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Except for Pike's Peak and Mt. Evans, both of which boast smooth roads to their summits, the easiest 14,000-foot peak in Colorado may be 14,148-foot Mt. Democrat above Kite Lake in the Mosquito Range between Fairplay and Leadville.
Some years ago, a friend and I were en route to its summit when we stepped off the trail to honor multi-cultural diversity by celebrating a Native American tobacco ritual.
As we lazed among the jagged talus and admired the vastness of South Park on a clear summer day, a gaggle of bronzed and muscular folks jogged by.
One glanced over at us and was so horrified that he
broke step. How can you profane the mountain that way?
Don't you have any respect for the mountain?
At 13,000 feet or so, oxygen deprivation sets in for me,
and I was at a loss for a reply. But my friend, more
athletic than I, had a rejoinder. People who run up
mountains have no respect for them.
The jogging climber was in shorts, athletic shoes and a
T-shirt. No pack, no coat, no long pants -- no protection
if a hailstorm swept in. No warmth if he blew out a knee
and couldn't get down the mountain before sundown. Not even
a canteen. No respect whatsoever for the old saying that
the mountains don't care how they kill you.
During my days at the local paper, I often got to write stories about climbers like that who took a wrong turn coming down Mt. Shavano and ended up in dead-end McCoy Gulch, rather than on Jennings Creek drainage. Local taxpayers and volunteers got to participate in the search-and-rescue operations.
But my friend and I -- toting packs so that we could be
prepared for most hazards the mountain might offer us --
were the folks indulging in a politically incorrect act
while the jogger respected
the mountain.
The debate about what constitutes dissing a mountain has
apparently moved below timberline, now that we have an
organization known as the Fourteener Cleaners.
According to a recent Newsweek brief, these guardians of montane chastity are appalled by all the trails across the tundra left by uncaring climbers. Rather than help the situation by staying off the mountains themselves, though, these protectors of alpine virtue swipe the summit registers.
Summit registers consist of a piece of paper and a pencil, stuffed into a more or less weatherproof container (Prince Albert cans used to be popular) and cached in a cairn near the apex. If you reach the top, you sign the register. The Colorado Mountain Club maintains the registers and maintains an archive.
That hardly sounds like a major threat to our environment, but according to the Cleaners, the presence of registers encourages people to climb lots of 14ers for the wrong reason -- to brag on their peak-bagging prowess, secure in the knowledge that there's proof somewhere that they conquered the 14er.
It's the Ugly-American conquest thing,
according
to one Cleaner quoted in Newsweek. There was also a
complaint that summit register containers can break (I
recall seeing a Mason jar atop some peak) and litter
trails.
Given these disparate attitudes about altitudes, it's time to convene a summit conference which can declare which mindsets are acceptable for people en route to peak experiences. We could expect delegates from these camps:
1) Baggers. These folks don't rest easy until they've climbed all 53 (or 54, or 55, depending on who's counting and how) peaks above 14,000 feet. No mountain is respected for its scenery, terrain, view, history or geology. All that matters is the hypsometric reckoning of some surveyor.
2) Trainers. They're into the aerobic challenge, and
whatever peak they're on is a name to drop next Monday when
they're back at the law office and jogging with their
colleagues: Say, I hit my target pulse rate Saturday
afternoon on the flank of East Maroon.
3) Alpinists. It isn't just getting there, it's how you get there. Find a 5.11 route, then use the ropes, pitons, crampons and ice axe.
4) Cleaners. Either you experience the mountain the way they tell you to, or you're an arrogant threat to the ecosystem. To enforce their dictates, they steal, but their cause is just.
5) Authors. Local bookstore owners tell me that climbing guides sell quite well. Most of these books contain doleful words about how our mountains have been exploited for private gain.
My own camp probably won't be represented. The only feeling of conquest is that you've persuaded your own aching body to put one foot in front of another, or crawl if necessary, to get where you wanted to go. This gives you an intimate, and I think respectful, feeling toward the mountain.
The perfect climb comes on a day when you've got the mountain to yourself and you can take a nap on the summit after sharing your trail food with a couple of marmots.
This attitude makes us anti-social and unlikely to attend meetings. Further, with the recent popularity of the high country, there will never be another perfect solo day anyway. Some bagger, trainer or cleaner will come along and ruin it, probably by complaining about how the wrong kind of people are being allowed to climb mountains these days.
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