Greatadventure

My Great Adventure

I can remember the cruel wind from the helicopter's rotors picked up the coarse California soil and sand blasted my face without remorse.� I couldn't move my hands to brush the debris away.� I could feel the grainy particles gathering in my mouth.� I wasn't hungry but I was being force fed sand.� My lips were chapped and cracked.� I can remember the taste of the salt from my dried sweat as well as feel its paper-cut-like sting on my lips.� The afternoon sun shot needles of light into my tired eyes.� My tears gathered dirt and painted my face like that of a warrior.� �But warriors don't cry.

�� We were finally on the road.� The three of us had packed the jeep full.� Full of food, both dehydrated and not, water, camp fuel, my new tent, backpacks, climbing equipment, stoves, water purifiers, aluminum pots and pans, a map, testosterone, and everything else we thought we would need for our epic adventure.� We set up a rotating schedule to pay for gas along the way there and on the way home.� I was first, Matt was second, and Dave was third.� We each had saved about $500 for the trip; we hoped it would be enough.� We were driving straight from Minnesota to California- Death Valley, California.

�� After a few rotations of three-hour driving shifts, we arrived at the end of our Jeep journey.� We unpacked the Jeep and put all of our equipment into our packs, which were large enough to carry a moderately sized adult.� We could have waited to start our hike until the next day, but we decided to start right away.� We had been in the car for too long and our legs had been saying, "are we there yet?" for the past five hours. �They were begging us to hit the trail.��

�� We left at 4:00 AM before the sun had time to wake up.� It was a cool September morning, perfect for a road trip.� The tires made a rhythmic paddeter, paddeter, paddeter, down the freeway.� Because the AC was putting out more heat when on than off, the windows were rolled all the way down.� We liked the feeling of wind on our faces and in our hair (it reminded us of the mountains).�� Well, at least, through their hair.� I shaved my head before the adventure; I wanted to have as little to worry about as possible.� My wife prefers longer hair on me, but, for this trip, she understood why I wanted to shave it.�

�� We knew the first campsite was only about five miles away and there was a small outfitter/ park station where we could purchase miscellaneous things we found we needed once we got there.

�� We arrived at the campsite about two hours before the sun went down and set up camp.� I had not spent much time looking at the scenery along the hike, but there was really nothing to look at.� "I can see why they call this Death Valley," I said to the guys with a smirk.� They chuckled and continued putting up the tent.� There was nothing around us.� Salt flats surrounded by mountains.� The occasional tumbleweed came by to say hello, but that was about the most exciting thing you could hope to see along the way.�

We bought some wood and just before the sun set, we started our fire.� The flickering flame cast our dancing shadows on the tent.� We had to plan the rest of our trip, the cool of the evening provided the best time to do so.� We laid the map on the dry, hard ground.� The three of us huddled over the map like the vultures we saw earlier over a coyote carcass.� We knew that this map was life to us.� If we weren't positive where we were going, we could end up like the coyote.

Sleep came easily to us.� We wanted to be well rested for the journey ahead.� Our trip plan went something like this:� total distance- 105.7 miles to the summit of Mt. Whitney from the trail head at Death Valley, five miles behind us.�� We were going to spend 11 nights on the trail.� We planned our hiking schedule around a basic acclimation and exhaustion schedule. Going from Death Valley to the summit of Mt.Whitney is like being used to breathing through your mouth, to breathing through two soda straws.� We hoped to take only about 9 days reaching the summit, hiking on days 1-3, taking 4 off, then back on the trail 5, 6, and 7, taking 8 off, hiking half day on 9, summiting on 10 and back to Mt. Whitney's base camp parking lot where we would meet some local friends that volunteered to take us back to our car- about 100 miles away.� All in all, we would hike about 12 miles a day.� It was strange thinking that the car trip would take us about 2.5 hours but we would be on the trail for almost 11 days.�

�� Yes, this trip was my great idea.� I had just gotten back from the local climbing gym and turned on the television while eating dinner.� Some TV program mentioned something about how California has both the lowest and highest point in the continental US; this got me thinking.� I decided I wanted to have good stories to tell my grandkids, so I began planning.

Just before going to bed, I remember thinking aloud "why" I asked these two men to come with me on this epic adventure:

�� David was excited about the trip, to say the least.� He is a pre-med student (we were excited to have him along for his medical knowledge in case of an emergency).� He and I have spent much time in Colorado where we would spend as much time in the mountains as we could- both on rock and snow.

�� Matt is one of my best friends.� He walks the straight and narrow and when he speaks, I listen.� He moved to Seattle from Minnesota to attend school and I missed his company. He didn?t have as much experience camping but what he lacked in experience he made up for in enthusiasm and athletic ability.�� I knew I could trust these men with my life and theirs with me.� We would have to.

�� Before the sun had time to begin heating our tent like a solar powered oven, Dave was awake and preparing breakfast for us.� It was the aluminum pots and pans clanking that woke us up.� Because it was a cloudless night, it got really cool. �We could see our breath in the early morning, which was far from an accurate representation of what we would experience during the day; sweat drenching hot.�

�� After re-hydrated eggs and cheese, an energy bar, and a half-liter of water, we packed up, tossed our 50 lb packs on our back, and began hiking.� Re-hydrated eggs. �Wow, I wonder who came up with that. �They tasted like, well, eggs, but not light and fluffy with a hint of real butter, cheese and salt. �Instead more like eggs that were cooked in the microwave about two minutes too long- without the butter and cheese.

�� The next 75 miles were quite boring.� We found some interesting sites along the way: an intact ghost town (except it lacked the ghosts); a car from the 50's (with the windows broken out, tires missing, and it looked like it had been set on fire, but Dave said the discoloration was from the sun); the occasional animal carcass; and of course our friends the vultures were always within sight.

�� We had to be careful of getting altitude sickness.� We started hiking at an altitude of about 292 feet below sea level and our destination was 14,492 feet above sea level, totaling in 14,784 total feet in elevation over the 100+ mile journey. �This doesn?t sound so bad until you find out that the majority of the elevation change occurs in the last fifteen or less miles.�� The total elevation change is around 2.8 miles or the equivalent of a 1,478-story building- and we were taking the stairs.

�� Once we got in the mountains it was beautiful!� Lush green forests with trees so big that we were in total awe.� The trail changed from a dry, hard, cracked path that smelled only of dust, to a path that was alive with fresh smells, like pine and moss; our feet felt softer soil and the path was bordered by small shrubs and moss.� The giant trees provided much appreciated shade from the sun.� ��

�� Everything was going according to plan until the early morning of the summit attempt. We had seen some wispy clouds over our heads the whole trip; the weather had been perfect, until today.� It was raining so hard we were afraid of flash floods or mud slides, which are like avalanches, only black.

The storm came half way through breakfast, blitzing through the sky, and began a torrential downpour with a side of hail.� We scrambled to put our gear away in our packs.� I wanted to sit in the tent where it was dry, but they were already tearing it down.� They wanted to get to safer ground.� I had no choice but to put on my waterproof jacket and weather the storm.� It was difficult to see 20 feet in front of you. I felt like someone was dropping frozen peas from a 100-story building down on me, we were laughing, but it hurt.��

�� Twenty minutes later the sky was perfectly clear.� It seemed it might just be a decent day to summit after all.� We discussed whether or not to try today and after a unanimous decision we decided to go for it.� The trail was wet and muddy in the morning, which made hiking a bit slower than we would have liked.� It is best to summit before 2:00 PM to avoid the potential afternoon storms.� If we were to make it before then we would have to hurry.

�� We chose one of the easier routes up the mountain, which doesn't say much.� It was your usual hike with large boulder fields, scree, large cliffs, and windy conditions.�

We really had gotten to know each other better.� There is just something about spending 24 hours a day and night after night in a tent and with out the option to shower that brings people together.� These men were not just my friends; they were now my brothers.

�� I didn't see the rock that sent me stumbling.� We were about 300 vertical feet from the top.� I think I was too busy looking at the summit.� It had just come out from behind clouds that were hiding it all morning.� It was beautiful.� A near perfect summit- peaked, jagged, and towering above everything else.� It's not quite like watching your bride walk down the aisle towards you, but close.� It can cause you to cry, shout for joy, or take away your voice so you can't even manage a breathy whisper, "wow."

�� The 45 lb pack pulled me towards the ground.� David was still looking through his camera and Matt too was lost in the summit's beauty.� I couldn't believe it was happening to me; I am a sure-footed person.� I flailed my arms like I was being attacked by bees while trying to re-gain balance.� I couldn't compensate for the weight of my pack.� I thought to myself, "I have made it this far, I will not quit yet."� Just then I looked where I was going to fall; over a small cliff, and then another.� The trail we were on was about twelve feet wide at most spots, working around to the other side of the mountain.� We had a near vertical wall of rocks to our left, and cliffs to our right.� My brothers heard my cry of terror just before I went over.� I remember looking up at the cloudless sky, "so serene," I thought as I fell backwards.� Everything went to slow motion, like in the movies.� It felt like I fell for about a minute, when in reality it was only about 33 feet.� My backpack broke my fall, but sent me bouncing over the next cliff like a bowling ball.�

I have had many dreams where I am falling; I actually enjoy them.� I would fall but just before I hit the ground I would slow down and land like feather.� This felt like those dreams, but I knew the two-inch puncture in my back from the camp stove was real.� Reality feels nothing like those dreams.

I hit the ground again, this time landing on a pile of rocks about the size of, well, this 15" computer monitor.� I saw black. �I was dreaming, I had to be.� The next thing I remember is David and Matt standing over me, their faces were white, like the wispy clouds we saw earlier.� David was shouting at me, asking me what my name was and what day it is. �I remember asking him to lower his voice and that's all I could say.

I took one look at my leg and passed out again.� My femur had snapped when I hit the ground like a pencil over your finger.� I could see it below my shorts.� The lower portion was sticking out of the skin about two inches and my leg formed an awkward "S."�

I guess that is when Matt took off running down the mountain for help.� When he arrived at a ranger station and burst through the pine wood door, the ranger took one look at his bloodied hands and clothing and knew something bad had happened.� Airlift 11 was called out on my behalf.� Two and a half hours after my fall.�

David kept me alive by applying pressure to my bleeding leg and talking me through what he was doing and why.� I found it interesting.� I knew it was a good thing to bring him along.�

As I passed in and out of consciousness we talked about the journey.�� Most of what I said was meaningless, incoherent ramble. We had no regrets.� I was in no pain; my body was in shock.� But Dave remembers me saying, "some times the mountain wins, some times we win, but no one ever loses when you are in the mountains.� Live with no regrets."� And then I passed out again.�

The next full memory is when I was strapped down on the stretcher about to be loaded into the helicopter.� We were about an hour from the summit, one hour from completing our journey.� I have no regrets.� I enjoyed the journey to where it ended.�

While I was laying in a white hospital bed in California, Matt said something to me he once heard from a gray haired man, "if you live life focused only on the destination you will miss out on the entire journey."� I got to see the summit, I had fun, I tested my limits, and found where they were.

But most of all I came with friends and left with brothers.

The following story may be true... I don't know- it hasn't happend yet.

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