First Fourteener: Mt. Elbert

My legs are aching, but my weekend was so much fun that I don't mind. I joined a group of five friends to climb my first--but not my last--Colorado "fourteener," and though I am not literally on top of the world anymore, I feel as though I am.

A fourteener, usually written as "14er," is a mountain that is at least 14,000 feet high. There are 12 in California, and Colorado has a whopping 54 of them. My dad and I climbed 14,180 feet to summit California's Mt. Shasta several years ago, but the peak we chose for this weekend, Mt. Elbert, is even higher. The tallest of all the 14ers in Colorado, it soars to 14,439 feet. Just because it is the tallest does not mean it is the most difficult, however. Actually, Elbert is regarded as one of the easier 14ers to climb because going up it doesn't really require climbing at all. It's really just a very long, very steep hike, and seemed like a good one for our group, which is active but contains different fitness levels.

Our route

On Friday, we drove three hours southwest (should have been closer to two, but we hit the traffic that chokes 70 every Friday when residents of the Boulder/Denver area head to the mountains in throngs) to Leadville, CO (circled in red), where we camped for the night at a very crowded campground. Car camping often leaves a lot to be desired in terms of peace and scenery, but you can't argue with the convenience. We brought coolers filled with food and had a luxurious meal cooked over an open fire before turning in around 10:00 P.M. Sleep, alas, didn't come easily for most of us, as conversations from neighboring campsites were broadcast at us on all sides. We got our revenge, though, when we emerged from our tents at 3:00 A.M. to dress, eat, and prepare for our big day. I packed sunscreen, chapstick, toilet paper, layers of clothes for various conditions, several wildlife guides, binoculars, three liters of water, and an absurd amount of food.

Afternoon thunderstorms are very common in Colorado, and being caught above tree line when they strike can be deadly. Lightning has been particularly pernicious this year, and so an early start to a long, high hike is critical; at all costs, one must be below treeline if a storm hits to minimize the chances of being struck. We blearily drove to the parking lot at the base of Mt. Elbert and started our walk at 4:17 A.M. I can't imagine hiking those first few miles without headlamps, but the full (blue!) moon was bright and two hikers without lamps passed us after about an hour. We were all feeling the effects of the elevation (about 10,000 feet) from the word go, even during the mile it took us to reach the trailhead. We tried to keep the pace moderate and stopped to catch our breaths occasionally. I could feel my heart pounding against the chest strap of my backpack.

We were nearing the treeline when the sun began to rise. This was one of my favorite parts of the day: ahead of us, the full moon was setting over the peak we were bound for, and behind us the lush landscape was flushed with exquisite pink light. We stopped, speechless, to gaze at the nearly unbelievable beauty around us.

About half an hour later, we passed treeline and found ourselves in a sloped, expansive alpine meadow generously freckled with white, blue, yellow, and purple wildflowers. We'd agreed that we'd stop to eat and rest at this point and so, exhilarated by the beauty and the break, we wolfed down trail mix and dried fruit, drank as much water as we felt we could hold, shed layers and put on sunscreen. It was shaping up to be, as they say in Colorado, a bluebird day: barely a cloud in the rich blue sky.

We continued to ascend. Luckily, Lindsay had done lots of research and we knew that the peak we saw ahead of us was a false summit; in reality, Elbert's summit was at least 45 minutes past that. Gradually, the grass and flowers began to thin, replaced by scree fields and dusty gravel. In summer, hundreds of people climb Mt. Elbert each weekend, so the trail is well established. When we paused to peek behind us, we could see a steady stream of hikers lining the trail. Our early start had guaranteed us a few initial hours of solitude, but as a few of the group began to struggle more with the altitude, we slowed and others hikers caught up to and passed us. Nearly everyone was friendly, cheerfully wishing us a good morning and commenting on encountering so large a group of women on the trail.

The trail got steeper and steeper, and our talk turned to discussion of how we were dreading coming back down the slippery, dusty gravel.

Approaching the false summit

The top of the false summit afforded us a view of the nearby second false summit (argh!), but we were over that in short order and beheld, at last, the highest point in Colorado. The so-called "ridge" that connected the two was none too narrow but plenty steep, but adrenaline fueled us up the final ascent and at last we stood on top of Colorado!

Christina, Liz, Lindsay, Rikki, Beth, and Candice celebrate at the top!

The summit was pleasantly spacious, which was a good thing because plenty of people had beaten us to it. After looking around a bit, I found a boulder that seemed particularly large and stood on it, savoring the fact that my head rose above everyone else's; I was higher than anyone in the state, and taller than nearly everyone in the lower 48. Only a person standing on top of Mt. Whitney in California would outstrip me. I had guessed that the views would be unparalleled, but they were even more astounding than I could have imagined. I gaped.

Although it was only 9:45, we sat on boulders and ate "lunch." Most mountaintops are windy and cold, but we felt hardly a breeze in this enchanted place. Several of the girls talked about being tempted by the thought of a nap. But we knew that the single grayish cloud drifting innocently toward us could proliferate at the drop of a hat, and so, a bit sadly, we began the descent.

It was nice to go downhill for a while, but we quickly grew tired of our slow progress. One has to take tiny, mincing steps to avoid sliding down such slopes, and it was both exhausting and nerve-wracking. At long last, the trail became a little more solid, and we breathed a little easier as we passed through the alpine meadows again. It seemed to take forever to reach the treeline, and even longer to get back to the parking lot. Perhaps it was fatigue, or the fact that we had hiked the first hour-and-a-half in the dark, but the way down seemed to be much, much longer than the way up had been. I accepted the sight of a row of parked cars through the forest with the same enthusiasm as a desert traveler spotting an oasis.

All told, we hiked 11.5 miles and gained about 4,000 feet of elevation. Our leisurely pace meant that our total trip clocked in at 9.5 hours, but I'm confident I could have done it in less than that had I been alone. We celebrated with beer and pizza in quaint Leadville, then cleaned ourselves up at the campsite and enjoyed a fire until exhaustion forced us into our tents. The morning found us refreshed but sore, and my aches amplified as they day progressed. Walking downhill elongates muscles in a way that my frequent running and yoga hadn't prepared me for. Despite my complaining quadriceps, I am determined to climb many more 14ers. Lots of people make it their mission to "bag" all of them, and while I'm not motivated by a checklist, the experience was wonderful in myriad ways and I can't wait to have a bird's eye view of Colorado again. Luckily, I don't have to wait long. The same group, give or take a few, will drive to Fairplay, CO next weekend to take on three of them!