From that first little taste of hiking, I knew I was in trouble.

Immediately following my inaugural climb on Garcia Trail, I drove directly to a large mountaineering outfitter and melted my credit card. Climbing specific boots, convertible hiking pants, special socks, purpose built ‘mountaineering’ jackets and, of course, a goofy looking hiking hat became the latest additions to my ‘everything for everything’ collection. For good measure, my wife Fiona got fully outfitted as well.

The following week, Fiona and I hike the Whiskey Flat trail in Kernville, CA; a mislabeled trail that is not flat and to my dismay does not contain any whiskey at all.

MIDDLE OF NOWHERE ON THE WHISKEY FLAT TRAIL

The very next day, following my typical ‘all-in’ routine, I don my fancy new gear and drive to the head of the Windy Gap trail in Azusa, CA. Three arduous hours of hiking later I stand atop Mt. Islip, 8,542 feet above the LA basin, triumphantly achieving my first ‘real’ summit.

ON TOP OF MT. ISLIP

Unbelievably, as I’m high above the smog layer, soaking in the well-earned scenery, I get a text from none other than Michael Cole. I’m not sure how I feel about the fact that my phone works at this altitude.

Cole: Hey, I get into Calgary early on Sunday, want to hike?
Me: Yup. John coming too?
Cole: Ummm….

Cole then texts me to tell me he’s training for Calgary by hiking fourteen miles with a weighted backpack in his sea-level town. I can only imagine what his neighbors must think.

On the appointed Sunday, Magellan Michael Cole and I start out by getting good and lost in Canada, a confusing country that measures things in kilometers instead of miles. The fact that we are planning to hike in mountains that we can see in front of us but can’t seem to get to doesn’t concern us as much as it probably should. The fact that we’re not sure if the distance to the summit of Prairie Mountain, labeled as ‘7,200’ is measured in feet or kilometers never crosses our minds. The biggest shock of the day? John wasn’t able to join our little outing. I’m sure his golfing and fried mozzarella training regimen had nothing to do with his absence.

Talking about climbing equipment we might need for Mt. Whitney, I tell Michael about my penchant of always wanting to have “everything for everything.” He says, “Oh yeah. I do that too. My wife calls it my Phase Closet. Every time I go through a phase, from golfing to diving, I fill the closet with more stuff.” We’re more alike than I thought.

After many kilometers of U-turns, we manage to find the spot the trailhead is supposed to be located.

ALREADY LOST

As we try to find some confirmation we’re at the right place, an official-looking ranger pulls up. Expecting a hassle, I head over to ask if we’re in the right place for The Prairie Mountain Trail. For a moment, I forgot we were in Canada, where citizens are so nice and polite that they even say “Thank you!” to ATM machines. The ranger couldn’t have been more accommodating and helpful, pointing to a little, barely visible path and saying, “It starts right there. You boys have a good climb, eh?”

Steep. Narrow. Difficult. These are a few of the kinder, more Canadian adjectives we use to describe the first mile of this grueling trail. Unlike my previous forays, which gently ascended the mountain by zig-zagging on switchbacks, this leg-burner of a trail goes more or less straight up.

Truth be told, this being our first hike together, I had a few doubts about Michael Cole. Considering how steep the trail was, I figured after the first mile or so, he’d either be a quivering mass of ‘I quit’ or dead. Me? I’ll just keep going until I fall down. To my surprise, my climbing buddy never once so much as complained. Sweat pouring off us; we just keep climbing up and up.

Eventually we run into a few hikers on their way down. Cole asks how much further to the top.

“Oh, pretty far. I’d say you’re about halfway there… maybe a little less.”

Since we’d already been at it for well over an hour, we’re both convinced this can’t possibly be true. After every new viewpoint, I am convinced the summit has to be just around the next bend. For quite some time I indulge in my own little fantasy, but the trail just continues to continue. Unfazed, we continue our march to the top.

Sometime later, I add another descriptive word to the climbing collection.

Snow.

Pointing at the first little patch of white on the ground, I say, “Cole, see that? I bet the top of this thing is covered in snow!” As I say this, I think to myself, we probably should have done a little more research before setting out on this jaunt.

Clad in shorts, Cole simply replies, “No way.”

Another descending hiker confirms the summit is in fact covered with snow, emphatically pointing to her knees to show us how deep it gets. Soon after, the trail devolves into a muddy, slushy, slippery mess that becomes harder and harder to climb. We laugh anxiously as we slip and slide around in the mud, holding trees for balance, huffing and puffing in the thin air, clawing our way higher, no longer convinced of the sanity of this climbing idea that sounded so good a few hours ago.

Finally we break out of the tree line, and into a field of snow. In his shorts, Michael Cole becomes Michael Cold as the temperature spirals downward.

MICHAEL COLD HEADS FOR THE SUMMIT

The trail gradually flattens out, the snow gradually gets deeper. After one more false summit, we finally glimpse what we’re after, the top of Prairie Mountain!

KINGS OF THE MOUNTAIN

Reaching the summit, we celebrate with pictures, high fives and cheers. From the top of the mountain, Cole sends out a Tout, which is a fifteen-second video message to our missing climbing partner. Click the link below to see the Tout.

COLE’S TOUT TO JOHN

JOHN – WITH US IN SPIRIT

Being climbing rookies, we learned a lot on our first climb. The final lesson on this climb hits us hardest. That lesson? Reaching the summit is the easier half of the battle. Our descent is much harder than the ascent was, with the steep pitch of the trail and slippery ground conspiring to send us tumbling to our doom. Michael and I struggle the whole way back to the trail head. Finally finishing our little climb, with legs burning and lungs screaming, Cole exclaims, “Man! What an accomplishment! I really feel confident about climbing Mt. Whitney now!”

However, the Mt. Whitney Expedition almost ends before it even begins. Apparently, there is a lot more to climbing the tallest mountain in the continental United States than slapping on some boots and a silly hat and walking to the top. Permits would nearly be our expedition’s undoing, as we quickly learned there were only a certain amount of permits available to climb Mt. Whitney, and those permits had all been assigned by random lottery months ago.

Great.

Working on a show that never takes a week off, our options to climb are very limited, and rescheduling is never an easy option. Our rigid time frame for the expedition works because it falls between a Smackdown taping in San Jose, CA and the SummerSlam Pay Per View in Los Angeles.

With some deft emailing, John found Rick Poedtke, the Logistics Manager and Lead Guide of Sierra Mountaineering International. Rick confirmed what we suspected, that there were no permits available for our dates on Mt. Whitney. As an alternate, Rick recommends Middle Palisade Mountain which is the twelfth highest mountain in California.

Wait a minute. The… Whaaat? Twelfth highest mountain in… California? Umm… Doesn’t quite have the same ring as climbing the highest mountain in the continental United States, but I guess that beggars can’t be choosers. Besides, only four-hundred eighty-seven feet separate the tallest mountain from twelfth tallest mountain, so getting to the top will still be quite an accomplishment.

If we make it, that is.