From Peaks to Valleys: Highest Highs & Lowest Lows

Standing amidst a rocky outcropping at 12,500 feet above sea level, the wind carried my whoops and cries miles farther than my feet would carry me. A wave of joy swept through my whole body as tears flowed freely from the beauty of it all. I’d never felt so alive. 

An hour later, I stumbled down trail as a warning call of thunder rumbled above, the skies spitting cold rain. I dragged my feet through the mud as all the shooting aches and pains hit me like a ton of bricks, still miles from the day’s end.  

Such is the paradox of thru-hiking: feeling your highest highs and crashing lows ten times over every day. 

Definitely feeling the jubilance of the alpine in this moment going up Searle Pass.

As the mayhem from my week one on the Colorado Trail subsided, the realities of thru hiking have begun to set in. 

Gone are the immediate injury threats, gear mishaps, and early jitters. No longer in survival mode, I’ve settled into my trail legs just in time for the big leagues — steep, 4,000-foot climbs every day as I approach the notorious Collegiates. 

In this chapter, I find myself in a heightened state at all times: physically, from valley to alpine; and emotionally, from pure adrenaline-fueled jubilation to crushing exhaustion. 

Thru-hiking is an extreme sport, and no one can convince me otherwise. 

Highest Highs

First Taste of Alpine Air 

The climb out of Breckenridge is no joke. Unlike the intelligent, work-smarter-not-harder slackpackers, I opted to do the full 4,000-foot climb up and over to Copper with a full pack.

At the time, it seemed like a good test to get my legs ready for the upcoming beastly climbs. In hindsight, it sapped my energy for the remainder of this section. 

Yet as we climbed, I felt the life being breathed back into my body the higher we got, despite the thinning air. 

Into the mountains we go! Coming down the trail to Copper.

Breaking tree line and cresting a ridge, I immediately felt back at home in the alpine. Expansive views of Breckenridge sprawled below on one side, while Copper lay nestled in the distance. 

The cut green hills of Copper Mountain Ski Resort felt comforting and familiar, albeit a stark contrast from the slopes I frequent in the winter, sans the typical coat of white. 

Pika chirped amidst boulders as I cruised along a snaking trail across the ridge, grinning ear to ear. The terrain was difficult and rockier than I’d become accustomed to, but my body felt as though it was floating along trail. 

On the descent, I waited for my tramily as we reunited in a heap on the grass, baking in the sun’s rays and gasping for breath, all talking and laughing wildly about the climb we’d just accomplished. 

As I reclined in the sunshine and chatted with friends about the meaning of life, our core beliefs, the best trail snacks, and everything in between, I felt an immense love for these people experiencing life alongside me and a joy like never before. 

Pizza and Passes 

Another high came just the next day. After a leg-burning morning of steady upwards progress through a meadow, we broke back into the alpine tundra, where we’d stay for the next few hours. 

Fields blanketed in wildflowers, rolling hills as far as the eye could see, baby marmots, and another jaunt in the alpine fueled my day. Even the impending gray clouds of doom above me couldn’t dampen the mood as I trekked over Searle and Kokomo Pass.

After descending into Leadville for an unexpected zero to rest the legs and wait out a stormy patch, I experienced my last “highest high” of this section on a particularly tough day (see below for lows lower than the valleys we’ve climbed out of.)

Using my food-obsessed hiker brain, I packed out two slices of pizza from High Mountain Pies and basked in the glory of town food during a lunch break  It was the highlight of my day  

It’s the little wins that count. 

High Mountain Pies pizza tastes better at altitude. I don’t make the rules.

Lowest Lows

What Goes Up Must Come Down

So it goes with elated emotions and high mountain passes. 

The stretch of the CT from Breck to Leadville can be categorized as Big Time Climbing — both mornings, I woke up with my game face on, ready to tackle the uphills. 

The section from Leadville to Twin Lakes, however? That’s PUDS for days — pointless ups and downs. It’s these sneaky vert days that get me; each day was spent losing all progress we’d gained. 

The lows of the first two days came as expected. Exerting so much energy on the uphills and big mileage days left my energy sapped as I dragged into Copper. 

In true hiker trash fashion, my hiking partner and I cheffed up our backpacking meals in the ski village and drank water from the resort’s bathroom sinks as darkness descended upon us, knowing we still had miles to go before we could pitch a tent. 

Cold, tired, delirious, and drinking sink water. Yum!

Everything in me wanted to curl up in a ball and sleep on the slopes; still, we trudged on, setting up camp in the cold well after hiker midnight (for normal folks, that’s 9pm). 

PUDS

A long, 18-mile day out of Leadville was a blur of steep hills and endless ups-to-go-down. The trail was quiet today — everyone was back in town. 

Despite a midday pizza pick-me-up, this was the hardest day I’ve had on trail. From a late morning start to inclement weather, not a soul in sight, and unexpected challenging terrain, the trail took the win that day. 

iPhone camera making this terrain look flat. Don’t be fooled — the trail went up, up, up.

To add insult to injury, the weather took a turn and poured heavily on us all night, leaving me shivering in all my layers. The night’s low was 34°. Brrr. 

As they say, don’t quit on a bad day. Everything in me has questioned why I’m still hiking over the last few days.

As the daunting Collegiates loom large next, I once again feel the worries and doubts creeping back that started with me in Waterton Canyon nearly two weeks ago.

Yet it’s those small wins (like healing blisters or the promise of a warm bed in town) and the epic highs of climbing into thin air that keep me going. 

Every day, it’s one foot in front of the other. I hold on tight to those moments of pure joy, stashing them away for when I’ll need them most.