“Oh jeez there he is!” Screams Mike.

A little mouse tormented him all night while he slept in his Jeep at the Sliverton Visitor Center. He heard him scratching, gnawing and scampering all night and once thought he was on the roof so Mike quickly jumped in the drivers seat and hit the gas pedal hoping the little mouse would fly off. No luck. While we were getting ready Friday morning Mike opened the glove box for some personals and the mouse jumped through a small hole into the engine compartment. We popped the hood and never found him. WTWTCH. What’s the worst that could happen? We wouldn’t know until we returned, if we returned on the Vernal Equinox; Sunday at 0933.

There is the way, then there is the best right way and today Mike and I are attempting to make Colorado mountaineering history. We gotta go. We bid the mouse a farewell and ponder the many unknowns ahead and behind the snow covered train tracks. With my palavering jabbering neediness about the point of pointless, time passed quickly. Life’s been rough for me the last few years and I’ve learned that failure is an equalizer. All is fair in love and war. Some battles leave no victor, only a trail of broken hearts. I wonder if the price we pay is ever worth the fight. The things we love have the power to inflict the greatest scars for what thing is more fragile than the human heart? Time to go climb mountains and get a little mountain climber exposure therapy because up there, we get to escape the misery of existence.

The snow texture was firm late Friday morning and I could feel confidence swell. Once at the Elk Park train drop off point 10k down the tracks we decide to find a suitable camp ASAP to get the Godzilla’s off our backs. A half mile south along the tracks we found the perfect spot; flat enough for one tent, one bivy and a nearby creek sans Animas minerals and you never oughta drink water when it ain't runnin. Mike dug the camp pit and I dug the fire pit and the outhouse. By 1400 we hit the tracks again to locate a snow-bridge to cross the Animas so we could get up Tenmile Creek drainage, which was a huge unknown. We discussed the devil we knew via Vestal Basin when we climbed Arrow in January vs. this new romanticized devil. We’ve both been doing this long enough, have failed and succeeded many times but do not have an attitude of irreverence. Have I told you about the Great Braggart Jinx, my friend who has taught me many lessons? The most valuable moments in life is when something is taken away and there is an art to losing however, we are not quitting. About a mile down the tracks Mike decides to turn back to conserve energy and I kept going all the way to the Mount Garfield sign and eventually found the only suitable snow-bridge. I took two pictures and blazed back to camp to show Mike informing him that this is the only place to cross and it’ll be good in the morning but we may get wet on the return.

We ready our packs for summit day, boil water, eat dinner and Mike reads a story in his schmutt magazine about how Martha Stewart and Kelly Clarkson are fighting over Snoop Dogg.

I ask Mike,

“Hey, do you know why Snoop Dog needs an umbrella?”

“No why”, he asks.

“Fo’ drizzle, shizzle”.

We laugh and I jump in my bivy antsy because I remember all the moves of every problem I've ever done. This is what keeps me up at night. Mike is sawing logs and eventually I dream I fell into the Animas and bounced off the rocks then floated away.

By 0400 Saturday we hurried under full moonlight to the cairns I built for the river crossing that went smoothly. We crossed onto another snow-bridge that flanked the east side of the Animas then counted our blessings as we dove into the trees to curve around the toe of Tenmile Creek. There are cliffs on both side so we stayed in the river bed floating on top of the snow blanketed boulders for a half mile.

The serpigenous tedium led us to the north side of the drainage where we now fight with dead-fall however the snow remains mildly firm. There's something honest about winter trees, they're experts at letting things go however these trees didn’t get to choose. I’ve seen trees grow above 12,000’ over the last 10 years and my amateur theory is pine beetle and global warming have annihilated nature so trees grow at higher elevations where it’s cooler. My first deep thought about a shallow thing as I study nature is, just because you went a long time doesn’t mean you did a good job and if you hang on too long you start embarrassing yourself. I sympathize with the trees.

We switch off trenching duties and the valley finally opens. There is a long west facing snow slope straight ahead that leads to Balsam Lake. The snow was stable all morning and not once did the ground crack, whomp or quiver under foot. We brought avy gear and by the time we walked across frozen Balsam and studied the terrain to Middle Trinity’s south couloir we decided to stash all unnecessary gear at 12,000’ with healthy trees ahead. It is warm and peaceful here. In silence we are at one with the world, we do not stand out, we are not separate from nature.

After our first long deserved break and a long glance at the terrain ahead that has several cliff bands, ice daggers, and old wet slide activity we know we have to travel to the far east side of the south couloir. Neither of us are afraid of hard work and the discussion was brief because again, we’ve been doing this a while and know exactly what we have to do. On crampons now we share trenching again and get into the couloir at 1300 hoping to summit by 1400 however it becomes an episode of survival of the slowest and that person is never Mike. He hit a second wind and like the little mouse in his glove box, I’m happy and brave enough to just hang on. He is so strong both physically and mentally and is one of the best athletes I’ve ever known besides I always know a masochist when I see one. The first time I met him was on the summit of La Plata in December 2015 and with that wild look in his eyes, I knew we would be friends. My favorite thing about Mike is that he is very clear with his intentions.

We prance onto a wet slide and enjoy the brevity of firm snow. At 12,500 there is a 200’ patch of rock and scree so we enjoy srambling without crampons briefly. The col between East and Middle Trinity is at 13,300 with a beautiful gendarmed ridgeline that looks super fun (in summer) and it would also be easy to get tricked into climbing the snow apron to the left which looks so inviting at 13,000’ but that is a sucker route. Continue up another 100’ and get behind the last rock buttress on the ridge then turn left. While looking up at the final difficulties we have to scale the buttress then traverse left to get into the final steep gully that leads directly to the summit. The snow along the traverse is south facing and sun baked but thin. Mike claims our next few moves are a 7 step process:

-across the ridge,

-into the gully,

-up the slope,

-right after the second set of boulders,

-right again

-then hard left,

-summit.

Like Steinbeck I think, I got you to look after me, and you got me to look after you, and that's
why. The ridge was good. The gully was good then became thin as the slope steepened. The right turn after the boulders was terrifying because there wasn’t enough good snow to get a positive ax purchase so you had to be precise with your feet on a 50 degree slope. Mike asked me if I wanted to go left at this point and then straight up the face to the summit and I said,

“Nope, I just made a move I don’t want to reverse!”

We both agreed we wouldn’t descend the 5^th step.

The hard left turn to gain the summit was slightly unnerving because of the spectacular sheer drop off on the right and loose snow on the left. We chose to not bring a rope because Middle Trinity is class 2 however the route becomes an entirely different adventure when snow covered and knowing what I know now I still would not bring a rope for a winter ascent.

At last by 1430 nearing perfection we summit our final LiDAR Colorado winter centennial and we did it together!

We both ponder the contrast of these hard man outings vs. our easy convenient every day life and I think sometimes the harshness appears more harsh because convenience is so close. But we should notice how things are not how we want them to be so despite not being as excited as we thought we should've been, a humble summit celebration ensues. We snap a few pictures to satisfy charlatan climbers who only appear like great adventurers in Instagram pictures, send Spot and DeLorme messages to family and debate the new rules. I wonder what Steve Gladbach the OG would think about the rules for centennial junkies that may follow and I think there are only three rules.

1-You can go as far as your car will take you then human powered only from there on.

-Skis and non motorized bikes are fair.

2-You must do all 105 peaks now with the new LiDAR mapping unveiling to include:

-Obstruction, Dallas, American, Teakettle and Niagara because we both did.

3-You must do a handstand on a Tenmile centennial.

I personally think you should HTFU and rope solo Dallas because we both did but that is debatable.

Regardless if anyone chooses to follow in our footsteps there is only one rule; not one of reward but of wrath. Do we deserve bad things to happen? Perhaps. If we are passive and don't stand up for ourselves and don't have beliefs beyond some childish notion that the world should be fair then yes we receive what we deserve however, fairness doesn’t enter into the life equation with regards to our climbs. You don’t get summit treats because you act good, you are supposed to be good. Listen to me, the path of most resistance, don’t be stupid. Think like the brave little mouse.

Mouse-like I follow Mike straight down the face and the snow is a little deeper and firmer. There is one small chimney with one committing class 5 move. Mike says I can take my time or jump but to not jump. With his coaching I nail the sequence and shout at the bottom,

“Hell yeah, that’s the way Jagged was supposed to go. Yippie!”

“Now, let’s get the eff outta here,” Mike shouts.

Mike moves super fast on descent and I’m always two steps away from losing everything but I scratch, gnaw and scamper my way after him and we reversed the 7 step process in 10 minutes. Back in the couloir now efficient plunge-stepping leads us to the 200’ rock/scree section and Mike breaks his crampon but he’s confident we can glissade the remaining 500’ and was right because that was absolutely the best glissade I’ve ever experienced.

At our snowshoes now and it’s 1630. We retrace our steps and are thankful that a cloud layer has covered the sun so that the radiation doesn’t kill us. Mike makes his signature snow angels over Balsam Lake and I send Marc a spot to let him know that Jesus isn’t the only human to walk on water.

We put our heads down because now the real torture begins. The cloud cover trapped in the afternoon heat, softened the snow and we postholed the entire way down Tenmile in our own uphill tracks. You would think following behind someone postholing would be easier, It isn’t. Mike asked me what the plan was once we got to back to camp at our last watering hole as we’re both hoping for a mindless, peaceful energy conservative descent. I tell him that we have a long way to go and I’m going to just focus on the next step. There’s something esoteric about suffering together and it is our God given right to go to hell.

We both get in hypnotic state. Speed over efficiency in an environment of uncertainty is key but move fast with a stable infrastructure. We move less than 1 mph. The sun sets as the day drew to a close in a long, slow twilight. I know when we get to the mushroom snow covered boulders we are near the snow-bridge. The slow painful meditative forward momentum is good for personal growth. The mushroom boulders are now slush and we both dunked our feet a couple times into Tenmile. At the snow-bridge now and guess what? It melted. The Animas is raging.

I think like a mouse and Mike thinks like a cornered cat. He spies a large Paul Bunyan log picks it up and pushes it over towards me. The powerful sound and energy displaced a small part of the remaining snow-bridge and we decide to roll it the rest of the way as we get one shot to pick it up and shove it into the last flowing water section. Now it’s time to walk across the log with sticks and snowshoes. Mike walks, I crawl. We fist bump and hit the tracks. Mike puts in his earplugs and says he needs to zone out. I tap his leg and tell him I get it, now go. No need to look like my voice is putting his face to sleep. He hits his 3^rd wind fueled by Mozart effect, I see his headlamp get smaller and smaller ahead and feel immense fatigue. Along one section of the tracks a batch of trees has trapped in some heat and I decide to curl up next to them and nap. Perhaps I’m hypothermic? I feel so warm as all the pain nuggets float away. I drift into REM and a Steinbeck quote comforts me: As happens sometimes, a moment settled and hovered and remained for much more than a moment. And sound stopped and movement stopped for much, much more than a moment. I wake, walk the tracks and the pain nuggets return.

Mike is cozy at camp, asked how long I napped as I shrug my shoulders then says we can sleep in since we don’t have to be back to the cars until 11:00 when spring officially begins and I remind him that is eastern time. I don’t have dad jokes tonight and instead write a poem.

I am the mouse

I am she as you are he as you are me
And we are all together.
See how they climb like spiders on a web
See how they fly,
I'm hiding

Sitting on a tortilla chip
Waiting for the man to come.
Smelly shirt, stupid bloody Sunday
Man, you've been busy, busier than me.
You let your face grow long.

Before you fly, one last look at the meadow Remember the size of everyday life. Hold me tight as we rise in the sky. Watch the world grow small and feel your spirit grow wise.
Find the marked tree,
See the silver stream by moonlight See how they fly like Lucy in the sky. Smell the clean air, feel the freedom. When you land little mouse, write a poem so you never forget.

Trouble with mice is you always kill 'em. But not if you’re MadDadMike. Tortilla chips were his weakness.