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MT. WHITNEY: HIGH ALTITUDE, A DISORIENTED CLIMBER, AND A TENT FROM CRAIGSLIST
by Melanie Means, Bea Robinson, and Jen Travers
We had wanted to climb Mt. Whitney for a while and were pumped to get some last-minute overnight permits for our trio: Melanie, Jen, and Bea. Mt. Whitney is the highest peak in the continental U.S. at 14,505 feet, and attracts thousands of applicants each year. The permits are popular and difficult to secure. Some folks who are unable to get the overnight permits choose to do all 21 miles and 6,700 feet of elevation gain in a single day. We were happy to be able to acclimate by doing it in three days.
Our permits were for late September, so we kept our fingers crossed that early winter weather would hold off. We planned on one night of car camping at the Whitney Portal Campground, 8,400 feet elevation, then hiking up to Outpost Camp at 10,400 feet for the second night. We’d then get an early start for the summit. The forecast looked promising. We expected clear fall weather the first two days, with possible precipitation late on the third day.
For the approach to Outpost Camp, we made our leisurely way through the stunning Sierra scenery, set up tents, relaxed, and went to bed early. On summit day, our pre-dawn start went well, with headlamps on and no wind. We watched the sunrise, saw only a few people, and made it to Trail Camp at 12,200 feet in good time. Next was the notorious “99 switchbacks.” As we gained elevation, our progress slowed but remained steady. At the top of the switchbacks, we joined the John Muir Trail and entered Sequoia National Park. A magnificent series of granite peaks and canyons fanned out in every direction. We were feeling lightheaded and queasy at 14,000 feet, so we took it easy, sipped water, snacked, and took lots of photo breaks. The summit was a dream, sunny and no wind. We enjoyed the splendid scenery for an hour before heading back down towards our camp and our victory celebration.
Not long into our descent, about 800 feet down, we noticed something off. A solo male hiker in heavy black clothing was shuffling down the trail carrying his backpack over one shoulder. He would take a few steps, then slump against some rocks. He was carrying an empty plastic water bottle and had a large camera strapped to his chest. Let’s call him Roger.
“Is he okay?” we wondered. We asked him if he needed any water and the response was mumbled. His words were slurred. English was not his first language, so it was hard to tell if it was a language barrier, if he was having difficulty talking, or if he was confused. We again offered him water and trail mix, but he refused. The alarm bells were ringing. Roger was in trouble and the nursing instincts kicked in. We had a strong suspicion that he had an altitude illness.
Acute Mountain Sickness (AMS) is a result of insufficient oxygen in the blood due to decreased atmospheric pressure at high altitude. The most common symptoms are nausea, headache, and severe fatigue. Some people are more prone to experiencing AMS, and certain health conditions such as anemia, pulmonary disease, diabetes, and heart conditions can increase these side effects. However, there are many ways to help prevent or minimize risk, including hydration, minimizing alcohol use prior to climbing, and acclimatizing slowly. The risk of ignoring the symptoms of altitude illness is the progression to the more severe conditions: High Altitude Cerebral Edema (HACE), or High Altitude Pulmonary Edema (HAPE). In this case, Roger was showing signs of HACE: AMS with ataxia, confusion, and a loss of muscle coordination (which can affect balance, speech, and movement). He was displaying the classic “umbles”: stumbling, fumbling, mumbling, and grumbling. He also complained of a headache and nausea.
Roger tried to get rid of us. He gestured for us to go away then sat down on the next rock. There weren’t many people on the trail at this point, the long shadows of afternoon were starting to appear and we didn’t want to leave him as he was in no shape to descend without help. We started the steep and rocky descent with him to find his tent. He stumbled and slipped and we took turns holding onto him. As we worked our way down the 99 switchbacks, we continued asking him questions about his journey. We learned that he had fallen and hurt his shoulder which was why he wasn’t wearing his pack properly. He had a scrape over his right eye and a bit of a limp.
HACE is a serious condition that when untreated can progress quickly to coma and death within 24 hours. We knew we needed to act fast and we had a short window of time in which Roger was still able to hike. We helped him with his backpack by guiding his injured shoulder through the strap first. The abrasion above his eye was of little concern at this point; our main focus was descending as quickly as we possibly could.
During one of many rest stops, we were finally able to get Roger to drink some water and eat some electrolyte gummies.
His English improved and his speech was becoming clearer as we got lower. We managed to piece together some of his situation. He’d been up since 3 a.m. to summit from Trail Camp, had not slept much, had not eaten since the day before, and didn’t have much water—two small plastic water bottles that were crumbled and empty.
Because of our very slow pace, many people passed us going down. We learned that some of the thru-hikers from the John Muir Trail were advised by a ranger to exit the trail as there was a big snowstorm approaching. We felt an increased sense of urgency but were not able to move much faster.
We finally got to Trail Camp after dozens of rest stops and started looking for his tent. He said it was a red Kmart tent that he’d purchased on Craigslist. He then became convinced he had camped on an adjacent ridgeline and started wandering off in that direction. We tried to dissuade him. He became argumentative, insisting on traveling off-trail to the next ridge. He had no map or navigational devices. We were at an impasse. We were not going to abandon him, but how could we prevent him from going off into rugged territory in his weakened and confused state? We talked to a few other campers in the area and they reported seeing a red tent blowing around during the day not far ahead. Fortunately, this did convince him that the tent was along the trail, and we were able to resume the hike out.
Dealing with HACE can definitely be challenging. In addition to confusion, people can become irritated and combative (the grumbles). In this case, severe dehydration was also an issue, and likely increased his irritability. Our patience was being tested. Roger refused to drink and tried to convince us to just leave him alone several times. We took turns distracting him with conversation and allowed some distance between us as we descended.
Fortunately, we encountered two UCLA grad students who spoke Roger’s language and were able to find out more details of his situation as they accompanied us for part of the journey. They were aghast at his lack of awareness and preparation, and told us that he had very little understanding of the magnitude of this hike. We were able to locate the tent, missing essential parts like a rain fly and stakes. We disassembled it and divided his belongings among the five of us to carry down.
It was dark and much colder by the time we got to our tents at Outpost Camp at 10,400 feet. The grad students left us, but helped us to convince Roger to stay at our camp and rest. Selfishly, it was a bit of a mental struggle to not be frustrated with this unprepared guy. This wasn’t the celebratory evening we’d imagined—relaxing with the sunset, enjoying a warm meal, toasting our summit. Instead, we spent our final bit of energy setting up his tent, getting him to eat hot food, and settled for the night. He went to sleep immediately. We were exhausted by the whole ordeal, so we crawled into our tents soon after.
Throughout the night, we heard other climbers walking through our camp, heading upward—into the storm. About 1 a.m. in the morning we heard our names called. It was Roger, saying that he was feeling better, and was heading down to his car four miles away! It was dark and cold and we tried to insist that he stay until daylight, but he had already packed everything up and was adamant to leave.
We had no desire to get out of our sleeping bags and argue further with him. There was no more fight in us. We gave him our cell phone numbers and asked him to text us to let us know that he safely made it to his car.
At 6.30 a.m. we awoke to a deep orange sunrise and a muffled quietness. We emerged from our tents to find several inches of snow on the ground, and more coming down. Near our bear canister, we found someone curled up sleeping next to a rock wearing jeans and a sweatshirt— with no tent or bivy! We asked the young man how he was doing and he said he was on his way up to the summit and was just resting for a few hours. He was unaware of the forecast and unperturbed by the snow accumulating around him. We told him about the big storm coming in and that rangers were advising hikers to leave the high country. We stated firmly that he needed to turn around as he did not have the gear, and HE WOULD DIE. He seemed unconcerned. We gave him a large black garbage bag to help keep him drier, alerted some of the other campers nearby about his situation, and gave up.
We wanted to beat the storm and get back to our cars and the gigantic breakfast we were dreaming about at the Whitney Portal Café, so we packed up in record time. There was no sign of Roger on the way down or at the trailhead. We did indeed enjoy pancakes the size of platters and mounds of eggs.
By mid-morning, the storm was picking up and we watched it roll in from the Visitor Center in Lone Pine as hail pelted the windows. Roger texted us the next day, confirming he’d made it home, calling us his Trail Angels.
Now that Roger had our cell phone numbers, we looked forward to a message from him just about every Saturday for months thanking us for helping him. He even sent us a picture of himself on Mt. Whitney with crampons on…
We have spent many hours reflecting on this trip. Planning and preparing for a climb is essential. What we witnessed that day on Mt. Whitney could have been prevented. We feel we did the best we could given the circumstances. It took all three of us to recognize Roger's condition. Realizing he wasn’t in a condition to make sound decisions, we stuck with him despite his refusals. If he were to become combative and create an unsafe environment for us we could have called for mountain rescue. Thankfully we didn’t have to and relied on each other’s skill sets to help him down safely. We used distraction techniques and allowed Roger as much autonomy that felt safe while we ferried him down to lower elevation. We feel that if we hadn’t intervened and assisted him, his condition would have deteriorated rapidly, and the outcome could have been tragic.
