An unexpectedly long walk

You know when you see people going into the outdoors entirely unprepared? "Fools!" you think to yourself. I once saw a guy on a three-day hike in New Zealand, carrying only a plastic bag with a sleeping bag in it, and wrapped in a towel for warmth. He survived the trip, thankfully. The following story is my own mildly shameful entry into this category of walker, for in Breckenridge I ended up sheltering under an umbrella, at 3800 m, while the rain we were walking in turned to snow.

Moonrise over Breckenridge.

Because I was in Breckenridge for a conference, I didn't bring any walking gear with me. But Thursday afternoon was free, I had just given a talk and so had my friends, and we decided it was definitely the right time for a "short walk in the hills". If you replace the word "short" with "strenuous" and "hills" with "approaching rain" you start to get an idea of how the reality differed from our expectations. I took what I had with me, which is to say some water, a fleece, and an umbrella "just in case". It started very nicely indeed with a walk through forest, during which we looked at the autumnally-coloured trees and mused over the possibilities regarding bears (conclusion: unlikely).

Healthy forest.

Unhealthy forest.

We were pleased to reach the tree line, because it meant we would get a good view of the surrounding countryside, which it has to be said was very beautiful. A lake nestled in the bottom of a giant cirque, the surrounding mountains were bare and rocky and atmospheric clouds rose above. It was at about this point, though, that we realised we weren't even on the crappy map the hotel reception had given us. Which mountain was Peak 9, and which was Peak 10? And what kind of imagination-less soul numbers their peaks instead of naming them, anyway?

At the tree line.

Consulting the map.

We knew where we were in relation to the map—we had walked around the base of a modestly sized ridge which came down from the mountains. There was a path heading up and over the ridge, and the town (and mapped area) was on the other side. If the path didn't go where we wanted, we could always walk back down the way we'd come. Same thing if it rained, which the clouds were threatening to do. We pushed on.

Rain in the distance.

Gorgeous views.

The path took a lot longer to get over the ridge than we expected. We followed it higher and higher. The rain got closer and closer. Eventually we crested the ridge, and so did the rain; and we realised we were still far from Breckenridge. We could see it way down in the valley. At this point snow started appearing in the rain. We made the decision to push on quickly, in the hope of getting down fast. As the rain increased I finally swallowed my pride and hesitantly got the umbrella out. As I pushed the button to open it I had a sinking feeling: this was a dumb position to be in. I was on a mountain with an umbrella, as only an idiot would be—yet I was pleased to have it, because it in fact was quite an effective block against the wind and rain. We pushed on, this time down the other side of the ridge. Eventually the ski lifts came into sight, meaning we were back on the map, and we easily navigated our way down by walking down the steep ski run under the lift.

I later heard that of the people at the conference who went walking, of which there were quite a few, we were the only ones brave or stupid enough to continue up after the weather came in. I certainly feel dumb for having headed out so unprepared. An umbrella, really!? In my defence, however, I actually suspect that on that particular walk the umbrella counted as some small token of readiness. In any case, having survived this one with nothing worse than slightly hurt pride, it falls into that neat category of half funny, half serious incidents that I will remember for a long time. It really was a very good walk.