colo-rad-ooooo

Song of the Trip: Casting Such a Thin Shadow - Underoath

Big sounds for big mountains.

And a playlist with the best hits from the fun week.

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8 days
160,000 steps
44 miles in Durango (AllTrails)
17 miles in Zion

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The Night Before

A few hours after the lights had been turned off.

Aiming for a night of "good sleep" in the shit hole of a motel that we "splurged" on for some pampering and preparation before the biggest hike either of us had ever taken on.

My brain swirled. I was sweating through my shirt. The dueling nature of excitement and anxiety in full swing. Adrenaline pumping as I lay in bed, wide awake. My body sore from a 12 mile Narrows river hike the day prior. A 6 hour drive from Utah to Colorado. A stressful packing drill. A long hike awaited in the morning.

An obsessive cycling of every detail I could think of. Mentally preparing for long days, heavy backpacks, cold nights, potential thunderstorms, limited sleep, hard terrain, and extreme physical challenge. The backpack I had prepared was my best guess at balancing comfort and weight. A puzzle with real repercussions and tradeoffs.

Did I pack right? Were the five discs and disc golf basket really necessary? (No). I packed deodorant. (I smelled like shit the whole hike). Whiskey? Spliffs? Yeah. I was with Willy after all.

Around 3:00 in the morning, after swirling five hours, I finally drifted off and got a few hours of sleep.

Day One, 10 miles, 5k elevation gain

We boarded the train in Durango on Wednesday at 8:00.

A slow, three hour, steam train approaching the trailhead along the river on its way from Durango to Silverton. We landed next to some tourists from Wisconsin and Nebraska that were very chatty. They looked exactly as you’d expect a tourist from Wisconsin to look. Overweight, jeans, Harley Davidson everything. They showed a lot of curiosity in our trip. They would point out mountains out the window and ask if we were going that high.

The mountains they pointed at were big and steep and dangerous.

My anxiety in full swing.

As the tourists from Nebraska asked me questions, I stared out the window, shitting my pants on the inside.

After what seemed like a ten hour train ride, we had finally arrived. We grabbed our bags. The best way to ease the nerves? Start walking.

The first half of the day (~3 hours of hiking) was mostly flat. Following a big stream through the mountain pass, walking through huge open fields and dense forest sections. Tons of vegetation. A lovely sound of the water and the wind in the trees. We had a good pace and soaked in the scenery. A good start.

The second half of the day (~4 hours of hiking) was a reality check.

At a certain point, you realize. This is when we go up. You look up. It’s really, really tall. One step at a time.

And as quickly as that started, the true personality of elevation showed itself.

Coming in, I was confident with the elevation component. I’ve been living at 7k in Idyllwild and going on a lot of hikes in the 7-10k elevation range over the past couple of months. I was prepared. ?

About a half mile into the steep uphill, I found myself short of breath. Then walk a quarter mile. Very out of breath. Long break. Then 100 steps. Even more out of breath. Long break. Then 50 steps. Then 25. Longer breaks. Shorter breath. It was a very long couple of hours.

Elevation is no joke. It will kick your ass.

The key to a situation like this is patience. Being okay with going slow. Understanding pace. Not freaking out. Being thoughtful about endurance. Not pushing when the body is telling you not to push. Knowing that slow and steady is the best available option. Just focus on each breath, and try to breathe slow.

The silver lining lived with the views. With each jump in elevation you’d see more of the horizon. A lake at eye level would become a lake pitched on a huge overhang. You’d see a new line of mountains. You’d have a broader view of the hike in, all the way down the mountain.

The arrival to the top ended in a spectacular collapse, with a towering view of the other side, from the top. We were at ~13k elevation and it was sweet.

But the celebration was short lived. As quickly as we got our bearings, we had narrow switchbacks for a mile and a half to the campground. This is when the first wave of pain hit me in full force. The pain of going down switchbacks with a 40 pound, full, backpack. Fuck me.

But silver lined this trip.

For as much despair I had for the pain I was feeling on the first day.

I had as much excitement as we stumbled into the campsite. We quickly found a perfect plot with a fire pit and wood. Willy was quick to get a ripping fire. I was quick to turn on some jazz.

We sat, quietly. We listened to music. We cracked a few jokes. And we stretched, for hours.

I had a baseline. I was ready for more.

Day Two, 14 miles

I was promised a downhill day. I falsely assumed that downhill day = easy day.

Mornings were punchy. Drink as much water as you can and fill up 3L each. Drink some coffee. Eat a lot of calories (for me, 2 packets of oatmeal with raisins, trail mix, and Cracklin Oat Bran). Pack up. Stretch. Pep Talk. Go.

Willy brought this insane heat stick that is my new favorite thing. It’s like Icy Hot x100 (proof). I would rub that all over my knees, hips, shoulders, and neck. Stretching, Tylenol, and this fire stick were the key to me not completely breaking down physically.

In my brain I had envisioned a glorious series of disc golf nights and mornings. I brought my basket up, and disc golf is our thing.

But the physical exhaustion at the end of the hike was so extreme that even standing seemed like careless energy exertion. Disc golf was not happening. I was annoyed that I was carrying that extra weight. Lesson learned.

The second day was a slow decline from 12k elevation to 9k over 14 miles, mostly forest, big fields, and streams. The highlight was stumbling on a moose. It was really big, maybe 20 feet from us behind a tree in a big grass field. An extreme burst of adrenaline in that moment. I’m very happy it was a non eventful encounter.
“What do I do here?”
“Be chill”
“Chill”

We stopped at a number of creeks along the way and I learned hard lessons with creeks.

In the moment, soaking your ankles and knees is glorious. They were in perpetual pain, and icing them in the river was really tight. But really not the move mid hike. It’s important to keep your joints warm throughout the day and ice at the end. Icing in the middle made the pain worse. I really struggled in the final push on day two, mostly due to joints that weren’t properly taken care of. Silver lining. Chilling by the creek was awesome in the moment. I don’t think anything is better than a good creek hang.

Side note — there were basically no bugs on this entire hike. A very very surprising and welcomed factor into the trip. A huge win.

The day was composed of a handful of big pushes, the last one taking me to zero on the gas tank. I was extremely tired and sore. But we had made it half way. And we had a sick fire pit waiting for us along the stream. It was a perfect camp site.

Rinse and repeat. Stretch. Tent. Organize. Stretch. Water. Dinner (Chili Mac —> Farts). Music. Spliff. Whiskey. Stretch. Stretch. Hot Stick. Stretch. Sleep.

One thing I really appreciate about Willy. He’s a friend that’s comfortable in silence. Silence is not awkward. We’ve built chemistry in our friendship over a lot of hangouts. Many nature trips, disc golf outings, and parties. Those prove themsleves valuable in a situation like this. Our friendship is different than any other. And the content, quiet, and friendly energy at the end of the long day was a big highlight.

Day Three, Part One, 7 miles, 4k elevation

I gave myself a pep talk on Friday morning.

“Bro, today is going to be really hard. Attack it”.

Really hard is what I got. And attack is what I did.

Pulling on recent memory, last year I did a 15 mile, 6k elevation gain hike in the Grand Canyon. It was the hardest thing I’d ever taken on. But one thing fueled me on that hike. Metal.

I put myself in a serious zone. A very rich and intimate connection to how the mind, body, and soul are connected.

My Kill playlist has a dozen flavors of “let’s fucking go”. Each one unique, and designed to inject energy. I went into a different mental place. I was an animal. Unstoppable. I played a lot of air guitar, rocked out, stomped, and skipped when the song called for it.

Skipping up the mountain to Subliminal by Suicidal Tendencies
Stomping up the mountain to Domination by Pantera
Moshing up the mountain to Deadbolt by Thrice
Capturing intense energy loads to Skin Like Winter by Zao
Reaching deep into my soul to To Catch a Thin Line by Underoath

Some fucking bangers right there. That’s how you get up a fucking mountain. Let’s fucking go.

My least favorite minute of the entire hike was when I reached the top (13k). After an intense charge, I was once again greeted with an unfriendly series of steep downhill switchbacks as my reward. I was not happy. Fuck steep downhill switchbacks.

But we didn’t post up or chill. No ice baths today.

We charged on. Because this was just getting us warmed up.

Day Three, Part Two, 5 miles, 3k elevation

At the Chicago Basin split, there was an epic meadow with an idyllic view to the collection of four 14ers. I was focused. We were going to go for it.

We set up our tents and re-geared up for a solo sprint to the top.

Despite making it to 13k earlier in the day, we camped at 11k. And had 3k elevation to conquer. And you could see the 3k directly in front of you.

I thought it was going to be hard. It was insane.

The first mile was a steep incline, basically big mountain steps to a lake at the base of the four mountains. I was gassed. Not sure if this made any fucking sense. In front of me was a rock scramble. For one full mile.

I’ve climbed a lot of rocks in Joshua Tree. Nothing more fun than picking a huge rock scramble and finding your way to the top. The rocks and construction were the same here. Big and complex. The difference was that it was a one mile rock scramble with 1,500 ft of elevation on one big pile of rocks.

One rock at a time.

Slowly.

Approach with patience. Take deep breaths. Focus.

One rock at a time.

It was a very long, very scary, and very intense hour and a half to the top.

The greater the challenge, the greater the reward.
The view at the top was epic.
But the journey to the top was what made it so meaningful.

Another nod to Willy. About half way up, I called it. I wanted to quit. We had another ~250 ft to go and I wasn’t sure I could make it. Willy is the reason I made it to the top. He pushed me through that moment, knowing that I could do it. For a trip like this, the support of a friend goes a long way. I needed Willy on this trip, and he needed me. We knew when to push, we knew when to encourage, we looked out for each other. Life’s greatest joy is having a friend like that.

The walk down from the summit was weirdly peaceful. Obviously taking safety very seriously, the adrenaline rush was weirdly calming. It was as if, in that moment, I had won. It was a slow and steady stroll to the finish line. I had succeeded. We watched the sunset slowly come over the mountain range, and we arrived back at our campsite in complete darkness.

Completely gassed. Eating ramen. Not talking. Full of accomplishment, pride, and happiness. It was the pinnacle moment of a pinnacle nature trek. And for that I am deeply thankful.