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‘Twas the day before Christmas, when all through the house
Two creatures were stirring, neither a mouse;
The peaks remained nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of conquest danced in our heads;
The dawn was still distant, the wind it was strong,
We’d soon be out there, it wouldn’t take long …
Enough of that corny stuff for the moment. So, why are we up so early? Well, you’re familiar, of course, with the tradition whereby each year the mountain gods designate two individuals to ascend Mt. Elbert on Christmas Eve. What can I say? This year, the lucky folks just happen to be Jean and me.
Wednesday, Christmas Eve, 7:25 AM, South Elbert 2wd trailhead, 9,600', incalculable degrees below zero but surprisingly almost calm. The plow has apparently just passed; a narrow sliver of cleared space in the lot barely works. An old buried boot track serves us well for most of a mile before disappearing. No problem, I’m sure that once we reach the summer 4wd trailhead, a track will magically develop; it never fails … almost.
Jean leads out first, waltzing lightly with ease,
Ken follows, then curses as he sinks to his knees;
The root of the problem is Ken’s awful pronation,
Heading home now is a world-class temptation …
After many winter trips over many years, I don’t recall such miserable unconsolidated snow conditions in this area as we find today. No summit at this rate. What to do?
They exchange their packs to even the weight,
Then continue uphill to seek out their fate;
The snow’s getting better, but far from the best,
Ken plows on bravely as Jean takes a rest;
She gobbles her cookies, then hoists the huge pack,
And catches up slowly as she watches his back;
Here’s treeline at last, but the snow’s still too soft,
Their snowshoes stay on as they look up aloft …
Things are looking rather gloomy above the trees, but the wind is occupied elsewhere for the moment. Not a bad tradeoff. With packs restored to owners, we trudge on up the very familiar East Ridge. Snowshoes come off at about 13,000’, but it’s not a nice enough day to be separated from gear, so they tag along with us. The wind gets rambunctious from time to time, never extreme. Unfortunately, there’s so much fresh and loose snow around, it doesn’t take much to get the spindrift sailing. We’re on top at 2:15, an incredible 7 hours on our way.
After many long hours, their objective is found,
Seven summits of Massive and other peaks all around;
Now downward they head toward warmth’s great attraction,
With hope all YOUR peaks give as much satisfaction.
The weather looks threatening to the south, best be on our way. Back in the trees, hot, salty tomato soup flows from the monster thermos. Never has carrying extra weight felt so worth it. Headlamps go on for the last 40 minutes. Knees, backs, and ankles are unanimous; we’ve gotten far too old for this nonsense. Shush now, this Christmas Morning is reserved for sleeping in.
P.S. By now, most of you are aware that I’m a born liar. Truth is, I made up the part about the mountain gods selecting us to climb Elbert. We were actually hoping to have a go at La Plata Peak to fill in the December slot on my 14er grid. By the time we got near Twin Lakes, it seemed obvious that Elbert would offer much better odds to sneak up a summit in a narrow weather window. Good choice.
And by the way, you’ve gotten the sanitized version of the poem that was developed while trenching. The original was far too personally bawdy to share. |
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