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ASSENT ON MT. DEMOCRAT (alt 14,178 ft above sea level) Colorado's 28th highest peak

Here in Colorado, we have over 54 peaks that rise 14,000-feet or higher.  These are affectionately known as Colorado's 14'ers.  To climb a 14'er is to take part in one of those grand experiences that define one as a "true" Coloradan!  Since the day Chaz was born, I have wanted to share with him the thrill, the challenge, and the unequaled experience that is "climbing a 14'er."  When Zach was born, naturally I extended that dream to become a "Byrne Boys" adventure.

On July 11th, the first step in that dream took place on Mt. Democrat.  the following is the account of Chaz' first ascent of a 14'er.

July 11, 2004

We started climbing Mt.Democrat at 4:00 in the morning.  Our original intent was to climb Democrat, Cameron, Bross, and Lincoln.  From all the material we had read, it should have been a simple 2-5 hour climb for all 4 peaks.  Many climber websites online had described Democrat as the hardest of the climbs, and most online writers had achieved the summit and returned to the trailhead within 2 hours.

This seemed like a simple enough climb, mostly class 1 and 2 paths, simple enough for Chaz’ first 14’ers, yet challenging enough to make it exciting.  Recalling my two assents of Long’s Peak in my late teens, I remembered how much I loved climbing in the pre-dawn hours.  The sparkling stars, the brilliant moon, the crisp early morning air, and mostly the sunrise over mountain peaks – I wanted to experience all that with Chaz (preferable on his first major climb.)  So we decided to begin climbing somewhere between midnight and 3 in the morning.  This would give us plenty of time to climb casually and hopefully see the sunrise from a summit.

After a minor medical emergency at my mother’s house before venturing into the mountains, we didn’t get onto the road until 1am or so.  This would still give us plenty of time to get to the trailhead, climb casually, and be off the peaks before the typical afternoon thunder and lightning shows that chase climbers from 14,000-foot mountaintops.

Parking at the side of a turn in the road (elev. 11,860 ft.) We reached the trailhead, got our gear together and began climbing about 4am.  The trailhead is at 12,040ft.  In the dark, the towering mountains that surround the trailhead are looming silhouettes of dark purple mass, identifiable mostly by the lack of stars against the sky.  To the west, Mt. Buckskin and Loveland Mountain, both high 13’ers, blocked out a good portion of the sky.  The moon was just rising over Mt. Bross to the east.  With less than a week until the new moon, its waning crescent shape emitted too little light to dim many of the stars.  And the stars in the high mountains of Colorado are brilliant!  They are truly diamond-esque against the dark blue/purple velvet of the night.  The sparkle against the flat monochrome sky is literally indescribable!  At one point, we could see the moon to the south of Mt. Bross’ summit balanced perfectly with the Pleiades on its northern side. As much as I love taking pictures of the high country, I often wish there was a camera suitable for the magical pre-dawn splendor!  As we walked through the main parking area, Chaz’ excitement revealed itself in a louder-than-usual voice.  Perhaps the level was normal, only loud compared to the hush of a mountain morning, but I tried to remind him more than once that people were sleeping in the dozen-or-so tents set up around us.

Our lack of optimum fitness was noticeable from the beginning.  The walk from the parking space to the trailhead was about a mile, and just that short walk seemed to be a bit of a pain.  Of course neither of us could sleep the day before, so we were running on extra hours as it was, and we figured our muscles would loosen and “get with the act” as we progressed, which for the most part they did. 

The map we had brought with us was out of the book “Colorado’s Fourteeners” by Gerry Roach.  As a guide to Colorado’s highest mountains, it is a treasure trove of information.  As we made our way around the west side of Kite Lake, we began to experience the greatest flaw of the climb (although we didn’t realize it’s extent until later.)  That flaw was the woefully inadequate trail markings on this climb.  As we would descend by the main trail later that day it would be nearly impossible - in full sunlight and following fellow climbers - to say for certainty where exactly the classic trail was.   Presently, at 4 o’clock in the morning, in the dark, on an unfamiliar peak, with few and faded signs (I still don’t remember ever seeing a sign directing us to any of the trails), it could be safely said there were NO indications of trail locations.  This simple fact, early in the pre-dawn hours would dictate the character of our entire climb until we returned to the car at 3 o’clock in the afternoon.   We set out in the dark, each of us with our own flashlight, following what looked like a footpath on the western shore of Kite Lake.  Knowing that trails fade and return, we plucked our way along the east face of Mt. Democrat looking for a way up, being guided somewhat by the map in hand.  We considered walking across the marshy northern shore of Kite Lake to hook up with what, even in the darkness, was evidently the main trail, but favored the map’s alternate routes instead.  It’s difficult to decide if we would change that choice in retrospect.  Certainly the hike was longer and infinitely more arduous due to this one choice, but I think Chaz and agree that it was a better, more challenging, more exciting overall climb.

The Assent PART 1

As we made out way up the eastern face of Mt. Democrat (The steepest part of the mountain), we knew we were taking a secondary route, yet still hoped there would be some type of well-worn footpath.  From time to time, we would find one, and follow it as far as we could before searching for a way to our next goal (ridge, rock, bush, etc.).  Here we were introduced to our nemesis of the day – scree! 

Mt. Democrat is a 14,000-foot pile of scree!  In fact, every major (and secondary) route on the mountain consists primarily of the loose, unpredictable, slippery rocks.  Upon our first encounter with it, we crossed a few yards to the south and chose to venture up a grassy/bush-covered slope instead.  This took us to our first goal – a ridge of rock that (from that vantage point) appeared to be the straight-shot up to the summit.  Upon reaching the rise, however, we found it was a ridge, not the ridge.

 By this time, the eastern sky was beginning to slowly fill with morning glow.  The dynamic colors of magenta on the clouds, light blue of the morning sky, required more than an occasional awe-inspired gawk and gasp.  Venus is heading for maximum brilliancy (magnitude –4.5) on July 15^th, and rising over Mt. Bross in the pre-dawn, it was brighter than a 747 flying straight at us with landing lights illuminated!  Incredible!   Taking a moment’s rest, the un-risen sun filled the valley with enough ambient light, that we stowed our flashlights.  This was where we took our only good pictures  of the climb along with a few sips from our bottle of water.  Immediately after the picture was taken, the camera died.  A few firm whacks of my palm didn’t improve its performance, and we gave up on photos from that point on.  We were somewhere in the 12,500-foot level at this point and decided to head for the next visible ridge to the west.

At this point, I must mention an extraordinary part of the climb that persisted all the way through to the end.  Unlike our previous climb of Mt. Royal outside Frisco (when both Chaz and Zach were in the climbing party), this ascent was a collaboration between the hikers.  Due to their ages at the time, Chaz and Zach weren’t really in a position to make knowledgeable choices on paths etc., therefore the directions taken were purely my dictate.  I was responsible for their wellbeing and safety, so the enjoyment of our hike up Mt. Royal was tempered.  This time, however, Chaz was not only up to every challenge, but actively chose many of the routes and paths.  We would consider the possible options between us and choose among them.  More often than not, I agreed with Chaz’ assessment, and we would go forward together up the mountain.  Never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined the extent of wisdom and insight Chaz could exhibit at age 12.  I wish there were words in the English language to express pride to the 10,000^th power!  I can’t even grasp a phrase to adequately describe the feeling in my chest just remembering how he handled himself on the mountain!

We had a choice of ascending a draw of pure scree (level 3 under the Yosemite Decimal System) or climbing a few sturdy rocks to the North (level 4).  Already having had enough of the scree to last us awhile, we chose to climb the rocks.  This was our first true rock climbing of the day, and certainly wouldn’t be our last.  Reaching up and pulling ourselves up to the next level was exciting and gave us the feeling we were truly climbing this mountain. I had the misfortune of testing one rock that wasn’t as embedded as I thought.  It came down, hit my shin hard and ricocheted directly upon the top of my foot –sharp edge first-, smashing my foot between it and the equally hard rock upon which I stood.  I "shook it off" and continued on.

This cropping of rocks we were climbing though rested in a sloping draw and was a pleasant climb rather than one of necessity.  This took us to a wonderful, “Sound of Music”-like knoll between the two ravines of Democrat’s south approach.  Down in the western ravine, we saw the glistening still-frozen Lake Emma, and to our east, we looked down on Kite Lake.  The early morning breezes were forming noticeable waves and breaks on the aptly named Kite.  We were now at 12,700 feet and chose not only to rest, but also eat and lie down for a bit.  Chaz ate one of the cold cut sandwiches I had made for him the night before, and I had my ham and cheese, or most of it.  We drank cold water from the 3 liter bottle I brought along – big mistake bringing such a large container, it proved to be more weight than worth - and lay down on the grass.  It was chilly, and I mentioned to Chaz that I wish we had brought up the sleeping bag that was still in the car.  One thousand feet below us, the car was already just a dark speck to the south.  To the west of it we saw an ice field that we swear looked just like a profile of "The Grinch".  Before closing our eyes and catching a catnap, we were once again in awe of the clouds, the colors, and the impending sunrise.  At one point, we broke into applause, congratulating God on his masterful artistry.  The wind broke coldly against me, and Chaz and I lay a bit closer together. 

He mentioned that he didn’t feel too cold (of course not, I was his windbreak ).  J

The near silence of the high mountains is something one doesn’t appreciate until they experience it.  Only the occasional twitter of a bird or chirp of a marmot breaks the soft caressing sound of the mountain breezes.  Nature’s lullaby was certainly effective. We had gained 1,000-feet of elevation in about 90 minutes.  Ahead of us were about 1,500 feet of climb.  After a number of erroneous “we’re about half-way there” comments, we were finally getting to that watermark.

CLASS DEFINITIONS

Courtesy:  http://home.tiscalinet.de/ockier/class.htm

The Ascent PART 2

  The path so far had been for the most part Level 2 with some moments of Class 3.  It had been an arduous, but relatively easy climb.  The path ahead of us would require 4 hours of level 3 and 4 ascent before we could reach the peak, we just didn’t realize it yet.  We had known all along that we had chosen a more difficult route, and we both were comfortable with that decision.  This wasn’t going to be some stroll up a hill or some quick and easy summit. That’s how we wanted it, challenging… something to be proud of, a true accomplishment.  The peak would deliver in abundance on those wishes. 

We considered a number of routes, 2 or 3 couloirs; many still encased in snowfields.  I estimated the depth of the snow to be at least 3 or 4 feet deep, and not wise to cross.  So we went northeast towards an apparent “ridge”

We crossed a small couloir filled with a foot or two of snow, and Chaz took a moment to plant the flag in the field.  We crossed it and proceeded to do the serious climbing. Chaz accurately compared the next few hundred yards to a climbing wall, the kind that are found at fairs, REI, and community centers.  The only slight difference was that it wasn’t a sheer drop. The angle was definitely on the vertical, and it was rock climbing… up, not across, or along… but up. However, any potential drop would have been less than 5 or 6 feet at a time, not the 20 or 30 you encounter with “rock walls.”   I’m not taking anything away from our effort, it certainly was scary at moments, and an exhilarating thrill at the time, but the danger wasn’t as you might imagine by a comparison to a rock wall.  It was definitely Level 4 climbing, just one step below the need for ropes and other technical gear.

While climbing this part of the mountain (to what we would find was the true “spine” of the major southern ridge of Democrat) there was a point when Chaz stepped onto -and stood on- a very, very large rock, no smaller than 4 feet across and 3 feet high when suddenly, the rock completely gave way, careening past my right hand side and down the mountain.  I caught Chaz from behind, around the legs as he grabbed two other rocks above him, pulling himself up again to the level at which the large rock had formerly rested.  In retrospect, it was probably a lot less dramatic than it seemed, but the suddenness, the Hollywood-esque view of seeing Chaz instantly grabbing for rock so as not to fall with the rock was certainly a high-pulse-rate-moment for me.

Chaz and I had both been very conscience of every single step and handhold, telling each other which rocks were sturdy and which were shaky, loose, or simply unusable.  During these more challenging stretches, I chose to let Chaz venture up first, with me right behind him – able to stop him from large, or even small slips.  This rock took us completely by surprise due to its sheer size.  Had it been sturdy, we both could have comfortably stood atop it.  It was inconceivable that it could have been scree.  Obviously we were wrong, and our subsequent testing of the rocks was far more stringent because of it.  We had reached the 13,000-foot level and it was probably 8 o’clock-ish.

We finished this stretch of chimneys and crevasses and found ourselves upon the main ridge that descends from Mt. Democrat to Kite Lake.  We knew the difficult climbing as such was behind us.  From here to the top would be a combination of walking and boulder hopping.  We were looking at 1,200-feet of elevation gain with pure level 2 and low level 3 effort.  It was a relief to see ahead our path and destination with no guesswork on which way to go.

Our pace was steady and determined.  It was no stroll down the 16^th Street Mall, but certainly hiking rather than climbing.  Yard by yard, the effects of exertion began to play upon us physically.  The thinning air, and the physical demands started inducing a mild sense of nausea and dizziness.   Upon recognizing the forewarnings of high altitude sickness, I insisted we both take more breaks, and slow our pace.  I kept reminding Chaz to take slow, deep breaths, and not over exert himself.  We had been conversing all the way up the mountain.  When the terrain didn’t demand our full attention, we just gabbed in simple typical chitchat.  One of our favorite subjects was in regards to Mt. Democrat’s appropriately given name.  “Just like Kerry, it changes every two minutes.” “Looks like an easy way to go, but in the long run, Democrats demand more than you think.” “I’ve always had a dislike for Democrats, but now more than ever.”… and on.

Speaking of which, this brings up an interesting point about the exhaustion factor.  There were moments we absolutely hated this mountain.  It was draining every drop of energy we had, our muscles were screaming in pain, and our legs were wanting to give out beneath us.  For every two minutes of hiking (at times) we would require a 5-minute break before tackling the next 10 yards.  The last stretch of 1,000-feet to the summit was some of the longest and most taxing moments of either of our lives.  The last 1,000 feet had given us excitement, anxiety, and occasional fear… This present stretch was just hard, laborious hiking.  The thought crossed my mind (and I’m sure Chaz was no different) that I would love to just lie down and fall asleep.  Throughout all of this, Chaz never once whined or complained!  If he mentioned sore legs or such, it was in a way that informed, not a way of asking for pity or… well… whining.  Again, his maturity and level headedness astounded me.  He was an incredible trooper!   Getting back to the exhaustion factor, yes!, we despised that mountain at times.  Our muscles were in pain, and the exhaustion was horrendous… but we still loved every moment of it.  I’ll get more into this later, but I don’t think if given an option, either of us would have done one thing different.

   From here on, I carried both the backpack and the duffle bag.  Chaz was genuine in his appreciation, but gave only a bit of a protest.  I knew how worn he was feeling, and I didn’t mind at all the extra weight.  About this time, Chaz mentioned a new found sympathy… no, empathy for Samwise Gamgie in Lord of the Rings when he (Sam) offers to carry Frodo the rest of the way up Mount Doom.  Jokingly I told Chaz to not even consider it.. I wasn’t going to carry him to the peak.  J   The worry of probable thunderstorms concerned me.  We needed to reach the summit before any rain and lightning reached the peak.  Having grown up in Colorado, I am fully aware that most mountain climbing fatalities are caused by lightning.   I needed to get Chaz (and myself) to the peak and started down the mountain before 1 o’clock, the typical time for mountain rains and lightning.  With this as motivation, I drove us onward at a diminished, but still determined pace.  About half way up part two (the magenta line on the map), we both needed a substantial rest.  I was dealing with the second cluster headache of the ascent, and Chaz was complaining of a headache as well.  I made sure he drank liberally from the water bottle.  There was still plenty of water, even though while going up the ridge we agreed to dump some of the remaining water due to its weight.  Now I chose to sit and have a cancer stick, and let Chaz really rest.  I told him we would stop for ten minutes.  He asked how I would know the time without a watch (I never seem to wear one).  I simply said, “That’s how long it takes for me to smoke a cigg.”  He laughed and lay down on a spacious rock, curling up as if he were settling down for the night.  I took my time so it was probably a bit longer than the 10 minutes, but Chaz looked so peaceful I didn’t want to disturb him. 

I had earlier told Chaz of my lightning concerns, and he had kept as close an eye on the clouds as I.  At this point, though we could see clearly the many (over a dozen) other hikers that had already reached the summit.  I told Chaz we could afford a good rest because if we saw lighting or rain to the west, we could effectively dash the few remaining yards over the top before they reached us.  We were probably about 13,900 feet in elevation by now.  A quick dash, with the motivation of oncoming storms would be fairly easy at this point.

Sure enough, the few remaining yards were probably easier than any in the last 3 hours.  We reached the saddle and I think about 14,000 feet.  We contemplated turning west and actually hitting the summit of Democrat but didn’t.  The clouds were looking very ominous at this point, and we could feel the almost icy gusts that usually preclude mountain storms.  As it turned out, even throughout our descent, not one drop of rain fell, and there was never any further hint of lightning or threatening weather.  Looking back, we should have taken a very long break, gathered our strength and done the summit dash.  At the time, though, our only desire was to get down swiftly, and find the comfort of the car.  Every muscle was spent of energy, our heads were pounding, and we had no love or desire for this beast of a mountain any more.  Obviously, with our goal to hit all 14er’s before Chaz graduates from High School, we will be returning to top Lincoln and Bross.  Perhaps we will ascend Democrat properly the next time.

The descent was again long and arduous, but made easier by the company of a dozen or so hikers who were also on the trail.  The return from a peak is always a type of drudgery if you have spent most of yourself on the way up.  Now we just locked into one step following the next-type of hiking.  We did stop one for a last lay-down break, but for the most part it was just one-step-after-the-other determined hiking.

We reached the trailhead at 2:30 or so, I left Chaz at a picnic table, and went to get the car.  By 3pm we were back in Alta at the grocery store.  The cashier was an incredibly sweet lady; smirking as she noticed how delicately Chaz and I walked and moved.  She was trying to hide it, but it was a kind and understanding smirk.  She asked if we had been hiking (already knowing the answer) and we described our day as briefly as possible.  Upon hearing it was Chaz’ first 14’er, she sincerely congratulated him.  This wasn’t his first of such kudos.  On a number of occasions, fellow hikers would congratulate him as if Chaz were being welcomed into a not-so-secret society.  As if he had just been Confirmed, or joined a group like the Knights of Columbus, Chaz was welcomed as the newest member of a special and elite group.  He was now one of the climbers of 14’ers.  And when we mentioned our goal of hitting all 50+ 14’ers before his High School graduation, they gave him honor and respect in their glances. 

While planning this climb last week, Chaz expressed the desire that we not choose a mountain more suited to Zachary’s climbing level.  In Chaz’ words, he didn’t want to be “insulted” by climbing an “easy” mountain.  Now I asked him if he had reconsidered that thought.  He agreed that an insulting mountain might in fact be refreshing at this point.  Next time, we hope Zach is with us and we can climb Quandary Peak… a nice gentle hike rather than a climb.