stupid mountain climbing

Dear Chicken Nugget,

Just one week ago we had dinner with you, your grandparents Sue and Dale, and your Great Uncle Steve and Aunt Angelique at our favorite restaurant, Vesta.  At just two weeks old you slept through 2 1/2 hours of dinner, crowded restaurant noise, and loud background music.  You did great!

At some point in the conversation, Uncle Steve reminded your mom and I of the time we went to visit him in Albuquerque, New Mexico and went on a hike in the Sandia Mountains.  It reminded me of the poor choices your mom and I may have made in our "youth."  Climbing the mountains that day may have been one of the stupidest things we've done...

It started on a cool spring day in April when we decided to head to the mountains for a hike.  The Sandia Mountains seem to just be out of arm's reach when viewed from most of Albuquerque and as soon as we arrived there I wanted to climb them.

Uncle Steve, your Grandma Sue's older brother, is an avid hiker and skier.  He gave us a good route to climb, let us borrow two cars to park at the start and end of our planned hike, and let us borrow his hiking poles.  We were all set.

Until we arrived at the base of the mountains.  There was only one other car parked in the lot when we arrived but we decided that this was probably due to it being a weekday.  We saw the lady from the other car take off ahead of us and figured we'd have company on the trail. We never encountered her again.

As we hiked up the slow grade of the base we came upon snow on the ground.  Just some light patches of melting snow.  For a brief moment we thought about what that meant for the rest of the trail but decided that the snow might disappear later in the trail.  (Note to the future hiker in you: If there's snow at the base, there's definitely snow in the middle and snow at the top).  We simply followed the footprints left before us, thinking that someone had already climbed there, so we would be able to as well.

As we climbed on the snow got deeper.  First just a few inches, then later covering our boots.  We had not planned for large amounts of snow so we were wearing just regular hiking boots and jeans.  Nothing waterproof.  Uncle Steve had told us that a brisk pace he could do the trail in about two hours or so.  Two hours into it we were definitely not at the top and, from our viewpoint, could not see the top. 

There were parts where the trail narrowed and just off the edge you could see evergreen tree tops.  If we slipped and fell, it would be a long way down and there would be no one around to help us.  It started hitting me then that if something happened to either of us, it would be at least two hours before we got back to the parking lot to get help.  Plus, our cell phones had no signal on the side of the mountain.

Our legs started sinking into two feet of snow.  The footprints that we had been following disappeared and were replaced by snowshoe prints.  We were moving at a snail's pace.  But we kept on.  Three hours into the hike we decided that since we had gone this far, we were going to keep pushing to the top.  There were several areas where your mom and I had to lift one another out of the snow just to be able to place our next step.  We were wet, we were cold and sweating, and we had no idea what we were doing.  Not smart.

When we finally reached the crest, about four hours later, the snowshoe prints we had been following disappeared.  There was no longer a clear path to follow.  And here is where we made the first smart decision of the day: instead of making our way across the crest, with no path or discernible prints to follow, we decided to turn back.  We briefly ate lunch at the top; where a cold wind and great view accompanied us.  Then, we made our way back down the mountain.

We followed our own steps and reenacted, against our will, a few of our favorite sinking-into-the-snow scenes.  It took us about three and a half hours to get down.  What should have taken us no more than four hours round-trip, took us seven and a half hours.  We survived but it was dumb.

There's something noble about pushing on to reach your goal, about moving forward against the odds, but there's also nothing noble in climbing a snowy mountain when you're thoroughly unprepared.

Over dinner that night, Uncle Steve told us about how they sometimes have to airlift climbers off the Sandia Mountains.  We were lucky that didn't happen to us.  And yes, it was luck, there's no skill involved in stupidity.

Glad to be alive and eternally yours,

Tu papa