The alarm on my phone went off inside my nylon tent while the moon sat brightly in the sky against the sea of accompanying stars. I had just dozed off a few hours earlier, but I wanted to make it to the trailhead by 2:00 AM if I were to hike to the summit of Mount Whitney and make it back before my permit expired. So, I gathered my things, packed up my tent, and drove from Tuttle Creek Campground to Whitney Portal to begin my strenuous 22-mile day hike.
I had heard from other campers at the campground the night before that there were bears active in the Whitney Portal area. I kept my headlamp nearby more for safety than to see the trail, and I stood there alone near the sign and waited for a bit. I had to work up the nerve to begin. All I could think about was the bear that had damaged someone’s door to get inside. What if the bear came back for my bag full of loose snacks? It was a possibility. I looked at the time on my phone. It read 2:22 AM. Then, when I was contemplating turning around altogether, I saw a group of mostly women with their headlamps shining, walking quickly past me.
“Is it okay if I hike with you for a bit? I’ve never hiked this trail,” I asked, and without hesitation, two of the women said, “Of course!”
It was still mostly pitch-black at that time, but I noticed one man among the women. He stayed towards the back as I sandwiched myself inside the random cluster of people. I couldn’t really see my surroundings and thanked the Universe for sending me a group of people to walk with until the sun rose. However, they were the fastest group of hikers that I had ever hiked with. It felt as though I was sprinting until we reached the trail camp.
It was then that we took a moment to shed layers, turn off our headlamps, and properly introduce ourselves. I found out that they were Marines and that they were all on leave. That explained the fast hiking, I thought. They took out their oxygen canisters, we ate breakfast, took photos, went to the restroom, filtered water, and chatted with other hikers at camp before continuing on together. I was going to wander off on my own, but they said that they had adopted me into their group and that we were going together. I went along with it despite the insanely fast pace.
As the light grew brighter around the mountains, I began to see how incredibly dangerous the entire hike was. There were cables in a few sketchy areas, but it didn’t prevent all injuries or deaths. As we reached the end of the 99 switchbacks, we noticed the memorial of a previous hiker who had fallen from that spot to their death. Don’t be that guy, I thought to myself. We hiked together until we reached Trail Crest, the transition between the Inyo National Forest (on the east slope) and Sequoia National Park (on the west slope), at around 13,600 feet.
We stopped for snacks, to rest a bit, and drink water with the most beautiful and dangerous-looking views. They took another photo of me before we continued on the trail. Somewhere not too far into the hike to the summit, the man in the group had to stop and take a longer break. He wasn’t sure he was able to reach the summit. The group stopped to stay with him, and I was encouraged to continue climbing to the top. Some of the women in the group would summit later, while the guy and one of the girls would start heading back down.
I continued on alone, checking the map every so often, until I ran into another group. I introduced myself since there was really no way to walk around them without falling to my death, and found out that they were geologist. I happily listened to all their insights about the trail, the geography, and some of the work they do. They hiked at a much more doable pace, but I was still able to reach the summit by noon.
I took my photos at the top, read the sign that said I was standing at the highest point in the contiguous United States, at an elevation of 14,505 feet, and looked down to see my phone die without a backup charger. I ended up seeing two of the women in the group of Marines at the top. I shouted, “You made it!” as I began to make my way back down the mountain. “We made it!” they replied.
They decided to stay near the summit and make grilled cheese on a stove that they had hiked in. I passed them on the way down and was determined to make it back to the trailhead without getting lost or eaten in the lower forest. I ended up making it before sunset, around 6:00 PM, and finally got a look at all the signs I couldn’t see in the dark earlier that morning.
I saw the entire group exiting the trail as I walked out of the bathroom and waved. “I’m glad we all made it,” I said. “It was great meeting you all!”
“It was great meeting you too!”
“Thanks for letting me hike with you guys!”
I would have had an entirely different experience had I not randomly joined the two groups. It made one of the most strenuous hikes of my life kind of fun and enjoyable. Sometimes, putting yourself out there and meeting new people can make even incredibly difficult situations fun.
While walking back to my car, I learned that from a ranger checking for proper parking permits that around 30,000 people attempt to climb Mt. Whitney every year, but that only an estimated 10,000 successfully reach the summit of the highest point in the contiguous United States, and that I had become one of those people.
You can check out some of the footage I took from that day here.