There are 54 mountain peaks in Colorado over 14,000 feet tall, called “Fourteeners.”  Back in 1978, I didn’t know any of this.  I just knew that I liked hiking and Colorado had a log of mountains.  I had climbed Longs Peak two or three times with my daughter, Barbara (8 years old the first time, 13 the last time).  We’d done Grays and Torreys Peaks with Barbara and her sister, Karla (11 at the time), and I might have done Quandry Peak–a rocky trail, but easy climb.  I had heard about a more difficult climb over by Aspen in the Elk Range called Capitol Peak.  I don’t know what I heard about it that made me want to do it or why I felt I could, but I did.

I had the only book on climbing Fourteeners at the time,Guide to the Colorado Mountains, First Edition, by Robert Ormes, a technical climber who had climbed them all and many other peaks.  In his book he described the difficult part of Capitol Peak:  a stroll across the Knife Edge Ridge toward the top and a scramble to the summit.  That didn’t sound too bad to me, based on my limited experience.  In fact, Longs Peak is sometimes classified as a moderately difficult climb, and I hadn’t had any trouble with that.

I made plans for the climb. I worked with a young guy, Lee, who had been trained in Outward Bound, was quite fit, strong and athletic, and said he wanted to go, too.  I had a climbing partner.  Plus, he had a tent.  I couldn’t tell from the Ormes book how difficult the road might be to the trailhead, but I had an old VW with the fenders cut short and thought I could go anywhere.  I felt I had my bases covered, so we planned to do it one summer weekend.

We drove all four hours from Denver to Aspen on a Friday afternoon, planning to hike the 6.5 miles into Capitol Lake still that same day.  We planned to do the climb the next day, descend, hike out to the car, and drive home on Saturday.  Back then, road and trail sign was minimal.  When we made our way toward the mountain, we weren’t sure if we were on the right dirt road, and there was no sign for the trailhead; but it seemed right, and what we could see of the mountain looked like it should.

Actually, the sight of the mountain took my breath away.  The north face of the mountain and its approach is very steep and looked almost vertical from the road.  But I believed the trail crossed over to the other side so I saved my fear for later when I could see the trail up close.

For my other climbs, I had only carried a daypack with water, jacket, sandwich, and GORP (good ole raisins and peanuts).  This time we carried more food and water, sleeping bags, and pads.  Still light weight, but more than I was used to.  We hurried to make it to camp so we could set up before dark.  I had never had any exercise program prior to this, so the hike was a bit of a push.  I think the last mile Lee got worried and carried my pack so we could make it faster.

When we got to the lake, the sight of the mountain just below the north face on the east end of the approach was spectacular.  It was also getting dark, so we tried to get the tent set up as quickly as possible.  Out of his backpack Lee pulled a “tube tent”–a tube of plastic sheet, thinner than a tarp, about four feet in diameter and about 10 feet long, with a twenty-foot rope.  I said, “Where’s the tent?”  He said, “This is it.”  We pulled a rope through the tube and tied it between two trees.  We put our bags inside the tube and that was it.  We fixed a bit of supper, sat on a rock and discussed the climb.  There were a few climbers at the lake but they were going to climb the north face the next day with technical equipment.  I couldn’t imagine.  I’d never seen anything like it.  The climbers told us basically where our trail would be, how we would head south straight up the short section of the ridge to the other side, go around the pinnacle and cross the Knife Edge, and head for the top.  That, with the less-than-definitive description in the book seemed do-able.  Maybe.

Next morning we got up, ate a quick breakfast and set out alone.  Back then, the Fourteeners that were not close to Denver often had few, if any, other climbers on them.  Also, some of the more difficult climbs were less well attended.  At that time, there were few rating systems for the difficulty of the climbs.  Since then, some books state that Capitol is the most difficult Fourteener in Colorado.  This could be true, but we didn’t know that on this day, for sure.

Once we started up the east ridge, we couldn’t always see the peak, and when we did, we were probably seeing “false summits,” not the real one.  We did what the climbers at the lake told us and gained the ridge, then climbed to the saddle between Mt. Daly and Clark Peak, and followed directions to what looked like a pinnacle–a tall, round mound of rocks.  It was too steep to go straight over it and very steep on either the left or right sides.  On the other side of the pinnacle, which we hadn’t figured out how to climb yet, was a ridge, the famous Knife Edge.  Everything from the pinnacle to the summit, maybe half a mile or more, was a sharp, pointed ridge.  It fell off to the south about 2,000 feet in elevation to Pierre Lakes–too steep to slip on or you might go the distance.  Onthe north face, the fall would only be 1,800 feet but it looked almost verticle.  We couldn’t see how to get around or over the pinnacle.  The “exposure” was enormous.

Lee said, “I’m not going.”  I had not yet found a way to get around the pinnacle, but I hadn’t yet exhausted all my options.  I said, “Why not?”  He said, “My wife needs me.”  I said mine does too, as well as my kids, and I don’t want to do anything that would take my life, but I hadn’t yet looked at everything.  He confirmed he wouldn’t go.

I got out my description of the climb.  There were no details.  It said to “stroll and scramble” so I thought if I could get around the pinnacle rocks I could make it.  It didn’t sound like it was too far.  I told Lee I’d go until I couldn’t see how to do it safely and either make it or come back.  Shouldn’t be long.  No clouds that I could see.  So, with the brief description (by a skilled technical climber, which I was not), I left my jacket, pack, water–and Lee–and took off.

I managed to find a way around the south side of the pinnacle which without the exposure would probably not have been too difficult.  I just had to look at the rocks and find a place to put my foot and ignore the drop to the left.  I was nervous, but I made it.  Then I was at the Knife Edge.

I tried to get my mind around what was before me.  It looked to me like there was about a quarter of a mile between the pinnacle and the actual peak that was five to ten feet wide which is fairly narrow when everything to the left and right is what I described before:  DOWN!  But the first part of that quarter mile was the actual Knife Edge.  I tried not to exaggerate in my mind, but it looked like for about 100 feet the ridge was an uplifted rock edge, which is about 1/4 inch wide that must be straddled by all but the best climbers.  Every now and then a section of slab had sloughed off (down the 1,800 feet) so the ridge shifted to the left and the climber had to move left a foot or two to the new ridge.  I couldn’t shake the question:  What would cause a slab of rock to slide off?  Maybe a person climbing on it?  I couldn’t think about that.  I just kept moving, and finally I had finished the famous Knife Edge.  I remembered that all I had left was the stroll.

I looked at what would be the ridge in front of me and it looked like the front side of the pinnacle; too steep to climb, especially since I knew the real summit was probably quite a ways off yet.  Obviously the vertical north side was out of the question, but the south side was a large steep bowl filled with loose rocks.  There were no cairns like most of the mountain routes have now marking where to go.  There was something that looked like what could be a trail.  Or if not a trail, it might have been where others had gone to make the ascent.  I tried it.  The rocks were loose and the mountainside was steep enough that I dared not slip.  Nervous, I’d “scramble” a ways and look up to the north to see if I was below the real summit.  I think I passed four false summits before I saw what I believed to be the real one.  I turned and worked my way up, being careful not to kick a rock loose or slip.  I took my time and was more scared than tired.  In the back of my mind I knew I still had to come down and I didn’t want to come back the same way.

I got to the summit.  I was not euphoric about having made it.  I was scared, cold, tired and thirsty.  All I could think of was how to get down.  I don’t even remember looking around to see the world from there, as you do at every summit.  I knew I didn’t want to go back the way I came.  I thought of the technical climbers who were going to climb the north face.  I was scared enough that I considered having them coax me down with them, if they were there.  Even not knowing what that might entail, I would trust them more than myself.  They were not in sight.  I knew there must be an easier way, if I could just find it.

I sat down and prayed.  I told God that I knew I got myself into this.  I asked for help, wisdom, strength.  Finally, after thinking and praying I told God that I would set out in the east direction and look for the very best way to go, with the least exposure, the best rock, and go as far as I could.  If I got to a place where I could not go any farther, safely, I would look for another way.  But I WOULD TAKE CARE TO NOT DO ANYTHING DANGEROUS.  I WOULD NOT HURRY, PANIC, OR DO ANYTHING STUPID (now, after I’m already in trouble for maybe doing a really stupid thing).  I knew if I hurried or panicked, I would die.  If I could just find a way back down to the Knife Edge, being very careful, I knew I could make it.

But just before I got off the rocks and down to the Knife, I looked past the Knife and the pinnacle and realized that Lee was not there.  I kept looking for him down below as I continued to downclimb.  Finally, about the time I got to the Knife Edge I saw him way down toward the first ridge we had climbed.  I hollered and yelled, and he finally heard me and waited.

When I returned around the pinnacle I looked at my watch.  I had been gone from Lee for three and a half a hours.  So much for a stroll. When I got to him, he said he knew I was in trouble (he was probably right) and was going for help.  That was a long time for someone to wait, not knowing what was going on, and knowing it was difficult.  I was glad he was still around.  We still had to get down to camp, pack up and hike the 6.5 miles out, then drive to Aspen and back to Denver to drop Lee off.  Then I had the drive back to my house in Longmont.  I couldn’t think about all that.  At the time, I was just relieved to be off the tough stuff.

We downclimbed to the lake and packed up.  Before we left the lake I looked back at what I had just climbed.  It looked impossible, and it was beautiful.  I like to believe I’ve since learned a great deal about route finding and what is safely do-able.  And not to leave my pack, or clothes, or water. And to do better research.

We left the lake and almost mechanically walked out, just putting one foot in front of the other.  Just before we got to the car we had a river to ford.  One the way in, I had tried to find a way to cross the river and keep my boots dry.  Not finding one, I took my boots and socks off and waded.  Now I just kept on walking right through the river and up the hill to the car.

It was a long drive to Denver in my old VW, but we made it.  We unloaded Lee’s stuff and said goodbye.  I got back in my car.  It wouldn’t start.  Lee took me home to Longmont, another 40 miles.  Long day.

I’ll never forget that climb.  And it was the start of research and climbing that has taught me about myself and the mountains.  I was and am thankful for the help and the wisdom and the lesson:  DON’T HURRY.  LOOK FOR THE BEST ROUTE.  Go safely or find another way.

There is always another way.

Thank you, Lord.

P.S. — I eventually climbed all 54 Fourteeners.  My son-in-law, Andy (Karla’s husband) climbed the last 34 of the 54 with me.  So I’ve been going with him on the first 20 that I did before him that he still has left.  They include all six of the Elks, five of which are pretty tough, including Capitol Peak.  Even now (in 2010), I’m rather excited about doing Capitol Peak again.

I felt the dank chill in my cement basement as I wrapped Debbie in another receiving blanket.

“There now,” I cooed. “Time for a morning nap, Sweetie.” I placed my best doll in her crib and turned to tend to my other ‘children.’ I had four: Debbie, Star, Judy and Mary.

Suddenly I heard footsteps! Darn. Any interruption broke through the imaginary walls of the “house” that I had created, amidst old boxes, stored bikes and the washing machine. It wrenched me from the world where I was the adult, the mother, the boss

“Hello, dear,” Mom said, sitting on a step halfway up the staircase. Her dark brown hair hung in soft curls around her shoulders. She peered over the railing. Maybe the cold would keep her away, I thought. I loved my mom. She was the best person in my life and in a few hours, at lunchtime, I would wander up to the ‘real’ kitchen, wanting my peanut butter sandwich and milk. But right now, I had a house to run.

“It’s Saturday. Aren’t you going to play with Robyn today?”

“I am playing with Robyn,” I said, in my patient, nine-year-old voice – the same one I would use with Debbie when she didn’t understand something.

“Oh. Good.” Mom peered around the room, past the pile of dirty laundry, the washtubs, the furnace and then her gaze returned to me. I sat in an old chair I’d scavenged from the junk surrounding me. I’d pushed boxes out of the way to create a pretty nice ‘living room’ for my house. “Uhh…where is she?”

I sighed, bigtime, so Mom would get that she had shattered any hopes of my imaginary world remaining intact, thanks to her dumb questions.  “Robyn and I are playing dolls together. She is at her house and I’m here. You don’t live with Mrs. Russell. You guys visit. And you don’t have the same house. Robyn has her house in her basement and I have mine here. We visit.” I looked at my watch. “She should be here in about twenty minutes.”

“Will she stay for the afternoon? You don’t want to be stuck in the basement all day by yourself.”

Mom wrapped her arms around her shivering shoulders. Her black stretch pants glided over her slim figure. She was wearing a man’s knit brown shirt – one her brother had sent her from his clothing shop in Wisconsin. Her red lipstick reminded me that I had a collection of Mom’s old lipsticks stashed in a cigar box inches from where I sat. I must remember to put my make-up on before Robyn gets here.

“Do you stay at Robyn’s house all day when you visit Mrs. Russell?” I asked.

Mom smiled. “No, I guess I don’t.”

“Well, then?” Jeez. It was really pretty easy to understand. Think about real life and that’s it.

“Do you want a sweater, Honey?”

“No, thanks.”

Mom left, closing the basement door at the top of the stairs.

Now, where was I? Oh, yes. Star needed a bottle…

I heard Robyn knock at the back door. I raced up the stairs. After all, a ‘real’ mom would answer her own door to greet her guest.

“Hi, Robyn. So glad you could come over,” I said. The perfect hostess. Robyn asked me to hold her “baby”–Christine, blond and rosy-cheeked, a beautiful child”– as Robyn shed her red fuzzy winter coat now tipped with frost. She had pushed her baby buggy through the snow about one hundred yards to my house. Still, it was 25 below zero, a chilly February day even for Winnipeg.

“Come on downstairs,” I said. “The coffee’s ready.” ‘Coffee’ was lemonade but the cookies were real – nipped from the pantry upstairs, my personal grocery store.

Robyn sat in my living room. A visit my best friend. What could be better? She placed Christine on the floor beside Debbie. We chatted about our kids – had they been good or naughty, did they sleep well and eat properly.  As proud mothers we had to discuss which outfits we’d changed them into that day. Doll clothes were so pretty in those days but I envied Robyn’s handmade baby clothes that her mom and grandmother sewed. Lucky me, though, the previous summer, Granny had knitted a lovely white sweater for my doll. She had woven pink ribbon through the collar so it would tie at the front.

But I knew that I wouldn’t even have Debbie, my prize baby, if it weren’t for Mom paying attention to my heart. I spotted Debbie in Eaton’s Department Store one day about a month before Christmas, 1961. She wore a red polka-dot dress and had light-brown, straight hair (unlike my red frizz) and blue, blinking eyes. Best of all, she had moving joints at the elbows and knees. I could manipulate her arms and legs into real kid poses. I was in love. I stared at her perched on the shelf and begged my mother to buy her for me. She shook her head. “Sorry, honey. That doll is too expensive.”

Even I had to admit that. Twenty-five dollars! There was no way. Plus, Debbie was an original. There was only one of her and I knew that some lucky rich girl would find her under her Christmas tree in a few weeks.

What I didn’t know was that my mom had whispered to Ray Morrison, and old friend of my Dad’s who worked in the toy department, to put the doll away for me. He could be counted on to keep Debbie until my mom could pay for her.

And there she was – under the tree on Christmas morning. That was probably the highlight of my mother’s Christmas that year – a moment where she could make her little girl’s dream come true. Mom may have been clueless about how I played dolls but she had been a dedicated doll-mom when she’d been a kid.

“Mom came down and wondered why you weren’t here,” I said, passing Robyn the plate of cookies.

She nodded. “My mom did the same thing. Then she called your mom to talk about it. They think there’s something wrong with us.” Robyn paused for a moment, then looked at me. Her thick brown hair hung long and shiny. Her freckles, the size of dimes, paled in the winter but remained planted on her cheeks and nose. Her crinkled brow had a worried expression.

“They think we’re weird. Do you think that?”

“No,” I said, defending our ways, since ‘Real House’ had been my idea.

Besides being my ‘friend,’ Robyn was also my ‘following’ – always ready to go along with the next thought that lightly landed upon my imagination. Hadn’t we danced in our pajamas and high heels on the steps of the nearby synagogue? Hadn’t we attached string to plastic bags and walked them as pet dogs? Hadn’t we made Kleenex ghosts and flown them around the neighborhood, while every kid on the block envied our fun? No. Robyn mustn’t question our play.

I put my hands on my hips, wishing my yellow sweater and blue jeans had been a little more sophisticated for this moment. I stared into Robyn’s trusting eyes. “Every girl would play dolls this way if only they knew how. No one knows the right way except us.” I shrugged. “It’s too bad, really.”

Robyn thought for a moment. “Yeah…” She rolled her eyes. “Our moms are crazy.”