Five State Roundup: Part I: Conquering Elbert

After completing the Georgia and South Carolina high points in February, all the southern lowland states in March, and the formidable Marcy in New York in May, I finally had to set my sights west. I was too late for the lottery that wins you a pass up Mt. Whitney in California. The Northwest was full of difficult mountains where I would definitely need a guide and training.

So I thought I would mix some tougher with some easy, thereby coming up with my Five State Roundup. I say Roundup because on the map the five high points form a loop. Plus there is the tough cowboy western sound to the word. The name presents a challenge and makes me feel bad-ass all at once. There was only a 2-4 hour drive between each. I could fly into Denver, rent a car, and be on my way.

Originally I planned on doing the flat drive-ups (Nebraska and Kansas) followed by high points increasing in altitude (Oklahoma, New Mexico, and Colorado) so as to acclimate while I went. I made reservations. As my trip got closer, however, in checking the weather forecast I noticed BIG thunderstorms in store for Colorado at the end of my trip. (These ended up being the storm systems that poured inches of rain onto Colorado and caused much flooding in September 2013.) So I flipped the itinerary to do Colorado first ending with Nebraska. I can always drive in the rain, just wouldn't want to be caught at 14,400 ft. in a torrential thunderstorm.

I changed hotel reservations, borrowed some altitude sickness medication from my high pointing friend, John, and prepared to go west.

I flew to Denver on Thursday, August 29, rented a car and drove to Leadville arriving in the early afternoon. After checking into the Silver King Inn (the name makes me think of sweet corn back in Ohio), I immediately drove to inspect the North Mt. Elbert trail head in the light of day, since I would be starting out at 4 am the next morning. I headed southwest out of Leadville and drove the Halfmoon Road (which turns quickly into a dirt rutted road), through Halfmoon camping area and on to Elbert Creek Campground. I got out of the car, took a quick look around, checked my trail directions, then started back to Leadville. As I drove through these campgrounds, I had a distinct feeling that my brother Tony had been here a number of years before. I hoped his spirit would be with me on my hike.

I picked up some dinner on the way back and ate in my room. I had shopped earlier for trail food and I put all my gear in order for the big push to the top of Elbert, double checking everything. I read and reread the trail directions, getting a good picture in my mind. I had been drinking water all day long to stave off any kind of altitude sickness or dehydration caused by dryer climate. I took a little motrin at any sign of a headache.

I had no trouble going to bed early, still being on Cincinnati time. I fell asleep feeling relaxed, but hoping that A) I wouldn't get altitude sickness the next day as I climbed up Elbert's slope, and B) that I could actually climb the durn thing. I was a lowlander and hadn't had time to acclimate, so I knew breathing could be tough up there for me.

The next morning I was at the trail head and ready to go, flashlight in hand, at 430. I locked my car and saw that there were quite a few cars in the lot. At first I thought I was alone. But after taking a few steps in the dark, I noticed a white blur standing next to another car--a man standing spookily and silently by his car, probably hoping I wouldn't notice. But I did and was careful not to shine my light in his face. I called out, "Are you heading out?" I thought two flashlights might be better than one on this dark morning with only a waning crescent moon for light.

He responded, "I wouldn't be so foolish as to hike with only a headlamp."

"Okay, see ya then," I said as I strode purposefully away. I kept my light on the ground and any posted signs that loomed up in the darkness as I started out. As intent as I was on making a good beginning, it took me a few minutes to realize that the man was calling me foolish. "Oh well," I thought. "I'll be okay."

The North Elbert Trail is described as 4.6 miles with an elevation gain of 4,500 feet. Quite strenuous, but definitely rewarding. It begins by "hiking up through the great forest". I couldn't see anything except for the roots and rocks at my feet in the light of my flashlight. The woods were silent at predawn with only the sound of distant water. Even my boot clad feet were quiet on the pine needled trail. After about 2 1/2 miles I reached treeline at 11,900 feet and stopped to turn around, take in the panoramic sunrise, and have a snack.

Gentle Slope

The next part of the trail "switchbacks up a gentle slope".  I was looking forward to this part, because I thought it would be easy, before the "steep and difficult crux of the trail" that was to come later. But to my surprise and alarm, there was nothing at all "gentle" about this "slope". I had to stop at each and every switchback to catch my breath and let my heartbeat slow. Then I would turn and start up the next trying to breathe steadily.

The mountainside was so quiet and still at dawn, the only thing I could hear was the sound of my heaving breath and my heartbeat thundering in my ears. It was a little consolation to turn and take in the view of the slowly brightening and unfolding panorama. I stood still and took in the view, then after my heart and breath slowed, I would venture up the next course. Very quickly, I couldn't even make it across one full switchback. It got so that I was counting steps and then stopping and counting breaths and then going again, just to keep making steady progress. And of course the higher I got the harder it was to breathe. I started to really worry about being able to do the top part. As the number of steps between pauses to gasp for breath decreased, the niggling fear started to set in, "What if I can't do this?" and then, "I have a lot of time," I reasoned with myself. But I didn't have all day. There was the noontime daily thunderstorm to watch out for.

Just over this ridge is the large cirque

Finally, blissfully, I made it to the top of the northeast ridge.











I sat on a cairn, took a drink of water and pulled out a snack to enjoy while watching the sunrise and view, but mostly I was surveying the next part of the trail. With a cold eye.

From here I could see the large cirque at the top of Box Creek and quickly got my bearings. Straight up the ridge went the trail and then up the steep terrain to the small but really steep cone, the "crux" of the trail that climbs through talus. Once I gained that, it was easy sailing over a false summit and then on to the true summit. I started to relax for the first time. It all looked so close. "Hell, I can do that!" I thought. The worse was over.

As I sat there, I got out my iPhone and looked up two words: cirque - a bowl-shaped, steep-walled mountain basin carved by glaciation, often containing a small, round lake; and talus - a sloping mass of rocky fragments at the base of a cliff. I looked more closely at the cone. Was I going to take one step up that steep slope only to slide back two?

If you notice, reader, I have this terrible habit of doubting my abilities to summit until the summit is in plain view and I am a mere 20 yards from it.

 


I stood up and pulled on another layer and hat. With courage I started toward the crux. I could see more on the other side of the mountain as I gained altitude. My world opened up all around me, even though my goal was still the top of that cone.
 

Soon I arrived at the base of the cone, and as I climbed the talus-covered short switchbacks, I noticed three hikers in the distance coming up behind me. I stopped and watched them. All men. They didn't have to stop at every switchback. They didn't stop at all. They didn't look like they were fighting for breath, either. They moved like mechanized machines with their trekking poles swinging with every step. And they're clearly going to beat me to the top of this damn cone. In another 10 minutes, two of them were passing me by with hearty hellos. I was happy to see them and filled with renewed energy, but following them I still had to stop and breathe at every turn.

Once the false summit was gained, the rest was easy and before I knew it, I had joined them at the summit. The sun was all the way up now and the view was glorious. I felt like The Grinch when his heart grew three sizes that day.






 



I looked in every direction at mountaintops crammed shoulder to shoulder as far as the eye could see. 



 







I saw Twin Lakes and Emerald Lake, Mt. Massive, La Plada Peak, the Collegiate Peaks.

The friendly men became my lunch mates, plus someone to take my picture at the summit. Lunch at 9 am at the top of Colorado! at the top of the Rocky Mountains! my highest high point yet at 14,433 ft! I did it and I was ecstatic.

The four of us settled right at the cairn that marked the summit and exchanged information. Where we were from, where we started the hike, what time. 

They had started where I did, but an hour later than me! They mentioned a kooky guy acting weird in the parking lot. I said I saw one too, all in white. They said no, their man had on a red jacket. 



As we ate lunch and swapped stories and food, others began to arrive at the summit from different directions. Deciding to give them their turn, I packed up and said goodbye to my new found friends to head back down, still feeling great, still marveling at the view. 

Starting down

Then came this loud voice, "Hey! I'm sorry if I offended you down there. I thought about what I said and hoped you didn't think I was talking about you!"

I looked up. It was the spooky guy from the parking lot.

"It's okay, I didn't," I lied. I noticed he had a red jacket on. How did he know me? It was dark then.

"It's just that I was in my long johns," his voice rang out across all of the summit, even though he was only 10 feet from me. Everyone stopped to watch and listen. "So you surprised me there in the parking lot without my clothes on."

I looked around to see the bemused looks on people's faces and the knowing winks from my 3 new friends. I could tell they were thinking, "We told you he was a nutcase."

"I was waiting for light," he continued. "I won't hike in the dark myself, especially on an unknown trail. I was only talking about myself--that I wouldn't hike in the dark. But not you."

Alright already. It seemed the only thing I could do to shut him up was walk away. Which I did. I called back over my shoulder, "No worries!" And added sotto voce, "Spooky kook!"

This looks a lot more scary and steep than it is. Note the talus.

Coming down a mountain is always a joy for a few reasons. First of all, hopefully, you've done it! You've achieved your goal, you have some lovely pictures in your camera, and you feel good. Secondly, you see the view you missed a lot of on the way up. Thirdly, your lungs don't feel like bursting. Your braking muscles and joints have to work hard, but that is a small thing, comparatively.
   
And then you are passing the miserable ones still fighting their way up. Some have a smile on their face, but most have that serious look of resolve and torture. The look that says, "Why did I ever start this?"

Bottom of the Gentle Slope

   
I especially liked seeing the Great Forest once I hit treeline. I had missed this since it was dark when I ascended. 

I came across a forest work crew, a group of 10 or so young men and women. The fun thing was that they had bright primary colored hard hats, with Tshirts on to match; blue, yellow, red, and white. Also green. If Fisher-Price had made a Playskool Mountaineer/Hiker/Forest Ranger toy when I was younger, this is what the little wooden people would have looked like.

  
Yeah, these guys. Picture them with brightly colored hard hats on and a Playskool Mountain for them to work on.

As I passed them by I couldn't tell if they were a volunteer group, or on the clock. I asked them if they were working or playing. Their response, "Is there a difference?"

 

Most horrible selfie ever, sleep deprived but victorious.

I made it back to the parking lot by 11:30 or so. 24 hours before, I was in Denver stepping off of a plane from Cincinnati. Elbert, you were easier than I thought! 

Mt. Elbert, Top of the Rockies