Grief. Not a good state to be in when attempting to summit a mountain. I was in Rocky Mountain National Park and had the intention to summit Flattop Mountain, and possibly Hallett Peak, on my first full day in the park. I had arrived in Estes Park, CO the previous day for what was supposed to be a sibling vacation, but I due to our grandma being very ill and close to passing, my siblings opted to remain home. I went anyway, partly because Grandma told me in no uncertain terms that I was to continue traveling, no matter what. The other reason was because I
needed to go. Traveling is my way of relaxing, of stepping back and viewing life in a perspective I can't quite get while at home. I had started my morning by crawling out of my tent in the pre-dawn darkness, grabbed an energy bar, made sure my gear was ready for a long hike, and then hit the road to the park. I didn't check my phone until I was standing at the trail head, but I wouldn't have had service on the drive up anyway. As it was, I was surprised to see I had service when I got it out to take a picture, and even more surprised to see a missed call. The dread set in when I saw it was my dad. There was only one reason he would call me at 6am (Mountain Time), and when I finally got him on the phone, he relayed the news of Grandma's passing. Not unexpected, but still a terrible loss. So I set out on the trail with reflections of Grandma, life, loss, and general grieving on my mind. I did think, rather derisively, that it would just make everyone's day that much better if I were to get lost out there. Note to self:
NEVER think those type of thoughts again.
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| That's a trail, right? |
At first, the trail was like any other mountain trail: dirt, trees, the smell of pines and a slight chill in the air even though it was mid-June. Then I started seeing snow. Not much at first, but more and more until eventually I was forced to cross patches as it lay across my trail. Then, gently, without me realizing it, I didn't get off of the snow. It stretched out before me, obscuring the dirt, the rocks, the dips and peaks in the trail. I wasn't bothered by this change of substrate at first. I don't mind the cold, and I had good hiking shoes and was prepared for any weather I might encounter. I started to be bothered by the snow around the same time that I got that uneasy feeling no hiker wants to feel, the feeling that maybe this isn't the right trail. But I hadn't seen a marker pointing me in any other directions, and there had clearly been people on this trail since the last snowfall, so I kept going and ignored that uneasiness (note: HUGE MISTAKE).
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| Um, what trail? Notice the horizon is horizontal. It really was that steep. |
Soon, however, I was forced to accept that I really had missed the turn, somewhere, somehow. I knew the trail was supposed to follow a ledge, and I was heading in the opposite direction from where that ledge should be. That, and the "trail" I had been following disappeared. Literally. One moment I was walking in someone else's footprints, the next, I was alone. Completely. I knew the general direction of the parking lot/my car, I knew the general direction of town, and I knew the general direction of the trail. I didn't know much else. I was sinking up to mid-thigh in snow that I knew was deeper than I am tall, I was half crawling through drifts taller than some of the krummholz trees, and I knew I was in trouble. I couldn't have found the "trail" I had been following even if I wanted to, but going back down into the timber was not something I wanted to do. I needed to see, to be able to get my bearings and maybe sight a landmark or two that I could navigate from. My daddy taught me well: I always carry a compass with me whenever I go on a hike. So I went up.
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| Relaxing while lost. Gotta enjoy the view! |
I scrambled up the side of the mountain and actually got above most of the snow that hadn't melted yet, with only the occasional snow field to circumvent. I knew, both from being taught and from instinct, that I needed to sit down and evaluate my situation. A big, flat rock that had absorbed some of the sun's heat was the perfect place to take my first rest of the day, and I pulled out my water, food, and compass. And my camera. Even though I was lost, how could I resist taking pictures of the breath-taking view I was being treated to? After resting and clearing my head I knew which direction the trail was, and I had the energy to attempt a summit. So I headed toward the trail, and after being admittedly lost for over an hour, I FOUND THE TRAIL! Out of relief I sat down on one of the rocks marking the path, and within five minutes was passed by a group of other hikers. Read that again: HUMAN BEINGS. I wasn't going to be alone! I got up and followed behind their group, but quickly fell behind. I hadn't realized how much energy I had expended trying to find the damn trail, and I was tired. I kept going at my own pace, sitting to rest often in air that had less oxygen than I was used to. I recognized the symptoms of altitude sickness; the fatigue, the headache, the upset stomach, and just not feeling well. I had stopped and curled up next to a warm rock, seriously considering taking a nap, when I heard another couple of hikers approaching from below. They stopped when they saw me, and in the usual hiker fashion asked if I was ok and if I needed water or food. After exchanging the initial pleasantries, they asked me how I had gotten to where we were, because they hadn't seen any footprints along the way that they came up. I told them about getting lost and about the other group of hikers who passed me, and they told me they had gotten lost themselves and had only just found the trail again. There were six people, including myself, who had started out on the mountain sometime between 6 and 7 am, and every single one of us had gotten lost.
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| I very nearly kissed the ground once I was back on the marked trail |
Boy, that sure made me feel better! After our discussion the hiking couple agreed that I shouldn't be hiking alone, and they and I continued up the mountain together. I would not have made it to the summit without them. I was exhausted and had been on the verge of turning around but they kept me going at a nice, easy pace with well timed encouragement. And before I knew it, they had stopped. A few feet in front of us was the official windblown, freezing cold top of the mountain, and they wanted me to summit first. After 4.4 miles, 3000ft elevation gain, getting lost, and a summit of 12,350ft above sea level, I got to the top of the mountain! We then quickly found a sheltered place behind a boulder and rested, recharged, warmed up, then leaned into the wind (we couldn't stand up straight, the wind was so strong) to get back down the mountain. I briefly considered going an extra half-mile round trip to summit Hallett Peak, which was just across a saddle and within sight of our sheltered boulder, but with how much energy I had exerted already, it just wasn't going to happen.
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| Sheltering and refueling before the descent |
On our way down the other group of hikers caught back up with us; they had continued on to Hallett Peak and were moving quickly to get out of the wind and back into the shelter of the timberline. They stuck with us for the rest of the hike down, and between all of us we managed to find the correct trail to get us off of the mountain. We chatted all the way down, and got to know each other and our reasons for being on our hike. I even got some new travel ideas! I started my hike with every intention of doing it solo, but I hadn't accounted for the camaraderie that forms when a group of strangers tackle a challenge together. And I had forgotten how friendly people are while on a trail! And I don't mean one of those short, easy trails that have hungry toddlers, moody teens, and the exhausted parents attached to both. Those people mind their own business. But if you take the time and the energy, and are prepared enough to get off of the beaten path, you can be rewarded with incredible views and can also be reminded that there is a reason to have faith in humanity.
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| Long's Peak as viewed from the trail to Flattop Mountain |
What I'm listening to: I Don't Think Now Is The Best Time by Hans Zimmer
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