A Trio of Peaks

Sometimes you plan the smallest detail and other times beautiful moments simply fall into your life like so many autumn leaves. This past weekend, which involved minimal planning, was 48 hours punctuated by alpine beauty and laughter amongst friends, both old and new, all with one goal: to climb Belford and Oxford.

Belford and Oxford are two 14ers located in the Sawatch Range. Like most Sawatch14ers these are not technical peaks, but do leap off the valley floor, punctuating the western skyline of the South Park valley with their snow streaked mass. Requiring 11 miles and 5,800 vertical feet, Belford and Oxford command endurance, if not respect.

We camped the night before with multiple alarms going off at 4:30. Upon waking I immediately boiled water for oatmeal and coffee, with an emphasis on coffee. In the meantime Alan and Jennifer were breaking down camp so we were quickly at the trailhead, with caffeine and excitement fighting for prominence.

 

The trail gains 4,500 vertical feet in 8 miles so it steep from the get go. Jennifer and I were holding our own, but Alan has a way of making it look easy. It could be gentle chatter while pounding uphill, a casual hand in the pocket or a walking along with a water bottle in hand and not a care in the world. Sometimes it is all the above.

If I took his picture he stopped hiking and we got a rest!

Truth be told we made short work of both summits. With few breaks, a tolerance for thirst and the comfort of an elevated heart rate from running, these mountains were not the suffer-fest they would have been in the past. Below is Jennifer and Alan cruising 1,000 feet above the valley floor.

Summit shot of the team. The haze, present in many of the photos is the smoke from the Arizona wildfire.

Per the norm, Alan and I left dignity and shame at the trailhead and threw down some flexshots, Texan style. Jen tried to suppress her laughter, unsuccessfully, while taking pictures.

Pictured below is the ridge between Belford and Oxford. This traverse entails losing 600 feet of elevation and climbing to the summit of Oxford. This process is then reversed on the return trip. To say this effort was laden with expletives would be an understatement as I dropped the f-bomb in such quantity so as to fill the valleys below.

The descent was nothing less than a disruption in the space-time continuum as we hiked for hours but seemingly never got closer to the trailhead. The lure of beer kept us riding gravity’s pull back to the truck, a bit worse for wear, but basking in the glow of a good day in the alpine.

Next stop, Vail! A 4-star hotel room had been booked compliments of Hotwire. There were serious decisions to be made though, decisions that nearly tore apart multiple friendships on this day. Shower first and then get pizza? Hot tub first? A six pack of pale ale or lager? Alliances were formed and sacred bonds fell apart, but in the end it was determined that a hot tub, pizza, beer and a heated pool should be compulsory 14er completion amenities.

Nice thighs!

Sunday dawned with a realization that more mountain time was far superior than the heat of the Front Range. Sit poolside and read? Lounge on the shady shore of Lake Dillon? Climb a centennial 13er with little preparation, knowledge of the route, a dash of dehydration and muscular fatigue? This time there was no debate, the hike was a go.

Provender was acquired at a gas station. The route purloined off a few online sources. The rank and somewhat damp hiking clothes from the day before donned. Laughter once again pealing.

This truck was packed and unpacked a minimum of 6 times. Minus a strong work ethic we could still be out climbing!

This feels familiar.

Square Top Mountain is 6.5 miles round trip, starts off mostly flat and then sucker punches you with a steep climb along it summit ridge. To add insult to injury, the wind was screaming. Admittedly I am no anemometer but I am saying it was at least gale force as I struggled standing.

Want to experience the joy of childhood? Stand atop a 1,000 feet of unbroken snow and know that a glissade is imminent. How much fun was it? With nearly 15 miles on our legs we happily kicked steps back up and did it again.

Looking down the glissade path.

Square Top Glissade Featuring Alan

This climb proved more difficult than anticipated. Between the pitch and wind we were a bit surprised, but handled it with aplomb. Total mileage on the weekend was ~17 miles with over 8,200 feet of vertical gain. This is a personal record, one I hope to top later this summer, ideally with the same group. We hit the truck four hours after we began and celebrated a successful climb and a successful weekend.

One of us failed to jump

Guns and Whiskey

A few months back Living Social (think Groupon) had a promotion that featured a morning handgun lesson at the Shootist, a local shooting range, followed by a whiskey tasting at the Whiskey Bar. So mush testosterone hit me that my chest hairs grew chest hairs. 

Scott and Ted felt the same way, as did much of Denver, as by the time we bought tickets the nearest date was three months out. This past Saturday though, it was like going to bed on Christmas Eve, as the smell of gunsmoke waited in the morning.

There was 20 minutes of basic instruction, which included a safety handout and the different techniques for holding a handgun. Ted “Deadeye” Krull practicing technique below.

One of the targets you could buy. Note the pervy mustache, which was featured on all the men on the targets. Further proof I should not have a mustache. There were also zombies target for sale, which included zombie butchers and zombie lawyers. A chance to practice the double tap.

Me, with a fiery intensity rarely seen. I am about to fire a .22, which is a gun seemingly so mild mannered that even squirrels would laugh at it.

Ted firing what I think is a 9 mm. We all had fun, but Ted had the best time of all. Between exclamations of “awesome”, deep laughter and a permanent grin I am confident he has begun amassing his arsenal.

Scott firing a 9 mm. Scott has a steady hand and was robbed of victory in the sharp shooting contest. How? He put two shots practically through the same hole and it was scored as only a single shot.

You can see the shell leaving the gun. It is the gold blur arcing up and to the right.

Sharpshooters! If you look closely you will see that I am not very good at shooting. Also, since everyone is thinking it I will say it, “man, Ted is tall”.

The whiskey tasting was fun, but it lacked the novelty of shooting. I am sure this has to do with the fact that three of us have little gun experience, but plenty of prior whiskey drinking experience.

All in all though, letting my inner-redneck come out a bit on a Sunday morning, especially with friends, was the perfect start to the back half of the weekend.

Donation

Donating blood is easy, looking at the needle not so much.

My apologies for the sneak attack in terms vein violation. As someone who enjoys good health I think it is important to do my part and appreciate the fact that blood donations occur in my office 2x/year.

I gave blood on Monday and was fairly light headed afterward, which is an unusual occurrence. I also forgot about the donation and went for a run. I bailed after 18 minutes of not feeling well, only remembering the donation once I stopped. I went from feeling lazy to feeling like in a samaritan in one blood filled heartbeat.

On a related noted, I read this blog…http://alicepyne.blogspot.com/…which I picked up on via http://www.reddit.com/ and it inspired me to register for the marrow registry. The cheek swab packet should arrive in the next few weeks. A cheek swab later and I will be on this register until I am in my 60’s. I am hoping for the blood based donation versus the  marrow extraction!

PSA

36 years old and still laughing at  Sesame Street humor...a strong message nonetheless.

Walk a Mile in My Shoes

I like my feet quite a bit. Admittedly pale, with a bit of hair and a second toe that is longer than the big toe. Remarkably average and therefore malleable to a variety of footwear, I take them for granted. Given my propensity for self-propulsion they are wonderful utilitarian minimal in their need for maintenance.

Coming off Shavano I noticed some discomfort when applying pressure to the ball of my right foot (see the large star below, not my foot (!)).

No evidence of bruising, no splinters, no fungal infection, no flesh eating parasites…in short I have no idea what the problem is. It is not debilitating, but bothersome. I am sure rest would do it a world of good, but it is the summer damn it! I have no intention of rest, so stay tuned for a post from the podiatrist.

The other issue is a super tiny bruise beneath my toenail. It is like David vs Goliath. It looks inconsequential, but it does cause discomfort when afoot. I am not sure how it happened in the first place, so now my nights are filled with anxiety dreams of each of my toes developing something similar. Certainly no Nightmare on Elm Street sort of stuff, because that would be easier than the thought of a summer with limited mobility.

A Few Wildflowers

Tony and I climbed Mt Morrison on today. It was a gorgeous morning with an overcast sky, a rarity. Warm weather and rains have finally woken up the soil, so the foothills are enjoying a few green weeks prior to taking on their typical brown hue.

Mercy Rule

A squirrel got ran over by a car in front of me today. Not killed though, just maimed and hopping for the curb in a “jesus christ I just got run over by a car and all sorts of shit is broken” sort of way.

I have a history of mercy killings, which include the following:

• bludgeoning a squirrel with a log after running over it on a bike and breaking its back, in a state park, in front of a family at a picnic, you have to believe me when I say it was the right thing to do
• Running over a turtle that had been hit my a lawnmower blade
• Crushing a car-struck bird flopping on the road shoulder with a mountaineering boot

Obviously I should have been a hospice nurse, at least if one believes in universal signs. Every one of these was the right thing to do, but far from easy, so you can imagine my trepidation as I drove around the block thinking about what was in the car with which to deal a death blow. The best I could come up with was a tire iron, which would surely result in a call to the police. Fortunately for me, when I came back around the squirrel was nowhere to be seen.

Not the squirrel in question