We Lost An Officer Today

Officer Nick Erfle, 33, died in the line of duty. He was killed while trying to arrest a man on the street.

While he was being taken into custody, the suspect drew a gun and fired at Officer Erfle, and then at his partner. Erfle was shot in the head. The suspect then took off, hijacking a car and taking the driver hostage.

Erfle was pronounced dead shortly after being taken to a nearby hospital.

An hour later, the suspect's car was boxed in by three unmarked police vehicles. Still holding a gun to the hostage's head, the bastard was shot through the window and killed.

We lost another good guy. He leaves behind a wife and two sons.

So this is what it's like to be altitude-sick, part 3

With shallow, labored breaths, I hopped from rock to rock and paused. Longs Peak towered over us, its 14,000-foot summit hidden beneath a thick veil of gray clouds. Its size and proximity were imposing and awesome -- three thousand feet of sheer vertical rock right in our faces!

I had a mere two minutes to appreciate all I’d traveled here to see, because those gray clouds above us opened up, and a steady downpour began. The dozen or so people who were up there with us all started to head down. Billy was worried about the boulders becoming slippery in the rain, so we unfortunately had to descend.

Big fat raindrops fell on us as we crossed the tundra. All of a sudden, we heard the rumble of thunder. It sounded close -- this afternoon's storm was on its way. We were only half a mile from the tree line, yet we quickened our pace, as thunder continued to roll every few minutes. Finally we reached the safety of the trees, and shared a feeling of relief. But we never stopped walking, with two miles to go before we reached the trail head.

Although altitude sickness is supposed to get better with descent, I started to feel woozy hiking down through the forest. I was walking, concentrating on maintaining my footing on the wet trail, when I suddenly drifted out of consciousness for a split-second while still on my feet.

It scared me. Half a second of my life had disappeared while I was fully conscious. I was still trying to comprehend what had occurred, when it happened again! I told Billy, and he had me sit down to rest. I ate some trail mix. As I spun around to talk to him, the whole forest spun around with me. Now I had vertigo, too.

After several minutes, I got up and we plodded on, raindrops still falling through the trees. And as if things couldn't get worse, I ran out of water. For the first time ever, and not even on a desert hike! I shared Billy’s water until we got back to the car, 8.4 miles (13.5 km) and six and a half hours after we left the trailhead.

That was harsh, I kept saying. We went back to our inn and I rested as Billy took care of our packs. I was nauseated all night and didn’t eat well.

So this is what it’s like to be altitude-sick.

Would this mean I couldn’t summit Mount Ida, at 12,890 feet as I had so hoped to do? I could tell from the topo map that the trail wasn’t so steep, but it was much higher than where I was today. My dream of seeing grand vistas of the Rockies were slowly being crushed by the thin air.

I slept. The next day would be a time for recovery, adjustment, and playing the part of a non-hiking tourist. We would play it by ear.