This all began on Wednesday, when Chad informed me that in order to obtain the permits required to hike the mountain, he would need to head on down to the site that day. He packed his gear (thank God he had all the right stuff) and headed down for a weekend of fun and excitement. Since the other 4 guys were not going to be able to join him until Friday morning, he decided to take the scenic route and camp at the Yosemite Park, a place he'd never been to. He did just that and called me with reports of his adventures and sent me pictures of the beautiful sights. Thursday morning, he headed down to Mt. Whitney where he obtained all permits required, checked out the small town of I-Don't-Even-Know-It's-Name, and stayed at a local hostel for a good night's sleep before the big descent the following day. We discuss that he will most likely not have reception at some point in their climb, so we agree that he will call me when they come down from the hike, hopefully on Saturday. He also tells me he's not sure about the timing, AKA, coming down the "hill" late in the eve, so he may not be home until Sunday. Okee dokee.
Friday, Chad calls me one last time to tell me the boys have arrived and they are heading off! "God Bless my Baby" I say to myself after hanging up the telephone and wishing he and his crew lots of luck and a safe return. I try to go on about my business that day, all the time pretending I'm not all that worried that he's never attempted anything like this before and that I hope he knows what he's getting himself into. Of course, he's already explained to me that the guys he is going with are pretty much expert rock climbers, but, HE's not, and that is all I can think of. Also on my mind is the sudden cold front that came our way this past weekend. If I'm cold here, well, I'm sure you can tell where I went with that one.
Saturday morning arrives and I think, "thank God they are coming down today." Little did I know that it had snowed up on Whitney and that they would end up having to camp overnight, AGAIN! I also did not know at the time (thank God) that it was about 16 degrees Fahrenheit that night for my Chad! OMG! I did not hear from him all day or night. I slept with my phone. It did not ring. I just lay there, quiet. Not a sound. Not until sometime, middle of the day on Sunday. My eyes welled up with tears and I was so relieved, but, of course, I did not let on about my worries. I did not want to be the "whiny wife." He sounded beat and congested. He shared some of the excitement with me, ensured me that he was well and uninjured and went to "collect himself." A warm $5 bath at the hostel, some food and a 5 hour drive home later, my husband was home, safe and sound!
Now, I can go on and on about the treacherous details and goings-on, including the news-flash on TV about the 2 rock slides at Yosemite the night he camped there, but instead, I will choose to remember this mother-of-a-mountain, (this whole adventure, really) as one who returned my husband to me in one sweet, healthy piece!
