Eli's Account Of The Trip
| Round One To Bierstadt
There are Certain things in life that we love doing so much we tell ourselves they are worth dying for. (Or maybe that is just my warped sense of value) A year and a half ago I thought one of those things for me was navigating large water in my kayak; that was until one fateful day I got myself wedged underneath a tree with the current of the water holding me in place. Under water for an extended period of time, well over a minute say my fellow kayakers that day, I remember thinking as I struggled to pull my mouth above water that I did not want to die there, that the rush of big water was not worth the possibility of looming death. We had just spoken about a well-known professional kayaker who had died by being pinned under a tree earlier in the week; of the extra attention we had to pay to downed trees and other obstacles. I remember look for my paddle after I had dodged death knowing that I was hiking through poison ivy, to which I have an extreme aversion, and being thankful for the opportunity to once again get the rash. After processing what had happened I took kayaking of the list of things I would be willing to die for. Even after the brush with death I still believed that there were passions worth dying for. The one I felt most strongly about was mountain climbing. I had been on a number of climbs and reached 20,000 feet while studying in Ecuador. Mountaineering is a passion, one whose value versus death had yet to be tested, but one I was sure would meet the challenge. One fateful weekend in March mountaineering got its chance. Duke Sutton and I left work at 3:30 on our way to Gaunella Pass Trailhead, the valley from which we would attempt our summit of Mt. Bierstadt. We drove through the night and arrived in Denver at 6:00am, proceeded to reach Georgetown at 6:30 and started our assent up the Gaunella pass. I believe that to this point I have failed to mention we are driving a rental car, albeit nice, only two wheel drive. We read in our Colorado Fourteeners handbook, “Gaunella Pass Road is open in the winter but is the last priority for the snowplow crew.” Just for the record, driving at steep grades in several inches of snow winding around tight corners, through which you must maintain momentum, is not something you want to be doing in a two-wheel drive passenger car; for should you slide off, the ditch is around 1,000 feet deep. We get stuck three times on the way up the pass once turning down the help of a passerby, in a more mountain worthy vehicle, because….well because we are guys. We proceed to drive by the trailhead and nearly down the other side of the mountain where against our better judgment we ask for directions and climb back up to the desired location. Once at the trailhead we see three, seemingly veteran, climbers gearing up for their summit attempt as we take the tags and wrappers off our crampons and snowshoes. Or I should say I take the tags off both items and Duke hunts feverishly for his crampons, which had arrived in Fridays mail and somehow failed to make the journey with us. We proceed to gear up, my climbing suit feels different and tight, but I pass it off as the result of seven months living in a cubbyhole. After an hour of hiking through the valley approaching the mountain we realize the extreme value proposition put forth by the snowshoes, even with them our feet broke through 1-2 feet every step we made. As the mountain comes closer Duke states that he is feeling the effects of the altitude and is probably going to hike along for a little while then return to the car. I ask if he minded my desire to continue on and he assures me not in the least. Twenty minutes later the mountain was getting steeper and I thought it would be appropriate to change into crampons. As I stop to put them on I realize that Duke is right behind me, while I fumble around, Duke motors on. I quickly realize that I have made a premature change as I sink up to my waist and have to crawl across the snowdrifts. Duke sees my peril and patiently waits for me to share his position on the mountain. He too had taken off his snowshoes and was sharing in my detestable experience. At his wise advisement we once again donned the snowshoes and attempted to reenergize ourselves. The water bottle, which I had stored inside my jacket, was frozen solid and obviously all other bottles shared their uselessness. Duke attempted to bite into a powerbar and quickly discovered that all efforts to consume food would also be futile. It was also on this stop that Duke asked if I had put anything on my face. I stated that I hadn’t and we quickly realized that the white appearance was not one his aberrations, frequent at this point, but that I was actually freezing my face. We killed two birds with one stone by discovering that the Velcro from my hood had been stuck to my sweater, making my suit bunch up, feel small, and obviously inhibiting me from placing it on my head. Without food, water, and limited mental sharpness (altitude was really taking a toll) we decided to carry on. Somewhere around 11,500 feet, good fortune blessed us with yet another learning experience. A weather pattern was nice enough to wipe our slate clean, producing a blank canvas from which we were free to carry on as we pleased. One problem with this development was that the only thing we could see was the blank canvas. Snow had obstructed our view of everything that once served as landmarks for a safe and prosperous return. While waning in enthusiasm, we once again decide to push for the summit. The wind had escalated to a point where we could no longer hear one another walking, and Duke’s verbiage had long since lost any sense of clarity, so we developed the thumbs up communication system. Every ten feet I would turn around and would give a thumbs up to which Duke would make an effort to return the sentiment. This pattern carried on for another thirty minutes and we were making good progress toward our goal. Feeling sickly myself I turned around knowing that duke’s responses were diminishing in acclaim, but did not expect to see him clasped in the fetal position on the mountain behind me. When I saw him I was immediately reminded of the outside magazine cover featuring the corpse of Sir Edward Hillary on his fateful Everest attempt. What would I have done if I were capable of rational thought? Probably rushed to his side to assure both he and myself that we would be all right. But instead, in my hypoxic drunken state I started laughing hysterically. I was laughing so intensely that I became short of breath and incredibly dizzy, nearly collapsing myself. He heard me laughing and was motivated once again to his feet, claiming that he just needed that little nap. We continued up for another 350 feet to what we believed at the time to be the summit. Only to have our victory snatched from our grasps by a break in the weather that reveled an imposing mound, the actual summit, just left of where we were standing. We determined that in our current mental and physical conditions there was no chance of us surmounting that peak. When we turned to go down the mountain and back to the relative safety of our vehicle, we discovered that the direction back was as obscure as the real summit had been five minutes prior. Of course we could us logic, and though you might think to the contrary we were not short on that. The problem was that there seemed to be a sound logical reason for going in every direction. We decided to travel down to the north, using the logic that we peered south from the parking lot to view the peak. Actually at this point I have to take the blame for most of the thinking because Duke at least had the sense to know he was incapable of making an educated decision. We traversed the entire length of the mountain range through snow up to our waists, traveling no more than 30 feet without one of us ending up withered to the ground. Right on cue the person standing would encourage, trading inspirational speeches the entire duration. When we approached the end of the range, to our disgust we concurred and, based upon “logic”, determined that we should have actually been walking in the opposite direction. At this point laying down for what could have been a very extended nap seemed like a viably option. Instead we mustered the intensity to make a push for survival. It was my turn to lead the activity, and feeling responsible for our current position I surged ahead for my most extended burst of activity in hours. I reached a point where we were to make our final decent and waited for Duke, feeling the impending urgency of fading daylight. Duke arrived and we surveyed the ground left to cover. We determined that there was about two miles to navigate and approximately one hour of daylight with which to do it. At our current pace this would seem like an insurmountable feat, and I am sure that Duke, as I, was thinking that we were in a great deal of trouble. We had just completed our pep talk and were mustering our energy when I slipped off a rock, slid down a chute, and logging my foot into a rock at the bottom twisting my knee when the single secured limb did not arrest my body. I felt the jolt of pain, immediately thought that I had blown out my knee, and proceeded to assure Duke that everything was all right and that this event would not impede our progress out of our current environment. Duke, as right on cue, saw my anguish and took control of the situation leading our last charge. We proceeded to the bottom of the mountain and caught our first real break; on the way up the mountain we noticed an orange emergency shelter tent and realized that we had guessed correctly. I didn’t want to dwell upon the fact that it had taken us an hour to get to that tent while fresh and excited this morning. We wound through the valley, crawling at times, and came across some Colorado residents who assured us that we were indeed on our way to the parking lot. Inching our way to the parking lot we had one more hill to climb. I reached the car and promptly collapsed beside it. Duke got in and proceeded to yell at me until I did the same. We both passed our in the car and slept for an undetermined amount of time. When awake we realized that our decent had formed a perfect “Z” on the mountain and that we were lost for a four-hour period of time. With the physical and mental states we were both in it was not inconceivable that we could have spent our last conscious moments on that peak, and with that said, mountaineering has passed the test. I still believe that it is worth dying for and will return one day soon to challenge Bierstadt once more. |
