Rocky Mountain Majesty

It’s almost a week since I’ve returned from saving Mother Earth and I still feel that she wasn’t worth saving. In many ways I enjoyed the trip – the Sangre de Cristos are a beautiful mountain range and I loved being outside – but the overwhelming feeling is a feeling of futility. The majority of the time was spent working and the majority of the work seemed inefficient or ineffective. Whether it was laboring to slowly build up a trail so that, after some 200 cumulative man hours, it looked slightly more like a trail rather than a scrambled jumble of rocks or it was digging up parts of the hill side to fill in holes in other parts of the hillside it just seemed like we were fighting a losing battle. People were still hiking off trail. Many of the transplants likely died. I still don’t have any idea why we moved half of the rocks we did. The alpine environment was simply too fragile and mankind is simply too determined to enjoy it for our work to have any lasting significance I feel. Plus, especially in pertaining to our reconstruction efforts, it seems like we just despoiled one area of land in a desperate attempt to reclaim another previously despoiled area of land. Oh wells, let us not lament such things. They don’t make for very good stories. Marmots, on the other hand, make for great protagonists.

Marmots, for those not in the know, are essentially big, friendly mountain beavers that make sounds eerily similar to the sounds of an electronic pager. Their significantly smaller and more skittish friends the pica make noises exactly like electronic pagers. I am fairly confident they use this chorus of sound to coordinate their raids on our camp as they came to visit whenever they had the chance. Our leaders said it was because they’d eat anything and everything if given the opportunity, but I like to think they were just saying hello – saying hello by eating our stuff and licking up our urine that is. They never touched my gear, though, and for that I am grateful. I’d say I have a Planeteer like ability to bond with animals, but we all know no one liked Ma-Ti.

Marmots aside, the rest of the trip was for the most part enjoyable. Certainly met some interesting people and interesting personalities. From amicable old, nuclear plant workers who called me “doc;” to young, naïve Anglican-Tibetan Buddhists who could not stop talking; to extroverted, amateur snowboarding occupational therapists; and to a variety of people of all ages a little too in touch with nature and perhaps not in touch enough with the rest of the world it was an eclectic group. I am now also familiar with the term “cougar” as well so all the kids will respect my street kred once again. And I am now familiar with what congestive heart failure must feel like as physical exertion at 12,000 feet is essentially the shortest path to shortness of breath. There were mornings when I woke up and loathed getting out of bed, but, to be corny, I never regretted doing so.

I cannot let the account end here, however, as there was certainly much more to be experienced.

The Wag system, for example, was a unique treat. Although defecating in a glorified bucket was easy to get accustomed to, pooping out in the open with a frozen mountain wind blowing through your shorts was not. I never had to clean the Wag, but I can easily say I will not miss it.

The hike atop Crestone Peak was a joy and considerably easier than I was expecting. I may not be able to carry a pack worthy my salt, but I can certainly climb like a monkey when necessary. To be able to see the Great Sand Dunes National Park from atop a mountain was also an amazing opportunity.

And finally, jumping into an alpine lake was an experience I will never forget and hopefully never repeat. I had never felt uncontrolled reactive physiology before, but after jumping into that lake there was little I could do to stop myself from breathing 30 times a minute. My first and only instinct was to gasp for air as frequently and as strongly as I could. That and scream. Interestingly enough, however, the experience of getting out of the water was remarkably enjoyable and satisfying. Despite the air around the lake being relatively chilly itself as well, removing myself from the pool was profoundly calming and warming. With just a shirt and some pants on I felt great. Relaxed and rejuvenated even. My heart may have been a little worse for wear, but there’s a satisfying feeling that comes after experiencing nature’s stress test. I had absolutely no desire to jump in again at that moment, but one of the best moments was walking back to camp, damp from the lake, and headed to some hot chocolate and a couple dozen rounds of Speed.

My pictures....
Ben's pictures....
Jay's pictures....