The sound of the tent zipper woke me as I tiresomely checked my watch, 4:45 am. Time to get out of this warm cocoon and out into the foggy mist that surrounded our campsite. The oatmeal was a bit cold, but it didn't seem to matter to me. Such a minor thing as I knew that attempting to summit this mountain would be much more unpleasant than a cold breakfast. We were at Warner Lake basecamp 9,345 ft. up in the La Sal Mountains. The anticipation was overwhelming as I stared up at the snow-capped monster, gradually getting closer and closer. The climb took a nice start with loose talus the majority of the way up which beat up everyones quads and knees. Once we took a food break and rehydrated, it was time to push on to the false summit through the fir-aspen and pine-oak. Only 250 yards split the difference between the group and the top of this colossal mountain; oh yeah and a great deal of summit fever. Once atop, I felt it to be appropriate to call the woman that I missed most, Mom. Nothing seemed to matter to me while standing at 11,642 ft. with a great group of people. For once I was content with life. Satisfaction. My first real taste of what mountaineering was, was finally here. Little did I know the fun part was still awaiting. For approximately a quarter mile I slid down the crusty snow and ice mixture to the talus that I dreaded. The bloody shins were just a small reminder that I was still alive and well. As we traipsed back through the prairie I could vaguely make out my hammock hanging between the quaking aspens that lined our campsite. We made it.
