Epic AZ-CO Trip: Mt. Bierstadt

Without further ado comes the culminating moment of my trip to Colorado. This moment captures struggle and hardship, pain and pleasure, beauty and darkness, and all those other things that can only be labeled "epic." And what is more epic than a mountain? And not just any mountain, a 14,060 foot monster (4,285 meters) in the Rockies. I am speaking of none other than Mt. Bierstadt.

View from the beginning of the trail.

Mountain hiking is a little obsession of mine, and I find few things more rewarding. There is nothing like the struggle: man v.s. nature. Pushing further ahead by power of will alone, after your body has long ago exceeded acceptable limits. Then the awe-inspiring scenery that is your reward, that makes you feel humble before the majesty of our universe. Yup, mountains are cool.

Another view from the trail.

I had originally planned to scale a few summits. I used the simply amazing website 14ers.com, with pages and pages of information for both beginner and expert alike. What's great about this site is the interactivity: routes are mapped and rated by fellow climbers. You can even see photos of the route in question, check its difficulty, find the required equipment, and meet with other climbers.

OMG its getting closer!

Using this resource I first planned to hike a lower trek in order to get my body used to the high altitudes. Altitude sickness is no joke in the Rockies, as I soon discovered. My body was not at all ready for what it would have to endure. My journey started in the lowlands of Brooklyn, then took me to Tucson, Arizona at 2,389 feet, from whence I drove to Broomfield, Colorado at 5,344 feet. In only a few days I realized I would no longer have an opportunity to climb any mountains, and so just decided to go for one big one instead of preparing physically for the elevation difference.

Looking down to the beginning of the trail. Can you find the parking lot where I started?

Getting to the trail required me to drive to Georgetown, a small mountain town nestled amid scathing cliffs. From there you have to get on the Guanella Pass, a curvy mountain road riddled with gaping holes and shifting sand, with a mortally challenging fall into a deep valley on one side. Exciting already, eh?

Looking down on the trail.

I finally reached the trail at 11,669 feet. There was absolutely nothing to breath. I opened my lungs and took a deep breath, but came up empty every time. At this altitude there was shockingly little oxygen, less than I have ever experienced before.

Snow on the mountain, even though its the middle of the summer.

The bottom of the trail began over fairly flat and marshy lands. It was a freak 100 degrees in Colorado, so it was pretty hot. However as I scaled the side of Mt. Bierstadt everything became more and more vertical with every step, and the air only got thinner and colder. After an hour or two I was panting and catching my breath after running a few meters, then running again, catching my breath, and so on.

"Lake" in between some mountains, due to ice melting on their summits.

My fingernails turned purple. At certain moments, as I stopped to breath in the nearly non-existent air, I felt almost beyond my own body. My eardrums swelled and I could hear my heartbeat in them, and my hands shivered. But I continued nonetheless. While physically this route was definitely not as challenging as ones I had climbed before, there were still many difficulties and some rock-scaling, going a distance of seven miles altogether.

You have to climb this to get to the summit.

As I had anticipated my metabolism began to adjust as I neared the summit. It was cold and there was still ice, even though it was the 1st of August. While in the beginning I could hike with no shirt on, now I had to cover up with everything I had to keep warm. This was what it was like at the summit of 14,060 feet. The views were, of course, breathtaking. The Rockies extended for miles and miles in every direction, truly a sight to behold.

View of the Rocky Mountains from the summit at 14,000 feet. Utterly breathtaking.

This was not the end of my ordeal, however. Returning I asked myself again and again "had I really walked all this way?" The last mile or two were the most difficult of the bunch. At that point I had returned to the "warm" zone, with the scorching hot sun burning my face. My feet moved by force alone, no longer able to continue on their own. One shoe in front of the other was the only way to go. The exhaustion was so draining, so thorough, that I felt like laying down right there in the rocks and falling asleep. Every part of my body was sore, blisters began to arise on my soles, and I constantly felt like throwing up (was it the coffee, beer, or altitude sickness?)

Rocky mountain youth group I met on the summit. They spent the last seven weeks hiking and doing conservation activities.

When I finally trudged into the parking lot, I decided I was too "out of it" to drive safely on that winding road. So I tried to lay down on the grass, but that harsh mountain grass was full of ants. So I opened a tea and started down the road. Unfortunately I only felt worst and worst with every mile I drove. I turned the air conditioning all the way up and pointed it towards my face, but to no avail. That road was just so winding, so curvy...

I pulled over and threw up on the side of the road. This made me feel a lot better, and I returned to the winding road. It took another hour and a half to get back, an hour and a half of constantly battling sleep and exhaustion. Still I drove better than many of the drivers. Didn't they ever hear about looking before you change lanes? Sheesh.

After I returned home I noticed my face had turned red. Not only was there less oxygen in the mountains, but there was also less UV protection. My skin came off after a few days.

Epic.