Colorado nurtures a passionate subculture of hikers who "bag 14-ers"—translated for the uninitiated, this means they've summited peaks above 14,000 feet. Our state boasts 58 such giants, and dedicated climbers spend years collecting that coveted number. Prior to summer's arrival, I had conquered 12 of these mountains, most alongside my family, and I'd convinced myself my mountaineering days were behind me. A sticky hip joint and months without practice seemed to seal that verdict—I counted myself retired from high-altitude adventures.
Aden changed my mind with her proposal that we tackle La Plata —"the silver" -- named for the mining territory around its base. She assured me it was relatively easy (the word "relatively" doing heavy lifting) and sweetened the deal by suggesting we stay in a local hotel rather than endure the brutal 2:30 a.m. alarm and pre-dawn drive from home. "Hotel" and "sleep"—those magic words—dissolved my resistance like sugar in warm coffee.
We stirred at 4 a.m., reached the trailhead by 5, and began our ascent in darkness at 5:15. A half-moon hung like a comma against the star-punctured sky, but the rocky trail remained obscured beneath dense tree cover, making our headlamps essential. We climbed for an hour before the lamps became unnecessary, rewarded as sunrise painted the nearest peaks in watercolor washes of rose and gold. Moving with patience, we mounted the rocky switchbacks above tree line sooner than anticipated.
We encountered a father and teenage daughter resting on a ridge, their labored breathing visible in small puffs. Their jeans and tennis shoes betrayed their inexperience before the father confirmed it: "It's my first." Aden offered water and electrolytes, which they declined, but then I spotted the gun holstered outside his jeans. I ushered us forward, puzzled by what threat he imagined. Few souls populated these heights, and our only wildlife encounters involved pikas and soaring birds. I was grateful for his daughter's presence—if he was a single man with a gun, my internal threat level would have escalated.
Our next encounter proved more inspiring: an extraordinary woman from Texas who appeared to be in her forties. She was pursuing a week-long mountain pilgrimage and had conquered two 14-ers by Wednesday—La Plata marked her third. She scrambled through the boulder field, losing the trail's thread, so she waved us ahead. With Aden navigating, we left the Texan behind and I marveled at her achievement—nine 14-ers accomplished during just two weeks of vacation. Since I require five full days to recover from a single climb, I felt humbled.
The boulder fields tested our patience and the scree slopes demanded careful attention, but we emerged onto a wind-less summit beneath skies touched only by the faintest smoky haze. Fellow conquerors—including a trio of young musicians visiting from the Aspen Music Festival—snapped our photos. Most of us settled onto the rocky summit to savor snacks while our eyes wandered across the magnificent panorama stretching in every direction.
Astonished to find myself once again perched atop a mountain, I offered gratitude to both my daughter (inspiration) and my physical therapist (functioning hip and knee) that carried me here. I'm learning to never say never, to keep my dance card open for adventures I might too hastily dismiss. Sometimes the most unexpected journeys begin with someone else's invitation and our willingness to say yes despite our perceived limitations.
