In light of today being the 5 year anniversary of Brad, Justin and myself summitting Mt Kilimanjaro (tallest mountain in Africa) I wanted to post a couple articles and thoughts from that trip so long ago.
Here is an article that I wrote for Backpacker Magazine for the Winter 2007 issue (the version that appeared in the magazine was much shorter). Enjoy!
The Mount Kilimanjaro Expedition
By Kyle Coon
It was a dream come true. Terry was on my left, and Justin, (Tex) was on my right. We were the three instigators behind this entire thing. It kind of started like this. Tex and I were lounging in our tent at our high camp on the Ankascocha Trail in Peru. Tex turned to me and said, “K Coon, you know we’re showing the world something man. I mean, Big E (Erik Weihenmayer, the first blind man to summit the seven summits) showed them that a blind guy can do anything. But the thing is, we’re showing them again. I have been thinking for a while, I’d like to do something a little bigger.”
I replied, “Yeah, I’ve been wanting to do something a little bigger too.”
He hesitated for a second, and then plunged ahead. “K Coon, how would you like to do Denali?”
It was silent for a minute, “That’s too big for us to do next year.”
Then a few days later the subject was brought up again, this time on the train heading back from Machu Picchu to Cuzco. Tex and Terry were talking about it behind me and suddenly I got a brain wave. Turning around I abruptly said, “Tex, let’s do Kilimanjaro.”
So about a year later, we found ourselves hugging and crying on top of Africa.
Our team leader was Eric Alexander, two time summitter of Kili, various other remarkable summits and guide and teammate to Erik Weihenmayer on Mount Everest. We had managed to piece together a team of ten students. We had come together before on our trip to Peru in the summer of 2006. We were joined once again by Global Explorers, a non-profit organization who brings students to understand their culture and other cultures as well as stress the importance of service along the way.
We departed from the states on June 15, 2007. We flew out of Detroit to Amsterdam, then onto Kilimanjaro International Airport just outside of Arusha Tanzania.
Our trip was not meant to only be a trek up Kilimanjaro, but to experience the culture of Africa and learn about blindness there as well, the reason being that three of the ten on this team were blind, I being one and one visually impaired.
That first day in Arusha, we drove to a school where we met up with twenty Tanzanian students, ten of the students were blind. The students were as interested in us as we were in them. They immediately started teaching us their language, Swahili. We learned a lot, but were all very forgetful. Despite forgetting a lot of the major components of the language, it was great fun learning from them, and carried with us some ways to jokingly insult each other later on the trip.
We went to the local taxidermy office with the students to learn about conservation. We drove to Moshi the following day to a farmer’s plantation and learned about the specifics of soil composition and trends of farming in the area. We also visited a hospital to learn about eye care in Africa. The Mweka Wildlife College was another stop for us. We visited with some more students, this time from the community of Msinga for some traditional dancing and food. We sadly said good-bye to our friends that we had made during the three days in the city. That night, we packed for our morning departure to begin our trek up Mount Kilimanjaro.
We were doing the Marangu Route, which is the more heavily traveled route up Kili. Our first day, we trekked about four hours through the rainforest to our first camp, which was a series of huts set up for sleeping and eating. Now if you aren’t familiar with the way a blind person treks allow me to explain. A sighted guide walks in front of us and jingles a bell which hangs from the loop of a trekking pole. The guide will tap the pole on rocks and roots to be avoided, or if they are comfortable they will give the blind person verbal directions. “Big step up. Rock left.” Sometimes we get bored and form our own hiking lingo. “Step up onto a half a cow. Chicken heads scattered across the trail. Ankle breakers, step carefully.” That first hut we stayed at was called Mandara Hut.
After a breakfast of eggs, toast and choke meal (oatmeal) we set off trekking through the Heather and Morelands. We hiked for about five to seven hours before reaching Horombo Hut. All the while stopping to take pictures and enjoy the scenery. Each sighted person took turns guiding the blind, and all the while we were getting higher.
Horombo was about 12300 feet up. We were getting to higher altitudes. Some people were getting head aches and starting to cough but nothing major. We took the next day and made it an acclimatization day. We hiked to a sight called Zebra Rocks and admired it for some time before heading back to Horombo.
The next day we all clarified as a boring hike. It was a gradual slope upwards through the desert. We passed the last water point on the mountain and continued climbing up to Kibo Hut, around 15500 feet. Everyone was exhausted, even though the hike hadn’t been that rough, the altitude was taking a toll on everyone. Dust was coating our faces and throats. We were coughing, people were developing headaches and it was fairly chilly. Everyone wanted to crawl into their sleeping bag in the hut and get some rest, only waking to have a quick bite of dinner only to go back to bed.
Some would fall asleep for an hour or so and then wake up. Thankfully the only times I woke up during the night were to go outside to use the bathroom. I couldn’t deny that I was worried now. One in the group had been moving very slowly and had barely eaten anything, one had a cough that wasn’t going away, and another was nauscious and suffering from sever headaches. I wondered how many of us could make the summit.
Finally though, midnight of the next night came and we all departed. A couple had gone ahead an hour earlier. Before the rest of us set off for the summit, I asked Tex whether he felt up to guiding me to the summit as we had long wanted to do. “I’m sorry man, but I can barely see tonight and I don’t feel comfortable guiding,” he said. So I tossed by bells to my teammate Max who had been ready to backseat drive me. We set off, but 20 minutes into the climb two from our group had to turn back due to sickness. The rest of us gritted our teeth and continued. Terry had a splitting headache, Alysha had thrown up just before reaching Gilman’s but we were continuing to move upward.
Eventually, Elias, one of our guides, linked his arm with mine and guided me the last two hundred yards to the sign marking the roof of Africa. There we waited as the rest of the group pulled up behind us. And there we all celebrated. A year of hard work and preparation had brought us all to this point, and we all wanted to soak it in for as long as possible. We took a group photo on top before finally turning around and descending down through the rock fields below Gilman’s point, and then down the endless scree fields below that; down through the desert; the heath and moorlands; the rainforest and finally down to the Marangu Gate. But even though that particular climb was over, it was only the beginning of another chapter in my young mountaineering life.
Monday, June 25, 2012
Climbing Blind
In light of today being the 5 year anniversary of Brad, Justin and I summitting Mt Kilimanjaro (tallest mountain in Africa), I wanted to post a couple things/articles that several of us had written after returning from Kili. Here is an article that teammate Justin Grant wrote for his local DBS (Division of Blind Services) Newsletter soon after we returned from Kilimanjaro. Enjoy!
Climbing Blind
By Justin Grant
Looking up into the black sky littered with twinkling lights in the distance, the only thought on my mind was to keep moving. Even after a long week of intense climbing I was somehow able to force my exhausted body further along the steep incline of scree rock that lead to the icy summit of Mt. Kilimanjaro. I could hear the pounding of my teammates feet on the loose rock as we climbed higher in the bitter cold. Terry was just ahead of me, following the bells that Brad rang to guide him. Before we left our high camp, I had confided a fear of mine to the team. I wasn’t sure how well I could perform being as I was the only visually impaired climber on the team. I was hesitant to guide one of my blind team mates on the start of our summit attempt. Adrenaline soared through my body as I dwelled on the thought of what we were about to attempt. I had never before set a goal so large before. The higher we went the colder it got. I could see what appeared to be tiny ice crystals forming on Jill’s balaclava from the condensation from her breath. For hours we climbed on, our sights set on making at least Gillman’s Point. When we heard our team leader Eric Alexander, an Everest veteran, was turning back our hearts and hopes sank into the pit of the volcano itself. We all thought, our inspiration, our leader is turning around and now there’s just a bunch of rookie American teenagers, almost half of which are blind, in the middle of Africa. How can we go on? I once heard a climber tell me the only thing on your mind should be Ambition and Fear. The ambition is the overwhelming desire to get to the top, but the fear will keep you alive. It seemed as though we all had the ambition to make the summit of Mt. Kilimanjaro, and a few had the fear. Three of us in the team decided to turn around that night. All three had previously been sick before we started our summit attempt. Their fear was more real than anyone’s. Even for me, the only visually impaired climber, I was more set on making the summit than anything else, but in the back of my mind, my fear was rising. I could feel my legs beginning to tremble under my weight from the intense use. My greatest fear was that I would have to turn around and I would not be able to summit with my team, who had become like family over the past few days.
Watching what looked like the trail ahead of me I heard Brand yell “I see snow!” I knew we were getting close. We could actually make it. The farther up we went the higher my spirits rose. Adrenaline began pumping again and in just a little while later, we had reached the crater rim. In the distance we could see the morning sun trying peer across the massive crater that lay before me. We had made it to Gillman’s Point. As we took a short break we had to remind each other that this wasn’t the top, there was still a little more to go, but the summit was in sight, Before long, we all got up to make the final pitch for the top. As we walked along the craters edge the suns rays had broken through the dense layer of cloud far off in the distance. It was the most inspiring sun rise I had ever seen. I counted myself lucky for still being able to see it, in Africa of all places.
The sign was in sight. I had guided Terry the final steps of the journey. We were all concerned for him. He looked as though he were about to die. I spoke to guide him. “Terry, just a little further, a few more steps, I want you to feel this sign in front of us.” As I spoke we walked strait for the sign that welcomed us to the roof of Africa. Out of the blue I heard a soft thump just below me. I looked to see that when I had stopped speaking, Terry kept moving. He had run himself into the sign I had wanted him to feel. I guess I still got what I was going for. Terry didn’t seem to care he’d just run into a random sign on top of a volcano.
None the less we had made it. Three blind, six sighted, myself, and our guides.
Climbing Blind
By Justin Grant
Looking up into the black sky littered with twinkling lights in the distance, the only thought on my mind was to keep moving. Even after a long week of intense climbing I was somehow able to force my exhausted body further along the steep incline of scree rock that lead to the icy summit of Mt. Kilimanjaro. I could hear the pounding of my teammates feet on the loose rock as we climbed higher in the bitter cold. Terry was just ahead of me, following the bells that Brad rang to guide him. Before we left our high camp, I had confided a fear of mine to the team. I wasn’t sure how well I could perform being as I was the only visually impaired climber on the team. I was hesitant to guide one of my blind team mates on the start of our summit attempt. Adrenaline soared through my body as I dwelled on the thought of what we were about to attempt. I had never before set a goal so large before. The higher we went the colder it got. I could see what appeared to be tiny ice crystals forming on Jill’s balaclava from the condensation from her breath. For hours we climbed on, our sights set on making at least Gillman’s Point. When we heard our team leader Eric Alexander, an Everest veteran, was turning back our hearts and hopes sank into the pit of the volcano itself. We all thought, our inspiration, our leader is turning around and now there’s just a bunch of rookie American teenagers, almost half of which are blind, in the middle of Africa. How can we go on? I once heard a climber tell me the only thing on your mind should be Ambition and Fear. The ambition is the overwhelming desire to get to the top, but the fear will keep you alive. It seemed as though we all had the ambition to make the summit of Mt. Kilimanjaro, and a few had the fear. Three of us in the team decided to turn around that night. All three had previously been sick before we started our summit attempt. Their fear was more real than anyone’s. Even for me, the only visually impaired climber, I was more set on making the summit than anything else, but in the back of my mind, my fear was rising. I could feel my legs beginning to tremble under my weight from the intense use. My greatest fear was that I would have to turn around and I would not be able to summit with my team, who had become like family over the past few days.
Watching what looked like the trail ahead of me I heard Brand yell “I see snow!” I knew we were getting close. We could actually make it. The farther up we went the higher my spirits rose. Adrenaline began pumping again and in just a little while later, we had reached the crater rim. In the distance we could see the morning sun trying peer across the massive crater that lay before me. We had made it to Gillman’s Point. As we took a short break we had to remind each other that this wasn’t the top, there was still a little more to go, but the summit was in sight, Before long, we all got up to make the final pitch for the top. As we walked along the craters edge the suns rays had broken through the dense layer of cloud far off in the distance. It was the most inspiring sun rise I had ever seen. I counted myself lucky for still being able to see it, in Africa of all places.
The sign was in sight. I had guided Terry the final steps of the journey. We were all concerned for him. He looked as though he were about to die. I spoke to guide him. “Terry, just a little further, a few more steps, I want you to feel this sign in front of us.” As I spoke we walked strait for the sign that welcomed us to the roof of Africa. Out of the blue I heard a soft thump just below me. I looked to see that when I had stopped speaking, Terry kept moving. He had run himself into the sign I had wanted him to feel. I guess I still got what I was going for. Terry didn’t seem to care he’d just run into a random sign on top of a volcano.
None the less we had made it. Three blind, six sighted, myself, and our guides.
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Slaying the RAMM
Slaying The RAMM
The RAMM. Shelf Road, Canyon City, Colorado.
Wednesday, July 12, 2011
I dangled from my daisychain, feet hanging in open space the wall just a few inches away. I was cleaning a 5.11C that BC had put up called Cactus Rose. My forearms were burning and it was hard to squeeze open the gate of a carabiner. Cleaning a route always made me nervous because there's always that fear of dropping that lifeline known as a rope. I threaded the rope through the bolts and tied back in. Then unclipped the daisychain and BC slowly lowered me back to the ground. Ian had been cleaning the 5.9 crack climb that we all had climbed and everyone was now talking of their plans. Ian and BC were planning on heading out and getting back to Florissant. Brendan and I were going to stay and maybe do another climb or two. We wanted to try putting up a 5.10. Neither of us had ever led a 5.10 before. BC had put up Cactus Rose and I'd simply top roped it. I definitely was not strong or skilled enough to lead 5.11 just yet. But Brendan and I both felt that it was time to push our level.
So after a short break, some water and barbecue chips we flipped through our guidebook and came across a route called "The RAMM". Rated at 5.10 plus we thought this would be a good project to work on. The route was 9 bolts plus 2 anchors. Brendan took the first crack at the RAMM.
The first bolt was about 15 feet up on a very smooth face. Brendan couldn't find good enough hand and foot holds on the face to get up, so he started on the far right and worked up a dihedral and then traversed over to the bolt to clip in. He then began working the face but wound up working back over to the right back to the dihedral. He worked up and finally clipped the 6th bolt and it looked like he might be able to pull off the ascent on the first go. But then he stalled out and was unable to clip the 7th bolt. He tried several more times but just couldn't make the clip. So finally, he clipped a bale-out biner and cleaned the route so I could take a shot at it.
I followed Brendan's same line of climbing and managed to get up to and clip the 6th bolt. The 7th bolt was only a few feet higher and it took me a few goes but I finally clipped it. The eighth bolt was up a fair distance, about 10-12 feet over a small slightly overhanging roof. I was exhausted and attempted to claw my way up towards the bolt. But the roof repeatedly forced me to back down. I didn't want to take a whipper and crash into the wall. In short, I wasn't bold enough to go for it. I got to a point where I felt some jugs that could definitely be helpful, but apart from that not much. I didn't know how to get to the eighth bolt.
I reclipped the bale-out biner and rapp down, cleaning off all the quickdraws. Brendan and I disappointedly packed up our gear and began moving down toward the canyon floor and Brendan's car. But we both vowed to return and "Slay The RAMM".
Over the next two weeks I spent hours in the small bouldering house on Sanborn camp property where I worked for the summer. I was determined that the next time I attempted the RAMM I would conquer it.
A couple weeks after our day of climbing at Shelf, Brendan and I returned with a plan of "Slaying The RAMM". It was Saturday afternoon and we planned on climbing until it was too dark to climb, or until we just couldn't climb any more.
We arrived at Shelf around 4:00 and climbed a couple of 5.8 warm ups. Then we turned our attention to the hated RAMM. We studied it for a while and then Brendan took a crack at it. He worked his way up it, using more of the face this time around and got to the seventh bolt with little difficulty. We had both trained hard and felt confident that after a few tries we would conquer the RAMM. We had also decided that we were going to be bold and not afraid to take a few whippers. Brendan promptly took about a 15 footer in trying to go for the eighth bolt. The whippers slowly increased in length and violence as he continued trying. He finally gave up since his forearms and fingers were burning.
It was my turn. I went for it and worked the face for a good while. I clipped the seventh bolt and then went for the kill. I climbed up to the jugs I had noticed on my last attempt and cranked off a pull-up. I reached up high for what I hoped would be a good hold, and I promptly lost grip and peeled. "Shit!" I cursed as I came to a bouncing stop about two bolts below. I tried again and this time got a little higher, but again fell.
Brendan had tried working up left and then back right to try and clip the eighth bolt. I decided to look for something on the right. I found a kneebar and middle finger lock off that was fairly solid and then I reached up and locked into a semi-solid jug that flaked out from a ledge about four inches wide. If I could pull off a mantle on the ledge the bolt would be mine. But my fingers slipped off the jug and the ledge and I tumbled into space again. I repeated this maneuver several times but always came up just shy of the bolt.
Finally, I backed down and Brendan took another crack at. it. He managed to clip the quickdraw into the bolt but then fell before he could clip the rope. He came off after a few more tries. I tried clipping the rope but also failed. Finally, on his third go up the wall Brendan clipped the rope into the quickdraw. But now we were presented with a different part of the crux.
Brendan noticed that the ledge was part of a block that was not entirely solid on the wall. 1%F we could somehow stand on the ledge we could reach the next bolt. But the difficulty was getting our feet up on the ledge without it breaking off or up falling and smashing into the rock and bloodying up our bodies. Brendan gave it a couple goes but backed down. I climbed up with the rope secured as a top rope to see if 1 Could somehow work out a sequence. I thought I found a sequence to get up on the ledge by grabbing onto a soap bar sized chunk of rock up and to the left on the edge of a roof, and then heel hoking the ledge and then cranking up and reaching with the right hand for the bolt. But my arms and legs were shaking too badly that I couldn't pull off the move. We decided that we couldn't yet "Slay the RAMM". I clipped our trusty bale-out biner into the bolt and rapped down.
My heart was heavy with the disappointment of being unable to complete a climb. But I was also satisfied that we'd given it everything we had for that day. We returned to Shelf Road later in the summer. The RAMM was calling our names but we resisted. We instead turned our attention to some slightly easier 5.10s knowing that we'd have to be much better climbers before we could finish the RAMM. I know the RAMM is there. I know it's been climbed by numerous others that have visited Shelf Road. I probably won't return to Shelf until next summer. The RAMM is there and he isn't going anywhere. When I'm climbing in the gym here in Orlando the RAMM lurks in the background of my mind. I know he's there, and I know he's waiting for me. One day I will return to face down and slay the RAMM.
The RAMM. Shelf Road, Canyon City, Colorado.
Wednesday, July 12, 2011
I dangled from my daisychain, feet hanging in open space the wall just a few inches away. I was cleaning a 5.11C that BC had put up called Cactus Rose. My forearms were burning and it was hard to squeeze open the gate of a carabiner. Cleaning a route always made me nervous because there's always that fear of dropping that lifeline known as a rope. I threaded the rope through the bolts and tied back in. Then unclipped the daisychain and BC slowly lowered me back to the ground. Ian had been cleaning the 5.9 crack climb that we all had climbed and everyone was now talking of their plans. Ian and BC were planning on heading out and getting back to Florissant. Brendan and I were going to stay and maybe do another climb or two. We wanted to try putting up a 5.10. Neither of us had ever led a 5.10 before. BC had put up Cactus Rose and I'd simply top roped it. I definitely was not strong or skilled enough to lead 5.11 just yet. But Brendan and I both felt that it was time to push our level.
So after a short break, some water and barbecue chips we flipped through our guidebook and came across a route called "The RAMM". Rated at 5.10 plus we thought this would be a good project to work on. The route was 9 bolts plus 2 anchors. Brendan took the first crack at the RAMM.
The first bolt was about 15 feet up on a very smooth face. Brendan couldn't find good enough hand and foot holds on the face to get up, so he started on the far right and worked up a dihedral and then traversed over to the bolt to clip in. He then began working the face but wound up working back over to the right back to the dihedral. He worked up and finally clipped the 6th bolt and it looked like he might be able to pull off the ascent on the first go. But then he stalled out and was unable to clip the 7th bolt. He tried several more times but just couldn't make the clip. So finally, he clipped a bale-out biner and cleaned the route so I could take a shot at it.
I followed Brendan's same line of climbing and managed to get up to and clip the 6th bolt. The 7th bolt was only a few feet higher and it took me a few goes but I finally clipped it. The eighth bolt was up a fair distance, about 10-12 feet over a small slightly overhanging roof. I was exhausted and attempted to claw my way up towards the bolt. But the roof repeatedly forced me to back down. I didn't want to take a whipper and crash into the wall. In short, I wasn't bold enough to go for it. I got to a point where I felt some jugs that could definitely be helpful, but apart from that not much. I didn't know how to get to the eighth bolt.
I reclipped the bale-out biner and rapp down, cleaning off all the quickdraws. Brendan and I disappointedly packed up our gear and began moving down toward the canyon floor and Brendan's car. But we both vowed to return and "Slay The RAMM".
Over the next two weeks I spent hours in the small bouldering house on Sanborn camp property where I worked for the summer. I was determined that the next time I attempted the RAMM I would conquer it.
A couple weeks after our day of climbing at Shelf, Brendan and I returned with a plan of "Slaying The RAMM". It was Saturday afternoon and we planned on climbing until it was too dark to climb, or until we just couldn't climb any more.
We arrived at Shelf around 4:00 and climbed a couple of 5.8 warm ups. Then we turned our attention to the hated RAMM. We studied it for a while and then Brendan took a crack at it. He worked his way up it, using more of the face this time around and got to the seventh bolt with little difficulty. We had both trained hard and felt confident that after a few tries we would conquer the RAMM. We had also decided that we were going to be bold and not afraid to take a few whippers. Brendan promptly took about a 15 footer in trying to go for the eighth bolt. The whippers slowly increased in length and violence as he continued trying. He finally gave up since his forearms and fingers were burning.
It was my turn. I went for it and worked the face for a good while. I clipped the seventh bolt and then went for the kill. I climbed up to the jugs I had noticed on my last attempt and cranked off a pull-up. I reached up high for what I hoped would be a good hold, and I promptly lost grip and peeled. "Shit!" I cursed as I came to a bouncing stop about two bolts below. I tried again and this time got a little higher, but again fell.
Brendan had tried working up left and then back right to try and clip the eighth bolt. I decided to look for something on the right. I found a kneebar and middle finger lock off that was fairly solid and then I reached up and locked into a semi-solid jug that flaked out from a ledge about four inches wide. If I could pull off a mantle on the ledge the bolt would be mine. But my fingers slipped off the jug and the ledge and I tumbled into space again. I repeated this maneuver several times but always came up just shy of the bolt.
Finally, I backed down and Brendan took another crack at. it. He managed to clip the quickdraw into the bolt but then fell before he could clip the rope. He came off after a few more tries. I tried clipping the rope but also failed. Finally, on his third go up the wall Brendan clipped the rope into the quickdraw. But now we were presented with a different part of the crux.
Brendan noticed that the ledge was part of a block that was not entirely solid on the wall. 1%F we could somehow stand on the ledge we could reach the next bolt. But the difficulty was getting our feet up on the ledge without it breaking off or up falling and smashing into the rock and bloodying up our bodies. Brendan gave it a couple goes but backed down. I climbed up with the rope secured as a top rope to see if 1 Could somehow work out a sequence. I thought I found a sequence to get up on the ledge by grabbing onto a soap bar sized chunk of rock up and to the left on the edge of a roof, and then heel hoking the ledge and then cranking up and reaching with the right hand for the bolt. But my arms and legs were shaking too badly that I couldn't pull off the move. We decided that we couldn't yet "Slay the RAMM". I clipped our trusty bale-out biner into the bolt and rapped down.
My heart was heavy with the disappointment of being unable to complete a climb. But I was also satisfied that we'd given it everything we had for that day. We returned to Shelf Road later in the summer. The RAMM was calling our names but we resisted. We instead turned our attention to some slightly easier 5.10s knowing that we'd have to be much better climbers before we could finish the RAMM. I know the RAMM is there. I know it's been climbed by numerous others that have visited Shelf Road. I probably won't return to Shelf until next summer. The RAMM is there and he isn't going anywhere. When I'm climbing in the gym here in Orlando the RAMM lurks in the background of my mind. I know he's there, and I know he's waiting for me. One day I will return to face down and slay the RAMM.
Montezuma's Tower
Montezuma's Tower:
Garden of the Gods
Colorado Springs, Colorado
Throughout the summer I'd wanted to do a multipitch rock climb. But most multipitch climbs require trad gear and trad experience, neither of which I had. Brendan and I had been climbing together since late June and we'd become pretty darn good climbing partners. Brendan flipped through the Colorado guidebook I'd bought and came across a climb called Montezuma's Tower. It was a two pitch sport route in Garden of the Gods. Rated at only 5.7, the entire climb was only two pitches, but I'd never climbed higher than about 100 ft. I'd done a 150 foot rappel when I was 11 years old, but I'd never climbed an actual tower of rock. So Brendan and I decided that it would be a great first multipitch lead for the both of us. Something well within our climbing ability although a little more exposed and run out than what we were used to.
So one Friday night in early August, we drove to Colorado Springs and sat out a storm. It looked as if we weren't going to get to take a crack at Montezuma's Tower, but finally the weather cleared. It was going on 8:00, but we felt we could climb the route fast enough that we wouldn't be caught in the pitch black of night.
We found the tower which according to our guidebook rarely saw a day without an ascent. We quickly prepared and Brendan took the first lead. Even though the climbing was relatively easy, the first bolt was still a nerve racking 25 ft up. It also didn't help that one of Brendan's shoes had a hole right at the big toe, and our shoes were covered in sand and didn't find a whole lot of purchase on the gritty red sandstone.
Brendan made the first clip and continued his way up to a pocket that he threaded with a length of webbing and then used a locking carabiner to clip the rope. This served as an extra point of potection...j in case. The bolts weren't top notch quality and neither of us really trusted taking a fall on them.
Brendan made it to the belay ledge and set up the master point and belayed me up. Brendan had clipped the first four bolts, which left me the final pitch to the top. Although this second pitch was not very technically demanding rated at only 5.5, the feeling of exposure really threw me for a loop.
I ran the rope through the master point that Brendan had set up and then began to climb. It was a long run out, probably in the 20-25 foot range. Fortunately there was little danger of me falling because the rock was covered in enormous pockets and ledges. I eventually clipped a quickdraw through the eye of the bolt and clipped my rope to it as well. In my head I was thinking, "holy shit, I'd hate to take a fall on this". I continued up the spine of the tower. Pretty soon I was practically straddling the spine as if I were climbing the crest of some giant prehistoric sea creature. Suddenly I was at the top. I had one foot on either side and the feeling of openness blew me away. It was nerve racking and exciting all at the same time. Now the only issue was finding the anchors. Unfortunately it was now too dark for Brendan to be much help about 50 or so feet below me.
I ran my hands all over the rock desperately wanting to find the bolts. Where were they? I had no idea and neither did Brendan. The top of Montezuma's Tower is a thin knife edge so I figured that the bolts must be further along the knife edge. So with one foot on either side of the knife blade I inched my way forward feeling my way until finally my hands came in contact with the chains. I breathed a sigh of relief. I anchored in and reached for my ATC to belay Brendan up, but came up empty. Quietly cursing to myself I realized that I must have left the ATC at the base when Brendan belayed me up, even though I could have sworn I'd clipped it back to its locker. Fortunately though, Brendan was wearing my crag bag in which I had an extra ATCDDS I wrigged up a body belay which I'd learned to do on Mt Hood for just such an occasion. I would have rather done a munter belay but I didn't want to accidently mess up the knot.
I safely belayed Brendan up and he clipped into the anchor. I fished out my extra ATC and we flaked out the second rope we'd brought up for the rappel. Brendan tied the ropes together and fed one through the bolts of the anchor. We set up the rappel and made it down safely. It was awesome getting to rappell 145-150 feet. Unfortunately, it was too dark to get much video or pictorial footage, but we had an awesome time.
It took us a while to pull the ropes, untangle and unknot and then finally coil them. Then we had to find our way out and back to the road and finally to Brendan's car. We drove back to Woodland Park and celebrated with a meal of double bacon cheese burgers and chocolate milk shakes from Sonic. We knew that we'd taken way longer on an easy multipitch climb than was necessary, but it being our first one we realized that speed would come with practice and time and we couldn't wait for the next one.
Garden of the Gods
Colorado Springs, Colorado
Throughout the summer I'd wanted to do a multipitch rock climb. But most multipitch climbs require trad gear and trad experience, neither of which I had. Brendan and I had been climbing together since late June and we'd become pretty darn good climbing partners. Brendan flipped through the Colorado guidebook I'd bought and came across a climb called Montezuma's Tower. It was a two pitch sport route in Garden of the Gods. Rated at only 5.7, the entire climb was only two pitches, but I'd never climbed higher than about 100 ft. I'd done a 150 foot rappel when I was 11 years old, but I'd never climbed an actual tower of rock. So Brendan and I decided that it would be a great first multipitch lead for the both of us. Something well within our climbing ability although a little more exposed and run out than what we were used to.
So one Friday night in early August, we drove to Colorado Springs and sat out a storm. It looked as if we weren't going to get to take a crack at Montezuma's Tower, but finally the weather cleared. It was going on 8:00, but we felt we could climb the route fast enough that we wouldn't be caught in the pitch black of night.
We found the tower which according to our guidebook rarely saw a day without an ascent. We quickly prepared and Brendan took the first lead. Even though the climbing was relatively easy, the first bolt was still a nerve racking 25 ft up. It also didn't help that one of Brendan's shoes had a hole right at the big toe, and our shoes were covered in sand and didn't find a whole lot of purchase on the gritty red sandstone.
Brendan made the first clip and continued his way up to a pocket that he threaded with a length of webbing and then used a locking carabiner to clip the rope. This served as an extra point of potection...j in case. The bolts weren't top notch quality and neither of us really trusted taking a fall on them.
Brendan made it to the belay ledge and set up the master point and belayed me up. Brendan had clipped the first four bolts, which left me the final pitch to the top. Although this second pitch was not very technically demanding rated at only 5.5, the feeling of exposure really threw me for a loop.
I ran the rope through the master point that Brendan had set up and then began to climb. It was a long run out, probably in the 20-25 foot range. Fortunately there was little danger of me falling because the rock was covered in enormous pockets and ledges. I eventually clipped a quickdraw through the eye of the bolt and clipped my rope to it as well. In my head I was thinking, "holy shit, I'd hate to take a fall on this". I continued up the spine of the tower. Pretty soon I was practically straddling the spine as if I were climbing the crest of some giant prehistoric sea creature. Suddenly I was at the top. I had one foot on either side and the feeling of openness blew me away. It was nerve racking and exciting all at the same time. Now the only issue was finding the anchors. Unfortunately it was now too dark for Brendan to be much help about 50 or so feet below me.
I ran my hands all over the rock desperately wanting to find the bolts. Where were they? I had no idea and neither did Brendan. The top of Montezuma's Tower is a thin knife edge so I figured that the bolts must be further along the knife edge. So with one foot on either side of the knife blade I inched my way forward feeling my way until finally my hands came in contact with the chains. I breathed a sigh of relief. I anchored in and reached for my ATC to belay Brendan up, but came up empty. Quietly cursing to myself I realized that I must have left the ATC at the base when Brendan belayed me up, even though I could have sworn I'd clipped it back to its locker. Fortunately though, Brendan was wearing my crag bag in which I had an extra ATCDDS I wrigged up a body belay which I'd learned to do on Mt Hood for just such an occasion. I would have rather done a munter belay but I didn't want to accidently mess up the knot.
I safely belayed Brendan up and he clipped into the anchor. I fished out my extra ATC and we flaked out the second rope we'd brought up for the rappel. Brendan tied the ropes together and fed one through the bolts of the anchor. We set up the rappel and made it down safely. It was awesome getting to rappell 145-150 feet. Unfortunately, it was too dark to get much video or pictorial footage, but we had an awesome time.
It took us a while to pull the ropes, untangle and unknot and then finally coil them. Then we had to find our way out and back to the road and finally to Brendan's car. We drove back to Woodland Park and celebrated with a meal of double bacon cheese burgers and chocolate milk shakes from Sonic. We knew that we'd taken way longer on an easy multipitch climb than was necessary, but it being our first one we realized that speed would come with practice and time and we couldn't wait for the next one.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Life Changes
Just here to report recent events in my life. I still have one more year left at UW-Madison as I now am double majoring (adding on Computer Science). This summer I interned with Liberty Mutual working in their IT department making internal websites for employees to use. It was an absolutely amazing experience (they even flew us out to Boston at the end of it for a couple days).
During my last week I had an interview for their highly selective Technical Development Program. I was lucky enough to be accepted into the program, and they made me an offer to work in their Seattle office. I have until Nov. 1st to accept the offer. Unless something extremely good comes up I will probably be taking the offer and moving out their next May - June once I graduate.
To say I'm happy would be an understatement. I was born and raised in the midwest, and although I love it here, I'm looking for some change. I have always loved the Cascades and the Pacific Northwest the couple times I have been there, and this is an awesome way to get out there. I can't wait to graduate and move out there. Stay tuned for more updates.
In other news I just returned from the Boundary Waters Canoe Area in northern Minnesota (where the picture above is from). I'm going to write up a trip report and my thoughts soon, so stay tuned for that also. I'll also have a full set of pictures to show everyone.
As always, climb high,
-Brad
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
The Mt Ouray Trials
Here’s a semi-trip report that I concocted of a trip I had the privilege to help lead in late June/early July at the camp at which I worked over the summer. Please realize I can’t tell every little detail, but I’ve tried to reconstruct the trip as best I can.
The Mt Ouray Trials:
Elevation: 13971 ft
I'd been in Colorado for almost a month and hadn't yet so much as sniffed a mountain trip, let alone a mountain summit. To that end I hadn't sniffed a mountain summit since 2008 when Peter, Brad and I successfully climbed Mt St. Helens. Originally, Austin, Adam and I were supposed to lead a trip up Quandary Peak (14265 ft). However, Sanborn higher ups decided that Quandary was too covered with snow to warrant attempting it. I didn't argue even though I knew that my friends and mentors Erik Weihenmayer and Eric Alexander had just led a trip up Quandary several weeks earlier and had gotten around 55 people to the summit. Granted these were older and some much more experienced people than 12-14 year old kids at a summer camp. But I digress. Our objective now was the 13er Mt Ouray.
Colorado is best known for it's 57 peaks of greater than 14000 ft. However, what many don't realize is that Colorado boasts around 600 peaks that are higher than 13000 ft, many of which are far more physically, mentally and technically demanding than the 14ers. Although I didn't have much in the way of "experience" on many mountains (I'd only ever been on 4 mountains) I knew from my limited experience and even more from my meticulous research of mountaineering exploits to never underestimate a mountain.
I myself had underestimated Mt St. Helens in 2008 and it turned out to be the hardest thing I'd attemmted in the outdoors. That is, until we attempted Gannet Peak in August, 2010. So it rubbed me the wrong way when I heard campers, and even counselors say something like "it's only a 13er". Every mountain and endeavor has it's challenges and I'd learned to not underestimate any mountain no matter it's height or "difficulty". So I had my reservations that everyone on the trip would summit Ouray, especially when I was informed that Ouray was considered one of the more physically and logistically challenging trips that Sanborn offered. I later wondered why they allowed us to take 11 and 12 year old campers on such a strenuous trip.
From the outset I figured Ouray would be challenging especially with the benal attitude that we trip leaders brought to the table in regards to planning. Austin was our designated trip leader and had summitted several 14ers and had quite a bit of experience having worked at Sanborn the previous year. Austin took care of the trip planning and logistics although he quickly discovered that there wasd't any solid beta on file about Ouray, whether through Sanborn or through the internet. All we were told was that the trail was hard to find but easy to follow once we found it, and that once we got higher it was steep scree. Not exactly the meticulous trip planning that I'd become accustomed to in my climbing with Sight Unseen.
We had a group of seven or eight campers and us three counselors. When we first arrived at our campsite Austin scouted out where we thought the trail was and then met a couple guys who had just done a traverse of Mt Ouray. They had started on the opposite side and followed a trail up and over to our side. The idea appealed to Austin and Adam, and to me as well, even though I was hesitant because we knew absolutely nothing. The guys that Austin met said the trail was easy to find and follow and then departed.
So the next morning we got up a little before 1:00 AM and drove to the opposite side of Ouray to attempt the traverse. We thought we found a trail but then it turned off in an odd direction so then we attempted to bushwack in the correct direction. Then our younger campers started complaining and saying that they were scared we were lost. So Austin, Adam and I decided to go back and just do the standard trail. So we hiked back down and drove over to the trailhead. We'd already wasted about 2.5 hours on our little adventure. Now it was time to actually climb Ouray. My instincts were telling me that 4:30 AM was too late a start to climb and summit a mountain. Maybe my experience from the previous year on Gannet was kicking in, or maybe I was just paranoid.
We followed what appeared to be a trail until it suddenly ended in a wooded area. So now we wound up bushwacking searching for the trail. We didn't find it until close to 7:00. When we finally got on the trail, after having bushwacked for a few hours, we actually started gaining some elevation. One of our less in shape campers announced that he wasn't feeling very good and wanted to go down. This camper hadn't really been enthusiastic about the trip in the first place, but it was now an obstacle we had to overcome. Rather than making everybody in the group go down, Austin took this particular camper back down to camp while Adam and I continued upward with the remaining campers.
Adam and I led the campers up, climbing higher and higher while the terrain got steeper and rockier. We had to cross back and forth over a stream several times, before finally coming out on a large rock strewn slope that led up to a ridge which led to the summit. The slope that led to the ridge was much longer and steeper than it first appeared. As Adam and I climbed we had to stop frequently and urge our remaining campers to not stop and to keep going. Several were starting to seriously tire. I could tell they were having a hard time. Breathing hard, heavy steps, and stopping every 15-20 steps or so. I too was tired but not as much as I would have expected, this being my first time above 13000 ft in about four years.
One of our campers was having an extremely hard time. Adam and I both expected that he hadn't been drinking water and was now paying the price as he was cramping up all over his body. We helped the campers push through and finally cam up on a large flat open space just prior to the ridge walk that would take us about 400-500 vertical ft up to the snow capped summit. But standing there I knew deep inside that we weren't meant to make the summit. Adam and I brought everyone around and asked how they were doing. Everyone was in the 25-40 percent range and that was good enough for us. It was getting close to 10:00 and everyone was exhausted. We'd been moving for the better part of eight hours and the campers just weren't ready quite yet. The inexplicable thought that Adam and I could make a quick dash for the summit crossed my mind for one instant, but then I took a deep breath and focused on why I was here. I wasn't here to bag the summit. I was here to help these campers to reach their potential, to help them make their own circumstances, to help push them and to keep them thinking rationally, and above all to help them do all of that safely while enjoying the beauty of the outdoors.
So we announced that this would have to be our summit and we all had a toast. I sat back and would be lying to myself if I said I wasn't disappointed or saddened. But too my surprise it hurt much more that these campers couldn't make the summit. I'd seen them battle through the brush with no trail down below. I'd seen their spirits pick up when we found the trail. I knew that they were all struggling but not a single one spoke about not reaching the summit, and I wanted to be the one to take them there. But I also knew that sometimes the mountain is just a little too tough. I remembered something that Jeff Evans had once said, "when you try big things you have to expect to fall short". I'd fallen short on my goal of reaching the summit of Gannet Peak the summer before, and these campers were now falling short of their goal of reaching the summit of Mt Ouray. But I also knew that failure helped define us more than success.
When we'd reached the summit of Kilimanjaro in 2007, sure we all felt a major sense of accomplishment, inspiration, the whole shebang. But on the other hand many of us hadn't been particularly challenged despite the mountain's imposing form. I learned more about myself as a mountaineer the following summer on the slopes of Mt Hood and Mt St. Helens. And even more about myself in the summer of 2010 when I humped a 50-60 pound backpack for miles on end up and down thousands of ft of elevation change before finally having to turn back about 2200 ft below the summit due to blisters the size of half dollars on my heels.
Gannet had hardened me and made me more of a climber. I knew that Ouray wasn't nearly as hard as Gannet but I knew that these campers would hopefully learn something about themselves from this experience. I wasn't sure what they would learn about themselves but I knew that they would, someday.
We got down from Ouray after about 3-3.5 hours of actual descent time. We'd had to stop and provide fluids and electrolites to our camper that was suffering from severe cramps and pains all over his body. We took it extremely slow down the mountain and finally got everyone down to camp safely. After a lunch break we drove back to Sanborn exhausted. I kept my fingers crossed that I would get to go on another m%tain trip soon. And I also resolved to myself that I would need to return and summit Ouray at some point. Because once a peak's in my system it won't leave me until I've summitted and made it back down safely.
The Mt Ouray Trials:
Elevation: 13971 ft
I'd been in Colorado for almost a month and hadn't yet so much as sniffed a mountain trip, let alone a mountain summit. To that end I hadn't sniffed a mountain summit since 2008 when Peter, Brad and I successfully climbed Mt St. Helens. Originally, Austin, Adam and I were supposed to lead a trip up Quandary Peak (14265 ft). However, Sanborn higher ups decided that Quandary was too covered with snow to warrant attempting it. I didn't argue even though I knew that my friends and mentors Erik Weihenmayer and Eric Alexander had just led a trip up Quandary several weeks earlier and had gotten around 55 people to the summit. Granted these were older and some much more experienced people than 12-14 year old kids at a summer camp. But I digress. Our objective now was the 13er Mt Ouray.
Colorado is best known for it's 57 peaks of greater than 14000 ft. However, what many don't realize is that Colorado boasts around 600 peaks that are higher than 13000 ft, many of which are far more physically, mentally and technically demanding than the 14ers. Although I didn't have much in the way of "experience" on many mountains (I'd only ever been on 4 mountains) I knew from my limited experience and even more from my meticulous research of mountaineering exploits to never underestimate a mountain.
I myself had underestimated Mt St. Helens in 2008 and it turned out to be the hardest thing I'd attemmted in the outdoors. That is, until we attempted Gannet Peak in August, 2010. So it rubbed me the wrong way when I heard campers, and even counselors say something like "it's only a 13er". Every mountain and endeavor has it's challenges and I'd learned to not underestimate any mountain no matter it's height or "difficulty". So I had my reservations that everyone on the trip would summit Ouray, especially when I was informed that Ouray was considered one of the more physically and logistically challenging trips that Sanborn offered. I later wondered why they allowed us to take 11 and 12 year old campers on such a strenuous trip.
From the outset I figured Ouray would be challenging especially with the benal attitude that we trip leaders brought to the table in regards to planning. Austin was our designated trip leader and had summitted several 14ers and had quite a bit of experience having worked at Sanborn the previous year. Austin took care of the trip planning and logistics although he quickly discovered that there wasd't any solid beta on file about Ouray, whether through Sanborn or through the internet. All we were told was that the trail was hard to find but easy to follow once we found it, and that once we got higher it was steep scree. Not exactly the meticulous trip planning that I'd become accustomed to in my climbing with Sight Unseen.
We had a group of seven or eight campers and us three counselors. When we first arrived at our campsite Austin scouted out where we thought the trail was and then met a couple guys who had just done a traverse of Mt Ouray. They had started on the opposite side and followed a trail up and over to our side. The idea appealed to Austin and Adam, and to me as well, even though I was hesitant because we knew absolutely nothing. The guys that Austin met said the trail was easy to find and follow and then departed.
So the next morning we got up a little before 1:00 AM and drove to the opposite side of Ouray to attempt the traverse. We thought we found a trail but then it turned off in an odd direction so then we attempted to bushwack in the correct direction. Then our younger campers started complaining and saying that they were scared we were lost. So Austin, Adam and I decided to go back and just do the standard trail. So we hiked back down and drove over to the trailhead. We'd already wasted about 2.5 hours on our little adventure. Now it was time to actually climb Ouray. My instincts were telling me that 4:30 AM was too late a start to climb and summit a mountain. Maybe my experience from the previous year on Gannet was kicking in, or maybe I was just paranoid.
We followed what appeared to be a trail until it suddenly ended in a wooded area. So now we wound up bushwacking searching for the trail. We didn't find it until close to 7:00. When we finally got on the trail, after having bushwacked for a few hours, we actually started gaining some elevation. One of our less in shape campers announced that he wasn't feeling very good and wanted to go down. This camper hadn't really been enthusiastic about the trip in the first place, but it was now an obstacle we had to overcome. Rather than making everybody in the group go down, Austin took this particular camper back down to camp while Adam and I continued upward with the remaining campers.
Adam and I led the campers up, climbing higher and higher while the terrain got steeper and rockier. We had to cross back and forth over a stream several times, before finally coming out on a large rock strewn slope that led up to a ridge which led to the summit. The slope that led to the ridge was much longer and steeper than it first appeared. As Adam and I climbed we had to stop frequently and urge our remaining campers to not stop and to keep going. Several were starting to seriously tire. I could tell they were having a hard time. Breathing hard, heavy steps, and stopping every 15-20 steps or so. I too was tired but not as much as I would have expected, this being my first time above 13000 ft in about four years.
One of our campers was having an extremely hard time. Adam and I both expected that he hadn't been drinking water and was now paying the price as he was cramping up all over his body. We helped the campers push through and finally cam up on a large flat open space just prior to the ridge walk that would take us about 400-500 vertical ft up to the snow capped summit. But standing there I knew deep inside that we weren't meant to make the summit. Adam and I brought everyone around and asked how they were doing. Everyone was in the 25-40 percent range and that was good enough for us. It was getting close to 10:00 and everyone was exhausted. We'd been moving for the better part of eight hours and the campers just weren't ready quite yet. The inexplicable thought that Adam and I could make a quick dash for the summit crossed my mind for one instant, but then I took a deep breath and focused on why I was here. I wasn't here to bag the summit. I was here to help these campers to reach their potential, to help them make their own circumstances, to help push them and to keep them thinking rationally, and above all to help them do all of that safely while enjoying the beauty of the outdoors.
So we announced that this would have to be our summit and we all had a toast. I sat back and would be lying to myself if I said I wasn't disappointed or saddened. But too my surprise it hurt much more that these campers couldn't make the summit. I'd seen them battle through the brush with no trail down below. I'd seen their spirits pick up when we found the trail. I knew that they were all struggling but not a single one spoke about not reaching the summit, and I wanted to be the one to take them there. But I also knew that sometimes the mountain is just a little too tough. I remembered something that Jeff Evans had once said, "when you try big things you have to expect to fall short". I'd fallen short on my goal of reaching the summit of Gannet Peak the summer before, and these campers were now falling short of their goal of reaching the summit of Mt Ouray. But I also knew that failure helped define us more than success.
When we'd reached the summit of Kilimanjaro in 2007, sure we all felt a major sense of accomplishment, inspiration, the whole shebang. But on the other hand many of us hadn't been particularly challenged despite the mountain's imposing form. I learned more about myself as a mountaineer the following summer on the slopes of Mt Hood and Mt St. Helens. And even more about myself in the summer of 2010 when I humped a 50-60 pound backpack for miles on end up and down thousands of ft of elevation change before finally having to turn back about 2200 ft below the summit due to blisters the size of half dollars on my heels.
Gannet had hardened me and made me more of a climber. I knew that Ouray wasn't nearly as hard as Gannet but I knew that these campers would hopefully learn something about themselves from this experience. I wasn't sure what they would learn about themselves but I knew that they would, someday.
We got down from Ouray after about 3-3.5 hours of actual descent time. We'd had to stop and provide fluids and electrolites to our camper that was suffering from severe cramps and pains all over his body. We took it extremely slow down the mountain and finally got everyone down to camp safely. After a lunch break we drove back to Sanborn exhausted. I kept my fingers crossed that I would get to go on another m%tain trip soon. And I also resolved to myself that I would need to return and summit Ouray at some point. Because once a peak's in my system it won't leave me until I've summitted and made it back down safely.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Mt. Wheeler 13,161
Mt. Wheeler, the highest mountain in New Mexico, a commonly climbed peak, but challenging none the less…
My girlfriend and I first struck up the idea to climb it late one evening while eating dinner together. To be honest, I wasn’t totally convinced we would make it a reality. She was eager to make her first summit attempt. I was a bit more reserved, id made summits and fallen short of them before, but all with Sight Unseen. If the trip really did take place it would be my first summit without the team.
I agreed, excitedly and with a hint of caution. Immediately she started looking into the different kinds of gear she would need. She had been backpacking before, but never a summit. We had gone to Cabela’s a few months earlier and picked out a good starter pack for her, other than a pair of boots it was all she had for a trip. We stopped in at the local gear store in Arlington; it was like she was a 4year old in a toy store again, Kind of like I was when I first started getting in to mountaineering.
I had a few spare gear items for her to use, she was quickly learning all the basics, the brands we like, why we like them and the differences between types of things. I enjoyed being the mentor. We got her all set up and just needed a date and time to leave. This was the part I knew would cause problems.
I was still interning at the city of Arlington’s Office of Emergency Management to finish up my degree. I had been there since the start of the summer, and it was already early July before we had everything we needed. Finally we hammered out a timeframe. August 4th, we would leave with her dad, drive to Cimerron New Mexico and stay in their family’s cabin out in the hills, about an hour from the trail head.
At this point I was a little nervous mixed with frustration. Naturally I had to know where we were going, the trail we would take, the time frame, and all the essentials. For some reason my Google powers were quickly failing. Information on the mountain was hard to come by, a few sporadic trip reports, each one with different and conflicting information. I tried to plan our route the best I could with Google maps, but that’s not always reliable. Worst case scenario plans kept forming faster than an actual climbing plan ever did. I figured we might have better luck with information once we were actually there, so I locked down the emergency plan in case we were just out of luck.
Before I knew it we were piling into her dads pickup, the monster truck, as Caitlin’s 2 year old nephew would call it. We headed out to their cabin; her dad came to do some maintenance on it and would take us to and from the trail head. The evening before we started our climb, her dad handed me a guidebook he found in the cabin. “A guide to New Mexoc’s Mountians”, I flipped to the section on Mt Wheeler, reading through the many different trails to take. It was the first real bit of information regarding trails I had seen. It eased my concerns as I found the trail we were planning on taking.
The following morning we drove out to the trail head. Long winding mountain roads littered the path to the trail head. It was a good feeling to be back in the hills again. Eventually we found ourselves driving along a one lane, gravel road that lead to the parking area for the trail head. We went over the plan again and set off. The first leg of the climb would be roughly 8 miles to lost lake, our camp site. From there, we would get an early start to the summit and plan to be off the mountain by about 6pm the next day. As we started moving up the steep switchbacks, my heel started rubbing on my boot. I hadn’t worn them in awhile but I didn’t think they would hurt. We stopped and covered the hotspot, hoping to prevent a blister, luckily it did.
As we kept moving we stopped for lunch, a delicious combination of cliff bars and my personal favorite, gold fish. We had been hiking for a few hours and had gone roughly 4 miles, moving fast in some places and slower in others. Eventually we reached the altitude where we would start to traverse around protruding bends in the mountain, opening up the spectacular view of the valley below. Being visually impaired I could only actually see bits and pieces. Just knowing where we were and feeling the cool mountain breeze was exhilarating.
After crossing a few more bends we came up to lost lake. It was a small, crystal clear mountain lake at about 9,850. As I looked up I saw the dark rain clouds coming in, so we quickly searched for a campsite, hoping we could get everything set up before it started to rain. In a rush we found a rather sub par place, pitched the tent and hunkered down for what we were sure would be a heavy storm. It started to drizzle, and quickly stopped. It teased us for about an hour before we both were fed up with the site and the weather so we got up, put on our boots and went to look for a better site.
Not but 25 yards away we found a good one. Another group was camping not far from there, so we picked up our gear and quickly moved. As we started to settle in, a heard of mountain goats came striding through the camp area. Young and old, big and small, they constantly ran through the area, all day long, stopping only to stare at us.
Dinner time came and I broke out the whisperlite. It had been giving me problems before we left and I was praying it would be in a good mood. I was hungry. I started to work with it and it kept dying on me. Caitlin came over to take a look, and go figure, it fired right up for her on the first try. Not thinking much of it we slapped together a quick mountain house meal that soothed the soul.
We went to bed early, anticipating an early start. When the time came though, we didn’t leave until about 7am. We decided to go fast and light, taking only one pack, loaded with water and an extra warm layer. Eventually we came up on Horseshoe Lake at about 11,500 ft. We could see the summit. It looked closer than we thought. As we kept moving we came to a fork in the trail, naturally we took the more defined one which took us across a steep basin to a ridge just below the summit where it switched back. The summit was literally 30 feet above us with the trail leading on past the peak in the wrong direction.
Normally I don’t endorse what we did but the trail was becoming rather annoying with this many switchbacks and teasing manner. So we took our own path vertically about 30 feet until we reconnected with the trail again. We were at the summit, 13,161 feet. There were a few people already there, having lunch, signing the registry at the top and taking pictures. We did our share of the same and spent about 30 minutes admiring the view, savoring the moment. I was in awe that we had even made it a reality. Our first climb as a couple. It had more emotional value than physical, immensely different from a team summit, but still a summit.
As we followed the trail down, we ended up coming to the top of Mt Walter, Wheeler’s sister peak at about 13, 141. Not expecting it, we stopped and savored a second summit before heading back to lost lake. It was an interesting experience, two summits in as many hours.
On our way down we stopped for a quick rest at lost lake before packing up and heading out. The whole way down we discussed how we had actually just made our first summit together. Caitlin started talking about how she wanted to continue backpacking and mountaineering. It seemed as though a new found passion had been born. I was glad to hear her say that. While descending to the parking lot we kept discussing different peaks we could try, when the best time would be to climb them. Looking back on it now she was acting the same way I was after returning from Peru in 2006.
It was the first trip of many and the beginning of something new. I can only wonder where the next climb will be.
My girlfriend and I first struck up the idea to climb it late one evening while eating dinner together. To be honest, I wasn’t totally convinced we would make it a reality. She was eager to make her first summit attempt. I was a bit more reserved, id made summits and fallen short of them before, but all with Sight Unseen. If the trip really did take place it would be my first summit without the team.
I agreed, excitedly and with a hint of caution. Immediately she started looking into the different kinds of gear she would need. She had been backpacking before, but never a summit. We had gone to Cabela’s a few months earlier and picked out a good starter pack for her, other than a pair of boots it was all she had for a trip. We stopped in at the local gear store in Arlington; it was like she was a 4year old in a toy store again, Kind of like I was when I first started getting in to mountaineering.
I had a few spare gear items for her to use, she was quickly learning all the basics, the brands we like, why we like them and the differences between types of things. I enjoyed being the mentor. We got her all set up and just needed a date and time to leave. This was the part I knew would cause problems.
I was still interning at the city of Arlington’s Office of Emergency Management to finish up my degree. I had been there since the start of the summer, and it was already early July before we had everything we needed. Finally we hammered out a timeframe. August 4th, we would leave with her dad, drive to Cimerron New Mexico and stay in their family’s cabin out in the hills, about an hour from the trail head.
At this point I was a little nervous mixed with frustration. Naturally I had to know where we were going, the trail we would take, the time frame, and all the essentials. For some reason my Google powers were quickly failing. Information on the mountain was hard to come by, a few sporadic trip reports, each one with different and conflicting information. I tried to plan our route the best I could with Google maps, but that’s not always reliable. Worst case scenario plans kept forming faster than an actual climbing plan ever did. I figured we might have better luck with information once we were actually there, so I locked down the emergency plan in case we were just out of luck.
Before I knew it we were piling into her dads pickup, the monster truck, as Caitlin’s 2 year old nephew would call it. We headed out to their cabin; her dad came to do some maintenance on it and would take us to and from the trail head. The evening before we started our climb, her dad handed me a guidebook he found in the cabin. “A guide to New Mexoc’s Mountians”, I flipped to the section on Mt Wheeler, reading through the many different trails to take. It was the first real bit of information regarding trails I had seen. It eased my concerns as I found the trail we were planning on taking.
The following morning we drove out to the trail head. Long winding mountain roads littered the path to the trail head. It was a good feeling to be back in the hills again. Eventually we found ourselves driving along a one lane, gravel road that lead to the parking area for the trail head. We went over the plan again and set off. The first leg of the climb would be roughly 8 miles to lost lake, our camp site. From there, we would get an early start to the summit and plan to be off the mountain by about 6pm the next day. As we started moving up the steep switchbacks, my heel started rubbing on my boot. I hadn’t worn them in awhile but I didn’t think they would hurt. We stopped and covered the hotspot, hoping to prevent a blister, luckily it did.
As we kept moving we stopped for lunch, a delicious combination of cliff bars and my personal favorite, gold fish. We had been hiking for a few hours and had gone roughly 4 miles, moving fast in some places and slower in others. Eventually we reached the altitude where we would start to traverse around protruding bends in the mountain, opening up the spectacular view of the valley below. Being visually impaired I could only actually see bits and pieces. Just knowing where we were and feeling the cool mountain breeze was exhilarating.
After crossing a few more bends we came up to lost lake. It was a small, crystal clear mountain lake at about 9,850. As I looked up I saw the dark rain clouds coming in, so we quickly searched for a campsite, hoping we could get everything set up before it started to rain. In a rush we found a rather sub par place, pitched the tent and hunkered down for what we were sure would be a heavy storm. It started to drizzle, and quickly stopped. It teased us for about an hour before we both were fed up with the site and the weather so we got up, put on our boots and went to look for a better site.
Not but 25 yards away we found a good one. Another group was camping not far from there, so we picked up our gear and quickly moved. As we started to settle in, a heard of mountain goats came striding through the camp area. Young and old, big and small, they constantly ran through the area, all day long, stopping only to stare at us.
Dinner time came and I broke out the whisperlite. It had been giving me problems before we left and I was praying it would be in a good mood. I was hungry. I started to work with it and it kept dying on me. Caitlin came over to take a look, and go figure, it fired right up for her on the first try. Not thinking much of it we slapped together a quick mountain house meal that soothed the soul.
We went to bed early, anticipating an early start. When the time came though, we didn’t leave until about 7am. We decided to go fast and light, taking only one pack, loaded with water and an extra warm layer. Eventually we came up on Horseshoe Lake at about 11,500 ft. We could see the summit. It looked closer than we thought. As we kept moving we came to a fork in the trail, naturally we took the more defined one which took us across a steep basin to a ridge just below the summit where it switched back. The summit was literally 30 feet above us with the trail leading on past the peak in the wrong direction.
Normally I don’t endorse what we did but the trail was becoming rather annoying with this many switchbacks and teasing manner. So we took our own path vertically about 30 feet until we reconnected with the trail again. We were at the summit, 13,161 feet. There were a few people already there, having lunch, signing the registry at the top and taking pictures. We did our share of the same and spent about 30 minutes admiring the view, savoring the moment. I was in awe that we had even made it a reality. Our first climb as a couple. It had more emotional value than physical, immensely different from a team summit, but still a summit.
As we followed the trail down, we ended up coming to the top of Mt Walter, Wheeler’s sister peak at about 13, 141. Not expecting it, we stopped and savored a second summit before heading back to lost lake. It was an interesting experience, two summits in as many hours.
On our way down we stopped for a quick rest at lost lake before packing up and heading out. The whole way down we discussed how we had actually just made our first summit together. Caitlin started talking about how she wanted to continue backpacking and mountaineering. It seemed as though a new found passion had been born. I was glad to hear her say that. While descending to the parking lot we kept discussing different peaks we could try, when the best time would be to climb them. Looking back on it now she was acting the same way I was after returning from Peru in 2006.
It was the first trip of many and the beginning of something new. I can only wonder where the next climb will be.
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