My lead up to the trip was the wedding of my niece. I had agreed to officiate the wedding on Saturday, September 16 in Pella, Iowa. This involved us driving two cars to Pella, and me packing appropriately for both a wedding service and three days in the mountains.
We made our way to Pella on Friday morning, stopping in Des Moines for a quick supply run at REI and smoothies at the Juice Company. To Pella, we enjoyed family and friends, the rehearsal, and a nice night together. Saturday morning, after a long run with my niece, we hung out, drank coffee, had lunch, and enjoyed the family on the square. The wedding and reception went off without a hitch Saturday night, and we all finally got to bed late.
Sunday, September 17
Hear my cry, O God
listen to my prayer.
I call as my heart grows faint;
lead me to the rock that is higher than I.
For you have been my refuge,
a strong tower against the foe.
and take refuge in the shelter of your wings.
For you, God, have heard my vows,
you have given me the heritage of those who fear your name,
his years for many generations.
May he be enthroned in God’s presence forever;
appoint your love and faithfulness to protect him.
and fulfill my vows day after day.
From the ends of the earth I call to you.
I long to dwell in your tent forever.
Increase the days of the king’s life,
then I will ever sing in praise of your name.
Psalm 61 and 62 have been my foundation for this silence and solitude endeavor. Time to rest, to be refreshed, to be still before the LORD, in quiet trust that he will speak to me. For this, I choose to go the high places. I understand why the ancient people went up to the tops of mountains to make their alters and offer their sacrifices. I'm no pagan, and it is the transcendent God of heaven and earth who I seek to worship and hear. The mountains simply provide a beautiful, distant place. And, since I was a child, the mountains have been to me a special place. So, I go.
After a quick shower and silent kisses to Julie and the kids, I hit the road at 4:00 a.m. I was miserably sleepy, and operating without coffee as nothing was open. Finally hitting I-80 in Des Moines, I was encouraged by the promise of coffee and the simplicity of driving 80 mph in a straight line west all the way to Colorado. Alas, nothing was open.
So dire was my state by 5:30 a.m. that I pulled off onto an exit to sleep for fifteen minutes. I pressed on, and finally found an open McDonald's an half hour east of Omaha. Desperation. I order a large coffee and sausage McMuffin. Sad. But it got me going. Now I was humming.
The hardest thing about a silence and solitude retreat is...the silence. It is deafening. To be alone with one's own thoughts is scary. It is all part of it...to begin to exercise those muscles of really hearing. To purge all the random thoughts that occupy such an enormous part of the heart and mind. This purging is emotionally taxing. It brought on a headache, and fatigue, and a lack of focus. The towns clicked by: Lincoln, Grand Island, Kearney, North Platte. Gas and food stops. A big sky. The world opening up. Letting go.
Getting to the border of Colorado at Julesburg, I began to think seriously about where I was heading. I made a phone call to the ranger station at Estes Park to inquire about the Keyhole trail conditions at Long's Peak. It was icy and dangerously, evidently. So, it was down to two other choices: either the Blue Reservoir south of Breckenridge or Kite Lake campground west of Alma. I decided I'd start with Breck, and if I struck out there, I'd keep going south to Alma.
Arriving in Breckenridge, I made my way to a coffee shop to journal and catch my breath. It was a beautiful day in a beautiful town, but I felt closed in, claustrophobic. So I ran to King Sooper and stocked up on firewood, water, Gatorade, and other essential sundries. I drove south to the Blue Lake reservoir, and quickly found a campsite. But not just any campsite: the single best campsite I've ever seen. It was tucked away in a box canyon, just off a barely passable road, next to a creek, and surrounded by some astounding peaks, not least 14,000 foot Quandry Peak to my immediate north. I set up camp, built a fire, and settled in, exhausted from a long day of travel and too little sleep.
By nightfall, I had a great fire going and my camp was pristine. I ate, drank, and settled into the quiet protection of my tent to read (Bible), pray, and rest. I was fast asleep by 9:00 p.m.
Monday, September 18
I was up early to a beautiful, blue bird day. I did my devotions, ate breakfast (oatmeal, coffee),
and dressed for a run up Quandry Peak. To the trailhead (a mere mile away), I stashed my iPhone and a Clif Bar in my fanny pack (along with two twenty ounce bottles of Gatorade), tied my trail runners up tight (Hoka One One ATR), and set off.
Dressed in shorts, tights, base-layer, jacket, cap, and gloves, I was comfortably cool. The air was crisp and the trail was clear. I moved slowly, deliberately.
Soon, above the treeline, I was slowed to a brisk walk. It was steep. At 12,000 feet, the mountain goats came out and the trail slackened.
My pace increased. I hit the summit in around 90 minutes. It was windy and cold on top, but comfortable.
I talked to a number of people, ate my Clif Bar, and sat looking out over the north face. I could see DeCaLiBron to the southwest. Sheridan to the west. Gray's and Torrey's to the east. I could even make out Long's Peak to the north. This was peak number four for me, following Bierstadt, Gray's, and Torrey's. After my rest, I took off at a brisk pace back down the mountain. It was bliss--a delightful and fast run on cat feet down the solid trail. I was down in little over an hour.
Back at my campsite, I took a bath in the creek (soaking in a shallow area where the water had pooled and warmed slightly). Soaking my feet in the cold running creek and sipping on Gatorade, I soaked up the beauty of the area. Dressed in dry, warm clothes, I settled in at camp, spending the rest of the afternoon sitting in my hammock and reading, praying, dozing. Wind swept through. I kept a fire going. The water ran through the creek not far away. It was a glorious day. The Spirit and the bride say, "Come."
As the temperature fell and the sky darkened, I went for a short walk. It is lonely and cold in the mountains at night.
I made my way back to camp, fed the fire, and settled in for dinner. I got to bed early. It was a good day.
Tuesday, September 19
I got up early primarily because I couldn't sleep any more. I had thought about driving to Alma to check out Kite Lake, but I had made no decisions the night before. The weather was not awesome, a little overcast and cold. Still, I decided to head out and give the DeCaLiBron a try. I loaded up the car and headed south to Alma. The drive over Hoosier Pass was uneventful. It would be a bear in the winter. To Alma, I followed the signs to Kite Lake. The road was horrendous, but I made it about four miles up. Able to go no further, I parked the car and set out. It was a long mile to the campground at Kite Lake. The four peaks towered above me. I set out for Mt. Democrat with the idea of seeing how I felt at the top, hopefully continuing in a clockwise loop.
The path was direct and steep. I pressed on. One step. Another step. Keep going. It represented so much. It was life. Ministry. Everything. Keep going. It got more serious when the trail petered out and it was simple route finding up the small boulders to the top. I hit the top and was met with spectacular vistas of the surrounding mountains. I love standing on the top of mountains.
I was feeling good, so kept going. The trail to Cameron was uneventful and tiring, most of it above 13,000 feet. The top of Cameron is most uninteresting, and if memory serves I believe that a small airplane once landed on its flat surface.
There was little to keep me there, and a much more interesting peak in the distance: Mt. Lincoln. The trail to Lincoln was awesome: a high ridge with brilliant vistas to the west.
There was even a bit of rotten snow. Lincoln's summit was glorious. I stood at the highest point and prayed in great gratitude. I stayed for twenty minutes. Lincoln is right there with Torrey's for "favorite peak" designation.
Three down, I continued on the path to Bross, which is technically off-limits because it is private property. Skirting the summit via the trail, a mere two hundred yards to the top, I made what by most any standard would be considered an unethical decision: I decided to go for it. I scrambled to the top, and promptly frightened a young couple hiding behind a large cairn.
We laughed, took a couple of pictures, and then I hit it for the descent. The descent of Bross is tricky, and I did my best to follow the beta on 14ers.com for when to head down through the messy scree to the bottom. The scree was a dangerous mess, and I slid most of the way down. The trail was steep and rough, and would have been miserable to go up. Going down had gravity on my side, but my quads were shot. Five peaks bagged in two days: not bad.
I made my way back to the car, staggering in finally by about noon. I drove back to my campground and spent the rest of the afternoon reading, dozing, and praying in my hammock. By early evening I was getting restless. I made the decision to get some road under me. I packed up and made my way back to Breck, with the idea that I'd sleep in a parking lot somewhere. I hit downtown and found a burger place--real food! A great burger and a Stella later, I walked up and down the main drag of Breck, remembering my first skiing experience (circa 1985), shopping on a snowy December night for a sweatshirt. It hadn't changed that much since then.
The night still relatively young, I decided to head back towards Denver. As I drove, it occurred to me that staying in a hotel was probably not a bad idea. I booked a room in a western suburb Marriott and finally (way later than I'd hoped) pulled in and collapsed in a real bed.
Wednesday, September 20
Up early, I made my way back east on I-80. I was home shortly after the kids got home from school and there broke my silence. It was a good trip!
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