Why is it that our most embarrassing moments become our most memorable?
To this day, I still obsessively think about that time in high school when this girl… well, never mind. This is a travel blog, not a diary. Keeping it strictly travel related, I’d have to say my most humiliating moment was when I went to tell a bartender – in Ireland – how to correctly pour a Guinness.
That said, our first time hiking in Rocky Mountain National Park might be worse.
You be the judge.
Exactly 8 years ago, Amanda and I set out from Pittsburgh to spend a long weekend in Colorado. After visiting a few attractions in Denver and Colorado Springs, we eventually made our way up to Estes Park for the most anticipated part of our itinerary: exploring Rocky Mountain National Park.
To say that we were unprepared for our first hike in the Rockies would be a tremendous understatement.
Let’s put it this way: if your day begins with packing Subway footlongs into one of those drawstring bags that they give away at job fairs, you know you’re in trouble.
But with lunch packed, sneakers laced and park map in hand, our journey began.
The clock was approaching noon by the time we reached the trailhead. Sure, I had read about the routine afternoon thunderstorms in Colorado, and that you should be on your way down the mountain before noon, but the sun was shining and there was not a cloud in the sky. Our late start and nonexistent rain gear seemed inconsequential.
The objective of this increasingly haphazard plan was Flat Top Mountain. At 8.2 miles and 2,870’ of elevation gain it was admittedly ambitious. While this would be our first attempt at a hike over 7 miles, I was confident that our time spent traipsing around the Pennsylvania wilderness would translate to effortlessly reaching the summit. (Spoiler alert: it didn’t).
Once on the trail, it didn’t take long to realize the Rocky Mountains are a different animal.
It was slow going from the beginning. While our legs felt strong, our lungs struggled to keep up. Photo opportunities soon turned into excuses to rest. Like the scenery, the altitude was breathtaking.
With most trails in the park at or above 10,000’ elevation, you experience about 30% less oxygen than at sea level. The air is noticeably thinner. It’s no coincidence that the longest field goal in NFL history occurred in Denver. And while I’ve yet to hit a homer in our COED softball league, the ball now easily makes it out of the infield!
Interestingly enough, there are measures you can take to mitigate the odds of altitude sickness ruining your trip to the mountains. The 6 Golden Rules of Hiking at Altitude by Dr. Peter Hackett, founder of the Institute for Altitude Medicine, is a good place to start. To no surprise, we went 0 for 6.
On the trail, the hours passed as slowly as the miles. When we finally made it above tree line, our optimism kicked in. It was at this moment when we uttered a phrase that has since been stricken from our vocabulary: “we should almost be at the top.” May I propose Golden Rule #7: Never say you are almost there. You’re not.
If A Series of Unfortunate Events had been based on a true story, it might go something like this:
Right on schedule, the storm clouds rolled in. With thunder and lightning in the distance, we asked a descending hiker if we were close to the summit. “Maybe halfway,” he cautiously told us. Sensing our ineptitude, the hiker strongly advised us against continuing up the mountain. While he didn’t flat out call us dumb tourists, his expression spoke volumes.
As the rain started picking up, we decided our best course of action was to take shelter and refuel while the storm passed. With no trees nearby, our “shelter” consisted of us crouching under a sad-looking shrub on the side of the mountain.
Remember those Subway sandwiches? Well, it turns out the combination of heat, rain and back sweat will turn a Subway hoagie into a soggy, sloppy mess.
You should have seen our faces when, on our next hike, we discovered CLIF Bars.
Bruised egos aside, and with the thunder drawing near, we made our first and only good decision of that day and scurried down the mountain. Colorado is home to the 4th most lightning strike fatalities per year in the country – a statistic we did not wish to contribute to.
Later that night, we took stock of our situation from the safety of a local brewery. Many errors were made that day; including our ability to accurately assess the elevation, the weather, and our general level of fitness.
The mountains conquered us, but we vowed to return.
Upon returning to Pittsburgh, we quickly fell back into the rut that we both knew – whether consciously or not – we wanted to escape. That feeling of being comfortable, yet restrained. Predictable. Literally the exact opposite of the emotions we encountered in Rocky Mountain National Park.
The Rockies provided a sense of adventure that had been missing in our lives. Freedom. With renewed urgency, plans to relocate out west were soon set in motion.
A real life example of “The mountains are calling and I must go,” as cliché as that sounds.
Perhaps it was a blessing we didn’t reach the summit that day. More likely, it’s a blessing we didn’t die.
As I sit here years later, I regrettably am still unable to say that we have stood atop Flat Top Mountain. I could blame it on the pristine alpine lakes that now grab our attention; or that the mountain is overlooked for not being a “14er.” Truth is, Flat Top is an old wound that we’re not quite ready to reopen.
If anything, let this be a lesson:
The next time you think you are at a low point in life, imagine sitting hunched under a shrub on the side of a mountain in the middle of thunderstorm, eating a mushy Subway sandwich.
Life won’t seem so bad.
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