Little Bears and Big Mountains: The Story of Conquest and Rescue in the Sangre de Cristos Part 1

I slowly peel myself away from the wall and refix my gaze above me.  The rock had sailed passed my left shoulder much too close for comfort.  Breathing comes back under control, back to that meditative flow that I have worked on so long.  The section known as the Hourglass, the crux of the mountain is behind us.  It consists of maybe 30 vertical feet perpetuated by a slowly dripping spring that makes every hold a tentative fight for friction.  Onwards and upwards until you find there is no more, nothing but a beautiful view and the temporary silence of all those internal demons.

We are in the immaculate Sangre de Cristo Mountains in South Central Colorado.  From 12 thousand feet abd above you can make out the small town of Alamosa to the West as the land spreads out in an incredible instance of expansion.  The view makes you feel even more isolated as you compile that with the knowledge of the long bumpy drive and the painfully long hike into the basin.  That forty pound pack feels like it weighs one hundred by the time you sling it off at beautiful Lake Como.  Tents up, feet up, eyes closed.  An adventure is on the horizon.

The alarm shakes me awake from a dreamless sleep.  The cold helps aid in the wake up process, but my body is not used to doing "complex" things like tying boots and zipping zippers before 4am.  Strapped and ready and rocking headlamps we begin our quest to the top of our small new world.  A beautiful moon shines upon the path making the small light on my forehead almost perfectly superfluous.  Even in the dark I can sense and the the immensity of the rock surrounding us as the basin narrows and narrows.  Finally the trail begins it's steady ascent up the wall to the first of our three objectives.

Mt. Blanca, the second tallest peak in the great state of Colorado looms above us to the South.  Behind us to the North is Mt. Ellingwood, where one can gain an incredibly vantage point of the Great Sand Dunes.  Sharing the same ridge to the Southwest of Blanca is the smaller yet most formidable Little Bear.  The hardest standard route of any mountain in Colorado.  Class IV out of a scale of VI.  Lots of exposure, lots of pressure, lots of fun right?

We crest the class III ridge of Blanca/Ellingwood and continue our ascent.  The wold to the East is night and day different from the West.  Rather than an expansive plain you see peak after peak and ridge after ridge.  All of this is highlighted by the pink and red hues of the rising sun.  Breathtaking, stunning, amazing.  Words cannot begin to describe the sensation in my heart when I see these wonderful, almost magical, natural things.  Watching a sunrise at 14 thousand feet is one of the most epic things I have ever done, and I do not use that word frivolously.  Snap some photos and get on with our objective.  The ridge line to Ellingwood would be my favorite portion of the trip.  I was strong, loving the exposure and riding a high that I had not felt in years. We topped out on Ellingwood at 7:30 am and paused long enough to stretch our legs, take in the Crestones and the Great Sand Dunes and then begin our descent back into the basin of Lake Como.  The real journey begins after lunch.

Did I even eat? I inhaled my pasta so fast I almost could not even recall.  I am fighting the urge to lie down and take a nap.  I lace back up for the hike up Little Bear.  I am having some mental fatigue at this point.  That horrible, nagging voice that tells you to turn around is louder on the inside of your skull than an Argentine football match.  Luckily he is an old friend and I know how to drown him out.  Cross a creak and begin boulder hopping through a scree field.  We approach an incredibly steep and loose slope and begin our climb to the ridge.  Traction is God awful and the voice gets louder.  I ditch my poles and begin a four point dance to the top.

I catch up with my climbing partner Jeff and we begin our traverse of the ridge to the aforementioned Hourglass and after that the summit.  The ridge is a gnarly hodgepodge of a path that could spell disaster with a missed step.  Luckily we had none and made it to the base of the Hourglass to take a quick pause and do some reconnaissance.  As we were surveying a group of three passed us offering salutations and key insight into the stability of the anchor on the fixed rope someone had put up.  We prepare our mental armor and begin our climb to the top of the world again.  The crux of the mountain begins to slip slowly away with every calculated move.  Not even the rocks could deter my pursuit of conquest, and we top out to sail down once again.

The downside is always the downside.  Going down is so much harder than going up.  You are tired, less aware of your impact.  We make it without any hitches and find ourselves on semi solid ground again.  At the very least the sensation of falling is gone.  You know that feeling that you get when you are hanging on a wall and your whole body minus fingers and toes wants to fall into the abyss.  The realization of our accomplishment begins to set in as we traverse back to the point of descent off the ridge.  Just when our guard drops and allows for a tired smile we come upon a scene that would change our perceptions of this adventure forever.

Introspection Through Chicharrones

The noticeable stench of tequila and stale beer permeates through the cool ocean air.  At least I think it is the ocean.  Things are a little hazy.  I pull of a blood stained sheet covering my torso.  Would it be better if that blood was mine or someone else's?  Cannot process that right now.   Now the daunting task of piecing a night together.  Wallet still in pocket, thank God, although significantly thinner than the day before.  One sandal under my t-shirt the other I find under the bed after some mediocre searching.  Now time for the tricky part.  I search the pockets of my jeans and notice another blood smear on the knee.  A few pesos, a receipt from a taqueria and a number scribbled on a piece of faded yellow paper.  I descend the stairs and exit the dark confines of the building to the dirt ridden street.  As I walk to the nearest convenience store I cannot help but notice the mosaic of garbage strewn about.  All colors of the spectrum and all shapes and consistencies of plastic imaginable.  Possesses almost an artistic quality as if someone enacted the random dispersion of this rubbish in a calculated manner.  Kind of the recurring theme I find in these lovely cultural centers south of those states that are supposedly united.  Back to the reality of the jackhammer inside my skull.  I snag a bag of chicharrones and a gatorade, the prescribed hangover cure for my recurring predicaments I find myself in down here.  The love hate relationship of smiles at night and sorrows in the late morning.  I plant myself under an umbrella and spend the remaining loot in my pocket on some of the almost pornographically fresh ceviche that is famous here.  The night filters through my mind in bursts of bright lights, mezcal shots and countless attempts at shaking my hips.  I am in need of some Hemingway and some beer to rid myself of this funk.  I settle back into the rhythm of my surroundings and get inundated in a story of a lonely fisherman and the fight of his life.  With the sand between my toes, a semi cold cerveza in my hands and the short, terse sentences of my literary hero, my life comes back to the karmic balance I came down here to achieve.

McQueen

Life is racing.  Everything else is just waiting.

~ Steve McQueen

South By Unrest

Eyes open.  Goosebumps prominent.  A feeling of panic.  Where am I?  I take stock of my situation and take in all that is around me with the sensory perception of an ocular patdown.  Somewhere in the desert, next to a major highway.  The Mexico/US border lies 3 miles to my right.  Maybe this wasn't the best place to pull over and spend the wee hours of the morning to catch a little shut eye and avoid a similar accident to what took place in 2005.  My senes settle down and I regain composure.  Back on the road, back to dedicate my time to the wanderlust that has taken hold in these 26 almost 27 odd years.  The love for adventure, for danger, for the feeling of weightlessness associated with so many movements participated in.  This is the cocktail, infused with a personal ineptitude to settle on anything, which drives my every day existence.  I have given up the need to search for meaning in everything, but have not given up on the hope of simplification.  Thoreau's mantra permeates deep within my psyche.  Simplify, Simplify.  Those two words written on the wall of my high school english hall have lived with me since I was a snot nosed teen trying to rationalize the irrational.  Volume.  I need volume.  Tunes cranked, wind in my hair, hips ready to gyrate.  This is going to be a phenomenal South by Southwest adventure.

Words of Wisdom

May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view. May your mountains rise into and above the clouds.” ~ Edward Abbey

Cactus Revolution

The melodic idiosyncracies blend and flow from the newest musical inspiration I have found. Definitely been a Gardens and Villa type of life lived the last three months. Bags, boxes and bunjee cords have dominated the scenery. So to has saguaro cacti, lizards and a magnitude of rock. Rock as far as the eye can see. Broken only by the sporadic bunching of shrub and weed. The human landscape of six lane highways, Palm trees and lucious green grass penetrate the desert psyche and lure one in to a false sense of impact. Mountain views dominated by people and everything associated with them. But if you squint your eyes just right, take the time to escape the urban sprawl and run free in the wild and untamed Sonoran desert, one has a desert revolution take place. Sunsets that can make one's jaw hit the ground and an intense energy from the sun that can seemingly cook you. The harsh and wild landscape is surely something to behold, especially at dawn as the world wakes from its slumber. I am slowly falling in love with this place and am excited for more adventure.

Canadian Bacon

The cloud of hash and tobacco smoke penetrates my reservations of being alone in a new and strange place. A beautiful hand leads me passed the gorilla of a bouncer, up a narrow stairway and back amongst to the techno infused world full of sparklers, bottles of Grey Goose and those looking for an escape from reality. Is the stinging in my eyes from the sparklers or from the sweat that is worked up on the dance floor? I gather my senses long enough to glimpse a sight of a personality I have seen hundreds of times on screen. Definitely more beautiful in person. Light penetrates the haze...It's closing time. The hand leads me to coat check, to a cab, to a hole in the wall place specializing in schwarma. The smell hits me before I even step inside. My booze infused brain is in a type of hunger induced coma. Back in the cab and back to the reality of the bitter cold. The package is ripped open before the cabbie puts his foot on the accelerator. The air inside is filled with similar scents of the restaurant and my mouth is flooding with tastes and sensations I have never before experienced. I am riding a wave of elation I haven't had the chance to experience for some time. Maybe it is the hash, the booze, the shwarma or maybe just the sweet Canadian air I have been breathing. But something is different. I have changed. I realize I know less and less about the world and more and more about myself every time I shatter my comfort zone and place myself in a foreign land and get lost. Getting lost is the best way to discover the world.