I realize it’s been quite a while since you and I have talked. While I’m truly sorry about that, it’s been for good reason; living intentionally, being present in moments, and pushing to see how far I can physically go, if only to discover I can go even further.
On August 26th, I had my first experience of reaching the summit of Quandary Peak- one of Colorado’s 14,000-foot mountains. There are, debatably, 58 of them throughout various mountain ranges in the state. So, while intensively researching the route, meticulously planning appropriate supplies to bring and making contingencies for emergencies, I took time off of work and drove approximately two hours to the Quandary Peak Trailhead, one of few such places that are easily accessible by car.
I started my summit attempt at around 6:20AM, trekking roughly 3.3 miles up the mountain, stopping many times to catch my breath, pace myself, give the appropriate pep talk needed to not listen to the voice telling me ‘turn back- you literally don’t have to do this’, reaching the false summit(roughly halfway).
Attempting to illustrate and describe this experience for you, let me begin by using vocabulary that substitutes and replaces myself with you:
You see, at this point, is this massive area that spans a breathtaking vantage point of the terrain surrounding you. It’s clear you’re in territory that people only intentionally put themselves in, as trees no longer surround you, occasional critters and creatures squeak and squirk their way past you, scurrying through the maze of rocks of various shapes and sizes, to an unknown, unseen destination.
And then, you see a view that can’t possibly be real- the actual summit.
‘Did I fuck up?’, you think. ‘That can’t possibly….’
You squint your eyes to process the massive hunk of rock that stands before you and search for a possible way up, only to see specks of various colored clothing snaking and switchbacking up the length of this monolithic beast that you have to look nearly straight up at.
‘No, this is right’, you think to yourself. Though, you wonder how in the everloving hell you’re going to climb this thing.
You can’t see the top, or any discernible ‘path’ immediately; you nearly have to visually piece together your next four to five steps to make out where the rocks and dirt have been settled from the people before you.
Many stops happen due to the steadily thinning air, falling temperature and occasional frozen rain pinging against your now open rain jacket, due to overestimating your core body temperature and unzipping the flaps made specifically for this purpose.
‘Cmon. You can do this. How many other times have you thought you couldn’t? Just one foot in front of the other.’
You encounter hikers going the opposite way as you, encouraging you to push on, beckoning, ‘only a few more minutes now! You got this!’
Eventually, your field of vision stops seeing a wall of brown, crumbly rock more than it sees blue and swirling white/gray. The steep grade you’ve somehow grown accustom to, starts leveling out. Your pace, at a near crawl at this point, still maintains the same, as the ease of your path improves, allowing you to tilt your view further horizontally, instead of vertically.
This is the summit.
You see the famous, geodetic survey marker, signifying your measured point and happily take your glove off to touch it.
You are 14,271 feet above sea level.
There’s an eerie calm that exists here, a lull in the blowing wind that you encountered on your final push up this monster. People lightly pepper the terrain around you, stopping to rest, to embrace fellow travelers, take pictures and enjoy a small snack.
You get emotional, knowing you’ve done something a small percentage of people on the earth set out to do, and enjoy the crisp, 32-degree air on this late-August morning.
Nothing seems impossible, for a few minutes. Joy, mixed with exhaustion, hunger, anxiety, relief and adrenaline, all encompass you, in waves and sequence beyond your control.
‘This must be what walking on the moon must feel like’, you briefly think, and it doesn’t sound crazy to you, doesn’t seem inconceivable.
This is what it feels like to be above the clouds. And even through your descent, your thoughts immediately include, ‘which one is next?’
It’s then that you get a full scope of what you’ve done and where you’ve come from. It looks like you’ve just climbed up to heaven and used the stairs to do so.
It’s about now that you start asking yourself how in the hell you did this and how it could’ve possibly happened.
‘Me?’ you think. ‘I did this? Isn’t this reserved for travel magazines or Instagram pages from people with way better editing skills than me who do this, like, all the time?’
This is a feeling that altitude seems to match in perceivable grandeur.
(To be continued…)