My partner and I are safe at our motel this morning after a frightening day hike on the trail yesterday. We had just reached Trail Crest when the extreme weather hit and spent the next 5.5 hours double-timing back down the mountain amidst rain, hail, thunder and lightning. After innumerable treacherous creek crossings and some help from some fellow hikers, we made it out relieved for ourselves and very worried about those still on the mountain.

The first part of the hike was routine. It was to be my first summit, my partner Matthew's third. We left at 4:15 a.m., making reasonably good time through lovely country. We made it up the switchbacks by about noon. We saw some rain clouds forming but decided to push on because they didn't look particularly threatening. The view west of Trail Crest took my breath away, and we were both eager to make the summit.

We we wrong, and in retrospect wished we had turned back sooner. A few fat raindrops started to fall, soon turning into stinging hail. We hunkered down against the ledge waiting for the initial burst to pass. The hail was pea-sized and fierce enough to rip little holes in my $5 poncho. When it was over the trail was white with pellets, and the beginnings of real alarm showed in the faces of hikers around us. Matthew and I decided to turn back. Our disappointment at not making the summit was quickly eclipsed by anxiety as we raced down the 99 switchbacks, exposed to repeated flashes of lightning. I don't think I have ever been as scared in my life as I was crossing the cables section, fearing at any moment to be fried by a bolt drawn to the metal rods.

The thunder, lightning and rain continued as we threaded our way through Trail Camp. We considered finding shelter and waiting for the storm to pass, but several factors dissuaded us:
--It became clear that this storm wasn't the passing kind
--We knew the longer we waited, the colder and wetter we'd get
--As we traveled lower, we saw that the rain was turning formerly charming streams into dangerous torrents, and knew we had to move quickly if we were to cross them and get back to the Portal

The rain-that-would-not-stop not only swelled Lone Pine Creek but turned the trail itself into a series of streams. The drainage above Lone Pine Lake was filled with rushing, chocolate-milk colored torrents. At many points along the way, the trail was washed out altogether and we were forced to make our way across these fast little rivers. We teamed up with a kind gentleman (a solo hiker) and helped each other across a number of these, often up to our knees in the muddy water, with unstable footing. We took risks we never would have taken under other circumstances, but felt the risk of holding back (and getting stuck on the mountain) outweighed the dangers of these crossings.

Along the way we passed a number of hikers who were struggling, on the verge of hypothermia or simply freaked out by the danger. One young man raced ahead of us, saying his father was getting hypothermia and he was going for help. We later heard from another hiker he was almost swept away crossing Lone Pine Creek, but saved himself by grabbing a rock and pressed on down the trail. (Back at the Portal, Matthew saw the father, apparently in good shape, but we never did know if his son made it down safely).

At the last Lone Pine Creek crossing, Matthew and I were among about 15 hikers stopped dead: here was a crossing that was definitely too risky to attempt. One of the hikers had called 911 before we arrived, and within a few minutes an obviously capable young man arrived and spoke the most blessed words I had ever heard: "I'm Mike from the Portal Store and I'm going to lead you out of here." He showed us the back way (the Old Trail?) down to the Portal, then raced back up the mountain, apparently to help hikers stranded higher up.

At the Portal, there was streaming water and mud everywhere, along with emergency vehicles and law enforcement personnel. One of these men told me he had been in the area 30 years and never seen such a storm.

Biggest lessons:
--start down the mountain at the first sign of trouble--you have a long road ahead
--the $5 poncho was the best investment for the money I ever made; while we were both shivering as the day wore on, the poncho kept my core dry and probably saved me from more trouble
--we believe our rigorous training before this hike paid off, affording us the physical strength to get down the mountain fairly quickly, and, more importantly, the mental toughness to believe we could

Finally, we offer gratitude to those who helped us along the way: Mike from the Portal, and the gentleman hiker whose name we never learned.