2026 Mt. Whitney Hike: Day 6, Mt. Whitney: Endurance

Day 6:
Distance: 15.83 miles
Elevation Gain:  4028 ft.

 Our rising time is early today, 0400, with a quick breakfast of granola.  We light our headlamps and leave in the dark, carrying a pared down version of our backpack for the day with only rain gear and snacks in it.  With any luck, we will all see the top of Mt. Whitney by noon.

The first 1.5 hours of the hike is largely in the dark.  To our right we hear a stream that we cannot see - or even if we could see it, likely we would not look:  the path has enough rise and stones in it that it requires one's full attention.  There is quiet murmuring and anticipation as we go:  beyond our guides and The Outdoorsman and myself, no-one has ever been up.

Coming out of the main tree-line, we come across a rabbit having an early morning snack.  If I have a "totem" animal, the rabbit is it.  I take this as a good sign.

Just above Guitar Lake (so named as it looks like a guitar from above), we fill up with water and make our last bathroom breaks (Interesting fact:  Past Guitar Lake, you are not allowed to dig a hole for "business" but have to use a specially designated bag - which you then have to carry out with you.  Not recommended.).   I and to others are sent on ahead to start the small series of switchbacks that leads to the main 11 switchbacks up.

As you might suspect, I am pretty quickly lapped and so the hike up Mt. Whitney becomes My Hike Up Mt. Whitney.

The main 11 Switchbacks vary in length and difficulty:  some are long runs, some are strewn with rocks, but others are shorter and less full of rubble.  Around Switchback 3 Rainbow Bright catches up with me; she will be my companion for most of the remainder of the day.

I count as I go up:  50 steps, 60 steps, even 90 steps, then breathe.

At some point we are passed by ranger assigned to Crabtree Meadow.  Rainbow Bright has met the ranger before; they have a pleasant short chat.  Both agree the chance of weather at the top is growing.  The ranger continues up, stepping quickly.

50 steps, 60 steps, even 90 steps, then breathe.

At or about 13,000 ft, we meet up with the rest of the team at a place called Pack's Rest (or Pack's Crest; I heard it both ways). This is where the switchback trail intersects with the Whitney Portal trail (which has 99 switchbacks).  I was lapped by almost 40 minutes; we have a brief meeting, then the group heads up again for the last 1.9 miles to the top.  After a bit, I follow.

This last stretch of trail is a pretty good one: wide enough with little concern for falling, minimal open walks along the ridge. There is some uphill and some careful stepping that has to be done.  Also, the altitude is pretty noticeable if my gasping and stopping is any indication.

My guess is it takes me another 1.5 hours to make this final ascent.  I am definitely slowing down.

As we reach the final 300 yards or so, we meet the team coming down:  They had arrived 45 minutes earlier but the weather was finally getting to bad.  The Outdoorsman and The Brit and I get a picture.

 Rainbow Bright turns to me and says "I am heading up.  Do not bail on me." And off she goes.  

I greet my teammates as they are coming down with a congratulations.  They all encourage me with a "you are almost there" (the worst phrase of any hiker's existence).  They continue down; I continue up.

(That high bump is the top of Whitney)

About 1145 local time, with a brisk wind and slow flurries, I reach the summit.

Rainbow Bright is there to greet me.  I cry a bit.  

I did not really expect to make it.

I take a few pictures, enjoying the magical feeling of being on the top of the mountain in the snow.  I try to get a picture of me with my sword school flag, only to find out I managed to get one set upside down and one set reversed (but fixable).

We are there less than 20 minutes before we start down.

As we get ready to start back, I get my thin poncho on.  It cover me and my pack, but blows terribly in the wind; I sound like a walking trash-bag as I go.  We start to make our way back down.

The snow and wind last for the first hour or so.  The wind is never so much that I truly feel that I am going to be blown off, but it tears at the poncho and lifts up my brimmed hat until I remember I have a cord to tighten.

By the time we hit the first of the switchbacks, the snow has turned into rain -sometimes hard, sometimes soft, but mostly there as we continue the five hour trek back to camp.

(Marmot)

The climb down is in a fair amount of silence:  Rainbow Bright behind, I in front slowly picking my way down.  At least twice I have a mis-step and she reaches out to steady me.  It is a good reminder that hiking tired is the most dangerous way to hike.

We move from the switchbacks to the small switchbacks and pass Guitar Lake before going a bit cross country to avoid an uphill climb.  The rain and wind are our constant companion as we continue down

At some point the trek becomes a process, a series of putting one foot in front of the other, hiking poles swinging ahead.  Time slows to a gray blur of picking out steps, then making them.  Landmark picked out going up become meaningless coming down; without an idea of time there is no sense of "getting" closer.

We move past the path parts hiked in the dark; they are a new hike now, a stream and lake and another stream burbling away, heedless of the rain that is falling.  We walk on.

At 1700, we arrive in camp.  I have been hiking more or less straight on for 12 hours.

I stand there for a bit after the arrival, exhausted.  My delayed lunch - a peanut butter and jelly tortilla - is given to me.  I eat it with distinct lack of enthusiasm that I did four years ago at the top of the mountain.

I slowly and eventually make my way back to my tent, where I crawl in and shed the slightly wet clothing for something dry and my sleeping bag.  Rainbow Bright, out of the kindness of her heart, brings me dinner at my tent - bean soup and a lasagna that consists mostly of cooked noodles and an excess of cheese.  I enjoy both; by 1900 I am asleep.

As I prepare for sleep, I reflect back on the comment one of my teammates made as I arrived in camp. He was genuinely impressed (and meant it in the kindest way) that I had continued on to the end, especially given the length of time and the weather.  It was mostly Rainbow Bright, I tell him.  I just kept going.

It is only when we are driving home that I look up a Latin phrase that was playing at the back of my mind by the end:   Vincit qui patitur.

 He who endures, conquers.