Mt Bierstadt, Our First 14er

When we moved to Colorado I expected to climb a 14er within the first year.  We quickly purchased our guide and journal to the Colorado 14ers, but somehow it never happened.  There was that time that we attempted Grays and Torreys, but rain and a 4 wheel drive road with us in the Prius thwarted that attempt.  Then kids came.  So this year, when my mom was in town in July, I jumped on the opportunity to get away sans kids.  Zack went along with the idea, but I'm not sure he was as excited as me.  I felt like this was something I HAD to do.  I want to hike Colorado summits.  The Rocky Mountains call me to them making me more myself than I ever am at my home in the Denver burbs.  My husband will agree that I am a totally different person in the mountains, but getting there has been difficult in the past 4 years.  I have been on one difficult hike in the mountains since starting to have kids.  It was a steep beautiful hike near Breckenridge past a waterfall to a high alpine lake.  Other than that I have been limited to short "strolls" that can hardly be called hiking.  Kids almost made me change my mind today.  After my teething one year old kept me up a large majority of the night and when my alarm went off at 4 am and she was crying yet again I seriously considered just saying "screw it."  Zack said it was up to me to decide and after just a split second of contemplation I said that I knew I'd completely regret it if we didn't go.  So we brewed some coffee and off we went...here's a rundown of the adventure.

It's pitch black, the moon and stars bright.  After nursing the baby she's back to sleep and we've decided to follow through with our plan to hike up Mt. Bierstadt, an "easy" Colorado 14er at 14060 feet above sea level.  We get dressed, make coffee, put our packed day packs and jackets in the car.  It seems strange packing both a fleece and a rain jacket with how warm and clear it is at our house at just over 5500 feet of elevation.  Our hike is only an hour and a half away, but our experience living in Colorado is this, altitude is everything when it comes to temperature and we will be starting on a trail at 11,669 feet at approximately 6:30 in the morning.  Our experience also tells us that rain can crop up any time in the mountains, so always be prepared.  Rain, actually thunder storms, are the reason for our early start.  We hope to beat the nearly daily high altitude afternoon storms.  We also hope to beat the crowds.  With only an elevation gain of 2391 feet (disputable based on source because you descend before ascending) over a little over 3 miles and no technical skills required in the summer it is touted as one of Colorado's easiest 14ers and hence, one of the most crowded.  We make our way to Grant, CO to ascend Guanella Pass where the parking area resides.  First we stop for breakfast at the Cutthroat Cafe in Bailey, a local greasy spoon where we've eaten before after camping in the area.  The three old locals who are the only other ones in the restaurant this early ask us what we could possibly be doing up this early.  We say we're going up to Bierstadt.  What's going on up there, they reply.  Just hiking, we say...they think we're nuts.  Why do we do it?  To quote Gregory Mallory, famous mountaineer who disappeared on Mt. Everest "because it's there."  For me there is an uncontrollable draw to climb a mountain, to see what's around the next bend, over the next hill.  It's in me and when the desire is not satiated, I am not me.

We leave the greasy spoon, climb the pass, passing quiet campsites full of campers who have not yet emerged from there nylon cocoons.  As we park the sun is just coming over the mountain and the full lower parking area shows that the upcoming beautiful day is attracting many hikers to the mountain.  Those with the same desire to climb "because it's there" as me.  We are here.  I can't remember ever having butterflies in my stomach before a hike, but I do.  I've waited so long to hike a 14er I'm afraid of failure.  I'm afraid of weather moving in, ending my attempt like the last time.  I hear another hiker in the parking lot say "a beautiful day to hike a 14er."  It sure is.  Nerves quickly give way to an energized electricity in my body.  The views are breathtaking.  Breathtaking becomes my internal mantra.  I will repeat it to myself over and over as we climb.  But first, we descend.  Descending is not good when your ultimate goal is to go up.  We cross a creek and begin our ascent.

I stupidly allow myself to believe this will be easy.  The initial ascent as we head into the willows is gentle, hard packed, filled with views of wildflowers and ponds.  The mountain looms above us, rocky, but seemingly "not that far."  Not that far because the hike descriptions I'd read say 3 miles with 2600 feet of elevation gain.  "Sea level is for sissies," I say to myself, the motto for the Bolder Boulder, a 10K we've done several times since moving here.  The addition of altitude means a decrease in oxygen.  This entire hike falls within the high altitude to extremely high altitude range, which can lead to hypoxia if you aren't used to it.  3 miles, I could do that in my sleep.  2600 feet of elevation gain, no problem.  Put it above 11,000 feet and it's a challenge.  And then, the challenge began.  As we got above treeline, the willows giving way to alpine flowers, rocks and gravel, we suddenly began to ascend, steeply.  A trail runner, common in Colorado no matter where you are or how hard the trail, blows by me.  A part of me is in awe another part wants to yell, "show off" in his wake.  Regardless of the altitude and the steepness of the trail I feel great.  I decided to bring my hiking poles and couldn't be happier.  If I'd been without my legs would've been taking all the effort and I don't think I'd be feeling as good.  Zack drags behind.  He tells me later that his heart was pounding with the steepness and the altitude.  This is how we are, I'm the climber, he's the descender.  He can fly down a mountain without a loss of footing like a mountain goat, whereas I 'm constantly falling on my butt, but I can trudge uphill like a champ.  I debate waiting for him, wondering if the negative thoughts in his head, which are obvious even from a distance, will just make him mad.  I decide that we should continue to ascend with our own internal dialogues, waiting occasionally, but mostly just concerning myself with getting to the top, taking pictures and marveling at the amazing views around me.

I watch the people around me.  All ages, all walks of life, all kinds of clothing, footwear and supplies.  It's intermittently cold and hot and I grow tired of zipping, unzipping, taking my jacket off and putting it on.  The sun goes in and out and the wind picks up and dies down.  We finally get to a point where we are ascending steeply, mostly on boulders with water running down the trail, seemingly from some ground seeps, even at this elevation.  Rest breaks come more often.  The hikers, once reminiscent of ants marching back to their mound start to splinter as people need more and more breaks and are gasping for air.  I continue to feel amazing and proud.  John Denver's "I am the Eagle" is going through my head, which is strange since my usual mountain playlist is more along the lines of Rocky Mountain High.  Instead I feel strong.  I feel like I am the eagle, I'm channeling the strength, the beauty, I'm rising above most other humans all across the country as I walk up, up, up.  My internal dialogue is positive, tired but motivated, feeling more full of life than I've been in a very long time.

Suddenly we come to a rocky ridge.  It's only a slight ascent and leads to a massive cairn that marks the beginning of the end.  Zack has caught up and we look at the home stretch.  It's a steep boulder field that ascends to the summit.  We're almost there.  We trudge ahead.  It's surprisingly easy compared to what we've just been through.  We pick our way from cairn to cairn using hands and feet to climb up and finally, we're there.  I choke up, don't cry, but am overwhelmed by the realization that I've finally done it.  I've finally hiked above 14000 feet.  I am looking down on Colorado.  Behind us Mt. Evans, another 14er, looms about 200 feet higher with a road all the way to the top.  Those that have driven to the top won't know what I feel now, the sense of accomplishment of having walked this high.  I can't wipe the smile off my face.  This is me.  Yes I have kids now, but I need this to be whole.  We take pictures, eat a snack.  We've ascended in about 2 hours.

Descents are my downfall.  My muscles fatigue, I have a tendency to fall.  I repeatedly thank myself for thinking to bring the poles.  Meanwhile I'm practically running to keep up with Zack.  Descending we can talk about our experience because we can breathe.  Zack says even though the "monkeys were talking" on the way up, it was worth it once at the top.  We take a break about half way down since my legs have turned to jello.  The thing about this hike is that the summit is in view the entire way up and the parking lot is in view the entire way down.  That can be both encouraging and disheartening.  We finally get to the last part of the trail, the part we had to descend before ascending, so it is uphill.  It surprisingly doesn't feel that bad.

We've done it.  I now have a renewed desire to summit hike.  We stop on the way home at a mountain hole in the wall restaurant/biker bar to have lunch.  It feels so appropriate.  A beer after Bierstadt.  Simpler life.  That's what I strive for.  I feel a sense again that I'm meant to long trail hike.  The Colorado Trail, the Appalachian Trail...something.  Now that we have kids it probably won't happen for a while, but I don't feel anymore like the dream is dead.  It's alive in me.  I'm alive.  I'm still capable.  It took nearly 7 years a marriage and 2 children later, but I've still got it and I still want it.

Ruminations on me

I am me.  I am a crunchy granola girl who hugs trees.  I gave birth to two gorgeous babies with a midwife in the water and watched them immediately recognize me as "Mama" and take hold of my heart (and breast) and not let go.  I buy organic food and I have a garden that fails miserably every summer and yet every summer I try.  I dream of being a nomad and living off the land.  I had an awful relationship with my deceased, alcoholic father, I have a wonderful relationship with my mother, and I have a wonderful husband who I am muddling through this complicated life with.  I dream, BIG.  I'm internal, often forgoing what I want due to not ever expressing it to anyone but myself.  I LOVE my kids, more than life.  I both hate myself and love myself in the same breath.  I yearn to be outdoors, all the time.  I enjoy my daily interactions with my patients and learning everything there is to know about them.  I'm not happy and I'm joyous.  I'm complicated.  That is me.  Take me as I am.