Dee Hubbard – Timberline Fall, Kathleen Hudson

Inspired by Timberline Fall by Kathleen Hudson

Dee Hubbard

In the Embrace of Heaven

A NATURAL BEACON, it guided pioneer families to a new life in the mountain west. Now, Longs Peak attracts seekers of a different kind. Like worshippers trekking to a hallowed place they come.

MY HEADLAMP ILLUMINATES the trailhead register, and my hand trembles with excitement as I sign in. There, I’ve joined the ranks of others drawn to this historic mountain seeking… what? Solace? Redemption? A vision of perfection in an imperfect world? Maybe adventure, challenge, and a tiny speck of fame? Perhaps even a new destiny revealed? I laugh and shake my head, thinking, you’re too solemn this morning. Lighten up. Most just come to climb the mountain.

Today I celebrate my 65th birthday by soloclimbing my first Fourteener, a bloody tough one. Over 60 climbers have died here. I want to savor a blazing red sunrise on the mountain’s East Face, but won’t even see its peak until I reach the cascades of Timberline Falls. Facing me is a vertical mile of elevation gain into thin air. Maybe twelve hours on the mountain. But I’m firm in my resolve. Already celebrating a different victory… over my own self-doubts… I raise a mittened hand, form a fist of triumph, and pump it at a moonlit sky.

My headlamp casts an inquiring shaft of light into the dense forest before me and focuses on a path burrowing ahead like a tunnel. Breathing deeply, I exhale mini clouds of condensation into frigid mountain air and stride forward with methodical steps. The forest closes around me, and I shiver. At what? Not the cold. Something’s missing. There are no external sounds. I hear only my breathing. How rare is that!

Impatience nags me, but I’m mindful not to burn too much energy too soon. A slow but steady pace is best. Conserve strength but squander exuberance. Both are possible. Find my natural climbing rhythms and maintain them as long as I can. I have time and elevation goals for each route segment. But, I remind myself, plans and goals aren’t sacred. Don’t deny impulse. True adventure may require changing plans and deferring goals. Inflexibility equals opportunity lost.

AERIAL PHOTOS I’VE STUDIED crowd my mind. In them a massive mountain range bisects Rocky Mountain National Park. Rising above a crowd of surrounding peaks, a broad, truncated summit thrusts upward. Shaped like a giant closed fist, Longs Peak challenges the sky.

Confrontation has consequences, and I know the sky may respond with shrieking winds, torrential rain, freezing sleet, stinging hail, and yes, blinding snow, even in summer. I accept weather risks. Ignoring them is foolhardy. A summit attempt on the calendar’s longest day just might get me a worry-free descent as well as a unique scene at sunrise and a difficult summit attained.

EXCEPT FOR THE FAINT huh-h-h-h…uh-h-h-h of my breathing, silence envelops me. Rhythmic click-clacking of my hiking poles is the only external sound I hear. But then – there in the last grove of stunted pines below Timberline Falls – a natural sound, lyrical and full of joy greets the dawn. A warbling birdsong sweeps toward me. Other voices join. Soon a full chorus greets me. A celebration of being, I think. Enjoy the day is their message. I doff my cap, bow, and clap a mittenmuted applause.

LEAVING THE RUSH AND BABBLE of the Falls behind, I plod up a glacial moraine, carrying my hiking poles horizontally so I can relish highmountain stillness. My eyes focus down to windtwisted krummholz patches that soon give way to alpine tundra whose frosted surfaces glisten, silver-tipped in pale light. Raising my gaze, I watch a pyramidal tip form. It appears to pierce the moon. As if erupting from Earth, the tip enlarges. Then the sheer, diamond-shaped East Face of Longs Peak rises into view.

I stop and point to the summit with a hiking pole. My mind races ahead, and I imagine myself up there… there at the top, at the rim of a precipice where Earth ends and the heavens begin, standing alone at the edge of eternity. From there, I look down to where I stand presently; see other hikers only as tiny moving specs dwarfed into insignificance by an overwhelming landscape surrounding them. I wonder: How will I feel in a place where hopes and dreams, Earth and sky meet in a perfect union that joins an old man’s longings to nature’s rewards.

Then I remember an aging mountaineer’s eulogy to standing on summits.

“Like resting in the embrace of heaven.” u