Third Time’s A Charm: Crestone Peak’s Northwest Couloir
My first look at Crestone Peak’s Northwest Couloir
It’s been awhile since I’ve written about my journeys this winter/spring. Even though I’ve been out every weekend and have taken PLENTY of photos, I sometimes just lose the urge to write. I guess if I didn’t write so much, it wouldn’t be an issue. I just like to keep an accurate record of thoughts and feelings as well.
I had already been up South Colony Road twice since March; Crestone Peak seemed to be beckoning me. The first time my partners and I failed to summit because of crappy snow conditions near the top. On that attempt, we took the Peak’s standard route up the Red Gully. The second time (just a couple of weeks ago), my partner lost his dog in really bad weather conditions. Steve and I had planned on trying to climb the northwest couloir. Fortunately, though, Cooper was found alive and none-the-worse-for-wear three days later.
This time I felt that I had run out of potential parters after two failed attempts. I’m tenacious and determined; having come off of a successful and difficult spring summit of Little Bear Peak the weekend prior, I felt filled with a confidence that I enjoyed. I had never even seen the northwest couloir up-close; once upon a time, it used to be the standard route up the Peak before the Red Gully became standard. While the Red Gully is wider and a little less difficult to climb, gaining the Peak’s summit by the northwest couloir did not involve the tough re-gain of elevation over Broken Hand Pass — which can be extremely demoralizing.
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I knew from my climb with Steve the general direction I needed to go. I also knew from my previous attempt with Sean and Abe that it was going to be an extremely long day. I started on the trail at 3:30 and took the shortcut from the road before crossing the bridge and was depositied along the shoreline of lower South Colony Lake by sunrise. For the past week or so, Colorado has been receiving a steady stream of smoke from a huge wildfire in Arizona. As a result, many of our mornings have been filled with a smoky haze and generally horrible air quality. The one thing that the fire haze does, though, is make our sunrises and sunsets pretty spectacular. As I bushwhacked my way through willows that were completely covered by snow two weekends prior, I spotted what turned out to be a yellow warbler. I had never actually seen one before, so it was sort of cool.
Crestone Needle and Broken Hand Pass
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I eventually made my way through the willows and headed to the upper lake. Upon nearing it, I located a trail that led me along its shorline to my left (south) of the lake. Ahead of my was my first real challenge of the day — to climb the slope and gully leading to Bear’s Playground. I imagine that this choice of ascent route isn’t the best in the summer as it’s likely a loose scree- and talus-ridden slope. With snow on it, though, it seemed pretty tame. I made my way further up into the basin and noticed a large wet slide off to the left. The spring snowpack was definitely starting to destabilize in the warm temperatures of the previous week. I knew I had to keep my wits about me and not make any stupid decisions.
On a side note — you’ll notice the size of my photos changing. This is the first time this year that I’ve been out with my DSLR because generally I have a fear of dropping it and it’s an expensive piece of equipment. Depending on the whether or not I felt comfortable carrying it outside of my backpack, I took photos with it or my compact. My compact takes the standard 3:2 ratio; the DSLR was taking 16:9.
First light in upper South Colony (left) and evidence of a recent wet slide (right)
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On my way to South Colony, I noticed that much of the standing water was frozen. A light freeze had occurred overnight. This was good news for me. The snow would hopefully be a lot more firm than I expected. As I walked into the upper basin, I found this to be true! The slope was gradually increasing, so I figured it was probably advisable and put on my points. I stopped, took out my crampons, strapped them on without haste (something I’ve learned to do a lot more quickly since I had been doing it all winter and spring), and aimed my sights high. I noticed a cornice hanging above my intended route. That made me a little nervous. With the sun hitting it, the cornice could start melting, get heavy, and fall — bad news for me. I began to look for other options on my ascent route, but couldn’t find one. I also spotted tracks in the snow — someone else had been up there in the past couple of days. The tracks appeared as far right as possible to continue to stay in the snow, but near an outcropping that could provide some protection should the cornice break. I decided to follow this path, albeit expeditiously.
A look up at the Peak/Needle massif (left) and approaching the wet slide (right)
Making progress up to the top of the ridge.
Cornices on the ridge (left) and the exit out of the gully to the right of the cornice above me (right)
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Humboldt Peak (left) and Colony Baldy (right) to the northeast
Looking down the Spanish Creek drainage at the haze down in the San Luis Valley (left) and Columbia Point, a Centennial 13er (right)
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After spending a few minutes resting, I had to get back to the task on hand. I knew the entrance to the northwest gully was somewhere to the southwest of my current position, but I was a little nervous that I wouldn’t be able to find it or enter another incorrectly and getting cliffed-out or something. Fortunately, upon further examination, I discovered a faint trail that was leading up over a small shoulder. I followed it and when I was able to get a clearer look I noticed another cairn across a small section of snow and between two rock outcroppings. I proceeded to hike down toward the cairn and discovered fairly fresh (within the last day or so) footprints on the snow. Apparently, I wasn’t the only person whom considered this route recently!
Another look down at the Spanish Creek drainage (left). I continued to traverse to the southwest. There were sections of snow with footprints as well as cairns and portions of trail.
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As I continued on my solo trek, I began to feel more confident. Because of my predecessors’ fairly fresh footprints, I felt that I could successfully navigate the route by myself. Continuing in a southwesterly direction, I continued to cross intermittent snow fields. The snow was hard and crusty; a few times, I considered putting my crampons back on (I had taken them off when I got to the ridge), but the several dry sections of rock convinced me to do otherwise. Fortunately, the snow was not-so-hard enough to prevent me from being able to belay myself with my ice axe. As the trail continued to the southwest (left photo), I gained and lost elevation a few times. The sun was warm when I walked in it, but I was chilled by a light breeze every time I entered a shady area. Eventually, the trail took a slight turn to the south and I left the sections of snow behind me.
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I continued to walk what I believed to be the trail. Up and to my left, I got my first look at what I came to climb — the northwest couloir (photo is at the very beginning of this post). I rounded a corner and, taking a sharp left, I found myself staring up a short, west-facing couloir. In the snow were footprints heading up, but I also spotted a cairn atop a rock rib above and behind me to the left. There appeared to be a ledge system on the rib, so I decided to explore it further. I wasn’t quite ready to put my points back on, so I was hoping I could get on top of the short entrance couloir by following the ledges. As it turned out, the ledges didn’t really lead me anywhere and I found myself staring down at the snow in the couloir below me. I retraced my steps and brought myself back to the bottom of the couloir. I stopped to eat a quick snack and after donning my points I prepared for the start of my ascent. It was time to get excited!
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The steps that were kicked-in to the snow were really useful (thanks to whoever did them!). I followed them up and to the right. Near the top of the entrance couloir, the snow thinned out a little and I started encountering a mix of wet and dry rock in-between sections of snow. At the top of the entrance couloir, I turned right and was welcomed by the sight of the northwest couloir. My GPS read 13,300 feet at the bottom of the entrance couloir and I knew that the red notch between Crestone and East Crestone was at about 14,160 feet, so I had over 800 feet of couloir to climb. It was a bit disconcerting to immediately see a mound of water-ice a the bottom, though. My axe and crampons weren’t really designed to climb water-ice, but hopefully there would only be short sections to deal with. I front-pointed as I headed up and used the pick on my axe to aid me in getting up the ice. It took a little bit of effort to extricate the pick from the ice, though, so each move was met with trepidation. Had it not been for Darin Baker back in January and my experience on Little Bear’s Hourglass the previous week, I don’t think I would have even know how to approach it. I’m still not comfortable climbing ice, though, so I hoped that there wouldn’t be too much of it involved.
The climb up the couloir was filled with mixed conditions. The snow at the very base of it was just a little soft — firm, but not quite consolidated probably because it didn’t receive that much direct sunlight. Above that short section, it was a whole lot better and made for relatively easy climbing. Continuing on my way up, I chose to avoid subsequent sections of water-ice by climbing some dry rock adjacent to it. The rock sections had ample room to climb with my points on without making me too nervous about it. Other than that, the climb was pretty straightforward. The next series of photos were taken as I continued up the couloir.
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The crux of my climb of the northwest couloir came as I approached the end of it. To my left was a large mound of water-ice that I just didn’t feel comfortable about climbing over. Again — I’m just not quite comfortable climbing over ice yet and being by myself one screw-up would mean the end of Terry. The problem was that the rock I could climb to the right of it was smooth and I could not find any cracks to stick my points into. I stood there for several minutes to consider my fate. I wasn’t going to be trying anything that made me overly uncomfortable. I went over both scenarios in my head: Climb the ice and take the chance of slipping and falling or climb the rock and risk doing the same. As much as I detested doing it, the only option left to me was to take off my crampons, scramble up the rock, and put them back on again. It was the safest option available to me. I proceeded to take off the points, placed them on the rock ledge above me, and gingerly scrambled up it with wet boots. There was one more pitch I had to scramble up after that, so I repeated the process before locking back into the points.
Stopping for a moment of vanity
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Looked up above me, I noticed a small cornice. I checked my GPS and it indicated that I was above 14,000 feet. I was nearing the top of the couloir! I climbed the steps left by previous climbers up and to my right. The last time I was at the red notch was with Sean and Abe. When Abe and I tried to cross the snow that filled it in, a portion of it broke off and sped down the red gully. That was enough to tell us that the snow was unstable and that we shouldn’t be doing it. We turned around at that point. I knew that I was going to be topping-out at virtually the same spot and needed to cross that snow again. It was not something I was looking forward to. When I reached the red notch, I took a moment to savor the fact that I had just climbed the northwest couloir solo. While not the most difficult climb in the world, it was quite an accomplishment in my personal growth.
Looking back down the final pitch to the red notch
Seeing dry rock above me toward the summit, I decided to remove my points again. I also stashed my snowshoes (which I had been carrying, but never used) at the top of the red notch to lighten my load a little bit. I pulled myself up on the rock and began moving toward a cairn Having been exposed to sun for several hours, the snow I walked on was wet and unstable. When I stepped on it, I felt it shift. Taking my points off was a bad idea. I took off my pack yet again to dig them back out and once they were donned I continued. My motions were deliberately slow as I tested every step that I made on the snow and made sure I could belay with my axe. A couple sections of thin snow and ice provided me with a few moments of nervousness. Once I was across the mixed snow conditions, I could see that most of the remaining climb was dry. I made the decision to take my crampons off and leave them. I was less than 100 vertical feet from the summit.
When I topped out, I was pleased to see that there was no sections of snow keeping me from reaching my goal. There’s a little depression that climbers have to drop into to reach the true summit that was filled with snow, but it was solid and compacted. I reached my goal that day, but the journey was only half-over.
Crestone Needle (left) and looking down at my ascent route from the summit of Crestone Peak (right)
Humboldt Peak (left) and the San Luis Valley (right) — or what I could see of it through the smoke
After a snack and a SPOT message, I decided it was time for me to get out of there. I knew descending to the notch was going to be slow-going again due to the stability of the snow. I made my way back down to my crampons and put them back on before continuing my descent. At one point while crossing a section of snow, the snow gave way and I slipped. Fortunately, I was able to self-belay but it still shook me up a little. That was the only mishap I had, thankfully. I made it back down to the notch, collected my items, and again considered my fate as I needed to descend the red gully. I knew that the steepest part of the descent was right off of the red notch, so remembering how Sean, Abe, and I descended previously, I faced in and downclimbed the first couple hundred feet. The snow was extremely sloppy and wet. Once I was down far enough, I turned around and proceeded to plunge-step for the next couple of hundred feet. The snow became a little harder it got difficult to punch through it with my heels, so I decided that I wanted to try a slow, controlled glissade in self-arrest position. Due to the wet sloppiness of the snow I was able to do so successfully, but didn’t want to tempt fate after about 150 feet or so so I stood up and began to plunge-step again. Below me was slide debris — probably from the previous day or two. It look like it released from a side slope to my right. I didn’t want to get too close to the slide path and gingerly continued down. Below the slide debris and scattered above, I encountered water-ice where either the snow was thin enough to expose melt-off or water had actually run atop the snow and frozen. In order to avoid having to downclimb ice, I opted to climb down rock. There was one section to the right of a steady flow of melt-water where I was forced to remove my points and downclimb. I hung them down by their straps and dropped them onto the rock below me. A couple times of doing this and I was able to get back onto the snow below the melt-water and ice. The rest of the descent to the bottom of the red gully was done by plunge stepping. I was relieved to be down!
I’ve illustrated this photo to show how I descended certain sections of the red gully.
Red = downclimb on snow
Blue = plunge-stepping
Green = slow, calculated glissade in self-arrest position
Orange = slide debris (tried to avoid)
Yellow = downclimb on rock
One last look at Crestone Peak
Cottonwood Lake
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I mentioned it before, but it bears mentioning again: One of the most demoralizing aspects of Crestone Peak’s standard route is the hike back up Broken Hand Pass from Cottonwood Lake. Fortunately, there wasn’t a lot of snow to go up. I refused to break out my crampons again for this one short section, but in hindsight I probably should have. There was some really hard ice under a thin layer of snow and I could not kick-in steps. I ended up on all fours — using the pick of my ice axe to slowly pull myself up and across until I was able to reach some rocks. That little stunt expended a lot more energy than I should have. I continued to lumber up Broken Hand Pass in complete zombie mode. My breathing was labored and was probably made worse by the smoke from the fire in AZ. I took a moment at the top of Broken Hand Pass to rest before beginning the descent.
The first 100-200 feet of the descent was on mostly dry rock and dirt, so it was relatively easy. Once I reached the snow again, it was time to crampon-up. Only about another hundred feet below me I saw butt prints as well as ski tracks leading down a long section of the pass. There was a safe run-out below, so I decided to follow suit. The glissade was fast, but fun! Footprints led off to the east and I saw a couple of giant cairns so I knew that was the direction I needed to head in. I was able to get another short glissade of about 150 feet in before plunge-stepping down to the trail proper and eventually down close to lower South Colony Lake.
Instead of heading back the way I came, I decided that I would take the standard trail back to the road to get some observations on conditions. Man, was that ever a mistake. There was still A LOT of snow left on that route and sidehilling on wet, sloppy snow was not the easiest thing to do in snowshoes (but at least I finally got to use them). About half-way out, I ran into another hiker making his way to the lake. I let him know that I was on the trail (I had to use my GPS to located it after I got off-trail). He was just going to stay one night, but I let him know that there weren’t a lot of sites that were melted out near the lake. I also told him that I saw one other tent up there and that was it. He thanked me for the info and we continued on our way. Instead of trying to continue on the trail to the road, I cut across a field on snow. I was tired of slipping and sliding while sidehilling. When I reached the gate at the road, the snow ended abruptly. I packed up my snowshoes, drank an entire liter of water, and began the 2.75-mile trek back to the trailhead. It was another long, 17-hour day for me, but I felt that I had accomplished a lot. My experiences make me who I am. I felt just a little more well-rounded.
GPS stats from my climb of Crestone Peak’s Northwest Couloir