Quick Stats: 13.6 Miles & 7,681′ gain via Mountaineer’s Route. (12,980′ Elevation at Turnaround)
Every so often I get a bright idea that doesn’t quite pan out. This is one of those.
I had my ear to the ground looking for some kind of fun adventure to run off to in the High Sierra as January went on. After a record breaking December in terms of snowfall, January was looking dry and cold, which meant the existing snowpack would be choice for a trip. I kept seeing mention ofthe conditions at Mount Whitney– how the Ebersbacher Ledges could be bypassed in the winter; the road was pretty clear; the hard closure was at the second gate (adding just 1.8 miles to the approach instead of more); and the weather for the second of January 21st was clear.
So I made the plan: I planned to drive out on Thursday night, sleep in my car overnight, and then do a 2 day trip to the top of the contiguous United States of America. The plan started fine, and the snowline was pretty low: Continuous hard packed snow beginning at Whitney Portal. I had my snowshoes and used them for almost my entire journey, but for a lot of it floatation didn’t seem like it would be an issue if I didn’t have my snowshoes. When I got to North Fork Lone Pine Creek, I followed in the tracks of others to find my way up the creek, taking one false turn as I was looking for the ledge bypass, but followed someones tracks to the ledges.
Not that I have any issue with 3rd class scrambling; however a lot of people have made the Ebersbacher Ledges out to be a very dangerous, insane endeavor, and doing it alone with my 45+ lb. winter pack seemed a little scary.
I eventually made my way through the creek, past Little Boy Scout Lake, and to Upper Boy Scout Lake when things started to seem off. The forecast said that it would be windy, but the strength of the gusts I was encountering was more than I have ever experienced. The forecast said it would be sunny, however, clouds were rushing up the gully from Whitney Portal and creating a whiteout for me while I was pitching my tent at UBSL. The forecast said no precipitation, however it was snowing. (Whether this was snow or just snow that was being blown on me from higher elevations I’ll never know, but it was falling and collecting like snow.) I messaged Sarah asking her to double check the forecast, and it still said it was as favorable as when I had planned the trip.
After getting my camp set at UBSL, I made my way for Mount Whitney. The plan was to summit Mount Whitney on the first day, possibly add in a couple of the needles, and then descend to camp by nightfall. Day 2 would consist of backpacking out of there. When I got close to Iceberg Lake the weather was still looking dicey, except the gusts had strengthened to the point where I was close to being pushed over. At Iceberg Lake I cached my snowshoes and poles, trading them for my ice axe and crampons. As I made my way up to the couloir, the conditions deteriorated further. I found myself in a total whiteout with high winds, and gusts that I had to secure myself to the mountain to withstand– I plunged the spike of my ice axe into the slope (a sort of self belay), and crouched down to make myself less of a sail. I was crouched in this position for a little while, barely in the couloir, when I decided this wasn’t smart. Something was obviously off in the forecast, and while I’ve descended mountains in less than favorable conditions, I’ve never ascended, and a solo trip up Mount Whitney didn’t seem like the time to try it out. I made a quick video looking around asking which way I should go (hint: the video would have looked completely grey save for a single boulder visible), and then started making my way to my cache near Iceberg Lake. Once I got down from the moraine and was on my way back to UBSL, the sky cleared up, the “snow” stopped falling, but the high winds persisted. I felt like this might be a sign that maybe tomorrow would be a better opportunity for a summit bid.
Famous last words, I suppose, since I got back to UBSL to see my tent being flattened by the high winds. At this point I was still using my 3+ season REI Arete ASL 2 tent, which is definitely not meant for winds these strong. After just a few minutes of rest, I decided this wasn’t the time, and scrubbed the whole trip. It was an interesting challenge packing up by camp with pretty constant gusts in the 30 – 50 MPH range, but I eventually managed and began making my way down toward Whitney Portal. . . and that’s when things went from bad to worse.
With the conditions as they were, it was becoming harder to discern the path I had taken through the creek below Lower Boy Scout Lake, and kept having to pull out my map to figure out which way to go. At one point I was a bit off route (there were tracks, though), and decided to backtrack to where I had come up initially. Not all of the way there, I saw some crampon tracks coming across a snow bridge, so I decided to take what looked like a shortcut to get across the creek and back to where I had come up.
. . . And that’s when a snow bridge collapsed and I fell into the North Fork of Lone Pine Creek in the winter wearing a 45+ lbs. pack. Luckily (?) for me only one foot fell in to the creek, since the other stopped short when my snowshoe got caught in some branches. Unluckily for me, I was looking at the GPX on my phone when the bridge collapsed, and my phone flew out of my hand and into the creek. Partially suspended, I reached into the freezing cold water of the stream to try and find my phone, but it was no use– reaching in I was knocking more snow into the creek, which was then freezing and turning to slush. After about 5 minutes of trying, I decided to give up the search, and that’s when I realized I was stuck.
For someone with anxiety and a history of panic disorder, I’m sometimes amazed at how calm I can stay in crazy situations. While I did have a brief moment of panic when I realized I was stuck, about 60 seconds into that panic I told myself that I wasn’t infact going to die here, and that I could easily get out of this. I may not escape with two snowshoes, but I knew I’d find a way out. Standing up on my right foot in the creek and using my left hand to manipulate my left snowshoe, I was able to get my foot free. But now what? I couldn’t tell where the proper bank of the creek was, and I definitely couldn’t tell what snow could support me as I try and make my way out of there. I decided to sort of retrace my steps, counting on the branches that had originally trapped me to offer some cohesion in the snow for me to escape. After a whole lot of struggle and a little more panic, it worked, and I was free of the creek without a phone. Pissed off and in low spirits, I made my way down further when one of my snowshoes caught on a branch and I literally face planted in the snow.
Now, a lot of my solo adventures involve a good cry at some point, and here’s where it came on this trip as I found myself laying in the snow, weighted down by my pack, sobbing while questioning my life choices. For the next mile down the creek, it was a slow trudge while I worked through some things aloud while literally sobbing. If anyone saw me it would have been quite the sight, but ultimately I need to get all of that out. When I got to the Mount Whitney Trail, I was absolutely elated that I was done with snow bridges, branches, and bullshit.
I got back to Alyx as darkness was falling, sending a message to Sarah with my Garmin to let her know I was headed home, phoneless, and safe.
A lot of good learning came from this trip, even if it wasn’t successful: Get a tether for your phone, invest in a 4 season tent, be grateful for multiple forms of navigation, and keep moving forward.