Day 2We got off to a slow start. Tanya and I had decided ahead of time to make the best of our temporary no-kid situation and get as much sleep as possible. This was the first time that we had both been together and without kids since Michael (our youngest) was born last October. Nevertheless, I still got up for the sunrise.
James woke up feeling a bit worse, but we revived him with coffee and hot oatmeal. We decided to all go for the peak. We figured it would be a safe bet because he could turn back early if he got to feeling bad, or we could cache him in some bushes along the trail and fetch him on our return.
We milled around camp and watched all the other campers gear up and head off for a day of hiking. We made more coffee, visited, and enjoyed breathing the cool clean air. Fortunately, it was not too windy.
About 9am, hopped up on coffee and fresh mountain air, we geared up ourselves and walked to the trailhead.
Up and up and up we went... slowly. Tanya led and I followed at the rear, thus keeping the sicko, James, in a pocket of motivation. We stopped frequently and I kept reminding the crew that we had all day and were in no hurry.
James warmed up and felt better with some blood pumping through his veins. He and I fell into a compatible pace with Tanya stretching ahead at times.
Up and up and up... the trail was relentless. It offered a rare flat stretch now and then and even fewer downhill grades. On the steeper sections we slowed to a crawl and stopped at just about every turn to catch our breaths.
Mighty views opened up as we gained altitude. The sight of the shrinking campground marked our progress updwards.
We had all come to the park wanting to make the summit, but we also wanted exactly what we were experiencing: vast open spaces and lack of man-made crap disturbing our views. We all needed a break from the big, angry city with its claustrophobic feel and constant visual and audible assaults on our senses. It was tough hiking, but our minds and senses were pleasantly engaged with the surroundings and we were enjoying every second of it.
We met up with other groups of hikers. We all leapfrogged each other as we took breaks at different times. Everyone was friendly and we chatted back and forth.
About 1.5 miles in, we stopped for an early lunch. We were invited by a young couple from Midland to share a great little flat spot with an awesome view they'd staked out. They were the only ones we saw that day with heavy packs for an overnighter.
As we sat enjoying our food and the company, two younger guys hiked past that were engaged in a Bear Grylls vs. Les Stroud discussion. They both concluded that Bear was THE MAN and that they'd follow that dude anywhere. I said, "you gonna drink your own pee too?", but they had just passed out of earshot. We later observed that pair of knuckleheads running down the trail after their visit to the summit.
What is it that they say? Youth (and good knees) are wasted on the young...
Up and up and up... Somewhere in the 7000's, I started feeling the altitude in a bad way. I sludged on. Somewhere around 8-grand, my lungs must have collapsed or something because I didn't seem to be extracting any oxygen from the air. Dammit if I didn't go and forget my Sherpa with O2 bottles again.
My heart thumped in my ears as I sucked and gulped the thin air. My legs attained that wooden feeling. James and I made more frequent stops, much to my wife's annoyance.
Shortly past the wood bridge, we encountered a ranger hiking back from the summit who warned us about threatenting clouds to our north. He advised that we continue on but make our summit visit quick and then get back down the trail.
We marched on. Did I mention that we were going UP? Yes, up and up and up...
Roughly 300 feet (elevation-wise) from the summit, James gave out. He stopped, sighed, and claimed he could go no further.
Tanya and I made him sit down and rest. We knew he felt bad, and if he'd done this a mile back, we would have respected his wishes. But he had made it too far to quit. We vowed to carry his sick butt the rest of the way if we had to.
After a long break, we made one last push for the summit. James continued and staggered to a finish next to the summit marker. He promptly laid down and didn't get up for the next 45 minutes.
We felt sorry for him, but we knew that in a month's time he would forget the pain and struggle and be thankful that he made the summit. (or maybe he hates us now for the forced death march
)
We had made the trip up (trailhead to summit) in about four hours. I thought that was pretty good considering that I'm 50 pounds overweight (plus carrying too much food, water, and camera gear) and James was sick.
We spent a good hour up there. We rested, talked, took photos, and snacked. We signed the summit register and read some of the previous entries. Some were funny, some were serious. Some seem to indicate that the writer had discovered a higher power on their exhaustive journey up and were tripping on a natural high.
It got quite crowded at one point with about a dozen folks hanging around the summit. Normally I hate crowds while out in the wilds, but everyone we met had been very friendly and polite and I didn't mind that at all.
We observed the quiet toil and sacrifice others had made. Many of the people up there were red-faced and breathing heavily as they stood in awe of the view and their physical accomplishment. A group of 4 that we had passed earlier on the trail made it to the top about 30 minutes after we did. They had been carrying each others bags to ease the pain and struggle of the weaker ones in their group.
Everyone was in good spirits. We laughed and smiled. We traded cameras and helped take group photos of each other.
The ominous clouds off to our north fizzled out and the impending threat of storms abated somewhat. But we were pooped and ready for a hot meal and cold beer back at camp, so we headed back down. We pushed off just after 2pm.
I enjoyed the scenery much more coming back down. The trail was frequently in shade, and clouds often blocked the sun. We sailed down the first 2.5 miles quickly. I appreciated much more our lofty position as we descended. As I saw the trail wind downwards ahead of us (and quite steeply in parts), it was all the more impressive that we had made it up to the summit.
My wife discovered that she had been getting sunburned. Her skin usually has somewhat of a delayed reaction after being overexposed. She was rapidly turning a deep shade of cooked lobster. All of us took a break and applied sunscreen.
Shortly after, my knees starting acting up. The IT band on my left knee began to hurt with every downhill step. Fortunately we brought an IT support strap as part of our first aid kit. I strapped it on and it helped a little, but my pace was slowed considerably because of the pain, and the last 1.7 miles of the trail was very tough for me.
We arrived back at camp just before 5pm. Our journey had taken nearly 8 hours total.
James was spent. He mustered just enough energy to shovel some food in his mouth and down a few beers. Tanya and I were pretty exhausted too. It took about an hour for my legs to stop shaking.
Again, our first course was chips, salsa, and cold beer. We sat at our picnic table and visited for a while. We watched the other campers return from a day of exhaustive hiking. Their tired looks and red faces said it all.
Heavy, dark clouds started to fill up the NE sky, so we got on with dinner. I heated up some hot dogs and a can of chili. We tydied up camp in anticipation of rain.
We had excellent timing and were just finishing up our chili cheese dogs when the rain started. Tanya and I got into the tent and James into the car.
Unlike the previous evening, this rain was much heavier and lasted longer. Unfortunately, this meant that Tanya and I were trapped inside a small space with stinky feet and armpits. Our tent filled with a funk that was hard to endure. Then the chili started to kick in.
But at least we had a bit of ventilation, even with the rain fly on. I can't imagine what James was inhaling while sealed inside the car. Of course he was probably knocked out by that point from all the cold medicine and beer.
About 30 minutes after sunset, the rain stopped and the skies cleared. The first stars of the evening sparkled brightly in the dim sky.
Tanya was pooped and got ready for bed. James was already tucked in for the night and was veiled by fogged-up car windows. I was restless and tired of the bad air in our tent so I set off for a stroll.
It felt good to walk slowly and stretch my legs as I wandered about the campgrounds. All campsites appeared to be taken (except for the group site), even the handicapped-accessible sites were occupied. It was very quiet. Everyone must have turned in early because of the rain.
I walked down through the group campsite in the cool, damp air and towards the visitor center. Then I walked up to the RV section. I saw some movement and spied a large non-tarantula spider on the sidewalk. It paused for my inspection. Its jet black eyes sparkled in the light of my LED headlamp. It was one of those quiet moments where I suddenly felt like a kid again, fascinated with any and every detail in front of me.
A new storm was headed our way. Ominous clouds in the NE sky flashed purple with lightening. Distant rumbles shook the still air.
About an hour and a half after sunset, the storm was getting closer, but the sky immediately over us and to our south was somewhat clear. I walked back to our tent and confirmed that the foot/armpit/ass funk was still present. I decided to stay out a little longer and take more night sky photos.
I turned in shortly before the second wave of rain. My chili-cheese dogs revisited us just before midnight. Fortunately, my wife was asleep when that storm hit.
