Log0029 | Andy - High Router
At 5am I woke up with the first light. The plan for the day was two off-trail passes and a summit of Whitney. Knowing my strained hamstring and altitude sickness would slow me down I took some acetazolamide and got moving.
After skirting around the first few lakes at the top of the Mitre Basin I crested Crabtree Pass. Coming over the saddle I heard a “Waaahoooo” as a man in his 50s topped out from the other side.
What were the chances? Two people, coming at this backcountry pass from two different directions, crest at the exact same time. Turns out we’d both camped at lakes just below the pass and started early to get a jump on the day. We chatted for a while, talking about our respective routes and exchanged beta.
As we chatted Andy told me a bit about himself. This was his first time doing a ‘high route’ and he was hooked. The thrill of yesterday's summit was still pumping through his veins “the greatest mountaineering accomplishment of my life.” His one ice axe pulled him up through the final chute and notch. Andy expressed how he’d been out of the game for years and was asking questions about other high routes I had done; technicality, logistics, length, difficulty.
He’d done the Pacific Crest Trail back in ‘99. Before anyone had heard of it. “That year 300 people started from Mexico, by the time we hit the Sierras 100 people had already dropped out.”
“It was different then man, no one had it figured out. Today I can spot a thru hiker from a mile away. They all have the same gear. InReach on the shoulder, hooded sunshirts, filter topped disposable water bottles, similar packs. We didn’t have any of it figured out.”
I imagined the logistics too; now all the resupplies, campsites and detours could all be found on an app in your pocket.
He continued, telling me about other adventures had and dreamt. Like the 5-months cycling South America with his wife, all the way down into Patagonia. “It was in our wedding vows to return, but that will never happen. It would never be possible with her health.”
Slowly the conversation morphed and his voice trailed off with something that sounded like regret. “We never had kids either, she made it clear she didn’t want them. But I married her anyway. It would’ve been easy where we lived…”
“I would have had them. If she would have...”
Maybe it was the anonymity, but conversations in the wilderness often got real, fast. With less strings than a confessional box we both knew we’d never see one another again. The pass was a free place to vent one’s feelings.
After that, we returned to more grounded conversation. He complimented my hat and we schemed our routes - running them past the other person for advice. Then we were gone. Dropping off the pass toward summits in opposite directions. And like that, Andy became just another alpine memory.