Climb Every Mountain
Telluride in summer has a lot to offer. 70-degree days and nights in the 50s are pretty appealing compared with the oppressive heat of Austin. Sleeping with the windows open is amazing. I love the festivals, the natural beauty, the rooftop bars, catching up with old friends, and making new ones. And, of course, there is nothing better than sitting on the porch watching my birds eat me out of house and home.
But I come to the mountains in summer to hike. I am not content to look at them from the back deck. They call to me. I cannot look at a ridge line without wanting to conquer it. After missing last summer with a broken foot, I had some making up to do. My backpacking gear had been lonely and neglected for the past two years. It was begging to be put to use, so I broke it out and headed into the wilds.
The San Juans are beautiful from a distance, but rough and rocky up close. The trails also tend to be steep. When the trailhead is close to two miles in elevation, you know you are in for a challenge. I don’t care how fit you are, climbing above 12,000 feet with a 40-pound pack makes every step a labor. They say that the view is always worth the climb, but there are plenty of opportunities to question that wisdom. I just keep putting one foot in front of the other and ignore the pounding in my chest. After four hard hours, I’ve reached my spot.
Memories of making camp in a cold rain make me appreciate the sunshine. I am set up next to a beautiful highland lake, and there is not another soul in sight. After a short rest, I set out to explore the area without the extra weight. The solitude is a reward, but I am not completely alone. There are marmots, chipmunks, squirrels, and birds. I saw a herd of elk grazing on the hike up and a deer that had been freshly killed by a mountain lion. Scary.
After a gourmet dinner of rehydrated teriyaki chicken paired with a nice Oregon pinot noir (definitely worth the extra weight), I wait for the sun to set and the stars to make their appearance. The temperature drops into the 40s, so my stargazing is done sitting on a rock wrapped in my sleeping bag. The quiet moonless night is ablaze in stars. My body aches, but there is no doubt about the value of this view.
Sleep is a battle between exhaustion and discomfort. I should have brought the warmer sleeping bag. I eventually drifted off into a dreamless night and awoke just before sunrise. Camp coffee and a good book keep me entertained until the sun warms things up and I can venture out and wash my spirit clean. Nature is the prescription for whatever ails you.
Go climb a mountain.
