Dawn over Chasm Lake
The clean smell of wet granite brings me to my senses like
nothing else does. (Except maybe coffee…yeah, let’s all say it: thank god for
coffee). Lately, it seems I’ve been basing my whole lifestyle around chasing
that scent. I dream about it, in my nights, in my foggy mornings, in my
information-choked days, during my after-work pain fests on the local trails. I
can smell it, on the gear in my closet, in my clothes, on my skin. One whiff
and I’m gone, transported to a high perch where the thin air warms lovingly
with the sun and cools just as quickly with a gust of wind.
June 2014: The change of seasons and the inevitable forward march of
time has brought me to Laramie, Wyoming, a town I drove through once and didn’t
think much else about and a place I will call home for the next two years as I
explore the nuances of hydro-geophysics in grad school. I’m getting to know a new
town and a new region, and among the unexpected benefits of my new situation are
good bike trails, violent hailstorms that blossom into gorgeous sunsets, a
couple good breweries, and close proximity to Rocky Mountain National Park and
the iconic East Face of Longs Peak, the Diamond.
The last few weeks my Friday routine has been: drag myself
home from work, throw my mud-spattered field clothes in the corner, sit down
for one beautiful minute, throw implements of ascension and whimsy in a duffel
bag, pack the cooler, make a mug of tea and turn the Brave Little Toaster south
toward Colorado. The bustle of the
workweek fades away with the soft curves of highway 287 on the way to Fort
Collins. I set cruise control, put on an album, and follow the sinuous curves
of lithified Cretaceous beaches though a lush pastoral landscape. By the time I
emerge and join the Interstate-25, I am a clean slate, and I spend the next
hour staring west at the beautiful massif of Longs Peak rearing above the Front
Range, dreaming. The Diamond beckons across the foothills, and in good light I
can make out distinct features from the road: the Dagger… Table Ledge… snow on
Broadway, remember to bring crampons…
crossing Chasm Lake toward a chilly bivy at dusk
There is nothing I like more than waking up in the
mountains. Sometimes I think the real reason I get involved in all these alpine
shenanigans, the reason I own all this fancy-pants gear and put out these
massive physical efforts, is just so I can savor those crystal mornings waking
up in the frosty heights and sipping coffee while watching the sun greet the clean
silent world.
A bivy above Chasm Lake is perhaps the most wonderful place
to wake up in the whole world. You wake and start the stove as the sky turns
light grey, and just as you pull a steaming mug to your lips the sun rises
above the flat eastern horizon and shoots its rays across unfathomable space
and our fragile atmosphere and the whole flat state of Kansas straight into the
Longs Peak cirque, igniting the Diamond with promethean fire. To rise in the
frigid dawn air and behold the sheer wall glowing in the light of a distant
star, there is no question that the high places hold something sacred, and we
were meant to venture upwards to chase it.
Of course, the uncommonly cold morning we awoke to did not magically thaw, and after ascending snow and ice up the North Chimney we arrived at the base of the wall happily wrapped in our puffy jackets. We had
our sights set on Ariana, but we
quickly realized we wouldn’t be climbing 5.12 with frozen fingers. Tucker won
the rock-paper-scissors and began the first pitch of Pervertical Sanctuary. The climbing was excellent, and luckily I
could climb the easier pitches in gloves, but at the crux it was clear the
gloves needed to come off. We climbed through the steep finger locks with
wooden fingers and endured the screaming barfies as warm blood pumped back in.
Ominous cloud streamers were coursing over the bulk of Longs Peak, threatening
weather. We took stock of our situation; getting dumped on at this temperature
would be pretty grim, and I think we were both looking for an excuse to avoid
freezing our hands again, so we rapped off.
It never rained, but on the hike out we ran into an
impromptu rescue underway and dropped our packs to join the effort. A hiker had
lost her footing on a snowfield and slid down to a harsh impact in the talus;
she was getting hypothermic, wearing what little extra clothes other hikers
had, and we were able to wrap her in our sleeping bags and give her some
comfort while we all waited for the Park Service SAR team to arrive. Five
strong guys arrived with neon shirts and radios and organized us to package the
woman on a stretcher and haul her up and across a couple hundred meters of soft
snow, then carry her to a clearing where a helicopter could land. Pushing the
laden stretcher across the snow was probably more physically exhausting than
the hardest offwidth struggle, but we had a narrow time window before dusk, so
we pushed all-out with our best Chris Sharma redpoint grunts and got the
patient to the LZ with just minutes to spare.
It was quite rewarding and awe-inspiring to watch the whimsical contraption fly up into the narrow cirque and nimbly hover down on a small
gravel bar, blasting us with the gale force of its rotors as we sheltered
behind boulders. The NPS team loaded the patient and the chopper took off into
the darkening sky, bearing the grateful woman towards the hospital. We all
high-fived and stumbled down the trail more tired than if we’d climbed the peak, but satisfied after a well-rounded day in the mountains. The day's events were a good reminder that success can be defined by much more than a send, and that in our quest to experience the sanctity of high places, helping others through their day of darkness is just as important as our own pursuit of the light.
Morning glory on the Diamond
Whoops. We find our room at the Hilton, and one bed is still occupied by Old Man Winter. And man does he snore.
cold yet buddy?
Tucker gets into the goodness
Why didn't I bring a bigger jacket?
Can't beat the exposure up there
