John Muir Trail/Mount Whitney - Day 1

Getting on trail was more difficult than planned. Aside from some transportation logistical challenges, we also had to deal with a permitting shift which meant a later start. After a missed turn, a stop at McDonalds, and having to completely unpack/repack my bag because I was woefully underdressed, we were off…in a snow storm. 

The view, once there, was no less breathtaking than the altitude. 

Our path led us up, up, and up towards Kearsarge Pass—our gateway to the John Muir Trail on the other side of the ominous range that followed us as we had driven North to our trailhead at Onion Valley Campground. We had passed several beautiful lakes on the way up, and the stark difference between the High Sierras and the Cascades (last month’s trip) kept my attention along the way. We came upon the pass out of breath and having to break regularly—our immediate ascent by car to 8200ft had not given our bodies a chance to adapt, and here we are approaching 12000ft. The view, once there, was no less breathtaking than the altitude. 

I remembered thinking, “if this is the last time I see her, I think it would be the most perfect thing.”

I was now higher than I’d ever been before, and the coming days would have me achieving this feat two more times. It was at this time that I checked my GPS—my grandmother had died. The funeral was on Saturday. There was no reasonable chance of making it. My decision when Justin asked what I needed to do was immediate—“I will deal with this when I get back.” It felt callous, but it was the only option given the timing. I felt unsettled by not being there for the funeral. But at the same time, the last time I saw her, she was curled up for a nap in the fetal position on my old bed at my mom’s house. I had gone to say goodbye as I was returning to Atlanta and I was struck by the image of it—how peaceful she lay. I dared not wake her and I remembered thinking, “if this is the last time I see her, I think it would be the most perfect thing.” She lay as innocent and vulnerable as a child, her fragility no different. I wondered, “Is this how God sees us all?” as I paused for over a minute just to take in the sweetness of the moment. Then I left. And like that, we left Kearsarge Pass.

While on top, several miserable hikers coming from the other side warned us of the wind and cold from whence they came. It did not disappoint. A mere 10 feet down from our perch, and the 7 degree Fahrenheit blast of air took our heat immediately. This was the second time I had underdressed, and Justin retrieved some mitts for my hands before retreating downhill and into the wind. It was a cold descent. 

We made our way down to Bullfrog Lake happily surrounded by trees, which broke the wind for us. From there—quickly descending switchbacks further helped us with the thin air. We both were dizzy from it and had headaches—early stages of Acute Mountain Sickness (AMS). On top of that, I didn’t appear to be digesting food properly. Without a steady flow, I was beginning to flag. There were two campsites we were considering, the further one was ideal because the next day would be insufferably long, but it was also 500ft higher, and the altitude was already wrecking me. We pulled into the first and it was all I could do to set up the tent. We crawled inside and fell asleep.