Those Mountains are Mountains

"Those mountains are mountains, whatever else they are, and it is nonsense to say...that they are comparative hollows or negative holes in the ground."
G.K. Chesterton, Saint Francis of Assisi (Brewster, MA: Paraclete Press, 1923), p. 9

I am so blessed. One of my favorite things in all of life is to play in the mountains. Earlier this week, I enjoyed two days of play with three of my favorite guys in all of life. The following is a short trip report of our time together. Enjoy!

Sunday, September 22
In the post-worship, post-Sunday School, post-work day euphoria of Sunday afternoon, I packed my Osprey Talon 44 backpack for the adventure ahead. After several weeks of planning, I was about to embark on a climbing expedition (I love that word!) with my twin brother and two friends--the brothers Will and Jim Misloski.

Leaving home around 4:00 p.m., I made my way to Midway Airport for a 6:25 flight on Southwest. After parking and finding my way to the terminal, I checked in with hopes of checking only my backpack, heavy-laden with tent, pad, trekking poles, and ice axe. The agent looked at my gear and said, "They will not take that." It was a moment of mild panic, until she informed me that I could check two bags in addition to taking on board two carry-ons (I love Southwest!). Crisis averted, I checked my weapons and stripped-down backpack. In what was perhaps my proudest moment of the day, I made my pad and tent into a single roll, tied together with some rope I'd wisely brought along, making a brilliant handle for the package in the process. With my package and Osprey Cypher backpack, I grabbed some Potbelly and made haste for the gate.

The flight was a joy as I a) ate dinner, and b) watched the Bears game on my neighbor's computer (television in flight....I love Southwest!). My travel companion was fantastic, and the flight went quickly as we talked and watched the Bears. I exited, found my way to the baggage claim, picked up my gear, and met Jim and Will, waiting for me in the terminal. Joy.

Tuck's flight was delayed coming in from Minneapolis, so we spent the next hour or so watching the end of the Bears game and talking about the plan. Tuck arrived, we headed for Centennial, and quickly packed up before hitting the sack around midnight.

Monday, September 23
We got up before 5:00 a.m. for ablutions and a cup of coffee, stowing our gear in Jim's pickup and hitching up the camper. We left Denver to a light rain, stopping briefly en route for Krispy Kreme donuts, juice, and more coffee. I'm not sure why I was so excited about KK donuts. I hadn't had one since about 1998. We were all pretty jacked about playing in the mountains, I guess.

We arrived in Georgetown to flurries, wind, and cold.The town was pretty sleepy as we made our way up Guanella Pass Road eleven miles to the Bierstadt trailhead. Our original Plan A had been to climb Long's Peak in Rocky Mountain National Park, but the flooding in Estes Park and surrounding area closed off the backcountry and put our plan to an end. Plan B was to climb the DeCaLiBron in the Mosquito Range (Democrat, Cameron, Lincoln, and Bross), but that, too, generated an increasingly tepid response as we got closer to the date. Plan C quickly found itself as Plan A, mostly by virtue of the Sawtooth, a highly exposed Class 3+ traverse connecting Mt. Bierstadt and Mt. Evans. So, this was our plan for the day.



Two things struck us as we made our way through the dreaded Willows (thankfully the mud was not too bad): 1) it was going to be a cold and exceptionally windy hike, and b) the Sawtooth looked much longer and more dangerous in real life. So, we amended our plan to focus on Bierstadt only, as both time and wind made Sawtooth prohibitive. It is a truly imposing-looking traverse.

The first hour of the climb was a relatively flat, easy ascent. Aside from a headache (bordering on migraine), I didn't feel the altitude was affecting me too negatively. I was excited to be in the mountains, and the scenery was breath-taking. Two hours in, however, I was hurting. My legs and lungs were just fine, but the headache had crescendoed into serious incapacity stage. To make matters worse, I was becoming increasingly nauseous. With the exception of a few Perpetuem tabs, I had no desire for food or drink, which only exacerbated the problem. It was classic altitude sickness. I was miserable. As I stopped to lean over my poles, praying that I would not puke, Will became my paraclete: "Breath in through your nose; out through your mouth. One foot in front of the other..." The next two hours were a death march of nausea and fatigue, as altitude, wind, lack of sleep, dehydration, and an increasingly steep trail began to take its toll on my body. The views were stunning, but every time I lifted my head to look around, the world began to spin.

Finally, we hit the boulder field and final scramble to the top. The summit looked light years away, but at least the path would be straight up. When the blue marker came into view, I let out a feeble, triumphant cry, and collapsed on the nearest rock, in my own little world of misery. The Misloski tradition is to eat donuts on the summit. They were offered, I grunted my decline. It was hard to hear my own thoughts, the wind blowing with a ferocity that was a bit unnerving. Jim explained to us that years ago two guys were killed on 14ers when such winds literally blew them off the mountain. As I stood near the edge, leaning way back into the wind, it occurred to me how easily it could happen. You don't mess around in the mountains.

It was a very shaky-legged descent. I was glad to be going down, and with each step felt that perhaps my body was absorbing more of the vital oxygen that I had so deprived it of going up. I was exultant to have finally gotten the fourteener monkey off my back (see aborted attempt in 1986 at Long's--altitude sickness; aborted attempt at Harvard in 1992--lost; aborted attempt in 2012 at Gray's--snow). I summited, and as miserable as I felt physically, I was overjoyed mentally. On my desk at church I have a small placard given to me by my doctoral cohort leader. It reads, "We can do hard things." Maybe that is why I enjoy endurance racing and mountain climbing. They are really hard. When I do them, I am reminded of my own mortality and the power of Christ that overcomes my human weakness and frailty. I depend on Christ's power in life, faith, ministry, and sport, and have found that doing hard things is intimately connected to a genuine sense of being alive. If it is true that a true and abundant life is life in Christ, this certainly stands to reason.

Jim kept us all going downhill with his beautifully choreographed Native American chants and rhythmic walking. His hiking, Will and Tuck's elaborate discourse on "Jimmy Leg" (not referring to Jim's walking style but rather to the complete bonking we were all experiencing that left us weak and shaky in the legs), and some chocolate passed out by Tuck (or was that at the top?) are about all I remember of the descent. Back at the truck, I collapsed. We were absolutely shredded. The wind beat us up for all 6 hours of the hike, and we were spent. We were hungry, dehydrated, sun burned, wind burned, sleep deprived, and generally speechless with fatigue.

No one said it, but the mountain, though summited, had kicked us hard in the rear end. We were whipped, and the idea of climbing two more peaks the next day was unthinkable. Jim proposed two options: 1) we drive back to Denver, lick our wounds, and return for an easy day of hiking somewhere the next day; 2) we drive to the Gray's trailhead, as planned, but put our priority on rest, sleep, and not worry about Gray's and Torrey's. We got our 14er with Bierstadt, so those seemed like pretty rational plans. We slowly made our way down (Jim graciously drove slowly, as my world was still spinning mightily). I slept. We finally parked in Georgetown, overjoyed to be back at a reasonable altitude.

Jim parked the car and closed his eyes. Will bolted in search of ibuprofen. Tuck and I, unable to fall back asleep, got up in search of a brew--coffee, tea, or anything that might perk us up a bit. We found the appropriately named Bierstadt Books & Beans, and there retired for mint tea (to settle the stomach) and a wireless signal, however feeble. Somewhat fortified by our drinks, we explored Georgetown, which was surprisingly abuzz with autumn foliage-seekers (the aspens were popping brilliantly).

Ravenously hungry, we made our way to the Lucha Cantina for dinner. It was an epiphany. Taylor was our gracious host, and the food was tremendous. Fortified, our courage returned, and we agreed to make our way up to the Gray's trailhead. We would enjoy the night and play the next day by ear. If we felt good, we would make an assault on the summit. If we felt lousy, we would at least have a beautiful place to camp and a great trail to explore.

The sun was beginning to set as we navigated the heavily rutted road up to the trailhead. The trees were dazzling. As we arrived at the parking lot, Gray's and Torrey's stood ominously in the distance, cloud-covered for the entire day, but now clear white against the azure sky. Jimmy was a machine of efficiency as he set up the camper. Will and Tuck made a brilliant fire. Soon, the camper was set up and toasty, the fire was raging, and Jimmy was serving us tea and s'mores. It was brilliant. My headache and nausea were gone, the stars were out, the air was crisp. I was cozy in my GoLite down parka, sipping my tea, eating my s'mores, staring at the stars and outline of the Milky Way, and visiting with the fellas.

Eventually, the fire died down and we retired to the camper for much needed sleep. It was cold outside, but the camper was a pleasant 50 degrees. I settled into my sleeping bag. It was a cold, mostly sleepless night. I woke Tuck up twice to get more blankets (my sleeping back was rated to 40 degrees, and after the space heater ran out of propane in the night, the temp in the camper surely got down into the 30's).

Tuesday, September 24
We all woke up pretty groggy. Slowly, as Will started a fire and Jimmy poured coffee and served up ridiculously good bacon, egg, and cheese biscuits, we perked up. It was cold, but the sky was clear and the wind was calm. The early morning sunlight was reflecting beautifully off of Gray's. We decided to start up the mountain, our only goal to enjoy a picturesque bluebird day.

In July, Ian and I had attempted Gray's, only to be turned back at 13,500 feet by wind and snow (he was dressed in shorts, a sweatshirt, and Chacos). My first thought as we made our way up the first mile of the trail was simply, "How did Ian do this?" It is a steep section that goes on interminably (actually about 3.5 miles). We finally hit an even ridge that connected us to Gray's itself, and steadily made our way up. Microspikes came on early to contend with the snow and ice, but our progress was steady. We were soon to the main passage, zig-zagging its way up to the summit. We were committed now, and no one had a sense of turning back. Even at this point, I was committed to climbing both Gray's and Torrey's.

It occurred to me during this stretch that each of us had a particular role and identity in the group: Will was our battery, always encouraging and working to keep us going. His energy, courage, and joy were infectious. Jim was our wise sage and rabbi, blessing and teaching with his knowledge of life, faith, and the mountains. His entire ascent seemed a long prayer of gratitude and joy in the beauty of God's good creation. Tuck was a steadying presence. He was either leading or immediately behind the leader, plugging on at a pace that never seemed to diminish. Pointing out beauty or breaking the tedium with a shout of, "Come 'ere, Willy Boy!" Tuck kept us together. I'm not sure what my role was. I was mostly just along for the ride, enjoying the beauty, enjoying the friendship, enjoying the long prayer of gratitude, and enjoying the distinct pleasure of being in the moment. I remember smiling a lot and thinking, "I love this."

After the long, sometimes tedious climb, we were suddenly at the top. The wind howled around us, but the view was what took our breath away: to the south we made out Pike's Peak, towering white and alone amidst the lesser peaks of the southern Front Range; to the east the darkened shapes of the foothills, beyond which the plains stretched to the edge of the horizon; to the north the imposing mass of Long's Peak and its companion Mount Meeker; to the west the Mosquito, Sawatch, and Elk Mountains, with Lake Dillon nestled snugly in the middle of it all. It was glorious. We took dozens of photos, ate our donuts, and rejoiced in the somewhat unexpected joy of summiting. We huddled at this point to consider our next steps. Tuck was cashed, and was committed to heading back down. Will and Jim were on the fence. We agreed to follow the saddle down towards Torrey's, where we could either continue up, or head back down to the main trail. The descent down the saddle went quickly, and we came to the split--Tuck would head down, Jim, Will, and I would continue up.

The ascent up Torrey's was straight up; no switchbacks to speak of. Therefore, however steep, it was a quick ascent. The snow was bit deeper and the wind more vicious, but the climb was beautiful. The summit came upon me quickly, and I marveled at the small surface area of the summit, which offered spectacular 360 degree views much like Gray's. Waiting for Jim and Will I rejoiced in the beauty of God's creation and the accomplishment that seemed so far away only twenty-four hours earlier.

Pictures taken, we began our long descent. We went from Gore-Tex and ice axes at 14,000 feet to short sleeves and trekking poles at 12,000 ft. The day was warm down the mountain. I had run out of water early, and resorted to drinking melted snow. That supply was dwindling fast. Over the last mile dehydration, fatigue, and lack of sleep were all beginning to catch up. The wind and sun had done a number on my face, too. Altogether, I was ready to crawl out of my skin and hopefully into a comfortable chair in a cool room with lots of food and drink available. Back at the trailhead, we packed up,  hitched up the trailer, and drove down the mountain. My only goal at this point was water and a Beaujo's pizza in Idaho Springs.

Fuel replenished, we returned safely to Centennial. Showered and packed, I retired, ready to be home. It was a great trip.