27 July 2000: Mount Massive Wilderness

Note: The first section (3 sentences) were written while on the trail. The remainder, for reasons that will become clear, were written well after the trip.

A long struggle up to timberline and camp. The trail on the map and the trail on the ground don't agree very well. It took me 3 hours to cover the distance. I should have left Denver earlier.

---After---

    The plan was certainly ambitious. 9 summits above 13,000 feet and close to 20 miles of hiking, most of it above timberline, in just 2 and 1/2 days. However, Mt. Massive and Mt. Elbert are considered 'walkup' peaks and not difficult at all. It would be more a test of physical and mental endurance than a test of mountaineering skill.
    One of my life's ambitions is to summit all of the recognized summits above 13,000 feet in Colorado. There are over 800 summits and it will take me many years to accomplish this feat. I seriously started this quest at age 35. If I climbed 20 peaks a year, considering that the climbing season is from July to October, I would be over 75 when I topped out for the last time. Fortunately, many of the summits are grouped together and can be climbed together in one trip, and occasionally one day. Almost every 14er in Colorado has a hiking trail to the top. There are also numerous guidebooks that usually show several routes to the top. I like to find the less traveled, usually more difficult, routes. At this point, Mt. Massive ranks as the most difficult and dangerous mountain I have been up.
    It began during the night of July 27 - 28. The short hike in was miserable. For some reason, the distance and map seemed wrong. When I finally stopped, it was not with a good feeling. I found a spot well above timberline near North Halfmoon Lake. My bivy sack was placed on the side of a modest rise, well within the boundaries of the cirque.

After a quick dinner, which was very unsatisfying, I crawled inside the bivy sack for a good night's sleep. For some reason, I kept moving positions and could not sleep. At best I would doze for a few minutes, then wakeup and change position.
The first sensation that I recall was a brilliant white light. That is what awoke me, the following thunder clap made my heart race. As I lay, basically naked and totally unprotected in the bivy sack, my mind began spinning.

Even now, almost 2 months after the evening, my pulse quickens and I have to stop writing.

    I was totally helpless. To get clothed and booted would have taken between 15 and 30 minutes. It would have been another 2 hours to find my way, in the dark, to timberline. The lightning was staying in the clouds and not striking ground, so I decided to stay put.
    While the electrical storm raged above me, I lay awake thinking. For the first time, I was facing the real possibility of being killed. Unlike the snowshoe incident, there was nothing that I could do to make the situation any better. My life was no longer up to me. Rather it would be determined by simple chance, Would lightening strike me?
    Scared is not the right word. As I look back, I cannot find the right ones to describe the feeling that your life is no longer measured in years, months or even days, but rather in seconds.
    Fortunately, the storm passed over without striking ground. However, it became even more difficult to sleep and I tossed and turned the rest of the night.
    In the morning, I lay in the bag and bivy sack until well past sunrise. At this point I began to debate about going up or going down. I had a very bad headache and had a very difficult time eating.
    At this point, I should have turned back and headed home. Unfortunately, the ego is a powerful master. I could not just go home without even trying. That would have not simply admitted defeat, but I would have quit without even trying. That was too much for me! I had to at least try. So I packed up and headed into the cirque to scout things out.
    The way up was primarily a meadow walk in the beginning. Then it began to turn rocky. Not talus or scree, but large boulders that required scrambling. After several minutes, I reached the steep section leading to the summit ridge. Because of the loose rock, my pack and the steepness of the terrain, I chose to stay close to the rock walls and use them for hand holds.
    This was the worst rock I have ever been on. Very loose and difficult to get a handhold. It was not the slick dirt of the Black Couloir of Mt. Sherman, nor the loose, but shallow, scree of Mt. Bross. Though both of these were tough footing, it was not a question of danger, ,just effort.
    The rock on Massive was dangerous. Large rocks that I used for footholds would launch themselves down the mountain with little pressure. Handholds would crumble with little efforts. And yet, because of the angle of the terrain, there was no choice but to use bad foot and hand holds. At one point, I was perched on a 4' x 4' patch of talus. There was a rumbling sound well below the surface as the rocks grated against one another. It was just a matter of time until the patch let go, so movement was imperative. Despite my low energy, I kept moving at a quick pace.
    About 2 hours in, I found myself in a position where I could not go down, not return the way I came up. It was one of those times where you just have to 'suck it up' and keep moving. To make matters worse, an electrical storm was moving in and I had nowhere to hide. One of the common dangers in the mountains is the early afternoon thunderstorm. Each year, hikers, climbers, and tourists are killed by lightning. The rule is to summit by noon and be off the top by 1. For some reason, this storm was moving in early.
    I reached a spot where I could not continue up, so I down climbed about 15 feet to an exposed traverse. I could not see the other side of the rock outcropping, but I was certain it was better than what I was on (it had to be). I had little choice.
    Because the rock was so bad, I was very careful and checked my handhold and foot positioning. As I got to the point where I was spread eagle across the outcropping, my right handhold let go. It was a rock about 30" by 6" by 6". It hit my arm and knee and spun me around. I followed it about 30 feet down the mountain at a steep, but not free fall, angle. I came to a spot where the scree was less angled and I was able to dig my heels into it and stop. I could not see beyond this small ledge of scree, but I assume that a cliff waited for me.
    It was an odd feeling to sit there and very calmly take stock of the situation. Both arms and hands had minor cuts and scrapes. My left shin had a sizable cut just above the boot top. My right hip was rather tender to the touch, but movable. My right knee, where the large rock hit, had a large, open wound and was very tender. At this point, I had one option, keep moving up.     I was amazed how detached I became. There was no pain, there was no fear. Just the calm realization that I, and I alone, was responsible for my well-being. If I was unable to get to the summit, I was stuck for at least 1 night, perhaps 2 and I was unprotected from lightning. I had to go up, there was not other option.    On and up I went. Fortunately, the knee and hip were holding up. The good part is that nothing, except skin, was broken. It took me another 90 minutes to climb the final 400 feet to the summit. I usually make 1,000 vertical feet per hour. It was about 1pm when I started down the regular trail towards my car. It took me 7 hours to get down a route that normally takes 3.
    I have wondered (before this trip), what I would do if I found myself alone and injured on a mountain. Do I have the inner strength to not just give up? Could I keep moving when every step was painful? How long could I survive while I waited for help?
    In one short instant, I was forced to confront this issue. Although the injuries were fairly minor, every year hikers are rescued in far less dire circumstances. I don't recall an adrenaline rush propelling me at great speed up the mountain. In fact, I moved at the same steady pace as before the fall. Perhaps the adrenaline was masking the pain and allowing me to move on.
    Since my fall occurred on the west side of the mountain, I had no service with my cell phone. I could not call anyone and let them know I was injured. I had to reach the summit ridge! It was only on the East side that I would find safety. That drove me on and up!
    I made a mistake. Fortunately, it only cost me a little flesh and blood. If not for a patch of scree, the price could have been my life. I cheated death 3 times on Mt. Massive. The first was the overnight electrical storm that refused to strike the ground. The second was not falling all the way down the mountain. The third was the electrical storm that decided to turn south over Mt. Elbert.
    My ego, the drive to the summit, my unwillingness to demonstrate my weakness by turning back, my blindness to the consequences of my actions. They all could have easily cost my life. I wonder, "What have I learned from the experience?", "Will I make the same mistakes again?", "Will I overreact or become too quick to abandon or turn around?"
    At least I have learned that I do have some measure of inner strength that will assist me in difficult situations. Others have endured far worse and survived; others have experienced far less and given up. I hope that I never find myself in either situation.