I slowly peel myself away from the wall and refix my gaze above me. The rock had sailed passed my left shoulder much too close for comfort. Breathing comes back under control, back to that meditative flow that I have worked on so long. The section known as the Hourglass, the crux of the mountain is behind us. It consists of maybe 30 vertical feet perpetuated by a slowly dripping spring that makes every hold a tentative fight for friction. Onwards and upwards until you find there is no more, nothing but a beautiful view and the temporary silence of all those internal demons.
We are in the immaculate Sangre de Cristo Mountains in South Central Colorado. From 12 thousand feet abd above you can make out the small town of Alamosa to the West as the land spreads out in an incredible instance of expansion. The view makes you feel even more isolated as you compile that with the knowledge of the long bumpy drive and the painfully long hike into the basin. That forty pound pack feels like it weighs one hundred by the time you sling it off at beautiful Lake Como. Tents up, feet up, eyes closed. An adventure is on the horizon.
The alarm shakes me awake from a dreamless sleep. The cold helps aid in the wake up process, but my body is not used to doing "complex" things like tying boots and zipping zippers before 4am. Strapped and ready and rocking headlamps we begin our quest to the top of our small new world. A beautiful moon shines upon the path making the small light on my forehead almost perfectly superfluous. Even in the dark I can sense and the the immensity of the rock surrounding us as the basin narrows and narrows. Finally the trail begins it's steady ascent up the wall to the first of our three objectives.
Mt. Blanca, the second tallest peak in the great state of Colorado looms above us to the South. Behind us to the North is Mt. Ellingwood, where one can gain an incredibly vantage point of the Great Sand Dunes. Sharing the same ridge to the Southwest of Blanca is the smaller yet most formidable Little Bear. The hardest standard route of any mountain in Colorado. Class IV out of a scale of VI. Lots of exposure, lots of pressure, lots of fun right?
We crest the class III ridge of Blanca/Ellingwood and continue our ascent. The wold to the East is night and day different from the West. Rather than an expansive plain you see peak after peak and ridge after ridge. All of this is highlighted by the pink and red hues of the rising sun. Breathtaking, stunning, amazing. Words cannot begin to describe the sensation in my heart when I see these wonderful, almost magical, natural things. Watching a sunrise at 14 thousand feet is one of the most epic things I have ever done, and I do not use that word frivolously. Snap some photos and get on with our objective. The ridge line to Ellingwood would be my favorite portion of the trip. I was strong, loving the exposure and riding a high that I had not felt in years. We topped out on Ellingwood at 7:30 am and paused long enough to stretch our legs, take in the Crestones and the Great Sand Dunes and then begin our descent back into the basin of Lake Como. The real journey begins after lunch.
Did I even eat? I inhaled my pasta so fast I almost could not even recall. I am fighting the urge to lie down and take a nap. I lace back up for the hike up Little Bear. I am having some mental fatigue at this point. That horrible, nagging voice that tells you to turn around is louder on the inside of your skull than an Argentine football match. Luckily he is an old friend and I know how to drown him out. Cross a creak and begin boulder hopping through a scree field. We approach an incredibly steep and loose slope and begin our climb to the ridge. Traction is God awful and the voice gets louder. I ditch my poles and begin a four point dance to the top.
I catch up with my climbing partner Jeff and we begin our traverse of the ridge to the aforementioned Hourglass and after that the summit. The ridge is a gnarly hodgepodge of a path that could spell disaster with a missed step. Luckily we had none and made it to the base of the Hourglass to take a quick pause and do some reconnaissance. As we were surveying a group of three passed us offering salutations and key insight into the stability of the anchor on the fixed rope someone had put up. We prepare our mental armor and begin our climb to the top of the world again. The crux of the mountain begins to slip slowly away with every calculated move. Not even the rocks could deter my pursuit of conquest, and we top out to sail down once again.
The downside is always the downside. Going down is so much harder than going up. You are tired, less aware of your impact. We make it without any hitches and find ourselves on semi solid ground again. At the very least the sensation of falling is gone. You know that feeling that you get when you are hanging on a wall and your whole body minus fingers and toes wants to fall into the abyss. The realization of our accomplishment begins to set in as we traverse back to the point of descent off the ridge. Just when our guard drops and allows for a tired smile we come upon a scene that would change our perceptions of this adventure forever.
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