Kate and Mark take a walk in The Park
Mark and I spent the hike out on Saturday coming up with cute names for this blog post. It could have been “We came, we looked, we turned around,” or “How not to have an Epic: Don’t climb.” Or maybe simply “Be your own worst enemy!”
Pictures from the day are in the gallery.
Mark and I have been planning on climbing the Petite Grepon all summer. A few years ago, we climbed the Spearhead with a friend of ours, and this summer, we felt like we would be able to do a climb like that on our own. So, we spent a few of our weekends climbing long, multipitch routes on Lumpy Ridge in preparation, and last weekend it was go-time. The weather was good, our weekend was free, and it would be the last one that fit those criteria in the foresee-able future. It was now or not this summer. It was time to climb.
Plans started to go awry during the week before. I couldn’t get a campsite anywhere in Estes Park. The whole town was booked. So, Mark and I decided to get up at 3:30a in Fort Collins, drive into the park, hike the 5 mile approach, and be at the base of the climb between 6:30 and 7:00a. Then on Thursday, I burned the crap out of my right leg on some part of the motorcycle. I actually smelled the skin on my leg sizzle. I bandaged it up and just declared that Mark would have to lead the whole route, due to my injury (surprise surprise).
We woke up on time. Got out the door by 4a. Spent 15 minutes reminding the seriously high guys at McDonalds of what they were doing (“Coffee. You were getting me coffee. That’s what you were doing, remember?”). Arrived at the Glacier Gorge trailhead a little later than we wanted, 5:30a. The sun was just rising as we left the car and headed out into the woods.
The hike was steeper than I remembered, but our packs were relatively light, and we kept up a good pace. Our first trouble came at Timberline Falls, where the lake was cascading over the whole cliffline, and filling what might have been a steep section of trail with rushing water. It took us a while to figure out that the sign pointing to the waterfall was not a prank, and we climbed the wet and slippery rocks to Glass pond.
Here our second trouble arrived. We thought Glass Pond was Sky Pond, and became seriously confused. There were many rock spires surrounding us, but none looked like the pictures of the Petite in the guidebook pages we had printed and copied. We wandered around the lake for maybe half an hour, before we discovered that the trail scaled another short cliffline and continued on to what was actually sky pond.
And this was where the final trouble hit us. We stared at the 1000ft spire from the lake and both felt a sickening sinking feeling. It was already 8:30a. Our route choices were 1000 airy feet of 5.8 or 5.9 on loose rock with at least 6 or 7 parties above us. I’ve read many a philosophical mountaineer say “When you look at the mountains, you see your true self.” And, for Mark and I, the cracks in our plans and preparations suddenly became starkly visible.
We were late. We hadn’t climbed a route of this grade in two months, let alone a route of this length. Our trad climbing was slow. My preparation for the exposure was non-existent. We were exhausted already and hadn’t even made it to the base of the rock. We both sat down quietly.
“We’re not climbing this today, are we?” I asked.
“No,” answered Mark.
The mountains are huge and humbling. Thinking about the route all week, and even now when I’m safe at home, I know we could have climbed it. I know it was within our skill level. It was a beautiful, hot day in Estes and the storms didn’t arrive until late. We could have done it. But we really didn’t want to on Saturday morning.
Certainly a lot of it was just fear. I felt so small, so unsure of myself that morning. I felt humiliated that I was so afraid of a climb. Surely we’re “good enough” to do this by now! But I didn’t want to. Not only was I terrified, but the climb didn’t look like any fun. It looked like I’d have to haul our packs and clothes and water up a huge, steep rock, and for what? To see the top? To write a blog post? To brag to my friends? Why were we doing this? Why were we up here?
We sat at the lake and watched climbers work their way up the Petite and the Saber for almost an hour. Then a group of hikers arrived and we decided to head down. We got to enjoy playing in the water at Timberline falls on the way down. I had three blisters by the end of the day. We made it back to the car at about 1:00p.
Maybe we really weren’t ready. Maybe it was just a crisis of faith. Maybe we are burnt out on this type of climbing. All I knew when I got back to the car was that I didn’t want to go back to the National Park for a long time. Mark and I agreed, we want to climb fun cracks, with short approaches, and with good friends. We want low-stress climbing, and easy descents. We want evening campfires and beer. We want to be able to bring our dog with us again. We want to get back to what we love about climbing for a while.
you know what’s funny? right before i started climbing on saturday, i thought, ‘what the f am i doing here? i really don’t want to do this.’ and then it ended up being the perfect day. low stress. a bunch of good, single pitches that were right in my skill level. it was great. and reminded me what i love about climbing.
i’ve never understood the desire to do 20 pitches though and probably never will. it just doesn’t sound like fun to me.
Yeah, I think the “do I really want to do this?” feeling probably hits a lot of people just before they leave the ground. Usually Mark and I are pretty good at motivating each other, but not this time. When you and your partner are thinking those thoughts, you’re just screwed.
If any of you out there can make it to a RMNP trailhead at 6 am in the summer, I highly recommend it.
This was above and beyond the perfect time to hike in the national park in the summer. It was astoundingly beautiful in the early morning light. I am greatful that our climbing plans forced us to wake and hike at that hour even if we didn’t climb.
The not climbing stings a bit, but I still have plenty of wicked routes in Veedauvoo which my pride can lean on. I’m a good climber, I’m just lack some qualities to be a good alpine climber. And thanks to all this prep work, I’ve got the legs of a Sherpa. Anyone need something heavy carried uphill for a couple miles?
Sean, there is nothing like being up early and hitting the wall for a little adventure – just you and a good friend you trust, high up, pushing each other in remote places. And, unless highly motivated or extrememly quick, I think most people will find it hard to get in 700 to 1000 good feet of climbing in a single day of cragging. If you haven’t already, try it some time. The key to a good time usually lies with the partner you choose – the importance of being able to keep a positive mental attitude can never be overestimated.
That being said, there is absolutely nothing wrong with cragging – who doesn’t like chillin’ at the base with a group of friends cheering each other on? Maybe going to grab a beer and a bite afterward?
And Mark and Kate – there is definitely nothing wrong with backing down. It’s disappointing, but sometimes necessary. And in this case, it sounds like you all probably made the right decision given all of the external factors. But don’t give up, this shiz is too much fun!
Cheers,
m