I envy your adventures high in the sky

By Frosty Wooldridge

 

Watching the flames lick the night air beneath clouds skidding across the sky at sunset—slows down the mind.  Gazing at the white smoke curl into a peaceful, quiet stillness—mesmerizes the soul.  What kind of magic would we encounter on our three days climbing magnificent mountains?   The answers lay ahead at the tops of these majestic peaks and the people along the way.

 

Jerry sat across from me soaking in the warmth of the embers.  His peaceful face reminded me of a poem from many years ago:

 

Have you ever sat by the campfire,

When the wood has fallen low;

And the embers start to whiten,

Around the campfire’s crimson glow.

 

With the night sounds all around you,

That makes silence doubly sweet;

And a full moon high above you,

That makes the spell complete.

 

Tell me were you ever nearer,

To the land of heart’s desire;

Than when you sat there thinking,

With your face toward the fire?

 

Something about the glow of a campfire and good friends sitting around it–their eyes moved by the spirit of the flames and a peaceful tranquility that all is right with the world.  As we sat there under a magnificent sky tucked between two massive mountain peaks on either side of the valley, we settled into the wilderness at our base camp at 11,000 feet.

 

Our goal?  We aimed to climb Wetterhorn at 14,009, UnCompahgre at 14,309 and Handies at 14,100 feet into the clear blue Rocky Mountain High Country. Could we do it in three days?  Yes, if the weather held.  We had been chased off the mountain two years ago from snow.  The quest remained in our minds!

 

Nothing like curling into our sleeping bags as the fire burned low and the evening grew late. Below us, the roaring white water of the unnamed river flowed along its rocky path.  Ever hear the ‘white music’ of a river rushing over the rocks on its way to the sea?  Nothing more beautiful and peaceful for one’s spirit. 

 

We slept like babies cradled by Mother Nature’s night sounds from the last bird chirp of the night, a few crickets and that magic from the river singing through the night.

 

Up at 5:45 AM.  Quick! Cook up some oatmeal. Yes, it warms the soul and sticks to the ribs. 

 

Grab the packs!  We threw in food, water, rain gear, lights, compass, mole skin, knives, sweaters and survival goodies to make our trek a safe one.  Let’s face it, you can get killed climbing a 14,000 foot peak, so it’s best to be prepared to live. Preparation is 9/10ths of success in any life endeavor.

 

We slung the packs over our backs while heading up a rocky trail covered in deep grass and flowers awaiting the morning sunshine.

 

Not far up the road, we ducked under a rail at the trail head.  Ahead, deep pine forest awaited along the rushing white water river.  We moved along it with springs in our steps.  Not far along, we watched a few birds fly away.  Two deer glanced at us while bounding away in a second.  We crossed over a blue colored river that had turned the rocks blue/gray. Really wild to see blue/gray water running over rocks as if through a tunnel of green grass and white flowers!  Nature astounds and stuns us with its creative power!

 

We broke out of the trees along the river to see a wide open valley with a long ridge in front of us. We took the left trail route that led across the river and up into the woods.  We splashed along a stream that covered the trail. Wildflowers abounded with pink paint brush, purple lupin flowers, yellow daisies, white daisies, blue bells and tiny white tundra flowers.  We took a few shots.  We trekked higher into the mountain along that river.

 

Soon, we saw another pair of climbers across the way. We saw from our topo map that we needed to move to the right and down a valley to catch up to the right trail.  That carried us up through dense green forest and undergrowth.

 

We broke out into the valley with the sun blazing across a line along the western slopes of high peaks. Couldn’t imagine how far it was, but snowfields filled the crevasses high above us.  A few hawks soared overhead to tell us that this wilderness area belonged to the animals.

 

The trail picked its way until we crossed another steam.  The trail cut further to the left up the valley. We hiked under blue skies and magnificent high peaks above us.  Just can’t begin to share with you the sights within our eyes’ grasp!  Rock gray summits stood like sentries around us while green tundra covered, like a blanket mantle, up the sides of the mountains.

 

“Gees, this is beautiful,” Jerry said.

“Can’t argue with you on that one my friend,” I replied.

“You see that peak ahead on the left,” Jerry pointed.

“Looks like a dorsal fin on a bass,” I said.

“That’s Wetterhorn,” he said.

“Good God! It looks more like a jagged tooth cutting upward into the sky,” I said.  “Good grief, it looks like it will take us two days to reach the top.”

“Let’s go,” Jerry said.

 

Not far along, we crossed over another  stream while we watched many water falls cascading white water down the gray rocks until they splashed into green mountain tundra.  They resembled the silver ear rings of a movie star at the Oscars. 

 

The trail moved slowing upward.  We labored under the thin air as we climbed.  Good to take a rest at intervals. 

 

We kept moving until we reached a quarter mile stretch of what could only be called a High Country Rock Garden.  We curled our way into the rocks to discover amazing stands of Colorado’s state flower the purple/white Columbine. Not only that, we witnessed the rare Albino Columbine bursting toward the sunshine and blue sky.  Around it, red paint brush flowers abounded while yellow mountain daisies competed for our attention.  The rock garden continued as we snapped picture after picture. 

 

Ah, too much beauty! Let’s move our bodies toward the gray rock past the treeline.  Yes, once past the trees, we gathered ourselves to reach higher with each step.  Within a few minutes, our journey began in earnest as we stepped onto rocky trail, ever bigger steps upward as we labored up switch backs.

 

Just before we began our final assault two hours later, we met two women who had climbed Mt. McKinley.  All of a sudden, we enjoyed conversations from a couple of serious climbers.  Jen and Christy found one of my lost camera cards on the trail.  “Thank you ladies,” I said.

 

From there, we breathed harder while we climbed higher.  About 500 feet from the top, we got into some serious, muscle work.  We climbed on all fours as we reached up from one rock to another along something that resembled a vertical bowling alley.  Just hoping the pins didn’t come tumbling down on our heads!

 

One hand on one rock!  One foot on one ledge!  One body breathing and living and crawling up gray rock!  There, looking at us stood a marmot! “What are you two humans doing?” he seemed to say.

 

“Jerry,” I said. “A marmot!”

“He must think we’re the same characters he sees every summer up here,” Jerry said.

 

We kept looking at the rock as we climbed it and made sure of every hand and foot hold.  The ladies climbed right along with us.  Great gals! Strong too!  Anybody that climbs Denali ranks in my book as a pretty tough cookie.

 

At that point up ahead of me out of sight, Jerry yelled out, “I’ve got some good news and bad news.”

 

“Oh heck,” I said. “What’s the bad news?”

 

“My altimeter says we’ve got a thousand feet to the top,” he said.

“What’s the good news,” I said.

“My altimeter is one thousand feet off,” he said. “I’m standing on the summit.”

 

I scrambled out of the bowling alley toward the higher rocks until, at last, I saw Jerry standing on the peak smiling. 

 

We walked around the card table top-sized peak for 20 minutes. We looked over the edge on our bellies to see a drop for 2,000 feet. “That’ll take your breath away,” Jerry said.

 

We shared lunch, talked with Jen and Christy, walked around, and gazed at the mountains around us.  We had climbed many of them before. Each brought a memory back to us.

 

Across from us, a mountain that looked like the Titanic loomed in the distance.  “That’s Uncompahgre,” Jerry said.  “It’s 14,309.”

 

“We’re going to climb that monster?” I said. 

“It’s waiting for us,” Jerry said.

 

We descended through the craggy rock face until we reached green tundra.  We retraced our steps back to base camp.  We packed our gear and headed back to Lake City.

 

Once in that quaint, “Mayberry RFD” town, we strolled through fabulous art shops.  Finally, we came to the local town museum.  In it, we read the history of the Alfred Packerd, the guy who ate his buddies to keep alive in 1870s.  Also, a guy named Jack Hinsdale, back in 1874, climbed UnCompahgre, but he also climbed it with a 50 pound bicycle strapped to his back and bicycled around the top of the peak!  Then, to show his prowess, he bicycled 1,800 miles from Colorado to somewhere on the East Coast. 

 

Amazing how one man enjoyed a zest for life and another ate his buddies for dinner!

 

Later in the day, we stopped by the Italian restaurant in town.  As soon as we walked in, we greeted the Italian hostess.  Jerry sat at a nice gingham clothe covered table with candle.  I talked to the hostess, Eva, who had come to America from northern Italy to help Angelo since his wife died. I excitedly told her about my plans to bicycle from the northwest tip of the boot of Italy all the way down the coast to the toe, then, to Sicily, then back onto the boot, up under the arch, around the heel and up the entire coast along the Adriatic side of the boot to the northeast tip of the boot. Along the way, I would photograph all the old Roman ruins and talk to people after having learned Italian.  I shared with Eva that I would write a book, “BICYCLING THE OLD ROMAN EMPIRE” and add pictures of all the Roman ruins.  She was thrilled!  I gave her a kiss on each cheek and sat down.

 

As Jerry and I ate a scrumptious lasagna dinner, with Italian bread, she came over with two glasses of wine, “On the house,” she said with a glow in her heart.

 

“You are so dear, gratzi,” I said.

 

We sped away toward our second task in the late evening. We found a campsite at 11,000 feet, set up tents in rainy mist under large pine trees.  We fell asleep with rain slamming hard on the tents.  It poured all night long! 

 

Next morning, we hit the trail before sunrise. We followed a work crew up the mountain toward our target of UnCompahgre.  Two deer hopped into the treeline as we approached.  We talked with other hikers heading toward the great mountain in the distance.  We trekked along a foot path that had been worn down one foot into the tundra from the thousands who hiked before us.

 

We crossed a wide stream, then several small ones as we made our way past the treeline and up into the treeless tundra.  Massive peaks loomed as the sun lit up the green sides of the peaks and further upward into the gray rock.

 

Hours later, we reached the base of the roughest part of the climb.  We scrambled up solid rock, scree rock and along difficult foot paths on our way to the top.  Finally, we dropped our packs, made a quick scramble to the top and crested a windy, cold summit where that guy rode his bike over 100 years ago.

 

One woman, 52, a bit plump, finally made it to the top. We praised her for her courage and determination. She was astounded that she made it and relieved, because she wasn’t sure she could climb it.  Another guy, climbed up in his bare feet only protected by his Berkenstocks!  Another gal made her first and only climb of a 14er before moving to Oregon next month.  Everybody shared a story as they munched on their lunch.

 

We climbed down.  We packed camp.  We rode back to Lake City.  We ate lunch at Charlie P’s. 

 

Later, with six hours of sunlight, we drove to American Basin for our final assault of Handies.  Oh my God!  Jerry drove us over eyepopping cliff faces.  As we drove along, my eyes widened to the size of fried eggs sunny side up!  As he drove, I gazed down upon eerie, vacant all consuming canyons thousands of feet below.  If he made one mistake, we’d better sprout wings on our way down.

 

An hour later, at 11,400 feet, we reached base camp in the fabled American Basin where wildflowers bloom in a rainbow of colors that make Denver’s botanical gardens look like a drab display of wannabees.  We jumped out of the car while gazing at snow-capped peaks that rose into pristine blue skies.  Snow-fields streaked white through green tundra.  Gray rock dominated.  In the back of the basin, white water plunged downward through gray rock to hit green fields filled with mind bending floral displays.  Mother Nature! Take a bow my dear!  You astound, mesmerize and flabbergast all at the same time.

 

We pitched camp right beside an acre of multiple-colored flowers designed to bring an eyeful of joy, heart full of beauty and an abundance of spiritual appreciation.  Jerry set up a chair out in the middle of the flowers while I took a picture.  Around him, millions of yellow petals from mountain daisies, bumblebees making their rounds, pink and red paint brush, purple lupin, white daisies, blue bells and more than 80 other flowers dominated the acre of color.

 

From there, we took a stroll up the river fenced with colors.  If you ever take a trip into Colorado High Country, head into the American Basin for a visual feast and spiritual treat that blows your eyeballs out of their sockets—make the trip around late July for maximum flower power.

 

That night, we cooked up dinners with hot chocolate while the campfire blazed beneath a beautiful night sky.  While Jerry enjoyed spoonfuls of Stroganoff, I ate curried rice and veggies. 

 

Above us, two deer walked quietly into the forest from the tundra.  Very cautious!  Lovely to see!  John Muir said, “How many hearts with warm red blood in them are beating under cover of the woods, and how many teeth and eyes are shining!  A multitude of animal people, intimately related to us, but whose lives we know almost nothing, are as busy about their own affairs as we are about ours.”

 

At that time, as we sat there talking about other moments in life, about our own lives and experiences, just imagine the peaceful joy upon our spirits as we sat in the cradle of nature.  We conquered two other great peaks.  We sipped steaming hot chocolate.  Can you imagine? Peace. Quiet. Stillness. Bliss. Visual joy.

 

As the campfire died, rain began.  We jumped into the tents for another night under a monsoon! Two inches fell by morning. 

 

Next day, we jumped out of the tents to see white cloud banners lit with yellow/gold from the rising sun stretching across the sky like horsetails on the run. Sweet, wet, green grasses glistened across the tundra.  The stream beside us jumped five inches from the rain fall.  Everywhere, flowers burst from their dark hiding places as the sun lured them into full bloom.

 

“My God,” Jerry said. “We’re camped in paradise!”

“Can’t argue,” I said.

 

We spread peanut butter on our sandwiches, gulped some water and headed up the path toward our final destination.  The rocky trail led through acres and acres of flowers.  Several committed photographers near the stream awaited the perfect moment where the sun might hit the flowers and the water at the same time.  Other climbers raced ahead of us and behind us.

 

Within a half hour, we reached a high mountain lake. It reflected the gray rock, snow banks and blue of the sky like a mirror.  We stood on its shoreline in total astonishment. You know, when you’re walking through such an amazing landscape, you’re filled  with awe, wonder and gratitude.  This window of life spans 70 odd years and how you fill it determines how you feel at the end of your ‘moment on earth’.  That day, we filled our lives, in fact, those three days could be deemed the three most perfect climbing days of our lives.  Jerry agreed.

 

John Muir said, “Thousands of tired, nerve-shaken, over-civilized people are beginning to find out that going to the mountains is going home; that wilderness is a necessity; and that the mountains run with rivers that create fountains of life.”

 

Funny, but we saw people a thousand feet above us and a thousand feet below us.  Each of us, on our own journey, stepping forward with a mate or friend and some alone–and all of us on our own quest through life.  Jerry and I enjoyed that moment.  We celebrated our good fortune.  We talked of past events and future climbs.  No question that friendship makes life a grand blessing.  I know what going alone means from my solo travels to remote places in the world.  Better to share with a friend!

 

We climbed for another hour while taking short breaks.  The sun rose in the sky as we crested a ridge. Beyond, gapping canyons thousands of feet below us!  Some mountains featured white/purple/gray/yellow rock that swept down like someone had spilled a paint can filled with many colors.  Up, up, still further into the sheer beauty of our surroundings and fresh, clean air refreshing our lungs with every breath!  Below our feet, tiny purple, white and yellow tundra flowers no bigger than the tip of your little finger burst in patches along the trail.  A marmot gave notice to us that he lived there.  Another pika rodent gave a chirp.  Several hawks circled in the distance.

 

We climbed dozens of switchbacks until, yes, we summitted Handies for a glorious view for 100 miles in all directions.  What does it mean to climb a 14,000 foot mountain?  You’re invited on the next trip to find out for yourself.

 

My friend John Muir said, “Camp out among the grass and gentians of the glacier meadows, in craggy garden nooks of Nature’s darlings. Climb the mountains and get their good tidings.  Nature’s peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees.  The winds will blow their own freshness into you, and the storms their energy, while cares will drop off like autumn leaves.”

 

Imagine two friends standing on a majestic 14,000 foot peak in the middle of summer while below– millions of wildflowers lift their colors to the sun. Above, blue sky rages across the heavens while wispy clouds move in from the West!  Like all adventures, we stood at the top for a moment in time; but like all moments, we must let go the instant and move toward our lives.  With us, in the summer of 2007, we climbed down from that mountain with our spirits soaring high in the heavens.

 

 

For Frosty’s world bicycling and adventure books: www.frostywooldridge.com