Photo by Jenny Venturo
The north face of Humboldt Peak after a heavy snow. Gale-force winds and severe altitude sickness prevented us from reaching the summit, but we did make the saddle to the left.
As we close out our time in the snowy mountains of Colorado, I dedicate this entry to Paul and the kids, my climbing buddies. It has been incredible. I will never forget it.
We whisper to each other as we get in the car. Our breath hangs in the air. We shiver and turn the heat on. It has begun. This thing for which we have planned and prepared for months has begun and our excitement - so palpable you could touch it - makes us forget that it is 2:30 in the morning and we should be asleep.
The day before we spent packing our bags. Food, water, a myriad of emergency supplies, snowshoes, snow spikes, and the all-important ice axe. Everything is checked, re-checked, and ready to go before we go to bed while it is still light out. But of course no one can sleep. Will the weather hold? Will we be brave enough? Strong enough? What will it be like to stand on the summit? What if something bad happens? . . . Are we crazy? These are questions we all ask ourselves as we stare up from our pillows.
Photo by Daniel Venturo
A camel pack is a sack of water that can be packed into a backpack, and the hiker drinks through a straw connected to the bladder. It's a great way to carry enough water on a hike.
I ask Paul not to tell me what time he sets the alarm for. I don’t want to know. I drift off for what seems like seconds and suddenly the alarm jolts me awake. It is time. I stumble to the bathroom and quickly get ready. When I go to wake the kids most of them are already awake. It is 2:00 a.m. Joe, Daniel, and Joshua bounce out of bed with a grin. Kelly and Caleb groan, but smile and roll out of their cots with squinty eyes.
By 2:30 we are all in the car and I am going over the list one more time. I wonder how we did it. I wonder how it is that we are late to almost everything but the seven of us are ready to go in less than an hour.
We eat a quick breakfast as we drive. We don’t really want to but we know we will need the energy. We are the only ones on the road and this just adds to the excitement. We are doing something epic.
Finally, we arrive at the trailhead. Sounds of our clanking gear, of velcro straps, of heaving bags onto tired backs, interrupt the silence of the night. We turn on our headlamps and set out - crunch, crunch, crunch down the trail. We keep our headlamps on red light so we can still look up and see the stars. They are breathtaking. The Milky Way, splashed across the black expanse, the shooting stars, the constellations we recognize no matter where we go - all of these shout to us - scream to us - the glory of our Creator. He is so awesome. We are so small. Yet He regards us (Psalm 8:3). This thought lifts my heart even as it begins to pound in my chest. Already the trail is steep.
We trudge through the dark and it feels as if we are alone in the world. Occasionally we see a fox. A bear print in the mud reminds us to keep talking to each other. We have bear spray but we don’t want to use it! Before long we come to areas of patchy snow. Here a little, there a little, small patches progressing to large drifts that we must climb over. And then suddenly the whole world is covered in snow. It is hard-packed icy snow and is now so steep that we must stop to put on our crampons - sharp spikes that fit over our hiking boots - and get out our ice axes. We leash these to our wrists. Then the steady rhythm begins: thrust the spike into the ice, plant one foot, heave upwards, plant the other, catch breath.
This is interrupted as we stop every few feet and turn around to see - the sun is beginning to rise. First the faintest glow on the horizon. The birds begin to sing. Then ever so gradually the glow increases. The tops of the mountains turn orange. The bottom of the clouds shine red and gold. The moon fades and bows out as the sun creeps up and reveals the smooth white bark of the aspens, the new green tips of the spruce needles, and our faces - pale and ghastly and streaked from the sunscreen we have slathered on in our rush out the door. We look funny! Everyone smiles and our pace quickens. The new morning light lifts our spirits. The trees are getting shorter and shorter - we are almost above tree-line!
Photo by Jenny Venturo
Mount Yale afforded us the prettiest view of the moon rising over the peaks. Waking up at 1:30 AM is difficult but worth it.
Finally, the sun! It means we need to hurry before its heat melts the snow.
Eventually there are no more trees and we can see the summit looming before us. We stop again. We have decided to cache our snowshoes here. They are heavy. We may need them on the way down, when the snow starts to soften, but for now it is cold enough that we can leave them. We quickly open our packs and unroll our puffer coats and our rain shells and put them on. We pull our fleece neck gaiters, then our wool hats, over our heads. We tighten our hoods over these. Lastly we pull on our ski gloves and beat our hands together to regain feeling. Already they are numb.
Now we must refuel for the summit push. We will need all our strength. We know that cold pizza is the best fuel there is on a mountain and we pull slices out now and gobble them down. It feels good to rest but we must get going.
I try not to look at the summit. It is so far - so high. I focus instead on something twenty feet ahead. Just make it to that rock. Good. Now, just make it to that lump of snow . . .
The wind begins. Wind like I have never seen drives needles of snow through our clothes, through our skin, through our souls. It forces our bodies to the ground and our faces away from the summit. I cannot believe the force of this wind. It seems alive. We huddle together and close our eyes for relief. We all know what each other is thinking: We came all this way and now we have to quit. We have to turn around. There is no way we can make it through this wind.
Photo by Paul Venturo
Marble Mountain was one of our hardest mountains, mainly because of winds we estimated to be gusting at 60 mph or higher.
But we can’t let go just yet. There is a short lull in the wind every so often. We decide to press on. We gather closer and press forward like one big mass of stubborn willpower. Or craziness . . .
We hold our ice axes in front of us - one hand on the adze and one hand by the spike on the other end. We drive the pick into the snow or between the rocks and hoist our bodies up. Our knees follow. A gust comes shrieking over the mountain and we flatten against it, waiting. I feel like crying. I think about things like cozy blankets and hot tea and I want to go back. My kids come around me - put their arms around me - and shout encouragement. We must not give up! I smile inside because it was not very long ago that I was lifting their little bodies up rocks and guiding them on trails so that we could make it to a waterfall, or a lookout, or some other thing I wanted them to see. How quickly things have reversed . . .
It doesn’t seem so impossible when we stick close like this. Everyone is shouting, trying to be heard above the howling wind.
“Stay low!”
“Keep three points of contact!”
“Dig your crampons in!”
“Hold your ice axe right! . . . No! Like this!”
“Come this way, around this rock!”
“Keep going! We can do this!!”
Each time we think we are almost there we will come over a rise and find that it is yet another false summit. It feels like this will go on forever . . .
Then, suddenly, we have arrived! One by one we come up over the very last rock and we have made it! The view before us is beyond words. We know that there are few who ever get to see it. The wind blasts us so that we must huddle on the ground but we smile at each other with numb, awkward grins. We forget the struggle and the pain it took to get here - it was worth it and it is done.
Photo by Jenny Venturo
View from the summit of Mount Elbert
We cannot stay long. The long straws to our water bladders are frozen solid. Our hands, even in our thick gloves, are clumsy and useless. We try to wiggle toes that we cannot feel.
Carefully, we begin to pick our way down. I start to traverse the slope. I am looking for something. I see cracks in the snow. No, not there, an avalanche could start. I see jagged rocks below. Not there . . . Then I spot what I am looking for. I sit down and position my ice axe for a glissade - and I am off! This is the way to get down a mountain! We continue to glissade again and again as far as we are able, stopping for a snack and to retrieve our snowshoes.
Down in the trees the snow is soft and muddy and we must slog the rest of the way. Our feet ache and our knees creak and we are so weary and hungry. We talk about food the rest of the way. Tacos . . . hamburgers . . . mashed potatoes . . . we make an imaginary feast and our mouths water.
Then we are quiet. We realize the trail has stretched while we were on the mountain. Or so it seems. We set ourselves to a robotic pace and finally, we see the van. We stumble toward it and shed our bags. We peel off our socks and show each other our blistery, soggy feet. We get in the van and eat the sandwiches I have packed while we drive back to the trailer to clean up. And as we crawl into our beds and thank God for the day, we are already discussing our next climb . . .
Each time we climb, I can’t help but think about how so many things about hiking and climbing remind me of the Christian life. Our climbs here in Colorado have been so difficult in so many ways. Each of us has had struggles to overcome. In like manner, following Jesus is difficult in so many ways. We all have trials and temptations to overcome (Matthew 16:24-25). But it will be worth it when we see Him. Just like it was worth it to arrive at a summit.
We have learned to pray and to praise as we encounter these struggles. To pray for strength to keep going and for wisdom to know when to turn back or which way to go. To praise God’s power, lovingkindness, and sovereignty not only as we view the beauty of the sunrise, the jagged peaks stretching from the summit, or the fragile wildflowers, but also during the heartache of disappointment when the weather or physical limitations forced us to turn around. In like manner, we must pray and praise through the joys, trials and temptations that God allows in our everyday lives (Philippians 4:6).
We have learned that we could not make it alone. When the going was difficult Daniel or Caleb would get a crinkled piece of paper out of their pocket and share with us a verse they decided to bring along. When one of us was faltering from fear or slipping from lack of strength, one of us would reach down and pull the other up. We all gave each other words of encouragement and instruction. How much more we need each other as brothers and sisters in Christ. To share encouragement and instruction from God’s Word. To provide physical help when needed. To come alongside and walk with each other when the going is difficult (John 13:34-35; Galatians 6:2; Philippians 2:4; Colossians 3:16-17; 1 John 3:17-18).
May we never forget our time here in the mountains - may we never forget the lessons they have taught us.
