How It Feels to Turn Back on a "14er"

Shrill sounds of my alarm broke the black silence. The finality of it was insulting. Hadn't I just laid my head down on the pillow? And then tossed and turned for four hours cursing insomnia?

Despite my denial, three AM had arrived. It was time to get up. And make coffee. And get dressed.

The next half hour was spent in a zombie-like state making my usual cup of black coffee. Hannah and Stefanie were meeting me here, and then I would drive us to the trailhead. Time mocked me once again with the first knock on the door. We sleepily put our bags in the car, and got in with the attitude that only three AM brings: grumpy but accepting that this is how it must be.

Murder Hill

Two short hours later, we found ourselves greeted with the chill only a morning at 12,000 ft can bring. Clouds kissed the top of the massive peaks all around us; the same peaks that we aimed to conquer that day.

Unable to delay our start any longer, I asked which way they would prefer to hike.

"Do we want go up counter-clockwise, or the murder hill?" "Murder hill!" they both enthusiastically replied. We wound around a snowmelt creek, marmots, and even a few columbines. Everything seemed like it would be the perfect day.

Surrender

The closer to the summit we approached, the more unrelenting the wind became. It was impossible to hear each other, and Hannah feared for her frostbitten fingers. I gave her my gloves as we worried about the clouds that were rushing toward us despite the sun's arrival. Not wanting to injure an already hurt knee, she doubled back below the ridgeline where there had been a little respite from the constant wind.

Stefanie and I made for the summit, determined to stand on the top of at least one of our four intended mountain peaks. There was no chatter between us as we ignored the chill whipping at our sides. Talking wouldn't have mattered; I could only think of one thing:

It. was. COLD.

Frigid air whooshed through my jacket, freezing the material and piercing my body in every area that had a seam. My hands had lost all feeling—I merely saw my fingers gripping at my trekking poles. My cheeks stung and my nose ran.

Eventually, the horizon opened up to a vast expanse of hazy hills, and we knew we had made it. Unfazed at our triumph, the gusts continued to batter us as we paused for a few obligatory photos.