So this is a ski trip, huh? Barefoot and in board shorts, Adam Clark walks upon below-sea-level dunes in Death Valley National Park, after a morning spent at 14,505 feet. Photo: Drew Petersen MILE 654; APRIL 15; MOUNT WHITNEY, CA; 14,505 FEET The drop from the summit is mesmerizing, some 2,000 feet of nothing to our campsite on Iceberg Lake. More so than other summits, Whitney feels like the top of the world, as if every other peak, valley and lake in the vicinity are meant to put its jagged granite towers and height on display. It is, after all, the highest point in the contiguous United States, and the highest I’ve ever climbed. The top turns are rhythmic, down smooth, wind-buffed silk and past the line of climbers headed upward. We work to the right and onto an adjacent ramp, where we’re greeted with cold, wind-wrinkled powder. beers on the sand dunes in Death Valley National Park. The same sun we watched rise from 14,000 feet this morning sets to the west, erupting in pink pastel swirls. There will be more road and another peak tomorrow, but as dusk descends we both drift off to sleep, right there on the dunes. MILE 1,166; APRIL 17; HUMPHREYS PEAK, AZ; 12,635 FEET I have to check the map, just to make sure I am looking the right direction. Yes, that is indeed the Grand Canyon in the distance, just a line in the earth from here. The desert is all consuming; no matter the direction I look, there is not another mountain in sight. The line below us, however, is fully visible, and we drop, floating our way toward empty sands and sweeping dunes. MILE 765; APRIL 15; DEATH VALLEY, CA; -33 FEET I burrow my feet into the sand, feeling the warmth envelop my toes, a welcome change from cold ski boots and crampons. We are below sea level, wearing board shorts, and sipping cold Atop the American West 071
The Ski Journal Volume Eleven, Issue Two: Page 71
