Mt. Sherman is Mine, All Mine

I did it! Bagged my fifth 14er on Saturday. I can now notch my belt with Mt. Sherman, 14,036 feet.

The trip was awesome - beginning with the drive to the trailhead. I topped two new passes and the view was stunning. From Denver, highway 285 leads you to the Mosquito Range which hosts Mt. Sherman. It also leads you to incomparable views. The passes opened onto wide valleys framed by the mountains. Little - like teeny, cardboard box - towns were nestled in there. I drove through and couldn't help but dream of purchasing real estate. You wanna be tucked away - that's the place.

After Fairplay (the most populated city in its county, boasting 610 souls), you turn off on a highway that quickly turns into a boulder-strewn gravel road. When that peters out into feet-deep snow (where the plows stop), you park and start hiking.

The hike itself was... incredible. It is a singular experience doing these 14ers. My other hikes are pretty views and tranquilizers; I find so much peace. These 14ers are all hard edges and adrenaline. You start above treeline so there are only the bare faces of the mountains and their individual shapes to study. Some have been uptilted, decorating their faces with horseshoe-shaped bands of minerals. Others are stout little pyramids greeting you. Others, like Sherman, while indistinct in shape, are no less impressive for their sheer mass and power over the landscape.

Though snow is the predominant color, rocks with their coats of lichen also dot the mountainsides. Occasionally, human structures break out of the landscape. Abandoned mine shafts remind you of Colorado's rocky mineral history. Looking down, you see fir trees, standing stark and dark against the white of the snow.

For most of the hike, I followed a well-blazed trail. But by approximately 13,500 feet, I had passed all the other climbers and was left to my own devices to find the trail. Naturally, I lost it (my map had flown into a ravine early in the hike) and I ended up making my own path. I could see the summit ridge so I knew which direction to go, but it was quite tricky picking a path. My choices were to pick my way up steep, slippery scree - or posthole up a nearly vertical wall of snow. And of course you don't realize how vertical things are until you start...

I chose the snowy path, kicking my boots into the snow for toeholds and grasping with my fingers for handholds. It all went pretty well until I reached the very last ledge. And it was a doozy of a ledge - with snow stacked up to my chest. And it was hard-packed. Kicking to test the snow and finding it unyielding, I considered Down. But Down looked more treacherous than Up.

Up it would be. I kicked several times before I could begin to consider putting my weight on the toeholds. I threw my mittens up on the ledge and dug handholds with my fingernails. With two good footholds, I heaved myself up and crawled on hands and knees once on the ledge itself. Tricky, tricky. Meanwhile, all the other yaks were gaping at me - and mostly going a different route. I got lotso props on that move on my way down. But mostly I just loved it for me. It's a bit ineffable, this feeling I have while climbing, but I'll give it a whirl...


I realized that day on Sherman that I am no longer just somewhat driven; I am summit driven. It feels like purity, like all of life's ambiguities are no more. There you find yourself at 13,500 feet, buffeted by winds and facing steep rock and frozen snow. I love being at 13,500 - much more than the 14,038. Thirteen-five is where the adventure is. The self-reliance, the test of strength and stamina. The choice between Down and Up, while daunting, is a clear one. And you write the ending all yourself. I revel in my body's strength and - dare I say? - developing skillz.

The top? Oh yes, I reached it. It took me 3 hours and 15 minutes. It was super windy so I spent very little time stopped anywhere - not even the summit. I snapped a few photos, signed the 14ers ledger, and began the descent.

When I reached the downhill of the less steep snowfields, I remembered an episode of Man Vs. Wild in which Bear Grylls saved mucho energy by glissading down an embankment. I promptly plopped myself in the snow and slid down, steering myself by slightly digging my heels into the snow or pushing down with the heels of my hands. It was a ball! That 3:15 it took me to get up turned into 1:59 for the way down.

Once finished, I was a zombie, tucking myself into my car, not even changing out of my wet socks and boots but rather doing all that needed to be done with automaticity. I listened to no music on the way home; rather I was accompanied by my own thoughts and the sensations of 14.

Mt. Sherman? Feels like mine.