'16 on the 14
In the spring of 2016 I started planning a trip for the summer. I found a stretch of mountains in South West, Colorado that had just what I was looking for. I got a dog and taught her how to run distance and scramble over rocks. I started researching gear, and buying one piece at a time until I had what I needed. I studied weather patterns and how other areas can affect my intended route later in the year. I signed up for the training, and ran a half marathon.
I was introduced to a group of the coolest chicks that I have ever worked with on something like this, and Big Tony. (Tony is a machine by the way.) I was also introduced to body pains, IT Band issues, the strangest eating habits and urges, faulty electronics that cost too much, uncontrollable funnel vision, feelings of restlessness and fatigue at the same time, and even stranger eating habits and urges. I was also introduced to an understanding that no matter how tired I am, what was going on earlier at work, or how early my coach had me show up on Saturday morning, I have to put one foot in front of the other no matter what.
My coach, Kathy Pidcock, told us something that we all laughed at her hippy nonsense for at the time. Although we all laughed I used it. I used it at every practice after, I used it at the race, and I used it throughout my summer while I was prepping for my trip. She told us the simplest thing: “Walking up hill is just like running up hill; only it’s walking”.
I was introduced to a group of the coolest chicks that I have ever worked with on something like this, and Big Tony. (Tony is a machine by the way.) I was also introduced to body pains, IT Band issues, the strangest eating habits and urges, faulty electronics that cost too much, uncontrollable funnel vision, feelings of restlessness and fatigue at the same time, and even stranger eating habits and urges. I was also introduced to an understanding that no matter how tired I am, what was going on earlier at work, or how early my coach had me show up on Saturday morning, I have to put one foot in front of the other no matter what.
My coach, Kathy Pidcock, told us something that we all laughed at her hippy nonsense for at the time. Although we all laughed I used it. I used it at every practice after, I used it at the race, and I used it throughout my summer while I was prepping for my trip. She told us the simplest thing: “Walking up hill is just like running up hill; only it’s walking”.
A few weeks before the race, my friend Nate Falkner drove us up to Breckenridge, Colorado. We passed through town and drove into the snow-capped mountains. We pulled all our gear out (in the snow) and went to sleep. The next morning we awoke around sunrise, made the best coffee I have ever had in my life, and climbed in the snow up to 14,000 feet. That weekend was the start to my season. I had wanted to climb a 14er in the snow for over a year, and I really wanted to show Kolya (my dog) what hiking was all about. We bagged our first 14er of the season, and I started the hardest season of my life thus far.
A few weeks later I ran that race. I was freezing cold; my body was doing strange things that I have never felt before. I don’t smile a lot, but that whole experience had me feel a kind of joy that I had never felt before. It was really hard and it took me a few weeks to recover from it.
As soon as I felt better I took off for a long weekend in the Front Range. My plan was to climb up Torrey’s peak, across the saddle to Gray’s peak, go over the other side through the class three scramble to Mt. Edwards, cross Argentine pass, continue the ridge to Guanella Pass, go over Bierstadt, climb down to Abyss Lake, up Mt. Evens and down the other side to Summit Lake. Something like 25 miles, 5,000 feet of gain and three days worth of gear and food for Kolya and myself.
Everything was going fine until I was sliding down the side of Mt. Edwards. My backpack was rolling ahead of me, and my gear was pouring out all over the side of the mountain. I was able to get past that. I learned that the dog is very uncomfortable in 30-degree sleet (she looks adorable in my sub-zero jacket though). I also learned the 70 percent chance of thunder and lighting means something different when I am at 13,000 feet. The next day I was only a little behind. I let all of my gear dry out and started hiking. I was only an hour in before I had to take off my shoes and wade across a river that was clearly only a little creek the day before. I kept pushing through though, and I was still enjoying myself. I was scrambling up Mt. Moctezuma when a rock came loose. I was in the middle of nowhere and I had just pulled a several hundred pound rock directly into my knee. By the end of that day I was making 120 min miles, and the rain was going to be there any minute. The next day I awoke with a big knee and little ability to hike. I got myself to Guanella Pass and hitch hiked back to my car. I limped around for a few weeks before I was back on those hills though.
Everything was going fine until I was sliding down the side of Mt. Edwards. My backpack was rolling ahead of me, and my gear was pouring out all over the side of the mountain. I was able to get past that. I learned that the dog is very uncomfortable in 30-degree sleet (she looks adorable in my sub-zero jacket though). I also learned the 70 percent chance of thunder and lighting means something different when I am at 13,000 feet. The next day I was only a little behind. I let all of my gear dry out and started hiking. I was only an hour in before I had to take off my shoes and wade across a river that was clearly only a little creek the day before. I kept pushing through though, and I was still enjoying myself. I was scrambling up Mt. Moctezuma when a rock came loose. I was in the middle of nowhere and I had just pulled a several hundred pound rock directly into my knee. By the end of that day I was making 120 min miles, and the rain was going to be there any minute. The next day I awoke with a big knee and little ability to hike. I got myself to Guanella Pass and hitch hiked back to my car. I limped around for a few weeks before I was back on those hills though.
Throughout the remainder of the season I kept trying more difficult things, and I kept adding more and more weight to my pack while I did it. Nate and I drove up to Gray one night at midnight and bagged it along with Torrey with no sleep. We bagged Torrey via Kelso with zero visibility. One weekend I climbed across Bierstadt, across Abyss and up Evens just to sleep at 13,000 feet. Nate showed up in the morning and we climbed Evens in 50 minutes; we didn’t use any switchbacks. We went back to Bierstadt via Sawtooth from the wrong direction. (Not suggested with tired legs, sleeping at 13,000 feet, having camping gear in your backpack, and coming from the wrong side.)
I got my food, a new solar panel, and Kolya’s boots in the mail right before I left. I loaded up my backpack with a week’s worth of food, and all of my camping gear. I put the dog shoes on the dog, and we left for one more weekend on the Front Range before the big trip. Although I had been adding more weight to my pack throughout the summer, I felt like this full pack was way more weight than I had prepared for.
We drove up to Gray one more time, and climbed over it. We came down the East Slope and fell asleep right at the trailhead for Argentine pass. The next day we climbed the Argentine to Edwards. I hadn’t felt like I really earned a summit in a long time. Sitting on top of Mt Edwards I felt a sense of accomplishment that I hadn’t felt on top of a mountain for several years. I had made several attempts to climb this peak in the past, and found myself sliding down it with zero visibility and lightning the other times.
Although the alternate route was significantly easier, I still felt great. Not only did I know that I had worked hard at something and I was able to do it against all odds, but I also knew that I was ready to take on the Sawatch.
I got my food, a new solar panel, and Kolya’s boots in the mail right before I left. I loaded up my backpack with a week’s worth of food, and all of my camping gear. I put the dog shoes on the dog, and we left for one more weekend on the Front Range before the big trip. Although I had been adding more weight to my pack throughout the summer, I felt like this full pack was way more weight than I had prepared for.
We drove up to Gray one more time, and climbed over it. We came down the East Slope and fell asleep right at the trailhead for Argentine pass. The next day we climbed the Argentine to Edwards. I hadn’t felt like I really earned a summit in a long time. Sitting on top of Mt Edwards I felt a sense of accomplishment that I hadn’t felt on top of a mountain for several years. I had made several attempts to climb this peak in the past, and found myself sliding down it with zero visibility and lightning the other times.
Although the alternate route was significantly easier, I still felt great. Not only did I know that I had worked hard at something and I was able to do it against all odds, but I also knew that I was ready to take on the Sawatch.
