Mt. Democrat (14,148 ft.)
Mt. Lincoln (14,286 ft.)
Mt. Bross (14,172 ft.)
9-6-04

Before I launch into my customary trip narrative, I’d like to briefly mention the history of these peaks (namely Lincoln). All three were heavily mined in the 1800’s, and dozens of collapsed mineshafts and other structures still remain near the trails. In the 1860’s, miners often raced each other to the summits and back to their mining camps. After one such excursion, a miner returned to camp and was so exhilarated by the climb that he called a meeting to name the mountain he had just ascended. Someone suggested calling it Mt. Lincoln, after the current president, and it was unanimous. The miners sent a load of gold worth $800 to president Lincoln as well as news that the mountain had been named after him. The president dispatched a messenger, and the message he delivered was one of the last things Lincoln wrote before he was assassinated. Ah, patriotism.

This fourteener trip was very different from previous trips, mainly because only my Dad and I went, but also because we had surprising and intensely frustrating setback. We left home at 3:30 AM (I only got about three hours of sleep). I noticed that we only had half a tank of gas remaining before we were out of town, and I mentioned it to my Dad. He said that we had more than enough to get us there and that we could find a gas station later. The drive to Alma was oddly enjoyable. For one thing, we passed less than a dozen cars the whole way. There’s something magical about being exhausted, having a terrible stomach ache, and knowing that you have one heck of a hike ahead of you. The coolest part of the drive was when we stopped on the side of the road about 20 miles from Fairplay (potty break). The only light we could see was from the moon and the stars, and we couldn’t hear anything except for the wind. It’s wonderful to leave the city every now and then.

It was freezing in Alma (below freezing, actually: 28 degrees). We brought all kinds of winter gear (I even brought long underwear, just in case), so we were well-prepared. We realized that the dirt road to Kite Lake was 6 miles, and we only had enough gas to make it three miles. Since it was 5 AM, there was no activity in town, and the nearest gas station was in Fairplay (six miles away). We parked in front of a liquor store (the highest liquor store in America, a sign on the window read). Dad scouted around town for a little while (it didn’t take long, since the population is about 100 people), and he confirmed that no one was around and there were no gas stations. Side note: I just noticed that I tend to use parenthesis way too often (oh well). I suggested that he call AAA. The person on the phone said that someone would come by to bring us gas in less than an hour, guaranteed. It took two and a half hours. I brought a book with me, but I wasn’t feeling good and I only read about ten pages. For most of the time we waited for AAA, I kept my eyes on the highway, hoping that the guy would show up soon so we wouldn’t get caught in a thunderstorm before we could ascend all three summits. When he arrived and added a couple of gallons to our tank, we drove up the dirt road and parked.

We hit the Kite Lake trail at 8:30 AM, and I was immediately dismayed by the number of hikers around us. It was labor day, so I had been expected to meet a few people on the trail, but I was not ready for that many. Two groups of about 20 people each clogged the trail more than anyone else, and every member of the group seemed to be carrying a walkie-talkie and shouting into it incessantly about llamas and alpacas. I’ve always been a fan of inside jokes, but that llama thing went too far (note: if you are confused right now, don’t worry, it’s not important). Near the summit of Democrat, I became so irritated as a group passed us that I said to my dad (in a loud voice), “I used to think climbing mountains was all about solitude and enjoying nature. Now I feel like I’ve come to someone’s family reunion.” A lady nearby overheard and gave me a nasty scowl. I smiled back.


Ice crystals


Mt. Democrat

We ascended Democrat first, then returned to the saddle connected to Cameron, then we hiked over to Lincoln, and finally Bross. Democrat was the most difficult of the three, mostly because of the seemingly infinite switchbacks and class 2 boulder field (although it was nothing compared to Mount of the Holy Cross).


Andy on Democrat (sexy pose)


Dad with Bross in background

I found Cameron to be the next hardest of the peaks, but unfortunately it is not an official fourteener, despite the fact that its summit is at 14, 238 ft. It is not a true fourteener because it only rises 157 ft. from the saddle it shares with Lincoln, and to be a fourteener it must rise at least 300 ft. My Dad was disappointed by that fact, and he’s decided to embark on a campaign to make the peak official. He plans make t-shirts that say “Cameron Counts!” I’m sure he was joking.


Mt. Cameron . . . the non-fourteener

Lincoln is the prettiest of the three peaks, and from the summit it has an excellent view of Quandary to the north (a fourteener I hope to climb early next summer).


Mt. Lincoln

You can also see Bross perfectly, but I must say that it is the most unimpressive mountain I have ever seen. As Gerry Roach, author of Colorado’s Fourteeners, said: “this rotund peak challenges photographers to make it look dramatic.” From the photos I took, it appears that I failed. Bross is, by far, the easiest fourteener I’ve ever climbed. The summit is perfectly flat and large enough to play football on, I’ve often heard people say.


Mt. Bross in all of its . . . grandness


The summit of Bross (future home of the Denver Broncos)


Dad and Andy on Bross summit (Lincoln in the background)

After a brief rest, we headed down toward the valley. The descent was much more difficult than the ascent. The trail was steep and gravelly, and I almost slipped a hundred times. I actually enjoyed this part of the trip, because I’d rather slide down a mountain than walk down (sliding is less tiring, you see). My dad hated it, though, because he has low-cut trail-runner shoes and had to stop to scoop out rocks every few minutes. My boots kept out every single pebble.


The long way down


Mine shaft of Doom

When we were back at our van, I was tired. My eyes felt strange, and I looked in the mirror and discovered that they were terribly sunburned. I should have worn my sunglasses the whole time. My feet didn’t blister up, though; I guess I’ve done so much hiking this summer that my feet have toughened up.