The rising sun found a window in the cloudbank and used the moment to cast its rays through a curtain of raindrops, painting a small rainbow on the face of the Maroon Bells – the most iconic mountains in all of Colorado. Violet-green swallows flew sorties across the surface of Maroon Lake, while a choir of their winged brethren sang songs of morning from the stands of willows lining the banks.
The setting was idyllic. Unfortunately, the stormy weather was inappropriate for an attempt on Colorado’s third-hardest Fourteener: Pyramid Peak. I could push my luck, continue up the mountain and hope the rainfall wouldn’t make the cliffs and ledges more treacherous than they already were, or I could postpone the hike and stay a second night with my Aspen hosts and their hyperactive two- and four-year-old sons, who started wrestling me the instant I set foot through the door, and scarcely let up until their 10 o’clock bedtime. I wasn’t sure which option was scarier. Tough to decide… fourteener or four-year old…fourteener or four-year old… .
I ultimately chose a slow torture in a domestic setting rather than a quick death on Pyramid Peak, and returned to the town of Aspen to reconnect with my couchsurfing hosts. The couchsurfing network is comprised of several million people around the world who are willing to let travelers crash on their couches for a night, in the expectation that they might need someone to return the favor someday. References pertaining to your behavior as a guest or host help people decide if they want to associate with you. It’s a great system, which I utilize if I’m looking for local hiking tips, or if I don’t feel like camping in the rain.
In truth, my host family was quite kind and welcoming, and even the little rugrats were gracious in their own manic fashion. After a night of limited rest, I went back to the base of Pyramid Peak, and prepared to launch another bid for its unstable summit. The day’s forecast was supposed to be mostly sunny, but unfortunately these mountains didn’t seem to have gotten the memo. The skies remained stubbornly overcast, and dark clouds toyed with the upper edges of nearby peaks. Raindrops sprinkled down as I crossed the boulderfields below the north face, making me wonder if ominous weather was a precondition for this Fourteener, regardless of the regional forecast.
The conditions were unsettling, but at least I didn’t lack for company. At 13,000 feet, I encountered a good dozen climbers sharing a ridgeline platform with a large extended family of mountain goats. The site was a way station and resting ground before the terrain really became interesting. The final thousand feet would be akin to climbing the actual Pyramid of Giza two times, only without the benefit of actual stairs.
While the goats distracted the other hikers, I proceeded along the backside of the Pyramid, following a route that felt like it had been built by a Hollywood set designer. The path included obligatory leaps across chasms and ledges so narrow that I had to hug the cliff wall as I inched across. It was of cinematic quality, to say the least.
From afar, the ledges appeared as horizontal stripes, creating the impression that these were indeed levels of a Great Pyramid. In reality, they represented layers of sand and clay that were deposited in a shallow sea basin 250 million years ago. After becoming solidified into shale and sandstone, they were uplifted along with the rest of the Rocky Mountains, giving the Elk Range their distinctive bands of red, green and gray.
People speculate that the pyramids of Egypt had to have been built by an alien civilization. Pyramid Peak seemed to have been assembled by aliens as well, for the triangle had been used as the basic building block rather than the traditional square. The mountain was slowly fracturing into triangular boulders, breaking apart faster than granite due to the weak bonds between the sedimentary layers. This created a lot of debris, causing me to have to kick loose pebbles and sand off the ledges before it was safe to walk across.
Occasionally, the only way to ascend to the next level of the Pyramid was to find handholds and footholds and pull myself straight up the cliff face. With careful scouting, however, I was able to limit my climbs to six feet of vertical distance at a time, so a fall would prove inconvenient, but not fatal. I was somewhat surprised; this mountain was not as daunting as its reputation suggested. Or perhaps my mountain goat genes were finally kicking in.
Not long after I reached the summit, the real goats made an appearance, followed eventually by the other hikers. The clouds lifted above our heads for the occasion, but they still seemed inclined to bully the Maroon Bells and nearby peaks. I knew the clouds were bound to turn their attention back this way sooner or later, and yet I dallied atop the Pyramid for a full hour while others straggled up, snapped some pictures and started back down the mountain.
When my appetite for vivid scenery had been sated, I surrendered the peak to the goats and picked my way down the mountainside. I made good time, discovering shortcuts that allowed me to easily overtake and outdistance the other climbers. But then the rain began. The sandstone became slick, and my shoes had difficulty finding traction. Now I had to shift strategies, because the gravel-strewn surfaces were suddenly safer, and the cleared ledges were more slippery and treacherous.
Fortunately, at the height of the storm, the worst of Pyramid’s cliffs were already behind me. The rain tapered off, and as I approached the 13,000-foot rest area, a solitary boom of thunder announced the stormcloud’s imminent departure. I thought I’d have the ridge to myself for a while, after having left the peak-baggers far behind, but somehow those wily mountain goats scampered ahead and beat me to it. If I knew a few shortcuts, it seemed the goats knew of better ones. My ego disapproved. I guess as nimble as I consider myself to be on mountain slopes, having hooves and a low center of gravity can beat boots and hiking poles every time.