Giles Family Reunion
7-26-04 – 7-31-04Alright, enough procrastination, it’s time to release this beast of a post. Prepare yourself for a chronicle of Biblical proportions (long lists of names, miraculous happenings, and sightings of prophets. Well, maybe not that last one). This is probably terribly dull to read, since it involves so many people and places, but hopefully the photos will be entertaining. (Note: Giles is my Mom's side of the family. I hope you didn't need a note to realize that, hehe...)
MondayWe set off for Estes Park at 9:00 AM. I rode in our van with my Dad, Joe, Tanner and Hannah. My uncle Chuck, aunt Mary, Elizabeth, Megan, and Regis rode in the Sequoia, and my Mom and Granddad rode in his truck. We met up with my uncle Jimmy and aunt Gail at a rather crappy restaurant in Estes Park. It was great to see both of them, because the last time I saw them I was about seven years old. The waitress was awfully rude, but it was humorous to watch. For example, when she brought our drinks, Joe tasted his and noticed that it was a Diet Dr. Pepper instead of a regular. He said, “Excuse me, but I ordered a regular Dr. Pepper, and this is diet,” the lady frowned at him and said, “You ordered diet.” She walked away. Later she brought him a regular Dr. Pepper, but repeated, “You ordered diet.” My cousin Regis asked the waitress for a straw, and she pointed to the far side of the table and said, “it should be over there.” When Regis turned her head, the waitress tossed a straw in front of her. I have no idea what the point of that infantile trick was, because everyone at the table except Regis saw what she did. Joe and I both ordered nachos, but mine tasted like dog pee, so I didn’t eat much (and no, I have not tasted dog pee before, but I bet it tastes like those nachos). After our abysmal lunch, we drove up a mountain road to our cabins. The location was perfect: in a canyon right next to a river. The scenery was stunning.
El rio
The cabins
Hannah and Regis enjoyed chasing squirrels and chipmunks around. They were in a constant state of awe since they are from Miami and rarely leave the big city. The rest of the afternoon we settled into our cabins and went fishing on the river. We spent a few hours out there with the sun and mosquitoes, but we didn’t catch anything.
Uncle Chuck fishing
I almost caught “something”: I spotted a fish riding the current right by the bridge, and I tried for a good twenty minutes to snag him. I couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t bite; I used three types of bait, two sizes of hooks, I dangled the bait right in front of his nose, and I let the current carry it past him. Uncle Chuck came over after I expressed my irritation at the stupid fish, and he said, “That’s a plastic bag!” I didn’t believe him (or rather, my pride did not allow me to believe him), so I went down to the water to check it out. Sure enough, it was part of a plastic bag. I decided that I had had enough fishing for one day.
Joe and Tanner
I talked to my aunt Gail for awhile. She’s a very interesting person, and we have much in common (we like the same movies, books, etc.). She has published multiple novels in the last few years, and she gave us signed copies of her latest book. Chuck and I talked to uncle Jimmy about our fourteener fixation, and he told us that in his state of Alaska they don’t even name fourteeners.
TuesdayMy uncle Chuck, my Dad, Tanner, Megan, Regis and I woke up at 4:30 AM, ate a quick breakfast, then left for Gray’s and Torrey’s Peaks. Everyone who didn’t go with us went to Rocky Mountain National Forest to do some high-altitude sight-seeing along the continental divide. The drive from Estes Park to I-70 took us along a scenic route through Boulder. When we arrived at the Stephen’s Gulch road, we discovered that part of the dirt road was terribly washed out and impassible. We had to walk an extra 1.5 miles just to get to the trailhead (talk about feeling demoralized).
Cabin near the Stephen's Gulch trail
After literally five minutes of walking, Megan had to stop because she was beginning to get a blister on her ankle. I tossed her an extra pair of super-thick hiking socks, and she put them on over her other socks. I knew that I was in for a long day when we had to stop a few times to rest even before we were on the trail. We started by letting the slower people set the pace (i.e. Regis, Megan, Chuck, and my Dad), but soon Tanner and I were so frustrated by their sluggishness that we assumed the lead. When we arrived at the trailhead, Regis looked like she was ready to collapse. For the second time that day I realized that it would be a very long day, indeed. We hiked for two more miles when uncle Chuck noticed that the barometric pressure didn’t look good and clouds were forming on the peaks. He said that we needed to turn back.
Dad with Gray's & Torrey's on the horizon
Rest break
I was so frustrated, especially because it was only 10:30 AM. The weather shouldn’t have been so bad that early! So, we had to turn back. Later we met a few ladies on the road who had gone on a little farther than us. They said that at about 11 AM it began to thunder and snow heavily. I guess it was a good thing that we turned back, but I was still disappointed. Regis really couldn’t understand how I could have possibly been upset, and she made fun of me (and that really didn’t help my mood). For the second time in one month, my trip up Gray’s and Torrey’s was thwarted by unforeseen circumstances.
Gray's (left) & Torrey's (right) Peaks
Wednesday
Everyone except aunt Mary, my Mom, and aunt Gail and uncle Jimmy went rafting. We split up into two groups: the “taste of whitewater” group (the easy trip), and the “blast of whitewater” group (the harder trip). I was in the latter group, of course, along with Joe, Tanner, and my Dad. The rafting was a bit disappointing, actually. Last year we went on the Royal Gorge route on the Arkansas river when it was running at over 3,500 CFS and it was simply amazing. The Cache la Poudre river was only running at 500 CFS, so it was much slower and rockier (and therefore more technically challenging and hazardous). It was also less fun. Joe, Tanner, my Dad and I shared our raft with a man from Kansas City and his 13 year old son (and the guide, of course). As seasoned whitewater veterans, Joe, my Dad and I were comfortable with rowing in synch with each other, and Tanner caught on quick. The Kansas guys, though, were horrendous. My Dad and I were in the very front with the Kansas dad behind me and his son behind my Dad. The dad kept smacking me with his oar every time he would paddle! And to make matters worse, he simply could not row in synch with us. His son was much worse. Even the guide pointed out that he was “doing more splashing than paddling.” We basically had two useless companions, and on a few class four runs they actually screwed us up a bit; we needed all the power we could get to circumvent a couple of nasty whirlpools, but they couldn’t help at all, so we had a few scares when the guide kept screaming, “Paddle! Paddle! Paddle!” and we weren’t moving at all. The rapids were not as frightening as the Royal Gorge, though, since the water wasn’t running as fast. The guide did let us know that the consequences of falling out of the raft were much more severe with the low water level. The highlight of the trip was at the end of the day. We came to a slower, less rocky bend in the river and saw numerous rafts on the shore, including our family who went on the “taste of whitewater” trip. As we sailed a little further, I spotted my cousin Regis in the middle of the river with only her head above the water. She zoomed past us, and I yelled to my Dad. We both began to panic. Why wasn’t anyone trying to rescue her?! Seconds later Megan swam by, laughing. We soon figured out that this was an area of the river where the guides allowed swimming. The river became very shallow, so there was little chance of getting swept away. Joe, Tanner, and I hopped out of our raft and waded upstream to a small rapid. It was so much fun to jump into the current and let it carry us down the river! We did it a few times, then got back into the raft and went downriver.
When we returned to our cabin, we went fishing, caught nothing, but saw a group of female elk drinking at the river.
A crazy game of poker (uncle Chuck, Granddad, uncle Jimmy)
Tanner and Joe do . . . nothing
Thursday
I actually had a chance to rest today. I woke up a little after 8:00 AM, packed all my crap, took fifty-seven-thousand farewell photos with my relatives, loaded up our van, and left Estes Park. We ate at Applebee’s in Boulder, and our waitress was cute. In the evening everyone except me went to the Flying W Ranch, and I stayed home and prepared for the Mount of the Holy Cross trip the next day.
The kids
The adults
Friday and Saturday
My Dad and I met uncle Chuck at his hotel at 6:30 AM, ate a breakfast of greasy sausages, and rushed off to Golden. We met Josh Dorr and his friend Mike outside of Josh’s house at 8:00 AM, shoved all of their gear into our van, and raced off. The trailhead was only accessible by way of an 8.9 mile dirt road. 8.9 miles on a dirt road takes a very long time, especially in a two-wheel-drive vehicle. Every few miles we encountered a vehicle coming the opposite direction, and we (or the other vehicle) had to pull as close to the edge as possible or back up to a wider spot. I’ve been on much more dangerous mountain roads (Nebaj, namely), but it still was not an enjoyable drive. When we hit the trail, we had only gone about one-tenth of a mile when my Dad and my uncle began to lag behind. They told me, Josh, and Mike to head on to the campsite and meet them later.
Josh and Mike study the map
Trail to the campsite
The three of us hiked on, and after awhile reached the campsites. I was greatly impressed by the camp location: right next to a large stream with a perfect view of Mount of the Holy Cross looming above the trees like an angry Catholic schoolmaster promising to spank us. We set up camp and waited about an hour for my Dad and my uncle to arrive. As we waited, Josh and Mike ate some sandwiches, but I had forgotten to pack anything for lunch. I ate a power bar.
My lovely tent
It began to rain soon after my Dad and uncle arrived, so we helped them set up their tents. After a few minutes of light rain, it began to sleet. We all had water-proof jackets, so we stayed dry, but I had to rush over to my tent every few minutes to clear away the sleet so it didn’t collapse through the roof. When the sky cleared up, the mosquitoes came out en masse. Josh and Mike decided to scout the trail a little, and Dad, Chuck, and I went fishing. We spent a few hours, but once again we did not catch anything (although we did see a few beautiful rainbow trout). I explored the area a bit and discovered a waterfall to the south of our camp. It looked like a superb fishing location, what with the deep water at the base of the falls and the innumerable swirling pools near the bank. But alas, it was not a good place. I believe that our bait was to blame, actually. If we had used live bait or flies instead of canned synth-crap, our luck would have improved.
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Chuck fishing
We returned to camp and ate some beef stroganoff (my first freeze-dried backpacking food experience). My Dad accidentally spilled a third of his share next to my tent. He kicked at it a little, then left it. I quickly reminded him that I didn’t want any bears sniffing around my tent in the night, so he scooped it up and tossed it into the bushes a few yards away. After dinner, we still had a few hours of light left, and we were all a little bored. Chuck pulled out a tiny deck of playing cards, and we played poker for pine cones. He showed us a few cool games, and we enjoyed the diversion.
Pinecone poker
As we played, my Dad spotted a large snowshoe hare hopping into our camp. I was amazed at its bravado, because I was able to get to within ten feet to take its picture. Everyone began to joke that we hoped the rabbit would be our only visitor, but a couple minutes later a fox wandered into our camp. It ran right over to my tent and sniffed around (doubtlessly searching for the spilled stroganoff. Thanks Dad), then it wandered over to my Dad’s tent. When it left, we began to wonder who our next visitor might be. A mountain lion? A bear? But the fox was the last large animal that we saw (although my Dad swears he heard snapping twigs near his tent in the night). It began to rain, and we all retired to our tents. I fell asleep to the sound of rain tapping the rain fly over my head.
Rabbit! Rabbit!
Fox by my tent
We awoke at 5 AM and it was still completely dark. I didn’t bring my flashlight (I only own a 14 pound Maglight), so I stumbled to my Dad’s tent and borrowed his. When everyone was out of their tents, we had breakfast. My Dad added too much water to our freeze-dried bacon and eggs, and I was afraid that I would throw up if I finished the whole pouch, so I sealed it up and tossed it into our trash bag. We set off, once again leaving Dad and Chuck behind. I realized after a little while that the murderous pace set by Mike and Josh would soon exhaust me completely, and I also felt bad leaving the old guys behind, so I told Josh and Mike to go on without me. Dad and Chuck met up with me on the trail a little later, and we continued on. The trail wasn’t too bad at first, but it was pretty steep. After awhile we reached my favorite part of the whole trip: a vast class 2 boulder field. I found hiking over the rocks to be much more fun than hiking on the trail, but after hours and hours it began to grow old.
Dad and Chuck
Holy Cross summit 'peaks' over boulder field (no pun intended, I swear)
A bit of snow
We met Josh and Mike on their way down from the summit, and they said from the point we were at that it didn’t take them very long to reach the summit. Well, it took us quite awhile. I found the last stretch to be the hardest part of the trail. It was the roughest terrain and very steep elevation gain. I made it to the top first, then my Dad, then Chuck. The view was astounding. A couple of guys were actually smoking nearby, and I’m not sure if that was wise; inhaling cigarette smoke at 14,005 feet may not be the best idea. After we took some photos, we began the journey back.
Andy on the summit
It went quickly and smoothly (compared to the ascent). The only difficult part was when we noticed storm clouds rolling in and we still had most of the boulder field to traverse. We lost the trail at one point and couldn’t spot any cairns, so my Dad went to the east to scout out a good path. He went over a pile of rocks, so we couldn’t see him for a few minutes. Chuck began to freak out about the clouds (he seemed to be extremely afraid of lightning, but with good reason). He decided that we should just trail-blaze down to the treeline as fast as possible, so we both started shouting for my Dad. The wind was so strong that we could barely even hear each other, much less my Dad, so I ran off to find him. I climbed over some rocks and saw him sitting peacefully by a cairn eating a power bar. I called to Chuck, and we managed to find the trail again and soon we were back in the treeline. We made it back to camp, where Josh and Mike had been resting for the past two or three hours. Around that time I began to feel very tired, but we had to immediately pack up our tents and set off again. I was afraid for my Dad and Chuck, because they were even more tired than I was. The trail back to our van was arduous because we had to climb out of the valley to a pass, then we had to go back down again. They started doing something that really slowed us down more: my Dad would walk fifty paces then stop and rest, then Chuck would catch up with him, rest, then repeat. This leapfrog method probably added an hour to our return trip. I walked far ahead of them and sat under the shade of a pine tree for thirty minutes and regained my strength. Josh and Mike arrived at the parking lot about an hour ahead of us, where they waited patiently and did not curse our slow pace even once.
Mount of the Holy Cross
We dropped Josh and Mike off in Golden. For dinner we ate at Traildust in Denver. It was entertaining because the three of us looked awful: I hadn’t shaved in a week, we were covered with dust and mud, we were sunburned, and our clothes smelled and looked disgusting. We had never been there, but Josh recommended it highly. I ordered a porterhouse steak and extra-tall mug of Coors, and Chuck ordered the same. When I return to civilization after a trip of this sort, all I can think of is meat, and I ate far more than necessary that night.
I’m relieved that the reunion is over now, but it was a lot of fun. Back to reality (sigh).
