Mt. Evans and I have unfinished business; it defeated me last time when dizziness, exhaustion, cold, and nausea sent me up thirteener Mt. Spalding instead, but I’m remedying that this weekend. Alone. My usual hiking partner has company visiting this weekend, and none of my other friends are quite so “hardcore.” Anyway, I could use the Alana-time - it’s such a rare occurrence.
Sans Glenn, I get to plan my very own trip. He says that it’s going to be a transformational experience. I’ll be leaving the house Sunday morning at 4:30-5 to get to Summit Lake trailhead around seven, where I’ll make my way up Mt. Spalding and around and further up to Evans. I was debating shooting straight up the nasty gravel slope on the side of Mt. Evans, summitting, and sliding back down, but heading up via Spalding seems more substantial, and more respectful, in a way. 3.7 miles, 1,829 vertical feet - cake, right?
So… will I make it up the mountain without Glenn pointing out the trailmarkers I missed, telling me when to drink water, and feeding me crackers when I get crabby?
LATER: I spent the weekend breezing through Colorado 14er Disasters by Mark Scott-Nash and working myself into a tizzy about hiking Mt. Evans today. Actually, it was cherry pie. I arrived at Summit Lake (12,850) around 7a, despite forgetting my driving instructions and having to get there by memory. I realized I’d forgotten my compass after I’d headed off on the trail so I had to dart back to my car after only a few minutes, but then I was on my way. Glenn and I had used Summit Lake as the trailhead to climb the Sunrise Couloir in June, but in August, all the snow has melted out of the ravine, and now it’s just an ugly red scar in the rocks.
Today was foggy. The mountains’ summits were both veiled by this low-hanging haze and as I climbed further up, it started dropping. I’ve been researching mountaineering safety, and while I’m well-aware of what to do in the event of, say, a thunderstorm, but I hadn’t considered fog. It wasn’t too bad at the altitude I was at, though, so I kept going and hoped that the sun would burn it off, since I really really really didn’t want to have to turn around on my first planned attempt at a fourteener.
I unfortunately fell into the company of two couples also making their way to Evans. As we made small talk, I really missed Glenn, who is the strong, silent type. And also, this is silly, but I had gotten attached to the idea of going it alone: I was supposed to be traversing unknown territory with only myself to rely on, like a pioneer! But instead I was hanging out with these four people and their jumpy yappy dog.
The fog got worse as we gained altitude, and I got more uncomfortable; I even started hiking back down at one point, but something got the better of me, whether it was the nonchalance of the other members of my hiking club or my own intractability. As the fog closed in, I didn’t like the idea of turning back alone, either; visibility was just as bad behind me as it was in front of me, and at least going forward, I was part of a group. It’s easy to get attached to people when they seem like your only lifeline.
I began to doubt the wisdom of placing so much faith in them, though, when they started heading west from Mt. Spalding, when Evans was very definitely south. Initially I followed them - the male half of the couple seemed very confident in his choice of direction - but I’ve been on the saddle between Evans and Spalding, and I didn’t recognize anything. I told them I didn’t think we were in the right place, but they continued on while I was plunging around the ridge looking for something I could remember. Long after they’d dashed into the fog, I remembered I had a map and compass (thank god I went back for it!), and using the two, I was able to correct the wrong turn and head southeast. Oh, my heart when I recognized the ridge by Sunrise!
From there, it was easy. The sun came out and the fog fell away, so I was able to move off the trail and do some scrambles nearby. I ran into more hikers (no sign of my former group, though), and I must have looked impressive on the rocks or something, because the rest of them started following me - talk about the blind leading the blind. Before I noticed this curious behavior, I accidentally “led” them across some unpleasant outcropping, which is when they started hollering, “I can’t get over that, is this the trail? I think the trail is down there!” I had to explain to them that I was specifically trying to climb around the rocks and that they should follow the cairns if they want to take the trail. So we went our separate ways, and I managed to maintain a perfect distance that kept them within line of sight but outside of earshot. I stuck to the ridge of the saddle, where I could look out pretty easily; it’s so weird to see birds flying far below you!
The summit of Evans was covered in remote control cars, children, dogs, and photographers. Happily, I encountered the couple who had ignored my warning on Mt. Spalding - they had made a bit of distance west before realizing their error, but they, too, were able to right themselves. I didn’t stay on the summit long; I’d had my way with Mt. Evans, and I didn’t care to sit around admiring the scenery or allow tiny plastic cars to run into my ankles. I debated hitching a ride down, but my energy level was high and I was feeling very cheerful - I’d made it up my first fourteener and I was very relieved that couple hadn’t gotten lost in the wilderness - so I decided to finish the loop on foot and face my nemesis, the loose gravel slope. I was making steady progress until I fell and twisted my knee, and then the unpleasantness of stumbling down loose gravel was multiplied by pain. I hate loose gravel slopes.
I made slow progress back to my car and finally reached Summit Lake at noon. I was on the trail for five hours - a glacial pace, I realize, to walk four miles, but in my defense, I spent most of it taking long unnecessary detours whenever I saw a rock with good handholds. My energy level was excellent the entire time, I kept myself hydrated and sated, felt no ill effects of the altitude, found my way back after being lost, got a lot of scrambling and exposure practice, set a new altitude record (14,264), and, most importantly, I finished.
Spending the evening with my knee elevated and iced.
Sans Glenn, I get to plan my very own trip. He says that it’s going to be a transformational experience. I’ll be leaving the house Sunday morning at 4:30-5 to get to Summit Lake trailhead around seven, where I’ll make my way up Mt. Spalding and around and further up to Evans. I was debating shooting straight up the nasty gravel slope on the side of Mt. Evans, summitting, and sliding back down, but heading up via Spalding seems more substantial, and more respectful, in a way. 3.7 miles, 1,829 vertical feet - cake, right?
So… will I make it up the mountain without Glenn pointing out the trailmarkers I missed, telling me when to drink water, and feeding me crackers when I get crabby?
LATER: I spent the weekend breezing through Colorado 14er Disasters by Mark Scott-Nash and working myself into a tizzy about hiking Mt. Evans today. Actually, it was cherry pie. I arrived at Summit Lake (12,850) around 7a, despite forgetting my driving instructions and having to get there by memory. I realized I’d forgotten my compass after I’d headed off on the trail so I had to dart back to my car after only a few minutes, but then I was on my way. Glenn and I had used Summit Lake as the trailhead to climb the Sunrise Couloir in June, but in August, all the snow has melted out of the ravine, and now it’s just an ugly red scar in the rocks.
Today was foggy. The mountains’ summits were both veiled by this low-hanging haze and as I climbed further up, it started dropping. I’ve been researching mountaineering safety, and while I’m well-aware of what to do in the event of, say, a thunderstorm, but I hadn’t considered fog. It wasn’t too bad at the altitude I was at, though, so I kept going and hoped that the sun would burn it off, since I really really really didn’t want to have to turn around on my first planned attempt at a fourteener.
I unfortunately fell into the company of two couples also making their way to Evans. As we made small talk, I really missed Glenn, who is the strong, silent type. And also, this is silly, but I had gotten attached to the idea of going it alone: I was supposed to be traversing unknown territory with only myself to rely on, like a pioneer! But instead I was hanging out with these four people and their jumpy yappy dog.
The fog got worse as we gained altitude, and I got more uncomfortable; I even started hiking back down at one point, but something got the better of me, whether it was the nonchalance of the other members of my hiking club or my own intractability. As the fog closed in, I didn’t like the idea of turning back alone, either; visibility was just as bad behind me as it was in front of me, and at least going forward, I was part of a group. It’s easy to get attached to people when they seem like your only lifeline.
I began to doubt the wisdom of placing so much faith in them, though, when they started heading west from Mt. Spalding, when Evans was very definitely south. Initially I followed them - the male half of the couple seemed very confident in his choice of direction - but I’ve been on the saddle between Evans and Spalding, and I didn’t recognize anything. I told them I didn’t think we were in the right place, but they continued on while I was plunging around the ridge looking for something I could remember. Long after they’d dashed into the fog, I remembered I had a map and compass (thank god I went back for it!), and using the two, I was able to correct the wrong turn and head southeast. Oh, my heart when I recognized the ridge by Sunrise!
From there, it was easy. The sun came out and the fog fell away, so I was able to move off the trail and do some scrambles nearby. I ran into more hikers (no sign of my former group, though), and I must have looked impressive on the rocks or something, because the rest of them started following me - talk about the blind leading the blind. Before I noticed this curious behavior, I accidentally “led” them across some unpleasant outcropping, which is when they started hollering, “I can’t get over that, is this the trail? I think the trail is down there!” I had to explain to them that I was specifically trying to climb around the rocks and that they should follow the cairns if they want to take the trail. So we went our separate ways, and I managed to maintain a perfect distance that kept them within line of sight but outside of earshot. I stuck to the ridge of the saddle, where I could look out pretty easily; it’s so weird to see birds flying far below you!
The summit of Evans was covered in remote control cars, children, dogs, and photographers. Happily, I encountered the couple who had ignored my warning on Mt. Spalding - they had made a bit of distance west before realizing their error, but they, too, were able to right themselves. I didn’t stay on the summit long; I’d had my way with Mt. Evans, and I didn’t care to sit around admiring the scenery or allow tiny plastic cars to run into my ankles. I debated hitching a ride down, but my energy level was high and I was feeling very cheerful - I’d made it up my first fourteener and I was very relieved that couple hadn’t gotten lost in the wilderness - so I decided to finish the loop on foot and face my nemesis, the loose gravel slope. I was making steady progress until I fell and twisted my knee, and then the unpleasantness of stumbling down loose gravel was multiplied by pain. I hate loose gravel slopes.
I made slow progress back to my car and finally reached Summit Lake at noon. I was on the trail for five hours - a glacial pace, I realize, to walk four miles, but in my defense, I spent most of it taking long unnecessary detours whenever I saw a rock with good handholds. My energy level was excellent the entire time, I kept myself hydrated and sated, felt no ill effects of the altitude, found my way back after being lost, got a lot of scrambling and exposure practice, set a new altitude record (14,264), and, most importantly, I finished.
Spending the evening with my knee elevated and iced.
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