Breaking the Loop

I – Hurry Up and Wait

The trip down Mt. Elbert wasn’t a great spot to catch myself feeling small, or sad, or detached, or whatever word you want to put to it. I’m a guy who values his alone time, but alone time can feel like a grown-up version of timeout when you caught the post-summit blues; the name I decided to assign this feeling. Sounded better than depression.

Camping alone over those next few days in early July was different. Til then, every camping trip I’d ever taken circled around relaxation with a side of beer and food. This trip was about two peaks, acclimating, and the view of the route. Being a bit overeager on Elbert meant that night and the following day would also be about rehydration.

Could be a lot worse. Creek, hammock, good book, great weather, and a nice sleeping setup in a DIY truck bed tent I’d spent a chunk of the off-season designing and fabricating. I’d also taken to making my own campsite meals out of equal parts pickiness, cheapness, and I-pride-myself-on-my-campsite-cooking-ness, so if only by my own standards, I was eating well too.

Instant rice, pulled then dried chicken, and chili soup mix 🤌

Part of me couldn’t help but feel stuck there, though. A huge part of my life and, as I was shown several times but refused to accept readily, my mental wellbeing, was routine. Running, my daily workout routine, cooking for my wife, walking the dogs. I won’t do yoga the disservice, but I’ll call it stretching. Things that made up my day, apparently, had become crutches.

Can’t run and shouldn’t workout if I’m rehydrating and shooting to hike the next day. Can’t walk the dogs if they’re at home, and can’t bring ‘em if I’m planning on summiting. Can’t cook dinner for my wife if she’s not here. For a guy who’d kept up with near daily training for over a year, this felt like a lot of excuses all of a sudden.

Plenty of stretching, reading, writing, some photography, jumping rope, skipping stones, swinging in the hammock, and at least four liters of water til I was taking a leak, with regularity, at least once an hour passed the time just fine. By all metrics, aside from the water thing, a pretty ideal trip out in the woods. So, why’d I feel stuck then?

Because I had work to do. Mount Massive was next on the list. The plan had been to arrive, set up camp and spend the night, then Elbert on the first full day, and Massive on the second, my lungs having benefitted from a night’s sleep at altitude before any hiking. With the dehydration hiccup due to some aforementioned overeagerness, the timeline got mangled. There was work to be done, but I’d only put myself behind. Hurry up and wait.

II – The Loop

Massive wouldn’t end up happening until six days later, partially due to weather and honestly, partially to my headspace. This was a first attempt on Massive for me. It was the longest of the three mountains I envisioned for my challenge, but needed to complete it before fully confirming that, as 13 miles and 4,400 gain is…hefty.  At this point, deciding Massive wasn’t a good fit would mean going back to the drawing boards for the whole challenge.

I also wasn’t super eager to relive the emotions that I wasn’t great at dodging on my down Elbert or around camp earlier in the trip. I’d turned around shy of summits plenty, gotten turned around on mountains before, hell, even been stuck in a storm above the trees before and I’d never felt the way I was at present.

I don’t know about other people, but a shitty thing I find in my little depressions is the loop. The loop is where you start by trying to point out ALL these things around you that are reasons to be happy. The beautiful creek and campsite, the amazing wildflowers throwing a festival of colors, these unreal mountains I’m lucky enough to get to spend my days on, my amazing wife and support network at home, my dogs…and then at the end of the loop you end up holding it against yourself that you’ve got all this amazing stuff going for yourself and you’re still finding a way to be depressed and feeling down. F***s the matter with you?

A Red Columbine in bloom

Getting myself back out there was pretty crucial for a lot of reasons. The longer I avoided Massive, the more I was starting to think it was because I had seen the route for the whole challenge, freaked, and was kind of panicking my way out of this whole thing.

The weekend had come, and with it, a lot of hikers getting to the trailhead at wild hours. Or campers arriving late/early, could be, too. I didn’t sleep great, but at this point I knew I was rehydrated, and WAY over-rested. Today was the day.

I unzipped the truck bed tent and crawled out onto the stepladder pretty early that morning, I think around 3:00am, admitting defeat to the gods of trailhead traffic. Jetboil coffee, an extra layer, and Jumping Jacks to warm up, and a hike-day favorite breakfast of mine, two packs of oatmeal with some granola thrown on top at the end for some texture. You’re welcome.

Man, I really dragged my feet that day. Like I said, up around 3:00am, and I don’t think I hit the trailhead ’til about 6:00am.

III – Bout Time

Most of the first three miles of the traditional approach on Mt. Massive is shared with a very popular backpacking trail that spans hundreds of miles from the Southwest of Colorado to the Northeast part of the state.

I felt like a nerd, but I wanted to stop every one of them and ask about their gear and their hike. What pack? What poles? What filter? Why? How far? How long? I was able to bite my tongue, though.

Gradual slopes, both up and down, making wide turns through dense woods, with every inch covered in last fall’s dropped pine needles and ancient tree roots stretching crossways beneath the trail, breaking surface here or there in a solidified wooden knot reminded me of just about every trail I’d ever been on growing up in Massachusetts.

I noted a few creek crossings on the map, so brought my lifestraw on this hike. I also had done the math, and decided to set a timer for about 42:00 minutes with a plan to consume a certain amount of water between each ringing of that alarm. It’d be guesswork, to a degree, but still a much more metered approach than my outing on Elbert.

A little ways after the last of those creek crossings, the trail splits. The Mt. Massive trail breaks west and heads uphill, while the Colorado Trail continues North. The trees begin to give way to a beautiful valley, with purples, yellows and oranges erupting from the green landscape. Before long, tree line opens to reveal the whole of Mount Massive. What. A. Beast.

Some Elephant Heads on the Mt. Massive Trail

I chugged right along though, making huge switchbacks up the side of the mountain. The views were restricted to the front range for the first half of the ascent. Some Ptarmigan scooted about, and I decided I’d call them mountain turkeys as they don’t really care about people, and don’t really care to fly too much. Some Marmots bopped along, and I decided they should be called mountain doggos, and that their owner should have them on a leash.

Columbines dotted the last of the bushes and brush, and with a bit more ascent, a beautiful view of a notch and almost a flat valley directly below the true summit reveals itself. Somewhere shy of 14,000 feet, after following a well traveled trail, you end up on the saddle, between South Massive, you guessed it, to the South, and Mount Massive to the North.

This is where the six miles prior begin to pay off, and their first installment is a doozy. Right there at the saddle is a fun little boulder to climb if you’re not put off by heights, but even if you keep your feet planted, the views on the backside of Massive are unreal. Looking down on the Continental Divide and following a valley all the way until it disappears beneath Mt. Elbert, who stands so robust, it blocks the whole view of La Plata.

From that point, the remainder of the hike to the true peak of Mt. Massive weaves you along the ridge, front to back, with uninterrupted views with every step. Rocks smashed together there, at the top of a mountain, in ways that looked like geometric waves frozen in time. Sides of whole mountains looked to have been shaved off in one great slide. Small puddles of lakes pooled at the foot of the giants that surrounded them.

Backside View as seen from the Saddle on Mt. Massive

The thing I remember most from that summit that day was the color blue. How blue every little bit of the sky that I could see appeared to be. I’d heard it’s always raining somewhere in the Rockies, but that somewhere was nowhere near me.

IV – He’ll Be Fine, Just Don’t Give Him Time to Think

Well, that felt good. I looked down at my watch and saw I’d made great time on the ascent accidentally. Maybe it was checking off a new peak, or maybe it was conquering the monster I’d built up in my mind the last few days, either way, I felt great. None of that smallness I’d felt on Elbert.

Half a peanut butter and honey sandwich, some electrolytes, and a few quick pictures, and a check of the weather. I’d be good through the hike, but storms that night and for the next few days. I made the decision to head home that afternoon, I was ready for home for a bit, and had rationalized that being acclimated at 10,000ft doesn’t do me much good unless I’m staying at 10,000ft til the attempt.

On Elbert just a few days prior, thoughts on the descent were typically about the idealized route I’d just been able to fully take into perspective and reaffirming to myself that I had to see this thing through to the end, and give this attempt my all. But coming down Mt. Massive, I couldn’t get out of my mind.

Doubt. Doubt that I could accomplish this challenge I’d spent what felt like forever preparing for. Doubt that my body could take it. Doubt that I’d have the courage to wake up and get out of bed the morning of the attempt. Doubt that I’d have what it took to tell people I failed.

The other thought I couldn’t seem to shake, was why? Why am I doing this. I’m literally weeks away from this and I’m asking myself ‘why?’

Packing up camp was quick, but somber. Somber, I guess, in part, because I didn’t have a good answer to my why question yet. Not a fully formed one anyway, or one I could put into words yet, at least.

I was racing a rain storm rolling in, so that helped to keep the pace up and get tarps, mosquito nets and tie downs folded and rolled up. After a final sweep of the camp to make sure my footprint was all but invisible, I hopped in the truck, and texted my wife I was headed home.

I’d finished the Massive hike of 13 miles in a little over 4 hours and 47 minutes. I’d climbed the two tallest peaks in Colorado on this trip. I’d spent time acclimating. I’d recovered and rehydrated well in between the hikes at altitude. I’d visualized my whole route. Why am I still off?

F***s the matter with me?