Friends, Colorado and One Hell of a Day

OK, so just one more post about the West and then we'll move on. This one is  from my good friend Matthew Birdsell, a former Tennessee boy who now resides in Denver,CO. His generosity is one of the primary reasons Caitlin and I had such a good time out West. Matt was our host, guide, and even went so far as to let us borrow his car for almost a week. Just an all around good dude, Thanks Matt.

Mr. Birdsell, in his younger and hairier thru-hiker days

Having lived in colorful Colorado for over 16 months now I’ve had the fortune of experiencing some incredible weekends; baseball games, microbreweries, skiing with my brother, countless day hikes and bike rides up mountains and through valleys just to name a few. But one weekend in particular took the cake, dare I say the whole bakery.  It’s difficult for me to admit that that beautiful August weekend has been the finest I’ve experienced here, but after careful consideration it was without a doubt.  

I could go on and on about the weekend; great food, morning runs,  REI, Red Rocks, etc, etc…. but for the sake of my time and yours I will concentrate on one day in particular, a Monday ascent of Longs Peak. This mountain is the pride and joy of the Denver area.  You can see it from almost anywhere.  It’s the only 14,000+ ft mountain in Rocky Mountain National Park and there is a collective feeling that we are all lucky to live in its shadow.  So as the nature of man goes it must be scaled.  

Thanks to some thorough research by Caitlin we had a good idea of what to expect and how to go about the endeavor.  It started with a 10:00p.m. bed time in Estes Park, the Gatlinburg of Rocky Mountain National Park.  The excitement was not subtle and we had some trouble falling asleep.  So after 5ish hours of restless sleep we were all wide awake and ready to go by 3:00am.  We drank our ritualistic coffee and ate our peanut butter honey and banana sandwiches and started under way to our ultimate goal.  We turned on our headlamps, laced up our shoes and signed the registry as a group of 3 starting at 0430hrs.   It had been a long time since I had hiked in the dark and I enjoyed it greatly.  The weather was, as Dave described it, like being wrapped in a warm blanket.  We managed to get above tree line before sunrise, the first real treat of the day.  The red warming light lit up the mountain in a way only witnessing it can describe.  Many pictures were taken, but all failed to fully grasp the scene.

We pressed on.  Up up and up we continued.  The trail was well maintained and cut at a good gradient.  We spotted Marmots, Pikas, wildflowers and fellow mountaineers.  We saw rock that appeared to be stacked by the hands of giants, mountains that didn’t quit and refused to let go of the past winters snow.  Up and up we continued, getting ever closer to our goal.  A piece of cake so far.  At this rate we should get there in no time!  But then we met “The Keyhole” and in a moment everything changed.

The Keyhole

The Keyhole is when you find out if you will thrive or wilt on this endeavor.  You see it from afar and don’t realize its size until you get right underneath it.  When you pass through it you get your first real look to the southwest.   Before this moment I had used the word “breathtaking” as a cliché, but once I climbed hand over  hand to that view I truly understood the meaning of the word.  Jagged peaks as far as the eye could see, clouds trying desperately in vain to move up and over them.  Every once and a while one would break loose and shroud us in a brief fog.  Hand over hand we continued following the bullseye trail marks and wondered if this truly was the only way!  It was.  Countless times my knees would weaken and I’d look over to my side knowing that one idiotic move could cost me my life.  Adrenaline was certainly a part of the experience.  And so we pressed taking our time and being sure of our footing.  Then came a great ascent, one with plenty of altitude to gain and loose rock to help you along the way.  The altitude becomes an element. All of us at this point were a little light in the head and weak in the knees.  Stop, rest, have some water, now press, and so we did. 

I do believe the most powerful moment of the trip came during this ascent.  Weakened by altitude, hunger, and probably dehydration Caitlin felt the weight of a 14,000 ft mountain begin to press on her.  No worries!  Her loving husband was there to calm and reassure her of her strengths and abilities.  While I was not there for it (I had decided to press on) I can imagine the strength of their relationship and the love they possess for one another being the power that motivated them both to the top of that mountain.

Through the Narrows and up the Homestretch I scrambled to finally make it to the top!  Oh what a feeling to conquer such a beast to stand upon that highest point.  There is no feeling that compares!  And less then 20 minutes later I look down to see no other then the Worths making their final push to the top of that 14,255 foot monster.  Alas we are victors!  I had no doubts, only the weather gods could have kept us from making it.  It is common knowledge that only 1/3 of attempts on Longs are successful and that people are killed regularly attempting it.  But not us, not today, we are triumphant!

Victory

So we soaked it up, admired the view, had some snacks, and snapped some pictures.  Smiles were thrown back and forth and awe was expressed.  It was time to return to the low lands.  We had accomplished what we had set out to do and now it was time to return to tell the tale.  Back down “The Homestretch” past “Keyboard of the Winds” through “The Narrows”, down “The Trough”, through “The Keyhole”, scramble across “The Boulderfield (which I must add felt like we were traversing the moon) down to the treeline and finally to the car.  We signed the register at 1600 hrs just shy of a 12 hr expedition.  What a day.

And so we did it, we made it; we did something that 66% of the people who attempt do not achieve.  We are mountain killers.  A great day I say without the least bit of doubt.  Caitlin and Dave I commend you for such an accomplishment and thank you for letting me achieve it with you. 

Matthew R. Birdsell

Mountain Killer

Finding Home

Thoughts from the Better Half; Caitlin's post about her experience in the West.


Yesterday I did a 6 mile run in my neighborhood, tickling the feet of Mt. LeConte, a mountain that holds a piece of my soul...a piece that I will never get back without going to retrieve it. This morning I drove through a sleepy Gatlinburg on my way to work, along the West Prong to Sugarlands to return to work after a week in the great American West.

Enjoying some cocoa on Mt. LeConte

With each passing day it is becoming more and more difficult to recall, not the memories of the places themselves but the feelings these places evoked in me. Some of the things, though, are still very real and raw. I can only hope that these moments will not fade into obscure memories. It is a true fear that I will eventually forget...but my hope is that some of the feelings will be impossible to forget, because the places we visited while on our trip evoked feelings deep in my being that I have truly never felt.

Top of the Old Falls River Road in Rocky Mountain NP

I have never visited a park where I was entirely certain I could be happy living there within the first hour of visiting. I have been accused of falling in love with places too quickly, but now that I am older, I take my time of assessment more seriously. One day put Rocky Mountain National Park on my “life list”of parks in which I would like to work. That being said, this made us both nervous, we still had more parks to visit on our itinerary and a life in the park service is only so long.

The desert is a hard place to describe. I find it especially difficult the more distant the memory becomes. We arrived in Moab, UT after 7 + hours of driving from Denver. We were tired of being in the car, but really wanted to see all of the amazing things Arches had to offer. This first glimpse of the park, I will never forget. We popped into the park for about 30 minutes at sunset, going just far enough to appease our curiosity. I will never forget how the rocks of Park Avenue made me feel on this first desert night. Watching the sun warm these monuments of earth with colors unfamiliar in our Smoky Mountain home was unparalleled.

Park Avenue just after sunset.

In Arches we hiked both days of our trip, visiting what were considered to be the most iconic places in the park. Landscape Arch, longest rock archway in the world... Delicate Arch, which has become the symbol of Arches National Park over the years. Although these amazing feats of erosion were impressive, I found that it was the times spent travelling to and from these things that I enjoyed most. Midday is no time to be exploring the desert in August. The light is harsh, the park is incredibly busy and the little French/(insert any European nationality here) girls are whining, which in turn makes me whine.

Dave on his way to Double "O" Arch

Arches was a place best enjoyed about an hour after sunrise and the hour surrounding sunset...and perhaps most surprising to me...during the night itself. I have never been a night person, but sitting on a rock in the desert twilight was the closest I came to true, soul filling, vacation affirming, nirvana...albeit brief.

Me at the Windows before sunset.

Although I would love to go back to Arches in a time of year when I had my choice of rocks to sit upon, this one trip was enough to prove that we couldn’t make a life for ourselves here in this barren wash of a landscape. I would miss the trees and flowers, rain and shade, rivers flowing over our mountain home....and this revelation I will say, was a relief. For a park service career is only so long, and we have already added one park to the life list. Some places just aren’t home...and that is ok...because they are home to someone.

Edward Abbey once said of this place, “This is the most beautiful place on earth. There are many such places. Every man, every woman, carries in heart and mind the image of the ideal place, the right place, the one true home, known or unknown, actual or visionary. A houseboat in Kashmir, a view down Atlantic Avenue in Brooklyn, a gray gothic farmhouse two stories high at the end of a red dog road in the Allegheny Mountains, a cabin on the shore of a blue lake in spruce and fir country, a greasy alley near the Hoboken waterfront, or even, possibly, for those of a less demanding sensibility, the world to be seen from a comfortable apartment high in the tender, velvety smog of Manhattan, Chicago, Paris, Tokyo, Rio, or Rome — there's no limit to the human capacity for the homing sentiment.”

... It might be a tiny cabin on top of Mt. LeConte with a sunrise view of LeConte Lodge, or maybe a two bedroom house on a ridge in Gatlinburg, where you are just close enough to take a run and tickle the toes of your favorite mountain...or maybe sometime in the future, it is a home with a view of Longs Peak just outside Rocky Mountain National Park...but regardless of where, everyone should have one because a home is an important thing to have...
~~~~ Caitlin~~~~

Rocky Mountain, Arches and Canyonlands National Park 8/11/11-8/19/11

The air was drier if not cooler, suggesting that the fall season may arrive again and not just be a fabricated memory designed to help me cope with the summertime humidity. The hike up Alum Cave trail will be my last ranger led hike of the year. The route has become as familiar as the living room of my home. Along the way I'm able to name everything from peaks to plants with relative ease. For the return trip, the heat and humidity has returned and my uniform pants begin to feel like a pair of greased skinny jeans made of wool-lined bubble wrap.

By 7PM Caitlin and I are on a plane, thankfully headed West towards drier air. We look out the window at the main ridge of the Smokies and have all the major peaks named within a few minutes. Gazing at LeConte, Cammerer and Guyot I think back on all the seasons of trips up and down their slopes. The Midwest landscape is too distant or cloud covered to see much until we begin lowering into Denver. In the late evening light its hard to tell what's a canyon and what's a ridge. The ground looks desolate and harsh and I wonder where the heck the Rockies are. When the plane touches down I'm finally looking at the Front Range. From this distance they are not that impressive, looking like the Chilhowee Mountains after a hit from an errant weed-eater stroke. Over the next few days I'll come to appreciate and respect these mountains much more. Two full days in Rocky Mountain National Park and one of the hardest hikes of my life will accomplish this fairly easily.

Looking toward the Front Range

Appropriately named "The Boulderfield"

Caitlin near the Summit of Longs, questioning sanity and possibly choice of husband

Summit View from Longs Peak

Our first 14'er

We spend the biggest part of Tuesday driving I-70 from Denver to Moab, watching the landscape change from mountains to high desert over several hundred miles. Our experience in the Rockies set the bar high, so Caitlin and I were prepared to be disappointed by Arches and Canyonlands. Despite triple digit heat and an unusually high number of foreign tourists in both parks, we enjoyed the clean and open space of the desert quite a bit... just not as much as the Rockies.

Side trip to Colorado National Monument

Landscape Arch-Arches National Park

Mesa Arch-Canyonlands National Park

Arches and Canyonlands are good all the time, but they are amazing for about a half hour around sunrise and sunset. They're best experienced in relative solitude, something we unfortunately didn't get despite how early or late we got out into the park. I'd like to see these places again on some Winter morning somewhere in the future.

The Windows-Arches National Park

Caitlin and our fellow park ranger/grad school buddy/vacation host Chris Stefanides

After a week of seeing nothing but incredible new country my suspicion was that the Smokies would've have loosened their spell on me. What I've found to be the case though is that home has taken on a newness itself. A week in the dry air of the West has allowed me to see the familiar from a different angle, in the same way we know light by dark.

Over the next few days I'll try and upload the rest of my photos to my picasa album if anyone wants to browse through them. 

A Day Full of Ups and Downs: A Speed Attempt of All Trails to Mt. LeConte

Every year as a gift to myself, I decide to take on something incredibly long, grueling and exhausting. This affliction began at an early age, I can still distinctly remember the 23 mile sufferfest of a hike I took for my 19th birthday and the absolute ruination of my feet that followed. For better or worse, I've since moved on  to the hard stuff. 


Over the past two years I've made over 50 trips up Mt. LeConte and spent over 100 nights on its summit. One would think that I would've had my fill of this place by now, not quite. For this years birthday sufferfest I decided to run (where possible) all the trails to LeConte. A feat that equates to 44 or so miles of incredibly steep, rocky and rooty trails. This route is nearly identical in length and elevation gain to running the Grand Canyon rim to rim and then back again.

Up Rainbow, Down Trillium, Up Bullhead, Down Alum

Up Boulevard, Down Trillium/Brushy Mtn

When I mentioned my decision to my wife Caitlin the night before, her response was nothing more than an un-surprised "ok, cool." Initially, I thought I would park at Cherokee Orchard and later in the day either hitch a ride or run up to Newfound Gap. Lucky for me though, Caitlin was not only willing to help me shuttle a car to the Alum Cave parking lot the night before, but even willing to drop me off at the trailhead the morning of.

Ready to hit the trail

Not an unreasonable hour to begin a run

The alarm was set for 5AM, I woke up at 4AM wide eyed and a grin on my face. I snuck out of bed with hopes of not waking Caitlin, no chance. Within minutes she's up too, and soon enough we are making the drive to the trailhead.

My first ascent of LeConte would be by way of Rainbow Falls Trail. The pre-dawn hiking was exciting, with my imagination turning every  stump into a bear and every root into rattlesnake. The NOAA man said there would be a dry air mass in the area this day, he lied. Within half an hour my shirt and shorts are soaked with sweat. After 45 minutes or so I was able to put the headlamp away and begin making better time up the trail. In what seemed no time at all I was re-filling my camelbak in front of the lodge office and began descending the Trillium Gap trail back to Cherokee Orchard.

Despite being downhill, Trillium Gap trail was slow going due to the rocks and roots. Falling forward is supposedly good running form, well the falling part is really easy on the upper section of this trail. I eventually stumble my way to Grotto Falls and am able to enjoy a few moments of solitude.

No crowds yet

Soon after leaving the falls I cross paths with the Llama wrangler, the man in charge of bring supplies up to LeConte Lodge. After hearing my plans, he suggests I not beat him back up to the Lodge. Sorry man.

Eggs, Cheese, and Sheets

The Roaring Fork/Cherokee Orchard section of this endeavor was by far the most runnable, but perhaps the most hazardous as well. Near the Baskins Creek Trailhead I passed an unaware mamma bear and three cubs. Not a few miles later I was jumped by an ornery gang of yellow jackets. A hundred yard sprint and a few choice statements about their relationship with their mother was enough to get me past the bees with only a sting on the back and armpit.

Up, Up and Up the Bullhead Trail. Little to no running was accomplished on this trail until I reached the (relatively) flat last mile of the the trail before it joins with the Rainbow Falls Trail. The slowness provided ample time to pick a few blueberries and enjoy the Yellow Fringed Orchids along the trail. Time passed quickly and again I was standing in front of the Lodge office filling my Camelbak. I made a pit stop into the dining hall to chat with Chris and Allyson and then began the fast and fun descent of Alum Cave trail. The trail was dry and not overcrowded, allowing me to make good time back to the car.

I lost track of time a little trying to re-stock my pack. I should have pre-packed a second running pack, but in my haste only managed to toss a few granola bars and bananas in the car before dropping it off the night before. For some reason packing a bag can be as mind-boggling as theoretical chemistry after several hours of running. Eventually, I made the drive to Newfound Gap and began heading North on the AT with a full pack and fresh socks.

The truth about the Boulevard trail is that it's not easy. In fact, its quite hard which ever direction you decide to travel it. About halfway to Lodge I was struggling with this fact, my right calf cramping and my quads feeling like they'd been beaten with a sledgehammer. Daydreaming about salty foods and soup, I knew my bodies electrolytes were probably depleted.

After an agonizingly slow ascent of the last mile of the Boulevard,  I hugged the stack of rocks and began cruising towards the lodge. 

Elev. 6,593ft

Not too far from the lodge I once more crossed paths with the Llama wrangler, received some encouraging words and kept working my way down the trail. Roots and rocks that appeared to be only two or three inches high kept slapping my toes. Not until I reached the final miles of Brushy Mountain Trail could I really call my forward progress running. The gate across Porters Creek trail  never seemed to materialize. I ran and ran, expecting some lift from the excitement of being nearly finished with this epic day, but never seemed to get beyond a state of low-grade delirium and exhaustion. Finally, I  reached the gate and promptly laid down in the trail.

10hrs later...

While waiting for my Dad to pick me up, I was able to unwind and spend a few minutes reflecting on the day. I enjoy these sort of challenges because at the end of the day there are no cheering crowds and no finishers medals, you are alone with the trail and the truth of the situation. Quiet moments on the trail and an honest sense of fatigue are reward enough. There are purists who argue against these speed hikes and runs, viewing them as nothing more than a continuation of our hurry-up culture. For me, a day of trail-running is more than a simple race against time. It's how I've come to appreciate the trail the most. Thoughts of grocery lists, school work and everything else yet to be done take a back seat. I'm able to experience the trail directly, without mental chatter. 

I hear the scatter of gravel and see my ride approaching the trailhead. My dad and I slap a few high fives and in a few minutes I'm back at the house. Fatigue sets in quick and as I ascend the stairs to the house, I'm very glad I only have one birthday per year.