Brothers Carl and Greg Gonzalez were my best friends and constant companions in high school in Costa Rica. We said goodbye after graduation and lost track of each other for 36 years. Last year Carl located me and e-mailed to find out who I had become. As we caught up on each other's lives, Carl mentioned he took backpacking trips almost every year and that he and Greg were planning a trip to the High Sierras for September 2006. He asked whether I would care to join them. On past flights to California, I had been glued to the airplane window as we flew over the Sierras. I was drawn to the rugged beauty of the mountains. I eagerly agreed to join the group and soon Carl had enlisted two more Gonzalezes, his younger brother, Rick, and Greg's 25-year-old son Gabe.

Carl's plan was to spend nine full days in the field. This meant we would have to carry all our food, clothing, tents, bags and cooking gear to survive in the wilderness. We would hike the Shepherd Pass trail up to the high plateau. We then would continue on to the Wright Lakes region, establishing a base camp from which we could make day hikes to surrounding areas.

Our reunion near Independence, California on September 16 was a blast from the past. There was Carl, Greg, Greg's son Gabe, and Rick, a younger brother. Rick, the little kid I had known in Costa Rica was now a grown man with four children! Tents, stoves, water purifiers and fuel were divided up so each hiker would have a fair load to carry. I had read that the rule of thumb was to carry no more than one third of your body weight on your back. I weigh 170 pounds and a 60-pound pack would be more than a third of my weight. I was given a two-man tent and a bottle of white gas (cooking fuel) to add to my pack. Rick pulled a bathroom scale from his car and we weighed our packs. My total load was now 64 pounds. Beads of nervous sweat appeared on my brow.

I had been training for the trip during the summer by riding my bike and hiking up our local Vermont peak, Mt. Ascutney, altitude 3150 ft. Here at the trail head we were already at 6000 ft. Shepherd Pass trail would take us to 12000 ft. As our first water source was a day away, we filled our water containers before starting out. Fully loaded with my pack, it soon became apparent that my body was not used to exercise at high altitude. Trying to concentrate on the spectacular scenery and not on my shortness of breath, I followed the group as the trail began to climb. Echoing in my mind was a description of the trail from a guide book... "A long, grueling series of rock switchbacks that climb over 2000 feet to a saddle between Shepherd and Symmes creeks." Feeling like I had a 60-pound cement bag on my back, I was heading up into thinner air than I had ever breathed before. I started drinking heavily from my water supply.

Our first day's 3PM start meant that we would be hiking for just a few hours before making camp. My body seemed to be getting stronger as we arrived at our first site and I felt a little bit of confidence creep in. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all.

The second day we continued on the 2000-foot switchback climb to the saddle. Tiring, we would pick a flat rock and sit down for a while to catch our breath. The short breaks from the weight of the pack helped more than I thought and by midday we were enjoying lunch at the top of the saddle along with our view of Mt. Williamson. The impressive vistas and the warm sun rejuvenated us all. I drank heartily from my water supply thinking that it would be replenished soon enough.

After lunch, the trail descended and our tree cover disappeared. The sun scorched us as the trail became narrow, at times no more than a shoe width as it snaked its way along the mountainside. On and on we went. My water supply was getting very low. There was a stream in sight but on the other side of valley. I was now forced to conserve water by taking only tiny sips. The trail started to rise again. I was parched. Finally we arrived at the stream but the damage was done. I was dizzy and my stomach was flip-flopping. I drank my fill at the stream but I still felt nauseous. Later that evening at camp, I could only manage a couple of bites of food. The next morning, I was not feeling much better as we struck out for higher camp. I was wondering out loud if I could continue as the switchback angles got steeper yet. I had nothing in my stomach and felt like I was on a death march. Then suddenly I noticed my hand reach into my food bag for some chicken and I started wolfing it down. I was feeling much better.

The third night we stayed at Anvil Camp, a lovely site where we took advantage of the pristine stream for bathing and relaxing. Finally, we had a chance to enjoy ourselves, admiring the sunset along the mountains and the ancient gnarled bristlecone pine trees that looked like Tolkien Ents. Greg pulled out a frisbee and Rick produced his I-pod boom box, one of the many treats he brought and shared with the rest of us. Rick was scolded by his big brother, Carl, for bringing such a heavy toy but Rick insisted it was his choice. Rick’s pack weighed 75 pounds!

The next morning (my birthday!) we struck out for Shepherd Pass. The pleasant trail began to turn nasty. Huge piles of boulders fallen from surrounding cliffs had to be negotiated. I was longing to get rid of the damn pack on my back. Finally, the Pass came into view. Before us was a 500-foot climb up a steep scree slope. As we panted and puffed up the extremely narrow switchbacks, our feet would lose purchase on the loose and shifting rocks. Carl had cut bamboo walking sticks for us before the trip and they were a blessing. Near the top of the pass the wind picked up, each gust threatening our balance on the scree. High fives were in order as we all met at the top. Cell phones were produced as we called home to spread the word of our success. It would be our last opportunity to talk to the outside world until we reached the Pass again on the way out.

Still elated about our success, we bundled up against the wind and cold and sat down to eat a well-deserved lunch. Then came a sight that dumbfounded us and gave us a new perspective on our efforts. A Japanese man in his 60s wearing a T-shirt, shorts and carrying a heavy pack breezed over the Pass, not even winded by the effort. He said he had started out from the parking lot that morning! What took us two days he made in 8 hours! We watched in amazement as he rocketed off to his stated destination for that night, at least twice as far as were we were planning to go that day.

As we hiked on, we were now in a high plains landscape. The Great Western Divide was straight ahead and was mesmerizing. As dusk approached, we looked for a good flat spot next to a stream to set up camp. Shelter from the wind would have been great but there was nothing to provide the break. The wind made it difficult to manage the tents and we had to place rocks at all corners to keep them from blowing away. Campfires are forbidden in the Sierras, so there is no sitting around a fire trading stories. As soon as dusk arrived the cold and dark forced us into our tents. Twelve hours were spent in the tent each night. Apart from some conversation, there was nothing to do but sleep. Even with a generous eight hours of solid shut-eye, that left four hours for tossing and turning before the morning light. The biting cold of the dawn didn't make it easy to get out of our warm sleeping bags and face a new day of rough hiking.

On we went, following the John Muir trail. We entered into a forested area and continued toward the Wright Lakes which afforded a view of Mt. Whitney, the highest peak in the continental U.S. Carl, who has studied the area for years, indicated that we should leave the trail and head toward Mt. Whitney over rough terrain. I liked the idea of trailblazing. In Vermont the forest is so thick with trees that you would soon be bogged down if you went off the path. I found that, no matter how off the path you went in the Sierras, you could still see through the trees to the surrounding area and be able to orient yourself.

We were looking for a base camp where we could finally get rid of our heavy packs, have a day's rest and start exploring the surrounding area on day hikes. From the top of a rise we finally saw what we were looking for: an area with flat ground, surrounded by trees and near a stream. The five exhausted backpackers were finally at their destination: base camp.

One of Carl's goals for the trip was to climb nearby Mt. Barnard without our packs. After a day's rest we were all up for it. We had to cross rough terrain to get to the base of the mountain, climbing over enormous boulders and picking our way through meadows and crossing streams. At the base of Mt. Barnard we saw a familiar sight: rubble and more rubble. Even without our packs we were huffing and puffing, making progress one ridge at a time. We thought we would eventually encounter easier going but no such luck. Faced with a narrow trail on top of a ridge of sawtooth rubble, we finally had enough and headed back to camp. We didn't feel defeated since the view of Mt. Whitney was truly impressive from our vantage point on the slopes of Mt. Barnard.

We took the reverse route back down Shepherd Pass trail. Although we were a group of five, we didn't always walk together. There were many hours where we had wide gaps between us, creating a feeling of solitude in the wilderness. Carl and I had MP-3 players and we listened to our favorite music in a truly majestic environment. Although the return route was mostly downhill, the loose scree right after the Pass was tricky to negotiate. Our packs were much lighter and the idea of a good meal and hot shower was pulling us back to civilization. Unbelievably, the same Japanese man caught up with us and mentioned it was his 11th trip to the area this season. He then turned on his afterburners and disappeared ahead of us.

I said goodbye to the Gonzalezes at the trailhead parking lot. As teens in Costa Rica we loved to go on day trips, exploring the natural areas near San Jose. Our reunion followed the same idea, only this time we took it to the extreme. This was the most physically demanding vacation I have ever taken, but one of the most rewarding experiences of my life.