Our family had wanted to hike Pike's Peak since we were in Colorado three years ago.   When we met Bryan and Amy  at the Colorado Springs airport, I asked, "Do you think we can hike the Peak?"  I was the weak member; I didn't know whether I could make it up and down Barr Trail, a 26 mile round trip.

    On a short hike soon after we arrived, we met a man who had hiked to the top of the Peak a couple of weeks before, and he told us we could catch the train down or find a ride with someone who drove up.  That encouraged us; we were pretty  sure we could make it one way.  But he warned us that he got caught in a snowstorm the latter part of July.  He said you have to protect clothes with  raingear to avoid hypothermia.

    We were getting mixed messages.  People who didn't appear to be in fantastic shape said they had hiked Barr Trail; but a lady told us it was harder than a marathon.  Everyone said it could be dangerous.

    We got on the trail Wednesday morning about 6:20 am, then stopped 30 minutes at Barr Camp to refill our canteens.  Chip wandered into the store and asked, "What the forecast for today at the Peak?"

    "Same as it is every day," the attendant replied.  "Seventy percent chance of thunderstorms."

     The brochure from Barr Camp said, "Pike's Peak is one of Colorado's most celebrated and difficult peaks to attain.  The difficulty arises from the length of the climb and the elevation gain rather than from technical difficulty (13 miles--7500 feet of gain)...Mountains are turbulent places, full of swift violence...Darkness, storms, lightning, cold, precipitation, altitude, avalanche and rockfall are powerful forces the wise climber learns to recognize and avoid.  When traveling in the mountains, be prepared."

    We left Barr Camp about 10:30, then paused about noon to eat our peanut butter and honey sandwiches in a beautiful forested area filled with wildflowers.  A young man hiking with his 80-year-old grandfather caught up with us.  We thought, "If they can do it, surely we can!"  After lunch, and donning our sweatshirts,  we climbed up towards the tree line.  The sky was clouding over, but we knew that we needed to make it to the top  in time to  catch the train down.  I knew I couldn't hike down--neither my toes nor my knees were up to it.  So we decided to continue rather than waiting the storm out at the A-frame.

    The treeline three miles from the top, near the A- frame, was like a warning:  Go farther only at your own risk.  The dead trees were like skeletons, and there were lots of them, just past where it seemed every other tree had been struck by lightning.  We were well past any hint of trees when the rain started--first drops, then soft hail, sort of like snow.  We put on our nylon pants and ponchos.  Then the lightning in the area charged the ground so that Amy's stray hairs, those not pulled back in her ponytail,  stood a foot in the air.

    A hiker hurrying down for the tree line told us that the lightning strikes rocks, and the ground around them, so he advised us not to get too close to rocks.  We didn't know what to do; the posting at the trailhead said to get between rocks.  Mixed messages, again.  We prayed together, then we got under some big rocks.  When the lightning finally abated and we started back up the trail, there were soldiers behind us.  We learned from  them that ground lightning is a great danger, and that lots of hikers are killed by lightning each year.  They said you should sit on your rucksack to insulate yourself from the ground, stay away from rocks, and stay low.  Getting under the big rocks was actually very dangerous.  But the Lord provided for our safety, even in our ignorance.   The last six miles, above Barr Camp, were steep; the last three, above the tree line, were very steep.  But what  awesome views!  The Special Forces men, who had to hike this trail this each year with 45 lb. packs, told us that what we were seeing in the distance was Kansas.  We could see the curvature of the Earth.  Was Christopher Columbus a mountain hiker?

    The last three miles were very steep; the last mile was extremely steep, and involved scrambling up  and over rocks in the trail.   They called it the "16 Golden Stairs."  It was actually sixteen switchbacks, the only thing that kept us from going straight up that mountain.  It was like someone got tired of building the trail and said, "Let's just go straight up from here."  We had to stop several times to catch our breath, even though we were ploddingly slow.  It encouraged us that the Army guys, even the Sappers, who were not carrying heavy packs,  were in the same kind of shape.  The altitude got to everyone.

     The last mile was the longest mile I ever remember walking.  But the Army guys cheered us on when we got near the top:  "All right!  Good job!"  That was really great.  It was like we had run a race.  It was about 4:00 pm. We had hiked all day.
 The next morning we went out for breakfast, so proud of our accomplishment.  But Amy said, "I'll bet our waitress has hiked it, too."  So she asked her.  She told us, "Yeah--but I'm not very ambitious.  I've only hiked seven 14ers."  That's Colorado slang for the 50+ peaks in thestate over 14,000 feet high, including Pike's Peak at 14,110.  This was Colorado, and things were judged by a different measure.  But we're pleased that we were able to hike to the top of Pike's Peak.  Bryan's question was, "Now that we've done this, what's next?"  I can't imagine!

 Here's another Pike's Peak trail article:
Parents' Corner
by
Johnny Jones
August 1993

 It seems we have a talent for doing things the hard way.  Take seeing the Grand Canyon.  Our friends from Connecticut took the helicopter ride, then took pictures from the rim.  Whirr, whirr, snap, snap, then it was off to Death Valley.  It only took an afternoon.

 I've told you how we saw it.  We walked down to the bottom and back out.
So you shouldn't be too surprised how we saw Pike's Peak.  Our 4-cylinder VW
Van protested at Colorado Springs' altitude; we weren't about to take it up
to the top.  But Yuri, a fellow camper, told us about Barr Trail, a hiking
path that goes all the way to the Peak.  That peak was above 14,000 feet,
one of several "14er's" loved by hikers in Colorado.

 We brought full canteens and a lunch, but we had no definite goal.  The
trail started out with warnings:  Only experienced hikers should attempt
this path.  Other warnings stated the effects of altitude sickness, common
to lowlanders who hike the high country.

 Right away we saw the reason for the warnings.  We have never hiked a more
difficult trail.  This trail was steeper and more treacherous than the one
we took down to the bottom of the Grand Canyon.  The first mile or so was
lined with rails to help us cope with the tiny gravel that rolled like ball
bearings on the hard packed dirt.

 Right away the steep ascent paid off in glorious views.  We got overlooks
of Colorado Springs within the first couple of miles that paralleled those
from the top of Mte. LeConte in the Smokies.  These, after all, were the
Rockies - our nation's most serious mountains.

 The mountains lived up to their name.  There were boulders to sit on to
take a drink from the canteen, or let the runners by.  Yes, runners.  We
felt hale and hearty for our ability to cope with this trail until we saw the number of runners padding up and down the path.  They were practicing
for a race the following weekend.  On Saturday they would race the 12.6
miles up; on Sunday they would run up and back down.  Later we learned that runners from all over the world come for this race.  Still, stepping to the side continually for people, many of whom were our age and older, was a lesson in humility.

 We soon learned about Barr Camp, 7 miles up the trail.  The old camp where Barr had sold refreshments to the mule riders who went up the trail became our goal.  Its drawing points were the promise of refreshments and outhouses.

 Unlike the Grand Canyon, there seemed to be no frivolous hikers on this
trail.  It started steep, and only after several miles leveled off a little.
There we found the forested region, full of wildflowers and views of the
peak.  We ate lunch on a couple of felled trees.

 One of the features that made this trail unique was the number of dogs.  It
seemed every other hiker had a black Lab at his side.  One lady had a pack
on her dog.  A girl lost her wolf-like animal, who looked perfectly natural
loping along the rocks and brush.

 We leapfrogged with a couple of guys from the area who kept warning us to
take it easy because of the altitude.  They had sleeping bags and were planning to stay overnight at Barr Camp.  We did go slowly.  It took us from 8:45 to 1:30 to get to Barr Camp.  They took our picture there - after we visited the outhouse.  The women's was freshly painted, so smelled of brown paint rather than outhouse.

 Barr Camp was one of those places that seems as remote from the rush of the modern world as Tibet or the Galapagos Island.  People there rocked, read papers, and talked little.  Had we known about the bunks we would have stayed the night there and tried to reach the top the next day.  As it was, we refilled our canteens and headed down again.   I have trouble going downhill.  I made it clear what I want for Christmas this year:  Hiking boots.   I was sure they would help me with the slippery
slopes.  But my trouble was small next to a lady about 1/4 mile from the end
of the trail.  Her overweight dog was exhausted and refused to budge.  She
tried carrying him, but fell herself.  We offered her water for the dog,
which helped for a few feet.  Then Bryan and Chip took turns carrying him
the rest of the way down.
 Next time we want to spend the night and Barr Camp and hike all the way to
the top.  But we have never been so sore from hiking.

 Then why did we do it?  When you're on the trail a long time, you get silly
and enjoy one another.  We laughed so hard that Chip strained the rib that
was healing from our rafting trip a couple of days earlier.  We hiked for
the pleasure of seeing Amy curled up with a book at Barr Camp, perfectly at
peace.  For the society of the people on the trail, from the Dad with his
little boy who skinned his knee to the lawyer from Dallas.  For the pure
enjoyment of a meal in the most spectacular scenery you can imagine.  For
the satisfaction of the accomplishment.

 So I suppose we're incurable.  We'll keep doing things the hard way.
Because we have something in addition to pictures for our scrapbook.  When I
picture the beauty, I also see a Dad tenderly placing a Band-Aid on his
teary-eyed son, Bryan carrying a furry dog down a tan trail rimmed with
rails, a guessing game at Barr Camp.  I remember the social and the
spiritual side of our adventure.  Was it worth the cost?  You bet!