As the fourth hour of our multi-thousand-vertical-foot slog settled in like a mental yoke on my already overburdened back, the significance of our efforts crept slowly to the forefront of my mind.
This skiing trip to the Polar Star Inn – a backcountry lodge booked as part of the 10th Mountain Division Hut Association – was meant as an exercise in self-reliance, a fading commodity touted by the men of the U.S. Army’s 10th Mountain Division who inspired the high-country hut system here in Colorado. But, as so often occurs at this time of year, it morphed into so much more.
Somewhere among the sounds of synthetic climbing skins zipping steadily across soggy snow and my labored breathing in the thin air above 11,000 feet on New York Mountain, it occurred to me that the equinox was almost upon us – a halfway point, so to speak, that could qualify as equal parts summer and winter – and I had just crossed over the line.
It’s no secret that summer has jumped out to an early start over its cold-weather counterpart this March, drying up the Colorado snowpack at an unseasonably rapid rate even before the calendar reaches the first full day of spring Wednesday. But the recent high-country heat wave only serves to demonstrate how amazing this most transient time of the year can be.
By the time we had reached our ski destination at about 12,500 feet, it became evident that winter still had a stronghold on the high-mountain peaks, as if we were counting backward on the calendar with every step taken toward the summit. The air cooled, wind rose, and the slushy snow of our premature spring turned solid underfoot, peeling away like cold corn from the cob under the blade of deskinned ski edges on the return trip down.
We were stripped down to T-shirts by the time we reached the trailhead at day’s end, encouraged by the valley snowmelt to venture slightly lower than the nearby town of Eagle to the Colorado River on the ensuing afternoon for the first kayaking launch of the season. With a solid flow of more than 1,600 cubic feet per second sluicing through Glenwood Canyon at the Shoshone rapids, it served as a perfect start to a new season even as an old one remained underway.
But much like the laborious efforts to return to winter a day before, the icy splash of snowmelt across my face as we sought an early summer served as a reminder of the rawness of spring.
Here in Colorado, where the climate can change in as little as one hour in a car, we are blessed perhaps more than anywhere else on Earth on this eve of the vernal equinox. Yet, come spring, nothing comes easy. It’s part of that whole “lion/lamb” thing, in some ways recognizable as the lingering residue of winter.
Whether it’s the associated pain that comes with the pursuit of snow at the highest reaches of the Rockies or the sting of an ice cream headache after your dome is dunked in frigid river water, spring always seems to arrive with its own brand of discomfort. Otherwise blissful bike rides qualify as a wake-up call to long-dormant pedal-pushing power and arms quake under the strain of body weight on a sheer rock face. Sure, it’s the good kind of pain, but that doesn’t make it any less real.
A favorite Colorado magazine of mine, the formerly Frisco-based Mountain Gazette, posts a slogan on the cover of every issue: When in doubt, go higher. It’s inspirational, in a happy hiking hippie sort of way, more amusing than truly sound advice. And in this transitional time of year, the after-doubt guidance might just as often be substituted with “go lower” or, for that matter, “work harder.”
The fickle nature of spring serves most of all as a reminder that there really is no offseason, especially when it comes to a love of the outdoors. The important thing is to make the most of opportunity as it’s presented, because, in spite of appearances, we’re still teetering on a mighty fine line.
Staff writer Scott Willoughby can be reached at 303-954-1993 or swilloughby@denverpost.com.
