Mt. Evans, 1988
My good friend Jim, over at Hyperbole, recently posted an extraordinary series of posts about his recent climb up Kilimanjaro in Africa (scroll back if you cannot immediately find them--they are worth the narrative). All that got me thinking of my own rather meager history of mountain climbing back when I was a Colorado boy, in college, and in a hell of a lot better shape than I am now. I really respect Jim for doing Kili now, because I know I never could have even come close in my current state.
Nevertheless, I am reminded of a story of mine own I can record in this, my diary for the ages, about my brief career as a mountaineer. And since I begin my comps on Saturday, this will probably be the last you hear from me for a while. Anyways, it is a story about a trip up a mountain and how weather can creep up on you and how you can sometimes get really, really lucky by which mountain you pick to climb on a given day.
July, 1988. The summer between my sophomore and junior years in college, and I'm at home in Colorado Springs. I had then, and still have to this day, two great friends from high school that we would resurrect each summer at the time: Rick, who was at school at Colorado State, and John, who was at Cornell College in Iowa. Both of them were ten times better athletes than me and in better shape. But we were buds, had fun, and enjoyed each other's company. And this summer, we decided to climb some more fourteeners to add to our "list" that wasn't that long. Well, my list was smaller than theirs. Earlier that summer, we had done a double climb of Mt. Grey and Torreys Peak in the same day: pretty easy climbs. Our goal for the summer, if I remember, was to do as many Front Range fourteeners as we could. Next up: Mount Evans.
Evans didn't really present us with any real challenges. The reason is that it has a highway all the way up to near its summit: its the highest paved road in the United States. Nevertheless, no real climber could say that they drove all the way to the parking lot on top and then climbed the extra hundred vertical feet and call that an ascent. Instead, what we decided to do was to drive up to a particular lake that is right below the summit north face, a very steep climb of about fifteen-hundred feet. That, we reckoned, could qualify as a climb. So we drove John's old VW bug up to the lake, parked on the side of the road, and started out.
[Wide angle of Evans from the lake. Summit on left as is the direct route we took.]
I should mention that one of the reasons that we started that high on the mountain is that our intention that day was to climb two mountains: Evans and nearby Mt. Bierstadt. The two mountains are separated by a walkable, but intimidating ridge called the Sawtooth. Most people take on the Sawtooth from Bierstadt to Evans. We decided to do it backwards.
[That's the Sawtooth from Bierstadt. We were going to do it the other way.]
So, anyways, we started hiking, mostly scrambling up large granite rocks. The route up Evans, while steep, was very sure footed and fairly easy due to the firmness of the granite under our feet. Unfortunately, for the season, that face of Evans faces north, and so our backs were always to the oncoming weather at that time of year. And, unfortunately, in those early summer months, storms form over the mountains very quickly in the early afternoon and will swoop down from the west and north. By the time we reached the saddle that had the parking lot, we had our first real glimpse behind us, as we were speed climbing up the face. And that was when we noticed that there were waves of weather coming our way. I was behind my more athletic friends, so I was trying to catch up with them. On Evans, there is a trail up to the top for the tourists. I started up the trail. Halfway up, I met my friends coming down. They mentioned I should hurry the hell up. I didn't understand at first, and when you are out of breath and have been climbing, you tend not to give a lot of details. So I kept climbing. Eventually I got to the top.
As I reached the summit, I wanted to do two things. I first wanted to take a picture of the USGS flagstone of the summit, to prove I was there. Then, I wanted to enjoy the view. However, as I approached the summit, now looking north, the first thing I noticed was a crap load of weather coming at me. And--I'll never forget this as long as I live--when I actually stepped atop the summit, the knit cap I was wearing on top of my head started to audibly crackle.
Now, there is only one thing in the world that will make wool audibly crackle, and that is static electricity. And it doesn't just crackle--you feel it, too. And that means one thing: you are on the tallest point and you are about to be hit with lightning. And, as a result, I ran off that mountain as fast as I possibly could, running past several bewildered tourists, making comments when I thought about it, but mostly just running downhill to the parking lot where I could seek shelter.
And that is where this particular mountain came in handy. If my friends and I were on any other mountain at that exact moment, we would have been in much more dire straits. But there was a parking lot, and a small bathroom at the "summit" of Evans, and we huddled together in one of those as a massive storm came swooping across at that very moment, with sleet and dense fog. The tourists had their cars. We just shivered in our shorts. And then, as soon as it had come, the storm was gone and it was blue skies again and warm temperatures.
Rick and John decided that we should continue on with the hike across the Sawtooth. Me, I was a weather freak and I didn't like the conditions (this was a couple of years before my famous tornado encounter). I was outvoted and I so I went along and we started our traverse towards the Sawtooth.
At first, it was breathtaking. We were on the south side of the Evans summit ridge, and so the weather was again out of sight, though I still worried. But it was sunny and in the valley to our south there was a huge herd of Bighorn Sheep prancing about the rocks in the far distance. If you have never been above timberline, it is hard to describe the unique and utterly beautiful ecosystem that exists. But it wasn't long before trouble again came. Another wave of storms came swooping down, suddenly, and these were worse than before. This time, the intermittent fog and sleet was accompanied by lightning.
Experiencing lightning above timberline is a singularly scary event. There is nowhere to hide, except to crouch low. They tell you not to hide under rocks because they could transfer shock to you, like a tree. Watching a lightning storm above timberline is spectacular as much as frightening, for everytime a bolt hits the ground, sparks fly up off the rocks as if in a movie. So, we hunkered down the best we could while we watched the sparks and waited for the storm to pass. All at 14,000 feet. When the storm finally passed, it was again just as nice and sunny as before. But I could read the sky, and I knew we were done. I tried to convince Rick and John about this, but they wouldn't have any of it. I finally decided to say enough. I asked John for his keys. I said I would hike down and get the car, then drive up to the summit and wait for them. I was ready to wait all day for their hike, but I had a feeling that things were going to get worse.
I left my friends, and started walking back toward the Evans summit parking lot. Right as I got there, another storm wave came across. This one wasn't accompanied by precipitation but rather a bone-chilling cold fog that lasted a long time. At this time, I started getting worried about my friends, as they were not dressed for cold weather, but were rather in shorts. I met a guy on the summit and asked him if he could drive me down to the VW bug. He agreed, thank god, and gave me the commute. By this time, the waves of bad weather had turned into bad weather, period. Sleet, lightning, cold. It was awful. And I was very worried about my friends, who had they done their designed climb would never have gotten below 13, 600 feet.
I got in the VW and drove up the mountain. About a hundred feet below the parking lot there is a switchback that is many hundred yards farther to the west than the lot itself. I decided, since my friends were in that direction, to park there and wait for them. The weather was terrible. Sleet, thunder, cold. I remember looking for a tape to pop into the player to keep me company while I waited and the only one I could find was a god awful Roger Hodgson solo album--that Johnny always liked Supertramp. Anyways, I waited and got more and more worried. I do not remember how long I waited; it was probably only about a half an hour, but finally, out of the fog and sleet, my friends came running up to the car. Boy, were they glad to see me! And I was glad to see them! They seemed to be covered in ice, and shivering like crazy in their shorts. Eventually, they warmed up and we went home.
An anti-climatic ending, but most mountain stories usually are. Although if you have never seen the film Touching the Void, you don't know how bad mountaineering can get. I think my friends look back at our Mt. Evans experience as a laugh, since they probably weren't in any real danger due to the particular mountain. But I don't take any mountain for granted and I'm just glad we were on that mountain at that time. Personally, I would be fine to never be in another storm above timberline as long as I live. At least not with people I care about. Still, I guess my friends are right: a great adventure!
Nonetheless, and this tells you something about me, I thought I had taken some great photographs of our ordeal on Mt. Evans that day. I never got the film developed before I got back to Kansas State for school in the fall. And when I went to pick up my pictures, they had all been lost. All of them! I have no record of that trip and our ordeal! Damn you film and the days before digital photography!
Okay. Almost time for my comps. Maybe I'll be back in four weeks.
Nevertheless, I am reminded of a story of mine own I can record in this, my diary for the ages, about my brief career as a mountaineer. And since I begin my comps on Saturday, this will probably be the last you hear from me for a while. Anyways, it is a story about a trip up a mountain and how weather can creep up on you and how you can sometimes get really, really lucky by which mountain you pick to climb on a given day.
July, 1988. The summer between my sophomore and junior years in college, and I'm at home in Colorado Springs. I had then, and still have to this day, two great friends from high school that we would resurrect each summer at the time: Rick, who was at school at Colorado State, and John, who was at Cornell College in Iowa. Both of them were ten times better athletes than me and in better shape. But we were buds, had fun, and enjoyed each other's company. And this summer, we decided to climb some more fourteeners to add to our "list" that wasn't that long. Well, my list was smaller than theirs. Earlier that summer, we had done a double climb of Mt. Grey and Torreys Peak in the same day: pretty easy climbs. Our goal for the summer, if I remember, was to do as many Front Range fourteeners as we could. Next up: Mount Evans.
Evans didn't really present us with any real challenges. The reason is that it has a highway all the way up to near its summit: its the highest paved road in the United States. Nevertheless, no real climber could say that they drove all the way to the parking lot on top and then climbed the extra hundred vertical feet and call that an ascent. Instead, what we decided to do was to drive up to a particular lake that is right below the summit north face, a very steep climb of about fifteen-hundred feet. That, we reckoned, could qualify as a climb. So we drove John's old VW bug up to the lake, parked on the side of the road, and started out.
[Wide angle of Evans from the lake. Summit on left as is the direct route we took.]
I should mention that one of the reasons that we started that high on the mountain is that our intention that day was to climb two mountains: Evans and nearby Mt. Bierstadt. The two mountains are separated by a walkable, but intimidating ridge called the Sawtooth. Most people take on the Sawtooth from Bierstadt to Evans. We decided to do it backwards.
[That's the Sawtooth from Bierstadt. We were going to do it the other way.]
So, anyways, we started hiking, mostly scrambling up large granite rocks. The route up Evans, while steep, was very sure footed and fairly easy due to the firmness of the granite under our feet. Unfortunately, for the season, that face of Evans faces north, and so our backs were always to the oncoming weather at that time of year. And, unfortunately, in those early summer months, storms form over the mountains very quickly in the early afternoon and will swoop down from the west and north. By the time we reached the saddle that had the parking lot, we had our first real glimpse behind us, as we were speed climbing up the face. And that was when we noticed that there were waves of weather coming our way. I was behind my more athletic friends, so I was trying to catch up with them. On Evans, there is a trail up to the top for the tourists. I started up the trail. Halfway up, I met my friends coming down. They mentioned I should hurry the hell up. I didn't understand at first, and when you are out of breath and have been climbing, you tend not to give a lot of details. So I kept climbing. Eventually I got to the top.
As I reached the summit, I wanted to do two things. I first wanted to take a picture of the USGS flagstone of the summit, to prove I was there. Then, I wanted to enjoy the view. However, as I approached the summit, now looking north, the first thing I noticed was a crap load of weather coming at me. And--I'll never forget this as long as I live--when I actually stepped atop the summit, the knit cap I was wearing on top of my head started to audibly crackle.
Now, there is only one thing in the world that will make wool audibly crackle, and that is static electricity. And it doesn't just crackle--you feel it, too. And that means one thing: you are on the tallest point and you are about to be hit with lightning. And, as a result, I ran off that mountain as fast as I possibly could, running past several bewildered tourists, making comments when I thought about it, but mostly just running downhill to the parking lot where I could seek shelter.
And that is where this particular mountain came in handy. If my friends and I were on any other mountain at that exact moment, we would have been in much more dire straits. But there was a parking lot, and a small bathroom at the "summit" of Evans, and we huddled together in one of those as a massive storm came swooping across at that very moment, with sleet and dense fog. The tourists had their cars. We just shivered in our shorts. And then, as soon as it had come, the storm was gone and it was blue skies again and warm temperatures.
Rick and John decided that we should continue on with the hike across the Sawtooth. Me, I was a weather freak and I didn't like the conditions (this was a couple of years before my famous tornado encounter). I was outvoted and I so I went along and we started our traverse towards the Sawtooth.
At first, it was breathtaking. We were on the south side of the Evans summit ridge, and so the weather was again out of sight, though I still worried. But it was sunny and in the valley to our south there was a huge herd of Bighorn Sheep prancing about the rocks in the far distance. If you have never been above timberline, it is hard to describe the unique and utterly beautiful ecosystem that exists. But it wasn't long before trouble again came. Another wave of storms came swooping down, suddenly, and these were worse than before. This time, the intermittent fog and sleet was accompanied by lightning.
Experiencing lightning above timberline is a singularly scary event. There is nowhere to hide, except to crouch low. They tell you not to hide under rocks because they could transfer shock to you, like a tree. Watching a lightning storm above timberline is spectacular as much as frightening, for everytime a bolt hits the ground, sparks fly up off the rocks as if in a movie. So, we hunkered down the best we could while we watched the sparks and waited for the storm to pass. All at 14,000 feet. When the storm finally passed, it was again just as nice and sunny as before. But I could read the sky, and I knew we were done. I tried to convince Rick and John about this, but they wouldn't have any of it. I finally decided to say enough. I asked John for his keys. I said I would hike down and get the car, then drive up to the summit and wait for them. I was ready to wait all day for their hike, but I had a feeling that things were going to get worse.
I left my friends, and started walking back toward the Evans summit parking lot. Right as I got there, another storm wave came across. This one wasn't accompanied by precipitation but rather a bone-chilling cold fog that lasted a long time. At this time, I started getting worried about my friends, as they were not dressed for cold weather, but were rather in shorts. I met a guy on the summit and asked him if he could drive me down to the VW bug. He agreed, thank god, and gave me the commute. By this time, the waves of bad weather had turned into bad weather, period. Sleet, lightning, cold. It was awful. And I was very worried about my friends, who had they done their designed climb would never have gotten below 13, 600 feet.
I got in the VW and drove up the mountain. About a hundred feet below the parking lot there is a switchback that is many hundred yards farther to the west than the lot itself. I decided, since my friends were in that direction, to park there and wait for them. The weather was terrible. Sleet, thunder, cold. I remember looking for a tape to pop into the player to keep me company while I waited and the only one I could find was a god awful Roger Hodgson solo album--that Johnny always liked Supertramp. Anyways, I waited and got more and more worried. I do not remember how long I waited; it was probably only about a half an hour, but finally, out of the fog and sleet, my friends came running up to the car. Boy, were they glad to see me! And I was glad to see them! They seemed to be covered in ice, and shivering like crazy in their shorts. Eventually, they warmed up and we went home.
An anti-climatic ending, but most mountain stories usually are. Although if you have never seen the film Touching the Void, you don't know how bad mountaineering can get. I think my friends look back at our Mt. Evans experience as a laugh, since they probably weren't in any real danger due to the particular mountain. But I don't take any mountain for granted and I'm just glad we were on that mountain at that time. Personally, I would be fine to never be in another storm above timberline as long as I live. At least not with people I care about. Still, I guess my friends are right: a great adventure!
Nonetheless, and this tells you something about me, I thought I had taken some great photographs of our ordeal on Mt. Evans that day. I never got the film developed before I got back to Kansas State for school in the fall. And when I went to pick up my pictures, they had all been lost. All of them! I have no record of that trip and our ordeal! Damn you film and the days before digital photography!
Okay. Almost time for my comps. Maybe I'll be back in four weeks.
posted by cc at
12:51 AM
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Happy Birthday from California!
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