How Wrong Can You Be?

 So... I set out yesterday to "pick off" a 13er in Rocky Mountain National Park. I thought it would be a lot of cruising on awesomely-maintained, tourist trails. How wrong I can be.

I wasn't wrong right away though. The first four miles were a cruise on the kind of trail I'd expected. I had a snack at Sandbeach Lake and then... well. There was supposed to be a trail off the east end of the lake. I couldn't seem to find it. All I found was a path that was peppered with deadfall. No superhighway in sight. It took me several minutes to convince myself that it was indeed the correct trail. I started thinking of it as "trail." That helped. 

I picked up my pace again, climbing over deadfall and making progress. I checked my GPS and saw that the route was actually a quarter of a mile to my east. I bushwhacked to it and made progress up a sparsely-cairned boulder field. I was rattled about routefinding but didn't want to continue checking my GPS. Why, you may ask. Well, because I'm a driven-ass person who didn't want to waste time. So I cruised along to the top of the boulder field and then allowed myself to check my GPS.

I had followed the wrong trail! The original, pre-boulder-field trail HAD been correct. The cairns up this boulder field led somewhere, but it wasn't to my mountain. I looked hard at the map, trying to determine if I could continue up this -  Hunter’s Creek drainage - to reunite with the correct route. I just didn't know if it would go. I decided to turn around and regain the correct route.

Now though, my body was aching. My legs were pissed at me for wasting all that energy on boulder hopping. Off-route boulder hopping. It dawned on me that my head wasn't much in the game either. I considered bagging it and heading home. But, it was still early in the day and there were no clouds in the sky.  

I readjusted my thinking. I named my impatience, and realized that there would be rogue cairns to contend with. I picked where I wanted to go and went there, feeling good when I saw cairns but not wasting time looking for them. Soon I was skirting left around Mt. Orton and climbing the long, multi-tiered class 2 slope up Chiefs Head. My energy was low and I was tempted to stop and eat, sit, rest, but I kept telling myself to keep going at "Everest Pace," which is one foot in front of the other just fast enough that you can tell I'm moving. I finally gained the rocky ridge leading up to the summit. I knew I wouldn't need my trekking poles, so propped them against a blocky boulder that I was sure would be obvious on the descent.

I enjoyed the summit. I drank in the views of Longs Peak, Pagoda Mountain, and Mt. Meeker. I took out the map and looked at the 13ers I still need in the area: McHenry's and Alice. I took off my boots and laid down for 10 minutes. I was proud of myself, proud of Everest pace, proud of myself for getting it together. It was a self-love fest.

I started my descent 20 minutes later, still feeling good vibes. Then I heard the first thunder. I scurried down the rocky slope as fast as I could. Faster than I could. I stepped on a rock I KNEW would slide. It slid and I landed hard on my left elbow and rump. I felt my teeth click and my brain land in my cranium. I assessed how hurt I was. Not very. Bruises, a little blood, and a very loud voice in my head yelling, "No more dumb mistakes! Pay attention to your footing. You are soloing; any slip could have big consequences." That, along with intermittent thunder, accompanied me down the ridge. My head was a noisy place. 

I finished descending the ridge and I realized that I should have spotted my trekking poles in the spot that was “sure to be obvious on the descent.” Turns out it was not obvious. I debated just leaving them and skedaddling. I still had to reascend to 11k to go around Mt. Orton. Above treeline with thunder is not a great place to be. I gave myself 20 minutes to search and retraced my steps back up the ridgeline. I had my lovely Lekis in hand in five minutes.

Now I skedaddled. Down to the Orton/Chiefs Head saddle and then back up to the base of Orton. Skedaddled but with the addition of “No more dumb mistakes.” I watched my footing. I kept eyeing the skies. There were dark clouds and thunder, but nothing near me. I followed the "trail" all the way back to Sandbeach Lake, turning on my GPS tracking just to see how close to the plotted trail it was. 

I did not stop at Sandbeach Lake, I did not pass go and collect $200. I did smile and chat with the tourists on the Trail, but otherwise, I was a hiking machine. I enjoyed the thick air and let my brain oxygenate in it. I thought about everything I'd thought the climb would be today... and then what it really was. A humbling experience. An arduous, trying, thought-provoking, rewarding, beautiful experience.

Chiefs Head Peak 10:49 for 18 mi/5476 ft. Approx 6:17 to summit, 20 mins. on the peak, 4:12 down