Golden Gate Canyon State Park and Windy Peak, Colorado

Hiked today for the first time in a long time, a 9-mile loop around Golden Gate Canyon State Park, including the 9000-foot Windy Peak summit.

It will be three years this year since "the incident" and I still don't have my confidence back, but today felt good. And I'm excited to plan some trips this summer.

There's an episode of The Office (one of my favorite shows ever) after Michael has his heart broken by Holly, and he meets this woman while giving blood. They hit it off, but he passes out ("I was so nervous about this I don't think I've eaten in three days.") before he can get her number. She leaves her glove, though, and Michael picks it up, and all day he's hoping she'll show up again for her glove, but she never does. And at the end of the episode, in a rare moment of insight, he says, "Sometimes it's not about Cinderella getting her slipper back, but it's the fact that the prince picked up the slipper at all."

Because it's not about me getting back to snow-climbing and bushwhacking and multi-night backpacking trips. It's about the fact that I'm excited to do a single-night trip on a trail I've been on countless times before. It means I'm getting better. I'm trying to celebrate those victories, however small, rather than expecting myself to overcome a traumatic experience in an instant.

Because I keep planning these elaborate multi-night trips, and obviously I had to go somewhere I'd never been before, and it *had* to be 30 miles at least, and then I'd chicken out and find some excuse to not go. If healing means I'm gonna do eight-mile roundtrip overnights, if I'm gonna walk on trails you could take a car on, if I'm gonna go to Lost Creek Wilderness for the umpteenth time, I'm doing it.

Mount Evans West Ridge via Mount Spalding, Colorado

 

Greece: Day 6

Location: Loutro, Anopolis

I saw dawn today, as I was up early to do another hike; this time, I would be exploring Aradena Gorge with Ryan. The most strenuous part of the trip came first, scaling the hills that ring the coast of Crete, which required a good deal of steep switch-backing. At the top of the path there was an old monastery with a terrific 360-degree view; this allowed me my first true view of the interior of Crete (we have been travelling around the coast for the most part), which is a vast valley of farmland and little towns. We headed into Anopolis, where we got some breakfast. Anopolis felt the most genuine of all the places we’d been so far, and as such, I remember it fondly and clearly. I have no pictures of Anopolis; it was the first place I’d been to where I felt that taking photographs would be an invasion of privacy.

Aradena Gorge was, in truth, a lot more fun than Samaria. The trails are a bit less worn-in and there are a lot fewer people; Ryan and I did not spot a single soul until the very end of the hike, where some visitors from Marmara Beach were exploring the mouth of the canyon (we started at the top of the canyon and walked down). Once again, the hike reminded me forcibly of Colorado.

We ran into Leslie and Seth at Marmara, and we all had lunch together (cheese pie with honey for me), after which Ryan fell asleep with his head in his arms on the table. We collected beer bottles from the other restaurant patrons, arranged them around Ryan, and took a couple of pictures for posterity (and blackmail material) before he woke up, after which we left for the beach. Ryan fell asleep again on a beach chair, Seth and Leslie did some cliff-diving (I didn’t participate because I did not want to get wet), and then the three of us left Ryan to kayak back to Loutro; this was a great way to end the day, as I thought I was going to have to hike back to Loutro and not get any kayaking in at all.

Greece: Day 5

Location: Loutro/Agia Roumeli

Awoke to the sound of Coco, the African Grey parrot that belongs to the owner of the hotel we’re staying at, meowing this morning. He sits on top of his cage and hoots and whistles at the people who walk by. He has both English and Greek words.

Today was the day of my hard-won Samaria Gorge trip. After Ben, one of the guides, cautioned us repeatedly to return exactly at or preferably before five in the evening, we had five hours to ourselves. It was a nice little hike; it’s about two kilometers to walk to the entrance of the gorge, and then Lynn, Alexis, and I managed to get six kilometers in, close to halfway, before we had to turn around due to time constraints. It was a nice hike, with periodic water stops, some really cool ruins, and donkeys tied to posts (the park rangers there ride donkeys).

The weirdest thing about the gorge was that, once you got far enough away from the ocean, it was exactly like walking around in Colorado. The foliage was slightly different here and there, but it was uncanny. I even asked the other Coloradoans here about it, and they said they’d been thinking the same thing. Weird to find a bit of home in Greece.

Dinner was probably the best we’d had all week; I got lamb and Alexis got chicken, so we could share. The biggest event of the evening were the anti-austerity fire-bombings in Athens; all the locals have been glued to their TV sets. It’s a little weird vacationing in a place that’s up in arms against its government; I feel bad that these people must be worried about their friends and family in Athens, and we’re expecting them to act friendly and serve us delicious roasted meats.

The owner himself (Pavlos) served his home-brewed raki, called Pavlos Raki. I even got a picture with him.

Quandary Peak, Colorado

The second day of my Breckenridge hiking weekend, I awoke at five, hit the snooze button twice (like I was putting off getting up for work or something instead of an exciting hike up a fourteener, phwaha), and prepared myself breakfast. While I was eating, I was looking out the mesh door of my tent, and about halfway through my meal, I heard a rustling sound, which surprised me, because I was nowhere near any sort of trail in the area - why would someone be walking by? Why? Because that someone was a BEAR, toddling on its way not five feet from my tent door. I squeaked loudly and then immediately fell silent and froze, like a mouse. The bear stopped and surveyed my tent when it heard me, but thankfully nothing seemed to register (why didn't it smell my food?) and it moved on with its bear day. Thoroughly shaken, I waited ten minutes to make sure it wasn’t coming back, and then hastily threw everything together and moved quickly back to my car.

I was able to leave my camping accoutrements in the car, so I had a relatively light pack for the day. It was rough; I’m embarrassed, frankly, at how poorly I did. Happily, I did not experience altitude sickness, but I was so slow, I don’t know what my excuse was. No matter how slow I went, I still summitted, bagging myself a new altitude record in the process (up from 14,264 feet to 14,265 feet!).

Happy fourth, everyone!

My plan for the descent was to glissade down the Cristo Couloir, but found the snow far too soft for safe sliding or easy self-arrest. I did watch some folks armed only with large sticks slide successfully down much of the couloir, but there again is that paradox - am I just cowardly or are they ignorant? All I could think about was the possibility of breaking my tailbone on a rock beneath the snow. I cut over and picked my way slowly down the side of the mountain on the loose scree. This did offer some pretty unique opportunity to interact with a herd of fearless mountain goats, who did nothing more than stare at me blankly as I plowed my way through the meadow they were grazing in.

This was not nearly as fun and cute as people think it is when I tell them. These are animals and they're strong as, well, goats. Plus they have horns. It was actually pretty scary.

I was just pulling out of the trailhead parking lot headed home when I was flagged by a group of sad-looking people standing around. “Are you going to Denver?” they asked. Yes, I was. Well, their ride had lost her keys somewhere on the Quandary hike, and now they were stranded, would I give any of them a ride? I ended up agreeing to give two of them a ride back (the other two found another ride, and besides I couldn’t fit another person with my pack and all my camping junk still piled unceremoniously around my car from the bear encounter this morning). So I ended up driving Ginnie and her boyfriend back to their respective living places in Golden and Capitol Hill, and that was my good deed for the weekend. That and picking up a hitchhiker called Smiley on Saturday night, too.

Upper and Lower Mohawk Lakes in Breckenridge, Colorado

What a crappy awesome weekend! Absolutely nothing went right, but I still had a blast! I drove out to Breckenridge to do a little mountaineering over the long weekend; my goal was to push myself, and I certainly did that.

After some last-minute paper-polishing for class, I got to my first trailhead at Spruce Creek very late. Anticipating this, I planned a little night hike for myself - it followed a northern fork of Spruce Creek Trail until it met up with a four-wheel-drive road, which I would follow until reaching Upper Crystal Lake, where I would make camp. Early the following morning, I would summit Crystal Peak, do a little scramble to Father Dyer Peak, and depending on conditions, possibly scramble across to Mount Helen as well.

What *actually* happened (get used to hearing that) was that I sniffed back and forth over several miles of trail trying unsuccessfully to find the fork. I’m not a sweet trail-finder in broad daylight, so I was piss-poor in the dark. The trail I could find was helpfully marked with reflective blue diamond blazes and led to the Mohawk Lakes. So I went with it because I was exhausted.

But before I could sleep, I became nauseated from not eating that day, and it was all I could do to set up my tent (kudos to Big Agnes for making a tent that even a vomiting person can set up!) and collapse in it. The next morning, I awoke weak but refreshed.

I made my way up to the Mohawk Lakes very slowly; as I trudged up the path, I began to hate everyone who wasn’t also carrying a 25+-pound pack (which was everyone, except for some poor parents forced to tote their toddlers in those special baby backpacks).

The way to Upper Mohawk Lake involved crossing two snowfields. I find the more I learn about mountaineering, the more of a coward I am. I couldn’t believe how people were carelessly crossing these snowfields, while I walked across the fields with my (borrowed) helmet on and my (borrowed) ice axe in hand. I didn’t need them to cross, but I sure would’ve needed them if I fell. Admittedly, I probably would’ve done it, too, if I didn’t happen to bring equipment.

This is a picture taken just as I was approaching the upper lake. You approach from below the lake, and the shore is practically level with your eyeline as you walk up. It was like this perfectly clear crystalline pool held in place by magic or something, because you feel like by all means it should be pouring over.

On the way back, I did a fun glissade down one of those aforementioned snowfields between Lower and Upper Mohawk Lake, earning myself brief pseudo-celebdom among the picnickers at the bottom.

The Great Colorado Loop Officially Begins

Saw the man off on the Colorado Trail today from the alternate trailhead at Indian Creek; I walked with him about three miles before we parted ways, at which point he returned once again to Lenny’s Rest, where we’d hiked in January, and I walked back to his truck. Not exactly a good day, but I did make unusually good time back to the truck - three gently-uphill miles in about fifty minutes - and Glenn’s truck has a pretty decent sound system.

I’m Glenn’s thru-hiking sentinel of sorts; I am tasked with periodically sending out boxes of supplies, called “maildrops” in thru-hiking lingo, to strategically-chosen locations; the first goes out to the Fireside Inn in Breckenridge, which Glenn will be reaching in approximately ten days. We’re also scheduled to meet next Saturday afternoon for a campout at Kenosha Pass, when I will be bringing his snowshoes and an alternate pair of boots.

Mount Sanitas, Colorado

Walked up Mount Sanitas in Boulder with Glenn today. Fairly easy hike, short but vertically strenuous (lots of steps), the eternally patient Glenn waiting as I climbed around on the various rock piles dotting the area. Weather beautiful, got to unzip my cargo pants into shorts for the first time. Summit underwhelming, but I was glad for the exercise.

South Table Mountain, Colorado

Had some spontaneous Cameron time today, and we decided to do a hike. Cameron has had some extremely frightening and serious health issues recently, and he wanted to go somewhere that would not be too strenuous but still felt somewhat substantial. Enter the Table Mountains, mainstays in any amateur mountaineer’s arsenal. I’ve done the north one, so today we took the Lubahn Trail up South Table Mountain for a short hike and extended photo shoot. We found the perfect jutting piece of rock to play Batman on. Which we did, for like thirty minutes.

I also seized the opportunity to get another few geocaches under my belt. I had two set of coordinates plugged into my little Foretrex. The first turned out to be “hidden” about three feet from the trailhead, so I didn’t bother. The second, from the way the signal was jumping around in every direction, must have been attached to a caffeine-addled squirrel, so I walked away with no logs. Because I am a mature adult, I released my frustration by throwing things off the side of the mountain and watching them break when they hit the ground.