A Stressful End to 2021

 

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Thursday, December 30th

At 7 a.m. I noticed that my Alexa device signaled it had a notification. I asked her (it?) what it was and she responded, “There is a high wind warning for Superior from 8 a.m. to 5 p.m. today.” Hmmm, I thought, I should get out for my exercise early today. Like now. I did not. 

At 8:09 I sent a text to Stefan: 

Headed to Green (Mountain) but could be talked into your circuit (he scrambled the Second Flatiron to the First Flatiron the day before) from yesterday. Pretty windy out.

It was a “First Day” for Stefan, meaning a calendar day in which he had not already climbed the First Flatiron. He was close to “gridding” the First Flatiron, which means climbing it all 366 days of the calendar (over many years). Since it was a First Day, he was quite motivated to climb it despite the strong winds. He responded that he was an hour away from getting there so that I should just do my thing.

I selected Green Mountain because the entire loop would be in the trees and hopefully somewhat sheltered. Driving up Baseline to the Gregory Canyon parking lot, not a single traffic signal was working, including the ones at the 36 off-ramp and the Baseline/Broadway junction. I texted Sheri, jokingly, that if I didn’t return in a timely manner, likely a tree fell on me.

I did the loop without incident. It was extremely windy, but I was mostly sheltered and I’m used to high winds. I saw my buddy Big Bad Brad on the summit and we trotted down to the Ranger Trail junction together. He was doing a much bigger loop down Bear Canyon, so we parted ways there and I went down Ranger to Gregory Canyon. 

I finished up, hopped in my car, drove home, took a shower, and was reading my book when I got a text from Stefan at 10:37 a.m.:

trapped by the wind on the down climb. gonna have to wait it out. temps ok.

I didn’t see it right away, but responded at 10:50 a.m.:

Yikes! Let me know if you need a rescue. Crazy wind out there. I could come up there with a rope and a couple of harnesses.

At 11:43 a.m. Stefan responds:

shit yes, feet numb, wind worse. dunno how to get here tho

Me:

Okay. On my way. 

Stefan:

East face was fine. Southwest down climb is nuts. I think u need 2 summit? Downclimb impossible. 

Me:

Got you

Stefan:

shit, it’s gonna be dangerous man. Wind supposed to decrease in two hours. 

The winds would not decrease in two hours or four hours or six hours. Alexa said it was going to be high winds until 5 p.m. When I went to bed that night at 10 p.m. the winds were still howling, but this day was just getting started.

I sent Stefan a text at 11:47

Driving now

He responded:

dunno if it is even doable

As I crested the high point of Rock Creek Boulevard, I saw the wall of smoke coming from the west on Marshall Road. As I drove through the dense smoke, barely able to see, I called Sheri and told her about the fire. Visibility due to the smoke was limited until I topped the hill on highway 36. I could not see any of the flames, as the fire was south of me and over another hill. I knew the fire was significant, but I had no idea how significant it was and put it mostly out of my mind as I concentrated on Stefan.

As I drove, Stefan’s wife Sheryl sent me this text message:

I see your text thread with Stef. THANK YOU for trying to help, but please do so ONLY if you can stay safe! Please let me know how I can help.

This message actually didn’t come through on my phone, so I called Sheryl and asked what she said. She then asked, “Can RMR help?”

I responded, “No. It has to be me.”

That was a silly thing to say. RMR is awesome and have rescued me three times. But this was a unique situation. Almost no one, besides Stefan, knows the First Flatiron better than I do. I was already on my way and time was of the essence. Stefan had already been trapped for more than an hour and his feet were already frozen. I knew the best way up was going to be Atalanta — one of the shortest and easiest ways to ascend the East Face, thereby staying out of the wind and getting close to summit before hitting the North Ridge, which indeed might have been impassable. RMR would be much slower than me, as I’d solo up this route. RMR as angels of mercy and the best rescue crew in Colorado, but, as Liam Neeson said in Taken, “I have a unique set of skills.” Plus, also like Neeson’s character trying to save his daughter, I was supremely motivated: I love Stefan. We’ve been friends for decades. He’s an inspiration to me and a mentor. Here was my chance to use my skills and show my love. It looked grim and I might not succeed, but I wasn’t going to sit in my house or in my car. At the very least I was going to be below him on the ground. And maybe we would need more help.

Stefan, 12:02 p.m.:

too dangerous to summit. I can’t get back up. down climb or waiting in the only way.

Me:

I’m coming anyway. I’ll hike up there and see what things are like. 

Me, 12:10:

Hiking

I was wore a light long-sleeved shirt and a “garbage bag” wind shell, hat, and light gloves. I put on my harness at the car, put a 60-meter rope on my back, clipped a second harness and a helmet to my harness. Why the helmet when I would be soloing? I thought if the wind knocked me off low enough to the ground, the helmet would increase my chances of surviving. But if that was true why not wear it when I normally scramble? I wasn’t thinking everything through enough. I didn’t bring any slings. I just grabbed stuff and went. I should have taken just a couple more minutes to bring some slings…

There were other people out hiking in this wind, which didn’t seem too pleasant to me, yet I had done the same earlier. People in Boulder are hardy. I was a bit surprised that no one asked me where I was going with the rope. It was clearly insane to go climbing in this wind.

I hiked the entire way. I thought about how slow I was and how Anton or Kyle would be running to Stefan’s rescue. Despite my earlier hubris, there are better people than me. Most of the Minions are better than me. Fitter and faster. I wished I was stronger.

I kept Stefan updated so that he knew help was coming.

Me, 12:32 p.m.:

At base of First. Headed to Atalanta

He responded:

I think bad idea to summit. you could get trapped on final notch

Me, 12:47 p.m.:

At Atalanta now. Going to try for tree (two thirds of the way up the route). I can rap from trees from there I think (this was to imply that I don’t think I’ll be trapped at the tree or below it). Yes, final notch is an issue.

Stefan:

ok, good luck

I was just in my Topo running shoes and now lamented why I wasn’t in my best scrambling shoes. More failures of not taking just a minute or two more to think. I’d scrambled a bit in these shoes, though. I was determined to be as solid as possible and I climbed slowly and very carefully upwards on familiar rock. The wind was strong but no real issue. I could hear the roar of the wind above, though. At the ridge it was going to be fierce and maybe impossible for me. I reminded myself of Sheryl’s words. Getting blown off the ridge wouldn’t help Stefan. It would devastate him. 

Me, 12:57 p.m.:

I’m at tree. About 150 feet below ridge

Stefan:

ok

I crept upwards, fearfully. I was able to traverse a bit towards the summit below the ridge and delay the inevitable a bit longer. Then I was on the ridge and the wind hit me. Brutal, but I was able to hang on. Then a slight lull. I didn’t hesitate and rushed for the notch. Once there I crawled to the summit and dropped into a hole next to the anchors. The winds here were biblical. I know winds. Believe me or not, but this was sustained 100+ miles per hour. 

Despite the text messages telling me he was below the summit, I was surprised he wasn’t there. I was strong on motivation, weak on thought. I texted him.

Me, 1:06 p.m.:

I’m here. On summit.

Stefan:

wo[(o(oo| (apparently typing was tough)

Me:

Where are you?

Stefan:

15’ down, just around corner

I pulled the rope off my back and dropped it into my hole. I struggled to get it untangled and thread it through the anchor, but eventually succeeded and got myself on rappel. Now I needed to get my rope out of the hole and down to the west. But the wind was blowing 100 mph towards the east. I needed slings to coil the rope and clip it to my harness, but I didn’t have them. I’m no RMR. 

After what seemed like forever, especially to Stefan, I was able to wad up the rope in one hand, and rappel with my other hand, telling myself how careful I needed to be not to make a mistake. I inched out of my hole and was immediately battered against the rock by the wind. I clung to the rope with my brake hand and hugged the loose rope to my chest. With no hand to push myself away from the rock, I used my legs to push myself west and down. The ends of the rope that were not secured ripped skyward.

Fifteen feet down I came to Stefan, lying in a sloping slot and trying to reach the rope whipping above him. I came down and lay next to him. I handed him my other harness. No words were spoken, as nothing could be heard anyway. He struggled to get the harness on. It was too small. The buckle couldn’t be undone. This was my Tour race harness and really tight on me. Stefan is a bit larger, more muscular, and couldn’t get it on. All the while I’m getting very cold. I couldn’t imagine Stefan’s state. We had to get out of there. I yelled in his ear: “We have to switch harnesses.” He nodded and I stripped mine off and handed it to him. He handed me the race harness. 

We both pulled on the harnesses, while holding and sitting on the rope. If it had gotten out of our grasp, we’d have been trapped. We both knew that. I also couldn’t get the harness on. I must be putting it on wrong, I thought. I took it back down, oriented it, probably identically, and tried again. It was stuck on my fat butt. I lay prone, wriggling and struggling desperately, like a Victorian maiden trying to put on a girdle. I was desperate. There was ZERO chance of pulling up a harness after Stefan descended. I’ve done a Dulphersitz (sp?) before. There was ZERO chance of that working for me. I redoubled my efforts and finally got it up to my hips.

Stefan rappelled first. He had trouble getting west and fought the wind and got over the edge, where gravity could now help him. I fed out rope to him until I had no more to give. I let go, praying it didn’t get stuck anywhere. I laid there for a minute and then had to crawl north in my groove to reach the rappel ropes, now directly west of the summit and north of me. Staying on my ledge I grasped them and pulled them towards me. The fact that I could pull the ropes told me that Stefan was down. I now had to get on rappel. I’d pull in a tiny bit of slack to try to feed my device and the wind would yank the rope back. I tried again. And again. And again. My hands were going numb. I didn’t panic, not yet, but I was getting desperate and shaking didn’t help matters. Finally, I got them through the device and wrestled trying to get the loops into my carabiner. I got one in. I got the second in. I checked. I checked again. I locked the biner. I slid off my ledge and extended my legs and was blown hard to the north, against the rock. I hung on and slid down the rope. Once down ten feet, I was good. 

Stefan below held the ropes, as I knew he would. If he had let go of those ropes before I got on rappel, the ropes would have been blown over the top of the Flatiron and I’d have been trapped, just like he was. 

Once I hit the ground, Stefan staggered over to me. I immediately saw that he was having trouble moving. The wind on the ground was nearly as bad and he staggered against it. As I pulled the ropes through my device, he hugged me tight. Even if words were possible (they were not), they would have been a poor substitute. I couldn’t imagine the suffering he went through for hours up there. His relief, his gratitude, his love, his thanks, his emotion rushed into me. 

A mighty pull on the rope didn’t budge it. My puny arm strength was useless against this wind. I cared almost nothing about this rope, so great was my relief to be back on the ground. I’d abandon it without a second thought, despite it being my primary lead rope. It was due to be replaced anyway. Still, I couldn’t help trying, now that I knew we’d both live. I tied a knot in one end and clipped it to my harness and then hiked downhill, toward the trail. My weight and my leg strength was enough, and the rope slowly came down. 

By the time I hit the trail, the rope pulled through the anchor on top, but it did not fall to the ground. It didn’t get hung up either. Thirty meters of 9mm rope flew like a kite, ramrod straight at a 45-degree angle up into the sky. I pulled down every inch of that rope to my feet. Not once did it drop to the ground. 

I had sent Stefan on down the trail. He was in bad shape, clearly, and there was nothing for him to do. The lower he got, the more out of the wind he’d be. I was still getting hammered in the wind. With no chance of coiling the rope, I picked it up in a bundle and staggered down the trail until I could find some relief. I caught Stefan and went by him to get next to a large boulder. I coiled the rope here as Stefan continued. Once I had the rope on my back, I caught Stefan again. We could now talk if our faces were close together. He said, “My feet are numb. Oh, and I have Covid.”

He had a buff up over his mouth and nose, to protect me. I wasn’t worried. Any breath from him was immediately blown to Kansas. He then said, “Today wasn’t my smartest decision.”

We continued down the trail, cold, but now fine and on our way to warmth. It wasn’t a quick descent, as Stefan was walking on a couple of clubs. Once out of the trees we could see the smoke rising to the east and my thoughts turned back to the fire. 

My buddy Homie called me. He asked, “Are you in Superior?” I said no, that I was in the Flatirons. He told me that Superior was being evacuated because of the fire. What?! I called Sheri. She was still in Superior at the Eldorado K8 school. She had left the house before the evacuation order had gone out just to see the fire that I had told her about. She couldn’t go up Rock Creek Boulevard, as it was grid locked. 

I sent Sheri a text at 1:44 p.m. telling her that Stefan and I were down. She responded that they just issued an evacuation order for the entire town of Superior. She watched the fire come over the hill and sent:

It’s getting close to this townhouses. Shit. Shit.

I called Homie to see where he was and tell him that Sheri was still in Superior. Authorities had come door-to-door to evacuate him and his wife. His daughters had already left, but didn’t get far, due to gridlock. It took people 90 minutes to go 1.5 miles. Sheri reported that she was leaving and in the gridlock, going “an inch a minute,” she said. I was worried for her, but there was nothing I could do. All roads to Superior were closed: highways 36 and 93. Marshall Road. I was trapped in Boulder. Sheri and everyone in Superior was fleeing to the south and east, chased by a fire driven by 80-100 mph winds. 

I figured I would wait it out at the Starbucks at Baseline and Broadway and drove down the hill, noticing a 2-foot-diameter spruce tree that snapped off five feet above the ground and blocked a side street. Starbucks was closed due to lack of power. I was parked under a swaying power pole. I moved to the parking lot but was then under a swaying light pole. I moved to the middle of the lot and fielded text messages and phone calls about my safety. Superior was burning to the ground and friends and family wanted to know if I was okay.

My Nissan Leaf only had 15 miles of charge left. I needed to charge it before I could go much of anywhere. Homie told me to go to his church, but I couldn’t find the charger there. I headed to the Nissan dealership, as I knew they had a free, fast charger there. I spent the next two hours there, charging my car and watching, on 9news.com, my neighborhood burn. I felt there was little chance any house was going to survive, including mine.

Sheri made it out. My sister and brother both offered their houses in Denver for her to stay, but she didn’t want to drive too far and got a hotel in Arvada. I was flooded to offers for lodging from Tom, Stefan, Kristen, Holly, Chris Weidner, Chris Archer, Ed, Sarah, Bruno, Brad, Brian, Connor, Davin, Jack, Sue, Charlie, etc. It seemed everyone I knew was calling concerned, desperate to help me. I was and still am overwhelmed with emotion at the love and caring of everyone. 

Friday, December 31st

I didn’t sleep well and awoke early. I watched updates on my fast-dying phone at 4 a.m. and decided to head to Rock Creek to see if my house was still standing at 6 a.m. My buddy Tom joined me. We parked at highway 128 and McCaslin — 3 miles from my house and the closest we could get via car. We donned headlamps and made our way down the hill on a trail, creeping into the neighborhood. We dodged cop cars and fire trucks and weaved our way via trail and bike paths and some roads. Most of what we saw was good. All of Rock Creek south of Coalton Road was completely intact. North was a different story, but nearly as bad as I had feared.

It seemed 90% or 95% of the neighborhood’s houses were untouched. But the houses that were touched, were obliterated. Burned so completely that driveways and walkways ended at nothingness. The first house I saw like this caused some cognizant dissonance. I thought I had made a wrong turn. I didn’t recognize the view in front of me. It look a moment to understand I was looking at a lot the once held a two-story house. It was so completely removed that it looked more like an empty lot than a burned house. To be a burned house, there would have to be a house. There wasn’t one. It was as if it had been vaporized. Everything? Sinks? Stoves? Refrigerators? Nothing remained, at least that’s how it looked. Later I realized that a lot of this stuff must just be in the basement. 

Some burned lots had cars on them, whether in the garage or the driveway, they looked the same, as no structure remained. The cars were just empty metal husks. Inside the only remains of any seats were the metal wire springs.

We saw one house that was partially burned and it puzzled us how it could be like that. Why didn’t it burn to the ground? What could have stopped it? Then we found a fire hose on the driveway and the answer was obvious. Heroism stopped this fire. Hundreds of bad-ass, honest-to-goodness fire fighters stopped this fire. They couldn’t save Old Town Superior or the Sagamore neighborhood. These were on the front lines and the fire was fed by 100 mph winds. God himself couldn’t have saved those houses. But in Rock Creek and elsewhere these brave fighters took a stand. They saved hundreds of homes, including mine.

The Marshall Fire was a disaster of epic proportions, burning at least 600 homes (at the time of this writing) and maybe more than a thousand homes. Friends would lose their houses, but I wouldn’t. And my closest friends wouldn’t either. Homie was the first house saved on his street. Every single house on the other side of the street was burnt completely away. Only foundations were left. Danny’s house was in a small saved pocket, surrounded by Armageddon. Dan Vinson’s house, in old town Superior, where 600 homes were lost and I thought everything was burned, was saved. 

We walked out and headed south to meet up with Sheri at her hotel. After breakfast and a shower, we headed back to Rock Creek. We parked along the side of highway 128 and took roughly the same route back to the house. A blizzard was coming and we wanted to make sure our pipes wouldn’t freeze. We thought we’d turn off the water, open some taps, we weren’t sure. Once there, we plugged in our three space heaters. Between the three of them, we could maintain the house at 54 degrees. Then the snow hit and temperature dropped. 

Sheri didn’t want to walk back in the storm, so we decided to stay the night. We had no cable and hardly any phone service, but we had food, electricity and water. We were fine. Sheri wore her down jacket, her warmest, insulated pants, and a hat. We were fine, but I was worried about our cars up on the highway and if they would be a problem for plows. Just then Homie contacted me. I told him I was planning to head back to move my cars and he offered to help. Of course he did. 

I walked down to Safeway and he picked me up there. Coalton Road was now open and our plan was to move both cars down to here, which we did. I walked back to our house and Sheri fed me dinner. I’m so pampered. 

Saturday, January 1st

Sitting in my house now, in a still abandoned neighborhood, I have some survivor’s guilt. The night before, I was sure my house was gone. Of all the people in Superior and Louisville, I’ve got to be one of the people who could have survived it the easiest. Yes, all the memories and irreplaceable items would haunt me, and I’d likely have to move out of the area, but I have a circle of such giving friends and such a loving, caring family, that I’d have been taken in. I would have been cared for. In the days, weeks, and months to come, I’ll be looking for ways to help my neighborhoods. 

Today, I awoke to 8 inches of snow on the ground. Our house had no heat, but we had electricity and three space heaters, so our house was 54 degrees and no water pipe damage. Not knowing what to do, I shoveled my driveway and walk. Then I did my neighbor’s. Then my other neighbor’s. Then his neighbor’s . And her neighbor’s. It wasn’t much. It might be nothing at all by the time my neighbors return, but for me, for just this morning, it was something. 

We’ve all faced a lot of obstacles this year, or rather last year, now. I forgot completely that last night was New Year’s Eve. I went to bed in my chilly house at 9:30 p.m. My wife remembered, but didn’t tell me, fearing I’d wake her up at midnight to watch the ball drop. But our cable’s out anyway, so we wouldn’t be watching anything. 2021 was rough. At times. It was good at times, too. I’ll cherish the good, mourn the bad, and strive to make 2022 better. What else can we do?