Purple Peaks

Heavy Thunderstorms in PM on Saturday. This was the weather forecast that I read in the paper. That probably won't effect me, I thought, but I should keep an eye on it.

Friday morning I parked my vehicle at the summit of a road at nearly 11,000 feet in elevation. I inhaled the high mountain air as I strapped an over-loaded backpack onto my body. Soon I was stepping along a faint trail on the side of the slope that led to the east, toward some less conspicuous peaks with a purple hue. I guess that's where they got their name.

I walked roughly at the level of the treeline. To my right and slanting steeply upward, the slope lay barren with nothing but copper-colored rock, strewn about in the shape of wood chips. To my left, trees and shrubs began to grow in abundance, and quickly dug a deep ravine into the earth. I negotiated this precarious trail, knowing that it kept me balanced while walking through the slant of the slope.

Below me, a thick carpet of white and yellow flowers grew.  Mountain springs freshly gushed from the hillside and I watched two bucks mosey through the knee-high growth, their heads down, cropping the plants. When one lifted his head, I saw that he had a wide rack of antlers, still in the velvet and rounded at the tips. I counted four points on each side.

As I walked, I listened for flowing water from the slopes below me. The distinction between boisterous wind, which blew across the treetops, and a gurgling rivulet of water can be faint. I heard something, but could not tell which it was.

I brought two water bottles and a canteen, but would need to refill them before my expedition was over.  I knew that a fresh stream formed at the bottom of the gully where the deer fed, but I hoped to find a spring much higher on the slopes where it would be easier to access.

After only a mile and a half of walking with the heavy pack, I found what I considered to be my home sweet home. The ground became flat in some spots and a perfect layer of grass and small white flowers grew over it, as if grown to be a cushion for my bed. A small ridge heaped up and helped block my little hamlet from the wind.  I unloaded the cumbersome pack from my shoulders, removed my camera bag, then my binoculars, and then sat down on the grass with my back resting on the flat of a large rock. It felt really good to do nothing for a minute.

I spent the next five hours exploring every peak, and vista that I could. I left my heavy backpack near the rock and exchanged it for a smaller pack where I carried my water, an apple, and Snickers bar.

There are few places on Earth that display the greatness of God more than majestic mountains. A blanket of emerald grass and wildflowers of red and lavender and amber covered the slopes, along with rock that ranged in color from gray to ocher.

Elusive little pikas raced from rock to rock, squealing loud their high-pitched warning cries. I could see them scamper across a field of boulders, only to disappear inside a crevice, deep enough and dark enough to completely evade my vision.

On the rocky slope of a minor peak, I found the skeleton of a mountain goat. The curved spine lay detached from the leg bones. The skull and horns were nowhere to be seen.

One reason I came here was to search for mountain goats. At every new vantage point I came, I would sit down and glass the expansive area before me with my binoculars. Distant patches of snow, as well as ivory-colored boulders were checked very carefully. Here and there I found clumps of their cotton-like fur and also dropping of feces. But I didn't find any goats.

I had better luck finding a herd of elk, lazily feeding on a slope far away. I counted twenty cows and calves. A much smaller herd hung out just uphill from them. I could watch both herds at the same time.

I took note of a series of purple-colored rocks that formed a spur ridge-line from the line of hills where I now walked. These were large slabs of stone, smooth on the surface with the exception of some etched lines. That looks like a fun place to explore tomorrow, I thought.

An old road of some sort had been furrowed into the hillside. I had seen it earlier, zigzagging up one of the slopes. It appeared out of use now, and certainly would only accommodate smaller vehicles such as a four-wheeler. It may have been a logging road at one time, or perhaps led to a mine somewhere on top. Whatever it was, it is nothing now but an interruption in the slope of the mountain.

I was in harsh territory. Some of these peaks lifted higher than 11,300 feet in elevation. During the winter, these ridges would be covered in several feet of snow, perhaps only melting away in July. The growing season is very short, leaving most plants small and stubby. Wind is constant, and whatever survives is stout and worn. I saw a tree on a barren slope that had grown almost perpendicular to the ground, slanting at an acute angle.

I followed a ridge-line that led north-east in direction. At the terminus, I ate a Snickers bar and enjoyed the view on another copper-colored slope, with strewn fragments of rock. I couldn't help but notice the determined wildflowers that managed to germinate and flourish, despite the rugged ground.  Small white and purple columbines grew in clusters near the summit of the peak.

The shadows cast from the pine trees below me became long, dark lines on the ground. The sun traveled closer to the prominent peaks in the west, and I knew it was time to begin my return journey to my home sweet home. My legs felt tired.

On the way back I took note of a small stream of water near the purple slabs of rock that I would explore the next day. That would be a perfect place to refill my water bottles.

As I returned back to my camp site, I revisited every vista I could, checking to see if any goats had come into the open. None had. I saw a two-point buck, feeding below and completely unaware of my watching him.

At last I arrived at my camping spot where I rolled out my foam pad and sleeping bag while I still had light. I enjoyed eating a cold military MRE while watching the sun set behind Mount Belknap. In the twilight of the sky, I watched Venus, Jupiter, and a sliver of a crescent moon, all clustered together, and all sinking into the western horizon at the same crawling pace.

Once darkness had completely settled in, the grandeur of the nighttime sky fully unrolled. Not a cloud loomed in the sky. The Milky Way bellowed like a smoky belt and I could see Sagittarius.

I wiggled into my sleeping bag and folded a tarp over my bag to break the gusts of wind that continued to blow. The last thing I looked at before removing my glasses was the Big Dipper. I saw how it was tipped at a forty-five degree angle, as if just about to pour out its contents. I knew that by morning, it would probably be upside down. That is how I would tell time. I was anxious for another day of exploration.

I awoke at approximately 4:45 AM. I lifted my head from inside my bag and gazed outside to the position of the Big Dipper. I couldn't see it. Seeking clarity, I snatched my glasses from the inside of my shoe and slid them onto my face. Once again I looked to the sky and saw no stars. I blinked and concentrated my eyes into focus. I didn't see a single star. Instead, from north to south, the sky was covered in clouds.

Wow, I thought. I wasn't expecting this so soon. For a few seconds I stayed calm, hoping that it was just a light, overcast night. Then I saw the flash of lightning from the north. These were storm clouds.

I shimmied out of my bag and grabbed my phone from my backpack. I turned it on and learned the true time: 4:52 AM.

Anywhere on a mountain at 11,000 feet and a mile and half from my vehicle was no where to be during a violent storm. And yes, on a mountain such as this, they can become violent. I quickly recalled the forecast from the newspaper about heavy PM thunderstorms. I still had another seven hours until the PM!

Not only could a high-elevation thunderstorm drench me, but it could make for a treacherous drive down the mountain on a muddy road.

For several minutes, I sat on my bag and evaluated the situation around me. The wind still blew, but it smelled wetter now, and it blew from a different direction than it had the night before. Another flash of lightning burst in the north, and this time a delayed rumble of thunder followed.

Somewhere in the east, lightning was sparking the sky, enough to silhouette a nearby hill when it burst.

Then I turned and gave my attention to the south. The storm was supposed to be coming from this direction, which is also where the road was that I would have to travel on down the mountain. Lightning flashed there also, and instead of a nebulous flash, I saw distinct tentacles of electricity emerge from the clouds. This wasn't good.

A quick decision had to be made. The storm was apparently arriving several hours ahead of schedule. Either I could wait it out and hope that it was a fluke that would pass over, or I could pack up and hike out in the dark, hoping to beat the storm before the roads become treacherously muddy.

Another boom of thunder sounded and I immediately chose to pack up. I quickly said a little prayer and asked for clarity with my decision. From that point forward, I never doubted my choice to pack up and leave.

Light drops of rain began to fall from the air. All the sky was still dark, except for a sliver of twilight on the western horizon. That was interesting that the morning light shone in the west and not in the east, revealing that the storm was darkest and thickest in the east.

I folded the tarp and then rolled up the sleeping bag and stuffed it into its tiny bag while holding my flashlight from my mouth. Within ten minutes I was all the way packed and heaving the pack onto my shoulders.

Just then, the rain intensified its pace and for a moment I considered hunkering down beneath the boughs of a pine tree. But I didn't. I pressed forward.

My first obstacle was a small craggy hill that I chose to walk around, instead of hiking over. The rain made everything slick. I put my flashlight back into my mouth and grabbed the rocks with both hands for balance. The shrubs, now soaked, rubbed across my pant legs up to the knee. I thought that if my flashlight were to slip from my mouth and break inside the jumble of rocks at my feet, I would be in deep trouble.

I managed to make it over or across three rocky hills just like the first one. That put me on a ridge. Now, it started to hail. White pellets, the size of BB's, pelted across my left shoulder and face. At this same time, I felt that my right shoelace was untied and my boot was coming loose.

A ridge was nowhere to be during a thunderstorm. Within a second of having that exact thought, a bolt of lightning lit from somewhere behind and almost instantaneously, a boom barked loud. My speed instantly picked up. I must have stepped on a slick rock, because my left foot lost its hold and I fell to the ground, scraping my right hand.

I got back up and started walking down the north slope of the ridge where I hoped to find the trail. I found a small tree and bent down to tie my shoe.

The hail tapered off by now, but the ground was still slick as I maneuvered the steep downhill walk. Soon, I found the trail, a small dirt track between the green forest flora. I was relieved to find it and was able to relax a bit.

I looked down as I walked and noticed the violet and scarlet-colored flowers on the mountain floor. The trail crossed from the vegetated area to the rocky slope with copper-colored rocks the size of wood chips and I knew that I only had about a quarter of a mile left. I turned off the flashlight, as now there was enough morning light, and I enjoyed the mountain air with the smell of lingering rain.

The rain had stopped, but I could see some of the other peaks had turned white from the hail. There was surely more to come.