7/2/24

Knowing I’ve always wanted to post trip reports, should have been posting trip reports, I am finally sitting down to write my first one. Sunday 6/30 through Tuesday 7/2 (today) were the start to this summer’s 14er odyssey. In the summer of 2020, in the midst of the Pandemic and being unemployed, I remember camping at the gate the evening before hiking Culebra. At some point during the evening before turning in to bed for the night, I got the idea I wanted to climb all 58 peaks in that one summer. Not in any kind of FKT but for my own personal healing, growth and challenge – a ‘project’ that held indescribable meaning. That would mean repeating many peaks to be able to say I did all of them in one summer, solo. Four years later I have yet to be able to ‘let go’ of that dream, project and personal challenge. It was never meant to be an FKT, which is not to take anything at all away from those climbers, it was a personal challenge. A way to overcome immense trauma, loss, grief and C-PTSD. After all, the outdoors, including everything from running, triathlons, hiking, camping, climbing, backpacking, skiing and mountaineering (and more recently mtb) had been the one arena that I felt safe, alive and connected. Connected to myself, life, others and the world. I started climbing in an indoor climbing gym in high school in an elective phys ed class and was hooked. Likewise, I also started backpacking in high school during fall and spring breaks with my aunt and uncle. Fast forward to undergrad and going to school in Durango, which was one of the best choices I made for being able to do most all things outdoors. Fast forward to moving back up to the Denver area a year after graduating and my time spent teaching with the Colorado Mountain Club and eventual trips to Mt. Rainier, Mt. Whitney (as a snow climb) – neither of which were successful summits mostly due to weather but then a very successful summit of Kilimanjaro in June 2011. Two and a half years later my life as I knew it would be irreparably altered when I was directly impacted by a school shooting. Ten years later I am still rebuilding my life, and one of the very few enduring parts of my life and identity remain climbing and all other things outdoors.

I have nothing but the utmost respect and amazement at those who attempt FKT’s. I am just not someone who does well trying to live up to others’ achievements and society’s expectations. It makes the PTSD and seizures worse, and I already struggle so much with shame and worthlessness. I’ve struggled for the last 4 years with each summer that has passed not reaching my own self-imposed goal of finishing all the peaks in one summer. And not feeling like a complete failure. Seeing only the ‘failure’ has taken away from the accomplishents and joys that the last 4 summers have brought. Including solo climbs of Crestone Peak, Crestone Needle, Little Bear. And adding Humboldt, Ellingwood, Blanca, Missouri to my list. So I continue on, giving myself this summer – seizing the opportunity with extra time I may never have again to see where I can get. Also, there’s nothing wrong with competition, I just choose to compete with myself. I will never be a Taylor Swift, Conrad Anker, Simone Biles, but I can be the very best version of me. And maybe, hopefully sooner rather than later, I can come to a place where I see my worth not in the fact that I’ve set an FKT, am a GOAT or otherwise ‘famous’ but I’ve pushed myself, stayed safe out there climbing, felt authentic joy and done what I can to be the best version of myself.

That did not start out in the way I had hoped. I left for Crestone and the Willow Lake Trail head early Sunday morning and was on the road by 6 am. It was one of the nicest drives I’ve had in a long time, early Sunday morning traffic on US 285 was very pleasant. I was on the trail backpacking in by 11 am. It was mostly overcast but not stormy – really nearly perfect backpacing conditions; cool, not stormy. Most everyone was coming out, and as it would turn out I was the only one camping the night at the lake on Sunday night. My plan had been to backpack in Sunday, climb Kit Carson via Challenger Monday (yesterday) and backpack out today (Tuesday) and drive home. Well, mother nature had other ideas. The clouds actually moved out around 4:30/5 pm and I was able to watch (kind of) the sunset out towards the northern San Luis Valley. I was in bed ready for yesterday’s climb by 8:30/9 pm. I had somewhat survived the onslaught of mosquitos, feeling thankful I had sprayed my clothes (minus my long-sleeved sun hoody – lesson learned there, spray before next week’s adventure), brought Picaridin and THOUGHT I picked a spot to set up my tent with a breeze and would catch some of the wind. THOUGHT being a very relative term, more on that in just a bit. I was very excited for the next day’s adventure and eventually drifted off to sleep. Then a few hours later, the first of what would be a significant suffer fest of a night began.

At first it was a steady but not threatening wind. That didn’t last long, though it was not accompanied by rain or storms (not at first). I had looked at the forecast for the Willow Lake area as well as the peaks and though it said the ‘typical’ summer chance of wind, rain, moisture and stormy weather, it wasn’t anything that caused my alarm. Interestingly, at first it was just wind, all be it with some of the highest gusts I’ve seen in a while. I guess I kind of got spoiled the last several years of this project with great weather windows on all my other Sangre peaks, 2 successful summits of Longs and the other peaks I’ve summitted since 2020. I had to get out at one point to really shore up the guy lines and add 2, which did help. Though it may not be quite as sturdy as my Hubba Hubba, I brought along my Copper Spur but was concerned at times the poles might snap. Thankfully, THANKFULLY, they didn’t. That lasted about 2 hours then the wind lost some of it’s might but that’s when the rain came in. It was steady for a good hour, accompanied by lightning (but no audible thunder). I finally dozed off when both the wind and rain (and lightning) mostly subsided. That lasted for all of around 3 hours. Then the same cycle, only with even more rain, ensued. Keeping my same vigilance around staying dry and safe (especially having a feeling I was the only one camped up there for the night), aka shoring up guy lines, etc. if need be. Then finally dozing off yet once more when things calmed some. All this was still with hopes for a decent enough weather the following day for climbing the peaks.

Then day break came, I could tell it was getting to be light, I could hear birds but NO rain, heavy wind, etc. I started the routine of getting out of my sleeping bag, and getting dressed and ready for a great day. Then I realized I was glad I brought the tent footprint when, as I was getting out of my sleeping bag. I could tell there was some moisture underneath. That ALL changed when I opened my vestibule and saw a mini lake right outside. WHAT THE?!! Well, at least in part trying to be clever and set up where some wind would maybe help a bit with the mosquitos, I didn’t realize there was somewhat of a depression underneath where I set up my tent. That would not have been an issue with a lighter amount of moisture, but my attempt to outsmart the mosquitos coupled with the ‘deluges’ proved to be Part 3 of the suffer fest, the first being feast for the mosquito’s and the second being a night of less sleep than I would have liked. Ok, I told myself, I got this. I managed to get out of the tent and fairly quickly realized the weather was not what I thought it was going to be and didn’t bode well for hiking the peaks. I started formulating plan b, even c and d, in my mind. See if it gets any better, hike anyway, wait until Tuesday to both climb (knowing it was supposed to be very sunny with very low chances for significant precip and storms) and hike out/drive home, go home and regroup for the next week’s adventure. Being out solo and tired, without even any others up there (at least so far) didn’t feel within my self-set safety parameters for solo 14ers, so that was out. I wasn’t relishing sitting around for a whole day if it didn’t get at least a little warmer and sunnier (to enjoy the scenery, nearby waterfall, move spots to a dryer area within camp and dry things out a bit), so that too was out. Then I thought, I could pack up and hike out, just sleep in my Highlander (I have a platform I built) and make Tuesday a REALLY long day by hiking back in, doing the peaks and driving home. Given that I have a trip planned for the next 8 weeks, I didn’t want to exhaust myself too much (I haven’t yet in this report admitted I am not as fast as I used to be either, being mid to late 40’s will do that to youâ¹), so I decided against that. What about enjoy some time in the area, go see the lake, take my time packing up and hiking out? That didn’t last long as a viable option once the clouds started moving in. So packing up, heading out and home became the plan I landed on.

While I did manage to get packed up and back to my car literally just in time before the rain set in at a steady pace (it had sprinkled on and off during my hike out), I struggled mentally/emotionally virtually the entire hike out. My ‘wise mind’ knew I made the best decision, I have absolutely NO control over the weather (just how I react) and that all of that and what the trip was so far is all part of climbing. No, that wasn’t so much the struggle as feeling like a TOTAL failure as well as feeling utterly weak and worthless. Why couldn’t I just suck it up and wait out the day to try an attempt today (Tuesday 7/2)? Why can’t I just overcome being tired? What is wrong with ME?? I am weak and will never, ever reach my goal!! Why can’t I be ok with just finishing all 58 peaks? If I go back and attempt these peaks again, which I will at some point this summer, then I get behind on my goal of doing them all (including repeats of previous successful summits) and then I am DEFINITELY a failure and not worthy of even stepping foot on any of these peaks. I can’t do anything right, what is wrong with me??!! The entire backpack out consisted of a constant stream of those thoughts and beliefs. Which somewhere deep inside knew had more to do with the extensive trauma experiences starting early on in my life, subsequent losses and more recent events – all of that had led me to develop strategies that were great for survival but not healing, adapting and showing myself some grace or even life. It is ok to experience joy, right? Well that too has always proven very elusive throughout my life (in large part due to feeling like I don’t deserve it). Well every once in awhile during the hike out, I would see a glimmer of figurative light – for example thinking, don’t sell yourself short – you climbed Little Bear solo AND helped a family from Texas get down safely. You climbed Crestone Needle and Crestone Peak solo (separately; I’d like to do the traverse, just not solo!), Long’s Peak twice, etc. Don’t throw those accomplishments out the window, especially with ALL you’ve been through!! You can even still be disappointed and celebrate those. But the former voice proved to be MUCH louder than the later. After all, I made it out safely, didn’t regret trying it and made it home safely. What now?

First, get a good night’s sleep last night (which I did) and debrief on my own behalf – part of which could be via a trip report. So I do apologize for the length and perhaps more personal information than many may want/need to read but I felt that writing this couldn’t hurt and at best could be a very cathartic exercise in taking steps to be kind to myself, put one foot in front of the other, and process through it all. After all, I have no intention of giving up on climbing, the 14ers, being outside. Likewise, I could even at least share part of my story in the hope that it helps at least one other person. As I said earlier on, the outdoors and all my outdoor pursuits have always been a source of connection, healing, safety and joy and that is ALWAYS worth celebrating. And if I’m being honest with myself, I’m probably not alone in that. And a bonus, the pictures I took along the way that gave the mosquitos just enough time to eat me alive.