How could reading an account of the disaster on Mount Everest ever rekindle my interest to climb Mount Whitney? Some how it did and the planning began immediately. Never having climbed a mountain, I prepared by working out, reading climbing books, and taking a mountaineering class on Mount Shasta, before attempting the highest peak in the lower 48 states.

It's a relatively easy hike to the top of the highest peak in the country, at 14,497 feet, and the 21 mile-roundtrip trail would not require extensive technical skills. Saira, my fiancée, would not permit me to climb any mountain by myself, so I asked my rugged outdoorsmen friends who would be interested and able to go on a mid week trip. None of them could make it. Luckily my less than outdoorsy friend Lionel, who was a very good athlete, said he was up for the manly challenge.

For the few weeks leading up to the climb, I pleaded with Lonnie to lay off the cigarettes and late nights of debauchery, and to try to take his training seriously. He hypothesized that smoking would train his lungs for the thin air conditions of Mount Whitney and his late nights would acclimate his body to operate with little or no sleep. While I stuck to training, Lionel continued to live it up, hosting countless late night parties, and he capped it all off my going to The Black & White Ball the night before our trip!

His overindulged condition forced us to reschedule our departure for the next morning, and after eight years of talking smack, my trip to Mount Whitney was under way. My partner who had never backpacked or camped, or even spent one night in a tent, was catching up on some much needed sleep as I drove to Mount Whitney.

We arrived at the Whitney Portal — elevation 8600 feet — at 3:00 pm, and we knew that we would have to return by Wednesday afternoon if we were going to get back to San Francisco as scheduled. After some discussion, we decided not to spend the first night at Base Camp, but to head up the trail, 3.5 miles to Outpost Camp. Tuesday we would hike 2.5 miles to Trail Camp — elevation 12,000 feet — and on Wednesday morning we would hike 4.5 miles the top, then hike all the down by Wednesday afternoon.

Earlier in the day, our trip began at sea level in San Francisco and our late start did not afford us the luxury of spending the night and acclimatizing at Base Camp. We could have gotten our food before heading up the trail and then spending the night at Base Camp — drinking lots of water and acclimatizing. I was just getting over a cold and the additional rest would have helped my endurance and strength.

By 5:30 pm we were heading up the trail and it seemed a bit like Oscar and Felix of the Odd Couple. The altitude was turning us into grumpy old men. Whoever said Mt. Whitney was an easy hike must have done it without a heavy backpack, because the trail with its 99 switchbacks was as much as I wanted to handle and more than I expected. The trail was well maintained and pretty steep; in about two and half-hours we reached Outpost Camp — elevation 10,300 feet.

We set up camp and retired by nine o'clock. Lonnie was getting to bed before midnight for the first time in months! My headache began, eventually started to pound, and didn't stop for the next two days. The oncoming altitude sickness and the remainder of my cold didn't do much to help my sleep and I tossed and turned all night. The wind made the tent flap for the most of the night, allowing me only four hours sleep. Lonnie slept like a rock. The next morning we made dehydrated scrambled eggs for breakfast that looked bad and tasted worse. The Donner party quite possibly would have had to pass on them. We didn't want to spend too much time at Outpost camp, so we packed up and bugged out. On our way to Trail Camp, I was beginning to feel worse. My pounding headache was not going away and it was beginning feel as if nails were being driven into my head. My pack was heavier than ever and I was operating on little sleep with fatigue setting in.

Another hiker, John, came up the trail, and since there weren't many other hikers on the trail, we ran into him a few more times, giving him every chance to convince us that he was Sir Edmund Hillary, reincarnated. As novices, we didn't take note that he was climbing alone!

John continued up the trail and was soon out of sight. Like us, John drove up from sea level and hiked to Outpost Camp Monday night. He was now heading up to higher elevations. We caught up with him at Trailside Meadow. After a brief lecture about our overstuffed packs, he put on his gaiters and went up the snowfield to the left of the trail. Lionel wanted to follow him, thinking he was taking a shortcut, but I didn't think we should leave the trail. After an altitude inspired argument, I reluctantly followed Lonnie and again saw John resting ahead of us. We moved passed him and stopped to take in the sights at Constellation Lake. As John approached us, he let us know that we were at Trail Camp. This place was amazing! You couldn't tell this was a camp. We would have passed it if wasn't for John.

We made camp around noon, took inventory of our remaining food, and determined that we would have to skip lunch if we wanted any breakfast the next day. We decided that we would have to head down first thing in the morning and not go for the top because of our depleted supply situation. We were short supplies because we never returned to town to pick up additional food.

Tuesday afternoon at about 12:15 pm, the weather was absolutely perfect. Knowing that we had no chance for the top, regardless of the weather, we talked to John and the other climbers about going up that afternoon. It was determined that if we could climb to Trail Crest at 13,700 feet, by 1:15 pm, we could go for the top. We calculated that the entire climb should take about five hours. I was feeling pretty bad now, but I also thought that any attempt for the top would be better than none. Luckily, my head was still throbbing.

As we set off for Trail Crest, Lonnie was feeling good and already leading by a great distance. Only able to take a few steps before needing rest, I was not able to keep up and knew that I was going to have to turn back. My climb was over. I found it hard to believe the amount of vigor Lonnie had and now wished that I had gone to the Black & White Ball! Lonnie, wearing shorts and a windbreaker, was carrying little food or water. He was equipped with an ice axe, a cell phone, and a camera. I gave him my supplies and he charged up to Trail Crest in great spirits. Being a first time climber, I didn't know that splitting up was the mother of all mistakes, but he probably would have continued anyway. I was proud of myself for deciding to return to camp versus continuing a climb that I was no longer enjoying, and still capable of walking away without the assistance of the mountain rescue team.

By the time I made it back to Trail Camp, I was in a stupor of painful haze. Altitude sickness was now hitting me full force. Disoriented, I couldn't decide what to do next. Drained physically, my head still pounding and not thinking straight, I tried to talk to the others, but mostly listened to John's pedantic babble. My overall condition had deteriorated so much I just wanted to get off the mountain. I wanted to pack my gear and just leave.

Just heading to the solar latrine took ever ounce of energy that I had and I became disoriented and couldn't find my way back to camp right away. As time passed, all I could do was sit and hope that time would pass quickly, and maybe, if lucky, acclimatize. It would have been nice to take a nap, but at high altitudes, sleep does not come easy and it robs you of REM.

It was now after 6:00 pm on Tuesday June 8th, the 75th anniversary of the disappearance of George Mallory on Mount Everest, and I started to feel concerned. Lionel had never learned any mountaineering techniques and when I gave him instruction on how to use the equipment correctly, he opted for his own ideas. Altitude can create arrogance and his lack of experience began to give me cause for great concern. Impaired judgement is a highly documented occurrence at high altitudes, and I knew something could have gone seriously wrong.

Fortunately, at 6:30 pm, Lionel came back down from Trail Crest and looked worse than any night coming back from the Balboa Café! He was wobbling, weaving, and stumbling over his feet. He looked incredibly exhausted and depleted. As we walked to the camp, he told me how he got in over his head and was glad he was alive. He had hallucinated that marmots were chasing him and thought he might not make it back. This was all happening near the summit and the scattered climbers were still encouraging him to go on. After seeing no one else ahead, he decided to turn back. I had water waiting for him because I knew he would be dehydrated and I helped him to the tent where he immediately collapsed.

After resting for a brief period, he came out of the tent. The altitude sickness had a pretty good grip on him and he started to ramble, "I hate this mountain. I hate backpacking and I'm never going camping again." His angry ranting went on for a while, then he started to calm down. Both of us were still feeling pretty bad so I suggested we leave. Lionel was interested but John and the others knew we would never make it down by dark and convinced us to stay put.

In the morning, I still had a pounding headache but otherwise felt good. My strength was back, my spirit was up, and I felt that with food and time I could have made it to the summit! Unfortunately, we didn't have any time or food, and Lonnie was still as out of it as the day before.

We learned that John's altitude sickness was so bad that he threw up the day before. We found it ironic that "John the expert climber" got sick after all his condescending lectures. We nearly ran back to Whitney Portal and as soon as we descended to about 3000 feet, the altitude sickness subsided and my head finally stopped pounding. All in all, we were finally feeling back to normal.

Lionel and I have since returned to Mt. Whitney with a better plan, and easily made the top. With lighter packs and more experience, the assault was quite uneventful. The learning curve from the experience of my first climb has taught me more than any book or lesson learned from common sense. We'll always cherish the excitement of the first climb and it being the catalyst for many more expeditions.

—Scott Durcanin, Living the Life with MountainZone.com