A Snapshot and The Scoop: An Indulgence

Is it really a trip to the Buena Vista area in Colorado without a stop at the St. Elmo ghost town and a visit with a bunch of adorable furry friends? (The answer is no, btw.) Torrey and I had cut our mountain climbing short by a day and found ourselves with free time to indulge. We began with a visit to St. Elmo, a ghost town on the slopes of Mount Princeton where mining operations once created a booming industry. When the railroad moved away from the area and the mining dried up, the town was abandoned by all but a dedicated few, who have worked hard over the years to preserve their little corner of Colorado history. The town has few permanent residents, aside from the three species of squirrels that live near a pile of old railroad ties at the town center. I've written about these cuties before, and I'll continue to write about them every time we visit. #sorrynotsorry

A Snapshot and The Scoop: A Few of My Least Favorite Things

Let's talk about how much I dislike makeshift log "bridges" over rushing mountain streams. And let's also talk about how much I dislike crossing said bridges during the day when I can see, let alone having to cross them in the pre-dawn pitch black darkness of a mountain forest illuminated only by the beam of two headlamps while also being dive-bombed by bats who are attracted to the insects flitting around in the light of said headlamps. While I acknowledge that many of our summit bids in our goal to climb all 14'ers in Colorado will require us to continue beginning our hikes before dawn, that doesn't mean I have to like it. There is nothing creepier than a forest at night, and having to cross a bridge where one false move will send you plunging into icy water that promises to ruin your hike for the rest of the day while it is still dark, well, those are a few of my least favorite things. But we did it, despite my hesitation and grumpiness, and our summit bid was successful. I guess I'll just have to get over it, because I know there's more yet to come.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Pick Your Line

When you have no trail to follow, and it's really more about just taking the next step on your way up, you follow whatever route you can find in your bid for the summit of a mountain. Torrey and I were busy climbing 14,000 foot mountains again last summer, taking on Class 2 mountains that required some scrambling and boulder-hopping to get to the top. On this particular mountain, Yale, we reached the shoulder of the mountain and the end of the trail; we had to find our own way across a steep boulder field, haphazardly marked with carins from previous hikers, all of whom had their own skill levels and comforts with exposure (meaning how close they were willing to get to falling off the top of a mountain). Torrey and I each found our own way, with me sticking as close as possible to the middle of the boulder field, but not so center as to be quite at the top. I wanted to be able to hold on to boulders on both sides of my body, not just on the left or right. Boulder-hopping is a slow process (for me at least) due to the desire to make sure the rock I'm about to put my foot on won't roll away under my weight. Twisting an ankle on a remote mountain would be dangerous, and if the rock rolls off the side and takes me with it, the fall would be lethal. We carefully picked our way across the boulders, passing carins every now and then but mostly ignoring them as we found stable footing on our own. Reaching the summit has never felt so good.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Altitude Sickness

This right here is what altitude sickness looks like for us. When we're so close to being on top of the world, and have to all but curl up into ourselves to breathe through the nausea and headache. Altitude sickness can actually be very dangerous, even lethal, and though neither Torrey nor I have ever had it get to the point where we were in danger it has certainly been rather uncomfortable. It's also not something I'd want to go through alone - if I'd been hiking on my own I would have turned around and headed back to camp long before we got to this point, but we had each other and it kept me at least going forward, albeit with lots of breaks every 10 steps or so. It seems every year we climb mountains my altitude sickness gets worse; I never had a problem when I was younger, and only since moving to Texas have I noticed an issue with mountain climbing. I'm still looking for a treatment/cure that works for me, but until then I'll keep climbing mountains anyway!

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Disconnect

There are very few things while travelling that make me as happy as I get when I see a Wilderness sign. Signs like this mean I'm leaving the real world behind, leaving cell service and internet and roads and cars and, for the most part, people, behind. I get to disconnect, get away, ignore reality for a little while and instead focus on myself, my hiking partner, and the world immediately around us. Because really, this IS reality, being in the moment and aware and self-reliant. If something happens out there, its up to you to figure it out, with no guarantee someone can come to help you. For some people, I dare say even most people, that can be a scary realization: that you're completely alone. But not to me. I thrive in Wilderness, I find my center, my mind calms and I don't have worries or anxieties over anything other than setting up camp before a storm pops up, and making sure I place the bear canister far enough away from the tent. Out there, I can get up with the sun and go to bed with it too, I can eat enough to fuel me through my day, I can sit and watch the world turn around me. I really can't wait to be out there again.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: My Spot

Last year's mountain climbing adventures actually left us with quite a bit of time on our hands, and we spent one afternoon just driving around, exploring Colorado by car. It was getting towards evening and we were on our way back to camp when I realized where we were - near the town of Salida, and not too far away from a favorite childhood haunt. I began looking for the turn off, going completely by landmark memory from I don't even know how many years ago. We drove past the road and I knew it immediately; I flipped a u-turn and, with mounting excitement, took the turn. Not far up the road, just inside the national forest, I found it: one of my family's favorite places to camp in Colorado, revisited year after year, affectionately named "Natasha's Spot." I'd had My Spot marked on nearly every map of Colorado I owned up until we all grew up and stopped being able to go together on week+ family trips and lost track of it after that. I hadn't even realized Torrey and I were driving close by until something about the drive jogged my memory, and at that point I knew I'd have to find it just for memory's sake. It was almost exactly how I remembered it, with the little creek rushing by and a wide empty space that perfectly fit a large tent, or a small camper. There was an additional fire ring now, two instead of just one, but the little gravel beach with the boulder overhanging the creek was still there, and I could all but see my younger self along with my sister sitting there for hours pretending we were surviving in the wilderness all on our own. I could smell the smoke from an early evening pine-wood campfire and taste the grilled potatoes my mom was so fond of making on every camping trip. I could hear my dad shuffling outside of the camper at night on us kids' side, pretending to be Big Foot and scaring my sister so bad she made me sleep against the outer wall (because what else are big sisters for but to protect you - and be eaten first?). It was way past berry season in late August, but I wondered if the strawberry patch was still there, a short (sketchy) walk across the swift stream. I don't know exactly how long I stood there among the trees reminiscing, but Torrey left me to dwell in my memories for a little while with a content smile on my face as I walked around and around, touching everything and taking way too many pictures of a few compact yards. If we hadn't had plans the next day with an already established base camp I probably would have asked if we could set up there that night, but there's always next year.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Something A Little Different

Things were a little different for last year's Pikes Peak Ascent and Marathon due to construction on the mountain road, so while we were able to get to the summit on Ascent day to greet Torrey's dad at the top, I wasn't able to get to the top on Marathon day to play spectator. Instead I spent my day in Manitou Springs along with every other race spectator, watching the top via big screen TVs set up along the town roadways. I spent a lot of my time people-watching the crowd and cheering on the runners as they began to trickle in to their finish, which is what I supposed I'd have done at the summit anyway. Manitou is a cute little town, and I didn't at all mind being there for the day.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Pikes Peak Year Six

Once again, last August found Torrey and I at Pikes Peak, participating in and cheering on from the sidelines the runners of the Pikes Peak Ascent and Marathon. Torrey and I spent Ascent day at the top of the mountain, cheering her dad as he made it to the top. It was colder and windier on Pikes than it had been on any of the other 14'ers we'd climbed that week, and I was a little bit glad we had a warm giftshop/cafe to get into and warm up. Torrey keeps trying to talk me into running the ascent and up until now I've been adamantly against doing so . . . Now though, I might consider it. Just not this year; I'd like a little more running experience before I go for something like the elevation gain I'll have to suffer through in order to complete that particular race. We'll see though!

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Relief from Mountain Climbing

Even before Torrey and I decided to cut our mountain climbing short by one day last summer, we'd been planning on pampering ourselves at one of the many hot springs resorts in the Buena Vista area. Choosing to not climb Mount Princeton ended up being absolutely the right call to make, as we watched thunderstorms roll over the summit from mid-morning on, knowing there was no way we'd have reached the top safely that day. Instead, we were busy relaxing in one of the modernized hot springs pools at the Mount Princeton Resort at the base of the mountain, soothing our muscles sore from climbing and backpacking during the few days previous. We spent hours there, alternating between lounging in a pool chair and soaking in the steaming waters, until the staff eventually kicked guests out due to the incoming storms. We fully utilized the free showers at the pool (thank you for the free shampoo and soap!) and, feeling relaxed and clean, went on our way.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: The Vanishing Creek

There is a place, deep in the heart of Colorado where towering sand dunes are surrounded by rugged mountain ranges, where water flows above ground only during certain times of the year. Medano Creek borders the dune field at Great Sand Dunes National Park, flowing only when the snow is melting from the slopes of the mountains upstream. Once the snow is gone the creek stops flowing above ground, instead sinking the moisture into the sand while still travelling downstream, surfacing beyond the park in lush wetlands that play host to migrating birds, elk, deer, moose, and bears. Sometimes, during spring and early summer, the creek is cold and deep and fast-moving, stretching all the way from the dunes parking lot to the dunes themselves. During our visit last year Torrey and I followed all that was left of the stream, a little trickle of water, all they way to its end, when it gives up on the surface and soaks into the sand below. In all my visits to the park I've never actually seen the end of the creek - I've only ever seen it full and flowing or completely dry - so this was a fun little sight to see, there at the end of summer.

National Trails Day 2019

Beneficial. It's no secret that being outside makes you feel better; there's been research supporting this for years. We've even seen a trend toward "green" prescriptions: where doctors recommend spending time in nature to lessen anxiety, improve mood, and even promote healing. No wonder, then, that people like me have made a holiday celebrating the trails that take us into nature, where we can forget our troubles and find happiness. To celebrate National Trails Day this year, I've compiled a list of my favorite hiking trails over the last five years or so. Some of these trails are short day hikes, some are long multi-day backpacking trips, but each of them hold wonderful memories and make me wish I was back on them as I look at each picture. In no particular order, here they are:

Andrew's Glacier, Rocky Mountain National Park, CO

If you're looking for a small challenge with a big reward, hiking to one of Rocky Mountain's few glaciers is definitely worth it! A beautiful walk through a mountain forest spits you out on the shoulder of a mountain, and up you go! You can't see the glacier or the tarn until you're standing on the edge of the world... And what a feeling it is!

Chesler Park, Needles District, Canyonlands National Park, UT

A long day hike, and not one to do in the heat of the day, this desert park is a place that I keep meaning to revisit! Surrounded by red and white striped hoodoos on all sides, this grassland looks like a meeting place for desert fair folk.

Rainbow Falls to Mt. Le Conte, Great Smoky Mountains National Park, TN

While I really wouldn't recommend this hike alone in the rain, the foggy landscape sure set the mood for a quite hike to a remote mountain top in Great Smoky Mountains. Of course, grab a hiking partner and plan to get wet, because the view from the top and the tunnels of green are worth it.

High Dune, Great Sand Dunes National Park and Preserve, CO

Who doesn't like to play in the sand, especially when surrounded on three sides by 14,000 foot mountains and on one side by biologically diverse marshlands? And hiking 3 miles to the top of some of the tallest dunes in North America just adds bragging rights. Make sure to pack plenty of water and sunscreen before you tackle this hike!

Hidden Canyon, Zion National Park, UT

A lush, cool canyon hidden away on the wall of an even bigger canyon, all in the heart of a desert? Yeah, that's what you get when you make the trek to Zion's Hidden Canyon. Getting here is half the fun and not for someone afraid of heights; there are several sections of chains to grip along the narrow parts of this cliffside trail.

Angel's Landing, Zion National Park, UT

Another trail for those with no fear, the hike to Angel's Landing is short but absolutely not easy. The entire last quarter mile to the Landing is located on the ridge of a narrow fin, with a chain to help keep you from falling off. The challenge makes the trail popular though, so don't expect to be alone up there.

Tonto Trail, Grand Canyon National Park, AZ

A less-used connector trail in the mid-elevations of the Grand Canyon, this trail hosts some pretty awesome backcountry camping sites and all but guarantees you solitude. Be warned, you're looking at a minimum 3 night trip to do even a small section of this trail, including descending to it and ascending from it on trails from the rim of the canyon on your first and last days.

Thunder Pass via Box Canyon, Rocky Mountain National Park, CO

Another trail that, while technically can be used as a day hike, is much more rewarding if you stay at the backcountry site along the way. Right at the edge of the park, Thunder Pass marks the park boundary. On one side is the park, on the other a national forest area, with trails leading to the pass from both sides.

Sky Pond, Rocky Mountain National Park, CO

I don't know anyone who doesn't love alpine lakes, and pretty trails along glacier basins to get to said lakes are even better. Done as a day hike this trail isn't too strenuous or too long, and as long as you're below treeline before the summer afternoon storms hit, every step is worth it!

Buffalo River Trail, Buffalo National River, AR

A friend and I spent a couple years section-hiking this 30+ mile trail during autumn in the Ozarks of northern Arkansas, and we enjoyed our time there so much we're heading back again now that we're finished to hike the shorter trails in the area. We aren't quite ready to give the Buffalo River up yet!

I hope these snapshots and glimpses onto my favorite trails inspire you to hit your own local trail, if not today then maybe sometime soon! If you go, send me a picture so I can check it out too!

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Potatoes on the Peaks

When I told everyone we had accomplished our goal of hiking six 14'ers in five days, a lot of people asked what got us through it. Hiking mountains is no easy task, let alone hiking 14,000 foot mountains back to back for a week. Jokingly but not, I always told them it was the three P's: Pride, Pepsi, and Potatoes. I am far too stubborn to let anything short of catastrophe stop me from finishing a goal, so my pride wouldn't allow me to take the hit if the only reason I was stopping short was because I was a little tired. Pepsi, because I'm a caffine fiend who probably has an addiction problem (I'm drinking one as I write this, as a matter of fact...) And potatoes? Well, funnily enough despite twenty plus years of friendship Torrey and I only just discovered last year that we both enjoy raw potatoes as snacks. And you can't really go wrong with potatoes as a source of fuel for your body on strenuous hikes, given the starches and crisp crunch that goes a long way toward making it yummy on the trail. So every mountain we climbed found us also hauling up a couple of baby potatoes each, munching on them at the summit of each mountain to refuel after the climb and prepare for the hike down. So yes, potatoes are going to be a staple on every hike we take together. Pride, pepsi, and potatoes. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

Leave me a comment and tell me what your must-haves are when you hike or travel! What weird and wonderful things do you carry that get you through a trip?

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Smoke-Hazed Mountains

I have never, in all my years of visiting Rocky Mountain National Park, seen the sky so hazy. As a result of the fires burning all over Colorado this past summer our visit to the state, and specifically to the park, was filled with smoky skies. The smoke and fires were concerning enough that we mapped out our planned 14'er hikes accordingly, making sure the fires weren't anywhere close to where we would be. That didn't stop the smoke, of course, and on more than one occasion the brown smudge of smoke filled the horizon no matter where we looked. It was particularly bad in Rocky Mountain NP, with the mountains reduced to featurless silhouettes in the not-too-far distance. Breathing never became difficult, but you could smell smoke tainting the fresh mountain air, feeling it on the back of your tongue like a bitter aftertaste. I know fires are a natural part of forest life, especially those started by lightning and not the man-made kind, but it was still a bit sad knowing how much was going up in flames around us.

Leave me a comment below and tell me if you've ever seen the smoke from forest fires firsthand. What was your impression?

A Snapshot and The Scoop: The Wines of Colorado

What's a Pikes Peak visit without a little tradition thrown in? Torrey and I have been visiting Pikes Peak every year since 2014, with no end in sight, and in addition to visiting the peak and exploring Colorado for a week we also tend to stop at one very specific restaruant/tasting room right at the foot of the mountain. The Wines of Colorado combines awesome food (seriously, it's great) with an absolutely fantastic assortment of wines from all over the state. Every time we visit neither Torrey nor I walk away without several bottles of wine each. Something new we discovered this year? Their outdoor patio is pet friendly! Hoodoo got to chill with us as we prepared for five days of hiking 14'ers, enjoying little licks off my plate when he thought I wasn't paying attention. We've definitely begun looking forward to our afternoon on their patio before we hit the road to explore more of Colorful Colorado, and I can't wait for next year's visit. Good food and good wine, what's not to love?

Leave me a comment and tell me about a place where you stop every time you make a return visit to your favorite spot! I want to begin new traditions everywhere I go.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Good Luck or Bad Luck - BEAR!

Another year, another week adventuring in Colorado with Torrey, and another BEAR!! This time around the bear in question was in an established campground, attempting to get into the dumpster. Torrey saw him first as he ran across the campground road in front of us (we were in the car, driving around to find a suitable campsite) and pointed him out to me. We stopped not to far from where he was trying to get into the site's bear box, which is pictured above. When he was unsuccessful he sniffed around the site, but when he got close to a tent I honked my car horn and he ran off. After we found the camp host and reported our sighting, showing him the videos and pictures we took, the campsite's occupant came to find us. The older lady only had her dog with her, and at the time of the bear's visit she was asleep in her tent - like, the same tent the bear had been sniffing around. She thanked us for scaring it off, and we chatted a bit more, with her debating whether or not to sleep in her car that night. We never found out if she slept in her car or not, but I can tell you one thing: Torrey and I sure did! We didn't even bother setting up the tent that night, prefering to stay in the safety of a hard-sided vehicle. We had no more sightings of the bear, and actually slept great while in our car. I doubt we would have slept as soundly if we'd been in our tent... That being said, I still think we're incredibly lucky to have seen a bear in the mountains for two years in a row!

14'er #6: Mount Bierstadt

Cocksure. It was with quite a bit of excitement that Torrey, Hoodoo, and I left our car at the parking lot of the Bierstadt trailhead on our final day of summitting mountains. We had hiked five 14,000 foot mountains in four days, and that morning was shaping up to be a perfect way to end our streak with the sixth mountain. We made fantastic time, flying across the trail at a pace faster than any other during the week. Sore muscles were nothing compared to the early morning stillness lit only by headlamps and the stars still shimmering above, illuminating the trail in front of us. We could see the headlamps of those already on the trail ahead bobbing along the shoulder of the mountain, little stars of their own. Of course, once we began to gain elevation our pace slowed, but not enough to resurect memories of miserable ascents from earlier in the week. We really were going to finish our week strong, our sixth mountain in five days, and us coming from flat land and all.

The trail up Bierstadt was one of the better ones of the week, right up until we reached the final push and began to scramble. That slowed us right down, as there didn't seem to be a single trail so much as a collection of carins marking any which way you wanted to take to get to the top. In the end, we just went up, testing our footing before placing our weight on the scree. Hoodoo seemed pretty content to let me do all the work, snuggling down against my neck as he dug his claws into my jacket to keep from sliding off. I didn't blame him, and was happy to let him ride given how many people and dogs were summitting around us; Hoodoo is a trooper and has a fantastic attitude about everything, with the exception of dogs (except my own). I'm sure they make him nervous, and to be honest they make me nervous for him too. So Hoodoo stayed up on my shoulder right up until we actually summitted and relaxed against a rock, soaking in the bright morning sunshine.

We stayed at the summit for quite a while as more and more people crested the ridge and joined us. Torrey and I snacked while Hoodoo lounged on a sunny rock that may as well have been a spotlight focused solely on him. At one point I had tried to keep count of how many people were taking pictures of my cat, but ended up losing track somewhere around twenty. He was being the most majestic thing ever, straight up posing for the cameras flashing in his direction, and when I finally scooped him up and placed him back on my shoulder for the descent, the picture requests kept coming. There was even a line of seven dudes who took a picture each in succession of me and my cat. I've never in my life had more strangers take a picture of me.

Torrey and I got separated in the crowd and she went on ahead, so I spent some time hiking as alone as is possible on a popular mountain. I ended up chatting with another hiker who, after no less than twelve different people asked to take a picture of my kitty, told me that I was bringing joy to the mutal suffering of summitting a 14'er. I'd noticed the looks of confused astonishment morphing into joy whenever people caught sight of my little orange kitten, and if I could help make someone's hike a little bit brighter because of my adventure kitten then who am I to deny them? Hoodoo spent most of his time on my shoulder, but in the quieter moments when there was no one around he jumped to the trail and walked alongside me, pausing to sniff at a flower or two as we went.

Perhaps I was a little too confident, brimming full of success after summitting all of the mountains that week, making me become careless. We hadn't had any injuries the entire week, so trust me to go ahead and fix that oversight. I stepped just a little too far close to the edge of a step covered with fine gravel and felt my foot slip out from under me, sending me down to one knee with the other leg stuck out at a weird angle behind me as I tried to not land on my cat. Of course, I had to do it in the middle of a group of people, all of whom stopped to help me up, asking if I was ok. I couldn't care less about myself, I just wanted to make sure I hadn't hurt Hoodoo, and only stopped to assess myself once I grabbed him and made sure he was uninjured. I'd scraped off a good chunk of skin on my right shin, blood pouring down my leg to soak into my sock. I grabbed my first aid kit out of the bottom of my pack and set about mopping myself up while Hoodoo played in the grass at the edge of the trail, not a care in the world. I went quite a bit slower after that, limping slightly and knowing I was going to bruise. I slipped a second time when I was almost to the car, cursing the whole time and once again banging my shins and knees on rough granite, resulting in Torrey waiting even longer for me than she normally would have at the trailhead. Even so, the injuries couldn't diminish the sense of giddy accomplishment of reaching our goal for the week, kicking off the next however many years it takes us to summit all the 14'ers in the state. If a couple of banged up shins and some bad weather are going to be the worst of our problems as we take on some of the roughest hikes in the country, I will welcome them with open arms. I absolutely cannot wait until we get back on the mountains next year, and you'd better believe my little adventure kitten with be right there with me as we take them on.

Read about the first five 14'ers here:
Pikes Peak
Quandary Peak
Grays and Torreys Peaks
Mount Evans

Interested in learning more about Hoodoo? Read about how I got him and chose him as my adventure partner here.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Four Corners

Have you ever been in four states at once? The only place this is possible is on the border of Utah, Colorado, Arizona, and New Mexico, and Alisha and I made sure our roads just so happened to take us past this particular area during our travels in July. We couldn't pass up the opportunity to stand in the all states that hold so many awesome adventures for us! The Four Corners park itself sits on tribal lands, governed by the Navajo Nation in conjunction with other tribes that call the area home. The offical corners border is marked by the token above set in concrete and stone, and is surrounded in a wide circle by stalls selling souvenirs, shirts, magnets, patches, and handcrafted art. We didn't hang around too long, just enough to get a magnet and chat with a few locals selling their goods, but hey, we got to stand in all four states!

14'er #5: Mount Evans

Disgruntled. Evans was supposed to be our easiest hike of the week. I deliberately planned Evans' hike for the day after Grays/Torreys, figuring we'd be sore and tired from hiking four 14'ers in three days, wanting to give us a bit of a rest before pushing through the final hike. We even allowed ourselves to sleep in till dawn, knowing the trail would be the shortest of the week. The morning started out promising, with cold but clear skies as we drove up Evans' road to the trailhead parking lot. Once we got there though, dark clouds swirled on the horizon, racing towards us with the promise of bad weather. Torrey and I opted to wait it out, not particularly wanting to get caught in a storm considering we were well above treeline, watching a few other hikers gather their gear and begin the trail ahead of us. We were relieved we waited when the clouds finally reached us and not rain but snow whipped around our car, the force of the wind rattling the frame. Visibility receeded and soon we were engulfed in white and wind, the mountain in front of us obscured.

The mini blizzard didn't last, scurrying off to wreck havoc on other unfortuante mountains, and blue skies returned. The temperature stayed below freezing, though, and we shivered as we piled on as many layers as we could before leaving the warmth of the car. I went to zip Hoodoo up into my jacket but he was having none of that, instead climbing up until he was situated on his perch at my right. The trail began easy enough, though soon we were scrambling up boulders using our hands just as much as our feet to keep our balance. Hoodoo was a downright champ, refusing to stay on my shoulder and choosing to boulder hop like he was born to do it. We walked through silence broken only by the wind, the air so cold it glittered, suspended ice crystals flashing reflected sunlight like a million mirrors. Even Hoodoo kept mostly quiet, though he was the most talkative of our trio, his little meeps and meows subdued under the morning sun.

The hike was not kind to us. Despite a relatively okay beginninig, once we began gaining elevation in earnest I lost speed, becoming quickly fatigued wiht trying to keep my balance between the wind and the shifting scree. This trail had a lot bigger rocks to climb over than the previous mountains, and I was absolutely sick of bending over to use my hands for purchase on the icy rocks. I became sullen and allowed distance to grow between Torrey and I, not wanting to slow her down but knowing I couldn't push my body enough to keep up. I became lost in my own head, grumpy with the rocks under my hands and the sun in my eyes, keeping enough awarness to watch my next step and make sure Hoodoo was still with me.

Despite the lesser distance, the trail seemed to go on forever. Just when I thought we surely had to be near the summit, I would catch sight of another carin marking the nearly non-exsistent trail, then another, and yet another further on, and I knew I should just give up guessing when we'd reach the top. It wasn't until I saw the summit road twisting on the shoulder of the mountain below me that I knew we were close. A scramble, then we set foot on the tourist summit trail and walked a few hundred feet to the top. We lingered there longer than we had at every other summit besides Pikes, taking pictures and chatting with anyone who spotted my cat, though I was eager to be off the mountain. Torrey and I decided to forgo the trail back and road walk to the parking lot instead. We'd be adding miles to our hike, but at least the miles would be on solid concrete instead of loose, shifting boulders. We were grumpy enough with the hike that walking along a road filled with crowds of people and vehicles actually sounded like the better option.

We hadn't walked far below the summit before some kind souls pulled over and offered us a ride. We piled into the warmth of their SUV and made small talk, describing our week of mountain climbing and kitten loving while they told us of their visits to the mountain from where they lived in Denver. Hoodoo passed out on my lap within a minute of sitting down, and we all cooed over his little tounge peeking out of his mouth while he slept. The ride down was infinetly better than walking down, and before we knew it we were dropped off at our car with well wishes for the rest of our travels and gratitued from us for the ride. I mused that we were probably getting spoiled, catching rides down from two summits in one week, though our options for getting rides down from the rest of the 14'ers is zilch. Was it cheating, driving down insead of hiking? Probably. Did we care at the time? No. Do I care now? Definitely not. We'll take whatever advantage we can get when it comes to hiking mountains. Besides, we have fifty-two other mountains left to learn how to use our own feet on the descent. I do know one thing though: I will not be returning to Mt. Evans at any time in the foreseeable future.

Read about the first four 14'ers here:
Pikes Peak
Quandary Peak
Grays and Torreys Peaks

Interested in learning more about Hoodoo? Read about how I got him and chose him as my adventure partner here.

14'er #3 & #4: Grays and Torreys Peaks

Ambivalent. I finally felt like we were getting into the flow of hiking mountains. Sure, it only took us two days and two 14'ers, but I was a lot more confident when contemplating the next challenge on our list: a double climb of Grays and Torreys Peaks. I knew the reverance of soft footfalls in the pre-dawn mists, the dread of incoming clouds that could mean rain or snow or an end to our hike, the exhaustion that muffles thoughts until you're no more than a body moving forward with internal inertia. I also knew the satisfaction of summitting using nothing but your own will power, and the renewed energy while climbing down, already thinking of the next hike. So when Torrey and I roused on the third day of hiking 14'ers I dressed with poise, imagining the views opening up around us as dawn broke the horizon.

I should have known better. Sure, dawn did come, but brought a fine drizzle with it that seeped into our clothes and only served to chill us through the first part of our hike. Hoodoo had started out in his customary spot on my shoulder, then decided he wanted to try the whole hiking thing himself and demanded to be put down. I obliged, though I was a little nervous to let him out of my arms, and we hiked a short distance until it began to rain. He promptly wanted back up, and I zipped him into my jacket when he tucked his head against my sternum. It wasn't long before I began wishing I could join him in his little bubble of warmth. Torrey and I had weathered rain, hail, sleet, and snow on Quandary the day before, but this rain was heavier, harder, and so much colder. We had left treeline at the parking lot and so had nothing to shelter us from the full force of the clouds opening up around us, and it was around that time that I became miserable. I can't do this ran through my mind on repeat, and when Torrey and I stopped near a trail sign by unspoken consent I was nearly in tears. I was freezing, beyond freezing, and knew my body and the cues well enough to know that if we continued the way we were I'd end up hypothermic before we reached the first summit. Not particularly wanting to deal with the mess and potential rescue senario that hypothermia would guarantee to bring down on us, Torrey and I huddled against the trail sign and hoped the rain would at least lighten up a little bit while I dug out every layer of clothing I had in my backpack. Hoodoo was not pleased to be dumped out into the rain, but it was only temporary as I tucked more layers under the protection of my rain jacket before scooping him back up and replacing his warm body next to my core. Like hell I was going to give up my own little furry heater.

Somehow or another Torrey and I got our wish by degrees as the rain lightened to a slow drizzle, though it was replaced by some of the most dense fog I've ever hiked through. We couldn't see more than twenty feet in front of us and we were especially careful not to lose each other or the trail as I began to wonder if summitting would be worth it. I realized I needed to decide what I wanted out of our goal to hike Colorado's 14'ers: did I want the views, the hike itself, or the summit? Perhaps I wanted all three, though in what percentages would have to be determined by each mountain. We'd had amazing views on Pikes, cloud play and a pretty hike on Quandary, so I supposed I could be contented with just the summits of Grays and Torreys, even if I was cold and wet and miserable and couldn't see a thing besides the trail in front of my nose.

I was in that state of mind when Grays summit popped up out of nowhere. Had I been focusing more on the trail rather than my own internal ramblings I probably would have noticed our hike was leveling off a bit, a sure sign that we were near the top, but as it was I was honestly surprised we'd reached the summit. Grays Peak certainly lived up to its name; there certainly wasn't much to look at beyond the soft swirl of water vapor that parted around us on invisible wind currents. We had the summit to ourselves (a rare phenomenon, if trail reports and my own experience are to be believed), and debated the merit of continuing on to Torreys Peak. A few hikers heading the opposite direction had described snow-covered scree and high winds with no view, and had opted to turn around after summitting Grays instead of heading for the second peak. Torrey and I decided we'd chance it, making our way down the saddle between the two 14'ers. The dip between the two was the windiest spot on the trail, though there wasn't as much snow as we feared. We leap frogged with another hiker pair, making small talk as we struggled up Torreys Peak together. Turns out one of them was from Colorado, but the other was from Texas (Houston) so her and I commiserated on the disadvantages of hiking mountains while living at sea level.

Torreys trail was loose, reminding me of walking on sand dunes where one step forward slides back a half step every time. My calves were screaming in protest and I rested every ten feet or so, but I was pleased to note I was no longer wet or really all that cold. Exertion and a lack of oxygen kept my heart pumping double time, drying my clothes with body heat and keeping my limbs warm. Even my toes were warm, tucked into two layers of socks and my trail shoes. My fingers, on the other hand, were frozen and it was all I could do to keep the feeling of pins and needles in them. My gloves, which had served me well on Quandary, did nothing to help, and when I began to lose the pins and needles in favor of numb nothingness I pulled out my spare wool socks and shoved them onto my hands. The pins and needles slowly returned, and when we finally reached the summit of Torreys Peak I had enough dexterity to push my camera's shutter button to snap a few pictures of the mist.

It was with a heady sense of relief that we left the summit and began the trek down. Hoodoo even poked his head out of my collar, and made it clear he wanted to get down and walk a little bit. Hoodoo hiked the entire way from the summit of Torreys Peak all the way to the saddle, then even further down the trail that would take us back to the parking lot. I only picked him up when I spotted a couple of dogs hiking the trail near us, though I put him back down once they had passed. Of course, as we descended the clouds lifted and we got an amazing view of the glacial valley spread below us, wide and bowed like a U. A glance over my shoulder showed Grays and Torreys Peaks silhouetted against the clouds and I almost wanted to return to the summits to get the views we'd been denied. The logical part of me shouted down the wishful thought and I returned my attention to the views in front of me and the kitten at my feet, keeping an eye on Hoodoo as we climbed down the mountains, making sure he was handling the rough rocks well. I didn't need to worry, and by the time we were back on somewhat level ground Hoodoo was keeping pace with me, although he would get distracted by a stray tuft of grass or the buzz of an insect. It was on his own four paws that we finished our trail, earning him a few claps and congratulatory scratches from a handful of hikers nearby. Really, I reflected as Torrey, Hoodoo, and I settled back into our car, the hike had been a smashing success, regardless of how it began. I might even be tempted to go back and do it again some day.

Read about the first two 14'ers here:
Pikes Peak
Quandary Peak

Interested in learning more about Hoodoo? Read about how I got him and chose him as my adventure partner here.

14'er #2: Quandary Peak

Rushed. Our day began in the type of darkness that can only be found beneath low, heavy rain clouds and thick evergreen forests. I don't even remember what time our alarms went off - I blocked out the clock and moved on autopilot as we broke camp and drove through a sleepy Breckenridge toward the trailhead to our second 14'er in as many days. When our car was the first to the lot, however, my bravado failed me as I tried to peer through the night to locate the trail, instead opting to nap a little while longer as we waited for dawn and (admittedly) more people. What is it about the forest at night that forces the little girl who's afraid of the dark to the front and center of the decision-making part of my mind? Torrey and I didn't have to wait long, however, before the lot began to fill and we finally felt safe enough in the crowd of peak-baggers to venture out into the pre-dawn forest, still shrouded in shadows of the night. Hoodoo took up what was to become his customary spot resting on my right shoulder, watching the world awaken around us as we began the day's ascent. Despite the toll Pikes took on us the day before we set a good pace, eating up the distance to treeline before the sun had risen above the mountains around us, though we couldn't see it; the skies had been weeping on our drive to the trailhead, and still threatened to do so even as they lightened to a dull grey.

Of course, it was above treeline, with no cover available, that it began to drizzle, then rain hard enough for us to pull out the rain gear and for me to zip Hoodoo up inside my jacket to keep dry. And then it started to hail, tiny little pellets that stung our faces. And the hail turned to sleet. Then snow. Somehow, though, we pushed on while keeping an eye to the skies - while the wet wasn't appreciated it was a storm we were worried about, being caught with no shelter when thunder begins to rumble. We did manage to get slightly distracted when we spotted a trio of mountain goats on the trail above us, heading our way. We scrambled off the trail as quickly as we could, putting as much distance between us and their path as the slick rocks and our own stumbling footsteps could get, though it still wasn't really enough considering they had a kid with them. As they drew closer we gave up on distance and just held still, trying to make like statues unworthy of notice. Clicking statues, as it turns out, due to my camera being attached to my fingers like an extension of flesh and blood. They passed further down trail with no incident, and we continued on our way with a new spring in our step from the cute encounter. I don't think Hoodoo even registered their presence, tucked into the front of my jacket as he was, huddled into my abdomen to avoid the rain/hail/sleet/snow and wind. Too bad, he probably would have had something to say about it (the kitten has something to say about everything).

It was also above treeline that we began to play in the clouds. When it wasn't rain/hail/sleet/snowing, the clouds swirled around us, obscuring first the path ahead, then behind, and sometimes isolating us on an island of granite in a soft, grey world. Rivers of clouds filled the mountain canyon beside the trail, flowing like the glaciers that had once carved their names into the rock. It was around that time that we got a good view of Quandary's summit, theoretically not that far from where we stood, though it would take some scrambling on slick granite to reach it. We slowed down considerably the closer we got, taking care with our footing on loose rocks and trying to keep the wind from knocking us over. Eventually though, after what at the time felt like forever but in reality would turn out to be our quickest ascent of the week, we summited our second 14'er and were graced by a brief moment of sunshine at the top.

I probably should have realized before we reached it, but I really had no desire to linger at the summit. In my defense I'd only ever been to the top of Pikes Peak, and usually reached the top via a vehicle, then had a warm summit house to shelter within if I got cold. I quickly learned on Quandary that Pikes Peak is an anomaly, not the norm for a 14'er summit. As soon as we summitted I wanted to turn around and go right back down to at least treeline, if not below. I wanted out of the wind. I practically forced myself to sit behind a rock wall built by others seeking a respite, choking down a handful of almonds and some water while I persuaded Hoodoo to come out of my jacket and explore a little bit. He, of course, didn't seem phased by the wind or the chill, hopping over the rocky summit like he was born into it, gaining himself coo's and excited whispers from fellow hikers who had never seen a cat on a mountain before. Before long, however, my fingers were frozen and both Torrey and I were ready to be done. We'd summitted, we'd met our goal, we just had to make it back to the car and call it a day.

It was on the way down, still above treeline, when it began to thunder. We sped up, already flying down the mountain so much faster than when we'd been going the opposite direction, and when a particularly long and loud peal echoed off the mountains around us we broke into a run, dashing for the safety of trees. I could feel Hoodoo bouncing indignantly against my chest and crossed my arms to keep him in place, earning me a disgruntled, if muffled, meow in response. It was either squish him, or trust him to hold on, and at the pace I was going if he'd slipped I would have run right over him before I could have stopped myself. So he got squished, at least until we made it back to treeline. He immediately clawed his way up my collar and settled himself on my shoulder, digging his claws in to the fabric of my jacket any time he felt me attempt to shift him. The storm that had been threatening us seemed to stall, and the sun even made a watery appearance for our last half mile on the mountain. Even with the weather Quandary treated us so much better than Pikes, and I'd be happy to make that summit again some day. Ya know, after we finsh the other 14'ers first.

Read about the first 14'er here:
Pikes Peak

Interested in learning more about Hoodoo? Read about how I got him and chose him as my adventure partner here.