SAN ISABEL NATIONAL FOREST, Colo. - The map taunted me.Its squiggly elevation lines - invisible markers of humiliation - pointed to both my failure in reaching the summit of 14,196-foot Mount Yale and my even more disastrous efforts to get my girlfriend and me off the mountain's snowy, wind-swept slopes. I checked my compass. We were too far east, having lost the trail in the seemingly infinite patches of unmelted snow.I looked back and forth between the map and the vast expanse of untamed Colorado wilds, half hoping those ridiculous squiggles would appear on the ground and lead us to civilization.
I glanced at my watch. 11:30 a.m. Not desperation time. Not yet.Tara and I strapped on our snowshoes and trudged west, breaking fresh trail with each step.I yelled back encouragement to Tara, who was getting wobbly from the altitude, still above 12,000 feet.But I was more honest with myself, saying silently, "Please, Lord Jesus, get me off this mountain."
I repeated the prayer, adding a vulgar description of Mount Yale I felt even He would appreciate.Then my footing gave way, and I began sliding. About seven hours earlier, Tara and I awoke to a clear, starlit night at our campsite along the Arkansas River.It was the ungodly hour of 4 a.m., but I woke up even before the alarm.I had been looking forward to the day for months, ever since Tara suggested a Colorado camping trip.
As an East Tennessee native, I've always loved the mountains. And after several months in Dallas, where the High Five qualifies as elevation, the prospect of summiting my first fourteener - as they call peaks higher than 14,000 feet - seemed magical.I wasn't alone.
About 500,000 people hike one of Colorado's 50-odd fourteeners every year, according an estimate by the Colorado Fourteeners Initiative, a group that works with the U.S. Forest Service to protect and preserve those majestic peaks.The mountains draw experienced climbers, enthusiastic first-timers and everyone in between.
They beckon anyone with a bit of wanderlust, anyone mesmerized by the absurd notion of reaching an elevation about 15 times the height of Dallas' Renaissance Tower.Tara and I packed up camp, ate a quick breakfast and drove to the trailhead 10 miles west of Buena Vista. The sun was just beginning to rise as we unloaded and checked over our supplies.
Maps. Compasses. Knives. Rope. Water-purification tablets. First-aid kits. Emergency blankets. Sunscreen. Snowshoes. Trekking poles. Several layers of clothing. Lots of food and water. And on down the list. We weren't taking any chances. Time and time again, we had been reminded of the mountains' dangers by everyone from hikers posting trip reports on the website 14ers.com to the man who rented us gear at The Trailhead in Buena Vista:
High altitudes that test the lungs and fog the mind. Bears and other wildlife that roam the woods. Swollen creeks and avalanches that threaten to overtake the trail. Weather that changes in an instant.Ten people died climbing fourteeners last year; already this year, four have perished, according to the fourteeners initiative.
"Sometimes people can be lulled into a sense of complacency out there," said Lloyd Athearn, the initiative's executive director. "But people need to approach these peaks with a fair degree of caution."
Tara and I set off around 6 a.m., just below 10,000 feet. Fueled by adrenaline and the cool, early June temperatures, we flew through the initial, timber-covered stages of the 8.75-mile round-trip hike. The path was strenuous, but pleasant. Water gushed past icy log bridges over Denny Creek and Delaney Gulch. Most of the snow remained frozen from overnight and held our weight. And the vistas became increasingly spectacular.
After scrambling up a steep set of switchbacks and breaking through the tree line, Tara and I received our first good look at Mount Yale. The peak towered over us, stately and unyielding. For the first time, I wondered if summiting was realistic. Stops became more frequent as Tara and I tried to navigate the confusing snow trails that coursed through the alpine scenery above 12,000 feet. Even as we climbed higher, the top seemed no closer.
But at long last, we reached the final, brutal ascent to Yale's summit ridge. We paused to watch a hiker ahead of us teeter back and forth up the nearly vertical incline. Then we turned around to take in the world from 13,000 feet. The sky, the mountains, the woods went on forever. It was pure, primal, even liberating. We decided we had come far enough. After a quick break to celebrate, Tara and I lengthened our trekking poles and started what we hoped would be an uneventful descent.
But now everything was different. Everything was the same. The vastness that seemed so freeing moments before began to suffocate us. Every random pile of rocks began to look like the cairns that marked the path. Swatches of dry ground and unmelted snow swirled together to form an impenetrable mosaic.
The trail vanished, seemingly for good. I tried to remain calm, but minutes quickly turned into an hour. I knew we could follow gulches and streams back to the trailhead along Denny Creek. But that could take hours, and it would only push us farther off course. We needed to get to a lower elevation - and fast. The altitude was hitting Tara hard. She nearly vomited after taking a gulp of water and looked on the verge of tears.
I said my prayer, cursed the mountain and slipped. I stopped sliding 20 feet below, between two tree stumps. I looked up. There was a trail, well-worn and inviting. The path was hardly a quick ticket home. It, too, gave way to false offshoots and baffling snowfields. But the trail buoyed our spirits and set us in the right direction. We lumbered through the increasingly soft snow for another hour or so before finding the trail's entrance to the treeline with the help of another hiker.
We were finally on course. A few hours later, Tara and I staggered back to the car and shared a giddy embrace. Our clothes were drenched with snow and sweat. Our backs were aching from heavy packs. Our legs were screaming from hours of abuse. We marveled at Mother Nature's raw, unforgiving and spectacular power, and swore off any major hikes in the immediate future. But as we drove away, I stole one final glance at Yale's illusive peak and said a silent prayer:
"Please Lord Jesus, get me back on that mountain."
SAFETY TIPS
-Acclimate to the altitude. Consider a taking test hike at 11,000 or 12,000 feet a couple days before tackling the fourteener.
-Leave early. Try to be off the summit by noon or earlier.
-Check the forecast often. Weather changes quickly - and sometimes dramatically.
-Be prepared. Dress in layers. Have a first-aid kit. Don't skimp on gear.
-Bring maps and a compass or GPS. Know how to use them.
-Stick to the trail. It's there for a reason.
-Don't leave your cellphone in the car. Many peaks have cell service, and a phone will be helpful if there's an emergency.
-Know your limits. Don't let pride stop you from turning around before the summit.
-Pay attention for signs of altitude sickness. If you see them, get to a lower elevation - quickly and safely.
-Water, water, water. Bring lots, plus some water-purification tablets in case you run out.
-Be alert. Be careful. But make sure you have fun, too.
(Source: 14ers.com, Colorado's Fourteeners by Gerry Roach and DMN research)
RESOURCES
14ers.com - A valuable website for maps, advice, and trip, peak and condition reports.
"Colorado's Fourteeners" by Gerry Roach (Fulcrum, $22.95) - The definitive book on the topic. It's a must-have.
U.S. Forest Service - Find your local rangers for real-time trail conditions and advice.
Local gear outfitters - Great for rentals, last-minute purchases and firsthand accounts from the peaks
State and national parks - Excellent resource for information on camping, hiking and other activities around fourteeners.
Tom Benning: tbenning@dallasnews.com
Post Title
→Scaling the Colorado 14-ers.
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