On Top of the World: Climbing Mt. Whitney with my Mother

By: Dallas Woodburn

Some mothers and daughters bond by going shopping together. Others may enjoy pampering themselves with a “spa day.” My mom and I climbed a mountain.

* * *

The culminating peak of the Sierra Nevada mountain range was discovered by a California State Geological Survey team in 1864 and named “Mount Whitney” in honor of the team’s leader, Josiah Dwight Whitney.

During that trip, survey team member Clarence King attempted to climb to the summit.

Twice.

Both times he failed.

It was not until his third attempt nearly a decade later on Sept. 19, 1873, that King successfully reached the peak of the tallest mountain in the contiguous United States. Ironically, today 1-in-3 climbers statistically make it to the summit of Mount Whitney.

Unlike King, my mom and I took a cell phone to the summit and called home. “Hi Dad!” I said, breathless from the incredible view as well as from the thin rarified air. “We made it! It’s soooo beautiful up here! I feel like I’m on the top of the world!”

* * *

Sir Edmund Hillary was the first person to actually stand on the top of the world, reaching Mount Everest’s peak on May 29, 1953.
I was born on May 29, 1987. The coincidence of date piqued my interest, and I set the goal of standing – if not on the top of the world – at least on the top of the lower forty-eight states.

Then there’s my mom, who has a unique way of coping with growing older. She ran a marathon to celebrate the milestone of turning forty. Fast forward to the eve of her forty-fifth birthday, when she prepared to climb Whitney with me.

We geared up for our quest with early Saturday morning hikes that began measuring a few miles and eventually stretched into the afternoon – and stretched up to ten miles. Impressive, but still less than half of the twenty-two-mile round trip of a successful Mount Whitney journey.

“I have serious doubts I’ll be able to make it to the top,” my mom confided before we left for our climb up a granite stairway to heaven. I have never seen her fail at anything – from juggling her roles as mother, wife and career woman, to organizing a group of more than 500 kids as president of the local youth track club, to navigating the streets of Rome with only a city map and a handful of badly pronounced Italian phrases.

“Yes you will, Mom!” I insisted, and meant it. “We’ll make it together.”

Our journey began at Mt. Whitney’s trail portal at 4 a.m. Guided by head-mounted flashlights and beautiful moonlight, and also by our glowing excitement, we crossed one stream by carefully stepping on slippery rocks and another by walking on logs.

The sunrise belonged on a postcard. So did the lakes and waterfalls and wildflowers. Mom brought along two 27-exposure disposable cameras and took lots of pictures. “Save some film for the summit!” I kidded her. “We want proof that we make it!”

Carrying day packs filled with enough water to get two camels across the Sahara, we rose above the tree line after about five miles of hiking.
A mile later we reached the switchbacks. The infamous switchbacks.

There are, by actual count – not mine, though, as I lost count after about fourteen – ninety-seven switchbacks covering 2.2 steep-and-jagged miles. These switchbacks took us from Trail Camp, with an elevation of 12,000 feet, to Trail Crest with an elevation of 13,777 feet.

The ankle-twisting switchbacks are daunting, but the most difficult leg of the climb follows. Indeed, a mountain sheep would have trouble with the footing on the final two miles to the summit. Add in air so rarefied it makes lungs gasp and heads ache, and each step becomes more of a challenge than the previous one.

Mom and I felt stiff wind in our faces and hot sun on our backs; we felt fatigue in muscles we didn’t even know existed and we sometimes felt like turning back. But at high noon we felt …

… the elation of a challenge conquered.

Yes, eight hours and about a dozen blisters after setting forth in cold darkness, the two of us enjoyed the exhilarating view at the peak of Mt. Whitney.
“I am so proud of you, Dal,” Mom said, hugging me.

“I’m proud of you, too,” I told her.

The truth is, I was never supposed to share a birth date with Hillary’s historic Everest climb. I should have remained inside the womb for another three months. But, as we all know, life isn’t too concerned with plans, and my mom was stricken with “preclampsia,” a terrifying collection of syllables that threatened her life as well as mine and caused me to be delivered by emergency Caesarean section twelve weeks before the due date. I weighed a mere two pounds, six ounces.

Flashback sixteen years and I had been inside an incubator hooked up to breathing tubes, IVs and monitors. Now, here I stood atop Mt. Whitney.
“It’s breathtaking,” I said, intending no pun.

“I’ll say,” my mom agreed. She smiled at me.

We snapped a roll of celebratory pictures and proudly signed the registry book at the Summit Hut. Then, chased by approaching thunderclouds after just twenty minutes of rest, we began the six-hour, eleven-mile descent.

* * *

I know my climb up Mt. Whitney is a treasured experience that will stay preserved in my mind like a corsage flower carefully pressed inside a scrapbook. Not because I did it in one day, or because I did it on the hundredth anniversary of the completion of the Whitney trail, or even because when I was born the chance of my one day climbing a mountain seemed as unthinkable as me walking on the moon.

No, my climb up Mt. Whitney was the experience of a lifetime because my mom was there beside me every uphill – and downhill – step of the way.
Legendary basketball coach John Wooden likes to say, “The journey is better than the inn.” I love that sentiment. And so I carried down a small granite stone from Mount Whitney’s summit, a keepsake reminder of a journey that was better.

Mom carried down something less tangible but just as meaningful: a strengthened belief in herself.

In other words, even at sea level, even years later, our relationship is stronger than ever. And we still feel on top of the world.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Dallas Woodburn is the author of two collections of short stories and a forthcoming novel. She has written more than 80 articles for national publications including Family Circle, Writer’s Digest, CO-ED, Justine, and The Los Angeles Times, and she writes a regular column for Listen magazine. Dallas is the founder of the nonprofit organization “Write On! For Literacy” that has donated nearly 11,000 new books to disadvantaged children. Her latest endeavor is starting a publishing company, Write On! Books, that publishes the work of young writers. In addition, she hosts frequent writing contests, teaches writing camps for kids, and is coordinator of the Young Writers Program at the Santa Barbara Writers Conference. Dallas graduated this past May from the University of Southern California with a B.A. in Creative Writing and Entrepreneurship. Contact her at her website: writeonbooks.org or her blog: dallaswoodburn.blogspot.com.

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