9.6.12: Bierstadt, Evans and THE SAWTOOTH

I climbed my seventh and eighth 14ers today — giving me six in a three-day period — but when I think back on this hike, they will be but a footnote. The highlight, the main event, was climbing the ridge between Bierstadt and Sawtooth, a crest that when viewed from the west especially, looks exactly like a sawtooth.

For many experienced Colorado hikers, the Sawtooth probably is just another walk in the park. For me, it was my first experience with “Class 3” terrain, and doing it alone made it even more exciting or nerve-racking (it was both at times).

Prior to the hike, I had done my research. I had printed out the 14ers.com route, which laid out step by step the best way to traverse the approximately 1-mile ridge. I had also read a few trip reports on the website, and the people who wrote them said the ridge wasn’t too bad and that the narrow ledges looked worse in pictures than reality.

I was prepared.

After a long but fairly mellow 3.5-mile ascent up Bierstadt (14,060 ft) from Guanella Pass, I readied myself mentally for the challenge. Ever since I stepped out of my rental Camero and saw the ridge in plain sight, it was basically all I thought about.

The Sawtooth.

After a brief snack and some pictures on top of Bierstadt, I began the descent down toward the saddle between the peaks, following the cairned route to the east of the highest part of the ridge. The first half hour of the hike was simply a difficult descent down rocks, sand and scree. If I slipped, I wouldn’t have fallen hundreds of feet. Down to my right lay beautiful, sparkling Abyss Lake. It looked more appetizing than the ‘tooth. I tried not to let my mind wander.

Focus. Focus.

As I neared the saddle, I gradually made my way to the west and the top of the ridge. Before me stood a huge gendarme — or tall steeple of rocks. Following the directions, I found the skinny path that sloped around the gendarme to my right. I then reached the based of a gully, where I began my steepest climbing of the route. Utilizing handholds and carefully plotting each step, I made my way up toward the ridge, then hooked another right, following cairns, before finally emerging on the sawtooth.

It was time for the ledges.

I sat down for a minute, ate a couple bites of my sunbutter sandwich and slurped some water. I needed energy and renewed focus on the ledges. Then I stood up, and hugging the right side of the two-foot-wide path, slowly made my way above the sawtooth and underneath the towering rocks above me to the northeast.

How dangerous was this? Well, I really would have had to slip in the wrong direction or take a really bad step. But if either had happened, there’s a decent chance I would have fallen hundreds of feet. I’ve been on some exposed ledges before, but this was the narrowest, most nerve-racking yet.

After maybe 50 yards, the path widened out, but didn’t become sturdier. What I worried about most were the sand and loose rocks. It’s easy to walk on rock slabs or packed-down dirt. This, though, was the kind of stuff you could easily slip on.

And this is when I made my navigational gaffe. Ahead of me lay a fairly steep dirt and loose rock ledge. I thought it might be the route, but I couldn’t locate a cairn on it. On the other hand, looking to my right — to the southeast and up from the sawtooth — I saw a cairn and mistakingly thought that was the trail. I scrambled and climbed my way up some 30 feet and then slowly walked along a ledge above the ledges I had just navigated. I thought I was getting somewhere.

At that moment, two other hikers — clearly more experienced on Class 3 terrain — came around the corner on the ledges. I watched as they navigated the loose rock and dirt with ease and started up the wide ledge that I had bypassed because of the lack of cairns.

Crap!, I thought.

To be honest, the Sawtooth to that moment had been difficult, but not beyond my expectations. I had handled the climbing and the ledges without a problem or complete confidence in myself. Going down from my wayward climb was the scariest part of an hour and 45 minutes since departing Bierstadt’s safe summit. For a minute, I found myself stuck on a ledge topped with loose rocks, wondering how I would get down from it and over to where I should have been all along.

But as I’d done all hike — and have become much better at with each solo trek I attempt — I reasessed, found a better route, and just a minute later was easily climbing up the correct ledge, reaching the easy talus rocks, and then gaining the summit.

I was exhausted. Delirious. Thirsty. I had made a difficult hike even more difficult, but done just fine with no scares. I am usually good at navigating, but had made a could-have-been costly mental error (the route description had clearly said to “continue north toward the top of the ledge,” yet I had somehow gone east then south!).

From there, the hike over rocks along Evans’ west ridge was anticlimatic. It was far from easy rock-hopping, but after Sawtooth, I felt stronger taking on this Class 2 ridge scrambling. On top of Evans (14,264 ft), I chatted with two of the three guys who had also done Sawtooth. They hadn’t broken a sweat, probably because they had done winter hikes on Colorado’s most dangerous, avalanche-prone peaks. They’re climbers. I’m a hiker with a little climbing experience. I have no aspirations of becoming a rock climber, but I surely think I can handle more Class 3 terrain like Sawtooth — which I’ll need to do if I’m to conquer all of the state’s 54 14ers (only 46 to go!)

The hike back to Guanella Pass was long and difficult. After retracing my route just east of Sawtooth, I cut off to the northwest and descended through a large field of grass and boulders until I reached the top of a gully that would take me down to the north of the Bierstadt trail I went up in the morning.

The reason for this route? There was no way I was taking on Sawtooth again!

The gully was steep, and it required careful footing, but there was an established trail. At its base, I was in a bog, and on one step, my right boot was fully submerged in mud. Nice! But I was able to stay on the trail, for the most part, through willows and more mud, and eventually connected with the Bierstadt Trail, as the route said would happen.

After soaking my feet in the creek — at less than 12,000 feet, it wasn’t nearly as cold as my experience at about 12,200 feet the day before and I was able to keep the feet in for over a minute — I returned to the parking lot after 8 hours.

MILES HIKED: 10.25 miles
PEAKS: Mt. Bierstadt (14,060), Mt. Evans (14,264), The Sawtooth (13,780)

9.5.12: Decalibron 14ers hike, Colo.

9.5.12 — Decalibron, CO
Today I took on my fourth and fifth 14ers, plus a 14er in Cameron that, well, isn't an official 14er but is taller than many of them. It was my fourth day since flying in from the flatland of DC and my second consecutive day hiking 14ers — I had done Quandary the previous day — so I was curious how I would handle the loop, which I would finish off on the shoulder of Bross since the summit is closed to the public.

I was also anxious as to how my rental Camero would handle the road to the Kite Lake trailhead. As it turned out, the low-clearance vehicle made it within 0.25 miles of the trailhead. I proceeded up the road.

I reached the main parking lot around 7:20am. It was frigid outside, but also beautiful as the sunlight reflected off the nearby peaks. The hike up to the Democrat-Cameron saddle wasn't too long or difficult, but I still found myself resting frequently to catch my breath. After about a mile, the sun eclipsed the Bross ridge and I was able to take off some layers.

I gained the ridge in less than an hour and headed up what I knew would be my toughest ascent of the day — Democrat.

The ascent was slow going over the talus, but not too difficult. On a couple occasions, I looked around to make sure I was on the trail. I was. I caught up with a gentleman, who said he was from Providence, RI, was 70, and had flown in the previous day. If that wasn't motivation, I was helpless. I reached the top of the steep climb, passed a pair of descending hikers, and emerged onto a plateau (aka, false summit), from which I had a clear view of the nearby summit.

Minutes later, I was on top of Democrat at 9am, a fairly quick first summit gained.

I waited for the Providence hiker, and a few others behind him, then chatted briefly about how brilliant the day was, got my photo snapped (No. 4!) and then headed back to the saddle. Before heading up Cameron, I stripped down to my shorts and polypro, as it was warm out. When I passed a couple of guys, they thought I was crazy. But I like hiking with few layers. It helps me feel less cumbersome.

Well, when I took the ridge up Cameron, as part of the very legitimate, have-to-earn-it ascent, the wind started blowing, harder and harder, and when I finally gained the flat summit, I was FREEZING! The top of Cameron was pretty unique, as it's like a table top, but it also makes for a windswept zone. I didn't stay long, especially with the picturesque twin peaks of Lincoln just ahead. It was only about 10:30.

The hike from Cameron to Lincoln is short and enjoyable — an easy descent, some walking on flat gravel the color of hot sauce, and a short ascent up a spiral staircase followed by a skinny — but not at all scary — ridge. A few maneuvers later, I was on top of No. 5!

It was a tad after 11am

The ridge hike over to Bross was easy and uneventful. It was mostly flat and on a packed-down, gravelly surface that wasn't difficult to navigate. The color of the rocks — bright orange — made it beautiful, and I found myself constantly looking back toward the alluring Lincoln and the seemingly tranquil Cameron. Democrat, in the distance, looked even larger and steeper than when I hiked it!

I heeded the advice of the two hikers in front of me and ignored the “No Public Access” sign to ascend Bross (No. 6!). The ascent was fairly easy, and the summit was flat and bland. I enjoyed conversing with the couple and then I headed back down to the designated trail, which was pretty tricky for its majority. Descending steeply over scree, gravel and dirt, I had to switch to careful hiking mode, and even then, I slipped a few times in descending the gully back to Kite Lake.

Just a couple hundred feet from the bottom, I stopped to soak my feet in a stream just above a small waterfall. I couldn't keep them in the water for more than 30 seconds. FRIGID! The air temperature, on the other hand, was hot — and getting hotter — and the sky remained a completely clear blue. Talk about a perfect day for such a hike!

I finished around 1:40pm, a little over 6 hours after I started. I highly recommend the Decalibron!

9.4.12: Quandary Peak, CO

Today I hiked my first 14er of the season, Quandary Peak (14,265 feet). It was my third full day in Colorado and just my second hike, so the acclimation process to the altitude was much quicker than during my first visit to the state last year. After hiking up to Pawnee Pass (12,555 ft) on Monday, I felt I was ready to start on the 14ers.

Having booked a hotel for Tuesday and Wednesday, my plan was to do three days of 14ers hiking starting with Quandary.

After a drive of a little over two hours that was absolutely beautiful because of the surrounding mountains and cliffs, I reached the trailhead just off Route 9 at 9am. It was a bit of a late start for a 14er, but the sky was crystal clear and the hike wasn’t too long. I wasn’t too worried, but was anxious to get on the trail.

The Quandary climb along its east ridge can best be described as one long, steady, plodding walk. After about a half mile in pine trees, I emerged onto a rocky trail and could see what I thought was the summit a LONG way from me. I plodded on. For the entire hike, I stole views at an alluring ridge across a valley to the south and the pointy summits of a couple of mountains beyond it. I’m pretty sure those summits belonged to my targets for the following day’s hike — Mt. Bross, Mt. Democrat and Mt. Lincoln.

As I continued up, there, just to the side of the trail, was a pair of white-as-snow mountain goats! I had never confronted the alpine animals before, so I wasn’t positive how to proceed, but they didn’t seem agitated the least by my presence. I snapped a couple pictures and continued on. As I would see an hour later, their friends — including a couple babies — were farther up the trail, again just a few feet from where people were hiking, and I took photos of them, too. What a sight!

Besides the mountains goats, the climb was pretty straightforward. As I got within about a mile of the summit, the grade increased and I had to stop for a few seconds frequently to catch my breath. I’m just not used to this kind of altitude! I clearly wasn’t the only flat-lander doing the hike — probably one of the easier 14ers — as I noticed several other people with their hands on knees and one dude, decked out in U-M regalia, who I later learned was from Chicago, sitting on a rock looking like death (note: he did make it to the summit).

After ascending the steep pitch, I reached a flat area and saw the marked summit just a few hundred feet in front of me. I completed the 3.4-mile ascent with 3,450 feet of elevation gain in just over two hours. On top, I signed my name on the list secured in the capsule tethered to a rock, had my photo snapped to document 14er No. 3,  ate a delicious sunbutter sandwich, then headed back down.

I drove back to Frisco, checked into the Snowshoe Motel, took a little tour of the cute town right on the Dillon Reservoir, and refreshed my body in the hotel’s hot tub (which had its own private room; so cool)!

Another day, another 14er. No biggie.

9.3.12: Lake Isabelle and Pawnee Pass, CO

Today was my first hike of this Colorado visit, and since it was Labor Day and he had work off, Eliot joined me as we headed to the beautiful Indian Peaks Wilderness. As we gained elevation on the drive to Brainard Lake, I was curious how I would deal with the altitude. I had only been in Colorado for a day and a half and hadn’t done anything active. On Saturday night, Eliot and I drove to south Denver to meet up with some friends and watch Michigan get spanked by Alabama. We stayed the night in the area and then met up with Kevin — whom I hadn’t seen in probably nine years — on Sunday for an offensive inning of the Rockies game and more drinking.

So to summarize, my first day and a half in Colorado was spent sitting around watching sports and consuming alcohol. Not exactly the best way to prepare for hiking at extreme altitude. On the plus side, I considered myself to be in very good shape, thanks in large part to the personal training sessions at my gym in D.C.

We were one of hundreds of people who had the same idea for a Labor Day hike. When we arrived at the recreation area, dozens and dozens of cars were already parked along the road. The hike started at 10,515 feet, and right away I could feel the altitude in my rubbery legs. I wasn’t about to fall or anything, but there’s no denying that it was affecting me. Going from 5,000 to 10,000 feet just like that can’t be easy for any flat-lander like myself.

But as we hiked the fairly level, mostly wooded trail alongside Long Lake, I began to acclimate and gain strength. It was an easy 2 miles to Lake Isabelle, the popular destination for most of the day’s hikers. The lake was extremely low, as we could tell from the sandy banks that appeared were used to being part of the body of water. Still, that didn’t take away from the beauty of the scenery. The jagged, piercing summits of the Indian Peaks rose up and towered all around the lake. The wind gusted at around 20 mph.

It was around noon, which is far from early when it comes to hiking in Colorado because of the afternoon thunderstorms that often arrive out of nowhere, especially during the summer. So the decision to continue 2.5 miles to Pawnee Pass wasn’t a no-brainer. From my standpoint, I didn’t feel like I’d exerted a lot of energy getting to Lake Isabelle, which just required 400 feet of elevation gain, and I wanted to gain more elevation in preparation for my 14ers trip beginning the next day. We decided to start up toward the Pass, with the expectation that we might not get all the way there.

As we started up the trail, we felt a couple drops of rain and a nebulous cloud settled overhead. If it had gotten any darker or if the rain had pounded us any harder, we would have turned around. Fortunately, however, the rain stopped and the sky brightened. We marched onward.

The going was a mix of gradual and steep, and we soon emerged from the thin treeline into the open, climbing switchbacks up a rock-strewn landscape. Peaks towered above us as we hiked. I was surprised that the altitude didn’t affect me more, like it had at the beginning of our hike.

After about 90 minutes of climbing, we reached Pawnee Pass on the Continental Divide at 12,555 feet. Out in the open, with nothing to block the wind, we were blown around as gusts of up to 40mph hit us. I quickly layered up in my fleece, pants and winter hat. It was COLD! It was also beautiful. We continued a couple hundred feet beyond the Divide and were rewarded with a whole new slew of mountains to gaze at to the West. We took it all in, snapped a few photos while making sure our cameras weren’t blown away, then headed back down the trail.

MILES HIKED: 9.1
PEAKS: None, but the high point was Pawnee Pass (12,555 feet)
DOGS SEEN: Approximately 63 of varying breeds

Colorado 2011 Day 6: Grays and Torreys peaks

Day 6: Grays Peak (14,270) and Torreys Peak (14,267)

           

Miles hiked: 8.3

It’s really easy to get all the information you need to hike Colorado’s 54 14ers. (Of course, hiking them is a bit trickier.) There’s a website, 14ers.com, that was built by a dot.com millionaire and has turned into the official source for hike descriptions, pictures, maps, and forums about everything from the most difficult routes, to parking updates, to the ethics of sharing water on the trail, to organizing group hikes.

The site breaks down the 14ers into four categories: Easiest, moderate, more difficult and very difficult. There are 37 peaks in the first two categories, whose trails are mostly considered Class 1 or 2 hiking, meaning they have established trails to their peaks.

Grays Peak (14,270) and Torreys Peak (14,267) are in the easiest category. They also happen to be the closest peaks to Boulder besides Longs Peak, which is in the More Difficult category (we weren’t tackling that!).

So I wasn’t too worried about being able to handle an 8.25-mile hike, even though I would be climbing 1,000 feet higher than I’ve ever been. Eliot had never climbed anything close to a 14er, but he was ready for the challenge, too.

As it turned out, the scariest moment of the trip came on the drive to the trailhead. From descriptions and updates on 14ers.com, we knew there was a 3-mile drive up a pretty rough dirt road to the base of the trail. Sedans vehicles with low bases were not encouraged to make the drive, especially considering there was a huge pothole or crevice in the road about half way up.

From all accounts, though, trucks, SUVs and even Subarus had been just fine. When we reached the spot, it did look pretty intimidating, but Eliot accelerated over its right side and steadied the Lexus. We were safe.

Everything from there was a piece of cake.

We knew from reading the website, word of mouth, and “Halfway to Heaven” that especially on 14ers, it’s not a good idea to be on the severely exposed peaks in the afternoon. So after waking at 5 to make the drive, we were on the trail at 7:37 a.m.

Our goal was to be off the second summit and having hiked 4.5 miles by noon.

With the trailhead at about 11,200 feet and the sun just beginning to warm the trail, it was 43 degrees when we set out. I immediately put my pants and fleece on. It was just warm enough hiking to stick with the baseball cap instead of the winter hat, but I kept it in my Camelbak’s outside pocket.

It was windy, but not too fierce — maybe blowing at 15-20 mph — which made for a pleasant ascent.

From the hike’s outset, the surrounding scenery was astounding. To our left loomed a long, horizontal red-clay wall of rock that provided a cool, canyon-like feel as we began to walk on a wide, well-marked rock path. Just ahead of us to the right rose a triangular, verdant ridge that we would make sure to include in all our pictures looking down from the mountains.

By the half-mile mark, as we passed a few slower groups, Grays and Torreys appeared directly before us in the distance, Gray’s rounded top to the left, the mile-long saddle dropping 500 feet and then climbing another 500 to Torreys’ pointy, rocky summit.

Torreys looked much taller even though it’s the shorter peak. I surmised this was because it was closer. It wasn’t until we reached Torreys’ summit that we gained a perspective demonstrating Grays’ miniscule height advantage.

We had read reports of hundreds of people making the hike on weekends, and I was wondering if we’d be immersed in crowds for the majority of the hike. Doing it on a Friday, though, definitely made a difference, and while we were never entirely alone on the trail, we had separation from the other small groups and dogs making the ascent.

The first couple miles were pretty moderate, as we headed straight at the saddle between the two peaks. Then we began the true ascent of Grays, turning to the left and following several long switchbacks slowly up the mountain.

I made the comment to Eliot that I felt I was getting closer to Grays’ summit a lot quicker than I had come within Audubon’s the previous day.

However, we weren’t going to gain the top easily. Every minute or so, I stopped momentarily to catch my breath. We were getting up there. The air was getting thinner.

And while the switchbacks were nice in making the slope of the trail more moderate, they also made it way longer, as we zigzagged our way up the talus slope.

But then, kind of suddenly, I noticed that only one switchback above us, a person was sitting next to a sign. And I shouted to Eliot, “We’re almost there, man!” I don’t like to joke around when it comes to gaining summits — we really were on the brink of our first 14er.

A minute, and a few deep breaths, later, we were standing on top of Grays Peak, 14,270 feet, scribbling our names on the official summit scroll, a notebook of paper tucked into a tube tied to a rock by a cable.

We were on the peak of a Colorado 14er, not to mention the tallest point on the U.S. portion of the Continental Divide.

Despite the relative ease of the hike, the accomplishment and the feeling couldn’t be diminished. It was pretty damn cool. It wasn’t too windy, either, and, amazingly, I hadn’t made a single change to my outfit the entire hike and felt comfortable.

Perfect day.

Still, we were well aware of how quickly a white, puffy cloud could turn into a dark, ominous one, so we didn’t linger long. After the obligatory photo shoot, we scooted down the loose rock saddle with Torreys Peak on our minds.

The approach up Torreys was completely different from the trail up Grays. It was direct. It was mostly straight. And it was steep.

We enjoyed the change. While the going was difficult and the breaths were short, before we could say “No. 2!,” we were standing on top of our second 14er. It wasn’t yet 11:30.

We rested for over 20 minutes, we took photos, and we admired the view of the zigzagging trail up Grays and were able to retrace our route almost all the way to its starting point.

The view to the distance, of course, was as spectacular as we expected and stretched for hundreds of miles. We could make out Longs Peak way to the north. Other 14ers in the Front Range, including Mt. Bierstadt and Mt. Evans, loomed nearby. I wished I had a map, but because of the tremendously detailed description on 14ers.com and an already dwindling budget, I didn’t have one for the area.

As noon crept up on us, we knew it was time to descend the saddle then take a left on a path that connected to the Grays trail well below its summit. For all we knew, a thunderstorm could be imminent.

Apparently, others hiking the mountain(s) had no idea, because as we descended, we passed several groups heading in the opposite direction who probably still had more than an hour of hiking to reach either summit. We saw people with just T-shirts and short. We saw others in regular sneakers.

In the right conditions — as was the case on that particular day — they were fine. But the scene demonstrated to me why, most likely, a lot of accidents happen among Colorado’s highest peaks. At its easiest, Grays and Torreys is a hike anyone can do in just about any clothing with minimal supplies.

At its worst, however, things could be drastically different. Unfortunately, for many people, this isn’t realized until they’re caught in the storm.

As for the descent, it was one we simply didn’t want to end. The sun was shining, the summits were framed perfectly in front of a partly cloudy sky with small patches of crystal-clear blue peaking through. The trail was gouged between two of the coolest, most picturesque ridges you’ll ever see.

We stopped at a stream a few hundred yards above the trailhead and soaked our feet in ice-cold water (our guess: about 50 degrees). I could only take it for about a minute. Then, finally, we hiked down the final stretch, completing the hike at 2:17 p.m. — 6 hours and 40 minutes after beginning it — and hopped in the Lexus for the most difficult part of the trip Part II.

All in all, it was a memorable day. As I learned, you don’t need any crazy experiences, any animal sightings, and definitely not any thunder to make these hikes one of a kind.

Simply hiking a 14er, or two, on a sunny, perfect day is recipe for pure bliss.

Two down. Only 54 to go!

I’ll be back, Colorado, I’ll be back.

Colorado 2011 Day 5: Mt. Audubon

Day 5: Mt. Audubon (13,233 feet), Long Lake, Indian Peaks Wilderness

Miles hiked: 8.0

As of Wednesday afternoon, I wasn’t sure of my Thursday hiking plan. I knew I wanted to visit the Indian Peaks Wilderness, an area due west of Boulder that features a series of high-elevation lakes surrounded by jagged, rocky mountains. I just wasn’t certain of how much I wanted to hike.

The reason? Eliot and I had Friday pegged as 14er day. We had cemented our plan to hike Grays and Torreys peaks, two of Colorado’s 54 tallest peaks.

Did I want to take things easy the day before and just hike the flat 2 miles into Lake Isabelle, which, supposedly, provides incredible views of the peaks towering above its waters?

Or should I be more ambitious and hike up Mt. Audubon, which at 13,233 feet would be mark my highest point achieved hiking to date — just taller than Yosemite’s Mount Dana, which I ascended at the beginning of July.

By Wednesday evening, my mind was made up. I can’t recall exactly what influenced me to do the more ambitious, taxing climb, but I’m pretty sure it was a combination of my realization during Wednesday’s Boulder hike that the end result makes every hike worth doing and continually being inspired by “Halfway to Heaven.”

Whatever the reason, I got up early Thursday morning excited to visit a new area of Colorado’s vast wilderness, ready to embark on a new adventure.

The winding, hilly drive took me less than an hour, and pretty soon I was out of the Lexus SUV, past the sign warning of recent mountain lion activity, and on a series of switchbacks at the base of Audubon.

From the hike’s beginning, the wind made its presence felt, and when I emerged from the trees a mere mile into the trek, I didn’t waste much time before layering up.

My journey was spread out before me like a satellite map. I faced a long, winding, gradual ascent on a rocky path to reach the north side of the mountain, from where I would, as my book described, climb steeply to gain the exposed summit.

I’ve always felt that it’s easier to do a hike when out in the open with visibility, however on this particular hike, the mountain didn’t seem to be getting closer despite my efforts. My pace was slowed, a bit, by biting 40-50 mph winds that were gusting at me. And with the high elevation, breathing was more difficult.

Still, it was impossible not to enjoy the scenery. Against the backdrop of clear skies, dozens of snow-crested peaks, including Longs Peak highlighting Rocky Mountain National Park, spread out to the north and northwest.

Then, moving left, there was the rounded Audubon.

And just to the southwest of my destination were the jagged, pointy mountains that highlighted the Indian Peaks Wilderness.

Eventually I reached the northern side of the summit cone and then slowly climbed steeply over rocks of all sizes, following cairns, to gain the summit. The wind hadn’t died down at all, but on top there were little rock dugouts that were perfect for sitting in to gain relief from the gusts.

I spent a half hour on the summit, admiring the expansive views, eating a typically delicious mountain lunch of cheese and rice crackers, and chatting with a hiker, probably in his 60s, who did most of the talking (I wasn’t stopping him).

The friendly fellow gave me a breakdown of the 14ers, told me that Grays Peak — one of Friday’s summits — was his favorite 14er, and, generally, exuded a tremendous enthusiasm for the mountains that I found was the case with almost all the hikers I met on this trip.

When I told him Grays and Torreys peaks would be my first 14ers, he asked me how long I was in the area for, and said that since I had a day after that hike, I should go knock off one or two more on Saturday!

While that wasn’t in the plans, I appreciated and admired the man’s ambition. Colorado is just swarming with outdoors enthusiasts who extend the limits of what flatlanders like myself think the body is capable of accomplishing. It’s refreshing to be around such people.

For the skies being clear, I was a bit surprised I only saw the man and one other hiking party on the mountain. But I wasn’t complaining. It’s pretty special to have such an incredible place basically all to yourself.

After a quick descent, I visited Long Lake in the afternoon, soaking my feet in the ice-cold water, observing some fly fisherman, and staring out at the pointy peaks in the distance. It was the ideal way to unwind from the hike, refresh the legs, and get prepared for the biggest hiking day.

14ers day.

Colorado 2011 Day 4: Bear and South Boulder peaks

Day 4: Bear Peak (8,461 feet) and South Boulder Peak (8,549)

Miles biked: 14.5

Miles hiked: 7.8

On Wednesday, Eliot needed his car for work, so I had two choices: 1) Rent a car for the day (which, after research, I learned would be pretty pricey on such short notice); or 2) Rent a bike for the day, at a cheaper rate, and find a local hike to do.

I went with, you guessed it, option No. 2.

The plan was to rent a cruiser from downtown Boulder and bike to the trailhead for the Boulder Range’s two highest peaks, Bear Peak (8,461) and South Boulder Peak (8,549).

From looking at a map, the trailhead for the Towhee Trail didn’t seem too far from town. I guessed it was maybe 5 miles from the downtown drag of Pearl Street where the bike store was. I wasn’t too concerned about renting a cheap cruiser.

I severely underestimated the ride.

I ended up battling 90-degree temperatures, a bright, scorching sun, and a fierce head wind for more than 7 miles. The only positive was that Boulder is the most biker-friendly city I’ve ever spent time in, so I was traveling on bike paths and back roads the entire way.

Still, my legs were burning, my lips were parched and my tongue was dry by the time I reached the trailhead. Now I just needed to hike 8 miles. No biggie!

The trail didn’t offer any relief from the heat or sun. For more than 2 miles, I walked through dried-out grass and shrubs, constantly looking out for bears — who, the trail description warned, enjoy the area because of its array of berries.

I didn’t allow myself to stop until I finally reached the Shadow Canyon Trail and a bend that offered a small window of shade/relief. I ingested an energy bar and water and continued on.

I also knew from the trail description that once I entered the woods and, thankfully, more shade, I would face 1,600 feet of elevation gain within a mile. Just another challenge on a day full of them.

But I actually got a good rhythm going on the ascent and while the going was rough, it didn’t take too long to emerge from the woods and the intersection for the two peaks. First, I headed right for a quick 0.4-mile jaunt up to the pile of rocks known as Bear Peak.

After a bit of rock-to-rock scrambling, I reached the summit and searched for any flat rocks that might serve as a good resting spot. I had 360-degree views, but things were a bit hazy, so it wasn’t great picture-taking weather.

I had brought my book for the trip, “Halfway to Heaven,” which is an entertaining, informative and easy read about a man’s sudden quest, while out of shape and in his 40s, to hike all 54 of Colorado’s 14ers. It was the perfect book to read on this trip.

Unfortunately, as cool as Bear Peak was, it was also infested with annoying, unrelenting flies and bees that didn’t allow me much peace. I forced my way through a chapter about another of the author’s audacious, adventurous climbs, then descended back to the intersection and made the short, easy, 0.3-mile ascent of Boulder’s highest peak.

My hiking book hadn’t mentioned anything about South Boulder Peak and friends from the area hadn’t mentioned it when recommending Bear Peak, but I enjoyed the top of the less-traveled, less well-known summit more than Bear.

For one, the bugs weren’t quite as bad. And secondly, the summit was large and offered several spots looking out in all directions. Compared to Bear Peak’s small, jagged zenith, South Boulder Peak provided a football field’s worth of places to relax.

As I sat on a rock reading, my feet swinging over a drop-off, I took a respite from the book to think about how my day had progressed.

Just a few hours earlier, as I struggled to bike against the wind, I had wondered to myself if I even wanted to do this hike. I could bike a little more and call it a day, right? Take a day off lying by the pool. Was this worth it?

And then, as I hiked under the bright sun, not gaining any elevation or, seemingly, getting closer to my destination, I had thought, Why, really, am I doing this hike?

Now though, of course, as is the case with every hike I’ve ever done, I knew that it was worth it. Being on top of everything, having such expansive views, hearing nothing but the sounds of nature — the feeling never gets old and remains my favorite thing in the world.

I hustled down the steep trail and jogged the level part, reaching the parking lot in less than a hour in time to begin my bike ride back to town as a thunder storm threatened — but didn’t materialize.

For my efforts, I rewarded myself with some homemade Glacier ice cream, black cherry, while sitting in a grassy park downtown , doing some serious relaxing later during the afternoon.  

Colorado 2011 Day 3: Flattop Mountain, Hallet Peak, Ridge Road

Day 3: Flattop Mountain (12,324) and Hallet Peak (12,713), Rocky Mountain National Park

Miles hiked: 9.8

So my first two days of acclimating to Colorado had included a hike to 8,100 feet followed by a hike to 10,600 feet. I had felt the elevation on both hikes, particularly when setting out, and had taken them fairly slowly.

Still, I hadn’t experienced any altitude sickness. No headaches, nausea or anything like that.

I was ready to continue building up to the week’s ultimate goal — hiking at least one of Colorado’s 14ers, as they’re known.

Day 3’s challenge was a hike up Flattop Mountain in Rocky Mountain National Park. The hike was 4.4 miles to the very flat — go figure — summit of the mountain at 12,324 feet and included close to 3,000 feet in elevation gain.

As it turned out, the tramp was almost a walk in the park. Winding around countless switchbacks, I emerged from the forest of pine trees after maybe 2 miles and then proceeded to hike one switchback after another, now in the open, until winding around the north ridge of the mountain.

The trek on the well-maintained, dirt and rock path seemed to take an eternity, mostly because what I originally thought might be the summit just turned out to be a random hill of rocks that obscured the nondescript peak that was way farther to the west (I should know about false peaks by now!).

Still, I could look back over my shoulder to a tremendous view of the park’s crown jewel and only 14er, Longs Peak (14,259 feet), whenever I so chose, and the very moderate climb proved to be pretty easy for me as I passed countless people.

The wind howled at probably 30 to 40 mph as I got higher, but since I was moving, I didn’t feel the need to put on more layers than my Polypro and shorts until I reached the summit, which was nothing more than a junction of the North Inlet and Tonahutu trails.

While the top of Flattop was about as interesting as a regular-season NBA game, I had noticed during the final ascent a steep mound of rocks — aka, a mountain — just to the south of my destination that people were ascending. It piqued my interest.

So after throwing on my nylon pants, a long-sleeved-fleece combo, and my winter hat, I took the clearly marked path south to get a better look at Hallet Peak, which rose above snowy, precipitous Tyndall Glacier.

A man passed me at Hallet’s base and mentioned that it “was a haul,” but worth doing. That was all I needed to hear.

Turns out, the hike wasn’t very tough or long. Most difficult was locating the next cairn to rock hop to, but before I could believe it, I emerged on top of Hallet, elevation 12,713 feet, and really felt like, for the first time, I was on a summit.

I found a flat rock overlooking the glacier and a small, unnamed lake and settled in for a snack of a cut-up apple (I had ingested a peanut butter sandwich after reaching Flattop’s “summit”).

My spot was also an escape from the winds I had experienced 400 feet below, giving me a real sense of calm. I could have stayed there for hours.

However, morning had turned into afternoon, and I knew what that could mean in the Rockies despite the mostly clear skies and innocuous-looking clouds. So I scrambled down Hallet, shot a few more pictures on the other side of the Continental Divide, which the Tonahutu Trail passes over, and then, seeing a suddenly-appearing dark cloud arise out of nowhere to the west, started hustling down the Flattop trail.

Around 2:40, I heard the first, distant thunder claps. I was still in the open, but moving swiftly. I started to feel a few drops around 3, as I finally reached the tree line. Minutes later, it was pouring and thundering as I navigated the easy switchbacks under the pine tree’s cover.

Wow, what a quick change in weather.

As I got close to the base of the trail, I passed a woman walking a huge donkey, who was carrying trail maintenance supplies. I must say, it was my first donkey encounter on a trail.

Of course, as I reached the parking lot around 4, the skies cleared and were mostly blue with a few innocent clouds scattered here and there. A typical afternoon in the Rockies, I learned.

I was not ready to head back to Boulder.

Driving on Bear Lake Road toward the park’s entrance to Trail Ridge Road, I noticed several cars pulled over. This could mean two things: 1. A lot of bathroom breaks coincidentally at the same time; 2. Spotted wildlife.

Thankfully, it was No. 2, as I noticed a huge elk maybe 30 yards off the road in the high grass minding its business. It was my first spotting of the national park’s most popular large, beautiful creature.

If only I had seen one just off the trail, it would have felt a little more special.

My late-afternoon plan involved driving the park’s version of Yosemite’s Tioga Road — Trail Ridge Road, which cuts across the northern section of the park from east to west.

It was incredible. As I navigated sharp turns, I quickly gained 9,000, 10,000, 11,000 and then 12,000 feet, reaching a high point of 12,183 feet. Almost the entire drive, the road offered uninhibited views of the national park’s peaks to the south and the large, widespread peaks of the Mummy Range to the north.

I stopped at several viewing areas to take in, absorb, memorize my surroundings and, of course, assist my memory with dozens of pictures. Longs Peak and its flat, boxy top stood out to the southeast (little would one know, from those views of it, that Longs is one of the most difficult 14ers to ascend).

It soon occurred to me that I had a special opportunity to witness a sunset overlooking the Rockies. With time to burn, I decided to drive the length of the road to the west and then return to a spot called Forest Canyon, where I could hike a trail about an eighth of a mile to a perfect spot to view the sun as it dropped below the peak-dominated horizon.

Of course, I would be chilly. On my drive up, the temperature had dropped, according to the Lexus, from 70 to 52 degrees. I had all my layers on.

As I began to descend the western section of the road, I noticed, once again, several cars pulled over. Sure enough, in the grassy meadow below the road was a large herd of elk.

I parked and then observed, along with several others, as the elk eventually made their way across the road to a higher grassy area. There were several calves that followed their parents, creating a small brigade of elk walking not more than 50 feet from me.

Pretty cool.

Minutes later, having driven the entire Trail Ridge Road, I noticed a group at an outlook peering through binoculars at a very distant hillside to the west. A lady handed me her binoculars, and I quickly spotted hundreds of moving dots — elk — on the green side of the mountain.

They’re all over the place. You just have to find them.

I enjoyed seeing the elk, but nothing from that drive matched the sunset. I made it back to my designated spot just as the blood-orange sun crested on top of a set of pointy peaks to the west, and I was in a state of awe for 20 minutes as I watched the sky transformed to a bright, glowing orange that can’t be done justice by words or pictures (I can only try).

I sat on a rock outcropping observing the scene until I was in the dark, and then shaking my head at the brilliance I had bore witness to, I slowly returned to the car for the long, winding drive back to Boulder.

Colorado 2011 Day 2: Mills and Black lakes

Day 2: Mills and Black lakes (10,656 max elevation), Rocky Mountain National Park

Miles hiked: 10.6

As enjoyable as my hiking experience was in Boulder on Sunday, I was anxious to get out of town and see the Rocky Mountains at their most extreme. Thankfully, I didn’t have to travel too far to experience that.

All it took was a trip of a little over an hour to Rocky Mountain National Park to the northwest of Boulder. Eliot, my host for the week, has an annual pass to the park, so I had a free ticket to explore as many of the hundreds of trails as I desired.

I continued my acclimation process by choosing a hike in Glacier Gorge that included only about 1,400 feet in elevation gain to roughly10,600 feet and included two beautiful lakes surrounded by cliffs.

The Glacier Gorge trail climbed very moderately in light tree cover, first passing Alberta Falls — a popular destination for the non-hiking crowd — and then, quickly, reaching several open rocks with astounding, sweeping views of 12,000- and 13,000-footers to the north.

I was amazed at just how quickly, and easily, I gained such incredible views. I’m so used to New Hampshire, where you usually have to hike a few miles and gain a couple thousand feet before being rewarded with such scenery for the eyes.

My Yosemite and Colorado trips have given me a vastly different perspective on this.

After about three miles, I reached the north end of Mills Lake and was rewarded with spectacular scenery — the long, vertical lake cast against a slew of rocky, pointy mountains to the south and a tall, never-ending wall of cliffs to the east and west.

I truly was in a gorge (definition: a deep narrow valley or gorge in the earth's surface worn by running water).

The sky had been a bit nebulous all morning and I had read all about the Rockies’ tendency to spout out unexpected, thunderous storms out of nowhere in the early afternoon. Still, it wasn’t noon yet, so I continued on another 2 miles to Black Lake.

The hike was pretty easy and incredibly scenic. Despite being at such a high elevation, I was walking up a path surrounded by lush, green grass and wildflowers all out in the open and bordering a trickling stream.

Black Lake was small and circular and at the base of several towering, sharp-looking cliffs that shot up thousands of feet into the sky as if to say, Don’t even think about climbing me.

Sweeping, constantly changing clouds made the scene seem eerie and also created plenty of great photo opportunities.

I hiked up the trail a few hundred feet above Black Lake and found a flat rock face upon which to sit and eat lunch, but only after I threw on three layers to deal with the suddenly fierce, chilly wind hitting me out in the open. From my spot, I could look to the distant, snow-capped peaks to the north, to Black Lake below me, and to a lineup of craggy mountains just to the east.

(Side note: Because of how many peaks there were, I didn’t spend a lot of time and effort trying to identify all of them like I usually do on such hikes; I just knew what the biggest mountains were.)

The 5.3-mile hike back to Eliot’s car at the Bear Lake parking area — the most popular trail head in the national park — was easy and relaxing, and I took a lap around the tourist destination of Bear Lake and soaked my feet in the cold lake before calling it an afternoon.

I’d be back to the same starting spot the next day. 

Colorado 2011 Day 1: Green Mountain

Day 1: Green Mountain (8,144 feet), Boulder, CO

Miles hiked: 5.5

Day 1 in Colorado was all about getting acclimated to the altitude. Sure, it would have been nice to walk out the door and hike a 14,000-footer, but that probably wouldn’t have been the wisest decision. Plus, I got a bit of a late start and I didn’t want to travel too far.

The great thing about Boulder — OK, one of many great things — is that it has easy access to a plethora of great, scenic trails just minutes away. In D.C., I can drive 10 minutes to the Capitol. In Boulder, I can drive 10 minutes to the trailhead for an 8,000-foot mountain.

I’ll take Boulder.

And on Day 1, I hiked up Green Mountain, which, at 8,144 feet, is one of the city’s three highest peaks. The first thing I noticed at the Gregory Canyon trailhead was a sign indicating that a bear had been sighted in the area just a week earlier. There was also an unavoidable sign at each trail intersection reminding hikers to keep their dogs on the leash.

I was officially in bear country!

(I would confirm this for myself on the hike’s descent when I passed by, in the middle of the trail, a neat pile of, yup, you guessed it.)

The hike climbed steadily but wasn’t overly difficult, as the trail was mostly dirt with just a few rocks. The most trying aspects of the hike were A) The heat; it must have been about 90; at least it was dry, a noticeable difference from DC’s unrelenting humidity and B) The elevation gain; I could feel it a little bit as I climbed, and I moved at a more moderate pace than I usually go in New Hampshire.

As I gained elevation and got within a mile of the summit, the pines started to open up a bit and I gained my first views of the snow-capped big boys to the west. A very light drizzle teased me, but never became consistent. The sky was overcast — very typical for an afternoon in the area – but calm. I was too low for the infamous thunderstorms that threaten the higher peaks almost every afternoon.

The summit of Green Mountain wasn’t completely clear, but I was able to gain views in almost all directions by walking to different spots. I took a minute to climb the large red rock on top of which sat the official summit cairn.

My first Colorado summit was in the books.

One view offered a look to the northwest of Rocky Mountain National Park, my destination later in the week. Another view offered nothing but flatlands. In the distance to the south, I could see Denver.

The general rule, I’ve learned, when observing the sights from Boulder: Mountains are to the west. Views in all other directions are pretty flat.

The people who shared the summit with me made up quite the eclectic group. There was a mid-20s laid-back guy, who offered me a joint (I declined, unsure how it would affect my acclimation process); there was a couple with nothing but water bottles around their waists who looked to be out for a run; and there was a family with a 2-year-old (age approximated).

What I learned from the hike, and what is obvious, of course, is that people in Colorado love to be active all the time. On my way down the Saddle Rock Trail, which offered numerous views of Boulder and the University of Colorado’s campus as well as a really cool, pointy rock formation high above me to the south, I passed a guy running up the trail, some high school students — at least they looked that age — out for a hike and several other young people.

It’s clear that if you live in Colorado, you grow up within this active, outdoorsy framework. Gosh, I love this place.

With the little guy down, it was time to go higher, and higher, and higher.