Fred and Mary Holmes' Web Site

I lay there amid the dirt and rocks just a few feet from a nice smooth rock where I had aimed my body to sit, but missed. Yes, I had so little control over my quads that once I started to sit, gravity took control and I simply crashed to the earth. You have heard of quivering quads and maybe quaking quads. My quads had quit.

How had I gotten to a point where I was less than one kilometer from the end of the trail coming down off Cerro Chirripó and absolutely incapable of going another foot?

Jay Norman and I had left the trailhead we were now so close to one day ago, March third, 2011.  Our plan was to hike the 15 kilometers to El Refugio; spend the night in the rustic shelter; arise early the next morning and climb five more kilometers to the summit; then hike the 20 kilometers from the summit all the way to the bottom of the mountain; get in our car and drive ninety kilometers home. Nice plan, huh!

At the time it didn’t seem such a daunting task, but as I read what I just wrote I can see the first of several errors we made that culminated in my laying, stricken in this rubble.

Most hikers take four days to do what we had planned to do in two. That was mistake number one. I had just turned 74 on the first of the month and Jay had just turned 73. Many of the hikers we passed were half our age, so a poor evaluation of our age versus the task was mistake number two. My wife Mary had implored me over and over again not to attempt it, intimating we were just too old and the effort too difficult.

It was only a few kilometers, three or four, from our 5 am start, when my legs began to tire and I realized that I was not prepared conditioning-wise for the hike.

Also after a few kilometers we encountered many stretches of mud ground into a shoe-sucking consistency by the horses carrying our gear to the top and returning. This was not a mistake on our part as we had planned on March being dry as it nearly always is. This was unusual for this time of the year. Just one of the several unusual conditions we were to meet.  Of the total fifteen kilometers, probably three were mud. If you aren’t aware, slipping and sliding in mud tires your legs even faster than normal terrain. Add to the mud, sections of steep rocky slope covered with loose rock and gravel, and you have difficult climbing even if you are in tip top shape.

As the kilometers passed by my legs grew weaker and weaker until at about kilometer ten or eleven I was barely moving. At this point Jay finally convinced me to eat and drink from our energy supplies. The extra energy got me a couple more kilometers but soon I was out of gas again. Now we were within three kilometers from the top so I finally asked Jay to grab my pack which hung near my butt and give me a little push. With Jay pushing and me struggling we finally made it to El Refugio. By then mistake number three was far behind us. We should have quit at kilometer 10, turned around, hiked down the mountain and gone home. Our egos would not let that happen. I actually thought that I would find some reserve of strength and energy that would allow me to conquer this little hill. Jay also had a mistaken faith in my ability to pull it together as I had done many times in the past, when we were younger.

We were outfitted adequately for the climb, each of us with a waist pack bladder, Jay with a light back pack and I had a small fanny pack. We had enough energy bars and drinks to make the round trip hike and stay hydrated with additional water stored with our overnight gear we had sent on ahead.

Translated, Cerro means hill. The climb from 5000 feet to 12,500 put this little hill in the mountain category as far as we were concerned. Knowing these figures fully well, I had ignored them, and the highest climb I had attempted in training was 1400 feet. And that was tough. Duh! Jay had at least had climbed twenty or thirty flights of stairs five or six times and his legs were in much better shape than mine. At 12,500 feet another factor would prove to be his downfall.

All these mistakes were either in the past or yet to come as we marched into El Refugio and prepared to spend the night. They served us a hot cup of coffee and after munching on some energy bars we settled down for the night. Soon we encountered mistake four and five. Most other hikers had sent up food that could be heated and we soon tired of our cold energy bars and liquid meals. We should have brought some nourishing food. We both had sleeping bags and warm sleeping clothes but we elected not to unroll our sleeping pads as they were difficult to roll up. We planned on getting up before light and they would be a chore in the dark. We soon paid for this mistake as the thin plastic mattresses were hard on our old bones. After the second trip to the bathroom we realized that the cool afternoon temperatures were dropping and seeing our frosty breath was an indication of the weather we would be facing come morning. We had planned on cool, but not frigid temperatures.

We arose just short of 4 am to mistake number six. It was freezing. I mean literally and unlike other hikers we had not brought heavy enough clothes. We had our shorts, shoes, long sleeve poly-pro shirts, caps, and thin cotton gloves. We should have forgone the attempt to climb to the top and got back into our sleeping bags. We decided that we would warm up hiking, and we set out, insistent that we reach the top where we were told that spectacular views including both the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans awaited us.

I actually thought that going down the mountain would be much easier than going up, and as far as the energy output it was. I had not realized how difficult the rocky, gravel-strewn trail would be, and it took an immediate toll on my quads. Most runners and hikers know that the quadriceps muscles in the front to the upper legs provide the braking power and keep you from falling as you go downhill.

In the past I had been accustomed to moderate trails that went up and then down and then up again. This trail, outside of maybe one flat kilometer in total, was all down hill.

After three kilometers, the rocks gave way to a little better footing and then we reached the mud. Now I was slipping and sliding down the mountain with quads that were fast giving out.

By the time we reached the halfway shelter I was stopping every few minutes to rest and coax a little more strength out of my quads.

Desperately, I was using my hiking poles like ski poles and put them behind me to keep from falling over backwards.

Fortunately for us, Jay had recovered from his altitude sickness and was able to help me by massaging my legs and eventually carrying my waist pack when I was nearly out of gas.

I would not have made it off that mountain without Jay. At about five kilometers from the bottom we considered sending Jay on ahead to get some help in the way of a horse to carry me down the mountain.

But Jay wouldn’t hear of it. He refused to leave me and as it turned out he was right, as my condition only worsened.

We had met a group of French hikers at the top and at one of the last mud holes they caught and passed us. I was floundering through a very steep and slippery section when one of the French gals grabbed me by the bicep, lifted and pulled me through the mud. They left me on dry ground, chatting away like a flock of parrots as they trotted on down the trail.

I didn’t think I could get much weaker but there seemed to be no limit to my plight. Finally I could go no further. I couldn’t even get up and just standing took all my strength.

We were most of the way through the last kilometer and maybe only 200 meters of steep rocky trail from the trailhead, when I collapsed and missed the rock.

At this point we had been resting for four or five minutes, hiking for maybe fifty yards, and then resting again. Now even standing was a chore and we were out of ideas. Other than crawling, I could see no way of getting to the end.

As I sat there in the dirt, with Jay imploring me to do something, I remembered the help I had received from the French hiker.  I told Jay that the only thing left was for him to lift me by my bicep, and maybe with him helping me overcome gravity, I could get my legs to work.

Jay is five foot nine, maybe one hundred and forty pounds and I am six foot two, about one eighty.  We made an unusual pair, with Jay carrying our packs and lifting me by the arm as we lurched down the trail. Somehow with a couple of more stops to let Jay catch his breath, we finally stumbled off the trail and I collapsed on a friendly boulder. It was five thirty-eight pm, kilometer 0, and our trials were over; or at least we thought so.

It had taken us a little over ten hours to go up the mountain and eight and a half to come down, and the last two or three ranked right up there as one of the toughest experiences of my life.

Jay hot footed it down to our hotel and about thirty minutes later came back with our luggage. With one more stop to pick up gear from the porters, we were on our way back to Cartago where we were to meet Mary and Betty at our friends Fred and Becky’s house. We planned to spend the night there and then head for home in the morning after dropping off the rental car.

Chirripó is located near a large town called San Isidro de General and from there back to Fred and Becky’s was about 90 kilometers over the Cerro del Muerte or hill of death. Part of the same mountain chain as Chirripó, our drive would take us over 11,000 feet.

Everything was going well with a warm car, pretty good road, and the expectation of a couple of hours ride to a hot shower and a comfy bed.

As we neared the top of our ascent, we learned why the ominous name as we suddenly encountered heavy clouds and rain. It was so thick that a Tico in a van ahead of us was leaning out of a window, navigating by the reflectors along the road. We felt our way along the highway and after about thirty kilometers finally broke out of the clouds and rain into clear skies. What more could happen to us? Fortunately the rest of the trip was uneventful. I stayed alert and we didn’t even get lost.

We finally arrived to our concerned wives at 11:30 pm and let a hot shower wash away the pain and suffering of the past two days.

Will we do it again? Maybe Jay, but I definitely will not attempt anything like it in this lifetime.  I have accepted the fact that age does make conditioning much, much more difficult and I need to listen to others, especially my wife, when my ego urges me to overreach and dream the impossible dream.

Am I glad I did it? In some ways it was quite an accomplishment for a couple of old geezers, but in many ways it was foolhardy and could have resulted in injuries or worse. I will continue to walk and hike in my neighborhood, but now it is for health and not for any grandiose schemes. I am officially retired as an acceptor of challenges.

Conquest or catastrophe?  You be the judge. Although we didn’t reach the summit we got close. Many say it is the journey that is important and not the goal. Under that philosophy I guess we were successful as we did conquer some difficult situations. Of course, there is no conquering Cerro Chirripó, at best we were lucky to get off the mountain alive and doff our caps in respect to a formidable challenger.