Windom Peak
D O W N
Getting doused and soused...
We always try to summit as early as possible, because of the chronic early afternoon showers in CO, which can naturally lead to electrical storms, to which we all have a mortal allergy.
Most years, this is a non-factor. But this time, it turned out that Ned's intuition was right: This stuff you see here rained on us for about two of the four hours it took to get off the hill. Thankfully, we were spared the fireworks, though there were occasional, disconcerting rumblings from the sky.
It was during this phase that we caught fleeting glimpses of Jim, who was peakbound until the rain started.
Getting down off the summit is, perforce, nap-inducing. It's the same kind of exhaustion you get from riding or running for more than two hours. Plus, though we're all too macho to admit it, there is a certain desire for solitude, to soak up and digest the dramatic experience.
Here, Ned indulges in his own down time...
Of course, a 14k foot mountain is all in a day's work for Mr. Coffey, who is the sole exception to the nap rule. Here he is, looking like he just woke up and had an excellent meal and movement.
The other thing you do after a summit is stuff your face. You can't possibly eat enough while you're actually climbing to cover your caloric requirements, so you make up afterwards. Ned and Ken, around the non-existent fire ring.
Uncle Dan wins the culinary brilliance award this year, for bringing a block of Parmesan Regiano, which of course is both tasty and does not require refrigeration. Here he is sharing the goods.
This is the next day. Folks are of course indulging in the stash from two days prior.
Wait, how did we get here without all of the downclimb pictures? Well, it started raining the night before, and then never completely stopped until we drove about three hours south of Durango.
So, for the first time ever, we found ourselves getting out of our tents, having breakfast, and packing up high camp, all in the pouring rain.
More drunken tomfoolery: Richard, Darren, Ned (what's that Ned is holding?), Edwin, and twisted Kenn.
Someone else will have to remind me of this young lass' name (Olga?). She and her elder den matron were with the forestry service, patrolling camp sites, etc. Somehow, the boys managed to have cleaned up all of the bottles by the time these ladies showed up.
More than a little tipsy, Kenn passes out while waiting for the train back.
And waiting... Rich does some yoga on the footbridge to Needleton trail. The train didn't get there until 4:00 p.m. We got off the hill by noon. Lotta time to kill...
Supperfly!! Jim was more of a myth than an actual presence this year, with his separate camp site and alternate hiking schedule. We would hear him crackle in over the radio occasionally, and then glimpse him through the trees, over a distant ridge...
Edwin, after plunging into the rapids from the guy wire of the footbridge, naturally went about the caveman business striking up a fire.
This is Mike's crew. I have already forgotten everyone's names, but they are, L-R, Mike, his wife, Richard, another Mike, Mike's son, and Mike's nephew.
Mike was a supernice guy, and word has it that he picked up our tab at dinner that night, before plunging headlong into the night behind the wheel of his rock star RV.
Meanwhile, back in ABQ, this is Supperfly 2020, little Kenn Junior (with a slightly lower blood alcohol content), Sam Goodrow.