My first look at Crestone Peak’s Northwest Couloir

GPS profile of my route

Elevation profile

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.

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

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)

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)

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)

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.

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.

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!

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.

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

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

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

Ellingwood Point (14,042 ft.)

GPS profile of our route

Elevation and Google Earth profiles

I made a last-minute call to attempt to summit Ellingwood Point late last week. Because it was last-minute, I didn’t get to solicit partners for the trip. The weather forecast looked excellent and with me starting a new job the following Monday, I really wanted to get out. I hit the road at 2:00 AM and arrived at the turn-off for the Lake Como Road around 4:30. When I was down here a few weeks ago with Anna and Rob, we were able to drive up to 8,800 feet on the road before we decided to stop. The area hadn’t received a lot of snow since that time; I hoped that I could get even higher this time. Looking up higher, I immediately noticed a headlamp shine in my direction. Was someone else up there? I reached the area that we parked before and noticed that the road was completely snow-free, so I continued on. I got into some large rocks on the road a short distance further, so I ended up having to back-up. Looking in my rear-view mirror, I stopped before I almost accidentally backed into a truck that was parked off the road. I pulled forward and avoided a collision, then parked across the road from it and prepared to hit the trail.

I geared-up, walked over to the truck across from me, and took a look at it. It looked vaguely familiar. I started up the road with my headlamp around 5:05, but noticed some fluid on the rocks. Was it from my truck? I immediately walked back down to my truck and crawled underneath it. I was puzzled because I didn’t see any drippage or evidence of fluid leaking from underneath the engine, the transfer case, or the front and rear differentials. It caused me concern; a tow out of that road would cost me a pretty penny and there’s no way I could afford another repair. I hoped for the best and continued on again at 5:20.

When I was driving on US 160, I noticed the peaks of the Blanca Massif shrouded by clouds in the light of a half-moon. I didn’t want another cloudy day in these mountains! I hoped they would burn-off with the rising of the sun. I knew from my last trip up that the campsite where I had parked further up the road was 1.75 miles from where I was parked. The road up to that point was really clear of snow except for a couple of short sections of snow that were probably about 50 feet long. Anyone with a sledge hammer in the morning or a shovel in the afternoon would be able to clear off enough of the road to get by those sections. I reached Jaws 0.5 and knew that my former parking area was only two switchbacks away.

Past the campsite, the road descended down a bit. Shaded from the sun, the road was icy and snow-packed. I was able to stay off of the ice by walking on the far left side, but it was definitely A LOT clearer than it was during my last trip. The snow was firm-enough to walk on without snowshoes. The rest of the hike up the road was mixed bare ground and hard-packed snow. By the time I reached the Lake Como shelter, I had noticed fresh ski tracks. Yeah, there was definitely someone else up here. I stopped at the shelter to rest for a moment, refueled, and rehydrated. After about ten minutes I started getting pretty cold, so I decided it was time to continue on. The clouds that had once shrouded the peaks of the Blanca Massif were clearing out, so the temperature dropped. My lips felt like they were going to freeze off of my face as I walked along Lake Como’s north shore.

Once on the other side of Lake Como, I followed the old ski/snowshoe tracks along with the fresh ski tracks. The route deviated from the norm and went up a hillside through some trees to the left of the standard. I thought about trying to get back on track, but knew that it would almost certainly end up on the standard route. When I was high enough to see across the basin, I noticed a solo climber making his way up Chasm Lake’s headwall. He seemed to be following the same track that Rob, Anna, and I took when we were down here last. I kicked it into high gear as I made my way across the basin and past the Blue Lakes to see if I could catch up to him. When I had reached the bottom of the headwall, I found the snow to be firm and solid. I raised the heel bars on my showshoes and trucked right up it in a straight line (man, those heel/ascent bars REALLY help on steep snow). Once I reached the top of the headwall, the heel bars went down and I spotted the climber skinning along the trail on his skis ahead of me. His orange shell looked familiar to me, so I continued in high gear to catch up with him.

As I got closer to the skier, I was fairly certain I knew who he was — Bill Middlebrook from 14ers.com. It was an odd coincidence that I was meeting him again on the trail; the previous weekend we met on the summit of Mt. Columbia, but that was a pre-arranged event. When I caught up to him, he turned around and I said, “I didn’t know you were going to be up here today.”

“Terry?” he asked. “Hey, it’s Bill.”

“Yeah, I know. I recognized you down lower. I thought that was your truck parked along the road, but wasn’t sure.”

“Did you see that I was going to be up here on Facebook? I thought I made a post for Steve to see.”

“Actually, I made a post around 6:00 last night saying that I needed to get to bed because I was going to be attempting Ellingwood again today. I don’t think I saw anything from you about it.”

“Oh, I must have sent Steve a PM.”

Bill and I stopped for a few minutes to engage in friendly conversation. I asked him if he had grown his hair out because I remembered it being a lot shorter when I first met him at the Spring Gathering last year. He did and explained a little bit why. His wife was recently diagnosed with breast cancer. “Only two other people know about this, so I’d appreciate you not sharing this information with anyone.” I promised him that the information would not leave my lips (Bill has since made it public within our community). Since his wife was going to be getting chemo treatments and will likely lose her hair, he wanted to grow enough hair for both of them. I told him that I would make a donation to the Susan G. Komen Foundation in her name as soon as I was able to financially (which I’ve actually done already). That bit of a personal connection was unexpected, but I was glad that Bill afforded me the opportunity to get to know a little bit more about his personal life. As the founder of 14ers.com, a lot of people tend to put him on a pedestal so I think that I can understand why he would want to keep most at an arm’s length or more away, but in the end all of us are just as human as anyone else is with all of the same human vulnerabilities. I don’t believe I’ve known anyone whose spouse has been affected by the disease before now. Thankfully, the prognosis seems good. I wished him and his family the best and hoped for a speedy recovery.

I’m still a newbie when it comes to snow ascents. With my first winter summiting peaks now behind me, I feel that I’ve grown quite a bit into a more well-rounded person. I am in no way someone of “experience” and as someone who is new to winter mountaineering it has allowed me to view the actions of others through a perspective innocence. I want to learn as much as possible and hope to take something new away from every trip that I make. I’ve not only received some actual instruction this winter, but I’ve also absorbed SO MUCH just from being around people who have been doing this much, much longer than I have. In addition to some of the instruction that I received back in January, I tend to learn a lot from observation and from conversation. As with a lot of people I know from 14ers.com, I have a lot of respect for Bill’s experience. I know the basics of a lot of things, but wouldn’t consider myself advanced or an expert at anything. Because of this I haven’t a lot of confidence when on snow, but I have a lot more than I did at the beginning of winter.

“Don’t climb directly behind me,” Bill instructed as we continued up further into the basin on skis and snowshoes. “Sometimes, my skins will slip and I’ll slide backward about ten feet. I don’t want to knock you over.” I nodded in understanding and staggered myself a bit to the left of him. We reached a point where I stopped to inform him that this was where Rob, Anna, and I made the decision to turn around. It was here that my snowshoes could no longer gain purchase due to a thin crust and sugary snow underneath. It seemed Bill was having the same issue on skis. The snow was a bit intimidating for me, so i just kind of hung back to see how Bill was planning on tackling this. “Well, I know what I’m doing,” he said and proceeded to take off his skis. I, in turn, took off my showshoes. I don’t think I would have even considered booting-up the slope had I been solo and may have turned around again, but that just illustrates the value of experience. Someone once told me that the only way to gain confidence on snow is to actually get out on it. Even though I’ve lived in Colorado for thirty-four years I never picked up any snow sports as a hobby, so I’ve not yet developed the confidence that people who have been winter mountaineers or skiers/boarders do. Each time I get out on the snow I learn a little bit more. Knowledge truly is power — and confidence comes with that.

Looking up at Blanca Peak from the upper basin. Bill said there wasn’t a single line to ski down it.

Chopping steps into snow can be pretty tiring! Bill started out in the lead, but with skis heaved over his shoulder he ran out of gas after awhile. I offered to take the lead and with my ice axe in my right hand and a trekking pole in my left, we quickly made progress up another headwall above Chasm Lake. As usual, my backpack was quite hefty and I brought a few extra items this time since I expected to be out on the trail solo. Running into Bill was a welcome event. We continued our friendly chit-chat on our way up during our frequent stops. I get out in the mountains on weekends to help alleviate stress that I build-up during the week. With his wife’s recent diagnosis, I couldn’t help but think how therapeutic an outing like this would be for him.

At the top of a small shelf, the snow began to turn into a firm wind- and sun-hardened crust and we neared rockier sections of the south face. It was here that I decided it was time to ditch my snowshoes while Bill strapped his skis to his back in preparation for the final 700 feet to the summit. “I think I’ve already spotted my descent line,” he told me and turned my attention to a snow field leading down from Ellingwood’s false summit along the ridge. We fastened on our crampons, tested the stability of the snow, and continued on with Bill in the lead.

Bill considering our ascent options (left) and postholing across a short traverse section (right)

After being in the lead for awhile, my partner-for-the-day stepped aside and asked me to go ahead. I caught up to him and proceeded at a fairly slow pace. From behind me, he shouted out directions for me to ascend up and to the left — closer to the false summit. “We’re not going to head right up to the false summit,” he explained, “but it’s better to gain the ridge higher rather than lower. You should be able to see sections of the trail pretty soon. Also — I’m going to put a little bit of distance between us. If this snow decides to slide, we both don’t want to get caught in it.” Again, his experience was, for me, a valuable resource.

There were sections of snow that weren’t necessarily firm enough to walk up easily, so I found myself continuing to chop-in steps. At one of the times when Bill caught up to me, he asked, “How are you doing?”

“Getting tired,” I told him.

“Yeah, me, too.”

It wasn’t too long afterward that I spotted a cairn, but the trail was difficult to see. “Do you think it goes that way?” I asked as I thought I spotted a line going up and to the right.

“Maybe,” he replied. “It probably wouldn’t hurt to start switchbacking a bit.” I switched my axe’s leash to my left arm and began to ascend in that direction.

We made slow, but sure, progress up Ellingwood’s south face and were closing ranks on the ridge leading up to its false and true summits. The coaching that I received back in January about crampon techniques definitely came in handy as I found a very firm section of snow and rapidly walked up it. “This is definitely duck-walking territory!” I shouted down to Bill.

“It beats postholing!” came his reply. I laughed and agreed whole-heartedly

“You having fun?”

“I’m have a blast!” I said, but, man — were my calves ever getting a work-out!

Ellingwood’s false summit and a glimpse of the true summit from just below the ridge.

After a slow ascent with heavy packs, Bill and I finally began to really close in on Ellingwood’s southeast ridge. I reached it first and turned around with enough time to snap a photo of him gaining the last section of snow. Up on the ridge, the one of the first things I noticed was Lily Lake and the Huerfano River Basin below. With Mt. Lindsey off to the right, I scanned the valley for any trace of human activity. I managed to spot a faint trail in the snow that was probably left by Kiefer and Steph the week before as I doubted that any one had been up there since that time. The sun shone brightly and surprisingly enough — despite the spin drifts we saw further below, the wind wasn’t all that bad and easy to bear.

My ugly mug on the ridge.

Looking down into the Upper Huerfano River Basin

Mt. Lindsey

California Peak with the Crestone Group in the distance

A closer look at Crestone Peak and Needle over California Peak

I studied the reminder of our route; while there was a clear cornice on the the climber’s right, there was a lot of exposed rock on the left. “I think I may just boot-up to the summit,” I said.

“I’m going to keep mine on,” said Bill. “They’re kinda old, so it’s not a big deal if they get messed up.” I decided to give it a try as well and began to trek up toward the summit. At one point I tried to keep my balance with my ice axe and plunged the spike into the snow to my right thinking that there would be rock underneath it, but it went all the way down to the pick and adze. “You should probably get over to the left a little further,” I was told. “You really can’t tell where the rock ends and the snow begins right there. That would be a long ride down!” I heeded the advice and stuck to the solid rock on the left.

After gingerly walking up in my crampons for a few minutes I started getting irritated at the sound of metal-on-rock, so I sat down next to a cairn and took off the crampons. It wasn’t too long after that when I encountered a bullet-proof section of hard snow and I regretted taking them off. Fortunately, there was an exposed rock right in the middle of it that I was able to use as a step and continued on. I reached the false summit and looked over at the true summit. It was only a stone’s throw away, but I still had to drop down into a notch onto some snow before reaching it. As I began to descend, I noticed a missing partner-for-the-day. I hung tight for a minute to see if he would go across the top of the false summit or stay lower on the left. When he didn’t appear in either direction, I continued on. Down closer to the notch, I spotted Bill near the false summit. He waved me on and I asked if he was heading down. “I’ll wait for you!” he shouted back. I quickly made my way over to the true summit. It was a week too late to be considered a true winter summit, but the snow conditions were still certainly winter-like!

Blanca Peak

Little Bear Peak

On the summit of Ellingwood Point. Photo by Bill Middlebrook.

After taking some photos and video on top of Ellingwood, I hastily made my way back over to the false summit. When I asked Bill why he decided not to go over, he replied, “There isn’t that much of an elevation difference between here and there and I couldn’t see any lines to ski down from there. I have one from here, but it’s still going to be a crappy ski!” I knew his descent was going to be 20x faster than mine, so I prepared to part ways with him. “Oh, I’ll probably see you down there,” he pointed across the gully, “and further down there. It’s not going to be a very quick descent to start out with.” I told him I’d try and get some good shots of him on the way down. “Just follow our tracks back down. Don’t deviate or try anything fancy.” The last part wasn’t only for my safety, but for his as well. I crossed the gully quickly and positioned myself to take a few photos. Bill’s fun was about to begin!

Bill worked his way slowly down the gully as I watched. He skied across some short sections and appeared (to me, at least) to be testing the snow. He looked up at me. “It’s icy!” he called out. Ick. Even I knew that wasn’t the best kind of snow to descend on skis. He waited for a few more seconds and was off to the races!

I packed up my camera and hurried down the ridge to my crampons and took a few minutes to lock them on before continuing down. I reached the snow and nervously looked down it. As with any kind of climbing, going down can often be just as or even more treacherous than going up. I didn’t have a lot of experience descending snow, but I felt fairly confident that I could. I extended the length of the trekking pole in my left hand and slowly began to plunge-step down the snow. The relative easiness of doing so surprised me and I increased my descent speed slightly. I moved quicker than I thought I would and actually found myself a little bit below Bill in the gully. “I’m heading down that way,” he shouted out as he pointed down and to the left. “I’m going to drop down from there and I’ll meet you down below. We’ll be off of this dangerous stuff.” As he started to drop in again, I yelled for him to wait so I could get a few more photos. I got my camera out again and he was off!

Again, it didn’t take me as long to descend the snow as I thought it was going to and I had quite a bit of fun doing it. I met up with Bill next to my snowshoes. I took off my pack and opened it to get some food. I hungrily began to devour some macaroni salad that I brought with me with a sliver of a plastic spoon that I had accidentally broken. “You see that over there?” Bill said and called my attention to an area behind me. “It looks like there was a small slide recently. You can see the crown if you look closely.” Luckily, it was pretty low on the slope, but in the warm spring sun the snow was getting a bit sloppy and wet. I was going to have to keep my crampons on until I reached the bottom of the headwall near the blue lakes because I didn’t think I was going to be able to safely descend some of the steeper pitches in snowshoes with the snow like that.

Now that we were both safely off of the most difficult section of the climb, Bill needed to jet out of there. He had a family to return to, after all. We shook hands and I watched him disappear into basin below. He would likely reach his truck hours before I would. Again, I found myself thankful that I ran into him. It was probably one of the most beneficial trips (from a learning standpoint) that I’ve had thus far. Even though the outing wasn’t for instruction, I always want to take away lessons that will help me develop into a more well-rounded mountaineer. This trip was certainly no exception.

On my way down the Crater Lake headwall, I ran into a bit of an issue. I was heading down a steep section when I noticed that the snow was pretty slushy. Plunge-stepping was causing me to slide; I thought about riding it down in a glissade, but there were rocks below that I wouldn’t be able to avoid. I ended up turning around to face the slope and backed down by chopping steps into the snow. When I was off of the steep section, I didn’t have any trouble getting down to the lower basin. I switched out my crampons for snowshoes and headed back down to Lake Como. When I was heading back down the road, I took a moment to send a few text messages, had a brief conversation with Kiefer about snow conditions, and enjoyed another snack. I was less than four miles from where I parked, but hiking back down that road in stiff mountaineering boots (I can only imagine how painful/irritating it is to hike down in ski boots) is not very pleasant.

There’s one uphill section right before the campsite that I’ve parked at in the past that is a pain in the ass. When you’re hiking out with a backpack full of camping gear, it feels morally defeating! This section of the road was still pretty icy and I nearly made it to the top, but I ended up slipping on the ice and I went down in a miserable heap. I picked myself up with as much grace as possible and was thankful no one was around to see that happen! I reached the top of the uphill section and took off my snowshoes. The road below was mostly clear of snow and I wouldn’t need them. As I drank some water, another hiker approached me. I was surprised; I didn’t expect to see anyone else on the road — especially heading up it! I asked if he was planning on trying to reach the lake (even though he wasn’t dressed for it), but he indicated that this was as far as he was going. He had a wife and daughter lower on the road waiting for him. The hiker asked if I was with the guy with skis. I told him that we knew each other, but we had come up separately.

When I made it back to my truck at 5:30, I took off my pack and immediately climbed underneath it to check to see if there were any puddles. There were not. I unloaded and packed everything before I opened the hood to check the oil and transmission fluid levels. Both seemed to be normal. It made me wonder whether the fluid I saw along the road when I first started that day was actually from another vehicle. It seemed really fresh, though. I closed the hood and drove out.

Google Earth .KML file of my route (right-click and “save target as” to save the file). NOTE: For some reason, if you’re using Internet Explorer, when you “save target as”, it changes the file extension to .XML. This is incorrect. To be able to view this in Google Earth, change the file extension to .KML before saving the file. It downloads correctly in Firefox.

Little Bear Peak (14,037 ft.)

GPS profile of our route

Elevation and Google Earth profiles

This is how Merriam-Webster defines community:

1 : a unified body of individuals: as a: state, commonwealth
b: the people with common interests living in a particular area; broadly : the area itself [the problems of a large community]
c: an interacting population of various kinds of individuals (as species) in a common location
d: a group of people with a common characteristic or interest living together within a larger society [a community of retired persons]
e: a group linked by a common policy
f: a body of persons or nations having a common history or common social, economic, and political interests [the international community]
g: a body of persons of common and especially professional interests scattered through a larger society [the academic community]

2: society at large

3 a: joint ownership or participation [community of goods]
b: common character : likeness [community of interests]
c: social activity : fellowship
d: a social state or condition

Good things have generally not happened to me in my life in the past. Members of 14ers.com have been more than a community in the strictest sense of the word to me over the years — they have been like a family — and that has been one good thing. For someone like me, they are the only people who I have to look up to and inspire me. I can honestly say that I consider some of them brothers and sisters; they hold a special place in my life, and for that I am thankful. I would not be the person that I am today if not for them. I don’t consider myself a bad or inconsiderate person in the least. I pay-it-forward when I can and without the positive influences in my life today, I would not enjoy my life as it has been given to me.

How do you repay a community for inspiring you? How do you thank so many people for the kindness, generosity, and friendship that has been given? I only have words for now, but I hope that someday I can give back to to so many people who have been such a positive influence in my life in the absence of a biological family. One of the greatest gifts you can give to those who have inspired you is to succeed. I hope I have and will continue to do so. I’ll then be able to give back some of what has been given to me. Perhaps I’ll inspire others someday.

When I was laid-off last week, I had a lot of well-wishes and a couple generous offers. Due to my job search I was not able to accept a few of those offers, but thanks to some unexpected vacation pay I was able to go on a climb that I never expected that I’d do — Little Bear Peak. When Britt, one of the community’s members, posted that he wasn’t going to be able to make the climb without a ride to the trailhead, I contacted him to let him know that I was interested in carpooling with him. We were going to climb with Kiefer, Steph, Mike, and Dani. I made plans with Britt to pick him up at his house at 1:30 AM and meet the rest of our group at the Lake Como Trailhead.

I arrived at Britt’s house and was surprised to find Kiefer and Steph there. They decided to stay the night instead of driving all the way to the trailhead. We ended up leaving around 2:00; Mike and Dani were parked on the side of the interstate in Colorado Springs and would be watching for us. They joined our caravan down to the trailhead. We arrived around 5:00 and hit the trail around 5:20 or so.

Britt, Kiefer, Steph, Mike, Dani, and I reached Tobin Creek in the gully and carefully descended toward it. The creek was flowing and there were some areas of snow and ice, so we made our way carefully down. On the other side was another gully that led us further up onto the ridge. Out of the gully, we started spotting some surveyor’s tape left by Search & Rescue a few years ago during a recovery mission and followed the trail up the ridge. With a heavier backpack than my comrades (Britt’s was probably as heavy as mine, though), I quickly started falling behind. I reassured everyone, though, that I would be alright. I was the only member of the group who had been up the southwest ridge before and was capable of making it on my own.

The weather that morning was spectacular; we stopped after about twenty minutes into the hike for almost everyone to strip off a layer of clothing. Because I normally hike in a baselayer and a shell, I didn’t need to do so. We bushwhacked through some vegetation to gain the ridge and soon found ourselves among the evergreens as we continued our journey upward. Sunlight continued to illuminate the landscape and we soon found ourselves approaching treeline. Mike and Dani pulled far ahead of the rest of the group; while I was still bringing up the rear, I was starting to catch up to the others, though. I found that snacking on a few things gave me the energy to do so. I looked at my GPS; we hadn’t even reached 12,000 feet yet. The top of the ridge was at about 12,833 if I remembered correctly. This wasn’t the easiest ascent and we had a lot of ridge to go to reach South Little Bear. I had no idea what the snow conditions would be like on top of the ridge, but I hoped that they would be favorable.

Britt, Kiefer, and Steph on Little Bear’s Soutwest Ridge

Approaching 12,000 feet. Mike and Dani are at very top of the ridge.

At the top of the ridge looking to the southwest

I met Kiefer at the top of the ridge and we talked for a few minutes. Even though we were technically close to South Little Bear, we still had a long way to go. There was snow on the ridge and that would certainly slow our progress. Kiefer continued on with Britt and Steph while I took a few minutes to rest and take some photos. Britt told me the day before that South Little Bear was his goal for the day; I had resigned myself to only that summit because I didn’t want to keep anyone else from traversing over to Little Bear Peak, but from my vantage point the traverse didn’t look like it would be too difficult as there wasn’t much snow on the connecting ridge between the summits. I would have to make a judgment call once I summited South Little Bear. Weather (well, other than potential winds) wouldn’t be much of a factor, so for that I was thankful.

The only navigational issues that one would experience along this route would be getting up the ridge. Once there, it’s pretty straight-forward. On top of the ridge, the path is simple and the goal is plain to see. There was a bit of snow just below the false summit that gave me pause for a moment, but I remembered staying close to the edge on the left which seemed clear of snow. During one of our stops, I informed my partners that there was a small knife edge just beyond the false summit. The knife edge was southeast-facing, so I didn’t know if the bypass route under it was going to be snow-free. I wanted to cross the knife edge like I did before back in June, but I didn’t think I was going to be able to catch up to the rest of the group before they reached the area.

One of the goals that I’d like to achieve is to always learn something new on any of the hikes or climbs that I go on. To do so, I mostly have to go on these trips with individuals who are more experienced than I am. On this particular excursion, this was certainly the case. Kiefer and Steph had been mountaineering for years before I even entered the scene and Britt had been involved in winter activities for the past couple of years. I didn’t know too much about Mike other than a few brief conversations when I met him for the first time on my first winter attempt on Humboldt, but I knew at one time he was involved with the Colorado Mountain Club, had numerous Colorado summits under his belt, had climbed Rainier, and had a solid reputation for being a strong hiker/climber. I had only met his wife, Dani, at the start of the day, but it was clear that she was more than capable of handling a trip of this caliber.

On my way up, I kept to the far left next to the edge of the ridge as much as possible because it was mostly snow-free. When I reached the false summit and topped out over it, I saw that Britt was already beyond the area of the knife edge and Kiefer and Steph were crossing the snow below it. I didn’t know which route Britt took (I later found out that he bypassed it as well), but I was determined to cross it (plus, I didn’t feel like taking my backpack off to get my ice axe out). I sort of half-leapt onto the edge and thought I heard someone call-out my name in the process, but I was way too focused to stop. The smooth rock faces on either side didn’t give me much purchase (especially with wet boots), but I made it across without much difficulty. Britt, Kiefer, and Steph continued to scramble up ahead of me as the summit of South Little Bear wasn’t that much further ahead.

I anticipated being able to rest for a few minutes once I reached the summit of South Little Bear, but when I arrived I saw that Kiefer and Steph were already preparing to depart to Little Bear’s summit. On the other side, I saw Mike and Dani starting to descend Little Bear and head our way. “You coming?” Kiefer asked. Having just summited with a 35-lb backpack, I was tired and wasn’t entirely sure. Down below, we had discussed leaving the packs on South Little Bear and traversing without them since they were heavier than any of us would have liked. I told Kiefer that’s what we did the last time I was on the traverse. I took off my backpack and sat down while watching them begin the traverse. I looked down at my pack; the ice axe seemed to be taunting me. I unbuckled my helmet and put it on, then unfastened the axe and felt its weight. I secured the leash around my right arm and stood up.

“You going?” Britt asked.

“Yeah, I think so,” I replied. I didn’t know exactly how far I was going to go, but I figured I’d give it a shot. As I started the descent of South Little Bear, I think I got a couple of surprised looks from Kiefer and Steph though it didn’t feel like I was unwelcome. I also noticed their ice axes on the ridge. “You leaving your axes?” I called out and they both nodded in affirmation. Kiefer tried to guide me down from South Little Bear, but I couldn’t hear him because the wind was starting to pick up. I made it down to them without any issues and we continued on together. From the summit, we stayed on the left side of the ridge and descended onto a small avenue below us before climbing back up to the top of the ridge. The last time I did the traverse, I remembered walking directly on top of the ridge for a bit of a distance. Once we rounded a rock, we did find ourselves on top. Snow covered a good portion of the surface I remembered walking over, so I we all basically scooted over the narrow portions. About half-way through, we crossed paths with Mike and Dani. We stopped for a few minutes to talk to them.

“Terry,” Mike said, “this is a great route. I’m envious that this is your second time getting to do it!” I appreciated the compliment, but I wasn’t so sure that I shared his enthusiasm! The last time I was up there it took us nearly fifteen hours to return to the trailhead. I had broken a couple of toenails and had blisters, so I wasn’t exactly sure why I was back up there again so soon, heh.

Mike and Dani mentioned that they would wait for us for a bit at the vehicle and we bade each other farewell as we continued on our quest to summit Little Bear. The crux of the traverse was coming up — a down-climb into a notch which was at the top of the hourglass couloir. This was the part I was most worried about; if the rock held snow or was covered by ice, a slip could prove fatal. When we climbed down from the top of the ridge and approached the notch, I was pleasantly surprised to find that the rock was dry. Kiefer descended first, then Steph, and me last. We crossed the notch and Kiefer commented, “This is great!”

“I can’t believe I’m about to summit Little Bear in the winter,” I told him.

“Fucking-a, man,” was his retort.

A short scramble later, Kiefer, Steph, and I walked triumphantly to the summit of Little Bear Peak. For me, it was an accomplishment that I didn’t expect. After all — this is my first winter actually attempting to summit the state’s 14ers. I felt a kind of confidence that I didn’t even know I was capable of. Summiting Little Bear was something that definitely was not in my sights. I remember Kiefer congratulating me among other things, but everything was kind of lost in the moment. What I do remember saying to him was, “Sometimes, people will surprise you.” I was just glad that I was able to join him and Steph for this winter summit.

Steph and Kiefer on Little Bear

My summit shot

Me, Steph, and Kiefer (L to R) as seen from South Little Bear. Photo by Britt.

Even though it was really warm for a late-winter day, we didn’t want to loiter for too long since the journey back down the southwest ridge was going to be long and arduous. The three of us quickly descended off of Little Bear and climbed back up the other side of the notch before gaining the top of the ridge again. We scrambled our way back toward South Little Bear without any difficulties. I expected the traverse to be a lot more difficult in the winter, but fortunately there was a lot of exposed rock on the spicier sections which made it relatively simple and more importantly — relatively safe. We climbed back up to the summit of South Little Bear and rejoined Britt. I had informed them that I needed to consume some significant nutrition before we started on the long journey back to the trailhead.

Looking down on Little Bear Lake during the traverse

Britt on the summit of South Little Bear

My South Little Bear summit shot

Kiefer and Steph

Nap time! We were all feeling it by then.

After resting for a few minutes, we packed up and started down. When we reached the knife edge area, the descent became a little more treacherous. Winds had picked up and were blasting us in the face. Britt, Kiefer, and Steph decided to bypass the knife edge down low again. There was a section of smooth rock that proved to be more than just a minor annoyance for them. I crossed the knife edge again which was followed by a goading by Kiefer for my effort. With the ups and downs on the ridge, it was going to take us quite awhile to even reach treeline. There were many stops along the way and Steph took a spill once, but without injury. As the sun lowered in the western horizon, it no longer warmed our weary bones from the blowing wind. It was becoming painfully apparent that we would not make it back before dark.

A couple of last looks at Little Bear before descending to treeline

My last view of Steph before she started to descend the top of the ridge

Britt, Kiefer, Steph and I reached treeline at 6:00. We still needed to find our way through the trees and descend steeply down to Tobin Creek before reaching a “road” near the creek and returning to the trailhead. Any bit of rest was welcome. My quads were on fire since I was still carrying about 30 lbs on my back. The final descent to treeline dropped us about 1,000 feet in about half a mile. I don’t exactly know why I decided to torture myself with this route again in less than a year. The likelihood that I’ll be doing the southwest ridge again is not very high! We had already been on the trail for over twelve hours and still had a couple left to go. If we lost daylight, finding our way down was going to be even more difficult. Even though we all had headlamps from earlier in the morning, we wanted to try and make the most of the light we had left.

It didn’t take long for us to lose the sun as we descended into the trees and lost elevation. Before long, I was finding it difficult to see my partners ahead. I called out to Steph and asked if she could still see Britt and Kiefer. She could, but barely. We stopped for some water and put on our headlamps before continuing our trek. As we walked through the trees, I stepped on a rock and it shifted — causing me to to twist my right ankle. Fortunately, my mountaineering boots were laced pretty tight and my ankle didn’t bend too much. I continued on limping a bit, but I didn’t feel I would need to stop. Kiefer offered to wrap it, but I didn’t think it needed to be. Since we didn’t have any tracks left to follow in the snow, we eventually lost our way. It was frustrating being able to see Alamosa and the town of Blanca and not knowing how exactly how to get down to them! Britt was able to guide us down to Tobin Creek and we found ourselves descending a loose gully. My gimpy ankle made descending even more dangerous as I accidentally dislodged some rocks that went spinning down below. Thankfully, no one was injured. We eventually all made it down to the creek, but had a steep ascent on the other side of the gully while bushwhacking through thorny bushes and scrub. I was able to guide us back to the “road” and from there we had a relatively easy walk out.

We arrived at our vehicles at around 9:00. After over fifteen hours on the trail, we were all ready to relax. I was offered a beer, but Britt and I still had a 2.5-hour drive home and any alcohol consumption would result in a sleepy driver! We relaxed and reflected on the day’s activities for 40 minutes before deciding to hit the road. Kiefer and Steph were heading to Alamosa for the night and had a couple ideas on where to go from there. Britt and I headed back toward Colorado Springs.

GPS stats from our winter ascent of Humboldt Peak. Add 0.4 mile to the total mileage (I accidentally left the GPS on South Little Bear).

Google Earth .KML file of my route (right-click and “save target as” to save the file). NOTE: For some reason, if you’re using Internet Explorer, when you “save target as”, it changes the file extension to .XML. This is incorrect. To be able to view this in Google Earth, change the file extension to .KML before saving the file. It downloads correctly in Firefox.

Humboldt Peak (14,064 ft.)

GPS profile of our route

Elevation and Google Earth profiles

Back on February 19th I attempted to summit Humboldt Peak, but was turned back by wind and snow. My partners at the time, Jim and John, gave a valiant effort along with me, but we turned around at 13,000 feet after the wind dropped our visibility levels to less than fifty feet at times. We returned to the trailhead defeated, but I knew I would be back. A winter summit of Humboldt was in my near future.

So after my failed attempt at Ellingwood Point last weekend, it appeared that there was going to be a good weather window for Humboldt again. I tried to recruit some of my fellow hikers; Javier, another member of 14ers.com said he wanted to go. I met Javier last summer when he, Jerry, and I attempted to summit La Plata Peak via Ellingwood Ridge. We had a couple of other interactions online since that time, but hadn’t gotten together for any hikes. I received a couple of other messages from individuals who were interested, but they didn’t pan out. Javier informed me that he was going to drive to the lower South Colony Lakes Traiilhead and sleep overnight there. I planned my usual early rising as the drive was only two hours to reach the trailhead.

As it turned out, I woke an hour early, went and ate breakfast at IHOP with the drunks (there were a lot of them), and hit the road at 2:35. I arrived at the trailhead at 4:30. Javier was already awake, so we got ready earlier than planned. After taking care of some business and some pleasant conversation, another vehicle drove up. We talked to the hiker, Dave, for a little bit before hitting the trail around 5:15. Dave said he hoped he would catch up with us to help break trail.

The first thing I noticed about conditions from two weeks’ prior was that vehicles weren’t getting stuck on the road before the parking area. The road was completely clear. The beginning part of the road was a little more clear of snow as well, but the snow was not as hard-packed as it was the previous time. The snow was boot-packed and had some snowmobile tracks. There wasn’t as much boot pack this time, but it was firm enough to walk on without snowshoes. I could already tell the day was going to be so much better than my previous attempt for the simple fact that I could actually see stars above the mountains! Javier and I made good progress up the road and found ourselves at the intersection with the Rainbow Trail in no time. Dave and his two dogs caught up to us by then. We walked for a little bit on the Rainbow Trail without snowshoes as there was still a bit of boot pack left, but then decided we should put them on.

Dave broke trail for a little while as we worked our way to the bottom of Humboldt’s east ridge. Javier and I broke off the trail a little early and headed to the ridge were we spotted a cairn. Dave came up from a different point and we decided to stick together as there was a lot of trailbreaking to be done. We really enjoyed Dave’s conversation and spiritedness. He told me that Humboldt was going to be his 250th summit! As we worked our way through the trees, we could still see where my last group had broken trail though it was barely visible. Still, it was nice to have a little bit of guidance. Eventually, I knew the trail turned steeply uphill. Again, it was going to be my least-favorite part of the hike.

Dave, Javier, and I continued our pleasant conversation while we headed uphill. Dave broke trail again for awhile and then I took over the lead in breaking trail for a bit. Dave and I found that we knew a lot of the same people from the mountaineering community, so it was fun getting to know him. He told me how he was in a group who witnessed a couple of guys get caught in an avalanche near Hagerman Peak last Memorial Day and assisted in the effort to reach the climbers. He said he thought the most seriously injured of the two was dead because he was non-responsive, but thankfully he was. Dave also told me it was interesting seeing a trekking pole rigged to hold an IV bag. Someone is always finding a new use for those things! I, in turn, told him about meeting that guy’s brother (who was also caught in the avalanche) on Little Bear Peak last September. The mountaineering community really is a small world!

The weather forecast had been spot-on — blue skies with a few high clouds and light winds. It appeared that the day was going to be a complete 180° turnaround from what it was two weeks ago! It was very pleasant to be out in. As the three of us got higher in the trees, the breezes started picking up. The trees got shorter and shorter as we approached treeline; the winds, in turn, became more and more pronounced. By the time we reached an area where we were to stash our snowshoes, we could see strong, swirling snow up on the ridge and it was getting windier by the minute. At first, Dave said he would try and join us to the top of the ridge, but was concerned about his dogs since the wind and blowing snow would bite right through their hair. Javier and I stashed our snowshoes, bade a fond farewell do Dave, and continued on toward our goal.

Javier and I put on our Micro-spikes and began our ascent of the east ridge. The wind had picked-up enough that I put on my balaclava and goggles while we were stopped near our snowshoes. As it turned out — that was a good choice. The wind was blowing snow from the west and directly down the east ridge. Javier had been wearing some prescription sunglasses (he’s getting PRK this week, so couldn’t wear his contacts), but the wind was getting to be too much for him. I helped him get his goggles out and he put them on before we continued. There was a big cloud just sitting east of the Sangres and not moving, but we quickly emerged into the sunlight and it made the wind easier to bear. To the south, I spotted Marble Mountain and stopped to take a photo of it (above, right).

Humboldt’s southeast flank. A couple of weeks ago, I was asked to take a photo of it to determine if it was skiable, but wasn’t able to due to weather conditions. Crestone Needle is also visible.

Broken Hand Peak. The saddle between BHP and Crestone Needle — Broken Hand Pass — is along the standard route up the Needle and provides access to Cottonwood Lake and Crestone Peak.

Pico Aislado (center). It’s quite beautiful. Also pictured are Broken Hand Peak and Milwaukee Peak.

A closer look at Pico Aislado, Spanish for “Isolated Peak”. I was informed on 3/8/11 by Gerry Roach (author of Colorado’s Fourteeners: From Hikes to Climbs) that the correct spelling is “Aislado”, not “Asilado” as it is sometimes referenced. I researched it with the US Geographic Board on Geographic Names and he is correct!

As Javier and I continued to make progress up the east ridge, the winds became quite remarkable. They were nothing compared to February 19th, though. Strong sunlight continued to make the wind chill easier to bear, but because I have only been wearing a heavyweight baselayer and a shell on my hikes recently (I do carry a fleece and a down jacket in my backpack) I became cold if I stopped for too long. I used to start off wearing my fleece as well, but found that I was too warm when I started hiking and would only end up taking it off. A wise man once told me, “If you start to get cold almost immediately after you’ve stopped moving, you’re wearing too many layers.” By not wearing a fleece, it allows sweat to evaporate and transport through my shell and actually keeps me drier than I would be with a sweat-drenched fleece on. It has been a great improvement for me.

Javier and I reached the top of the east ridge and considered our fates. The route wasn’t terribly difficult, but with the wind blowing up the north side of the slope it could make our journey a treacherous one. I decided to try and stay as far to the left of the ridge as possible. Fatigued after a long hike, Javier started falling behind. I do not like letting my hiking partners out of either my eyesight or earshot — especially when the weather is inclement. If either he or I slipped and fell and we were out of contact with each other — who would know where we slipped? When we got further up the ridge, I scrambled up some rock and waited for Javier to join me, but he didn’t. Worried, I started calling out his name but the wind was drowning out my voice. I walked back down to where I scrambled up the rock and was relieved to see Javier below me. Earlier, he told me that he would be happy to make it to 13,700 which was about the elevation we were at. He waved me on to the summit; I assumed he was going to stay put and rest while I claimed the prize.

I worked my way as carefully and as quickly as I could up the east ridge toward the summit. Because the wind was so harsh on the north side of the ridge, I continued to try and stay as far to the left as I could. There was an area where I couldn’t pass on the left and I had to bear the powerful sustained winds as I scrambled up an outcropping. Atop it, the ridge flattened out for a bit. For the final summit pitch, I had the choice to work my way around to the left or take a direct path to the right which would expose me to more wind. I chose the path on the right and found myself regretting that decision. When I topped out on the summit, I was greeted by a blast of wind that dropped me to my knees to avoid being blown off the mountain. It was incredible! I had to practically crawl over to the summit cairn that formed a wind break. I saw the summit log, but didn’t bother signing it. It was a small, hard-earned victory for me, but I was finally there.

Looking south toward the Blanca group (where I was the previous weekend)

Looking down at Broken Hand Pass. Also pictured are Broken Hand Peak, Crestone Needle, and “Crestolita” (I believe — don’t quote me on that!)

Crestone Peak and Crestone Needle

Obligatory summit shot (complete with snotsicle)

After spending a grand total of about five minutes on the summit, I quickly made my way down off the summit. I rejoined Javier down on the ridge and we stopped for a brief snack before making our way back down the east ridge to pick up our snowshoes and return to the trailhead. I became quickly fatigued, though; I hadn’t had anything significant to eat since breakfast that morning. While I had a sandwich in my backpack, I was determined to make it down to treeline before eating it.

Javier and I made good progress down the east ridge. As we approached treeline, we spotted someone moving around near the area we had stashed our snowshoes at. I made my way over to the person to see if everything was alright (I didn’t expect to see anyone up there that late in the afternoon). He said he had skinned up the trail and planned to stay the night; he was busily scraping out a platform with an ice axe on which he planned to pitch a tent. I expressed hopes for a warm night and made my way over to Javier to help find our snowshoes. Once we did, we rested for a few minutes while we enjoyed our long-deserved sandwiches.

Besides stopping to take ibuprofen for our aching feet the return to the trailhead was uneventful. We were easily able to retrace our steps through the snow down the ridge to the Rainbow Trail and back to South Colony Lakes Road. We arrived back at the trailhead at 6:23 — a thirteen-hour journey. Javier and I unloaded our gear in our vehicles and rested a bit before deciding to hit the road. It was going to be two hours of driving for me to reach home and three for Javier. I thanked him for accompanying me on the journey that day. I’m sure we’ll hike again sometime!

GPS stats from our winter ascent of Humboldt Peak. You need to add two miles RT to the mileage; I forgot to turn on the GPS until after we had walked about a mile up the road.

Google Earth .KML file of my route (right-click and “save target as” to save the file). NOTE: For some reason, if you’re using Internet Explorer, when you “save target as”, it changes the file extension to .XML. This is incorrect. To be able to view this in Google Earth, change the file extension to .KML before saving the file. It downloads correctly in Firefox.

Ellingwood Point (14,042 ft.)

GPS profile of our route

Elevation and Google Earth profiles

It seems like I spent a lot of time on the Blanca massif last year with two summits of Little Bear Peak and the Little Bear/Blanca Peak traverse. Ellingwood Point was the only 14er in the Sangre de Cristo Range that I didn’t summit last year, so I sort of wanted to get up there early this year as a winter summit. I knew it wasn’t going to be easy; from the lower Lake Como trailhead, it’s a 15.5-mile round trip. I had two partners for the day — Rob and Anna. I hiked with Rob in November last year when we attempted to get up Mt. Meeker and also had another opportunity to hike a bit with him when a group summited La Plata Peak in January. I hadn’t hiked with Anna before, but knew she also lived in Colorado Springs and had interacted with her online, so I was looking forward to getting the opportunity to get to know her better.

Rob, Anna, and I met at a Park-n-Ride here in Colorado Springs at 2:00 AM, loaded our gear into my Blazer, and hit the road. It takes about two-and-a-half hours to reach Blanca, CO from here. I wasn’t sure how high up on the road we would be able to get, but even a mile from the trailhead would save us nearly an hour (each way) of walking. After driving the road for a little while and crossing over short patches of ice, I decided we had gone far enough and found a place to park. Rob, Anna, and I donned our gear and were on the trail at 5:03.

Now that we’re getting closer to Spring, sunrise is coming earlier and earlier. It didn’t seem like very long before we were able to turn off our headlamps. To the west, the skies looked pretty decent — relatively clear with some high clouds. To the east, though, I noticed lots of low-hanging clouds. I really wanted to see the peaks, but if the clouds continued to hang low we wouldn’t be able see much of anything. We hiked up past Jaws 0.5 and to the campsite that I had parked at the last two times I was at Lake Como. It was 1.75 miles from where we started from and was where snow cover on the road became more significant. We spotted a trench that Kiefer and his climbing partner, Jacob, had lay in the snow the previous day on their attempt of Little Bear. The trench was pretty well-packed, so we didn’t feel the need to don our snowshoes.

Jaws 1 was barely recognizable through the snow as we continued to walk up the road. We crossed-over the frozen creek and by the time we reached Jaws 2 snow had began to fall, albeit lightly. I couldn’t even discern Jaws 3 and Jaws 4 under the snow. Once we were high enough in elevation, I was hoping to glimpse Little Bear, but it was completely obscured by clouds. When I finally spotted the Lake Como shelter, we did some serious postholing in the snow through the trees to reach it. Once we did, we opened it up and went inside for some rest and refreshments. After struggling through a couple hundred feet of snow to get to the shelter, though, we all decided that we would have to put on the snowshoes before continuing on.

Rob, Anna, and I enjoyed a good fifteen minutes of conversation as we ate and drank water before continuing on. Because my partners hadn’t been to this part of the state before, I took the lead once we put on our snowshoes and led them across Lake Como. It was a novel moment for me; I had never walked across it before. The wind really picked up and was blowing snow against our faces. When we reached the other side, I took a wrong turn and had to take a moment to get my bearings. It didn’t take me long to remember the direction we needed to go, though. I led them back into the trees and spotted the remnants of Kiefer and Jacob’s trench that had mostly filled-in with wind-blown snow. We hiked past the area that Jerry and I camped at back in September and continued on into the upper basin. It wouldn’t be long before we would be out of the trees and exposed to wind.

As we continued on our trek, the trench we had been following disappeared completely. To our right, I spotted an icy cairn. I stopped and pointed out to Rob and Anna that the cairn marked where the trail up to Little Bear’s west ridge started. Pointing to our right, I showed them the gully that people use to gain the west ridge (photos is above, left) and wondered how far Kiefer and Jacob had gotten up it. After a few moments, I continued to break trail into the upper basin. I found the snow to be pretty firm — sun- and wind-crusted — but there were a few areas that I surely would have postholed through had I not been wearing snowshoes. The weather ahead looked pretty grim, though. As we got further up into the basin, the clouds lifted a bit and allowed us a glimpse of Little Bear. I pointed out the northwest face which Jerry and I climbed.

A couple of shots looking up at Little Bear Peak

Winds continued to pick-up the higher we got into the basin. We reached another area that I vaguely recognized and pointed out to my partners that to our left resided one of the Blue Lakes in the summer, but it was obviously frozen and covered by snow. I was actually a little concerned beforehand about the next leg of our journey. I new that we had to gain the headwall for Crater Lake and that the trail switchbacked up a shelf that would be difficult to navigate if there was too much snow. That appeared to be the case. I took a few moments and spotted a couple sections of the trail and saw some water-ice left by the waterfall that is there in the spring, summer, and fall. There wasn’t really going to be a safe way to get up to Crater Lake, so I consulted Rob and Anna about other lines of ascent. There were a couple of steep climbs that we could have taken directly up the headwall and another to the right (closer to the LB/Blanca ridge) that would take us up on the opposite side of Crater Lake from the trail. Not knowing if the snow was consolidated-enough for an ascent, though, we would potentially find ourselves in dangerous territory. We ultimately decided to ascend the snow below some cliff bands ahead of us and take a less steep route up to headwall.

This photo (taken on our way back down) illustrates our ascent route.

The snow along our route was a little scary in spots because not a lot of consolidation had occurred. It was really soft in areas and that made me nervous because if the soft snow had a hard, smooth bed surface beneath it, it could potentially slide on us — and there was a bit of a drop-off below rocky outcroppings. We made it to the top of the headwall without incident, though, and I immediately spotted a frozen cairn. I often wondered how cairns survived harsh winter winds; apparently, they get frozen into place! It was then that the winds really started stinging my face and I put on my balaclava before continuing. We walked over some water-ice that I recognized as the creek and over a couple of small ponds. I pointed out Crater Lake to Rob and Anna as we walked across its northern shore. We needed to get back onto the trail above us to the left, though, so I led them up and over some rocks to more familiar territory.

The snow we walked on continued to be soft. While at that particular moment it wasn’t too much of a concern to me, I new that we were going to be on much more of a slope as we started heading up toward the ridge. We stopped and looked for a safe line of ascent, but I just couldn’t find one. We spotted sections of the standard trail up to Blanca Peak to our right, but trying to follow it would deliver us much too low on the ridge and too close to Blanca. I decided to head straight up some rocky outcroppings further to the left of the saddle and see how the snow conditions were. At 13,200 feet we reached the outcropping I aimed for and I prepared to traverse to another group of rocks to our left. Upon starting the traverse, though, I noticed that snow was much too unstable to attempt a traverse over. I stopped dead in my tracks and consulted with my partners. The snow above us was a little crusty on the top, but underneath the crust the snow was extremely soft. Below the soft snow was a crummy bed surface that would make me nervous to continue to walk across. The angle of the slope was of utmost concern to me, too. I felt that we would be in danger of getting caught in a slide if we continued on. Rob took out his inclinometer and measured the angle of the slope were on — 36°. Yep, we were at a prime slope angle for a potential avalanche.

Rob, Anna, and I stood in place for a few minutes and tried to find other lines of ascent, but couldn’t find anything that looked even remotely safe with the snow in the condition that it was in. We decided that discretion was the better part of valor and began to descend. The mountain would always be there to attempt again; with one poor mistake in judgment, we would not, however.

As much as it pained us to turn around, we started retracing our steps in the wind (some of which were already being erased). The skies to the east of the massif were blue and beautiful. We decided to stop and see if we could wait out the weather as it was actually clearing up a little bit. We caught a few fleeting moments of warm sunshine as clouds began to part, but they kept re-forming. The air blowing up against Little Bear, Blanca, and Ellingwood from the west had a relatively high moisture content. While down below it didn’t do much, once it’s forced upward and cooled, clouds formed and precipitated. It was actually pretty interesting to watch, but we didn’t have all day to stand there and wait for it to clear. I think we ended up waiting for about half an hour before we decided to finally descend to Lake Como again.

Looking up at Ellingwood from beneath its southwest ridge. We were really close to it and could have easily gained it to get to the summit (we actually contemplated this), but could see snow blasting up and over it. I felt that we ended up making the right decision.

Much to our dismay, the weather continued to improve the lower we got. We followed our own tracks down to the Blue Lakes area and watched as clouds began to part behind us. It wasn’t long before we were bathed in warm sunshine and it felt SO good. We joked about going back, but none of us seriously considered it. High above us, the clouds whipped by at a high rate of speed. It was nice, though, to finally see some blue sky behind Ellingwood. The sunlight warmed our wind-chilled bones and we were able to take off a layer or two.

Finally — blue sky behind Ellingwood Point

Very strong winds blowing snow over Ellingwood’s southwest ridge. Had we decided to gain that ridge in a bid for the summit, we could have been facing a treacherous ascent.

Rob, Anna, and I had a some fun on the way back down and stood atop some outcroppings like we had made a major summit. I was getting extremely tired, though, having broken trail for us for so long. Some of our own trench was barely even visible due to blown snow. Anna offered to take over some of the trail breaking on the way down and I gladly let her take the lead. The clouds above us continued to give way to blue sky — for which we were thankful. We were sheltered for a few minutes from the wind as we re-entered the tree canopy. By the time we reached Lake Como again and walked across its frozen waters, a beautiful sight greeted us. We could finally see Little Bear Peak with some blue sky behind it. I took a photo of Rob as he approached the western end of the Lake. We all took turns taking photos of each other before settling back in to the shelter to rest, refuel, and rehydrate before the long 4.15-mile hike back to my truck.

Little Bear in Winter/Summer

Rob, Anna, and I left the shelter around 3:00. The hike back down the road was uneventful, albeit windy. We arrived back at my truck at 5:07 — twelves hours after we started. Our adventure wasn’t over yet, though. On the way up in the morning, I noticed a dip in the road that was a iced-over. I was in low-range and low gear as we approached the short, uphill section. I had a brief thought that maybe I should try to gain some speed to get up the hill, but wasn’t able to gain too much. About half-way up the uphill section, my wheels started to spin and we weren’t going any further. I tried to back up, but ended up too far to the left and was in danger of backing off of the road. I tried going forward again to get away from the side of the road, but I wasn’t going anywhere.

My winch has paid for itself several times over. The last time I had to use it was back in November when Jerry and I got stuck while trying to get to the Mt. Elbert trailhead. I nearly emptied the spool finding a tree to anchor to, but was eventually able to winch my truck up the ice and back onto dry land. I winched-in the rest of the cable and we were on our way. The rest of the ride out was a piece of cake.

Rob, Anna, and I stopped through Lu’s Main Street Cafe in Blanca for dinner before continuing home. On La Veta Pass, we passed a fresh rollover accident; an SUV was on its roof and a paramedic or state patrol trooper stood atop it. Hopefully, everyone was okay. We arrived back in Colorado Springs around 9:30.

GPS stats from our attempt at Ellingwood Point

Google Earth .KML file of my route (right-click and “save target as” to save the file). NOTE: For some reason, if you’re using Internet Explorer, when you “save target as”, it changes the file extension to .XML. This is incorrect. To be able to view this in Google Earth, change the file extension to .KML before saving the file. It downloads correctly in Firefox.

La Plata Peak (14,336 ft.)

GPS profile of our route

Elevation and Google Earth profiles

Even the best-laid plans can be made better by great weather. When some folks on 14ers.com started making plans to hike La Plata Peak on January 29th, I took a keen interest in it. La Plata was actually on my short list of winter ascents this year. I let one of the members, Kiefer, know that I planned on being there and was looking forward to meeting everyone. There were supposed to be like fifteen people going, but inevitably someone doesn’t show up. Three guys — Britt, Wes, and Gary — planned on going up a little way on Friday to start a trench in the snow. It was something we all would come to appreciate!

I ended up waking at 12:30 AM after a restless night of sleeping (my allergies went haywire on Friday and I was having difficulties breathing through a stuffy nose). I ate at IHOP and hit the road around 2:20. I arrived at 4:30 to a few cars already at the trailhead. It was 14°. The windows were steamed up in almost all of them, so I figured they must’ve overnighted there. I started getting ready and stirred some of my neighbors into preparing themselves. I introduced myself to a couple of them and engaged in friendly conversation. Others started arriving around 5:00 and I was pleasantly surprised to see Rob among a group of three that drove down from Boulder (back in November, Rob, Jerry, Dzuy, and I attempted to ascend Mt. Meeker, but were turned around by the weather). More and more vehicles started arriving and soon the parking area was full. Kiefer and Steph were the last to arrive in our group. As they were getting ready, half of the group took to the trail and the rest of us followed soon after. I got to know a few of them a little better as we all exchanged some small talk; Kiefer, as it turned out, had a good memory of cheesy 80′s horror flicks like I do (C.H.U.D, Squirm, The Stuff, Empire of the Ants, and Food of the Gods were all mentioned).

Along the trail in the trees (L to R: Kiefer, me, Steph, John). Photo by Brian Core.

My backpack is notoriously heavy in the winter months. The way I see it, if I have to unexpectedly spend a night in the mountains, I want to have everything that I would need. While I was able to keep up with the front-runners for the first hour or so, I eventually ended up near the back of the group. The trench that Britt, Wes, and Gary had made with their snowshoes made the initial ascent relatively easy. They only got to about 11,100 feet, though, but fortunately there were enough people in the group to make continuing on a simple task. I would have liked to have helped, but I was going pretty slow. We eventually caught up with the other group and continued on our way.

After a few breaks and pleasant conversation, we emerged from trees and spotted our ascent route to the ridge up a gully. Most of us stashed our snowshoes below the gully; ridges are normally wind-swept and don’t hold a lot of snow. I took out my ice axe and followed everyone else in a long human train heading up to the ridge. The gully wasn’t completely snowed-in, so there were areas that were filled with loose gravel and soil. As I got closer to the top of the ridge, I saw group members bathed in sunlight. It was a bit nippy in the shade with a light breeze blowing, so I found myself being a little envious of them! When I neared the top of the ridge, I took out my sunglasses before I emerged into sunlight. Our route to the summit was straight-forward from there. While we waited for the rest of the group to join us, I passed my backpack around to a few people. They were quite surprised by its weight!

Being able to visualize nearly the entire route to the summit helped quite a bit. We all stopped and rested several times; there wasn’t a sense of urgency to get to the summit that I could sense from anyone because there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. It really helped make the outing much more enjoyable. I talked to Rob for a bit as I refueled and we caught-up with our activities the past couple of months.

Weather is always a concern no matter what season it is, but winter is not like summer when you can plan schedules weeks ahead of time. You have to watch the weather and avalanche forecasts every day. You have to consider wind patterns; because winds blow prevailingly from the west, routes on eastern sides of mountains aren’t always the safest. You have to be prepared to start and end the day in the dark. Because not all trailheads are accessible by vehicle, you might have to add on some additional mileage to the route. I, at least, bring a lot more food with me than I do in the summer and fall. All of these factors (plus many more) make winter ascents that much more difficult than in other seasons (except, perhaps, spring).

After a long time hiking along the ridge, I approached the final summit pitch. There was a lot of talus to hop over and climb up, but because the trail was partially visible it wasn’t that difficult to follow. By the time I reached the summit, a small group was already heading over to East La Plata which was a short distance away. I wanted to join them, but needed to rest for a bit. After hauling my backpack up to the summit, I probably wouldn’t have the desire to go. I sat down on a southwest-facing slope that blocked a light breeze and dug through my backpack for food while resting.

After about ten minutes or so, the group from East La Plata arrived back at the summit and we all settled down to talk and eat. The weather was spectacular and again I felt no sense of urgency to get back down. Other people started arriving on the summit as well who weren’t a part of our group. A short while later, Chuck (with skis) and Wes arrived and made the ascent an entire success. More and more people arrived and thanked us for the awesome trench that we had made below the ridge. There were about twenty-two people there — in January! La Plata was only my second 14er summit in calendar winter. I’m hoping to get a few more in before spring arrives, but there are so many that are not feasible for me to reach without an overnight camping trip or without a snowmobile. Someday, though!

A look at the Elk Mountains to the northwest. I’ve illustrated this photo to show the 14ers there.

Kiefer (front), Brian (back), Joe (I think, right), and Steph’s dog, Zion

John on La Plata’s summit

Britt

Steph

Group shot on the summit of La Plata Peak. I’m not sure of everyone, so here goes. Standing: Britt, Steph, (Leslie or Anna [?]), Rob, Jim, Brian. Kneeling: Kiefer, John, me, Wes, Chuck, and Joe (?).

The weather was so great on the summit that we ended up staying up there for about an hour before deciding to head back down. Kiefer said that he and Steph were going to be heading into Leadville afterward for dinner and invited us along. We would have to get down safely, first, though! We readied ourselves for the long walk back down La Plata’s northwest ridge and started down. It took us over five hours to reach the summit, so it was a safe bet that it was going to take almost that long to get back down. The sun was still shining brightly; I don’t think a single cloud passed over us the entire day, but it was going to be getting dark soon and the cold of night would set in quickly. It seemed like it took us a really long time to walk down the ridge and the large group had split up again. I was in the group with Britt, Wes, Kiefer, Steph, and John. When we reached the end of the ridge, we carefully descended back down the gully to our snowshoes.

Looking at Mt. Elbert on the descent

After retrieving our snowshoes, we began the final leg of our journey back to the trailhead. Wes had twisted his back somehow on the ridge, so he was moving a bit slower than the rest of us. Britt hung back with him while Steph, Kiefer, and John led the way down. I enjoyed the conversation we had during the frequent stops. I also snapped a photo of the snow trench that we all had a part of building before the sun set for the day. Getting down through the trees took a little fancy footwork in spots, but we all managed to get through those spots without incident. Britt informed us that the trail flattened out around 10,800 feet and I found myself looking forward to it. Going downhill on snowshoes really works out my hamstrings and gluts.

We arrived back at the trailhead right before 6:00 PM. Our twelve-hour-long journey was at a close. As I started unloading my stuff, John told me he was going to walk back up the trail to carry Wes’ backpack down for him. What a nice guy! He left, but returned only a few minutes later with Britt and Wes. As it turned out, only John and I were going to be joining Kiefer and Steph for dinner, but there were going to be a couple of other people from a group that went up Mt. Elbert there as well — Prakash (whom I met on Mt. Yale) and another friend of Steph and Kiefer’s. We ate at an Italian restaurant and enjoyed pleasant conversation and camaraderie. After dinner, we parted ways and headed back home. What a great (but long) day! I hope to be able to hike/climb with some of those folks again!

GPS stats from our winter ascent of La Plata Peak

Google Earth .KML file of my route (right-click and “save target as” to save the file). NOTE: For some reason, if you’re using Internet Explorer, when you “save target as”, it changes the file extension to .XML. This is incorrect. To be able to view this in Google Earth, change the file extension to .KML before saving the file. It downloads correctly in Firefox.

Mt. Yale (14,196 ft.)

GPS profile of our route

Elevation and Google Earth profiles

Every year since I’ve started hiking and getting into mountaineering, I have had a goal to try something new. Last year I felt I advanced in leaps and bounds — my first couloir ascent, my first true Class 4 climbs, and my first exposure to Class 5. Even though I haven’t made any updates recently, I still have been out hiking every weekend and have even gotten some 14ers in November and December. My new goal for 2011 is to summit 14ers during calendar Winter. With the addition of persistent snow, even the most tame of trails can become a challenge. I felt it was finally time to get out and do it!

So, my buddy, Brian, has been itching to get out as well. I extended him an invite along with a couple of other guys, but Brian ended up being the only one to accept. There were also a few people from 14ers.com that were going to be at the trailhead, so hopefully we would have a nice group for the hike. I was hoping to be at the Denny Creek by 6:45 so we could be on the trail by 7:00. Well, by the time everyone arrived, we didn’t actually get started until about 7:45, haha. A few people started earlier than we did, so our companions for the day ended up being Prakash, Kevin, and Sarah. The trail had a nice boot-pack, so we strapped the snowshoes to our packs and were off (except Prakash who was going to skin up on his skis).

After signing in at the trail register, we started up the trail. The morning was incredibly warm for January 15th; I think the thermometer on my truck showed that it was in the low 20′s. Of course, the higher we got the colder it was going to become, so we all had multiple layers of clothing. The trail continued to be on great boot-pack as we meandered through the trees. Kevin and Sarah pulled ahead of us (mostly because I was going pretty slow due to the weight of my pack which routinely weighs about 25-30 lbs during the winter months). But, I also discovered something else about me; it had actually been a couple of weeks since I worked out and my breathing was extremely labored. What I would come to discover was that I can’t be complacent with my workouts simply because I am no longer in weight loss mode. I have been between 148 and 154 lbs for several months now, but I still need the cardio. If I want to continue improving myself and my mountaineering skills, I need to be strong not only in body, but in spirit. I can’t get lazy.

My buddy, Brian, along the trail

I had actually attempted to summit Yale in May of 2010, but was turned around by a snowstorm just below treeline (and by the fact that I was up there by myself). I remembered crossing a pretty scenic bridge over Denny Creek and announced to Brian that we were getting near it. Well, as it turned out the boot-packed trail continued north and we never crossed it. I don’t believe I ever even saw where it turned-off. I wasn’t concerned, though; I knew a few people that must have summited on this route just the weekend before. We continued along the trail and eventually came to the creek. Portions of it was exposed beneath the snow and we needed to cross a snow bridge over it. As I tried to cross over, the bridge gave way and I found myself standing in the water. Luckily, it wasn’t too deep. My mountaineering boots are waterproof and I was wearing gaiters, too, so I managed to stay dry. I extricated myself as quickly as possible and crawled back up onto to snow.

Brian and I continued on for a little while longer and eventually approached treeline. Brian wanted to grab a bite to eat (I was running low on energy, too), so we stopped for a few minutes to rest and rehydrate. The trail was turning in a northeasterly direction and was about to get steep. When we continued on, the good boot-pack ended, though the trail was easy to follow. Once the trail turned steeper, walking on it became next to impossible without flotation. It was definitely time for snowshoes. Brian and I donned our shoes and continued up the slow, albeit slowly.

When Brian and I caught up to the Kevin, Sarah, and Prakash, they had stopped to eat. Prakash had his JetBoil stove out and had made some ramen. He offered me a bite, but I politely declined. We stopped and chatted for a few minutes before Brian indicated that he was getting a little cold and continued moving. Because I was the slowest of the group, I didn’t want to dawdle, either, so I continued on shortly afterward. We were above treeline at that point, so the wind was picking up though it was not unbearable. The sun was shining, but clouds were moving in from the west. It didn’t take long for Kevin and Sarah to catch up to me. I stepped aside and let them pass. When they had gotten far enough ahead of me, I stopped and took a photo of everyone heading up the snow. Prakash continued to skin up behind me. I wasn’t sure how much longer he was going to be able to stay on his skis because the terrain was becoming quickly wind-swept.

Prakash skinning his way up the trail

We rounded a ridge and spotted a few figures navigating another ridge higher up. It looked like they were moving really slowly; the rock appeared to be loose with areas of snow coverage. We all decided to head due south and traverse across a slope. From there, we could meet up with the standard route and head to the summit. The snow across the traverse was pretty deep and I slid around a little bit. Fortunately, it wasn’t too slabby and a stumble wouldn’t result in much of a slide. That wasn’t to say that there wasn’t a hard bed surface beneath it from old snow, so we tread lightly.

Upon reaching the other side of the slope, we started encountering more and more rock. It was there that we decided to stash our snowshoes and come back for them on our way back. Below us, on the standard route, I spotted a lone figure making its way up. We continued on our trek to the top of the summit ridge while being careful to watch our footing. Some patches of snow was wind-hardened and slick. I was carrying some Micro-spikes; a couple of hikers that we passed on their way down were wearing them. Upon reaching the summit ridge, I took a minute to look around. To the north, I spotted Mts. Harvard and Columbia. To the south, I made out the familiar shapes of Mts. Antero and Shavano and Tabeguache (Princeton was hidden from sight). It was only a short jaunt to the summit, but I hadn’t eaten anything since below treeline. I felt like I had burned through all of the calories and carbs that I had consumed the night before and that morning.

I found Brian waiting along the ridge for me and we sorta made it to the summit together. The wind was really cold, but wasn’t blowing all that hard. I didn’t want to stay up there too long and obviously wanted to get some photos before I left. The lone hiker I spotted below made her way up to the summit and asked, “Are you Terry?” to which I responded with a yes. She said, “I’m Terri. I think I met you on Humboldt Peak last year. You were with two ladies.” Indeed, I did remember her. She took the summit photos of Jodi, Sandy, and me. She again offered to take a couple of summit photos of me and Brian.

Mts. Harvard and Columbia to the north

Kevin, Sarah, and Jim (orange jacket), another member of 14ers.com

Pikes Peak off in the distance from the summit of Mt. Yale

Mt. Princeton (also in the distance Mt. Antero, Tabeguache Peak, and Mt. Shavano)

Another look to the northwest at the Elk Mountains

Brian and me on the summit of Mt. Yale. Mts. Harvard and Columbia are behind us.

After spending no more than about seven or eight minutes on the summit, we threw our backpacks back down and hastily made our way back down the summit ridge. We passed Prakash on our way down from the ridge; he said he stashed his skis by our snowshoes. Once off of the ridge, the winds died down and we warmed up rapidly. When we were down far enough, I used my GPS to guide us back to where we stashed our snowshoes (I set a waypoint to make sure we were able to). Once we strapped the snowshoes back on, we traversed across the slope and began our descent. On the loose snow, I actually found it a bit difficult to descend. The metal crampons on the bottom of the shoes didn’t have anything to grab onto, so I kept sliding down. Because I had tails on my snowshoes, trying to stand up wasn’t the easiest thing to do. I was on some sketchy terrain to top it off. I tried to glissade over short distances, but when I started gaining some speed I (wisely) decided to stop doing that.

Eventually, I made it back to more solid snow and was able to walk down. Once we were back in the trees, I needed to stop and eat. I had been running on empty for so long I think my body was probably starting to feed off of itself. I managed to eat half a sandwich and finished off the rest of the water in my nalgene. Even though it was only half a sandwich, I felt MUCH better afterward. Prakash skied down while we were stopped and rejoined the group. After we were all refueled, we continued back to the trailhead. We arrived after 4:00 PM; our trek was completed in about 9h15m. Brian needed to get to Breckenridge to meet a friend there, so he bade us farewell after a quick discussion. I stayed around for a little while longer and shared stories with Kevin, Sarah, and Prakash for another twenty minutes or so before it started getting too cold to just stand around. We parted ways and headed home.

GPS stats from our winter ascent of Mt. Yale

Google Earth .KML file of my route (right-click and “save target as” to save the file). NOTE: For some reason, if you’re using Internet Explorer, when you “save target as”, it changes the file extension to .XML. This is incorrect. To be able to view this in Google Earth, change the file extension to .KML before saving the file. It downloads correctly in Firefox.

Kit Carson Peak (14,165 ft.) and its north ridge

GPS profile of our route

Elevation and Google Earth profiles

So far, 2010 has been all about improving my scrambling and climbing skills. As the fair weather days are winding down, I will soon need to get into winter mountaineering mode. It has been a dry autumn for most of Colorado; there’s no harm in taking advantage of the weather! The weather forecast was actually looking a bit iffy for Saturday, though — 30% chance of snow. I had no desire to be on a Class 4 ridge climb while snow was falling without the proper gear. I also didn’t know how much snow had already fallen in the Sangre de Cristos as most of the 14ers in the state had their first dusting of snow in the last two weeks. We would have to make a last minute decision about whether we were going to attempt the climb when we saw the conditions for ourselves.

Jerry and I left my place at 2:00 AM. We were aiming for a 5:30 AM start since sunrise was approaching 7:00 as we get further into Autumn. We arrived at the Willow Lake trailhead at 5:15 and prepared ourselves for the day. Being that I injured my right ankle during the after-hike festivities last weekend (that’s another story altogether), I had to purchase an ankle brace for additional support. My ankle had been really swollen on Sunday and Monday, but thanks to RICE (Rest, Ice, Compression, Elevation) during the week it felt good enough to hike and climb on. Jerry knew about the injury and I was a little concerned about whether the ankle was going to be able to hold up on a Class 4 climb. That was something else we were going to have to evaluate before hitting the tough stuff. We hit the trail at 5:31.

I counted the switchbacks from the trailhead register to the top of the initial ascent on our way back down and discovered that there were twelve. Once up the initial pitch, the Willow Creek Trail descends a little bit and parallels a wide field to the right known as Willow Creek Park. Because it was still dark outside we couldn’t see anything outside of the trail, but we knew it was there. I knew there were a lot of switchbacks on the way up to the first crossing of Willow Creek, so as soon as we passed the Sangre de Cristo Wilderness sign, I prepared myself to count them. It always seems to help knowing how many switchbacks there are so you’re not like, “Another one?!?” on the way down. This was my third trip up to Willow Lake this year: Once in May; once during an attempt at the north ridge in July in which I was spooked off by weather; and once during this attempt. I was surprised that I didn’t think to count the switchbacks before now.

From the Wilderness sign, there are twenty-six switchbacks before reaching Willow Creek. Jerry had been calling me “Speedy” all morning because I was out-pacing him, but he was still feeling the effects of working a 60-hour week and only getting three hours of sleep the night before. A little later on, he told me that he wasn’t feeling that well, either, like a cold was coming on. We passed a guy whom I recognized from our Little Bear/Blanca trip. He was riding an ATV down from Lake Como. After Willow Creek, the trail ascended again before leveling out for a bit and crossing over the creek again. We spotted a few tents as we approached the lake and continued on. The last time I attempted the north ridge of Kit Carson, I followed the standard trail up Challenger Point for a little longer than I probably should have, so I wanted to see if we could stay lower and closer to the creek once we reached it again above the falls. As we got higher in elevation, we got our first glance at Kit Carson’s north and west faces — and there was snow. Jerry commented that our game needed to be stepped-up a few notches because of it. I looked at the ridge; in the early morning light, it seemed to be pretty sun-exposed. Even though there wasn’t a lot of snow there were probably going to be patches of ice that we were going to be exposed to, but the ridge itself should have been pretty dry. Jerry asked me again if I was sure I wanted to attempt it. Onward and upward! Jerry said that since he had been leading all summer, it was my turn to lead. This was going to be interesting….

At some point during our hike between when I took the first photo of Kit Carson and we left the standard route up Challenger, I lost the lens cap for my camera. Fortunately, I always have at least a UV filter on so the camera lens is protected, but it was going to be interesting getting up the north slope without chipping or shattering the lens.

Photo 1	Photo 2	Photo 3
Photo 4	Photo 5	Photo 6
Photo 7	Photo 8	Photo 9
Photo 10	Photo 11	Photo 12

Photo 1 shows the ridge highlighted in yellow. After crossing Willow Creek again above the falls, Jerry and I angled left close to the creek (photo 2). Almost immediately after leaving the standard trail, we located another trail heading in the direction we were going. I knew that Willow Creek Lakes were further up in the basin, but didn’t realize that there was a well-worn trail to them. The last time I was up here, I stayed high beneath Challenger and Kit Carson on broken slopes that became a serious PITA to traverse. It was going to be nice to not have to deal with that again. To get to the beginning of our ascent route, we needed to get past the obvious cliffs that can be seen beneath Kit Carson. It starts very near the Outward Bound Couloir. Once I spotted the line I wanted to take, I headed straight toward it (photos 3, 4). I found a gully that was composed of pretty stable rock (photos 5, 6, 7). We stayed close to the right side of the gully as we scrambled up the Class 3 rock. At the top of the gully (photo 8), we started getting glimpses of the north ridge (photos 9-11). We eventually angled up and to our right while our sight was fixated on the ridge.

Photo 13	Photo 14	Photo 15
Photo 16	Photo 17	Photo 18
Photo 19	Photo 20	Photo 21
Photo 22	Photo 23	Photo 24

Jerry and I headed west toward the ridge. Instead of a direct ascent up to the ridge, I decided to switchback and save some energy. There were grassy and rocky ledges that were easy enough to follow (photos 13-16). We continued an ascending traverse toward the base of the north ridge (photo 17). As we approached the base, I spotted from a distance what looked like a cairn (photo 18). We approached the base of the ridge and discovered that it was, indeed, a cairn (photos 19, 20). It appeared that we were on the right track! Instead of climbing right on the ridge at first, I went a little further (probably about fifty feet or so) and began to climb up a northwest face (photos 21, 22). I tried to switchback up it as much as possible and eventually made it back over to the left, back to the ridge (photo 23). There were a lot of grassy ledges and platforms to rest on. Columbia Point loomed large to the east (photo 24).

Photo 25	Photo 26	Photo 27
Photo 28	Photo 29	Photo 30
Photo 31	Photo 32	Photo 33
Photo 34	Photo 35	Photo 36

On the way up, I couldn’t help but make note of how dramatic the exposure actually was (photos 25, 26). It reminded me a lot of Little Bear’s northwest face although climbing a face and climbing a ridge pose different sets of difficulties. As Jerry and I neared the top of the initial pitch (photo 27), I began to notice that not all of the conglomerate rock was solid. Sure, it was a lot more solid than some of the other stuff that we had climbed this year, but I found a slight looseness in some of the rocks, so I made sure to test each handhold and foothold before pulling/pushing myself up. Challenger Point’s large summit ridge soon came into view to the west (photo 28) and I knew we were making progress.

Past the initial pitch, Jerry and I continued to climb directly on the ridge (photos 29-32). When I looked back to the northeast, I expected to be able to see parts of the Wet Mountain Valley. What I saw was a valley covered by a layer of clouds (photo 33). Apparently, some low-level moisture had moved into the valley from the east or south, but didn’t have enough momentum to push over the high peaks of the Sangres. I didn’t have any complaints about it; Jerry and I were enjoying blue skies and a warm sun which we were both thankful for. We continued climbing directly on the ridge (photos 34-36) and there were some hairy moments that made me think, “If I slip and fall, I’m going to die.” It didn’t deter me from continuing, though. Despite the gloomy thought, I was having a lot of fun!

Photo 37	Photo 38	Photo 39
Photo 40	Photo 41	Photo 42
Photo 43	Photo 44	Photo 45
Photo 46	Photo 47	Photo 48
	Photo 49

Jerry and I continued up the steep ridge (photos 37, 38). Ahead of us was a gendarme that looked pretty significant (photo 39). I sort of wanted to avoid climbing it, if possible. I was getting pretty fatigued and wasn’t sure if there was a large drop-off behind it. We spotted a large, snow-covered ledge down to the right. This ledge is highlighted in yellow in this photo. On steep, snow-covered ledges, I began to try a descending traverse down to the ledge, but there was nowhere safe to try and get down from our current position. I took a few minutes to scan the area and I think this made Jerry a little nervous because he was concerned that I froze. My left calf started cramping-up, though, so I knew I couldn’t stay there for much longer. Jerry suggested that we re-gain the ridge and headed back. I followed him a few moments later while taking care to make sure I had a solid foothold underneath the snow. Crossing snow normally doesn’t bother me — at least not as much as it used to. This was the first time that I encountered a little bit of snow and ice on a Class 4 route, though, and it wasn’t enough to warrant snow gear. So, yeah — I was nervous.

Panorama taken from Kit Carson’s north ridge

Back up on the ridge, I looked over at Columbia Point again (photo 40). I’m going to have to summit that sometime. Along the ridge, we encountered a notch that we had to down-climb into and climb back up the other side (photo 41). The notch can also be seen behind and to the right of Jerry in photo 43. From there, we approached the gendarme which didn’t look as bad as it did from further down on the ridge. In fact, it looked extremely climbable (photos 42, 44). While on the gendarme, I saw the ridge to the right rounding-off to the summit of Kit Carson (photo 45). I had expressed to Jerry several times during the climb that I thought that ridge was the one we were supposed to be on. As it turned out, we were right all along.

On top of the gendarme, the slope of the ridge eased to Class 3 for another pitch (photo 46). Jerry, still allowing me to lead, kept close to me as we climbed over the gendarme (photo 47). Over the short Class 3 scramble, the summit came into view (photo 48)! We continued to walk along the ridge and could have stayed right along it. There was one more notch that turned out to be not such a big deal, but I dropped a little lower to the left of the ridge and bypassed it before regaining the ridge (photo 49). Jerry and I summited Kit Carson Peak at 11:05.

Crestone Peak and Needle

Jerry lounging on Kit Carson’s summit

Me taking a well-deserved break

Panorama taken from the summit of Kit Carson Peak

The sun was nice and warm at the summit, but there were some clouds building to the west that would shade us for a few minutes at a time. We spent about forty-five minutes by ourselves on the summit while we recharged, rested, and rehydrated. This was Jerry’s second summit of Kit Carson this year. I’m glad he doesn’t have any objections to summiting the same peak more than once a year! I, myself, have summited all of the Sangres this year except Ellingwood Point — but I did climb Little Bear Peak twice. It’s been quite a year for me in this range.

Jerry and I spotted three people on top of Challenger Point, so we knew we were going to be crossing paths with them. I knew that one of them had to be the guy that we passed on our way up. We started down on the standard trail, but it was filled with loose dirt and scree so we abandoned it for the more-stable rock to our right and down-climbed onto Kit Carson Avenue. The Avenue is a large ledge that allows easy passage to the base of the scramble up to the summit. It’s pretty steep, though, and Jerry and I were worn out from our ascent. About half-way up the avenue, we crossed paths with three guys — and one was the guy that we passed. We gave them instructions on how to reach the summit and parted ways with them. A short while later, we reached the top of the Avenue. I had been concerned about how much snow was on the steep descent to the Kit Carson/Challenger saddle, but there were only a few medium-sized patches that were easily avoided.

Jerry reaching the top of the Avenue looking tired and haggard. I don’t think he really felt that way, though. He was just being a drama queen.

A look back down on Kit Carson Avenue

It only took us about forty-five minutes to reach the summit of Challenger Point. We encountered another group of three hikers who looked like they wanted to summit Kit Carson, but were maybe having second thoughts about it. Jerry and I rested another twenty minutes or so on Challenger’s summit before heading down it’s suck-ass standard route.

Kit Carson Peak from Challenger Point

As Jerry and I headed down the horribly loose slope of Challenger Point, I took several looks back at Kit Carson. At first, the north ridge wasn’t visible, but it started rolling into view. I saw the snow-covered ledge that I wanted to take as well as the clearly-defined ridge line. The ridge that I thought was the one we were supposed to be on was facing more to the northwest and was much more snow-covered. Had we tried to traverse over to it, we might have not summited…. We were fine, though, and besides a couple slips on the loose descent of Challenger, we were going to make it down without incident. I was pleasantly surprised that my ankle held out long enough for me to climb the north ridge. I guess the rest that I gave it during the week was enough for me to recover.

When Jerry and I reached the bottom of the slope, we stopped to rest and peel off some layers. After about ten minutes or so, we headed back down to the lake. I asked Jerry to keep an eye out for my lens cap as we descended, but neither of us found it. My UV filter, unfortunately, had received a couple of chips on it from impacting the rock on our ascent, but the filter can be replaced relatively inexpensively. We stopped at the lake for a photo or two before leaving. On our way back, I had to peel off another layer and zip-off the bottoms of my pants. It turned out to be quite a warm day for one that was forecasted to have a 30% chance of snow! There were trees still showing golden leaves, so I made sure to take a couple of photos near Willow Lake Park. We reached my truck shortly after 5:00. It wasn’t one of our typical twelve-plus-hour days, but pretty close to it.

GPS stats from our ascent of Kit Carson’s north ridge and return via Challenger Point

Google Earth .KML file of my route (right-click and “save target as” to save the file). NOTE: For some reason, if you’re using Internet Explorer, when you “save target as”, it changes the file extension to .XML. This is incorrect. To be able to view this in Google Earth, change the file extension to .KML before saving the file. It downloads correctly in Firefox.

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Wetterhorn (14,015 ft.) viewed from its east ridge

This year’s 14ers.com Fall Gathering was near the Matterhorn Creek Trailhead in the San Juan Range. For most of the population of Colorado it’s quite a distance, but an awesome destination. I knew that Jerry wanted to go, but my recent unemployment may have thrown a wrench into the works. Fortunately, I wasn’t unemployed for long. To top things off — my other buddy Brian’s family owns a cabin in Lake City, the nearest town to Matterhorn Creek. It was a mere 30-45 minutes from the cabin and his family was going to let us use it for free. Excellent!

Jerry couldn’t get off of work until after 6:00 PM on Friday, so we didn’t leave Colorado Springs until about 7:45. We had to stop by the grocery store to get food and other things. The drive to Lake City takes about five hours; we arrived at about 12:45, took a look around the cabin, and hit the sack at 1:00. We wanted to be up at the trailhead by 7:00. The weather was forecasted to be outstanding, so there was no need to start out in the dark. We would have all day if we wanted to which was a good thing. We were not taking the standard route up Wetterhorn; Roach’s guide tells of Class 4 east ridge route that can be gained from the Wetterhorn/Matterhorn ridge. This was going to be our ascent route.

Jerry and I woke at 5:30 AM on Saturday and found ourselves groggy (we only got about four hours of sleep). We went downstairs, ate breakfast, and were out the door by 6:30. We drove through camp close to 7:00 and arrived at the trailhead shortly afterward. At the trailhead, we met Bill, Jodi, and John. I haven’t hiked with Bill, but I’ve met him on a few mountains this year — Sherman and Massive. Jodi, I’ve hiked with twice on Humboldt and most recently Crestone Needle. We’ve also met-up a couple times for lunch/dinner/drinks. She’s one of the coolest women I know. John was a newcomer — a fireman from Austin, TX. The five of us hit the trail together, but about a half-mile into the hike, I realized that I forgot my camera! I ran back to my truck and grabbed it. What I should have grabbed, also, was my GPS. Since I didn’t, I don’t have a GPS track for this post. :-/

I really busted my ass catching up to the rest of the group. It’s a good thing I’m in decent shape now. I passed a trail intersection and headed to my right as the trail began to climb into upper Matterhorn Creek Basin. It was near the top of this ascent that I caught up to the rest of the group. I huffed and puffed; Jodi referred to it as my “serious” breathing. We remained stopped for a couple of minutes so I could catch my breath. When we reach the top of the slope, the trail flattened out for a bit as we entered the basin. Matterhorn was visible for awhile; Wetterhorn came into view not too long afterward to our left. We past the intersection with the trail that went northward to Uncompahgre Peak and turned left to go up Wetterhorn. I wasn’t sure where Jerry and I should abandon the trail to head up the ridge, but it appeared we were going to be enjoying our company for a little while longer.

Hikers on Matterhorn with Uncompahgre Peak in the background

Jerry, Bill, and Jodi with Wetterhorn in the background

As we climbed higher into the basin, Jerry and I looked for a good point to bail from the trail and head up the ridge. Once we were in the sunlight all of us became thoroughly warm, so we all stripped off a layer of clothing. I, as I think everyone did, had multiple layers, so I stuffed my fleece into my backpack and took off my beanie. It was plenty warm enough already! The five of us continued to hike up the standard trail to Wetterhorn. I think Jerry and I made to decision to bail when we were above 12,000 feet somewhere. I took a photo of everyone before we parted ways. Jerry and I spotted a jagged white line on the ridge that looked pretty solid from where we stood. Whether it was or not remained to be seen. I had heard some stories about portions of the east ridge being horribly loose. We bade our companions farewell. Hopefully, we’d see them on the summit!

Look for a jagged white line on the ridge. This seemed like a good place to make our initial ascent.

Photo 1	Photo 2	Photo 3
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Jerry and I first needed to gain the ridge (Photos 1-6). There was a lot of Class 3 climbing on solid rock. Depending on where you decide to gain the ridge, the jagged white line mentioned above may or may not be the best place, but it worked for us. Once on top of the ridge, be thankful that you didn’t traverse the ridge from Matterhorn up until this point (photo 7). Turn left and follow the ridge (photo 8). We stayed pretty much right on top of it. There were a few spots that you can drop down to to avoid Class 3 and Class 4, but they are on loose slopes.

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While on the ridge, we had great views of the San Juans to the northwest (photo 13). Staying along the ridge, we dropped down a short Class 4 pitch (photos 14-18). We were having a lot of fun, but even more fun was still ahead! We eventually dropped into a notch along the ridge (photo 19). You can avoid climbing directly up the rock, but the slope to the left is loose. We scrambled up the rock back to the top of the ridge (photo 20, 22, 23). Once on top, we had another great view of Wetterhorn!

Photo 25	Photo 26	Photo 27
Photo 28	Photo 29	Photo 30
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Photo 34	Photo 35	Photo 36

Panorama taken from Wetterhorn’s east ridge

Once Jerry and I dropped down past a boulder, we turned around and studied it. There were a lot of hand and foot holds and a huge crack. Jerry smiled. He was going to climb it. I chose not to because I have like absolutely no bouldering experience. Jerry decided to try and climb along the crack, first. He placed his foot along the crack and used the hand holds to pull himself upward. This turned out not to be a good route, though, and he had to climb back down. I pointed out another route on the left and Jerry decided to try and climb it. There seemed to be a lot more hand and foot holds on the left side of the boulder. At one point, Jerry thought he wasn’t going to be able to get up it. I told him to put his foot in this one hole and he told me that he already did, but I told him his foot was too low. Once he found it, he was able to pull himself up further onto the boulder and climbed over to the top of it (photos 25-33).

Photo 37	Photo 38	Photo 39
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Photo 46	Photo 47	Photo 48

When Jerry was done with his fun, we continued along the east ridge (photos 34, 35). Instead of going to the left, we decided to once again stay along the ridge proper and climb the rock along it (photos 36-39). We stayed along the ridge to the right for some interesting Class 4 exposure and climbing, but could have gone to the left for a little bit of loose scrambling (photos 41, 42, 44). Since we wanted to make the ridge more interesting, we went to the right of the boulder (photos 43, 45). On the other side of the boulder, there was a bit of exposure. Jerry headed up first. I was a bit nervous about it because the north-facing aspect of the rock still had a little bit of snow leftover from a storm earlier in the week. I had to take a couple of gigantic steps to pull myself up onto the rock, but it was solid enough (photos 46-49).

Photo 49	Photo 50	Photo 51
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Photo 61		Photo 62

Jerry and I continued to follow the ridge until we nearly underneath the awesome east face of Wetterhorn (photos 50-54). Once near the east face, we turned to the left and hiked up a broken slope to our left (photo 55). The top of this slope was where the east ridge route ended. Ahead of us was the Prow along Wetterhorn’s standard route. We could continue up the standard route, but there was a line of about five or six people. We decided to climb up to the right of the standard route (photo 56). Jerry and I followed a ledge up and to the right (photo 57) for a short distance before switchbacking back to the left (photo 58). Climbing up and through a rib, we switchbacked again to the right (photo 59) and climbed good rock all the way to the summit of Wetterhorn. I took photos of the ridge and of the boulder that Jerry had fun climbing (photos 61, 62).

There were a lot of people on Wetterhorn’s summit — including Jodi, Bill, and John. I asked Bill how long they had been there and he indicated that they only arrived about ten minutes before Jerry and me. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, so we decided to take our time and enjoy the great weather. In fact, we ended up staying up there for well over an hour. We had a few drinks of scotch and Canadian Whiskey while we enjoyed conversation with the rest of the summit group — many who were also members of 14ers.com. For a long time, there wasn’t even a breeze. It was getting late in the day, though, and we wanted to get back to camp to enjoy some food as Jerry brought his grill and some brats.

Aspens down near the Matterhorn Creek trailhead

Panorama taken from Wetterhorn’s summit

Jerry and I joined Bill, Jodi, and John on the descent. The two of us scrambled down to the Prow; we decided that we wanted to climb it as well as it was an “Extra Credit” scramble as described in Roach’s guide. It was a short, enjoyable scramble. Jerry and I were first to “summit” and I walked over to the other side to see if we could climb down there. It appeared that there was a way, but it would deliver us well below the standard route. I didn’t think anyone wanted to climb upward anymore. By the time I reached the other side of the Prow where Jerry rested, I greeted Bill, Jodi, and John as they scrambled up. We rested for a few minutes and watched a few climbers scramble to Wetterhorn’s summit as we had a great view of them. I spotted one of my online buddies, Dave, below us and yelled out a greeting to him. It was cool to see another face that I recognized. We stayed for a few more minutes before scrambling back down to the trail. It was still really warm outside. The hike down would be uneventful and at a welcome, relaxing pace.

Climbers on the Wetterhorn/Matterhorn traverse

We past Keith (the gathering organizer) and Otina (a member of 14ers.com) on our way down from Wetterhorn and had pleasant conversation with them. They were planning on meeting a group of climbers traversing from Matterhorn to Wetterhorn. As luck would have it, we met another group who were planning on traversing from Wetterhorn to Matterhorn on the summit. Keith pointed out the group traversing to Wetterhorn on the ridge above us. After a few minutes, we headed further down the trail and peeled off more layers as the sun in a cloudless sky beat down on us. We also began dipping into more Scotch and Canadian whiskey. A little too much. In fact, we finished off the whiskey bottle and a flask of scotch. From there on, the hike down to the trailhead became a lot of fun with a lot of distractions and laughter. I don’t know about the others, but I had a GREAT time. I didn’t have a care in the world. The buzz made time pass by like it was nothing. We ran into Bob on the way down, another 14ers.com member who drove up from Oklahoma and had a conversation with him before continuing down to the trailhead.

Aspens along the Matterhorn Creek trail

The Wetterhorn descent group — Jerry, John, Terry, Jodi, and Bill

We arrived at the trailhead and returned to camp where Jerry and I cooked up some brats and talked with the others. After a couple of hours, we drove back to Brian’s cabin, picked up some burgers, and returned to camp to enjoy a fire and camaraderie. I think we ended up staying out there past 1:00 AM; Jerry had to drive us back. It was a great deal of fun with a lot of great people. I can’t wait until the next one!

14ers.com members	14ers.com members	Jerry and others
Keith, Darrin, and Otina	14ers.com members. Craig is furthest from the camera.	Craig (in focus)
Jodi and Bill	A whole package of wood burning	14ers.com members including Sean, Scott, Jodi, and Bill
Pyromaniac Sean	Pyromaniac Sean continues	A lovely campfire

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Crestone Needle along the Peak-to-Needle Traverse

GPS profile of my route

Elevation and Google Earth profiles

Part One: Crestone Peak

I had been mildly regretful about not doing the Crestone Peak-to-Needle Traverse with Jerry back at the beginning of August. When I received a job offer on Thursday, I decided to go and do it — regardless of whether someone was able to go with me or not. My new employer wanted me to start on Monday; I had little time to prepare, but fortunately the most planning that I had to do was logistically. I knew that there was supposed to be a few 14ers.com members heading down to the S. Colony Lakes area. Hopefully, someone would want to go with me.

I think I must’ve left my home at 3:00 AM. Because I had dropped to 140 lbs due to depression and a lack of eating, I stopped through IHOP and had a Super Rooty Tooty Fresh and Fruity breakfast. I think I had more calories and carbs from that meal than I had in the previous two weeks! After breakfast, I drove to the trailhead near Westcliffe. I missed the turn off of Hwy 69 and had to turn around and drive back north about ten miles, but it was only a minor annoyance. I’m not sure why I overshot it; I must’ve been distracted or something. At any rate, I arrived at the trailhead around 6:15 and hit the trail at 6:23.

I made short work of the road up to the old upper trailhead. It was approximately 2.75 miles; I made it in about fifty-five minutes. The sun had been rising ever since I left the trailhead, so it was nice to actually see the road even though there wasn’t much to look at along it. I could tell that the aspens were changing colors, though, so it turned out to be an alright hike. After another twenty minutes or so, I arrived at the turn-off for Broken Hand Pass. On my way up, I noticed some climbers ahead of me. It wouldn’t be long before I caught up to them. As I headed up higher on the trail, I found myself struggling a bit. Having completed the Little Bear/Blanca traverse only five days earlier with Jerry, I definitely felt the strain from it.

About half-way up the pass, I put my helmet on. At 8:40, I arrived at the top of Broken Hand Pass and had a pleasant conversation with four climbers. They were also heading over to the Peak, so I extended an invitation to them to see if they would like to traverse over to the Needle with me, but they politely declined. After resting there for a few minutes, we all headed down the other side of Broken Hand Pass toward Cottonwood Lake — a much more pleasant hike than the South Colony Lakes side. I stopped to snap a photo of it as well as Crestone Needle looming larger-than-life above me. As I continued along the trail, I quickly pulled ahead of the group that I met on top of the pass. To the north, I began to see glimpses of the traverse. It was going to be interesting to see if I could pull it off by myself; my only Class 3 solo was on Wetterhorn and I’ve never climbed any Class 4 pitches on my own. Even though most of the route was Class 3 and the last hundred feet or so was the only Class 4, I was a bit concerned about route-finding.

	Glimpses of the traverse from 1,000 feet below it

As I approached Crestone Peak’s Red Gully, I stopped to take off my fleece. I was getting really hot in the direct sunlight (there wasn’t a cloud in the sky) and there wasn’t much wind to speak of, either. The other group caught up to me as I rested and ate some Gu Chomps. I knew that I was going to be sucking a lot of air on the climb because of what I experienced on Broken Hand Pass. I pulled ahead of the group again and was the first to climb into the Red Gully. When Matt and I climbed Crestone Peak in July 2009, the whole gully was wet with water rushing down it. We even had to climb up quite a bit of snow in the upper gully (which was the first time I ever used an ice axe). It was quite a treat to see it dry. There isn’t much to the gully, but I spotted faint trails and cairns to the left side of it so I tried to stay out of the gully proper as much as possible. I didn’t think to look for the exit point for the traverse on the way up. Hopefully, I would be able to locate it without much of an issue.

When I reached the upper gully, I looked for a trail heading beneath East Crestone Peak, but didn’t find it. Matt and I (along with a lot of other people) headed in that direction to avoid steep snow the last time, but it appeared that I could climb directly up to the west summit from the gully. I bypassed the notch between the twin summits and found myself in familiar territory. It was an easy scramble to the summit — and I had it all to myself!

Kit Carson Peak and Challenger Point

Crestone Needle. Notice the smoke off to the southeast. I found out that was a controlled burn since it has been so dry lately.

More shots of the Needle and the fire

Some fall colors to the west

More fall colors toward Great Sand Dunes National Park. The Blanca Group is off in the distance.

360° panorama from the summit of Crestone Peak

I spent about one hour on the summit since the day was absolutely spectacular. About half an hour into it, the four other climbers arrived. I spoke with them for awhile, ate a sandwich, relaxed. Before long, though, it was time for me to go. I didn’t know how long it was going to take me to complete the traverse, but since the days were getting shorter I needed to try and make good time.

With a print-out from Roach’s guide in hand, I descended to below the saddle between Crestone and East Crestone. From there, he indicated that I needed to drop another 300 feet before I would be able to locate the exit out of the Red Gully and onto the traverse. Checking my GPS, I watched the elevation closely as I descended. When I got to 300 feet, I walked out onto a buttress and looked down. I thought I spotted a cairn below me about another hundred feet or so. Scrambling back over to near the gully again, I descended carefully and eventually made my way over to the left. Sure enough, I spotted a cairn that signaled the exit from the Red Gully. I was disappointed that it wasn’t larger. I took a few moments to weigh my options, then started the traverse.

Photo 1	Photo 2	Photo 3
Photo 4	Photo 5	Photo 6
Photo 7	Photo 8	Photo 9
Photo 10	Photo 11	Photo 12

Following the exit from the Red Gully, I turned around to take a reference photo to mark my location (photo 1). Following cairns, the trail dropped probably another 100 feet (photo 2) before I rounded a buttress and turned to face Crestone Peak to the northeast (photo 3). The trail continued to drop (photo 4), making it a bit counterintuitive. After all — I was suppose to be going up toward Crestone Peak, right? The cairns led me far below the spires that loomed above me. I eventually came to a narrow section that I had to down-climb through (photos 5, 6). Once through the narrow section, the cairns led me up another grassy ledge to my left (photos 7, 8, 9). I climbed up to a notch and the trail turned to the right (photo 10), leading me across a short slope filled with broken rocks and soil (photos 11, 12).

Photo 13	Photo 14	Photo 15
Photo 16	Photo 17	Photo 18
Photo 19	Photo 20	Photo 21
Photo 22	Photo 23	Photo 24

Upon reaching the broken slope, I crossed it (photos 13, 14) and turned left, heading up a gully (photos 15, 16). Once at the top of the gully, I stopped and looked for cairns. To my right, I spotted a cairn and headed over a rock rib (photo 17). Across the rock rib, I scrambled up another gully to my left (photos 18, 19). My memory failed me on photo 20; I’m not sure if I had to down-climb to get down to this slope or not. I finally began to approach the Black Gendarme (photo 21). I’m not sure how or why the Black Gendarme received its name; the only thing I can think of is that when climbers are traversing in the morning, the sun must project quite a shadow off to the east. As I continued to traverse, I looked up at the terrain above me (photo 22) and was thankful that I wasn’t up there by myself. I crossed another loose slope and began my ascent to the Black Gendarme (photos 23, 24).

Photo 25	Photo 26	Photo 27
Photo 28	Photo 29	Photo 30
Photo 31	Photo 32	Photo 33
Photo 34	Photo 35	Photo 36

As I continued up to the Black Gendarme (photo 25), I lost my way. I ended up scrambling up the entire gully beneath it and descending the other side. I walked down for a bit and thought I spotted a cairn, but the closer I got to it the more it became apparent that I was going the wrong way. I’ve heard too many stories of climbers getting cliffed out on the traverse; being alone, I wanted to avoid that at all costs. I returned to the top of the gully and carefully descended it. Near where I entered it, I spotted a cairn leading me to the left, under the Black Gendarme (photo 26). I looked back to the other side of the gully where I entered it (photo 27) to mark my location. I began to traverse around the gendarmes, scrambling to the top of every gully I came across. (photos 28-30). Unfortunately, this ended up making me expend a lot of energy. At the top of one gully, I spotted a grassy ledge that led around the next gendarme (photo 31). I believe I skipped scrambling up the next gully (photo 32) as I spotted a narrow col with a cairn near it (photo 33). Through the col was another grassy ledge to follow (photo 34). The ledge led me to a narrow gully, which I scrambled up (photos 35, 36).

Photo 37	Photo 38	Photo 39
Photo 40	Photo 41	Photo 42
Photo 43	Photo 44	Photo 45
Photo 46	Photo 47	Photo 48

It seemed like the narrow gully went up forever, but I did end up losing a lot of elevation beneath the gendarmes (photos 37-41). At the top of this gully, I peered out on the north side of the traverse. There, I spotted Crestone Needle’s north face (photo 42). I don’t know if this was a part of the Ellingwood Arête, but it was impressive. I went back down the gully a bit since it was obvious that I couldn’t traverse the north side and spotted another grassy ledge (photo 43). All the traversing made me a bit nervous because I had been on it for nearly three hours and felt that my route-finding had been sub-par. On the other side of the latest grassy ledge, I FINALLY felt like I made progress (photo 44)! Ahead of me was what I believed to be the summit of Crestone Needle. When Jodi and I summited in August and met Jerry up there, he showed us the Class 4 summit pitch. What was ahead of me looked remarkably familiar. I approached the Class 4 summit pitch which consisted of about 100 feet of climbing (photo 45). I approached it with caution; I had never soloed a Class 4 pitch before. I’ve done plenty with Jerry this summer, so why should this be any different? The conglomerate rock was easy and fun to climb. I didn’t have anything to worry about!

As I began to climb, I felt confidence welling-up inside me until I tested a handhold and it gave way. Had I been less careful, pulling on it would have been disastrous. About half-way up, I spotted Upper South Colony Lake below me and stopped to admire it (photo 46). The climbing was a lot of fun, even by myself (photo 47)! The Class 4 didn’t last for long, unfortunately. Before long, I found myself on top of it (photo 48) and the summit was a simple walk away. I enjoyed Crestone Needle alone. It was 3:00 and there were only hints of clouds in the sky. It was fantastic. Another unfortunate fact — my GPS died, so I only have the track to Crestone Needle.

I spent about forty-five minutes on the summit before heading down. On my way down, I finally met Jim — a member of 14ers.com that I’ve corresponded with for a long time, but never met. We were hoping to meet-up for the traverse, but he arrived at the trailhead later than I did so we never crossed paths. We enjoyed each other’s company for about twenty minutes before reaching the upper trailhead. We parted ways and bade each other farewell. On my way down to the lower trailhead, I spotted a hunter. I stopped to ask him how far he was from camp and he said he was about ten miles from it. Apparently, his hunting buddies had taken the ATV that was parked at the upper trailhead and returned without him. He said they may have done so because they were able to get an elk. I offered him a ride and he accepted. I took him up the Music Pass road to a gate on private property and drove him into camp. He gave me $20 for helping him out. Once his equipment was removed from my truck, I headed back home to Colorado Springs.

GPS track of my sub-par route-finding skills between the Black Gendarme and Crestone Needle.

Google Earth .KML file of my route (right-click and “save target as” to save the file). NOTE: For some reason, if you’re using Internet Explorer, when you “save target as”, it changes the file extension to .XML. This is incorrect. To be able to view this in Google Earth, change the file extension to .KML before saving the file. It downloads correctly in Firefox.

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