Trip Report: Point Six and Murphy Peak

Trailhead: Snowbowl Ski Area parking lot (~5,000')
High Points: 'Point 7500', 'Point Six' (7942') and 'Murphy Peak' (8167')
Total Elevation Gain: 5,000 feet
Duration: 3 hours 23 minutes (round trip)

I got onto the mountain around 8AM via Snowbowl Ski Area. Although there is an established trail to the top of the Ski Area (~ 4 miles), I opted for the most direct route to the top of Snowbowl. From the top of Snowbowl, point 7500, I would then head up to 'Point Six' and finally 'Murphy Peak' by way of the connecting ridge between the two (and then a reversal of the route).

Looking south/southwest from the top of Snowbowl
(parking lot lower left)

Departing at 7:55AM from the parking lot, I followed the 'Runout' run for the first 3/4 of a mile before taking a hard left up a steep glade run on the crest of the rib that marks the western edge of 'West Bowl'. The line provides a direct shot to the top of Snowbowl. By this route, I bushwhacked my way through knee high vegetation interspersed with beautiful coniferous trees. About 700 feet below the summit, lush undergrowth gave way to an expansive talus field - rocks roughly the size of basketballs or larger. What a treat! It provided, without exception, a stable, direct and swift passage to the top. Within a few minutes of discovering the talus 'super highway' I was on top of Snowbowl Ski Area. I was very pleased to see that the clock read 8:39AM, about 45 minutes from bottom to top.

From Snowbowl, I headed northeast via a ski run to the broad connecting ridge to Point Six. I opted for the most direct ridge road. A few minutes later I was standing amongst the radio towers and doppler radar that is Point Six. There I encountered a woman walking around the summit taking photos. She explained that she was with a crew that had driven up to Point Six to do some repair work on the HAM radio setup. We both made remarks about the beauty that surrounded us from our lofty perch above Missoula and the Rattlesnake Wilderness. I suggested that on the clearest day, Flathead Lake might be visible from this vista. Unsure of the veracity of this, she responded "maybe" and I concurred as I rethought the possibility of Flathead Lake actually being visible from this far south.

Looking north to Murphy Peak from Point Six
(Murphy Peak is the high point right of center)

After parting ways with the HAM radio enthusiast, I took a 1-2 minute break on the summit of 'Point Six' to mix an electrolyte drink mix and pull out a granola bar for the road. Feeling strong and fired up about the next objective, Murphy Peak, I dropped down the boulder field that defines the north shoulder of Point Six. Point Six and Murphy Peak are connected by a roughly two mile-long undulating ridge that dips down to 7500' with one prominent point on the ridge between the two named peaks. Amazingly, just above saddle between Point Six and the prominent ridge point ahead, a wilderness registration box materialized. Seemingly in the middle of nowhere with no real defined trail it was somewhat baffling. I quickly registered and followed what appeared to be more of a game trail than a manmade hiking trail. "Hey Bear! Hey Bear!" was my loud, audible mantra for the day (I did not so much as see bear scat). After about 1/2 mile I lost the game trail and headed for the crest of the ridge. Within a few minutes, I found myself on top of the prominent point that marks the halfway point between Point Six and Murphy Peak.

Self-portrait looking north on Murphy Peak

I let out a joyful 'Whoop!' as the next expanse of ridge opened up between myself and Murphy Peak's summit. The ridge narrowed and, at times, steepened amidst a jumbled mess of massive granite slabs. It looked super fun!

I quickly made my way down the ridge point to the final little saddle that marks the beginning of the summit cone of Murphy Peak. I stashed my trekking poles about 400 feet below the top as the ridge steepened and forced some quick and easy scrambling moves. A final move through a narrow slot in the rock gave way to the final talus field of Murphy Peak. Moments later I was standing on top with joy in my heart! The clock read 9:39AM, exactly one-hour after getting to the top of Snowbowl and 1 hour and 45 minutes from my car. I was extraordinarily pleased with this time, as I was aiming for something of a lung/quad-busting speed ascent.

I took a 3-5 minute break on top of Murphy Peak to rehydrate, take some food and electrolytes and snap some photos as well. It was so dang pretty up there! The panorama included a view of the Rattlesnake Wilderness, Missoula, the northside of Snowbowl, Point Six, the southern reaches of Arlee, the southern end of the Mission Mountains and the Grant Creek complex.

Hydrated and nourished, I donned my pack and began the long retrace of the connecting ridge back to the top of Point Six and down to the SnowBowl Ski Area. I did my darndest to retrace my line down Snowbowl. About 1/3 of the way down, I saw a mountain biker athwart my direct descent, enjoying a leisurely solo cruise in the mountains. Beautiful stuff. I regained the runout on the bottom 1/3 of the mountain and cruised on down to the parking lot. I arrived at my car at 11:18AM. Gosh, still morning! what a nice surprise.

Overall, this route goes down as one of my favorite local hikes. The connecting ridge between Point Six and Murphy Peak is pretty dang fun and the views from atop those two high points are spectacular.

Onward and upward,

Brian

July in review and lessons learned

Photo of the month: Linds and I on the summit of Pikes Peak (07/06/2013)

Just the facts:

Total ascent: 36,500 vertical feet

Mountain summits: 

Mount Sentinel (11 summits)

Pikes Peak

Mount Deanstone

Mitten Mountain

Mount Jumbo

Now the fluff:

A note on vertical feet or elevation gain. I use vertical feet as my primary indicator of success in terms of this project. Vertical feet measures the distance from the base of something to the top of something "as the balloon rises". With mountains, we are talking base to summit. If you to climb a ladder vertically, straight through the middle of the mountain from base to summit, you would be tracking the vertical feet measurement. To give you a sense of scale, The Empire State Building rises an impressive 1,454 vertical feet. The average level of a home is ~10 vertical feet. That coffee, sitting on your table, comes in at about ~3 vertical feet (floor to tabletop). Mount Sentinel, the mountain I spend a bulk of my time training on, comes in at just under 2,000 vertical feet (1,950ish). Pikes Peak boasts about 7,800 vertical feet. Vertical feet simply gives you a vertical measure of two points and does not account for the elevation. 

July was a banner month. January was the last month that I hit 36,500 vertical feet of ascent or more (62,700 feet). I learned many lessons from January's efforts. The most important being that 60,000 feet a month or more is not tenable for my body or social life. Post-RA me simply isn't up to the task and post-Linds me simply doesn't want to throw myself headlong into a futile endeavor to the determent of our relationship. In February, I dropped steeply to 36,350 feet and continued dropping to the low 20,000s through May. By June, I was ramping back up to the 30-40,000 foot range, right where I want to be. 

Truth to tell, I am feeling really good. My mind continues to be my biggest enemy. Pre-RA, I had very little respect for the recovery needs of my body. In 2008, I ran, on average, 18 miles/day with a smile on my face (a little over 6000 miles for the year). I dismissed all aches and pains outright. Post-RA, I am hopeless when it comes to aches, pains, twangs, twinges, pops, cracks and creaking. When I feel a slight twinge in my knee when going from a seated to standing position or hear a pop in my shoulder when stretching, my tendency is to leap to the worst case scenario: it's over, there is a good chance I will never be able to walk or climb again. Honest, objective discernment over real or perceived problems with RA is, in my estimation, the single greatest challenge of dealing with the disease. It is amazing how emotional physical aches and pains can become. I have tons to learn in this area. "Remain calm! Don't panic!" These are my mantras in times of broken focus. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. 

Our brains are extremely powerful organs often controlling physical outputs - pain, illness - through thought inputs - worries, anxieties.

Prayer remains the greatest tool in working through these times: the very act of prayer calms and quiets the mind and allows for honest analysis and a sense of correctitude regarding the ultimate course of action. Linds has been alongside me as I rediscover my prayer life. Prayer, in my life, is an opportunity to acquiesce that many things lie out of my control and no amount of worry or misguided focus can change that. It is a time to cede control to a higher power (whatever that means to you) and say "I don't know what is happening, I don't have the answers and that is 'okay'!". And then move on: let go and let God (not sure who first said that, but it's a good one).

Onward and upward,

Brian

Delusions of grandeur quelled by heat-induced delusions and new information

Dehydration is nothing if not humbling. Being humbled is nothing if not humbling. The day's weather on my 75th ascent of Mount Sentinel this year was nothing if not humbling.

95 degrees and windless, Thursday's outing challenged the dynamic tension between heat and water retention. With every labored breathe I could feel my body's water content evaporating. Like a watermelon in a food dehydrator, my body was tormented as it lamented the loss of its vital liquid.

From the outset of the 75th ascent, I felt invincible: strong, swift, steady and focused. These are the elements that, when experienced in excess, can take a person from self-assuredness straight to hubris. I am unstoppable and unflappable! This jump from self-assuredness to grand control over all is not so much a slippery slope as a concave precipice: it unequivocally ends in a crash.

Life, in its fullness, is quick to remind us of our limits. I failed to adjust my standard pace on account of the heat. 15 minutes in and halfway to the summit my body's water resources were depleted: dehydration had determined that I would be a vessel of its moisture vacuity on this day. So it goes. And so it went.

Unwilling to accept that something like heat could affect my performance, I pushed on, on pace for the standard 30 minute ascent. A few minutes later I was standing on the summit. The heat had vanquished the precious life-sustaining goodness called water. It won handedly. Bad decisions rarely yield good results. This instance was no exception.

Nausea set in. Stomach cramps took hold. A slight twinge in the fore of my head portended of aches to come. As usual, I did not linger on the summit. I headed down at a brisk pace wishing away all of the symptoms that had developed (I also quietly harangued myself for the poor decision making that had gotten me to this point).

The descent, as usual, was also uneventful, save for the sickness that had settled in. To distract myself, I remained focused on the prize: a drinking fountain at the base of the mountain. 30 minutes later, I found myself where I started, sucking down copious amounts of water from the drinking fountain. I counted my blessings, stretched and hopped on my bike for a short ride home.

I had been in this place - dehydration and heat exhaustion - many times before during my ultra-marathon running days. I imbibed 20 ounces of Gatorade and 40+ ounces of water upon getting home. The story does not get any more interesting from this point. In fact, it probably peaked on top of the mountain. I recovered quickly and feel like a million bucks again, etc. etc.

All right. So. At the Mount Sentinel Trailhead, before heading up, I noticed a small index card tacked to general notice board. On it read: "#5000 to the top of mount sentinel, RLS, 05/25/2013". If I am reading this correctly, RLS, whomever that is, completed their 5000th summit of Mount Sentinel this week. That is mind-blowing!  We are talking on average 100 summits a year for 50 years or 200 summits a year for 25 years. Unbelievable! This new information, was immediately humbling, reminding me that my goal of 100 summits of Mount Sentinel in 2013 was, in the world of serious hikers and athletes, peanuts. It was a drop in the bucket in the grand scheme of things.

Any delusion of grandeur, of being great or exceptional this day, the 75th ascent, was quickly brought into check by the elements, God's realm, and by human performance, God's other realm. This isn't to say that I really considered myself great, but I did consider the objective unique to me. My goal was based solely on my abilities post-RA. And, it lives a balance that includes family, friends, work and other hobbies. The elements and humans will always challenge that fine line between self-assuredness and hubris.

We ought to do things for our own betterment in the context of a community. Without that grounding, that context, we are simply tinkering with the status quo of self-gratification and are liable to die - both physically and spiritually - from heat exhaustion and competition.

The moral of this post: drink more water, exercise in the heat smartly and never compare yourself to others, especially those that are known to you only by mysterious index cards.

Onward and upward,

Brian

A year ago today: vin-dit, wampeters and kingfishers

"...vin-dit, a Bokononist word meaning a sudden, very personal shove in the direction of believing that God Almighty knew all about me, after all, that God Almighty had some pretty elaborate plans for me." KV from Cat's Cradle

A year ago today, I had a conversation that changed my life.

The place: Placid Lake (aptly named). The people: Aaron McPeck and Linds Sanders.

A year ago yesterday, I opted to sleep under the stars next to the glowing embers of a dimming campfire. This, over a cozy space in the tent with Aaron and Linds. The decision to sleep outside had everything to do with the yen for open air, a big sky and solitude. 

A year ago today, a calm, crisp dawn greeted us, setting the stage for a comfortable, relaxed morning. Eager to get a line in the water and pass the morning throwing some casts, I headed down to the beach area near our campsite to scope out the water. To my surprise, I was not the first to seek the serenity of the morn. Linds had set up shop on the beach with a journal and book. My initial reaction, as it is in all cases when you are seeking solitude of any kind, was something like discouragement: I was not alone.

As it happened - as it was supposed to happen, Bokonon would say - I noticed Linds scanning the edge of the water eagerly in the direction opposite of me. She was rapt. My curiosity was piqued. I dispensed with my fishing plans and walked over to where Linds was seated to see what there was to see. She greeted me with a smile that quickly affirmed my decision. We exchanged morning niceties and got down to business: what's out there? what was she watching so intently? 

A kingfisher, as it turns out. A kingfisher! She went on to tell me about their call, how they hunt and where they live. I heard the call first. We waited. Then, with the precision of a Blue Angel, the bird launched from its perch some 100-150 yards away and flew the tangent, diving, diving, diving. It penetrated the water as if there were nothing but a superficial border between two geo-political realms. Water and sky, where one begins and the other ends is of no matter to the kingfisher, on one side of the line lives prey and on the other no prey. There was a momentary pause, the ripples dissipating, before the country-less bird emerged victorious, fish in beak. It returned to its perch, quarry in possession, and resumed its call.

As captivating as the scene was, Linds and I were lost in conversation. Highlights, of course. Family. Friends. Hiking. Running. Kayaking. Religion. Bucket list birds: kingfisher and the pileated woodpecker. Health. Even the kingfisher couldn't put on a show spectacular enough to draw our attention away from each other. The conversation came easily and joyfully. It was life-giving. We heard each other say things that we felt, but had never expressed before. We laughed, we smiled, we sighed. 

A year ago today, Linds and I began a forever conversation.

Onward and upward,

Brian   

P.S. In other news, 22 days into July, I am sitting at 26,500 vertical feet for the month and feeling like a million bucks! Last week, I got up Mount Helena 3 times and Mount Sentinel twice. I love Mount Helena. That is a nice mountain. 

Pikes Peak or Bust (in pictures)

"Nothing great was ever achieved without enthusiasm. 
The way of life is wonderful: it is by abandonment." 
- Ralph Waldo Emerson, from "Circles"

A week ago today, Linds and I returned from something of a pilgrimage to Colorado Springs. Truth-to-tell, the trip was a trip, a vacation, a break from routine. I say "something like a pilgrimage" because the 'trip' included two days on Pikes Peak, one of the richest chapters of this short life. 

Our sojourn was dual-purposed: a Christianson family visit and a jaunt of Pikes Peak, "America's Mountain".

The trip in pictures...

Chapter 1 - Christmas in July (kind of):

The week included a lot of cooking (and eating!) with the my nephew
Caleb and niece Ashlyn.

Not our kids! Hanging out at the Cheyenne Mountain Zoo
with the kiddos (Wallabies in background).

Another zoo shot with Mom and Ashlyn. 

Stare down.

 Chapter 2 - Outdoors: 

A couple of kissing fools under the 'kissing camels' in Garden of the Gods
during a circumnavigation of the park.

Self-portrait at the trail head for Pikes Peak (~6,200 feet). 

A reading companion at Barr Camp, our camp for the night.

Classic Barr Camp shot (2013)! It was a treat to show Linds this
chapter of my life (when I was a caretaker at Barr).

Barr Camp picture with Mom and Dad (2008).

Early morning snack break on the trail (~12,500 feet)

Headed to 'the cirque' (~13,000 feet)

On the summit of Pikes Peak (14,115 feet)

And that's it. Life is good. In addition to spending some quality time with my brother, sister-in-law, niece, nephew, mom and dad, Linds and had the pleasure of visiting briefly with my friend Jason and his wife Tiffany and gormandizing with Cody, Beth, Simon and Greta Lillstrom. It was a jam-packed, fireworksless 4th of July, but gosh, it was preciously what it was: life lived.

Onward and upward,

Brian

Life is a freaking miracle

"And how should we behave during the Apocalypse? We should be unusually kind to one another, certainly. But we should also stop being so serious. Jokes help a lot. And get a dog, if you don't already have one." Kurt Vonnegut (closing of a speech written by KV, delivered two weeks after KV's death by his son)

From my second floor perch over NE 40th St. in the University District of Seattle, the following is apparent:

- I miss Linds
- It is raining, it has always been raining and it will always be raining
- Related: people walk faster in the rain (in spite of Mythbusters work on the subject)
- Ben and Jerry's 'Cookie Dough' ice cream is freaking delicious
- I ate too much Pho (a lot) and too many cream puffs (2) today
- It is still raining
- I am thankful for shelter and warmth
- I am grateful for the ability to breath, laugh and feel a sense of longing for what is true (and real)
- Kurt Vonnegut Jr. and I are kindred spirits
- Life is a freaking miracle

Life is a freaking miracle. Three weeks ago, I took a blood test specific to RA that tests for a variety of markers that are known indicators of active inflammation. The test, Vectra DA, takes those 12 markers and pumps out a single score that provides a snapshot of a person's RA activity. Last spring, I tested a 46, the low-end severe inflammation. A year later? 13. Thirteen! A score that puts me within the normal range. Dr. English shared that this one-year quantum leap was the single greatest improvement she has seen in her time ordering the test. Unbelievable! How does that happen!? This Vectra DA test marks 6-months flare-up free with consistently normal labs.

If this isn't nice, I don't know what is.

Onward and upward,

Brian

Just engaged!

"In these bodies we will live, in these bodies we will die, where you invest your love, you invest your life." Mumford and Sons

June 9th, 2013 ~6:45AM: On bended knee, soundtracked by the otherworldly falsetto of Jonsi of Sigur Ros on the summit of Stuart Peak with a Montana sapphire ring from Studio Pandora in hand, I asked Linds Sanders to be my life partner. 

The plan to propose to Linds on the summit of Stuart Peak was conceived of early on in our dating relationship. In October of 2012, after two months of dating, it was clear to me that Linds was "the one". Whether or not I was her "one" early on, I suppose, is now moot. I got her! I really mean this in a joking sense. We were - and still are - positively smitten with each other. On a routine hike up Mount Sentinel in October, I looked out and up the Rattlesnake valley towards Stuart Peak. A domed peak of about 8,000 feet, Stuart Peak is the most striking feature of the Rattlesnake Wilderness as seen from Missoula. What's more, Stuart Peak is Linds' favorite mountain and the destination of one of our first dates. An easy choice.

No less than a mountaintop proposal would do, as a symbol of what we had quickly become for each other: a vantage point from which to see the rest of the world. Immediately, my Dad's event planning instincts kicked in: as a rule, Christiansons do nothing half-assed. More than a mountaintop proposal I greatly desired to contrive a scene that normally does not exist on top of semi-remote mountains. I wanted to create an unforgettable, somewhat improbable, scenario that simultaneously demonstrated my commitment to Linds through action: I would carry a table and chairs up the mountain to create the most beautiful dining we might experience. 

So the proposal plan was hatched.

By the end of April, marriage had become part of everyday conversation for Linds and I. It was inevitable. It was just a matter of when…the element of surprise remained in my favor. Linds and I, true to our busy selves, scheduled out our summer hikes in early May. I was quick to put a Stuart Peak hike - under the guise of revisiting the mountain in the new year together for the first time - on the calendar for early June.

En route to camp on the shoulder of Stuart Peak.

Saturday, June 8th, I picked up Linds from work and headed up into the Rattlesnake. To cut ourselves off from the reality of work and the hustle and bustle of our lives, I informed Linds that I had requested work off for her the following day (and received her ED's blessing). Obligations released and overnight packs shouldered, we hit the trail around 6:30PM. We made quick work of the ~6.5 miles and ~3,000 vertical feet that lay between the trailhead and where we would ultimately pitch the tent. As crimson and orange faded to black, we zipped ourselves into the tent and promptly followed the sun's lead. 

Sunrise over the east ridge of Stuart Peak.
Linds in the foreground.

The soft glow of dawn greeted us at 4:45 the following morning. Calm, clear and high 40s, the day was, by mountain standards, perfect. We prepared hot drinks, packed for the summit hike and set off around 5:30AM. The sun welcomed us within minutes over the east ridge of Stuart Peak just as we gained the south ridge of the mountain. We took several pictures along the way as the sun threatened to swallow us in its splendid light.

Roughly one-hundred feet below the summit, I paused, turned to Linds and asked her to look at her watch, wait five minutes, then follow me to the summit. Somewhat befuddled, but welcoming the rest, she obliged. I took off for the summit!

Summit reached, I scrambled - struggled really - to unload the contents of my pack: a fold-up table, two camp chairs, iPod speakers/iPod, sparkling grape juice, champagne flutes and, of course, the ring. So flustered by anticipation was I, setting everything up without breaking anything became my primary objective. The scene was utterly thrilling: endless mountain ranges as far as the eye dare view, sun ensconcing the summit and surrounding peaks and the love of my life five minutes away. Hurriedly, I set up the table, tablecloth, chairs and music. I cued up 'Untitled #4' from Sigur Ros' Untitled album and maxed out the volume, coating the landscape with a layer of post-rock transcendence. 

The scene was set.

A sense of peace came over me as I seated myself in front of the table setting. Ring in hand, it was done. The planning that began nine months prior had come to fruition. I watched as Lind's came over the horizon line and neared my seated position. She dropped her pack and sat next to me. I don't recall what I said exactly or how she responded. After a minute or two of sitting, I sat up, raised to one knee, turned to Linds and asked her to marry me. Tears of joy were released. For both of us the wait was over. After a couple of moments of tears, she responded "yes, of course I will". 

Toasting to the engagement on top of Stuart Peak.

We spent the next several minutes seated on the ground in a warm embrace. All of the planning did not take into account the sum of the elements being greater than their component parts. The real quickly became surreal and fantasy, for a moment, was the new normal. We eventually made use of the chairs and table and enjoyed Bernice's cinnamon rolls, a slideshow of portraits of us (how self-indulgent), sparkling grape juice and one of the most beautiful breakfasts either of us could have imagined! 

After spending about an hour and a half on the summit, we packed up and headed down to explore the lakes before returning to camp and returning to our friends, families and communities to share the news!

Jumping for joy on the summit of Stuart Peak!

I feel blessed beyond belief to have been given the opportunity to be with Linds, a woman who has provided a new level of clarity, joy and a hopeful future. Joy is in our hearts as we begin this journey together.

Onward and upward,

Brian