Vol. 19, No. 2 Newsletter of the China Lake Museum Foundation Spring 2013 Page 1 Fifty-Seven Years to Closure By Bob Rockwell May 24, 1952 My first ascent of Mt. Whitney was on May 24, 1952. Years later, I couldn‘t remember what possessed us to do it. There were five of us who started up that day: Burroughs High School buddies George Adam, Ben Woolever, Charlie Reed, Jim Hurtt, and me. At home in China Lake, it was summer-like, so we wore only T-shirts, Levis, and street shoes. We probably each took a light jacket, but no gloves or warm hats. Or canteens, or food except for a few Hershey‘s bars. Or packs, sunscreen, map, compass, flashlights. Or emergency bivouac gear. As I think back upon it now, I shudder. We had driven to Whitney Portal (elevation 8,400‘) the night before, thrown sleeping bags on the ground, and started hiking around 7 AM. The trail was obvious until we got close to what we now know is Trail Camp (12,000‘), but it had been a big snow year, and we found ourselves stymied. The trail was no longer visible. It was early afternoon, and Charlie and Jim had long since decided to stay below and fish. Seeing no sign of the trail, we looked north and thought, ―That looks like the highest thing around. Must be Whitney.‖ So we headed in the direction of what I learned later is Pinnacle Ridge and the face of Third Needle. Climbing higher, we soon found ourselves on increasingly steeper snow. It was firm enough and holding us, but at one point Ben punched through. He was stopped only by his outstretched arms, and we helped him out of the hole. Peering down into the depths, all we could see was darkness and we knew this was not a good place to be. Besides, above us, the snow gave way to near-vertical rock. But from our vantage point we could look back and see outlines of switchbacks on the snow above Trail Camp to the south. Aha! So, at about 3 PM, we reversed track and started up the switchbacks. Ben had been complaining of a severe headache and serious sunburn and decided to head down. George and I told him we would be back at Whitney Portal before dark, and continued on. As we climbed, the temperatures dropped because we were now in the shade, and we grew tired. By 6 PM, we had gone over Trail Crest Pass (13,600‘) and were on the west-facing slopes, in the warm sun again. In an hour we could see Mt. Whitney‘s summit in the distance, with a building on top. We kept going, but very slowly, stopping every few minutes to rest. Soon, we realized we could be in trouble. The sun would set in an hour or so, and there would be no moon for light. We were getting very cold, and knew we should have turned around long ago. But if we turned back now, there wasn‘t even a remote chance of getting down this day. We had seen no other people, so had the entire mountain to ourselves. This also meant there was no one around to help us out. Our only hope was to gain the shelter of the summit hut. We finally reached it around 9 PM, well after dark. Hopefully, there would be a fireplace and wood inside, and water, and some food. Maybe even cots and blankets. Instead, what we found was an open doorway leading to a single large, cold, dark, and empty room. The door had been blown off by winter storms and was lying outside on the ground. Actually, the inside of the hut was not empty. It was full of hard, consolidated, snow. We were very cold, and our fingers and toes were numb. And we were indeed in trouble! (Continued on page 2) , OCR Text: Vol. 19, No. 2 Newsletter of the China Lake Museum Foundation Spring 2013 Page 1 Fifty-Seven Years to Closure By Bob Rockwell May 24, 1952 My first ascent of Mt. Whitney was on May 24, 1952. Years later, I couldn‘t remember what possessed us to do it. There were five of us who started up that day: Burroughs High School buddies George Adam, Ben Woolever, Charlie Reed, Jim Hurtt, and me. At home in China Lake, it was summer-like, so we wore only T-shirts, Levis, and street shoes. We probably each took a light jacket, but no gloves or warm hats. Or canteens, or food except for a few Hershey‘s bars. Or packs, sunscreen, map, compass, flashlights. Or emergency bivouac gear. As I think back upon it now, I shudder. We had driven to Whitney Portal (elevation 8,400‘) the night before, thrown sleeping bags on the ground, and started hiking around 7 AM. The trail was obvious until we got close to what we now know is Trail Camp (12,000‘), but it had been a big snow year, and we found ourselves stymied. The trail was no longer visible. It was early afternoon, and Charlie and Jim had long since decided to stay below and fish. Seeing no sign of the trail, we looked north and thought, ―That looks like the highest thing around. Must be Whitney.‖ So we headed in the direction of what I learned later is Pinnacle Ridge and the face of Third Needle. Climbing higher, we soon found ourselves on increasingly steeper snow. It was firm enough and holding us, but at one point Ben punched through. He was stopped only by his outstretched arms, and we helped him out of the hole. Peering down into the depths, all we could see was darkness and we knew this was not a good place to be. Besides, above us, the snow gave way to near-vertical rock. But from our vantage point we could look back and see outlines of switchbacks on the snow above Trail Camp to the south. Aha! So, at about 3 PM, we reversed track and started up the switchbacks. Ben had been complaining of a severe headache and serious sunburn and decided to head down. George and I told him we would be back at Whitney Portal before dark, and continued on. As we climbed, the temperatures dropped because we were now in the shade, and we grew tired. By 6 PM, we had gone over Trail Crest Pass (13,600‘) and were on the west-facing slopes, in the warm sun again. In an hour we could see Mt. Whitney‘s summit in the distance, with a building on top. We kept going, but very slowly, stopping every few minutes to rest. Soon, we realized we could be in trouble. The sun would set in an hour or so, and there would be no moon for light. We were getting very cold, and knew we should have turned around long ago. But if we turned back now, there wasn‘t even a remote chance of getting down this day. We had seen no other people, so had the entire mountain to ourselves. This also meant there was no one around to help us out. Our only hope was to gain the shelter of the summit hut. We finally reached it around 9 PM, well after dark. Hopefully, there would be a fireplace and wood inside, and water, and some food. Maybe even cots and blankets. Instead, what we found was an open doorway leading to a single large, cold, dark, and empty room. The door had been blown off by winter storms and was lying outside on the ground. Actually, the inside of the hut was not empty. It was full of hard, consolidated, snow. We were very cold, and our fingers and toes were numb. And we were indeed in trouble! (Continued on page 2) , China Lake Museum,China Laker - Newsletter,China Laker 2010s,China Laker 2013,Newsletter Spring 2013.pdf,Newsletter Spring 2013.pdf Page 1, Newsletter Spring 2013.pdf Page 1