Land of the Gods

Just in case anyone was wondering, waking up wet cold and achy in the front seat of a car is not the way you want to start off the day right before you go and hike a couple fourteeners. And of course less than an hour before I began hiking at the Missouri Gulch trailhead that was the exact state I found myself in.

It took a little while to pack up the soaking wet tent and to reorganize my car so that I would be able to find everything in it, but eventually I found myself with the car all packed up and standing at the foot of a trail that I was planning to summit three fourteeners on that very day.

The reader should know that I hate being cold. Absolutely hate it! I will be the biggest sissy and wear upwards of five layers in the winter just to keep from being cold. Add being wet into the mix and I usually then decide that it really looks like a great idea to stay inside underneath several blankets reading a book or binge watching whichever random TV show I happen to stumble across on Amazon. Well that morning I was cold and wet and facing the prospect of some major physical exertion. Thankfully if there is one thing that overpowers my hatred of physical discomfort it is my bullheadedness when faced with a difficult physical task. (Not mental task or something that will take more than a few days though, if faced with something like that I pick the couch almost immediately, as the incredible lack of completed homework assignments over the years can attest to.)

My hatred of being cold and wet is still present though. Instead of five layers I only had four (it was only August after all): T-shirt, Sweater, another sweater, and a heavy jacket. Not to mention the rain suit that I had in my pack just in case the clouds that were still lingering decided to tear asunder and let the rains (or—God please no—snow) drown me. I ran into a couple from New Mexico as I started up the trail. They were celebrating the husband’s fiftieth birthday. My goal for my fiftieth birthday is to be hiking a 14er, and they were even aiming to do all three. I don’t know if they managed to accomplish that goal because after a few minutes of chatting and hiking along with them I began to drastically out pace them. That whole bullheaded issue when it comes to physical tasks started kicking in.

I love hiking, just have to get that out there, any kind of hiking--BUT hiking a 14er puts just about every other kind of hike to shame. Any other hike I can just go out there and do. I can (and did on my little excursion) do a seven mile hike as a short little sunset hike. When you go to face a 14,000 plus foot mountain though you have to prepare mentally, physically, and (heck, why not throw it in) spiritually. Then there is the way the world changes as soon as you break tree line. The air is thin and invigorating, there is nothing standing between you and this vision of massive peaks standing all around.

This is the Land of the Gods. Those behemoth peaks are the image of divinity. The way they always have their very tops stuck in the clouds as if chatting with the heavens. When you reach the summit you get to join that conversation, and it is awe inspiring. No high compares with the high attained on the summit of a 14,000 plus foot mountain. I guess that is why it has become a bit excessive of a past-time. It’s hard to tell people to cut back though, because it really is something of a spiritual experience. It puts you at your limit in every way with a very real goal that is attained at the end of it.

The first summit I reached that day was that of Mt Belford (after passing two more individuals on the trail, both probably around their fifties as well), where I ran into three young guys from Denver who get a paid day off once a year to hike a fourteener. If I had gone into finance in school I would definitely work for that company. I can only remember one of their names, Cameron, but they were all three cool people, though they decided to start heading down after just attaining that one summit, and I felt like I had bigger fish to fry. At least they were able to snap a photo for me though.

The next peak to summit was Mt. Oxford. It was only about another two miles to reach its summit, but that two miles included dropping into a saddle and then hiking back out of it. The drop in was steep, and I just about ate it and rolled down the side of the mountain a couple times, but the ascent up to the summit of Mt Oxford was nowhere near as difficult. I mean, aside from the cold, oxygen free wind that whipped across the ridge and the reflection of the sun off of the snow that left my cheeks a beautiful bright red color for several days afterwards.

However, I did make it from the summit of Mt Belford to the summit of Mt Oxford in an hour, which was my goal in order to keep up the pace to bag Mt. Missouri as well before descending to the trail head. And my it was beautiful! Not to mention perfectly lonely. I had to set my camera to take the summit picture for me.

The hike back down to the base of the saddle was easy, like I was expecting. It was the ascent back up to the opposite ridge that scared me, and rightfully so. I reached the ridge fighting the urge to just collapse down on my hands and knees and start pulling myself down the side of the mountain. It was at this moment that I first began to question my initial decision to hike up Mt Missouri as well. According to the map I had to follow another trail that descended for about two miles before reaching the base of the 1.6 mile trail up to the summit of Mt Missouri. (For those that are not big fans of math that would be adding a total of 3.2 miles to my hike for the day, pushing it over 15 miles, and adding another nearly 2,000 feet of ascent.)

Pain as keen as what I was currently feeling in my thighs as well as the fact that my calves had almost locked up and cramped several times already is a sensation that is easy for me to recall, but now as I write this I still think I should have tried to get to that last summit. But I used the excuse that it was starting to snow (barely) and the encouragement of the group of four guys that I passed on the way down to the intersection of the trail, who all felt I should skip it. Now all I have is a picture of the peak that got away.

Something that is unfortunately one of my dominant traits is losing things. This whole trip seems to be in jeopardy every time I think of just how often I lose things, and that hike was no different. That map I was talking about that told be how many miles each part of the trail was… yeah, I lost it somewhere in the Land of the Gods, so I headed into Buena Vista to see if I could find a map to replace it (because I really did like that map, I had used it to find the trailhead and to hike up Mt Yale just a few weeks prior). After I found a couple maps that offered a half decent replacement I found myself reflecting upon the possibility of sleeping on my wet mattress pad that night and I just could not handle the idea. A friend of mine from Denver had moved out to the Aspen area a little while ago though, and the hike that I was considering to do the next day was in that area so I gave her a call. Thank the heavens, Rachel came to my rescue and let me crash on a warm dry couch that night. I will forever remain in her debt.

Once again I find myself rambling on, so I will have to call it for this post. I’ll have a couple others set to go up for the next couple days though, and tomorrow the rest of the crew will be joining me. Things are about to get epic people. Hold on to your hats!