The Weakest Link

Over the 4th of July holiday weekend, Dave and I took a trip to Guanella Pass, near the Continental Divide west of Denver. The highest elevation on the pass is 11,669. The summit is a staging area for hikers planning to climb Mount Bierstadt, a "fourteener" (Colorado mountains 14,000 feet or more above sea level). Its closeness to the Denver area, plus the fact that it is considered one of the easier climbs, makes Bierstadt quite popular.

I have long dreamed of climbing a fourteener but will never possess the type of physical condition required for such a feat. The only fourteeners I have been on are Mount Evans and Pikes Peak; both mountains have a road to the top. Realistically, those are the only fourteeners that will ever know my presence.

Over the past few years I suggested Dave find us a relatively easy "thirteener" to see if we can make it that high. On our trip to Guanella Pass, we discovered a thirteener, Square Top Mountain, that seemed like a possibility. So on Monday we took an exploratory climb.

Our goal was to make it to the Square Top Lakes, somewhere above 12,000 feet in elevation. Comparing our pictures, satellite imagery and topo maps, we felt confident we knew where the lakes were located: just over that ridge in the distance, at the bottom of that rock chute.

Off we went.

We estimated the trip to be about 2.5 miles one way, a fairly easy hike until it came time to climb the highest ridge. Dave and Tonka set out ahead with me bringing up the rear. This is the best place for the weakest link, as I require more frequent oxygen breaks. And I usually have an excuse handy, something along the lines of "time for a drink" or "just admiring that pretty little wildflower" or "might be a rock in my shoe, better sit down and check." At each stop Tonka circles around, growing impatient with his slow hiking companions.

Eventually the boys abandoned me as we approached the steepest part of the hike. By now I was taking halting steps, counting out 15 to 20 paces, then stopping to rest. I encouraged Dave to forge ahead and let me know what he could see. He and Tonka found a nice flat rock near the top of the ridge and sat to wait for the weakest link to catch up.

After a few minutes I joined them on that comfortable flat rock as we watched two hikers descend from the ridge. Having just returned from where we were headed, the hikers assured us the lakes could be found just beyond the rock outcropping above. That last bit of trail was steep; I told Dave I wasn't sure I could make it. I handed him the camera and told him to take some pretty pictures.

But... it was so close! I watched Dave trudge up the path, Tonka weaving left and right in serpentine fashion, until they both disappeared from view. I pulled myself up and struggled to follow, now stopping after each set of 7-10 steps.

Nearing the top of the ridge, I looked up and saw Dave returning. "There are no lakes up there!" he shouted, frustrated. I couldn't believe it. I had to see for myself.

Standing on the ridge, we realized the lakes must be in the bowl beyond the next ridge, previously hidden from view. Another 30 to 40 minutes on the trail might get us there but we were already tired. Plus we did not bring nearly enough water for such a hot day. We decided to return to the car.

Gravity is an amazing thing, an incredible force that you barely notice from day to day. Yet the way it pulled and dragged us on the way down reminds me how firmly the earth holds us in its grasp.

The sun is hot at that altitude and we were running out of water. Nearly there... almost there... when my legs began to cramp, succumbing to the effects of dehydration. Muscles barking at me like an angry dog, I took deep breaths to help ease the pain. One last steep hill remained before we reached the parking lot. Dave held my hand as I limped back to our car and its bounty: a cooler stashed with ice cubes and a picnic lunch.

Despite my secure, unchallenged role as the weakest link, I always manage to have fun.

But maybe we should look for an easy "twelve-er" to climb. Then tackle it on a cool, cloudy day. With extra water.

More pictures here: In Search of the Square Top Lakes
and here: Guanella Pass

Slip Slidin' Away

A little over three weeks ago it was snowing here in Colorado but the past few days we were treated to daytime temperatures above 90 degrees. After a long, cold winter, the weather warmed up very quickly. Now spring runoff is in full swing.

Dave and I decided to escape the city heat and take a drive in the mountains. We ended up near the Moffat Tunnel, a railroad and water tunnel that cuts beneath the Continental Divide near Rollinsville and emerges six miles west near Winter Park.

At this location on the eastern side of the Continental Divide is the James Peak Wilderness Area. Neither of us had hiked here and decided to check out the trail. Since we hadn’t planned a full-blown hike when we left, we did not bring our hiking boots or backpack or any of the other amenities we typically consider necessary if we are planning to go any distance. We did bring along our trusty sidekick, Tonka.

The wilderness trailhead entrance sported a sign proclaiming, “GET MUDDY! Please stay on trails and hike through mud, water and snow rather than around…” A mere 20 feet into the hike and already we had muddied our white sneakers. The trail dried out for a while but off in the distance we could hear the roar of cascading water, a sure sign the runoff was high. Soon enough we found ourselves immersed in an area wet with mud, with small feeder creeks tumbling downhill toward South Boulder Creek. We slogged through it all, grateful to be able to cross some of the creeks on makeshift bridges and risers that were built by the local chapter of the Colorado Mountain Club.

Next we came to a creek that was running fast and was a bit too deep for our silly little sneakers. Just a short distance up the hill were three small trees that had fallen across the creek; I suggested we take turns crossing on the logs. I went first and called Tonka, who had no problem running straight through the current. Then Dave crossed and walked off in a different direction.

Tonka noticed right away that we were no longer hiking together as a team. Wanting desperately to catch up with his best buddy, he lunged against his leash at the same time I was attempting to navigate a particularly muddy uphill section. I yelled at Tonka, my left foot slipped, and suddenly I realized that gravity had gotten the best of me.

Have you ever experienced a fall that seems to happen in slow motion? In painfully leaden movements, I dropped Tonka's leash, reached in vain to grasp a small bush just to the left of me, watched my not-so-white sneakers lurch out in front, then let out a loud “ooofff” sound as the backwards impact forced the air from my lungs. The next thing I felt was the cool gushing sensation of mud on my backside, down my legs, and along the side of one arm.

Tonka bolted away, leaving me to wallow in the mud as he ran off to reunite with his favorite person. Well, there you have it. I was unhurt, except for the slight bruise to my ego as Dave turned and saw me sitting all gooey and muddy in the midst of a spring runoff mess.

That "GET MUDDY!" sign flashed before my eyes. Never did I intend to take the advice quite so literally. Had I followed the instructions in that sign and not strayed from the trail, I probably would not have found myself in this situation. Not only was I muddy, now I was also guilty of breaching wilderness trail etiquette.

After I had righted myself, with a hand up from Dave, we walked a little further until the trail disappeared beneath banks of dirty snow. At that point we decided that we already had about as much fun as we were going to, so we reversed course back to the car and our picnic lunch.

We agreed to return and try out the trail again, perhaps in August when it’s completely dry, or maybe September when we can fully appreciate the autumn gold that is sure to be seen, thanks to the many stands of aspen along the trail.

Next time I'm staying on the trail. And next time, Dave can manage the dog for the entire hike.

Peaks and Valleys

2009 was marked by a series of peaks and valleys, both in our travels and in our personal lives.

We began the year learning that our sweet dog Raven had developed canine lymphoma with at best a few months to live. The vet recommended a treatment that put her cancer in remission for a little while. When it stopped working, we took her off the medication and let the cancer run its course.

In the spring we added a second four-legged member to our little family. Tonka is a “prison dog” we found through the Colorado Correctional Industries K-9 Companion program. A Border Collie and Blue Heeler mix (aka, a “mutt”), Tonka was a stray rescued by a ditch rider on the eastern plains of Colorado. He is smart, cuddly, and chock full of energy. At first Raven was none too thrilled about sharing her home but she soon warmed up to him. And Tonka seemed to give Raven a new lease on life.

It turns out that Tonka is also a good mountain dog. He joined us on road trips and hiking adventures in our beautiful Colorado mountains. We took him to the summit of Mount Evans, a peak towering more than 14,000 feet above sea level, and on our annual sojourn to Salida and the central Rockies.

Raven was a strong girl. She lasted nearly 10 months and enjoyed mixing it up with her new buddy until the last few days. We finally had to say goodbye to her in late September. Raven has journeyed ahead to the Rainbow Bridge, where we hope to meet up with her again one day.

In October, we took a much needed but rain-soaked vacation in Washington, DC and the surrounding area. We divided our time between the city and the country, traveling along the Blue Ridge Parkway south toward West Virginia. Part of our vacation was dedicated to searching for Dave’s ancestors, especially his great-great-great-grandfather, Napoleon Bonaparte French. This branch of Dave’s family traveled from the Shenandoah Valley to southern Virginia, settling in the New River Valley in the mid-1700s.

As the holidays approached, we were faced with the loss of another beloved member of our family. Dave’s mother has been in poor health for the past few years, but she too was strong and resilient. Marge bounced back from one illness after another, always returning to us in good spirits and ready to go out for her favorite lunch, a beef enchilada and flan. This time there would be no returning. The angels came for her at the end of November. The last of our living parents, Marge left us for what will surely be a blissful eternity. We will miss her so.

Merry Christmas  *  Happy New Year  *  Peace on Earth

Debbie, Dave and Tonka

 

(from our Christmas newsletter)