Horsing Around Mt. Whitney

I stretched up in the stirrups as tall as I could, trying to relax my knees from the stress of endlessly hugging a ton of horse with my legs. For a split second as we navigated around a sharp boulder on one of the 31 switchbacks to the top--yes, I was counting--I seemed to hang out in space with nothing but empty Sierra Nevada sky between me and Horseshoe Meadow, nearly 1,400 feet below. I sucked in my breath sharply. What was I doing here anyway, a zillion miles from nowhere with only a young cowboy to lead the way?

I was on my way to climb Mt. Whitney the “easy” way.

A few years ago, probably during a modest midlife crisis, I decided that if I could climb a mountain a year I could continue to meet life’s challenges. But before last year’s mountain of choice--14,495-foot Mt. Whitney, the highest point in the continental United States--I had climbed only a few insignificant peaks.

Sure, I was a veteran backpacker, having explored the Rockies, the Sierra Nevada and the Cascades. But I’d found middle age beginning to dampen my abilities (if not my enthusiasm) for such physically demanding ventures. Accompanying the aches and pains was a desire to get more out of my adventures while expending less energy. So my husband and I began horse packing into the back country to jump-start our backpacking expeditions. With the help of a horse and pack animals, we could carry more provisions, which are heavy, and probe farther into the wilderness than we would have on foot.

We began with full-service trips, which are organized tours that include guides and meal service. But we soon graduated to so-called spot trips that involve riding in on horseback with guides, gear and food and being let off in the back country to take care of yourself.

Climbing Mt. Whitney from what is generally thought of as the easier west side, after camping for several days at an alpine lake to get acclimatized to the altitude, seemed like an itinerary we could enjoy. Horse packing would be the perfect way to get ourselves and a week’s supply of food up to 11,000 feet. (We would backpack provisions from that point on.) So we went looking for a horse packer who organized spot trips and serviced the Whitney area. We found Dennis Winchester, owner of Cottonwood Pack Station, a horse-packing service in the town of Lone Pine.

Winchester agreed to provide a guide, mules and horses to cart me, my husband, our 24-year-old son and all our gear the 23 miles from his pack station near Lone Pine to Crabtree Meadows for $750 ($100 a day for the guide, $55 a day for each riding and pack animal). There we’d abandon our guide and pack animals and hike on to Crabtree Lake, where we would camp for seven days. Then it would be only a short day hike to Guitar Lake, the last camp on the western side, and from there only one more day hike to the summit.

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So here I was, last September, riding a horse to the top of the world.

We’d spent the previous night at the Golden Trout Backpacker Campground at Horseshoe Meadow, adjacent to Cottonwood Pack Station. An early start was critical to reaching Crabtree Meadows before dark. Two mules hauled all the gear for the three of us: tent, sleeping bags and backpacking equipment, as well as fresh and canned food for the first part of our journey.

Since we’d be cooking for a week before our final hike up to the summit, and our mules and horses carried the heavy food, we would need to carry on our backs only enough light freeze-dried food to feed us for the last three days. Most of our provisions were purchased with the idea of maintaining a comfortable base camp from which to explore the Crabtree Lakes area. Although I was seeking adventure, I’d come looking for relaxation too.

When we departed camp that morning, thunderheads were roiling overhead. Above, 11,200-foot Cottonwood Pass, where we would be in a few hours, was engulfed in clouds. A bone-chilling wind whistled out of the south. Our guide, a cowboy named Chuck, shivered down into his oilcloth slicker. Our campsite was still 20 miles away.

We passed by places with names such as Siberian Outpost, Forgotten Canyon and Chicken Spring Lake. Hikers gave us wide berth and an occasional glare as we trudged by. Horses have the right-of-way in the back country. But soon we were deeper into the back country than most hikers go. We saw no one for the next several days.

At sundown we reached Crabtree Meadows--just two days from the summit. Although too exhausted to do much but sleep, I somehow managed to stroll stiffly into the moonlit meadow with my after-dinner hot chocolate and gaze up upon Whitney’s summit looming in the distance.

A spot trip like this into the wilderness takes careful preparation. We had to map out our route, plot meals, pack all essential gear and plan for any conceivable emergency. By contrast, full-service trips (generally $150 to $200 a day per person) are a good introduction to horse packing for those new to the back country, new to horses or just looking for a luxury horse-packing experience. But on this trip we were pretty much on our own, and that was just fine. At dawn, we woke to the sight of a deer with full racks, grazing along the creek that ran the length of Crabtree Meadow where we were camped. We also spotted a feisty marmot chattering excitedly at us from his perch atop a boulder. After a leisurely breakfast of fried eggs and bacon, we sent our guide back to Cottonwood Pack Station and began portaging our supplies to Crabtree Lake a mile away.

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There we spent a week in rustic comfort at 11,100 feet. We had time to explore the surrounding lakes and trails and adjust to the altitude before our scheduled climb. Day hikes around the meadow were a favorite pastime. We’d toss the marmots a raisin or two from our trail mix as we contemplated the benign-looking western slope of Mt. Whitney.

After seven days of camping, we packed up our gear and trash and struck out on foot northeast along the John Muir Trail. Our almost-empty packs and freedom from altitude-related symptoms combined to create a carefree feeling during our six-mile hike along Whitney Creek to Guitar Lake. At Guitar Lake we set up a minimal camp (sleeping bags under the stars), anticipating an early departure the next morning for our assault on Mt. Whitney.

We spent the evening listening to the muted conversation of other campers at the lake, where other humans were apparent for the first time in days. It is a brutally exposed site, as is Trail Camp at Lake Consultation on the east side of Mt. Whitney, where we would make our next night’s camp after crossing the summit. There is no cover and only a few coveted crevices (which work well as wind breaks) in the boulder-strewn landscape. No fires are allowed, and there is no wood to make one. But Mt. Whitney towered above us, its image reflected in the moonlit glassy surface of the lake dimpled here and there by trout rising to snatch early evening insects. It was all worthwhile.

Although I woke before dawn the next morning, hikers were already up and about. We hurriedly ate a cold breakfast, packed and headed up the rocky switchback toward Trail Crest (13,600 feet), where the John Muir Trail meets the trail to the summit. Along the way we encountered several other groups of tanned back-country hikers breezing their way to the top. We stopped and swapped stories of our various wilderness experiences, glad for a chance to catch our breath and adjust our packs.

At Trail Crest, though, we began to run into the grumpy ones who had made or were in the process of attempting the 22-mile round-trip hike from Whitney Portal to the summit and back--an elevation gain of 6,100 feet--in a scant 24 hours. Few of these macho day hikers had the characteristic smile of the back-country hiker. We passed some sitting by the side of the trail ready to turn around less than a mile from the top, too exhausted or confused to continue.

My husband had been talking about the Whitney windows (he had made this climb before) throughout the trip. Finally, here they were--narrow portals along the trail punched through the granite, offering exhilarating views out over the eastern desert, 11,000 feet below. He still laughs, remembering how my knees buckled as I walked by one and looked down, although he had been warning me for days not to do so.

Even with 10 days in the high country under my belt, those last 500 feet of elevation to the summit were sheer torture; surely someone had poured lead into my boots.

Although it was September, a snowfield remained as the final barrier to be crossed. But there were only a few hundred steps left and I was there. I’d really made it!

Probably my biggest surprise was that the top was huge and flat and layered with mammoth slides of exfoliated granite. Gingerly I made my way to the edge. To the east lay the Great Basin; to the north, west and south the backbone of the Sierra Nevadas was laid out. I turned and stood briefly on the survey marker that denotes the very summit, trying to understand what I had accomplished before putting my name among countless others in the register book, which is contained in an iron box on the ledge of a stone weather research hut at the top.

We ate lunch and passed the afternoon in quiet contemplation and conversation, trying to absorb the awesome view before reluctantly turning to hike to Trail Camp, 4 1/2 miles below.

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We would spend the night there before reentering civilization, our seasoned hiking boots and the decreasing elevation helping us eat up the 6 1/2 miles down to Whitney Portal in good time. Still, we were elated to see our truck where we’d hoped to: right at the trail head where Dennis Winchester had said he’d park it. His services had been worth every penny.

I’ve discovered over the years that few memories outlast those of a wilderness experience, whether it’s making the final ascent to a breathtaking panorama hundreds of miles in every direction, watching a golden eagle ply an azure sky or just waking on a frosty fall morning to see the first flush of yellow in the aspens. Horse packing enables me and other flatlanders to experience the incomparable beauty and profound solitude of the back country in relative comfort.

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GUIDEBOOK

Hoofing It on Mt. Whitney

Getting there: From Los Angeles, take Interstate 5 north; then east and north on California 14, continuing on as it turns into U.S. 395 to Lone Pine. Driving time from the Los Angeles area is about four to five hours.

Horse packers: It may be necessary to book several months in advance if specific summer dates are needed.

Cottonwood Pack Station, Star Route Box 81A, Independence, CA 93526. Both spot and full-service trips by horseback; telephone (760) 878-2015.

Mt. Whitney Pack Trains, Box 395 Mammoth Lakes, CA 93546. Full-service trips by horseback; tel. (760) 934-2345.

Sequoia Kings Pack Train, P.O. Box 209, Independence, CA 93526. Both spot and full-service trips by horseback; tel. (800) 962-0775.

When to go: Some packers will enter the area on a limited basis, weather permitting, as early as Memorial Day. But most of the higher passes should be open by mid-July and remain open into or through September.

For more information: The Eastern High Sierra Packers Assn. is made up of horse-packing outfits in the Eastern Sierras between Yosemite and Mojave. A brochure listing them and the areas they service is available either by calling the Eastern High Sierra Packers Assn. secretary at Pine Creek Pack Station, tel. (760) 387-2797, or the Bishop Area Chamber of Commerce, 690 N. Main St., Bishop, CA 93514; tel. (760) 873-8405.