The Mountain (Short Story)

THE MOUNTAIN

               Waking early is a Mountaineer's friend in General. Just not this mountaineer. 7 AM is considered early enough for this trip. The skies are clear and dry for the fall season, and exploration and discovery are the goals of the day. For years I've lived in the shadow of these mountains, and though I've been to the top of a few, certainly no substantial number. The peaks of Colorado are numerous, many are well over thirteen thousand feet above sea level. Many are not, though the mountains that steal the limelight are always the '14ers,' or, peaks taller than 14,000 ft. above sea level.

     No such peak is on today's list. There are 14ers nearby, I've even climbed a couple. There's also many more difficult peaks lost in the shadows below their summits. This day will start with a quick bite at home, some pre-hydration, and a bit of smoke. Geared up in long underwear under short clothes, tight laced tennies and a small hydration pack, I open the door to the great world outside. A brisk walk helps to offset the cool morning air. Sunshine has found its way down into most of the valley, but is fighting last night’s dew, not yet breaking the inversion.

     I make my way across town, headed to the 'high side' or 'sunny side' where my trailhead lies. Even leaving the shady riverbed gives a palpable warmth, especially on the dark sleeves and legs of the long john's. Not long after, the road steepens as well. Only a few blocks of flatter ground yield sharply to a steep climb. Though still paved the road is as steep as the trail ahead, and makes me start to gasp slightly. Shifting the weight to my toes and adjusting my gait I feel the initial burn in my calves. So much for a warmup.

     As the trailhead approaches the road turns to dirt. Large rocks block the way to vehicles, and the babble of the nearby creek ushers in cooler air with welcome shade. The grade eases and a bridge spans the gully formed by the small stream. Hard to believe such a seemingly innocuous force could create a deep scar in the earth like the one before me. A short pause on the bridge is enough rest to begin a sort of 'charge' up the next section of trail. Although the goal of the day is discovery, this path is a favorite of many locals. Forming a short steep loop around the creek canyon just crossed, the trail becomes a bit of a benchmark for a local's fitness.

     This trip doesn't close the loop though. The trail is also home to a few notable spurs... that have spurs; some leading directly to the nearby wilderness. The rolling path ahead climbs steadily, but not too steeply yet. Eventually the downhill portions waver, and it becomes flat and uphill. Then it steepens. A grade of 1000 feet per mile is sort of a guide for where really 'steep' climbing begins. Most trails aren't this steep, and few are much steeper. Steeper climbing is often found on mountain climbing routes. This trail climbs about 1000 feet per mile... starting now.

     The shade is gone for now, and the sun has certainly warmed the red dirt on this section of trail. Dry and dusty, traction becomes a consideration. Again the calves start to awaken. This time is for real. This morning's smoke makes me reach for my water. I find the end of the blue hose, and eat a tiny amount of rubber and plastic with my refreshment. A price we pay to save weight. Being lighter means being faster. As the rhythm of my breathing recovers from the interruption of drinking, my pace quickens, steps become bigger.

     After the first hairpin, shade again approaches. The steepness is maintained, but the cool fall air is maintained in the trees, so I won’t start sweating quite yet. The grade is accompanied by switchbacks, intermittently in the trees or the sun, along the cliffs. After only a few of those, there's a break in the grade, and the trail goes straight back into the woods. This is where I part ways with the locals loop, although this direction is equally popular, just more with the mountain bikers. Being early though, I expect to see no one.

    

     After a left turn, and a quick creek crossing, it’s time to head back up the mountain. A trail breaks off this one to the right, and this leads almost directly into wilderness. No bikers here, they're not allowed in the nation's wilderness areas. This lends to why they're also called 'primitive' areas. It's man and nature only up here. The tree cover is thicker and the elevation higher here. The cool morning air prevails again here, and I'm glad for the long john's. Also there's a slight respite from the incline, only slight. After a half mile the grade increases, and eventually leads to more switchbacks.

     Three or four switchbacks up, I'm definitely sweating. A clear indicator of a need for a break. Continuing up a bit further, there's a relatively flat spot in the shade. A snack and a wardrobe change should do the trick. After a healthy portion of water, I shed my pack, and then my layers. Time for the long John's to come off. There's still a morning chill, so the stop won't be long. For now the cool air feels refreshing. Opening the pack I see just what I wanted on top, some granola. Sweet N Crunchy! Mmm, a great snack when I didn't realize how hungry I already was. With a long day ahead it's best for me to load up as much as I can, early. Eventually the snacks will be gone though, and only water will remain. Quick smoke, and the chill starts to set in. That means off I go, still up the mountain.

     After a break the pace is notably more mellow. Can’t rush digestion you know. Still the terrain remains constant, and the aspens begin to give way to more pine and fir. The switchbacks are longer and fewer here, with a notable exception. A nice pinnacle sits at the end of one, giving a great opportunity for some exploration. Around the north side of the overgrown boulder there is a short series of ledges leading to the top. Glorified stair stepping for about twenty feet reveals the steepness of the opposite face, and a grand view of the drainage below. Although town is obscured by the aspens, the ridge of the ski area is in view. It's nice to see some of the trees higher up are starting to change, and lose their leaves. The north facing slopes progress more quickly into winter, and more slowly in the spring. Making for great skiing, but harder living. Good things however, come with a price.

     Time to abandon this low lying bastion of beauty in search of greater heights and further adventure. Continuing up the trail my pace again picks up. The water and granola are doing their job, propelling me with vigor into the alpine. The trail navigates a low saddle, and crosses a high drainage before pretty much leveling out, heading for the basin now shaded by the tall jagged peaks of objective. At this point only tall fir and pine occupy the surrounding slopes. Mining activity in this basin was minimal, and therefore so was the logging impact of harder to get resources.

     The sentinels of human time give way to the witnesses of the cosmos. Above treeline mostly the towering mountains of scree and solid stone dominate the skyline. The mountains cast a dramatic shadow across the narrow basin. My progress slows at this point, in order to consider my future. The 'regular route' to either of the peaks to my east lies ahead, up a scree field to a low saddle between the two. My adventurous spirit is drawing me to one of the gullies that lies on the west face. The first that I see terminates in pure verticality. Not quite the adventure I need. I continue.

     Not far up the trail is another opportunity. This one gains more serious consideration.  Although formed by steep cliffs near the top, at first glance, it appears there is a line of weakness all the way. A little further up the trail is a better view. With some consideration it looks like a go. There's one spot in particular where the chute steepens, and narrows. This will be the crux, at least of what is visible. Shortly above that point nothing but sky could be seen. Hopefully this means the angle backs off again, and that this crux is at or near the top. Time to shift gears, and head off trail. The scree down here consists of relatively large blocks. Dark, and sharp stone is prevalent here. These basketball, to exercise-ball sized blocks are stacked well, and not too steeply, yet.

     Going is slow but steady. The alpine air seems to barely fill my lungs. Gasping as I go, mostly boulder hopping, occasionally using a hand for balance. After 15 minutes I pause to take in the view, and reassess my route. Looking below reveals the trail is now several hundred feet below. Above the chute is approaching. My progress barely changes the assessment of my route. Most of the progress will be easy. There's still the 'choke' the narrowest, and in this case seemingly steepest, part of the chute above. To continue with confidence is the best choice.

     The scree field here begins to steepen, and the size of rock is decreasing. Now the terrain is mostly interlocked scree, and I make progress up by finding my own zig-zag pattern back and forth across the apron of the chute. They say 'switchbacking' is the most efficient way to gain progress. It helps to ease the climbing angle, but nothing up here is easy. Persistence pays in mountaineering though, and the cliffs above are approaching. Nearing the mouth of the chute gives one last chance for a 'go/no go' decision. The next few hundred feet of progress is similar to the terrain below. Possibly steeper and looser. The point in question shows some more solid rock. It could possibly be climbed as a chimney... maybe as a corner. It seems like it should go.

     Continuing up into the chute reveals definitely looser rock. This is no problem, the base of the cliff on either side provides more solid ground. I follow the rock wall on the left at first. After a point the wall becomes more sheer, firmly lodged boulders provide an easy path across the chute. A downward glance reinforces the increasing steepness. The same boulders that give way to progress seem improbably perched. Not time to linger in thought or action though. Keep moving.

     The right hand wall leads me a little further up, before I cross the gully again. A steady zig zag draws me closer to my nemesis. As the crux move approaches I carefully consider my position. There's certainly no way I want to risk a fall. I could tumble for hundreds of feet inside this gully. Even if I fell ten feet and sprained an ankle, no one would find me up here. I'm not exactly on the 'beaten path.' I haven't even seen anyone on the actual path that sits as a narrow ribbon below. The wilderness is lonely, especially in the middle of the week, in the fall.

     The center chimney in the small rock face above appears to be impassible. What looked from below as the best route now looks like a battle to overcome a bulging boulder capping a chimney. The corner on the right side wall looks like the way. One way to know for sure. Less than a hundred vertical feet now separate me from my next challenge. The gully has narrowed from a hundred feet wide at the mouth to less than thirty feet at the point I find myself. Continuing my upward progress is ever-challenging. Loose rocks cover a hard-packed soil below. The cliff walls are the only reliably solid holds. Trading from left, to right and back again closes the gap between me and my vertical challenge.

     Within 20 feet of the wall above my confidence starts to falter. The center chimney is daunting. The shallow right-side corner appears steeper the closer I get. I find a secure perch, 10 feet below the base of the obstacle. I look down. The ascent was not difficult to this point, but descending the same way looks like no treat. The chute at this point is probably over 40 degrees. Filled with snow this would make for great skiing. Filled with loose gravel, as it is, the chute more resembles a cheese grater.

     "Well, one move separates me from a successful climb... or a useless venture up a dead-end chute." First I approach the center of the cliff. At this point the chute is maybe 20 feet wide, probably not quite. The 'chimney' spied from below is obstructed by a large, potentially unstable capstone/ chockstone. Progress is easily made up to it, but the rounded nature of the boulder gives no opportunity for passage. I back out, and begin to consider my future. Moving to the right I am at my last resort.

     A left-facing dihedral, or 'open book' corner stands in front of and above me. The first few feet of progress is easily gained. Large, relatively stable ledges lead to a clean, thin crack. The crack is only about six feet tall, basically one move. I find a finger sized slot, and am confident in my grip. I leverage my handhold, and stand up, into the corner. At the top there's a beach ball sized prominence. It creates a slight bulge, and does not immediately reveal any handholds. Hanging off the handhold I've found is strenuous. I back off for further consideration. Standing at the bottom of this short climb, it seems like it must be surmountable. It's only about a ten foot section of steep.

     I move back up the corner slightly. I find a comfortable place to stop, considering my fate. The rock seems solid. Alpine stone is often crumbly, as is this, but it's held up for thousands of years and weather. One small man wouldn't dislodge it, would it? Feeling up the corner, and reaching toward the top of the bulge it seems doable. My mind won't let me forget the steep jagged rocks below. It's easily 600 feet to where the scree field backs off in angle. An uncontrolled fall probably wouldn't end in that kind of tumble. Would it? I back off once again.

     They always say to never do anything in the mountains you're not comfortable with. What level of comfort does it take to succeed? I guess a shadow of doubt might be enough. I work my way back across the gully and down. Feeling defeated, I pause to turn and again consider the problem before me. I could spend a couple more hours to go down, around and back up the standard route. Looking above my crux it does seem like the angle backs off. That doesn't mean much. If it were sustained at the same difficulty it would easily be a '5th class' climb, something people rope up for.   

     No climb is worth an injury. Making my way down, the trek down this gully seems impossibly slow and long. I pause to take one last look up at the crux. Then I stare down the loose rocky chute I just came up. I can make the climb. The climber's motto 'When in doubt, climb on!' Echoes in my head, and I head upward. Here I am, face to rock face with an unfeeling opponent. The mountain barely notices me, let alone caring about me. I make the first few moves up the corner, to my comfortable perch. This is it. I look down, nothing for me there. Nothing but pain.

     Looking up all I see is the stone in my face. I reach into the unseen. Feeling for purchase. A slightly rounded slopey ridge is the best thing I feel. "This isn't enough to pull off of." I think to myself. I look back down and work my feet up, step by step, inch by inch. The slopey hold in my left hand has run out for me, the higher I move, the worse it feels. With my head above the bulge I can finally see my options. Not many. A gravel filled corner scares me slightly. Above that is a seemingly solid notch. To get there I need to release my right hand from the only other solid hold on this climb. I breathe deeply, and move without pause.

     Once I release my right hand, I move quickly to the higher hold. Solid as it looks! I change my left hand to down pressure, and mantle to the top of the bulge. Possibly ten of the scariest feet I've climbed. Now I stand atop my obstacle. No going back. I consider this fact as I look up at the mountain above. The perch where I currently stand is solid, and comfortable, although small. What's immediately above is as steep as the steepest parts of the gully below. Although steep, and crumbly, the stone here is solid enough to climb. Broken into useable ledges, the mountain passes behind me, step by step as I make upward progress. The terrain remains unforgiving. No time to consider my position. I continue, simply wondering if the route will 'go.'   

     The upper portion of this chute is probably '3rd class' relatively easy climbing, but still exposed, and requiring the use of hands to make progress and maintain balance. Glancing downward shows the world disappearing at the point of the 'crux.' Looking onward and upward the sky is beginning to dominate the landscape. A good sign, meaning I'm closing in on the ridge. Probably 150 feet above the crux a final series of seemingly loose steps level out, and I find myself standing above the surrounding basins. To the north the view is dominated by a much more massive parent peak. Following that ridge to the east reveals jagged, and impassable terrain of broken stone massif. Reaching into the sky to the south is the rest of the path to my current destination.

     The ridge to the summit is jagged, but not nearly as steep as the route to the ridge. The occasional use of hands for balance indicates 'class 2' terrain. After a few hundred feet of quick progress, the sky encompasses me. I find myself on a relatively small summit block guarded by steep walls on three sides. The much more massive parent peak to the north is a stark contrast to the deep narrow valley to the south. Looking carefully to the south, bits of civilization are visible. A section of highway, a few buildings in town, the ski area and a range of fourteeners to the southwest comprise the landscape.

     A snack, and some rest help to refresh my vigor. The sun is still rising in the eastern sky. Time is on my side. A cool gust is blasted my way from the east. The last of the morning chill dissolving. Below the pines whistle in the wind, as the aspen leaves are separated from their creators one by one. Above the rich blue of the fall sky is unbroken by clouds. A great day to be in the mountains.

     Ambition abounds, and the parent to the peak I stand on calls my name. This morning's climb should have easily prepared me for the challenges held in the next thousand feet of climbing. Although the journey to this peak has been an adventure in itself, it sits just below 13,000 ft. The next nearest peak rises above 13,500, the saddle between them is several hundred feet below. I begin my descent. Downward progress is surprisingly quick along the ridge, I find myself almost jogging at some points. Before I know it, I am nearing the saddle. Being high in the mountains is a profound feeling. The grandeur and mass of the planet makes a human seem insignificantly minuscule. Even our largest buildings and creations pale in comparison to the scale before me.

     At the saddle the terrain remains easy going. I pause, and consider the mountain before me. A series of crumbling towers, pinnacles and piles of rock confront me. A scree field pours out of a loose chute above. Possibly the chute I must end up in. The scree field is broken by cliffs, and the maze of the mountain starts to seem slightly puzzling. If I begin straight up the ridge before me, I can find my way into the most prominent chute, through the cliffs, and between the pillars. That is my first decision, the upper portion of the mountain remains a mystery. This summit block is formed of a layer of rock that has disintegrated off the summit I've just occupied. There's only one way to discover the challenges that lie ahead. I move onward, and upward toward the next summit.     

     Flanking the ridge on the south side is a solid band of 200-300 ft. cliffs. Above and in front of me lies an obvious chink in this stone armor. A steep and loose looking system of chutes and scree seems passable, and the going is relatively easy to the base of this corridor. Towering stone frames either side of the chute, and about a hundred feet up, it is split by crumbling stone sentinels. The rock here is similar to the rock on the adjacent peak. Somewhat jagged at times, but mostly somewhat blocky, and held up in sort of a cracked square matrix.

     The scree lining the bottom of the chute begins as a somewhat loose pile, spilling down the mountain. That quickly gives way to a steeper, much more hard-packed surface. At some points there is loose gravel on top of this surface, making the going treacherous. I immediately begin hugging the right cliff wall. This aspect is less sheer than the opposite wall, partly due to its southern sun exposure, jackhammering the stone through frequent freeze-thaw cycles.

     Passage along the base of the wall is easy, Solid steps are formed in the stone, and the first hundred feet of the chute are almost below me. The chute begins to widen here. This is also where it begins to divide. A series of pillars begins above me but starts as a meager series of fins in the middle of the chute. The path to the right is wider and less steep. It also seemingly veers to the north. To the left seems more direct. Although steep, it still seems passable, no major obstacles are apparent, as it is seemingly unbroken scree.

     Now that a course is set, crossing the chute is the next challenge. The terrain in the chute is still similar to marbles on concrete. To find the best path I climb a bit more. I am aiming for some solid footing on the embedded bedrock that begins to rise, and form the fins that form the pillars. At a point of relative comfort I venture into the chute. The first couple of steps are successful. I focus on keeping my hips above my feet, and toes pointed uphill. Knees bent, relaxed. In a couple more moves I have at least one foot on a relatively more solid stone. I pause and consider my immediate future. Looking down I see a clear 'no fall' zone. It's a good indicator to continue looking up.

     I move upwards in the middle of the chute, trying to hug the base of the fins. The chute above, I can see from here, splits again. Although the left finger that splits off appears to be impassable, terminating in vertical cliffs. This side of the chute is steep and narrow. It is more easily crossed than the wider part, although still is hard dirt underneath with loose rock migrating down it. Upward progress is steady, but tenuous. This is the time to keep looking upward. Again the cliff walls provide good footing, in spots. Otherwise progress is made by trust, and gravity defiance. As the chute passes below me, I can see my goal. The top is accented by the clear blue sky. The sun is causing me to sweat, even at this elevation. Probably 30 or 40 feet to go until the ridge backs out of my face for a bit. The last bit remains steep, maybe it stiffens up a bit. A quick glance below gives me all the motivation I need. Trust your footing, just not enough to linger on it.

     The last steps reveal welcome relief. The wind at this point is almost still. I dry my brow from the drops formed through my effort and exposure. Warm air is rising off the dark cliffs in the sun, now below me to my left. The path, though not as steep, still winds through a portion of rocky outcrops, and up. As I switchback my way towards the top of the ridge, in a small pile of boulders I see something that makes me freeze in my tracks. I immediately pause and back up. Unless my eyes deceive me, I'm pretty sure there's a fox right up there. I quickly but silently reach into my pack for my phone. The only camera I brought is in my flip phone. I don't usually expect to see that sort of wildlife up here.

     I sneak back up and around then next rise, and see the fox, looking at me. It doesn't appear that his den is here, but more like he is out exploring too. There is various rodentia that occupies the places above treeline. Marmot, pika, and certainly a small collection of mice occupy some of the seemingly barren areas. Although this terrain seems extreme even for those creatures. After snapping a poor quality picture on my phone, I move on. Daylight waits for no one, and the fox doesn't view me as a good companion. The terrain for now, is much more hikeable. It still gains in elevation, but where the chute I just climbed gained less than a few hundred feet, at a forty degree angle, this slope gains the same vertical in about three-quarters of a mile.

     A welcome water break, and size up is in order. I sit on a low rock up the ridge a bit. The water in my pack is still cool in the hydration cell. A quick bite of jerky should go well with the water. The next portion of the mountain is similar to the scree below the cliffs. Low angle, and very stable at this point, the going ahead should be easy. That will be short lived however, as the crown of the giant crumbling layer cake of earth is a stack of seemingly round, giant-sized stone candies. That candy might not taste so sweet as I maneuver through it.

     A winding sort of goat path puts the slope easily behind me. The air is as thin as it's been all day. The sky is still a bright clear blue, and now surrounds me more fully than the mountains. The ridge terminates into a jumbled maze of steeply piled stone. The easy going is behind me for now, and it's all business from this point up. The entire mountain around me is made of dark stone. No more of the light colored dirt packed into the lower layers. Jagged points, split from nearby parent stone breaks up a sort of twisted blockiness. The route is entirely un-apparent. Still standing at the bottom of the stone mass, I realize I've paused.

     Time to forge onward. Again the path seems to lie up, and for now to my left. Hands are certainly required for me to further progress. Working 'positive' footholds yields the best progress though. The splintered points of stone provide good purchase through the sole of a shoe and must be taken with care by the bare hand. Shortly after I begin my ascent, my path veers to my right. I seem to be following a slight gully and ledge system. I choose my path by simply finding the next easily attainable purchase, connecting that to a good ledge, or stance and repeating. As I do so the mountain passes below me.

     The links in my path appear naturally. Either by knowing, trusting or simply persevering, I progress. My earlier travels have primed me for these conditions. Steep going and wise route choices help me to approach the top of this rock layer. Here there's a short break, a jaunt up this scree field terminates quickly. The sharper, more jagged rock gives way to something completely different. The stone that caps this peak is comprised of giant rounded boulders.

     Progress through this terrain seems very unlikely. The first few steps are relatively easy, smaller worn down boulders are easily climbed over. These lead me into a whole world of stone that is rounded, rough and gravelly to the touch. It steepens in my face, progress takes me up between some large rocks in a sort of corner. The next boulders are climbed like a slab, friction, balance and confidence. This terminates into very steep surroundings. One way up, into a chimney to gain less than twenty of the last feet.

     I find the confidence to follow the path in front of me. I climb a comfortable sized chimney of about four feet wide facing the back. My hands and feet are comfortably on either side of me. I gain about ten feet, and can begin to see out the top. Rounded, and exposed, I'm not sure which way to exit. I choose left. To exit I crawl out of the chimney on my hands and knees. I grovel my way back to my feet, gasping for air. Looking behind me, I can see the great expanse of the sky, as I am nearing the summit.

     The large boulder I'm on rounds down and away into nothing, leaving a gap between it and my destination. The gap is little more than a hop, but the rounded landing presents a somewhat steep climb. A quick scramble, and I stand up. Looking ahead, I'm almost there, maybe 25 more vertical feet over easy terrain takes me to the summit. As I get to the summit, the world in front of me falls away, and I gain my first great view into the major basins to my north. Patchy snow persists in steep or shady spots, which are many on this northern aspect. I stand far above the rocky pinnacles that form the ridge to my east. There's clear evidence of Colorado's great mining history in the basin directly below me.

     The summit is also rounded, in character with the rest of the stone layer. Access from all sides seems possible, but unlikely. I'm not even sure how I've found my way here, I am hopeful I can find my way down along the same path. The journey to this point has been taxing, but rewarding. I pause for a time of meditation. There is a definite chill in the air up here, even in the full sunlight. I take this time to replenish my stores. I snack on jerky and sip on water. There is still a long journey, back down to the town I can see far in the valley below. I know the way now though. With tired legs and confidence I turn back the way I came. 

If you liked this story check out others by John Lutz: The Mountain, The Desert, The Rescue, Backpack to Pass run