I beat my friend John up (and down) Highlands Bowl at Aspen Highlands on Saturday.
Normally I’m not so competitive. In fact, I’m quite the opposite. I’m always lecturing my friends about how skiing and snowboarding are supposed to be recreational sports and tend to bow out if someone challenges me. I realize there’s a chance that I might be so competitive that I can’t even bear to compete, but that’s another story.
Hiking the Bowl at Aspen Highlands is the closest thing to the true big mountain feeling I’ve found in Colorado. The hike itself isn’t that long – only 750 vertical feet – but it’s grueling. After a quick traverse from the top of the Loge Peak lift, a boot pack staircase follows the ridgeline to the 12,392-foot summit. There’s the altitude to consider (you can blame almost anything on the altitude), the sustained pitch and one particularly steep section that’s smack dab in the middle. No matter how many times I do this hike, I can’t figure out a way to pace myself for that one section. It kicks my butt every time.
In fact, no matter how many times I do this hike, I still find it equally difficult the next time. In the five seasons I’ve lived here, I’ve never been able to hike the Bowl more than twice in one day. There are plenty of people out there who can spin three laps like it’s nothing, opting to hike from the bottom instead of getting a little help from the snowcat, which knocks off one-third of a mile. The ‘cat is also kind of fun, like a high-country chariot. They pile a couple dozen of us into this caged, pen-like trailer with padded benches that’s hitched to the back. Everybody squeezes in, so I’ll often find myself thigh-to-thigh with that marathon hiker, typically dressed in well-worn black Gore-Tex with icicles stuck to his long beard or her hair in long braids, like she’s been too busy hiking the Bowl all season to get a haircut.
“Does hiking the Bowl get easier when you do it every day?” I asked Nemo, a Highlands Patroller.
“Sure. Last year I hiked up there with a grill on my back for the end-of-season barbecue, and these tourists were so blown away, they stopped me and took a picture,” he said.
I have enough trouble lugging my board, but it’s always worth it when I get to the top. There are prayer flags, an old chairlift to sit on and a handful of people that usually includes someone you know that you haven’t seen in a while. I think it’s one of those power centers in the universe – a magical place where the presence of something bigger can be felt. It also has insane views.
John and I had been planning to ride together all week, challenging each other on what would be the first hike of the season for both of us. I had been egging him on since Monday, sending him e-mails that said things like, “I hope you’re not going to throw up, because there’s nowhere to hide on the ridge. Everyone will be able to see you.”
He wrote back, “Let’s meet for a coffee so we can hang out before I beat your butt up (and down) the Bowl.”
This went on for several days, and by the time Saturday rolled around, I sort of regretted it. For one, I was nervous. I worried I might bonk, or worse, be the one to get sick. I rehearsed excuses in my head like, “You go. I’m just not feeling up to it.”
The ‘cat wasn’t running, so we had to start from the very bottom. I plugged into my iPod and immediately found a rhythm. Maybe all that running and yoga had paid off. Maybe the beer from the night before was good carbo-loading. I kept my head down and didn’t rest or stop to take off my jacket when I got hot. I didn’t turn around to see where he was, imagining he was right on my tail, chasing after me step for step. It wasn’t until I got to the top that I realized I had beaten him up by a good five minutes.
After a good rest, we headed down G-4, an obvious alleyway between the trees off the far east side of the Bowl. I seemed to float down the steep face, hitting pockets of untracked snow with each turn that seemed to catch me like open arms. I don’t usually ride steeps that fluidly, but I was feeling high from my little victory.
When I reached the Deep Temerity lift, I had to wait a few minutes before John arrived.
“I’ll never be able to look at you the same way again,” he said as he slid into the maze.
John hadn’t caught up with me, but my ego had. I guess a little healthy competition never hurt anyone.
Freelance columnist Alison Berkley can be reached at alison@berkleymedia.com.
