LURE OF THE HORIZON

It’s Not a Vacation. It’s an Adventure - Day 2 pt. 1

As morning drew closer anticipation of the sunrise climb was negating any chance at rest.  Around 4:30 a.m. I was at the threshold of actually succumbing to sleep when Kent began to stir.  I was able to ignore that but apparently Brian could not.  From the other side of me, in the loudest whisper I have ever heard, came, “Kent.  …Kent are you awake, Kent?”  Aggravated silence.  From the other side of Brian Stan chimed in with, “Yes, he is.  Are you just trying to make sure everyone else is too?!? “.  Chuckles began to rise up from the random bodies lying around. 

Kent, who apparently could not sleep through my teeth chattering, noticed that I was the only one without a sleeping bag.  He tossed his over to me, fired up his jet boil, and began improvisational coffee brewing.  The resulting concoction could only be described as hot water with a slight aftertaste of dirt.  But it was warm and I drank every drop. 

The dark of night began to melt away and everyone began to stir.  In silence, each one of us repacked our backpacks and slid on our harnesses.  Kent, Kelly, and Traver began to unpack the ropes and rigging as they prepared for our climb.  The morning temperature was somewhere around perfect; not cold and not warm.  There was a slight mountain breeze greeting us as if on cue.  We finalized donning our equipment and took turns asking Kent and Kelly to double check our setup to make sure we were doing it correctly.  There was a palpable feeling of controlled energy. 

Harnesses – check.  Climbing shoes – check.  Helmets – check.  Carabiners, friction device, prussic – check.  The guts/stupidity to climb a limestone wall with nothing ensuring the avoidance of a splattered bloody death but ½” rope – check.   

After a quick safety talk Kent was the first to climb.  He effortlessly scurried up the face of the wall, making it look as simple as walking.    As he climbed, he secured anchors in the rock that would keep us from falling no more than the distance from the previous anchor.   We climbed in teams of three.  Brian and I were teamed up with Kent.  Brian followed Kent and I followed Brian. 

Because we started a fair distance up, our first steps out onto the rock face were already several hundred feet in the air.  I intentionally did not think before I started my climb.  I looked at the wall, located good places to put my hands and feet, took a deep breath, and began to ascend.  I did not look up or down.  I do not have a fear of heights, but I also know that conquering any fear in a situation like that is to focus on the task at hand.  When fighting a fire, I do not think that the fire could wrap around me or there could be a collapse; I think about advancing the hose line, being aware of my surroundings, and getting to the seat of the fire.  I found climbing to be the same.  I did not think about how far I would fall or the distance to the summit; I stepped up with my foot and reached with my hand.  And then I stepped up and reached with my hand again.  I was not afraid, but was focused.

Brian and I followed Kent at a steady but not a quick pace.  Kent would climb about 150 or more feet above us setting anchors at certain intervals.  Once he ran out of rope he set an anchor, waited for us to catch up with him, and then would advance the next 150 feet.  At several points I would end up close to Brian.  We exchanged exclamations about how most people we know were still in their beds at that time and we were in Colorado hanging somewhere between earth and sky.  Those times, waiting for Brian to advance ahead of me, allowed me to take small moments and do what I avoided when I first began to climb.  I looked up and saw the wall reaching into the bright blue sky.  I looked down and I saw an almost surreal expanse of rock.  I was relaxed and could thoroughly enjoy every inch of the climb. 

On the face of a rock wall things change.  It was almost confusing.  My predominantly horizontal world had become vertical and it demanded a change in perception.  Left and right had become up and down.  Only in the distance did the vertical and horizontal meet for a true appreciation of conquering the natural elements as well as the formulated routine driven life.   

Kelly, Traver, and Stan were climbing several hundred feet below us.  I found the further away from the flat earth beneath me I climbed, two things happened: the realization that the height of our climb was directly proportional to the size of the splat if one of us fell, and in a weird paradigm switch, the higher we were the more free and relaxed I felt. 

·         Foot placement, step up, reach, hand placement, repeat. 

·         Pause occasionally to stop, look around and enjoy the amazing view!

At one point I paused to look to the northeast and noticed seven hot air balloons up in the air.  I was clinging to a limestone slab and looking DOWN on the balloons.  It afforded me a true gauge on where we were in comparison to the rest of the world.

It took us about an hour and a half to summit.  The top of the rock was small and jagged.  There wasn’t much room for more than maybe a dozen people sitting side by side.  The first task was to remove the climbing shoes.  Ahhh… sweet relief.  Then, I sat back and took in the panoramic view of the Rocky Mountains.  I have said this before in previous posts but it bears repeating.  That, to me, was church.  Regardless of which dogma you subscribe to, from that perspective you realize how small you really are and how massive and beautiful our world really is. 

About a half an hour later the other three joined us on the summit and we all reached into our backpacks for some prepackaged lunch.  We exchanged stories about the climb and took in the view.  Stan realized he was missing his wallet and can of tobacco but there was no going back.

In our time at the top several other people had reached the summit.  We allowed them to go ahead of us for the rappel down the back side.  We spent several hours at the peak before we began our descent.  One at a time we rappelled down to a ledge that had a pre-drilled anchor and then crossed over to another rope and rappelled down the rest of the way.  When descending down a mountain one expects to encounter different animals scurrying around on the rocks.  What you do NOT expect to see is a man sitting cross legged on the lip of a small concave indention in the rock.  He never looked up from his book as, one at a time; we lowered past him in relative silence.

Once we all reached the bottom we conducted a quick inventory of people and equipment and then began our hike down.  Through sharp declines, boulders, trees, and loose dirt we walked, stumbled, and cursed our way down to where we camped the night before to pick up any supplies we had left behind.  As luck would have it, Stan located his wallet.  It was right next to the rock where, earlier that morning, he had gone to… take care of… uhhh… some personal morning business.

We hiked down the rest of the mountain with sore knees and ankles and a bolstered sense of self.  We decided to go to a parking lot to unload our gear and reorganize.  We found a parking lot with enough space for us to spread our things out.  As we stepped out of the vehicles we noticed some college kids in bathing suits carrying inner tubes.  Kent inquired as to what they were doing and found that they had bought truck tire inner tubes at the filling station up the road and were going to raft Boulder Creek.  Sounded good to us!

With a twelve pack of Miller Lite, new inner tubes, and enough stupidity between us to raft snowmelt rapids Kent led us into the creek…