Sunday, September 16
I loaded up the Escape with a lot of gear: tent, food, clothes, climbing gear, books, journal, pipe, and the necessary sundries that would get me through the week. I left Sioux Center at 1:30 p.m., arriving in Sioux City at 2:15 for a quick lunch at Qdoba. Leaving Sioux City, I hit I-29 south to Omaha, then I-80 west to Kearney. Arriving at the Kearney Marriott at 6:30 p.m., I checked in, grabbed some food, and settled into the hotel for the NFL (I don't know why I bother), The Goonies (what a wonderful, mindless movie), prayer, and sleep.
Monday, September 17
Woke. Breakfast. Ablutions. Departure. I was on I-80 again by 6:40 a.m. My soundtrack (both Sunday and Monday) was a Spotify playlist compiled specifically for this trip: Kurt Vile, The War on Drugs, Fleet Foxes, Damien Jurado, Amos Lee, Explosions in the Sky, et al. I stopped in North Platte for Starbucks, Sterling for gas, made the movement to complete silence at the Colorado border, stopped for a bathroom break in Denver, and then enjoyed a sublime drive through the front range west on I-70. Arriving in Dillon, I stopped at Jimmy John's for a quick lunch and final check-in with Jule and the kids. Taking I-70 west and then CO-91 south, I arrived in Leadville at 1:30 p.m. MST.
Leadville is no great shakes. The east side of town is depressed and depressing. It's glory days as a mining and, strangely, cultural mecca have long since passed. It tries to attain to a sort of Colorado-cool, but too much distance from I-70 and thus too-little tourist traffic leaves it a strange combination of mountain-town affluence and mountain-town blight. The east side of town is old and unkept. The west side of town is pleasant and upwardly mobile. Colorado highway 24 bisects these two halves with a main street containing nice restaurants aside boarded up shop-fronts. I hit the True Value for firewood and Gatorade, a couple of consignment stores, and a bookstore. Eager to get high, I made my way south to the area I hoped to make home for the next several days.
My plan was to find a dispersed camping site just to the west of the Mt. Elbert and Mt. Massive trailheads. The two trailheads are less than a mile apart from each other on Half Moon Road (Elbert's to the east and Massive's to the west) in the San Isabel National Forest, to the south and west of Leadville. The afternoon was lovely, the drive was easy, and the aspens were popping. I went about one half mile west of the Massive trailhead and, deciding the trusty Escape could go no further on the fire road, set up camp on a flat, elevated area just up an embankment from Elbert Creek. I parked and established camp.
The order of my back-country "home" is never quite as good as I would like. I'm amazed at my absurd perfectionist tendencies in such situations. Hold it loosely. Relax. Resigned, I finally made my way to the creek to have a soak. I wrote in my journal. "It is beautiful here, but it is not heaven. I long to see God face-to-face." Psalm 121: "I lift my eyes to the hills. From where does my help come? My help comes from the LORD, who made heaven and earth." He made it spectacularly well.
By 6:30 p.m. camp was set-up, the moon was bright, and a fire was burning. I ate some soup, enjoyed the quiet, and considered my plan for the next day. The goal for Tuesday was Mt. Elbert, Colorado's highest peak at 14,433 feet. I anticipated it being a relatively easy climb, however knowing that "easy" fourteeners are never that. In bed by 9:00, I read, prayed, and finally went to sleep.
Tuesday, September 18
As usual, I slept pretty poorly. It was cold (37 degrees). I had a hard time settling in. At each watch of the night I was awake, praying, reciting Scripture, feeling anxiety in the need for elusive sleep. A brief note: my sleep issues are not the fault of my gear. I have an down REI sleeping bag that is rated to 20 degrees, a Big Agnes Air Core Ultra insulated sleeping pad that doesn't carry an R-value, but is according to the company (based in Steamboat Springs) comfortable in temps down to 15 degrees. My tent is a Mountain Hardwear Trango 3-person/4-season bomb shelter that is not ideal for solitary backpacking, but works when car-camping.
Awake at 3:30 a.m., I boiled water with my trusty JetBoil. Doing my best to stay within the warm confines of my bag while drinking coffee and eating oatmeal, I reviewed my map again. God willing, by mid-morning I would be standing on the top of Colorado.
I dressed (Garmont boots, Columbia pants, Patagonia base layer and puffy, gloves, skull cap), loaded up my pack (Black Diamond Axis 33 filled with 3L bladder, Mountain Hardwear shell, emergency gear, food), and set out for the Elbert TH.
At 4:30 a.m. I hit the North Elbert Trail, which doubles as the Colorado Trail/Continental Divide Trail. Expecting a gentle introduction, I was surprised to find the trail was steep and rocky. Despite the exertion, I was delighted: it was a cool, windless morning and I was alone, truly alone, in the Colorado wilderness. However difficult, the trail was spectacularly maintained and the scenery revealed by my headlamp was glorious. Watchful for bears and killer clowns, I settled into a groove in my mind: intermittent prayer, marvel at my surroundings, vigilance to danger, and attention to my bodily systems (heart, lungs, muscles, mind). My initial goal was the treeline...then the sunrise. The sky began to lighten by the time I hit the alpine tundra. The sun began to peak through at approximately 6:45. I stopped to take some pics, shed layers, eat food, and take off my headlamp. It was a glorious morning.
By 7:30 a.m. I hit the ridge line that would take me to the summit. The climbing was steady but not overwhelming. The trail was excellent. In the early alpenglow I marveled at God's good creation, gave thanks for the body and mind to enjoy it, and asked for strength to continue to the top. I summited at 8:00 a.m. I was alone. True joy. |
| Disregard the date:) |
At 14,433 feet it was cold and windy. I donned my shell and tried to settle in for a phone call, journal entry, food, and prayer. The conditions were not ideal for such exercises (save the latter). So, I explored the summit, delighted in the views, and sought to name the surrounding 14ers--La Plata to the south, Massive to the north, and Sherman to the east; far to the west I could make out the intimidating peaks of the Elks Range.
 |
| If you look closely, you can see my new friend. |
Cold, sunburned, and windblown, I began my descent at 8:15 a.m. There was a line of people ascending. I was glad to be working with gravity as each person I met seemed to be struggling up. Offering encouraging words, I maintained a brisk pace going down, stopping only occasionally to eat, take some pics, and make a new friend or two. |
| Looking back to the summit. |
It was a long descent. My feet were hot, my quads tired, my face burned. The trail that was mostly hidden in the early morning darkness now appeared before me in full light. It was beautiful.
 |
| Mt. Elbert Trail |
I spent the rest of the evening determining a plan for the next day: do I hike 2 miles to the North Half Moon TH (for access to Massive's southwest slopes via the much shorter Half Moon Trail) or do I take the traditional and much longer Mount Massive Trail? I ate my spicy chicken curry by the fire, considering this question and many others. It was a rather delightful way to spend a windless, clear evening. A quick walk east to the Massive TH for a bit of reconnaissance and some reading/prayer in the hammock by the little sunlight remaining finished out a wonderful day. I was in bed by 9:00 p.m. for evening devotions, Richard Hays on 1 Corinthians, and some final map work. Lights out by 10:00 p.m.
Wednesday, September 19, 2018
I slept reasonably well, despite colder temperatures in the night. I was awakened by a truck (which, I presume, was making its way to the North Half Moon TH) around 4:30 a.m. I laid there for quite some time...it was warm and cozy in my sleeping bag, and the air smelled much colder. At long last, still warmly ensconced in my bag, I got up to make coffee and oatmeal. The sky was brilliantly clear--the Milky Way shown softly high above. I donned my usual gear and set out for the Massive TH. The car temp showed 32 degrees. Chilly. And yes...I drove to the TH. Though a mere half mile away, I figured I would appreciate one full mile less when the day was done. Also, I needed to charge my iPhone. |
| One of several stream crossings. |
The joy continued west through the trees, into a lovely alpine meadow, and finally to the tree line at 11,680 feet. Then it got hard and the fun ended. After switchbacks to 12,100 feet, the long, slow slog up Massive's vast east slopes began. It was endless. 1.7 difficult miles later, I finally gained the saddle between South Massive and Mt. Massive at 13,920 feet. I took off my pack, found some rocks to hide behind, and settled in for a good rest and snack. I had 6.5 miles under my belt, most of it up, and I was tired. While cold, it remained relatively calm. Again the first person up the mountain, I watched a ridiculously fit trail runner make his way slowly up the way I had just come. It was surely in the low thirties with a chilling breeze, and this guy was dressed in shorts, trail runners, a tee-shirt, and baseball cap. He looked uncomfortable. We exchanged brief pleasantries as he approached the saddle. I was, in fact, very glad to see him as the trail at this point ended, leaving a "climber's trail" to the top. Route-finding, while not as difficult as Long's Peak, did not include Long's helpful bullseyes. Shedding a layer, I strapped on my pack and followed him up. He quickly showed that he was in a different league than me. He nearly levitated over the rocks in this high scramble. I found my way gingerly, doing my best to avoid cliffing out. A fall here would not produce death (like Long's), but it would produce a significant amount of pain and difficulty in getting back down again.
As I settled in for this final half mile of climbing, the fun returned in earnest. It was a blast scrambling up the rock in this wonderfully high place. It produced a wonderful high in me. The sun was out. The rocks were warming up. I was going up and gaining ground quickly. I hit the magnificent false summit at 14,260 feet, dropped a few vertical feet, and then climbed again to a glorious aerie on the summit of Mt. Massive at 14,421 feet, the second highest point in Colorado and the most magnificent summit I've yet encountered in the Rockies. Overjoyed and relieved, I took off my pack and settled onto a glorious perch. Remarkably, the wind had died completely. It was dead still. Clouds and sun decorated the sky and surrounding peaks in every direction: the ridgeline to Massive Green and North Massive (both 14ers in their own right) continuing on to the northwest; Holy Cross to the north; the Gore Range to the northeast (and what I thought to be Gray's and Torreys in the distance); the Mosquito Range to the east (Bross, Lincoln, Cameron, Democrat, and Sherman); Elbert and La Plata to the south; and far to the west the imposing Elks Range. I sat and soaked it all in, enjoying my simple jerky, trail mix, and water lunch. Soon, my quiet was interrupted by a solo hiker and his dog (who came up the impossibly steep southwest slopes, getting lost in the process) and some college-aged women, one of whom was making her twelfth 14er summit since June. We were all so surprised at the beauty and quiet that, aside from a few pleasantries, we simply sat in the still and quiet and enjoyed the spectacular vistas. It was an absolute joy.
I spent a full hour on the summit and didn't want to leave. However, as I continued to look west, I saw that rain was falling on the Elks, and then closer. It was moving in rather quickly. Reluctantly, I packed up my stuff and began my descent. Moving with purpose, I felt the wind pick up and the temperature drop as I moved east from the saddle. My hope was to get to the tree line before any inclement weather began. Descending on the vast east slopes was only slightly less tedious than ascending. By this point, my energy was flagging. Nearing the tree line, a cold rain began to fall. By nightfall this would turn to graupel and, eventually, snow.
Safely back in the trees, the trail continued on interminably. The sun was hidden and the rain continued to fall. What had been pretty on the way up was now dark and forbidding. I marched on, again feeling like the only person on the mountain, and experienced a rather high degree of relief when I hit the Colorado Trail junction.
On exceedingly tired legs, I continued south toward home. The fun was gone. The rain was cold. The legs were shot. By the time I hit South Willow Creek, I had nearly convinced myself that the trail would never end and I would be hiking eternally on an endless trail in a cold rain far removed from the warmth of hearth and home. Dark thoughts filled my mind. It was rather bleak.Finally, at 2:45 p.m., I was back at the TH. 4h30m up. 1h on the summit. 3h30m down. A grand total of 9 hours on the mountain, 4640 vertical feet, and 13.6 miles. Suffice to say, I was tired. Glad to be back at camp, I stripped off my clothes and gave myself a European shower (using the surprisingly effective viscose cloths I bought on a whim at REI), hopeful that the now steadily falling rain would soon relent so I could make a huge fire and dinner. I quickly fell asleep to the sound of rain.
Waking up a little after 4:00 p.m., I was surprised to hear that the rain was now falling harder. It was, thankfully, not getting a lot colder. I tidied up camp a bit, but was eventually forced to retreat back into the dry confines of the tent. I made dinner (more spicy chicken curry, hot chocolate, and dark chocolate), and settled in for a night of reading, prayer, and rest. By 9:00 p.m. it was lights out.I woke around midnight to what I was quite certain to be a blood cult setting up camp not far from me. The thrash metal was thumping, people were yelling, and a party raged despite the fact that it was 35 degrees and raining. Praying that I would not be the sacrifice, I eventually went back to sleep, glad to know that I could sleep in and hoping the rain would stop by morning.
Thursday, September 20, 2018
Turns out it was not a blood cult gathering for ritual sacrifices in the high places, but instead a group of female mountain bikers. A lot of them. I woke up at 5:00 a.m., ate a quick breakfast of coffee and a Clif Bar, and engaged in the always unhappy business of breaking camp. The rain had stopped, but it was soggy. Tear-down went quickly, I loaded up, bid a fond farewell to my home, and set off with hard-core bikers following close behind (no joke--it was a bit like Mad Max Thunder Road, the War Boys now War Girls, riding $5,000 full-suspension Yeti's instead of souped up desert 4x4's, heavy metal blaring from the trailing Mercedes van). I made a quick pitstop at the Elbert TH to relieve my bowels, and was soon making my way down the mountain, quite glad to be back in the land of reliable cell signals and paved roads.
Hitting Colorado Highway 24, I looked back on Elbert and Massive to see snow covered peaks. It was a beautiful, cold, overcast morning. The mountains looked intimidating. I climbed them. Continuing north into Leadville, I navigated my way to downtown, and then headed south and east in search of the Mount Sherman TH. Using Roach's directions, I made my way up a lovely, alpine tree-laced road and finally to a steeper, unpaved road that took me nearer and nearer to Sherman and it's high 13er counterpart, Mt. Sheridan.
I stopped at what I thought was the TH, only to be passed by a Lexus and Suburu going up farther still. I decided to follow them, and nearly two miles later found myself at a very unassuming TH along with a small gaggle of 50-something women--evidently the Leadville Women's Hiking Guild. As they talked and bundled up, I strapped on my pack and set out at 8:00 a.m., moving automatically and wearing generally the same clothes I'd worn since Monday.
The trail was mostly clear, with a little route-finding as I made my way south and east up the west side of Sherman, the Iowa Amphitheater providing a glorious backdrop. As I gained the saddle between Sherman and Sheridan at 13,100 feet (which also served as a junction with the Fourmile Creek Trail from the east), I looked east to see dozens of hikers coming up from the eastern TH. I had passed a few hikers on the Iowa Gulch Trail. As I turned north to finish the remaining mile to the summit, I was hit full force with a blast of wind that had been playing with me since about 12,900 feet. What had been earlier a pleasant if cool hike up steep terrain now turned into a death march in blizzard conditions. It was not snowing, but the snow that had fallen the night before and not already turned to ice (and thus slippery footing on the rocks) was being blown by steady 50 mph winds that caused me to lose my balance, lose feeling in my fingers and face, and at one point lose contact with the ground.
By this time, I was hiking with a young Arc-Teryx bedecked man who was finding the going as hard as I did. We stopped for a moment--enough time for me to put my puffy on beneath my shell and replace my thin gloves with Gore-Tex mittens. My puffy, shell, and mittens nearly blowing away in the process, I considered the wisdom of moving forward, not wishing to go to the trouble of getting my micro-spikes on but concerned about the wind, ice, and potential for lightning in the clouds that continued to blow over Sherman and Gemini Peak (Sherman's 13,950 foot northern neighbor). We continued on to about a half-mile from the summit when my climbing mate stopped and, pointing to the clouds, suggested (yelling over the din of the wind) that we wait it out. We stood there for twenty minutes watching the weather, shivering, wishing to keep moving but sensing the futility and danger of pressing on. This was supposed to be the easiest peak of my week and it was kicking me in the ass.
Now frozen and discouraged, with no sign of the storm relenting, I yelled to my fellow climber, "Time to abort?" We were alone on the mountain. The others who had gathered far below us in the saddle, having come up from Fourmile Creek, had aborted some time ago. I had no idea where the Leadville Women's Hiking Guild was--probably enjoying a cup of hot tea at the cafe in town by now. Through perfect Colorado teeth, my Arc-Teryx model climbing mate shouted back, "Yeah! This is insane!" I turned and headed down, disappointed, but mostly cold and tired and not wanting to die. The hike down, however chilly and slick, went fast. I was back in the safety and quiet of lower altitudes forty-five minutes later. Constantly looking back up to the mountain, the clouds and wind persisted. It looked thoroughly unpleasant on top.
Glad to be back to the car, I dumped my bag and headed down, high on the altitude but glad to be coming back down to earth. Nearing town, I pulled off on a fireroad for ablutions, my viscose REI cloths once again coming in handy. While not a shower, it was refreshing and cleansing. I put on fresh clothes and my dear Chacos, doing my best to make myself presentable. My destination: High Mountain Pies in downtown Leadville.
It is rumored that, somehow, HMP works THC into their pizza and bread dough. This is surely the stuff of urban/Colorado legend. I rejoiced, however, to pull up to the restaurant, walk in just as it was opening, and order a muffuletta, salad, and Coke to the pleasantly stoned cashier. This would be my first real food since Jimmy John's in Dillon on Monday for lunch. I settled in at the counter, drank my Coke, called Jule, and enjoyed the ambience. The playlist: punk, Britpop, and old country (The Clash, Willie Nelson, The Stone Roses, Johnny Cash). My sandwich came. It was divine.
Full, I went to fill up with gas and give the Escape a wash. By noon, I was on the road, CO-24, north. My silence and solitude now officially over, I lit up my pipe and cranked up the volume--Radio Free Minturn. The sun was out, the scenery was spectacular, and I enjoyed what was the best driving experience I've ever had, deciding that I want to build a home in Minturn, Colorado when it's all said and done.
By the time I was moving north of Wolcott, the Flat Tops were in view and the music changed--it was back to my mountain playlist, singing along to John Denver, U2, Amos Lee, The Head and the Heart, and Jakob Dylan. The sun was shining. I was soon to see my wife and daughter. Joy.
The Rest
Arriving in Steamboat Springs at 2:00 p.m., I made a quick stop downtown to visit my sister-in-law. By 2:30 I was at our brilliant condo on Mt. Werner. Reunited with my wife, I was truly back in civilization. The rest of the weekend revolved around the wedding, though I managed to get in a long hike with Annie at Fish Creek Falls (and celebratory breakfast at The Shack), three meals (and many drinks) at Carl's Tavern, which remains one of my favorite places in the world, shopping on Lincoln and at The Ski Haus, where I nearly dropped $225 on a pair of freaking pants (really nice soft shell pants from Fjallraven), $65 on a pair of Arc-Teryx tights, and $150 on a set of used Atomic skis (with Marker bindings). Irrational. My brother-in-law and I got an education at Billo, a lovely "medical dispensary," and learned quite a lot from the wonderfully helpful Katherine. We worked hard. We enjoyed Steamboat. I slept well, ate well, and took many showers. We left on Sunday, enjoying another spectacular early-morning drive through the mountains (fueled by a delightful Starbucks experience in Dillon). We were home by 8:00 p.m. to happy kids. It was a good trip.Takeaways
My help is from God...not mountains (Ps. 121). Is is the rock who draws me to himself (Ps. 61 & 62). That said, he blessed me with time in the theater of his glory.
I am grateful for my wife and children.
I have to learn how to rest, be still before the Lord, and find my delight not in what I do, but in what he is doing.
My perfectionist tendencies detract from my enjoyment of life. I need to hold things loosely.
I need to accept that God delights in me.
Some day, I would like to live in the mountains.
No comments:
Post a Comment