Volume 28, Number 4 - Wilderness Medical Society

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, s ent on mt. Whitney Whitney S. Alexander, MS4 Photos courtesy of Whitney S. Alexander We Were at 12,500 Feet on Mt. Whitney. My climbing partner, Lee, and I had ascended quickly and camped higher on the mountain than we originally intended, breaking the cardinal rule of sleep low, climb high. Wind gusts were making our three-season tent seem like a wimpy tarp. The sun quickly descended behind the summit peak to the west of us and left us with bone-chilling cold. Although it was late May, the mountain was firmly set in winter. Iceberg Lake, the body of water situated not more than a few dozen yards north of us, was frozen solid. Unfortunately, we discovered this when we tried to find a source of water that did not involve using up precious fuel. We had been at this location about an hour, after a long day capped off by an unexpected 50-degree slope up a frozen waterfall to our current campsite. What we wanted was sleep and warm food, but neither was on our immediate horizon. We found ourselves struggling against the wind, exhaustion and decreased oxygen to get our tent anchored into the soft, pillowy snow. Each stake had to be buried a foot into the snow and covered with large rocks, which were difficult to come by near this frozen alpine lake. When we finally got the tent anchored and the sleeping pads painstakingly inflated, we crawled inside to the relative warmth. Lee fell asleep instantly. However, my mind was racing. Too many things had put us at high risk for disaster. We had a three-season tent in fourth season weather. The gully running between the granite cliffs to the summit looked much steeper than I originally thought. And our rope was tucked safely in the car five thousand vertical feet below us. Later, when we could not melt the snow beyond slush because of a malfunctioning stove. There was no hope of a warm meal. We started to weigh our options. Option one: run through our fuel in a nearly futile attempts to melt enough water for a summit push the next day, eat the ready-to-eat snacks we had stashed in our packs, and endure the winds fiercely assaulting our insufficient tent. Option two: descend that same steep frozen waterfall hoping the soft slushy snow had hardened in the shadow of the east face of the mountain, camp below the tree line, and if nothing else have a warmer night’s sleep even if warm food would not be on the menu. Lee was getting increasingly nauseated and had an escalating headache. He asked me, “<strong>Medical</strong>ly, what do you think we should do?” WILDERNESS MEDICINE // Fall 2011 9
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Volume 28, Number 4 - Wilderness Medical Society

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