain, with the goal of improving my strength and aerobic conditioning with a 30 lb pack on my back. This aspect of my training went very smoothly from the beginning, as I have done some hiking for most of my life, and I've been schlepping pretty heavy photography equipment on my back for almost as long. I tracked my training hikes with my gps which helped me to keep my interest.

After about three months of intensive preparation, all was going exceptionally well--better than I ever expected. I had actually added about 10 lbs with my focus on mass-building, so I was now up to about 210 lbs--probably 30 lbs overweight. On the day that I completed Phase II of the M.A.S.S. system, I had a serious setback in the gym. Without going into distasteful details, suffice it to say that I had to see a colorectal surgeon very quickly and begin my recovery, sans any heavy lifting.

In some ways my setback was perfect timing to transition into more intense cardio conditioning. As soon as I could, I was back in the gym on various cardio equipment, now sporting a fully-laden daypack (what I planned to be my "summit pack" from base camp) at about 12 lbs, and eventually with my backpacking boots too. I focused mostly on the elliptical cross-trainer, but sometimes varied my routine with treadmill, or sometimes some outdoor high-intensity interval training (HIIT). Again, progress was steady and impressive. I often focussed on more controlled and deep breathing, which would prove beneficial at elevation, and always pushed myself further on each visit to the gym.

I began to frequent a very tough section of the Appalachian Trail through Northern Virginia known coloquially as "The Roller Coaster". This is a very rigorous section of seemingly endless ups and downs, which for me, often resulted in completing my hike with a very challenging "up". My limited experience with the AT includes the observation that in development, not much thought went into easing the hiker's burden, despite the great deal of volunteer effort that goes into maintaining the trail. Switchbacks seem to be an afterthought, unlike in the west where they are commonplace. Adding to the burden is the heavy air of intense humidity in midsummer. But I persisted and prevailed and even enjoyed myself sometimes.

As for gear, I went through a couple of backpacks, and a couple of tents, and plenty of clothing, and various other items, and distilled my selections down to just about perfect for my needs. I spent too much money and neglected too much in the rest of my life, but that's how I tend to tackle most big challenges in my life. Chris has an incredible amount of patience for this part of my personality, and I'm grateful for it.

I grew impatient for the day to arrive when I could hop on the plane out to California. I was fit, had dropped down to 177 lbs, and was raring to go. The only big question left was, "how would I react to altitude?" I had never exerted myself over 11,000 ft. before, and then only once, back in 1985. Accute Mountain Sickness (AMS) is a condition that affects many people, despite their relative levels of fitness and conditioning, their age, sex, or seemingly any other factor. It is frequently mentioned as the reason so many have to turn back from their summit attempt on Whitney. The lucky ones return under their own power; too many need assistance in doing so. And at the risk of sounding too dramatic, some never do return. AMS is a serious and non-discrimating factor for which every responsible hiker must prepare on Mount Whitney.  The fact that I would be travelling alone (albeit on a very popular trail) intensified my anxiety over whether or not I'd be stricken with AMS. I made it a point to know what to expect, know the symptoms, and felt confident I could make the right decision if and when the time came.

The other big unknown on Whitney is weather. I would be ascending during the shoulder season of (mostly) summer and fall. It is not uncommon to get a snow squall in September (or even August), and thunderstorms with lightning and hail are everpresent possibilites. The biggest obstacle for preparing for weather on the summit is that it is very difficult to detect until atop the Sierra Crest at 13,600 ft. One must be prepared to quickly turn back down to lower elevations if weather is imminent, particularly electrical activity. Also, it is possible to find one's descent blocked by snow or ice that was not present on ascent. Experienced and prepared mountaineers can overcome such obstacles, but the average hiker will have to either wait it out or be rescued, neither of which is desirable. On the other hand, the majority of weather on the summit results from afternoon thunderstorms so the potential weather issue can be mitigated by an early summit and early descent. A rule of thumb is to be off the summit by noon, and many hikers plan their departures accordingly.

Well, September 11 finally arrived, and I was off on my big adventure, hoping I hadn't bitten off more than I could chew. I had convinced myself, however, that the magic was in the journey, and so whatever lay ahead, it would be memorable and worthwhile. I set as my number one goal to return safely to Chris. I have included a pictorial log of my journey of 2 nights and 3 days on the MMWT, as well as some acclimatization hikes for the 3 days prior. I can summarize the experience by stating that my adventure was an unqualified success. Weather was perfect, acclimatization effective, my spirit soaring, and my level of fitness seemingly perfect. I never faltered, and I enjoyed every minute of the journey. Most important, I returned home to Chris. Following is a pictorial account of my journey.

All Content © 2009 Jim Emery Photography
contact: jimATjimemeryDOTcom