Thanks, y'all -- as they probably should say in the Alabama Hills, but I'm pretty sure they don't -- to everybody who's contributed to the message board over the past month or so and gave me some invaluable insights before my first attempt at Whitney ... and got me really, really pumped for it.
I got to the summit solo on Sept. 26 via the main trail about 2:45 p.m., celebrating my 62nd birthday a day late.
Started up on my birthday with plans to stay at Outpost, but the weather was so pleasant, I was making such good time (for me)and feeling so good, I thought I'd go on up to Trail Camp. Not too much later, though, on the switchbacks above Mirror Lake, I remembered that one reason I'd intended to stop at Outpost was so I wouldn't have to spend too long lugging a full 33-pound pack. Ended up finding a nice tree-shaded spot overlooking the lake to pitch the tent and relax before dinner. Would've been perfect if I hadn't had to run back down to the lake for water. It was just about perfect after sundown, lying outside and watching the Little Dipper set behind Thor Peak with occasional meteors to liven up the star show. Spent the night there on the way up and again on the way down.
Summit day was clear and mild. I'll skip the uphill play-by-play, except to say that my first view from Trail Crest was literally awesome and probably literally jaw-dropping. Instantly forgot about the drudgery of the Switchbacks. After a little lunch at the junction, I continued onward and upward, meeting a light but steady stream of people coming the other way -- all of them with big smiles on their faces (which I remarked on to one guy). No wonder! My one disappointment on reaching the summit was that my cell phone showed a strong, if fluctuating signal, but wouldn't put through any calls, so as the last one up for the day, apparently, I couldn't share the experience with anyone.
By this point, the fluffy, photogenic clouds that had been gathering for an hour or so were thickening up and turning grey, the wind was picking up, and with a last look at the "extreme lightning danger" sign on the summit hut, I decided not to linger.
The highlight of the trip down was going through Trail Camp, when one of the campers called over "Did you make it?" "Oh, yeah," I replied. "I thought so, you've got that smile," he said.
I may not have entirely lost that smile a week later, although it no doubt faded when it started to sleet while I was cooking dinner that night.
A couple of notes in passing: Not even the amazing hikealongpete videos prepared me for the new worlds you see coming into Bighorn Park or onto Trail Crest. It occured to me as a semi-lapsed runner that the distance from camp to summit and back was just about the same as a half-marathon -- but the effort was more like a full marathon. Also, the WPS hamburger after getting back absolutely hit the spot and the fries may have been as good as the burger. And I don't think I've seen so many external-frame packs in the last ten years. Made me feel good about my thirtysomething-year-old cooking gear.
So, thanks again, y'all, for providing encouragement, intentionally or otherwise, to a normally desk-bound older guy who can now dare to dream about Mountaineers, or the long trail from Horseshoe Meadows, or Kearsage.
And one question: How come all the long-distance, multi-day Muir Trail hikers I met were women? Not that I'm complaining.
