“Getting to the top is optional, getting back down is mandatory. A lot of people forget about that.”
― Ed Viesturs
September 12, 2015 - Whitney Portal
No, I did not make it this far, this time, that is what my mind was saying.
I returned to Whitney Portal yesterday for the first time in many years, but it was not from the direction I had planned, nor on the scheduled day, September 11th. If things had gone as planned, which age and something masquerading as wisdom tells me is usually folly, I would have stumbled down the mountain to this place yesterday afternoon, tired, worn, incredibly dirty, but undoubtedly with a joy in my heart that I can barely fathom, having completed one of the great trails in America. I would have completed something that has been a lifelong dream.
But that did not happen.
And yet as I drove up the incredibly steep road to Whitney Portal I was not sad, but at the same time not joyful. My emotions were decidedly mixed. Somehow it seemed very fitting that I should visit the place where my adventure would have ended, even if from the wrong direction and with the aid of motorized transport. But processing this was difficult. I kept telling myself that I had no regrets about having to cut my trek short, but deep in my heart I knew this was not entirely true, I had not settled this in my soul.
Memories of trips past flooded over me as I parked the car in the crowded parking lot, remembering a time years ago when I came to this place in the middle of the night, returned in the middle of the night twenty four hours later after getting the blessing of the mountain and reaching the summit. Twice I did this seemingly crazy thing before my thirtieth birthday, long before it became almost a cliche to have climbed the highest peak in the contiguous United States in one day. For so many reasons a conversation I shared a few years ago with Ed Viesturs came to mind, but more on that shortly.
It suddenly occurred to me that I had never seen Whitney Portal in the light of day, I had never seen the spectacular view of the Owens Valley, Lone Pine in the distance, from the road climbing the mountain that I had just negotiated, steep and winding, for it was always dark when I had visited. I had seen it from the summit of Mt. Whitney, but never from the road approaching Whitney Portal.
After parking the car, I walked through the trees, enjoying the late afternoon light shining on the rock walls. The store at Whitney Portal was open, nestled among the trees with the steep rock walls surrounding it, people milling about, backpackers starting out, JMT survivors and Whitney climbers enjoying a celebratory beer on the deck outside the store. People who flock to this place just to somehow be near something like Mt. Whitney were coming and going from the store, people who would never have the desire, will or strength to actually take to the trail for more than a few miles, let alone attempt the summit. Patches, buttons, stickers and shirts in the store proclaimed "I Climbed Mt. Whitney" without any requirement of achievement being presented along with the cash or credit card. Let your conscience be your guide, the store clerk is not the achievement police.
But back to my thoughts of Ed Viesturs. He is the only American to have climbed all fourteen 8,000 meter peaks in the world, and only the fifth in the world to have done it without supplemental oxygen. Even with his achievements he is hardly a household name and it is rare for me to meet someone who knows who he is and what he accomplished. A few years ago I had the good fortune to hear him speak and then to spend about thirty minutes having a one on one conversation with him, largely because no one else at the corporate conference who heard him speak truly understood his greatness, or they were more concerned with the next seminar they had to attend, probably now long forgotten. In my short time with him I learned that he is a humble man, and two things he said that day have stayed with me. His words resonated with me as I was faced with decision on the JMT, and also on this day as I walked among the trees, rocks and cliffs of Whitney Portal surrounded by bustling people.
The quotation above reflects what he said to me when he said "the only successful trip is a round trip." But more importantly he spoke that day about the almost spiritual element of the mountain, the wilderness. It is not something to be "conquered," but rather something to be respected and understood. Nature always wins. Always. Forget this truth at your peril. He never did and is alive today, unlike many who climbed with him. I have always taken this truth with me when I venture out and it served me well on my JMT trek. I did not hesitate to push the SOS button on my satellite device. I am alive. I would do the same again, without hesitation.
But Ed Veisturs also talked about his last, and most difficult challenge, Annapurna. How he failed, then returned, camped in view of the mountain and stared at it for a week, studied it, thought about it, trying to determine if he should climb it, would the mountain give him permission, allow him this privilege? Finally determining that the conditions were right and he had the proper communion with the mountain he climbed and succeeded. But most importantly, he was prepared to turn back if the conditions, physical and spiritual, had not been aligned. He had determined that he could live with only having climbed thirteen of the fourteen 8,000 meter peaks. He had done his best, and that would be enough.
As I walked amid the trees of Whitney Portal, an almost legendary place among backpackers in California, I was reminded of Ed Veisturs. And I thought about the purpose of my trek, which I now knew was not to make it to Whitney Portal, but rather to learn about myself, others, the world and my place in that world.
So what did I learn? These may be cliches to some, forgive me, but having negotiated nearly eighty miles of wilderness I feel they are real, and that I have earned the right to share my experiences and lessons. So here I go....
It's the journey, not the destination. I had moments of incredible beauty on the JMT, spiritual experiences, making it to the end was not necessary to appreciate them.
People are wonderful, and the mountains make them better, John Muir was right about this, and so many other things. Barriers of age, ethnicity and economics disappear on the trail, could we only make this transfer to the every day life we all lead and how we interact with others.
We appreciate things we earn, like the view hard fought, may it never be easy. I gave thanks every time I came upon a spectacular sight on the JMT that there was no road to carry people to that spot.
Challenge is important, venue does not matter, we learn much about ourselves when we take risks. What is your JMT? Get outside your comfort zone, think outside the box. You do not have to put on a backpack, climb a mountain or even venture past your own backyard, but make sure you take a risk, challenge yourself. You will be stronger for it, whether or not you succeed. And you will learn things that may surprise you.
And finally, I am not in control, which is OK. I was reminded to be humble, for I am small and inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. Look up at the night sky from your campsite in the High Sierras and you know this truth. Just make sure that you are always giving your best, no matter how small or inconsequential the task, people will know, but more importantly you will know. Self respect, it counts.
After pondering these thoughts, I prepared to leave the Whitney Portal store and head back down the twisting road, but first I decided to buy a John Muir Trail shirt and a Mt. Whitney hat, succumb to the human need to memorialize and proclaim my achievements, real and partially achieved.
As I paid for the items I said to the clerk that I had climbed Mt. Whitney twice, so I had earned the hat, but had fallen short of completing the JMT this year. He smiled, then said, "the trail will still be there, I'll see you next year when you return." He understood.
I picked up my bag, started for the door and smiled. For I know I will be back, if not next year, some year in the future. And if the trail blesses me and gives me permission, I will finish. But if not, I can live with that outcome, for I will know that I took a risk, embraced a challenge, tried and gave it my best, and I am a better person for the experience.
As I descended the steep winding road back to civilization my soul was at rest. I gave thanks, for I had achieved a great deal, sharpened truths I had only dimly viewed a month earlier, realized my dream. I felt inner peace wash over me and I smiled, it had all been worth it, I am now ready for whatever life has left in store. It will be an adventure, of that I am sure.
© 2015 James McGregor Gibson