Mt. Democrat-Cameron-Lincoln-Bross 8.28.16

Today I made the attempt to hike four 14ers in one day. 14ers are no easy feat in Colorado. There are 53 mountains in Colorado with an elevation of at least 14,000 feet, and many people have it on their bucket list to climb all of them. Not me. I want to do some, don't get me wrong, but I'll be okay with my life if I never do all 53.

Today, 4 were almost knocked off the list. 

The good, fun, ambitious intentions were there to start with. But nothing can prepare you for unexpected snow storms in August, asthma attacks at 14k feet, and a rocky death march down a steep cliff.

Mounts Democrat, Cameron, Lincoln, and Bross are known for being those 14ers that you can conquer all in one day. To reach them all, it's a 7.25 mile loop, and most websites say you can do them all together in under 6 hours. LIES.

So when Joe, who I often refer to as my mountain-adventure buddy ("wanna go ski?" "yup." "wanna go hike?" "yup." "wanna go [insert mountain activity here]?" "yup.") asked me if I wanted to do all 4 of these mountains in a day, of course I said yes!

We car-camped overnight at the base of the mountain, and got started at 3:30am. I know, we are literally insane. We (mostly I) really wanted to catch the sunrise over the mountains from the top of the first of the four: Mount Democrat.

3:30am came really quick, and off we went - with some confusion in the pitch dark at first. Without having a map (oops), we used our headlamps to figure out where to go. Once on the trail, realizing we couldn't see anything at all except the immediate 2 feet in front of us, we trusted our legs to just take us straight upwards. And it was just straight upwards.

About half way up, I had near-death experience numero uno: I had an unexpected asthma attack. Joe was about 70 feet up the mountain from me, and had my inhaler with him. He happened to stop and turn around, but since I couldn't muster up the air in my lungs to scream for help, I trudged up a few more feet before he could tell something was up. Joe raced down to me with my inhaler and helped me calm down for a few minutes. Asthma is literally one of the worst things you can have if you love the mountains as much as I do. It just puts a damper on everything you want to accomplish.

Onwards. It was snowing as the sun started rising, and I felt the push to just get to the top as fast as I could. "As fast as I could" means like 2mph faster than a snail.

We didn't beat the sun to the very top, but we were almost at the summit as it started to rise. So I snapped this quick picture before hiking the insane snowy switchbacks to the tip top.

Once at the very top, we took the obligatory picture with the mountain name and elevation :)

It was freezing up at the top, but the views were so worth it. And as usual, the picture does NOT do it justice:

We began the descent from Mt. Democrat, and got ready to go over to Mt. Cameron. Thanks to the snow, the hike over was nothing but slippery. Down...and up...was filled with moments of pure terror. For real.

I had a second asthma attack. This one was worse. I cried during it. I couldn't help it. I felt like my lungs had been shut off and my throat was closing up. I started to see black spots and I put my head down thinking "this is it, this is how I die." Thank God for albuterol.

And then the last little bit of the trail up to Cameron was honest-to-God one foot away from falling off the mountain to imminent death. Joe and I were starting to feel DONE at this point.

BUT we still got those obligatory top of the 14er pics!

This is the look of defeat, people.

Meanwhile, Joe is killing it.

It was at this point that a snow storm was really rolling in. We couldn't even see Mt. Lincoln. So, we opted not to do it. Which we both were okay with. We talked to someone at the top of Cameron that told us the saddle to Lincoln was just like the one to Cameron - on the edge of imminent death. We weren't willing to risk our lives with limited visibility for that.

But I still count us as having conquered Lincoln, because we walked pretty darn close to it, and I will never be that close to it again in my life. In an AUGUST SNOW STORM nonetheless.

So on we went to Mt. Bross. We heard it was an easy walk on the saddle over to the mountain, but the hike down would be rough. It looked like the snow storm was moving past Bross, so we opted to try it out instead of turning back down the imminent-death march of Cameron.

Off we went, assuming these clouds will blow over at Bross...

Guess what? THEY DIDN'T. The snow came down even harder.

This picture also does not do the snow justice. We also took a video saying our final goodbyes to our families, just in case we didn't make it down. We were laughing and totally joking in the video...but we shouldn't have been. Because the hardest and most dangerous part of the hike had yet to come.

Mt. Bross is a biatch.

I'm okay never going to that mountain again.

It was so treacherous, dangerous, scary, slippery, and had no clear markings of where you are supposed to go.

During this part of the hike, we started hearing something. Neither one of us could place the weird scratching, squealing sound. It wasn't until about 30 minutes later that we ran into some other hikers on this desolate mountain that they told us it was static from lightening. (This is near-death experience number...8?? 9??) CRAZY.

We stopped for a moment of semi-clear skis to snap a picture. The mountain to the right is Mt. Democrat - our first mountain of the day. Yes, we walked THAT FAR.

We opted to not fully summit Bross, because again, we were close enough, the snow was getting super dangerous, and we knew that we were already above 14,000 feet.

So down we went. And went. And went. And went. It seemed like this God forsaken mountain would never end. At one point, it looked like the trail split, and we were so unsure which way to go down. We chose the way that looked like towards the bottom it caught a clearly marked trail. It ended up being the correct trail, but INCORRECT in every other aspect of life. It was steep straight down a rocky cliff, which I call the rocky death march. Although...we slid down rather than marched.

During this final descent which took TWO HOURS, I had the following thoughts running through my mind:

1. If I just sit down right here, will someone come save me?
2. If I just sit down right here, and no one comes to save me, will animals eat me, or will I just become a creepy pile of bones that people will find a century from now?
3. Is it possible to intentionally break a bone so Joe has to carry me down?
4. Fracture a bone?
5. Twist an ankle?
6. Sprain something?
7. Will Joe just carry me if I'm not even hurt?
8. Can someone just drop a nuke on this mountain so it doesn't exist anymore?
9. I hate this mountain.
10. I hate hiking.
11. I hate rocks.
12. I specifically hate this hike on this mountain, and these specific rocks.
13. If I slip down one more rock, I'm going to stab it with something.
14. Whoever Bross is, I'm going to kill him. And if he's already dead, I curse his descendants and all the hikes they do. May they be as miserable as I am.
15. Every curse word known to man.

It. Was. Brutal.

We finally made it to the base of the mountain where there were signs of actual life:

While Joe stopped at the bathroom at the trailhead, I sat on a rock, looked out onto this valley, and reflected on the day. I decided that I don't need to ever visit this place again. Like, ever. MAYBE if a friend wanted to do Democrat...I'd do it in June or July when there is no chance of snow (but then again, was there supposed to be snow in August??). But I'm not going to ever offer the opportunity up to someone. Heck no.

I also cried a few tears. As embarrassing as that is, I couldn't help it. I was grateful that we made it down alive, because I truly thought a few times up there that one of us would be a goner. I thanked God for keeping us safe, our feet steady (even in the slippery moments), and our hearts and lungs working (for the most part).

Joe and I quietly walked back to the car, wincing with each step we took. We stripped down to the non-muddy clothing layers, sat down in the car and let out the biggest sigh ever. I have never been happier to have a hot shower, a glass of wine, and my cozy bed waiting for me.

Tip: If you're going to do these 14ers, bring a map, ski poles or hiking sticks, yaktrax, an inhaler, lots of water, and be prepared to maybe meet your maker.

Meanwhile, I'll be in bed wondering if it's possible to ever get out.

xo, Jaclyn