The engine raced and I pressed it up and down the gliding road to Winfield, goal in mind beating the darkness to the potential campsite. I hadn’t camped in that area before and my lasting memory was daytime hours during an ordeal of people, noise, and pain during the Leadville 100 in 2018. I pulled in, nearly skidding off the road, rocks rumbling and strewn across the road splitting off into the ditch. Parked, unloaded, set up a tent and began boiling water for some type of pasta dinner. 

I had made it, July 24th at 8:52pm. Sleep, wake up, and plan to hit four 14er’s in a meticulously planned route, traversing dirty skree fields sitting at a 20% angle, wet, steep trails that straddle the edges of monolithic rocks, find my way through a forested area and pick the brightest line to attack the miles. Things went decently well, making two of the four summits (Huron + Missouri) which were important lines to burn into my brain and identify each step and trail obstacle, standing cairn, wedged tree pushed into another, dusted goat track and water sources. Rain, thunder, moved in and made the day a soggy, low visibility risk induced excursion with a bail out on the Missouri Gulch Trail, I guess it was good to know that trail was there. 

The weekend before was a recce on Shavano/Tabeguache starting at Blanks Cabin, the designated starting point for folks going S-N, and the ending for myself and people who choose the traditional route N-S. Both peaks saddle the ridgeline near Salida, a bit south of Leadville, the chosen starting point at the base of Mt Massive via the Fish Hatchery Trail. 

If it wasn’t already clear, I was gunning for Nolan's 14. A famed classic line embedded deep in the Colorado Rockies among the Sawatch Mountain Range. A finely tuned twist and turn of 88-102 miles traversing 14, 14,000ft peaks linked together by trail, sheep road, forest road, bushwhack, and plain nasty lines. I never had any intention of hitting this line this year, although I had observed it in the past and heard of it over late night rumors among something big, something unattainable, something off the beaten path of the contrived, derived and overly-planned world of ultra racing. I was all set to take off into Nepal and fastpack a line from the Manasulu Region to the end of the Annapurna Mountain Region in the central Himalaya line. The push would be roughly 192 miles with 45,000ft of climbing over 7-9 times. Tickets booked, equipment vetted and tested, it was left to my partner Scott and I to game plan, review the line, account for food and shelter, and make it happen. A trip of a lifetime in my opinion. Then Covid happened, and it soon became apparent in April our experience would turn into nothing but a thought.

I moved to switch gears and find a way to utilize my fitness and training over the past 5 months. Setting my ambitions towards Nolans was a tall order for me - I don’t come from a pure running background nor do I have the physical aptitude to hammer 42,000ft over a 60 hour period on some of the most harsh mountain lines leading to the heavens. With the current environment and added free time from remote work, I worked towards it over the following three months with a planned go in August sometime. 

The end of June and month of July was spent exclusively grinding my weekends on 14ers and the line. Shav, check. Tab, check. Start to Massive, check. Elbert West Ridge (this line is shit and much of the last mile lives at 50-60% grade). La Plata north and south approach, check. Huron down to Missouri, check. Belford/Oxford, check. The remaining 5 would need to  be done during the attempt, but I was confident in the line pouring over topos, maps, and second hand knowledge.

Then came the smoke at the end of July. Air quality diminished in Colorado from an incessant fire season in the west coast coupled with a few major fires in the western and northern regions of the state. I planned for an attempt later in August, but feared the fires would continue onwards, and I didn’t have the most flexibility like most of the folks who attempt this line in choosing my days/weeks to go. Weather played a major role, but I was lucky with a solid weather window. I chose to move fast, and thought to beat the constant smoke as firemaps that week predicted a wind shift which wouldn’t hit the Sawatch until the following week. August 14th was my date. 

Emma and I drove up to Leadville Thursday night, got off work, shut the laptop, hit the road for some fairweather traffic and an evening cruise to the Halfmoon Creek road to find a dispersed site for a pull off and sleep. Slept in the back of the Toyota. 4:30am came, I put down a Chocolate Mint Clif Bar + 2 Bananas for fuel. We snapped a photo at the Fish Hatchery starting post, and off I was. Things began slowly, I walked out the first 4 miles to the lake cut off for off trail work up the East Ridge of Massive.  7:37am, nearly three hours after starting, I hit the summit of Massive and the sun appeared to greet me with steady, warm rays. The smoke was slightly noticeable this morning, but unimportant at 14,000ft. I moved on, advancing down the mountain, across fire roads, Halfmoon Creek to another off trail ascent, this time of Elbert. Took the West Ridge which slowed me down, but got it down. Wind began to pick up at this point, and I ate some more food. 11:28am, another three hours down and the top of Elbert. Ran into a friend Luke Williams (we met on La Plata recce the previous week) from Utah - this was a cool encounter. I cruised down the Black Cloud trail keeping with tradition. 

Things felt good at this point, but it was getting hot. Clouds loomed on the horizon, and I was dreading the four mile jaunt along Independence Pass to get to La Plata trailhead. Done. I hopped down into the river across the “No Entry” signs. Water should be free to everyone, especially this far into the mountains. Soak the hat and back of the neck - time to keep moving. The ascent of La Plata was direct, but steep. It may have been enjoyable other days, but felt like hell on this day. The sun hung in the distance, getting lower but still was radiant and warm. It felt swift to move with just a shirt, pack, and shorts. I felt blessed to have the opportunity to dive into this mission and continue onwards through the northern section of the Sawatch. 

5:48pm, standing atop La Plata. This time unlike the last time I was up here, I was alone. Good craft is to summit a 14er before 12pm on any given day, regardless of weather conditions and outlook. I had no choice, but it was refreshing to be alone on a summit, in the summer, during the daylight. I picked up speed, and steadily dropped La Plata’s south ridge, talus hopping and diving over large boulders, down the 60% scree field, bootski onwards, and finally to the single track leading to forest road heading to Winfield. 

Just around 8pm I hit the aid station set up by Emma, Brent, and Jamie. A quick hot coffee, some candy and a meal put Jamie and I stepping out by 9pm, guiding by moonlight. Things felt decent at this point, a third of the course was done. 30 miles and just over 12,000ft of climbing (although only 3 of the 14 peaks had been done). Just before we set off, Emma remarked that the sky looked dark to the east, and a layer of smoke was visible. I hadn’t looked at the firemap, and assumed the best. Maybe I didn’t want to know, and my bliss relayed upon being present in this moment, and moving forward. It didn’t feel organic to me to look at the firemaps and think about what could be or what may be happening - I wanted to figure this out in real time. 

We set in motion making conversation, and our ascent up Huron became a jolly, fun cruiser of a hike. Our headlights bounced in the night and out steps made the only sound audible on the trail. About ¾ of the way up, out came two dashing creatures, looked to be mountain goats. They moved with a veracity I had never seen a goat move with. It almost spooked me, but I figured they aren’t used to headlights moving quickly at this hour on the mountain. We had invaded their space for a short while, and before we knew it they were scampering ahead of us, unknown to our view. 11:45pm and 41 miles in, we summited Huron. Alone on the summit, Jamie and I sat for a minute. I clambered for a break, ate some food and kept moving. It was cool up there, not so windy. Jamie turned his headlamp off and stared at the sun. He then turned it back on low light, making the ash falling from the sky clearly visible, and a bit terrifying. Again, I denied the reality of observing this, and shrugged off whatever comment Jamie made about the falling ash. No visible fire was burning in our purview, and the sky remained dark. 

The descent of Huron is one of the more spicy aspects of the Nolans line. It’s a 1.5 mile descent off trail, traversing an extremely loose scree field of dirt and small rocks. It stands at probably 50-60% angle, and has no clear line. Doing this during the day was one thing, dropping it at night was another. Jamie led the line towards the bottom and brought us to the marker at the lake in just under an hour. Pictured here, was the shoe dump afterwards. How’s that for effect? 

We worked our way over the lake, and up Missouri’s West trail, which is steep and never ending in the dark. At 3:43am we submitted, traversing the summit ridge with prudent footwork. Things were calm up here again. We rested at the top, ate, and worked our way down the standard trail. Often the ridge link up to Belford is used, but the ridge from my knowledge presented a few class 3 and class 4 problems which weren't in my appetite during dark hours. With the added mileage we worked our way up the crossing to Belford’s summit. In a matter of minutes, I felt my first real pang of fatigue and sleepiness. Jamie and I worked through it, skipping any nap to continue onwards to the summit. My mouth began to dry up, and the smoke was easy to sense. I could smell, and taste it at this point, and no longer was it something I was dealing with, but something I struggled with on each breath. Finally, the summit of Belford. 6:22am, 50 miles in. 

At this point, the fatigue really set in and although the sun was rising, it began to really cool off and hit a freezing point at the summit. Unintentionally, I told Jamie I needed a nap, and pulled out my emergency bivvy, piled on all my layers (tights + jacket) and nestled into a crook between some summit rocks. No one up there except us at that point. I woke up some time afterwards, it’s really unclear how long we napped. Another girl had summited, wearing sneakers, sweatpants, no gloves and an oversized jacket. I ignored her for the most part, worried about myself. At this point, there was significant light, but the sun was blocked. A dark layer coated the sky, resting firmly at what appeared to be 15-16k feet in elevation. It was all around us, and in a moment my heart sank. 

It felt like the wind had been knocked out of me. All the bad feelings I had been feeling, the dry mouth, the ash atop Huron, the dark sky Emma noticed at the Winfield aid station became clear to me. Fire smoke from California/west coast fires had moved it, unlike it had in the past two I was monitoring the firemaps. Jet steam may have dropped and winds pushed the easterly smoke south, right into the Sawatch. I could taste the smoke as I took a big inhale, and my stomach pitted. I looked to the right and Jamie pointed out Harvard, or where it should be. The only visible aspect of the mammoth sized mountain was probably the top 100 feet of the peak. Everything else disappeared in the dark blanket, suffocated and drowned in particulate and ash strewn across the horizon. The line up wasn’t there, how would we navigate this ascent with any visible markers, in broad daylight? 

We made the decision to continue onwards to Oxford, Belford’s cousin who sits across a saddle which rises maybe 1200ft from a short descent. These two are linked up commonly. We make our way, briskly after the appreciated rest. Summit at 7:24am. The darkness ribbons across the sky still, with a less opaque image. I could make out some of Harvard at this point, but the decent off of Oxford’s mid saddle looked less than ideal. I was labouring to breathe at this point, and food didn’t just taste bad, it was impossible to swallow. Although I was drinking well, putting down water and green tea scratch, my throat was still incredibly dry. We were at a crossroads, seven peaks finished and over 50 miles in. Air quality was deteriorating, and I didn’t know when it would get better. If I had to guess, the air quality index (AQI) must have been above 100 throughout the night, and in the 150 range during the morning hours. If you’ve been exercising in this level of AQI, it's devastating, let alone unhealthy. 

I sat down and tried to consider my options, but things kept coming back to what I thought this may become. It was a prompt self examination that led me to think continuing onwards wouldn’t be the best option here. It may have been the right thing to do - I felt healthy, was moving reasonably well, and had the means to recover. Jamie was ready to cross Harvard with me onto Columbia and hit the breakfast bailout, but the smoke spooked me. I didn’t have the patience to sit on the summit and wait it out - see if it got better. See if the day’s winds would blow out the evening layer of smoke. I felt concerned for the future of my lungs - it wasn’t clear at all what type of long term damage constant and chronic smoke inhalation would be due, especially with working this hard at altitude. I made the decision to head back, decent off of Oxford, up Belford and down the Missouri Gulch Trail. 

I lit up my inReach and sent out the message. Emma coaxed me to reconsider and think about my options - I pushed and said my day was finished. My throat was still burning, and the move to continue onwards without a bailout for 2 summits + 12-14 miles just didn’t seem appetizing, and my will petered out. Self doubt took over, and I told myself I would make a rational decision here. 

Jamie and I dropped off the mountain - he became more quiet than usual. I didn’t know my decision was one he leveled with - had I considered his emotions here, and his intention for pacing? Regardless, we made conversation and continued down the mountain. We hit the typical summer tourist heading up the trail in full garb, and continued to meet up with Emma, Koltin, and Brent just about a 1.5 miles from the start. I embraced Emma, and told her I was sorry. I told her I tried my best, and felt this was the smart decision. We smiled, we laughed, and I shed a tear on the way down. 58 miles and 25,000ft later, the ordeal was finished. 

Looking back, it's arduous to reflect on the decisions I made that morning, and what the effects of continuing onwards in the smoke would have meant for me and my health. Completing half of Nolans was an accomplishment, certainly for me. The decision came to work towards and attempt Nolans in April, when I realized Scott and I’s planned trip to fast-pack the central Himalaya was certainly not going to happen. I moved to a local, pie in the sky objective. The training piece for Nolans was a learning experience, and it was incredible to have spent so much time, and 21 14er summits in a few short months. To have the opportunity to move through the mountains during a period of uncertainty and hardship for many, I felt lucky more than anything. I felt the need to be capricious with the changing situation, and choose to stick with a single focus, Nolans. The attempt and questions surrounding it leave me with a need for deep examination and reflection. It was fun to be a part of history, and respect the legacy of the line. I want to thank everyone involved with my attempt and none of it would be possible without them. Onwards and forward!