GNAST: Day Five

Starting: Camp Dick, CO
Destination: Camp Dick, CO
Distance: 0 miles

This is a lie. We drove all over RMNP today.

After setting up in the rain and finally sleeping, we woke up to a damp tent interior and a few settled puddles from where we I guess hadn't dried out the tent enough before bringing our stuff in? We were still able to dress in our mountain clothes, and the winter stuff was in my daypack in the car.

We ate granola bars for breakfast (aw yeah), allotted some trail mix, and went on a mission to find Jesus on a mountain.

Y'all. Be careful what you ask for.

Jesus is on that mountain, alright--enshrouded in storm clouds, lightning stabbing the summits, thunder cracking overhead, only appearing in brief shining glimpses as the sunlight finds the glaciers. He is awesome, and He is terrifying.

We drove from the Falls River entrance along Trail Ridge Road, which is very much along a ridge, full of hairpin switchbacks and sheer drops of thousands of feet. (Aaron drove. I'm a wimp.) We went to the Alpine Visitor's Center, along with a hundred other people also stranded by the thunderstorm that cracked with lightning and rattled with hail. Clouds and fog dropped visibility to barely two car lengths. The high for the day was predicted to be 60, low 40. That was wrong. When we reached the Alpine VC, the car thermometer read 40 even, and that was before, in a break in the storms, we climbed to the top of a 12,005-foot mountain. Up that mountain, we wore all our gear, and were warm and dry even as we were leery of lightning, and moved slowly. We're in pretty good shape. It's surprised us. But ascending from 11,700 to 12,005 was rough. My heart was hammering. (Take my blood pressure now, nurses!) An info sign along the trail read, "Why Can't I Breathe?" The air felt to be easily in the 30s. We could see our breath.

We could also see 360 degrees of mountains, glaciers, and elk herds, and the omnipresent dark fog of creeping thunderstorms.

After descending to a "safe" 8000 feet, we stopped at a different visitor center and I gave a report on the miserable road conditions. The board had a new weather prediction: high of 40, low of 30. That's felt about right. Even at lower elevations, we haven't seen it get much above 50.

On the way back to our campsite, we stopped at a southern, defunct entrance and hiked 4.5 miles to see a waterfall. The trail, when it was there, was awesome. The gravel road when it wasn't was pretty boring and rough to walk on. But it was then that the sun peeked out, that I could strip off a layer of clothes, that we could see small pockets of blue sky. We hauled over hills and rocks without losing a breath, and we haven't dehydrated a bit. We're feeling fine so far! Turns out, southeastern conditioning ain't too bad. (Cold thin air isn't unlike trying to breathe with exercise-induced asthma? My lungs/body are more like 'oh, that again? Whatevs, get your inhaler and mouth-breathe.')

By time we got back to the car, the temperature was dropping again and the dark clouds were rolling in. It was raining by time we reached our tent, and we huddled in to read until it slacked off enough that we could make dinner. We read our scriptures and I prayed, a lot, for dry air and for the rain to stop. We're not sure if our tent is condensating or if there are ground leaks, but our clothing bag is wet and most of my clothes are soaked, and the vinyl outside lining of the sleeping bag has been absorbing water, sometimes through the lined padding beneath. We have towels down and they're soaked, too. We desperately need a chance to dry out after two days of rain.

So I prayed. And right now, I can see stars... at 9500 feet.

It'll probably be freezing as the cold front finally moves on (yeeeah orographic lift ruining a thousand tourists' day), but it will be DRY, and maybe our tent won't mildew when we have to pack it up. We're already sacrificing the trail by our campsite in order to find a laundromat in Estes Park to dry our clothes. (Flexibility is key. There is no playing when it comes to wet and cold.)

With the rain stopped, we tried to make dinner. Except the previously-working butane lighter won't light, and the lantern and the stove are not compatible with their advertised fuel, which we absolutely should have tested before we left and didn't, out of lazy complacency (my dad had used them prior). So that's our own damn fault, and why we're sitting in the warm, dry car to have a picnic with Snickers bars and trail mix and to journal. And also, I swear I will sleep in the car if I have to! I'm only warm right now a) in the car and b) huddled against Aaron under 3 blankets and wearing legit snow layers. JESSICA IS A LIFE-SAVER.

So here's hoping that the temp won't drop too low, that we can get out of the mountains without ice or frost worries, that we can dry our things, and that our long day functionally crossing Wyoming tomorrow is dry. (A chance to eat our real meals would be nice, too.)