I startle wake up with the dream image of Lilalee refusing to believe I wasn't coming back. I realize I am panting and my heart is thumping so hard I feel it in my back. Red flashes with white tails race across the pitch blackness and vanish in milliseconds.
Try as I might, I can't catch my breath. Then I remember: it's the same symptoms. It's Desolation Lake and East Lake all over again. How can it be? I'm acclimatized.
I grope for my watch. The hands are still glowing. 11:15. That's it?! Just 11:15.
There is light patter on the tent. I reach up into the mesh pocket for glasses and headlamp. I unzip the rain fly for air. The night is completely dark. There's a light rain. It feels very cold. I might as well pee. I slip on my coat and flip flops to head for the bushes. I am wobbly. I don't go far and scurry back to the tent.
Impatiently, I scrounge around for the ditty bag with the Diamox. There three half pills left. I take them all. I turn off the light and wait. And wait. And wait.
My heart beats are audible. I try to breathe normal, but end up gasping. Every moment is forever. I roll from side to side for relief. I still can't catch a good breath. I check my watch. 11:35.
There's no mistaking, I am not right. I have to get lower.
I turn on the headlamp and pull out the map. We're camped at 9,650. Tomorrow we climb Donahue Pass; that is another 1,800 feet up. Tomorrow night we plan to camp at Garnet Lake. That's just too high. What if I made it to Shadow Lake? I could get below 9,000 feet, but that means walking a over thirteen miles without getting a foot lower. How can I make that it if I can't even catch my breath when laying down?
There's the other option. I could go back down Lyell Canyon. In an hour I could be at a lower elevation. Maybe I could just camp at Lyell Forks tomorrow and try the ascent the day after. I wonder how I'll be in the morning. I can't decide now.
It's 11:55. I turn off the light and hyperventilate to no avail. The sad truth now seems inescapable. It's going to be a long night.