Well, in essence, this is a simple concept.
Run 3 was a bit of a mismatched but not misguided event. The concept was simple, make a new campsite. The work was simple, in fact, so simple, that it will no doubt rub off on this entry, resulting in brutal simplicity the likes of which only Ren and Stimpy have seen!!
Too dramatic?
Whatever. Look, there are no great stories here, so I'll just ramble.
The primary objective this time around was dig. Dig new fire rings, new sumps, new P2B's (yea, you know, those super elegant outdoor shitaroos). And, look, I ain't going to blow my own horn here too much, but the rest of the squad might as well be wielding DQ plastic spoons compared to my relative dozer of digging power! Its not totally fair, I suppose, I do have a hell of a lot more experience, but the others either lack the stamina to keep digging deeper or the know how to punch 3 foot deep holes into the earth (really, its not a hard concept).
We spent our first few days doing simple work, digging a few P2B's, digging a few things here and there, climbing a few trees, eating a few tortillas. Ahh, tortillas! The staple of work crew! What do ya put your peanut butter and jelly on? Tortillas! Your mildly warm, unrefrigerated lunch meat? Tortillas! Your cheese and over ripe avocados? Tortillas! Your taco meat? Tortillas! Your Tortillas?!! MORE TORTILLAS!!!!
When we grew tired of digging, we smashed rocks. All kinds of rocks! Slipped on a pair of safety glasses (the cool kids call 'em blades) and took our large 12 pound sledges and went to work! BAM! and a wave of little rock fragments would wash over our faces! BAM! and the nearby campers would ooh and aah over our indomitable strength! BAM! and we watched as rocks that had sat perfectly content for millennium were submitted to an early dismemberment.
Labor is all that it really is. Simple, mindless labor. All you have to do is tuck it in, grab your tool of choice and wail away for hours on end. No thought, no talent. No need for anything more than strength and stamina. BAM, BAM, BAM. And when the foreman calls out that its time to go home, there is a pit, or little bitty rocks, or a small patch of destruction or creation that you can call your own. Its not poetic. Its rhythmic. And a trained monkey could do it!
And because we are out of trained monkeys, plenty of young college students looking for a summer job will do. Because they are used to living in a zoo, don't mind being fed peanuts, and don't know any better. They think jobs like this are a god send! Holy Shit! Why not go get a good job or internship, or volunteer in Africa?! Why slave away doing mindless tasks with no career skills? I'll tell you why, its cause, perhaps, we have to learn what we don't want to spend our lives doing.
And we dug some more. We dug till our arms refused to be lifted upwards anymore, till they hung at our sides, like ugly, pale dead eels. We dug till our backs refused to remain upright, till they begged to be horizontal. And we ate (tortillas). And we slept. And we awoke to the first rays of the sun and began again. We dug until our gloves fell apart, till we struggled to scrap loose dirt from the bottom of our pits with our hands. And when the digging was done, we strapped on our packs and headed out again, till we found new places to dig.
We dug while the rain pelted our backs, while it washed the grime and filth from our faces and arms. We knelt in the mud, letting our pants turn the color of the earth we were struggling to remove. We dug in rich forest soil, alive and gentle, full of organic life. We dug in clay, each inch a struggle of pain and anguish, frustration and curses. We struggled against rocks and roots and all manner of things. And what did we dig for, you ask? We dug for the opportunity to dig more.
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Monday, July 5, 2010
4th of July
Was uneventful.
For the fourth, I decided not to engage in debauchery, but rather to head up to a staff camp called Crater Lake, where a buddy of mine was working.
So, for those looking for stories involving raging blackouts and guaranteed good times, I recommend here.
Anyway, I hiked up, I stuck around and talked and watched a great campfire song and story telling extravaganza, and then hiked back the next day.
The End.
For the fourth, I decided not to engage in debauchery, but rather to head up to a staff camp called Crater Lake, where a buddy of mine was working.
So, for those looking for stories involving raging blackouts and guaranteed good times, I recommend here.
Anyway, I hiked up, I stuck around and talked and watched a great campfire song and story telling extravaganza, and then hiked back the next day.
The End.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Run 2
Cause Run 1 was a bit of a disaster.
The second run is supposed to be a fairly good one. You haven't grown bored with the routine yet, are not to badly beat up from the work, and yet, you know what the routine is and and what kind of work you are getting yourself into.
Because I have not explained these "Run" concepts to you, please sit down, raise your cup of caffeinated beverage, and relax as the information flows over you. A Run is the designated work time of a Work Crew (of which I am a member), and lasts for about 9 days. During this time, a work crew moves from campsite to campsite, repairing things that need repairing. We clear the corridors of trails so as to facilitate passage. And, we also find a place to crash for the evening, cook dinner, and usually fall asleep on top of a tarp, looking out onto the bright starry sky.
Anyway, Day 1!!
Consisted of sitting around waiting for management to decide what to do. Technically, our crew was heading out a day early, so as to get in a day early. A fair deal in most circumstances. However, due to various internal ineptitudes, we were unable to leave. So, we sat around until dinner time at Base, where upon we ate a hearty meal of prefabricated starch and returned to our pile of mattocks, saws, and loppers, with a crosscut and gaffing material sitting on top. Finally, our foreman gave the all clear and we packed it and ourselves into a truck and headed out for the North Country. While the rest of the evening was rather bland and uninteresting, I would like to point something out. That night, with 5 days worth of food for 5 pepole in our packs, we were unable to hoist the bear bags up a tree. Thats right, 5 fully grown adults were unable to pull up the food we were carrying. Math time: 5 food bags weighing between 35 and 50 pounds each comes to a round average of more than 200 pounds of food.
....
Just saying...
The second day was a routine maintanence day, moving from Miranda, a camp that demonstrates the use of black powder guns, to Head of Dean. We lopped the trail, grunted under the weight of our packs, and sweated. Yea, Men! By midafternoon we arrived in Head of Dean, where we dropped our packs, grabbed mattocks and shovels and headed out to dig holes for the glorious Pilot-to-Bomber. Called such because the pilot (on one side) will call out to the bomber when he is dropping bombs... Or some such bull shit (clever pun). Anyway, they occasionally fill up, and we are sent out to dig new pits, about 3 feet deep. Glorious job? Well... Its got to be done I suppose. The alternative is, of course, a large and vast quantity of poop rocks littering the landscape...
After a dinner provided by the kind staff of Head o' Dean, we were invited to spectate the evenings games. See, the HoD has a ropes course (Perhaps I should explain that all staff operated camps at Philmont have some sort of program to educate the incoming campers with) and so their games consisted of balance and teamwork. In this case, it meant spinning around ten times fast and then whacking each other with plastic noodles. Excellent entertainment, and supremely satisfying to watch. Maybe not so to participate... I dunno. Anyway, while that would have satiated the most bored, we were in for another treat. After bashing each other with plastic noodles, the campers headed over to climb a wall. Well, this was more of a challenge than usual. The wall was over 10 feet, and the whole crew had to climb over it. There could be only two people on top of it too. So, the 25 or so kids sat for a minute and then came up with a fairly simple plan; two people on the bottom lifting, a couple strong armed kids to lift themselves over initally, and then some jumping kids for the finale. While fairly simple, the plan was initially poorly executed, as the majority of the stronger kids got up and over and the remnant left were smaller, younger kids with almost no physical strength. The highlight of the evening occured when one rather skinny dorky kid made his attempt. Wearing a bright yellow 'Life for Jesus' shirt, he possessed neither the arm strength to pull himself up with the help of his peers, nor the core strength to swing his legs up and over the wall. He dangled there while those above could not lift him and those below could not push him up any farther.
PFFFFTTTTT!!!!!
And a cloud of stink settled on the mob still below him! The five of us on Work Crew fell in a heap, laughing until tears came to our eyes. While the kid did eventually make it up, followed in short order by the rest of his crew, the evening was declared an absolute success.
The third day was possibly one of the longest days I will ever work here at Philmont. We awoke at 530 and walked down Dean Canyon to place some signage and then returned to Head of Dean by 10, having already done over 6 miles. A brief repast, and then we saddled up again and headed for distant Baldy town, another 5 miles down the trail. The trail, as it turned out, turned out to be a furnace, sitting on top of a ridge with little shade. We dug out and repacked a sign post and dug two more P2Bs (affectionately called Shitters by the Conservation Dept.) before finally reaching our destination around 8. Needless to say, I slept the entire night thru.
The fourth day was a sort of recovery day. We dug two more Shitters rearranged some signs for better usage! and read. It was an altogether easy and boring day, and nobody was complaining.
The fifth day was another regular day, ya know, with the exception of a hike to the top of the 12400 foot high Baldy Mountain. We woke early and headed up. The only difference between this 12er and a 14er was that the grassland was nonexistant. However, from the top, the wind was incredible. Easily 50-plus miles an hour and my wind jacket flapped like the wings of some great black hummingbird. We huddled behind a rock outcropping and watched as nearby participants were blown about, some nearly reaching the edge before regaining control. After everyone felt that they had had their fill, we headed back down and headed out to the mock-logging camp of Pueblano.
The sixth day was a hiking day, traveling from Pueblano, up to Wilson's Mesa and traveling through the national forest, and down into a Philmont owned canyon. While the corridor was not in such bad shape, several burnt and dead trees littered the path and had to be delimbed and pushed off to the side. We ended our day at Dan Beard, where we ate steak.
The seventh, eighth, and ninth days were spent clearing a fence line. As part of some contract with the National Forest, Philmont gets to use some of their land for their camps. One of the stipulations though, is that Philmont maintains a fence line running through the National Forest. So, it was our job to make sure it was made pretty again. We spent the day hacking apart (mostly) burnt trees leaning on the fence or that were too close for comfort. And returned to Dan Beard at night to feast upon the food that the staff had graciously cooked for us. I can only imagine what it must have felt to eat across from 5 big, smelly (remember we had been working for over a week by this point, no showers), and dirty guys who practically inhaled the presented offerings. On the last day, we worked to a road, where we were picked up and whisked back to camp.
Ahh, that shower felt magnificent.
The second run is supposed to be a fairly good one. You haven't grown bored with the routine yet, are not to badly beat up from the work, and yet, you know what the routine is and and what kind of work you are getting yourself into.
Because I have not explained these "Run" concepts to you, please sit down, raise your cup of caffeinated beverage, and relax as the information flows over you. A Run is the designated work time of a Work Crew (of which I am a member), and lasts for about 9 days. During this time, a work crew moves from campsite to campsite, repairing things that need repairing. We clear the corridors of trails so as to facilitate passage. And, we also find a place to crash for the evening, cook dinner, and usually fall asleep on top of a tarp, looking out onto the bright starry sky.
Anyway, Day 1!!
Consisted of sitting around waiting for management to decide what to do. Technically, our crew was heading out a day early, so as to get in a day early. A fair deal in most circumstances. However, due to various internal ineptitudes, we were unable to leave. So, we sat around until dinner time at Base, where upon we ate a hearty meal of prefabricated starch and returned to our pile of mattocks, saws, and loppers, with a crosscut and gaffing material sitting on top. Finally, our foreman gave the all clear and we packed it and ourselves into a truck and headed out for the North Country. While the rest of the evening was rather bland and uninteresting, I would like to point something out. That night, with 5 days worth of food for 5 pepole in our packs, we were unable to hoist the bear bags up a tree. Thats right, 5 fully grown adults were unable to pull up the food we were carrying. Math time: 5 food bags weighing between 35 and 50 pounds each comes to a round average of more than 200 pounds of food.
....
Just saying...
The second day was a routine maintanence day, moving from Miranda, a camp that demonstrates the use of black powder guns, to Head of Dean. We lopped the trail, grunted under the weight of our packs, and sweated. Yea, Men! By midafternoon we arrived in Head of Dean, where we dropped our packs, grabbed mattocks and shovels and headed out to dig holes for the glorious Pilot-to-Bomber. Called such because the pilot (on one side) will call out to the bomber when he is dropping bombs... Or some such bull shit (clever pun). Anyway, they occasionally fill up, and we are sent out to dig new pits, about 3 feet deep. Glorious job? Well... Its got to be done I suppose. The alternative is, of course, a large and vast quantity of poop rocks littering the landscape...
After a dinner provided by the kind staff of Head o' Dean, we were invited to spectate the evenings games. See, the HoD has a ropes course (Perhaps I should explain that all staff operated camps at Philmont have some sort of program to educate the incoming campers with) and so their games consisted of balance and teamwork. In this case, it meant spinning around ten times fast and then whacking each other with plastic noodles. Excellent entertainment, and supremely satisfying to watch. Maybe not so to participate... I dunno. Anyway, while that would have satiated the most bored, we were in for another treat. After bashing each other with plastic noodles, the campers headed over to climb a wall. Well, this was more of a challenge than usual. The wall was over 10 feet, and the whole crew had to climb over it. There could be only two people on top of it too. So, the 25 or so kids sat for a minute and then came up with a fairly simple plan; two people on the bottom lifting, a couple strong armed kids to lift themselves over initally, and then some jumping kids for the finale. While fairly simple, the plan was initially poorly executed, as the majority of the stronger kids got up and over and the remnant left were smaller, younger kids with almost no physical strength. The highlight of the evening occured when one rather skinny dorky kid made his attempt. Wearing a bright yellow 'Life for Jesus' shirt, he possessed neither the arm strength to pull himself up with the help of his peers, nor the core strength to swing his legs up and over the wall. He dangled there while those above could not lift him and those below could not push him up any farther.
PFFFFTTTTT!!!!!
And a cloud of stink settled on the mob still below him! The five of us on Work Crew fell in a heap, laughing until tears came to our eyes. While the kid did eventually make it up, followed in short order by the rest of his crew, the evening was declared an absolute success.
The third day was possibly one of the longest days I will ever work here at Philmont. We awoke at 530 and walked down Dean Canyon to place some signage and then returned to Head of Dean by 10, having already done over 6 miles. A brief repast, and then we saddled up again and headed for distant Baldy town, another 5 miles down the trail. The trail, as it turned out, turned out to be a furnace, sitting on top of a ridge with little shade. We dug out and repacked a sign post and dug two more P2Bs (affectionately called Shitters by the Conservation Dept.) before finally reaching our destination around 8. Needless to say, I slept the entire night thru.
The fourth day was a sort of recovery day. We dug two more Shitters rearranged some signs for better usage! and read. It was an altogether easy and boring day, and nobody was complaining.
The fifth day was another regular day, ya know, with the exception of a hike to the top of the 12400 foot high Baldy Mountain. We woke early and headed up. The only difference between this 12er and a 14er was that the grassland was nonexistant. However, from the top, the wind was incredible. Easily 50-plus miles an hour and my wind jacket flapped like the wings of some great black hummingbird. We huddled behind a rock outcropping and watched as nearby participants were blown about, some nearly reaching the edge before regaining control. After everyone felt that they had had their fill, we headed back down and headed out to the mock-logging camp of Pueblano.
The sixth day was a hiking day, traveling from Pueblano, up to Wilson's Mesa and traveling through the national forest, and down into a Philmont owned canyon. While the corridor was not in such bad shape, several burnt and dead trees littered the path and had to be delimbed and pushed off to the side. We ended our day at Dan Beard, where we ate steak.
The seventh, eighth, and ninth days were spent clearing a fence line. As part of some contract with the National Forest, Philmont gets to use some of their land for their camps. One of the stipulations though, is that Philmont maintains a fence line running through the National Forest. So, it was our job to make sure it was made pretty again. We spent the day hacking apart (mostly) burnt trees leaning on the fence or that were too close for comfort. And returned to Dan Beard at night to feast upon the food that the staff had graciously cooked for us. I can only imagine what it must have felt to eat across from 5 big, smelly (remember we had been working for over a week by this point, no showers), and dirty guys who practically inhaled the presented offerings. On the last day, we worked to a road, where we were picked up and whisked back to camp.
Ahh, that shower felt magnificent.
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Colorado
Has a lot of mountains!
Money was (still is) tight. There can be no question of that. The actual cost of things here is still relatively high and the budget (like always) is severely limited. With these thoughts in mind, I decided that after my first run, it was time to cut back and just chill out on the steps of the SSSAC (Silver Sage Staff Activities Center). It was with this purpose in mind that I grabbed a book and sat down, preparing for the mental siege against the forces of boredom. And, almost as soon as I had finished the first page, a couple of the Work Crew guys gathered around me and asked the rather innocent question, "Got any plans for the days off?"
To which I of course answered, "No."
And, within minutes, I was sold on the concept of heading to Colorado to hike some 14ers. Now, keeping the last paragraph in mind, I had come to a new conclusion. I was not often in the Southwest, and thus, did not have many opportunities to do Southwest things. So, budget be damned! I was gonna go out and have a good time!
Together, the five of us piled into the car and drove North. While an altogether uneventful trip, we were greeted halfway by dark, ominous clouds almost red in hue. The spread across the entire Northern horizon, obscuring the sight and even making a perhaps innocent mountain appear to be the gateway to Mordor. A local gas station attendant informed us that the cloud was simply a local wildfire (local?!) and that it was well in hand. Shrugging (what else were we gonna do?), we left and headed up to Denver to drop off one of our number who had been lucky enough to score a plane ticket to go see his girlfriend up in Seattle.
Leaving Denver, we headed back to Boulder, Colorado, where the catalyst for the travel, Patrick Megee lived and went to school. As soon as we entered the city confines, I was sold on the place. The people were healthy and happy at a little over 5000 feet above sea level. Almost everyone exhibited the aura of those who spend their lives seeking thrills skiing, rock climbing, and rafting. I was not met with a closed face nor with an overwhelmingly pudgy one either. As we arrived around dusk, the nightly assembly of stoned and drunk bikers began to claim the streets. As Megee explained, it was a common appearance and the locals just considered it a part of daily life. My soul soared! A culture that respected and used bikes! After spending two years dodging cars in the rather anti-bike friendly zone of NoVA, this came not only as a shock but a moment of personal pleasure.
After picking up one of Megee's college buddies (cool enough, the guy flew satellites), I found another thing that absolutely captured my fascination. Called LiquorMart, it was a store roughly the size of a standard grocery store specializing in the sale of, you guessed it, booze!! While I was not able to walk in, I still marveled from the outside at the possibilities. We carried the liquid party back to the residence of the satellite pilot and engaged in rowdy merry making. At rougly 2 in the morning, we struck out for the nearest food. As we ambled/skipped/ran/jumped down the street, people from nearby house parties came out to join us in our adventure! For the record, this just doesn't happen back at GMU. After arriving at Cosmo's Pizza, those with wallets and ample cash purchased sustinence. The others marveled at the rather funky and creative table tops. Yea, well, perhaps you understand. At 230, we got kicked out, and the remaining pizza was handed out to the hungry! I know, I know, awesome town.
After sleeping it off in Lazy Boys, we assembled once more to go watch the Matinee! A-Team was first on the list, and it was alright. Just what you/I expect, corny, good laughs, bad laughs, action comedy, and one or two good lines. Satisfied, but feeling just a little rebellious, we then snuck into the nearest next theater for the showing of Get Him to the Greek. This was an unexpectedly great movie. I mean, like, I had not laughed so hard since the Hangover. In other words, go out and see it!! Well worth the price of the first movie.
The day ended with a quick dip in the nearby apartment pool (which was not exactly open to us non-rent paying persons), and then we prepared for the ascent. On a last note, did I also mention that Boulder rests in the shadow of a couple massive mountains and has easy access to Snowboarding/mountain biking/white water rafting/rock climbing/mountain ascents/general awesomeness. I mean, its all within less than an hour of Boulder! Seriously (but not too seriously) contemplating moving out there.
In the wee morning hours (also called 9) we awoke and prepared to ascend giants. Unfortunately, half of the party was not feeling very good. One was a little sick and the other, well, his heart just wasn't in it I'm afraid (BS alert). In any case, Megee and I hopped into his Suburban and headed two hours west to the glorious peak known as Mount Elbert. While it sits right next to Mount Massive ( a much more glorious name), it is the highest point in Colorado at 14433 feet, and the second highest point in the continental US, behind that of Whitney. In any case, beginning shortly after noon, we began our climb.
When climbing 14ers the important thing to realize is that 14000 feet is a fuck ton! I mean, ahem, gosh! Thats really high! There are three distinct levels, the first being foothills occupied by forests and shrubs. This portion is really no different from much of the rest of Colorado. Pretty, serene, and generally still fairly warm. Most of its pine or fir and the birds and chipmunks frolic and play. Then you hit the tree line and bam, no more trees, just a lot of rock and grass. This is the second level, and I like to refer to it as the pseudo green/more brown and yellow grassland! I feel that some of the most picturesque views are obtained at this level, because you can still see the valleys, the foothills, the clouds, other mountains, and all sorts of things that make for nice pictures. At this level, its kinda cold. Not too bad, just chilly and windy. After a couple thousand feet, one arrives on the scree slope. This is the third level. Going up is hell, going down is hell. The slopes are full of rocks of all kind, shattered by the elements and left to impair the movement of the adventerous. The wind really starts up here, Big gusts and the temperatures steadily drops. Finally, after this rather rough last level, we gained the top.
And, looked onto one of the most beautiful landscapes I had ever seen. On one side, a gorgeous valley lay, small, stocky houses and ponds nestled in its green arms. The sunlight was only interrupted by clouds as the traced intricate shapes upon the valley floor. On the other side, jagged peaks stood guard between us and the rest of the West. I was reminded of broken windows and shattered stone. The wind screamed past us as we gazed upon these eternal monoliths. Only one thought permeated my mind, I AM SO VERY MORTAL.
The entire trip took us 6 hours, 3 hours up, one hour to take it all in, and another two hours to get back to the SUV. We made a brief pit stop in the town of Leadville and had dinner at Quincy's (located to the humorously named head shop, Headville). Then we drove on another half hour and found a campsite at the foot of Huron Peak. Unwisely, I decided to sleep outside, under the stars, encased on all sides by the immortal mountains. The temperature dropped below freezing and I was constantly waking up feeling both frozen and brutally uncomfortable. Mercifully, the sun rose, I shook myself out, had a brief breakfast and Me and Megee began our ascent. This 14er was much the same, but only reached to 14003 feet in height. And, of course it being Father's Day,I gave my old man a call saying thanks for doing such a monumental job. Huron Peak is another gorgeous mountain and looks out onto several small ponds (I'm sure they regularly freeze at that height) and a chain of mountains called the Apostles.
We then attempted to try a third peak, Mount Sherman, but called it off 1/4 of the way through due to the lack of light and found a calm campground surrounded on four sides by water. We picked everyone up the next morning and headed back to Philmont. By most accounts, it was a rather marvelous adventure. I had experienced something that not many can claim, and certainly was only possible in the Southwest. Money well spent? Why, yes, I do believe so.
Money was (still is) tight. There can be no question of that. The actual cost of things here is still relatively high and the budget (like always) is severely limited. With these thoughts in mind, I decided that after my first run, it was time to cut back and just chill out on the steps of the SSSAC (Silver Sage Staff Activities Center). It was with this purpose in mind that I grabbed a book and sat down, preparing for the mental siege against the forces of boredom. And, almost as soon as I had finished the first page, a couple of the Work Crew guys gathered around me and asked the rather innocent question, "Got any plans for the days off?"
To which I of course answered, "No."
And, within minutes, I was sold on the concept of heading to Colorado to hike some 14ers. Now, keeping the last paragraph in mind, I had come to a new conclusion. I was not often in the Southwest, and thus, did not have many opportunities to do Southwest things. So, budget be damned! I was gonna go out and have a good time!
Together, the five of us piled into the car and drove North. While an altogether uneventful trip, we were greeted halfway by dark, ominous clouds almost red in hue. The spread across the entire Northern horizon, obscuring the sight and even making a perhaps innocent mountain appear to be the gateway to Mordor. A local gas station attendant informed us that the cloud was simply a local wildfire (local?!) and that it was well in hand. Shrugging (what else were we gonna do?), we left and headed up to Denver to drop off one of our number who had been lucky enough to score a plane ticket to go see his girlfriend up in Seattle.
Leaving Denver, we headed back to Boulder, Colorado, where the catalyst for the travel, Patrick Megee lived and went to school. As soon as we entered the city confines, I was sold on the place. The people were healthy and happy at a little over 5000 feet above sea level. Almost everyone exhibited the aura of those who spend their lives seeking thrills skiing, rock climbing, and rafting. I was not met with a closed face nor with an overwhelmingly pudgy one either. As we arrived around dusk, the nightly assembly of stoned and drunk bikers began to claim the streets. As Megee explained, it was a common appearance and the locals just considered it a part of daily life. My soul soared! A culture that respected and used bikes! After spending two years dodging cars in the rather anti-bike friendly zone of NoVA, this came not only as a shock but a moment of personal pleasure.
After picking up one of Megee's college buddies (cool enough, the guy flew satellites), I found another thing that absolutely captured my fascination. Called LiquorMart, it was a store roughly the size of a standard grocery store specializing in the sale of, you guessed it, booze!! While I was not able to walk in, I still marveled from the outside at the possibilities. We carried the liquid party back to the residence of the satellite pilot and engaged in rowdy merry making. At rougly 2 in the morning, we struck out for the nearest food. As we ambled/skipped/ran/jumped down the street, people from nearby house parties came out to join us in our adventure! For the record, this just doesn't happen back at GMU. After arriving at Cosmo's Pizza, those with wallets and ample cash purchased sustinence. The others marveled at the rather funky and creative table tops. Yea, well, perhaps you understand. At 230, we got kicked out, and the remaining pizza was handed out to the hungry! I know, I know, awesome town.
After sleeping it off in Lazy Boys, we assembled once more to go watch the Matinee! A-Team was first on the list, and it was alright. Just what you/I expect, corny, good laughs, bad laughs, action comedy, and one or two good lines. Satisfied, but feeling just a little rebellious, we then snuck into the nearest next theater for the showing of Get Him to the Greek. This was an unexpectedly great movie. I mean, like, I had not laughed so hard since the Hangover. In other words, go out and see it!! Well worth the price of the first movie.
The day ended with a quick dip in the nearby apartment pool (which was not exactly open to us non-rent paying persons), and then we prepared for the ascent. On a last note, did I also mention that Boulder rests in the shadow of a couple massive mountains and has easy access to Snowboarding/mountain biking/white water rafting/rock climbing/mountain ascents/general awesomeness. I mean, its all within less than an hour of Boulder! Seriously (but not too seriously) contemplating moving out there.
In the wee morning hours (also called 9) we awoke and prepared to ascend giants. Unfortunately, half of the party was not feeling very good. One was a little sick and the other, well, his heart just wasn't in it I'm afraid (BS alert). In any case, Megee and I hopped into his Suburban and headed two hours west to the glorious peak known as Mount Elbert. While it sits right next to Mount Massive ( a much more glorious name), it is the highest point in Colorado at 14433 feet, and the second highest point in the continental US, behind that of Whitney. In any case, beginning shortly after noon, we began our climb.
When climbing 14ers the important thing to realize is that 14000 feet is a fuck ton! I mean, ahem, gosh! Thats really high! There are three distinct levels, the first being foothills occupied by forests and shrubs. This portion is really no different from much of the rest of Colorado. Pretty, serene, and generally still fairly warm. Most of its pine or fir and the birds and chipmunks frolic and play. Then you hit the tree line and bam, no more trees, just a lot of rock and grass. This is the second level, and I like to refer to it as the pseudo green/more brown and yellow grassland! I feel that some of the most picturesque views are obtained at this level, because you can still see the valleys, the foothills, the clouds, other mountains, and all sorts of things that make for nice pictures. At this level, its kinda cold. Not too bad, just chilly and windy. After a couple thousand feet, one arrives on the scree slope. This is the third level. Going up is hell, going down is hell. The slopes are full of rocks of all kind, shattered by the elements and left to impair the movement of the adventerous. The wind really starts up here, Big gusts and the temperatures steadily drops. Finally, after this rather rough last level, we gained the top.
And, looked onto one of the most beautiful landscapes I had ever seen. On one side, a gorgeous valley lay, small, stocky houses and ponds nestled in its green arms. The sunlight was only interrupted by clouds as the traced intricate shapes upon the valley floor. On the other side, jagged peaks stood guard between us and the rest of the West. I was reminded of broken windows and shattered stone. The wind screamed past us as we gazed upon these eternal monoliths. Only one thought permeated my mind, I AM SO VERY MORTAL.
The entire trip took us 6 hours, 3 hours up, one hour to take it all in, and another two hours to get back to the SUV. We made a brief pit stop in the town of Leadville and had dinner at Quincy's (located to the humorously named head shop, Headville). Then we drove on another half hour and found a campsite at the foot of Huron Peak. Unwisely, I decided to sleep outside, under the stars, encased on all sides by the immortal mountains. The temperature dropped below freezing and I was constantly waking up feeling both frozen and brutally uncomfortable. Mercifully, the sun rose, I shook myself out, had a brief breakfast and Me and Megee began our ascent. This 14er was much the same, but only reached to 14003 feet in height. And, of course it being Father's Day,I gave my old man a call saying thanks for doing such a monumental job. Huron Peak is another gorgeous mountain and looks out onto several small ponds (I'm sure they regularly freeze at that height) and a chain of mountains called the Apostles.
We then attempted to try a third peak, Mount Sherman, but called it off 1/4 of the way through due to the lack of light and found a calm campground surrounded on four sides by water. We picked everyone up the next morning and headed back to Philmont. By most accounts, it was a rather marvelous adventure. I had experienced something that not many can claim, and certainly was only possible in the Southwest. Money well spent? Why, yes, I do believe so.
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