Two and a half weeks has never felt so long. I feel like I’ve already experienced a lifetime of learning, adventure, and exploration. If I died today, I would die happy.
I’ve been thinking about what the best part was. There was the summit of South Massive, which I had completely to myself—no trail, no people, not a cloud in the sky. There were the night skies, exploding with stars in every direction. There was Echo Lake, a piney paradise. There were the new friends—Doug on Mount Sneffels, Patrick, Marty, and Bez (the understated Dutch Rhodesian) on the Wetterhorn, the British mountaineer on Elbert who was happy to mentor me. There was my first summit—Huron—with barely enough room to stand on and bad weather coming in. There was camping in Grizzly Gulch, surrounded by beautiful alpine basins and cool mountain springs. And then there was the mighty Wetterhorn, with all its steep ledges and heart-pounding exposure. There was the morning I was awoken by a stellar jay jumping on my feet and complaining in my face. And of course, there were more marmots and pikas than I care to remember.
But it’s not the experiences that I’ll treasure the most. It’s what I learned from them. And here is the greatest lesson of all, which is more poignant in the words of Rich Mullins:
“And on this road to righteousness,
Sometimes the climb can be so steep.
I may falter in my steps,
But never beyond your reach.”
Mountaineering takes you to the limit. It challenges your body, your mind, and your will. And sometimes it’s only when your abilities fail that God’s abilities become so clear. God is a very, very real power who is accessible to us, even loves us. Maybe it’s not hard for you to see God in everyday things, but it is for me. And that’s why these two weeks have been so important. They have given me an understanding of God that I can take into my life outside the mountains.
I have a t-shirt with the words “Understanding Conquers Fear” scribed over an artistic grizzly bear. When I got it, I was thinking that understanding the natural world conquers fear. But that’s a lie. In fact, the more I understand about the rugged San Juans, aggressive wildlife, unpredictable hailstorms, and nature in general, the more fearful I become. There is only one thing you can understand that will conquer fear, and that is—God is always with you.
Yesterday I was faced with a decision. I was taking a day off to rest my blisters, and I had one more day to climb. There were two mountains nearby that I hadn’t climbed—Uncompahgre, a famous Class 2 San Juan with an impressive amount of bulk, and Wetterhorn Peak, and intimidating Class 3/3+ spire named for its close resemblance to the Swiss Wetterhorn (a peak often seen in lists with the Eiger, the Matterhorn, and Le Petit Drus). I had already discounted Wetterhorn as being too difficult. The problem? Uncompahgre is a 16 mile day with something like 5,000 feet of gain if you don’t have a four wheel drive. We have a conversion van.
Well I sure as heck wasn’t going back to the boring Sawatches for my last day. So I said, I might as well get up the Wetterhorn as far as I can. Just to be on a mountain that famous and get some good photos would be a great day. But, just in case the summit seemed accessible, I did my research the night before, finding numerous trip reports describing the summit pitch, a 150 foot class 3/4 gulley with over 600 feet of nearly vertical exposure. And that’s where the fear came in.
I’ve climbed before. I know what my limitations are. I know that if a well-anchored rope is tied to my body, fear is not even considered. But I also know that if I free solo a ten foot boulder, I freeze.
The approach to Wetterhorn was breathtaking. As soon as I crossed the first ridge and the treeline dumped me into the basin, I was faced with an inspiring view of Wetterhorn to the south, connected to the northern Matterhorn by a pinnacled ridge. The ridge looked like a cross between a saw blade and the backbone of a t-rex. Thankfully, the route carefully avoided the ridge and approached the mountain from the south, winding through rock gardens filled with marmots and fat pikas.
Approaching the Class 3 section, I noticed two other climbers ahead of me. I hurriedly stowed my poles and buckled my helmet. Climbing with others gives a sense of security. I soon scrambled up to them, and together we examined the sketchy route up the first gully, then the steeper second gully. I remember knocking a dinner plate-sized rock with my foot, and watching as it tumbled down the slopes, gaining momentum until it finally vaulted off the gully and over the vertical south face. I couldn’t help thinking that’s what would happen to a person who made a misstep. Three points of contact…
My fears came to a culmination as I approached the famous Ship’s Prow, which hides a tiny notch. After climbing the notch, you find yourself standing on a friction slab that literally slides you into the summit couloir. This is where I expected to turn around. But as I saw my two companions taking non-essentials out of their packs to lighten the load for the climb, I found myself doing the same. And as I saw them scoot on their butts into the couloir, I found myself doing the same. And the best part was the fears were gone.
I had prayed about this climb for the last 24 hours, but even after seeing God’s power on Massive and other mountains, I still didn’t really expect anything to happen. I didn’t believe that “understanding conquers fear,” but it does.
I have pictures of that pitch, and I start to sweat just looking at them. But while I was there, God was in control. Who am I kidding? God is always in control. But like I said before, it sometimes takes situations like Wetterhorn to make it obvious. All I remember is singing my two favorite mountaineering songs over and over again in my head—“Sometimes by Step” by Rich Mullins and “Your Love, Oh Lord” by Third Day.
“Is there anyplace I can go to avoid your spirit?
To be out of your sight?
If I climb to the sky, you’re there!
If I go underground, you’re there!
If I flew on the morning’s wings
To the far western horizon,
You’d find me in a minute.
You’re already there waiting for me.”
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Mountaintop Experience
What a day. Now with the sun setting over the Collegiate Peaks on the Buena Vista horizon, it’s hard to recall just how much emotion was packed into this day.
It started at 4:30 a.m., when my phone alarm sounded at the head of my bivy sack. The hardest part of the day. Getting out of a wet bivy sack without getting soaked to the bone is truly a learned art. It was about 35 degrees out, which is typical for August in Leadville, located two miles high in elevation.
I wasn’t getting up at 4:30 because I particularly liked romping in near-freezing dew. I had a mission for the day—Mount Massive, a 14,421 foot mountain located about ten miles out of Leadville. The mountain is the second tallest in Colorado and the third in the continental United States. However, its eight summits and sprawling ridges dwarf Mount Elbert, its slightly higher neighbor.
Almost every Colorado 14er has a standard route for climbers. The route is usually a well maintained path below the tree line, turning into a rocky slope that switches back and forth across alpine meadows and eventually leads to the rocky summit ridge, finally ending at the pinnacle of Colorado mountaineering—the 14,000+ foot summit.
That was great for them. My experience meeting 55 high schoolers on the summit of Mount Elbert made me want a little peace and quiet. That’s what mountaineering is all about, right? So there was another option, the Southeast Ridge. The Southeast Ridge begins at the standard route and climbs to about 10,600 feet, where my maps shows it abruptly turning west into the hillside. The abrupt turn marks the last time the route sees a trail. After that, it climbs for 1,000 feet in open, piney forest, before opening up into three miles of pristine, unblazed ridgeline. It conquers four of Massive’s eight summits—more than any other route. It gains nearly 6,000 feet in Class 2 and 3 terrain, winding 12.5 miles past hidden alcoves and mountain goat homes. This, I thought, was my route.
I had my doubts. There was no trail. I was relying on my map and compass to find the way, although that’s not too difficult when a 13,000 foot summit is towering before you. Also, I was still sore and tired from climbing Mount Elbert two days before. Finally, the solitude, although rewarding, increases an overall feeling of insecurity. But I had to climb it.
The climb to the tree line was breathtaking, and the first point, over 12,000 feet high, provided the best view of Mount Elbert to be found anywhere. I descended the saddle between the first and second summits and began up the mountain known as South South Massive. Although mostly grassy, the lack of trail busted my calves as I climbed one of the steepest slopes I have ever been on. Several hours later, I summited South South Massive and had an unobstructed view of South Massive, a 14er, and the saddles in between.
My first thought was, okay, time to turn around. The saddle between the two southern summits narrowed into an exposed knife edge, which turned into near vertical rock outcrop. With crushed spirits, I continued as far as I could, stepping carefully on the knife edge until I stood at the base of the outcrop. I stopped, looking left and right for a route to appear. I rechecked my route guide, which said plainly “Class 2,” and then the map that had the route going squarely over the outcrop.
Traversing easterly, I started up the adjoining talus slope. Bad idea. The loose rock beneath my feet began to give way, and I slid painfully over sharp stones to the lower slopes, where I rolled quickly to avoid the rockfall I had caused. Brushing myself off, I had a thought. I needed to pray.
I know my parents pray for me all the time when I’m in the mountains. But I didn’t really need that. Climbing mountains happens all the time by people who don’t pray, and they don’t seem to have any trouble. But at that moment, it seemed like the best plan. So I said, “God. Hey man. If there’s a way up to the summit from here, that would be awesome. Could you show it to me? I’m gonna walk up to that outcrop one more time. And if I don’t see the route, I’m going down the mountain."
So I walked up to the outcrop again. And just around the corner of one of the boulders, I saw a steep, passable slope. And best of all, there were footprints. I had been on this route for hours, and I hadn’t seen a single footprint. There were about three of them, distinctly leading up the route, then they stopped.
So I followed them. It was a bit sketchy, Class 3 scrambling up an exposed slope. But I could do this.
And I started thinking. Maybe mountaineering is not about us at all. Maybe it doesn’t have anything to do with proving our manliness, conquering our fears, or defeating the mountain in a one on one battle. Maybe it’s just another thing that proves how small we are and how big God is. It’s just an object lesson in a very, very , real way. Maybe there is no way to do it on your own. Maybe there never is.
After another grueling climb, I got to the summit of South Massive, where the air is thinner than string theory. But this time, instead of praising my own physical abilities, I was praising God’s strength. But there was another side to this story. There’s no way to make a commitment to rely on God without making someone else very angry. After getting to the top of South Massive, it seemed like everything that could go wrong went wrong. The air grew cold as the first clouds of the day covered the sun. Wind gusts like I’ve never felt before threw me off balance several times. I took missteps and twisted my ankle while traversing boulder fields.
It was then that I realized the battle was not between myself and the mountain. The battle was between the Prince of Peace and the King of Chaos. There was nothing I could do in my power to conquer the mountain. There was only a matter of choosing sides. Maybe it was the altitude, maybe the solitude, but I couldn’t keep in the emotion. I knelt down on the summit of South Massive, without another soul in sight, and rededicated my life to Christ at 14,000 feet.
I descended South Massive into the saddle between the mountain’s two highest summits, meeting up once more with the standard route for the summit bid. For the first time that day, I talked with other climbers and exchanged adventure stories. The impact of what just happened almost escaped me. But as I summited Mount Massive at 14,421 feet, I remembered what this was all about. I recited my summit prayer, which is a collection of lines from the Psalms I have always found inspiring.
“Is there anyplace I can go to avoid your spirit,
To be out of your sight?
If I climb to the sky, you’re there!
If I go underground, you’re there!
If I flew on the morning’s wings to the far western horizon,
You’d find me in a minute.
You’re already there waiting for me.
Your love, oh Lord, reaches to the heavens,
Your faithfulness to the skies,
Your righteousness is like the mighty mountain,
Your justice like the great deep.
Therefore the children of men put their trust
Under the shadow of your wings.”
We are in a spiritual battle. The conflict I felt on the mountain doesn’t just occur above the timberline. The battle is not between me and school, it’s between the Prince of Peace and the King of Chaos. The battle is not between me and work, it’s between Prince of Peace and the King of Chaos. The battle is not between me and life, it’s between the Prince of Peace and the King of Chaos. All we need to do is choose the right side.
It started at 4:30 a.m., when my phone alarm sounded at the head of my bivy sack. The hardest part of the day. Getting out of a wet bivy sack without getting soaked to the bone is truly a learned art. It was about 35 degrees out, which is typical for August in Leadville, located two miles high in elevation.
I wasn’t getting up at 4:30 because I particularly liked romping in near-freezing dew. I had a mission for the day—Mount Massive, a 14,421 foot mountain located about ten miles out of Leadville. The mountain is the second tallest in Colorado and the third in the continental United States. However, its eight summits and sprawling ridges dwarf Mount Elbert, its slightly higher neighbor.
Almost every Colorado 14er has a standard route for climbers. The route is usually a well maintained path below the tree line, turning into a rocky slope that switches back and forth across alpine meadows and eventually leads to the rocky summit ridge, finally ending at the pinnacle of Colorado mountaineering—the 14,000+ foot summit.
That was great for them. My experience meeting 55 high schoolers on the summit of Mount Elbert made me want a little peace and quiet. That’s what mountaineering is all about, right? So there was another option, the Southeast Ridge. The Southeast Ridge begins at the standard route and climbs to about 10,600 feet, where my maps shows it abruptly turning west into the hillside. The abrupt turn marks the last time the route sees a trail. After that, it climbs for 1,000 feet in open, piney forest, before opening up into three miles of pristine, unblazed ridgeline. It conquers four of Massive’s eight summits—more than any other route. It gains nearly 6,000 feet in Class 2 and 3 terrain, winding 12.5 miles past hidden alcoves and mountain goat homes. This, I thought, was my route.
I had my doubts. There was no trail. I was relying on my map and compass to find the way, although that’s not too difficult when a 13,000 foot summit is towering before you. Also, I was still sore and tired from climbing Mount Elbert two days before. Finally, the solitude, although rewarding, increases an overall feeling of insecurity. But I had to climb it.
The climb to the tree line was breathtaking, and the first point, over 12,000 feet high, provided the best view of Mount Elbert to be found anywhere. I descended the saddle between the first and second summits and began up the mountain known as South South Massive. Although mostly grassy, the lack of trail busted my calves as I climbed one of the steepest slopes I have ever been on. Several hours later, I summited South South Massive and had an unobstructed view of South Massive, a 14er, and the saddles in between.
My first thought was, okay, time to turn around. The saddle between the two southern summits narrowed into an exposed knife edge, which turned into near vertical rock outcrop. With crushed spirits, I continued as far as I could, stepping carefully on the knife edge until I stood at the base of the outcrop. I stopped, looking left and right for a route to appear. I rechecked my route guide, which said plainly “Class 2,” and then the map that had the route going squarely over the outcrop.
Traversing easterly, I started up the adjoining talus slope. Bad idea. The loose rock beneath my feet began to give way, and I slid painfully over sharp stones to the lower slopes, where I rolled quickly to avoid the rockfall I had caused. Brushing myself off, I had a thought. I needed to pray.
I know my parents pray for me all the time when I’m in the mountains. But I didn’t really need that. Climbing mountains happens all the time by people who don’t pray, and they don’t seem to have any trouble. But at that moment, it seemed like the best plan. So I said, “God. Hey man. If there’s a way up to the summit from here, that would be awesome. Could you show it to me? I’m gonna walk up to that outcrop one more time. And if I don’t see the route, I’m going down the mountain."
So I walked up to the outcrop again. And just around the corner of one of the boulders, I saw a steep, passable slope. And best of all, there were footprints. I had been on this route for hours, and I hadn’t seen a single footprint. There were about three of them, distinctly leading up the route, then they stopped.
So I followed them. It was a bit sketchy, Class 3 scrambling up an exposed slope. But I could do this.
And I started thinking. Maybe mountaineering is not about us at all. Maybe it doesn’t have anything to do with proving our manliness, conquering our fears, or defeating the mountain in a one on one battle. Maybe it’s just another thing that proves how small we are and how big God is. It’s just an object lesson in a very, very , real way. Maybe there is no way to do it on your own. Maybe there never is.
After another grueling climb, I got to the summit of South Massive, where the air is thinner than string theory. But this time, instead of praising my own physical abilities, I was praising God’s strength. But there was another side to this story. There’s no way to make a commitment to rely on God without making someone else very angry. After getting to the top of South Massive, it seemed like everything that could go wrong went wrong. The air grew cold as the first clouds of the day covered the sun. Wind gusts like I’ve never felt before threw me off balance several times. I took missteps and twisted my ankle while traversing boulder fields.
It was then that I realized the battle was not between myself and the mountain. The battle was between the Prince of Peace and the King of Chaos. There was nothing I could do in my power to conquer the mountain. There was only a matter of choosing sides. Maybe it was the altitude, maybe the solitude, but I couldn’t keep in the emotion. I knelt down on the summit of South Massive, without another soul in sight, and rededicated my life to Christ at 14,000 feet.
I descended South Massive into the saddle between the mountain’s two highest summits, meeting up once more with the standard route for the summit bid. For the first time that day, I talked with other climbers and exchanged adventure stories. The impact of what just happened almost escaped me. But as I summited Mount Massive at 14,421 feet, I remembered what this was all about. I recited my summit prayer, which is a collection of lines from the Psalms I have always found inspiring.
“Is there anyplace I can go to avoid your spirit,
To be out of your sight?
If I climb to the sky, you’re there!
If I go underground, you’re there!
If I flew on the morning’s wings to the far western horizon,
You’d find me in a minute.
You’re already there waiting for me.
Your love, oh Lord, reaches to the heavens,
Your faithfulness to the skies,
Your righteousness is like the mighty mountain,
Your justice like the great deep.
Therefore the children of men put their trust
Under the shadow of your wings.”
We are in a spiritual battle. The conflict I felt on the mountain doesn’t just occur above the timberline. The battle is not between me and school, it’s between the Prince of Peace and the King of Chaos. The battle is not between me and work, it’s between Prince of Peace and the King of Chaos. The battle is not between me and life, it’s between the Prince of Peace and the King of Chaos. All we need to do is choose the right side.
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