Summer of Falling Stars
Alpine meadow dances and laughing we join.
Flowers riot and tyrant clouds deny
Shadow-sun-shadow upon their pleading faces.
So little time, so little time,
Then the snowy kiss of death.
A brook chuckles by, joining our mirth,
But soon a silent ocean destiny.
Birds look in, curious and indignant,
Hunger-proud and leery, unaware of human desire,
And their own southward urging.
Long shadows march and die to alpenglow,
Herald of another day, another summer gone,
And the rose-tinged prophet of our parting.
Tonight, one last darkness, midsummer-brief.
The light of distant suns close age-long journeys in our eyes,
And falling stars, the showy suicide of dust.
Long past now,
That summer lingers -
A star-white trail across
The dark expanse of memory.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
A Nice Round Number Seven: Wheeler Peak, New Mexico
The last day of summer started out frosty. There was a rime of frost on the rocks and most of the plants, and our morning trail started way down in the valley, Taos Ski Valley to be exact. It wasn't outright cold, since I stayed with short sleeves, but then again my cold tolerance is way above most, because of my patented internal layer system (others, less kind, may call it blubber). The trail to the top of New Mexico begins with a modest climb of a thousand feet over the first two miles. Turner and I notice that a lot of people complain about this gradient, and then marvel that we've hiked miles more, and thousands of feet more when they feel totally beat. I think our ability to take pain, rather than our amazing physical conditioning, must be the difference. We arrived at Williams Lake, not much more than a tarn of a couple hundred yards across, about an hour after our 7:45 AM departure. No big deal so far, but we know what's next: 2000 feet of climbing in one mile.
The morning light here must be one of the reasons they call this state the land of enchantment. The peaks to our East are bathed in gold, a Cibola light show of great magnitude. I am musing between the adjectives "beautiful" and "awesome." The geological formations are awesome, the stark results of dramatic mountain-lifting power. But they are not beautiful. The light, however, that caresses the landscape, and plays against the crystal blue sky... that's beautiful.
Right from the lake the trail abruptly rose toward the saddle to the North of the peak. First it was through the woods, then up through a gully, breaking out onto the slopes about halfway between lake and saddle. I realize very early on that this is one of those climbs where you put your head down, keep your eyes on the mountain in front of you, and try not to think about how much further it is. Overall the grade is just under 40% for this mile, but there are sections that easily go over 50%. We can touch the mountain in front us while standing straight up. Ouch. But... it gets over with mercifully soon, and after a brief rock scramble right near the top of the saddle, we get over to the summit. Four hours up.
I like the summit feeling. The four others at the top are all giddy as we are, chatting about nothing in particular, but happy and laughing. It ends too soon, and the pain of descent must be faced. We take our time going down, and reach the car in just over two hours. All in all it was a great hike.
I have a wonderful tradition for the road trip home from hiking trips. I like to listen to George Winston's Summer - piano solos - as I watch the landscape roll by. The five hour trip is shortened by the music, and later by listening to another favorite, baseball on the radio. The sounds of summer soon to pass. We are ravenously hungry, but have to wait almost two hours until the Carl's Jr. in Walsenburg, Colorado. The burgers and fries and cokes are beyond gourmet. Turner and I agree that we hope the gracious Lord gives many more such summers as this one. Seven high points, a week in the back country of the Weminuche Wilderness, and many other smaller blessings.
The morning light here must be one of the reasons they call this state the land of enchantment. The peaks to our East are bathed in gold, a Cibola light show of great magnitude. I am musing between the adjectives "beautiful" and "awesome." The geological formations are awesome, the stark results of dramatic mountain-lifting power. But they are not beautiful. The light, however, that caresses the landscape, and plays against the crystal blue sky... that's beautiful.
Right from the lake the trail abruptly rose toward the saddle to the North of the peak. First it was through the woods, then up through a gully, breaking out onto the slopes about halfway between lake and saddle. I realize very early on that this is one of those climbs where you put your head down, keep your eyes on the mountain in front of you, and try not to think about how much further it is. Overall the grade is just under 40% for this mile, but there are sections that easily go over 50%. We can touch the mountain in front us while standing straight up. Ouch. But... it gets over with mercifully soon, and after a brief rock scramble right near the top of the saddle, we get over to the summit. Four hours up.
I like the summit feeling. The four others at the top are all giddy as we are, chatting about nothing in particular, but happy and laughing. It ends too soon, and the pain of descent must be faced. We take our time going down, and reach the car in just over two hours. All in all it was a great hike.
I have a wonderful tradition for the road trip home from hiking trips. I like to listen to George Winston's Summer - piano solos - as I watch the landscape roll by. The five hour trip is shortened by the music, and later by listening to another favorite, baseball on the radio. The sounds of summer soon to pass. We are ravenously hungry, but have to wait almost two hours until the Carl's Jr. in Walsenburg, Colorado. The burgers and fries and cokes are beyond gourmet. Turner and I agree that we hope the gracious Lord gives many more such summers as this one. Seven high points, a week in the back country of the Weminuche Wilderness, and many other smaller blessings.
Friday, September 19, 2008
Interlude: Taos
Rene' and I were chatting this afternoon about our day trip to Taos during our honeymoon. Not a lot of detail surfaced: a late breakfast, a visit to an art gallery with Mountain Man Art... (kind of glad that phase is over... it is, isn't it?), a cold winter day. But I remembered also looking out north of town, up the valley and thinking, "Colorado is not so far up there..." Just a couple of weeks before I had heard of a lead on a church that needed a pastor up in Denver, and stored it away as a possible job lead, that I might look into after our wedding and honeymoon. The whole thing worked out pretty well.
Turner and I are in Taos to climb Wheeler Peak, New Mexico, a low thirteener, but the highest point in the state. It will be our seventh this year. What a drive down! The drives to the highpoints have been spectacular, and this one is no exception. We drove over La Veta Pass and through San Luis Valley, including the oldest town in Colorado, San Luis itself. I guess Mesa Verde doesn't count, another tough break for the ancient pueblans. What a charming town is Taos, but Turrner and I were noticing that there are very few young people here. We concluded that this is a vacation town for old folks. There's art, pottery, turquoise, but no waterslides or rollercoasters. B-O-R-I-N-G. Unless of course you're post-kids, well to do, and looking to brighten up your existence somewhat.
Tomorrow, the hike. I've read it's pretty steep, but I feel unintimidated after Mt. Elbert (did I mention it's the highest in the Rocky Mountains?). Less elevation, less climbing, less mileage. Just one stretch of 2000 feet of climb in one mile. What grade is that anyway? Just under 40%? Really glad we're not trying to drive it.
Turner and I are in Taos to climb Wheeler Peak, New Mexico, a low thirteener, but the highest point in the state. It will be our seventh this year. What a drive down! The drives to the highpoints have been spectacular, and this one is no exception. We drove over La Veta Pass and through San Luis Valley, including the oldest town in Colorado, San Luis itself. I guess Mesa Verde doesn't count, another tough break for the ancient pueblans. What a charming town is Taos, but Turrner and I were noticing that there are very few young people here. We concluded that this is a vacation town for old folks. There's art, pottery, turquoise, but no waterslides or rollercoasters. B-O-R-I-N-G. Unless of course you're post-kids, well to do, and looking to brighten up your existence somewhat.
Tomorrow, the hike. I've read it's pretty steep, but I feel unintimidated after Mt. Elbert (did I mention it's the highest in the Rocky Mountains?). Less elevation, less climbing, less mileage. Just one stretch of 2000 feet of climb in one mile. What grade is that anyway? Just under 40%? Really glad we're not trying to drive it.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Colorado, Mt. Elbert
I remember a family vacation in the early 70s (we lived in the San Francisco Bay Area) where we visited Colorado. We had one of those Viewmaster slide show gadgets, and while in Colorado Springs our parents bought us a reel with the highlights of Colorado. I can still see the Mt. Elbert slide in my mind's eye - the Highest Mountain in Colorado. Yesterday, Turner and I stood at the top of that mountain, not only the highest in the state, but the highest in the Rocky Mountain Range of North America.
Joining us on the hike were Arch Rutherford, a fellow board member at Chafer Theological Seminary, Ray Loupenay, and Vincent, a foreign exchange student from Germany. Sunday night was rainy, and there was more rain in the forecast for the next day, September 2nd. We shared a hotel room in Leadville, and wondered if we would be hiking. The day dawned clear, and so we drove to the south trailhead and began our ascent at around 7 AM. The first thousand feet or so climbed up through an aspen and spruce forest, and went by pretty quickly, but when we broke out above treeline at 11,800 feet or so we immediately noticed the wind. It was a knockover kind of wind, with gusts blasting at 50 miles an hour and more, which made the ascent less than pleasant. It just wasn't going to be one of those easy days.
Turner's hands were going numb, and he said later that when he put his hands in his armpits, his armpits went numb also. I thought the hike was going to be not so bad, but when we got to about the 13,800 foot level I started to get pretty queasy every time I exerted myself, which was every step or so. That meant it was a gut check every time I stopped. But... I kept telling myself that I really didn't want to come back and do it again, and that kept me going. Turner made it to the summit about a minute before I did, and I was feeling kind of emotional about making it, because it was just that tough. We hung around long enough to take pictures, and began the descent.
All in all, it was a preview of what's to come on some of the higher and tougher climbs ahead. I reminded myself of how important it will be to get in better condition this winter. The fine summer days of driving and climbing to easy high points seemed a long time ago.
Joining us on the hike were Arch Rutherford, a fellow board member at Chafer Theological Seminary, Ray Loupenay, and Vincent, a foreign exchange student from Germany. Sunday night was rainy, and there was more rain in the forecast for the next day, September 2nd. We shared a hotel room in Leadville, and wondered if we would be hiking. The day dawned clear, and so we drove to the south trailhead and began our ascent at around 7 AM. The first thousand feet or so climbed up through an aspen and spruce forest, and went by pretty quickly, but when we broke out above treeline at 11,800 feet or so we immediately noticed the wind. It was a knockover kind of wind, with gusts blasting at 50 miles an hour and more, which made the ascent less than pleasant. It just wasn't going to be one of those easy days.
Turner's hands were going numb, and he said later that when he put his hands in his armpits, his armpits went numb also. I thought the hike was going to be not so bad, but when we got to about the 13,800 foot level I started to get pretty queasy every time I exerted myself, which was every step or so. That meant it was a gut check every time I stopped. But... I kept telling myself that I really didn't want to come back and do it again, and that kept me going. Turner made it to the summit about a minute before I did, and I was feeling kind of emotional about making it, because it was just that tough. We hung around long enough to take pictures, and began the descent.
All in all, it was a preview of what's to come on some of the higher and tougher climbs ahead. I reminded myself of how important it will be to get in better condition this winter. The fine summer days of driving and climbing to easy high points seemed a long time ago.
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