Inspiration Point

“You could try Inspiration Point, ‘bout three and a half miles one way. Good view from the top.” The park ranger in Creede, Colorado sat back in his chair, belly hiding his belt buckle. “Though, you’ll want to get back before the smoke comes in. Fires ‘s ‘bout forty miles away.” I had asked for a challenging hike I could get in before lunch but remained a bit skeptical whether the big ranger was a reliable source. With a groan, the man pulled himself from his chair and walked to the map.

“The trail starts here, kitty-corner to the gas station. You’ll want to stay right when the path splits.”

I decided to go for it, knowing a storm was on its way, forecast to arrive after four. I aimed to return by 12:30.

“Sounds good.” I picked up a mountain lion pamphlet. “Hey, do I need to be worried about them?”

“Naw, not really. No one’s seen a cougar yet this year. Just keep an eye out.” He sure knew how to instill confidence.

“Well, thanks.” I, along with a handful of friends, left the ranger station with full water bottles, ready for a quick hike. I was the only one planning on hiking up a mountain and back in two hours; they were taking the more sensible route and heading up to an overlook above town. Although it was a longer route, I expected nothing more than a short jaunt up and back. What I got was an adventure like none I’ve ever had.

We found the trailhead easy enough and I walked ahead, pressed for time. The way was smooth and steep and I kept a strong pace. After a half hour or so, I stood at the edge of a cliff overlooking the town to my left and a beautiful, wild valley to my right. I drank some water and pressed on. The trail turned stony and uneven but it didn’t slow me down much. Well into the second half of my ascent, the tree cover gave way and what I saw kicked me into high gear. 

There, bearing down the valley, was a cloud of smoke.

I was determined to make it to the top and the smoke made it even more important that I hurried. With my asthma, trying to hike in the smoke would be like going for a run while breathing through a dish towel. It would be dangerous. I figured there was enough time left, so I pressed on.

The trail ended at the top of a cliff after a quarter mile straightaway on the ridge. Partway through this section, I realized how wrong I had been about the loose, gray cloud creeping through the valley. I don’t know if it came from living at a lower elevation (more than a mile and a half below Creede), but I was used to storm clouds generally being dark and menacing, high above the ground. The sound of thunder reached my ears and I knew it wasn’t the same in the Rockies. Then I made a foolish choice that may have saved my life: instead of turning around and heading back as fast as I could, I kept going.

Minutes later I made it to the cliff and took some pictures. My goal of summiting achieved, I turned around, tightened my sandals, and hauled my butt out of there. Most important was to get off the ridge before the storm hit the mountain.

The trail turned right and I began my descent at a run. Fat raindrops began to fall, but the thunder was still a ways away. I kept going, getting lower and lower. I entered a gap in the trees, forced to slow to a walk over the smooth, wet stones lest I break my ankle, and was pelted by marble-sized hail.

The storm was on top of me. I ran to tree cover, took anything metal from my pockets and stuffed it all into my bag. I shoved the bag under a tree and walked twenty feet down the trail, away from the tallest of the trees, to wait out the storm. I sat down next to the trail, but soon realized I made a mistake. A wet rear end resting on the wet ground made for a great conductor for electricity, something that made me a more likely candidate for a lightning strike. I squatted on my feet, keeping the rubber soles of my sandals between my wet body and the ground.

And that was how I stayed for the next half hour as lightning split the sky and thunder shook my bones. I had never heard thunder that loud—I was in the storm, not below it. The hail let up and a cold rain carried on a cold wind blew in. My clothes were soon soaked through and drew the heat from me. I began to shiver. My hands started to shake and I put them in my armpits to keep them warm.

It was an intense half hour, not knowing what would happen. Lightning could have struck any one of the trees around me, starting yet another forest fire in a state already aflame. Or I could have been hit. My life depended on luck and whether the rubber soles of my sandals were thick enough.

The thunderclaps started to space further and further apart and the sky lightened. The rain eased and the wind died. It had passed. I stretched my legs out in front of me. All feeling in my feet had been lost from crouching so long. Sensation gradually, painfully returned and I stood. I retrieved my bag from under the tree and was surprised to find all my electronics still dry.

I took to the trail again, leaving the trees behind. Had I turned around sooner, I may have found myself here, out in the open, unprotected. Instead, I now walked beneath the sun, my clothes drying in the warm summer air. I watched in awe as the storm continued down the valley, leaving sunshine in its wake. Circumstance had forced me to release control of the world and succumb to the will of nature, a breathtaking, freeing sensation. I was caught in a thunderstorm above on the side of a mountain, 10,000 feet above sea level. While it is not something I hope to relive, the experience was extraordinary, one to remember.  

Creede, Colorado (2012)