Misogi is a Japanese Shinto practice of cold-water immersion, believed to purify the soul and spiritually prepare for the year ahead. In the modern Western context, it’s a commitment to doing something uniquely difficult—a challenge to craft a truly year-defining, life-changing experience. Your chances of successful completion should be about 50-50.
This past weekend, my girlfriend Candice Burt and I set out to take on the iconic Nolan’s 14—a 100-mile route that travels from Leadville to Salida, climbing fourteen 14,000-foot mountains in Colorado’s Sawatch Range—for my Misogi.
While we originally wanted to go after the mixed gender fastest known time (FKT), or do it in one foot-powered push in less than 60 hours (the official challenge), we pivoted. My body wasn’t fully healthy, so we decided to backpack the route.
But even that didn’t happen.
While the slower pace took some pressure off, allowed us to enjoy playing in the mountains, and collect beta for a future speed record attempt, we were grossly unprepared for the challenge ahead. Well, at least I was.
“By failing to prepare you are preparing to fail.”
- Benjamin Franklin
We stuffed freeze-dried camp meals, bars, nuts, electrolyte sticks, external chargers, clean socks, and other creature comforts in bear canisters, which we placed along the route near mile 30, 65, and 78, based on road access.
Since we planned to do the legendary line over four days, we hoped to hit each resupply drop at the end of each day, providing lifelines that would allow us to continue.
We enjoyed a delicious meal at my buddy Robbie’s new restaurant, Shavano, before dropping a car off at the Leadville Fish Hatchery and finalizing our backpacks. Soon after, Candice made a rescue call to pick up her friend Denise who had finished a 40-mile day on the Colorado Trail, adding more excitement to our night.
On July 4, we woke at 3 AM, but because we still had to drop off one more bin and make the hour-long drive to Salida, we didn’t depart from the trailhead until after 8.
Mount Shavano
While we already felt behind schedule and wanted to make up time, we were excited to begin our journey. We saw a herd of mountain goats, laughed at mysterious white marks on Candice’s legs I was convinced were bird droppings, admired a griffon pup playing with a stick as big as he was, and ate my dad’s favorite ginger turmeric granola after summiting at 11:30 AM. One down. Thirteen to go.
Tabeguache Peak
As we made the mile traverse, clouds hovered above us before dumping snow. We put on our layers and gloves, laughing at the unpredictability of the weather. We topped out on Tab just before 1 PM, feeling confident having two peaks under our belt in our first morning.
Yet the tables and our attitudes turned when we were met with a snow and scree-filled off-trail descent. However, slicing and splitting a salami stick put us back in good spirts.
Mount Antero
We crossed a river we imagined black bear must frequent, praised souped-up Jeeps as they navigated rocky roads, and continued climbing. Every few minutes, we looked back in admiration, stunned by the twin peaks we had stood atop and the beauty of the valley below.
Lush hills thanks to a spring of generous rainfall. Trees that waved in the breeze you believed they were painted by Van Gogh. Green slopes that curved in such a way you thought you were on Cooper Station, the cylindrical and futuristic space colony in the movie Interstellar.
Fueled by cold-soaked hatch chile mac & cheese and Swedish Fish, we summited our third peak of the day at 6:30 PM. As the sun set behind us, we set up camp by a creek and enjoyed our first hot meal—spaghetti, followed by peach cobbler soup.
While we climbed three peaks and 8,000 ft, we felt defeated having only traveled 13.65 miles in 12 hours. 86 more miles and 36,000 vertical feet still to climb…
Mount Princeton
Day 2 started at 7 AM with an easy, four-mile cruise down a road—a nice warm up before bushwhacking. After “snappy stream” (getting frustrated for passing up an opportunity for water then finally finding it), I felt a pop in my hip.
Often assuming worst-case scenario, I panicked thinking I had refractured my pelvis and became withdrawn. Candice changed the subject to distract me and we were soon met with class 4 terrain—scrambling and climbing with all fours until we were standing on top of Princeton at 3:45 PM. To get out of your head, get into your body, I told myself.
We laughed, knowing we should’ve followed the ridge instead, but were quickly in disbelief looking at the GPX for our descent. We slowly slipped across a never-ending boulder field of emerald-colored rocks the sizes of refrigerators that were sliding with every step. We moved side by side to avoid triggering dislodged pieces that had the potential to kill us with every motion.
I enjoy exposure. I enjoy heights. But I hated every second of that section—the crux of the route, so far. Relieved to reach flat ground, we rotted near a lake, ate food, and decided to call it quits on this attempt, still seven miles and hours from our first supply drop.
We death-marched until we reached the Colorado Trail (CT), refreshed to find soft singletrack, which we took until we reached our drop and set up for night two.
I almost made Candice pass out by taking off my sweaty socks for the first time in two days, but she was more concerned about the ant hill below and dying tree above our tent. Thankfully, the rapids nearby provided white noise to put us peacefully to sleep.
Mount Yale
While we had thrown in the towel, we had to get home, but one car was in Leadville, the other at Shavano & Tabeguache Trailhead. Candice decided to fetch the car, 27 miles away on the CT, while I would climb Yale for my first time. We stashed our overnight gear and headed our separate ways with plans for her to pick me up that night after our solo outings.
I met a doggo named Barley, opted for the typical trail, and took shots of ketones as I navigated over towers and false summits until I reached 14,200’, Yale’s actual peak, four and a half hours after I began.
Reflections
Having relied upon Candice and her expert navigation skills, my phone was off except to send satellite messages to my family once per day. Now alone on Yale, it was on and used to stay on course. I threw on my open-ear headphones, played some tunes, but was quickly turned off. After just two days of a digitally detoxing, the slight external stimuli was overwhelming.
The longer you’re in the wilderness, the more connected to it, to yourself, you become. When you tune out, you tune in—to the squeals of marmots, chirps of birds, running of rivers.
You become increasingly comfortable with, or care less about, sitting in the dirt, wearing the same smelly T-shirt, or eating dehydrated lukewarm mashed potatoes out of an empty plastic pint of ice cream.
Upon return to civilization, you appreciate hot coffee, homemade meals, a real bed, any toilet, and showers, even cold ones, that much more. You realize how you often take these modern conveniences for granted.
“Enlightenment isn’t found with a full stomach, or on a soft pillow.”
- Conrad Anker
There’s a softening of the soul that occurs—when we push our minds and bodies, when we explore in nature, when our ego is tested, when we’re force-fed a slice of humble pie, when we don’t interact with many other humans.
When we run into other people in the mountains, the encounters can be unsettling and produce social anxiety—forgetting how to converse after periods of isolation or only spending time with one person. However, they’re overwhelmingly positive and friendly as you’re often grateful to see another smiling face.
This was the case with an older man from Calgary I met named Tom, who was supporting his friend’s CT thru-hiking attempt. I quickly passed him on our descent to Avalanche Trailhead near Buena Vista; however, seeking some social interaction, I slowed down, engaged in conversation, and befriended a stranger.
On the summit of Yale, wanting to share the literal peak experience, I Facetimed my family, recorded a video for my men’s group, and called my London-dwelling mate Greg.
While I like the idea of darkest hour friends, my desire to phone friends on the summit of a mountain made me think of this idea I’m calling “summit friends.”
Who are the people you call when you’re on the summit of a literal or metaphorical mountain?
When you nailed that job interview? When you closed that big sale? When you crushed the race you’ve been training months for?
We reach out to friends when we’re struggling. We reach out to our best and closest friends when we’re winning.
“Happiness only real when shared.”
- Christopher McCandless
From Failure to Fuel
I hate when people say to be realistic, but… we had an ambitious goal. We set an aggressive time target, underestimated the gnarly, unforgiving terrain of the Sawatch, and overestimated our abilities, especially with heavy, 20 lbs packs.
In retrospect, we’d be more minimalist (i.e. sadly sparing my sleep mask), have more frequent resupplies, and remain focused, remembering that every second counts.
A Misogi is designed to push you out of your comfort zone and be creative. Nolan’s did just that. We failed and there’s beauty in that. If you knew you could achieve the goal, it may not be big enough.
Dare to dream. Find adventure because, in the words of Joseph Campbell, that’s how you feel the rapture of being alive.
Congrats to Frenchman François D'Haene who just set the FKT on Nolan’s 14 this past weekend (and started an hour before Candice and me) with a mind-blowing time of 1d 11h 33m 41s, giving us mortals an idea of what’s possible.
All photos are from Mt Yale, where I had my phone on. More will be shared on Instagram after I import them from the nice camera I used during our trip.
Successful scouting mission I'd say, not even close to a failure. Though the timeline to scout the whole thing is longer than we planned, it can get done :) Then we will be ready for the sub-60!
This:
"To get out of your head, get into your body, I told myself."
Brilliant.