It was August 2013 and we were climbing the majestic, majestic unreality that is Mount Whitney, a mountain both alluring and unforgiving in its margin of error.
That was the first time we did it: my friend Jesús, my friend Fernando and me. They are childhood friends of mine and we were excited to try to reach the highest mountain in the continental United States.
Between a Rock is a Los Angeles Times series sharing stories of survival in the California wilderness.
We started hiking when we were in our early 20s. On the weekends we had nothing to do, so we started going on bigger, longer hikes. Eventually, we started hiking and taking long-distance backpacking trips. We also do a lot of international travel in terms of hiking.
We did a lot of conditioning hikes beforehand: Mt. Baldy, Gorgonio, Mt. Wilson, pretty much all the major peaks in Southern California. It's not training, but we tried to condition our bodies to make sure they could handle the dramatic elevation gain and cold temperatures.
Jesus received one of those books from Mt. Whitney and knew very well the dangers of Whitney. We were careful to rest beforehand and not stay up too late and also to carb load beforehand. One small misstep or episode of poor preparation has dire consequences, from the slightest sprained ankle to frozen fingers that were no longer there. It's a sensible effort to climb those 99 curves.
We camped at Trail Camp, which has an elevation of approximately 12,000 feet. We didn't do that one-day thing where you have to get up at 10 at night to start climbing to the summit.
When you get to a certain altitude in Whitney, there are little microclimates, so it's very difficult to anticipate what it will be like. All you have to do is be a Boy Scout and plan for the worst, which we did. Everything was waterproof and we had emergency supplies. We even planned it in case we were stranded there, which luckily we weren't.
The weather was bad, so there was a good chance that their tent would be destroyed. We were approached by two hikers who, their teeth chattering incessantly and their clothing soaked, were ill-equipped for the night.
When we set up our tent, we had to do it on a rock and on very high ground. They didn't and their store was destroyed, so they had to share ours. It really was the most dangerous part of that trip.
Tommy Vinh Bui with his friends Fernando, left, and Jesus, right, on the summit of Mount Whitney.
(Tommy Vinh Bui)
We brought a three-person tent, but since their tent had been washed away and all their supplies were soaked, we invited them in, actually, to save their lives.
There are no strangers outdoors. Over the years, I've learned that what's mine is yours, and I usually do it in the spirit of hiker courtesy, too. We take care of each other: we give water if someone is short of water, granola bars if someone is short of water. There is much fulfillment on the path.
So there were five adults in a tent made for three people, the polyester fabric was stretched and held in shape by a thread. It was like a head-to-toe situation, kind of like a sleepaway camp. We were in a very intimate situation.
It was hailing. It's not huge hail the size of a baseball, but it's good enough to make you run for cover. A freezing gale blew incessantly along with a torrential deluge. If we had wind chimes, it would have been a Lollapalooza monsoon of sullen zephyrs all night long.
We saw tons of lightning. Whitney is known for lightning. That's a big part of the reason you have to get off the mountain before noon. Lightning strikes become more frequent. You can see that the atmospheric pressure drops quite quickly before noon.
With the swagger of youth, he was probably too foolish to be afraid. Looking back now, under the circumstances, it should have been.
One of the strangers had a Garmin and came pretty close to hitting the SOS button just to get off the mountain. We had headlights and were able to keep our spirits high. I remember one boy in particular wasn't feeling very well. He was newly married and his new wife was going to kill him because of the situation.
It wasn't very comfortable inside. My friends and I had alpine winter bags that were thick and insulated. But things were wet just from walking around and collecting water inside our shoes and then taking them off. We were wearing waterproof jackets, so the water was dripping.
My friends and I brought books that we thought we could read at night. We try to keep our spirits high and have fun. We knew it was dangerous, but we also knew it was a unique experience.
In the morning, the clouds parted and we discovered that we survived the weather maelstrom relatively intact. Our little makeshift ark had not been washed away in the night lagoon, much to our collective relief.
We slept little, we were too fatigued and soaked. I guess we were so miserable that my group and the other hikers didn't try to give each other contact information. They said, “Let's go back down” and wished us the best of luck.
I mean they weren't from Los Angeles, but maybe from Arizona. This was also his first foray into the mountains. They must have had some hiking experience, but may have found themselves helpless. It would be horrible to try it at Whitney and have to turn back because of the weather. We are only a couple of miles from the summit.
We were able to reach the top before noon. And when you're at the top, you're above the clouds. You can see Badwater Basin in Death Valley. It looks like a Windows screen saver. It looks photoshopped, like the AI did it. It is a beautiful painting: panoramic, sublime, transcendent.
That's why we go out, to commune with nature. I don't want to use the word “spiritual,” but it's something close to that. If the outdoors can be a religion, then hiking is a Sunday service.
Whitney is not a mountain to be trifled with and many people do not respect her and find themselves in dangerous situations. My advice? Do thorough research and try to have a contingency for all possible scenarios. Check the weather forecast, download all maps to your Garmin, notify people of your plans, carry enough food and water, and have emergency supplies on hand.
Be receptive to the restorative powers of nature and allow it to be a catalyst on your journey toward wellness and oneness with the outdoors.
Solvitur walking, friends. Let the sky cover your spirit with serenity.
Tommy Vinh Bui is a Los Angeles County librarian and avid hiker and runner. He has competed in marathons around the world, including a recent race in Antarctica. He recently became a father to twins, a boy and a girl. This account has been edited and condensed for length and clarity.
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