Mt. Lindsey (14,042 ft.) viewed from the route up Huerfano Peak

Iron Nipple (13,500 ft.)

Approaching “Huerfano Peak” (13,828 ft.)

GPS profile of our route Mt. Lindsey’s northwest ridge, Iron Nipple, and Huerfano Peak

Elevation and Google Earth profiles

Chris is my original hiking buddy. From when I first started hiking not too long ago, he has been a constant and consistent companion. Even though we are not able to get out and hike together as much as I’d like to, he has always been a solid and dependable friend who is willing to push his limits with me. I am thankful and appreciate that he trusts me enough to allow me to show him places that wouldn’t normally be inside his comfort zone. That kind of trust doesn’t come from just anybody; it’s a bond that is developed through years of experiences together or because of kindred spirits. I have not lead Chris astray and after years of hiking and climbing together, I feel I have a pretty firm grasp of what he’s capable of doing.

Mt. Lindsey, while not the most difficult 14er in the Sangre de Cristo Range, offers climbers a 3rd Class experience with a 4th Class move or two thrown in for good measure via it’s northwest ridge. After almost an entire summer of climbing Class 3, 4, and even a low Class 5 pitch, my confidence has reached a place that I never felt it would be. Climbing Crestone Needle the week before with Jodi was a lot of fun and, like Chinese food, it left me hungry for more. About mid-week before the climb, I had no plans and Lindsey’s northwest ridge came up as a last resort. I sent Chris an email and asked if he wanted to join me; I had invited him to join Jodi and me the weekend before, but a hamstring injury he sustained while playing softball kept him sidelined. He checked his schedule, cleared it with his wife, Julie, and the trip was set. I also advised him that if the weather was nice and we were feeling good, I wanted to try and summit Iron Nipple (sorry, folks, I don’t name them, just climb them ) and “Huerfano Peak” (the quotations are because although it is one of the Centennial Peaks, it is not officially named this). Chris would drive to my place from his home in Monument and we would leave from here. I wanted to leave at 1:30 AM as I knew from previous trips to the area that it took right about three hours to reach the trailhead.

Taking I-25 south to Walsenburg, Chris and I couldn’t believe how warm it was outside. Once south of Pueblo and approaching Walsenburg, the outside thermometer in my truck was reading 78°. We stopped at a convenience store so I could pick up a sandwich to take with me before heading north to Gardner. From Gardner, the trailhead is about twenty-one miles west of Hwy 69. We arrived there at almost exactly 4:30, strapped on our packs, stretched a bit, and hit the trail.

I led Chris on the semi-dark trail. A nearly-full moon illuminated our surroundings and was quite beautiful! Chris turned off his headlamp for a little while and walked the trail by moonlight. Once back under the tree canopy, though, he turned it back on. The trail is nice and relatively flat for the first mile or so and was pleasant to hike on. Once we reached the Huerfano River, I stepped carefully across it while trying to maintain my balance with trekking poles. I still ended up stepping into the water though. Chris attempted to do the same northwestsans trekking poles) and slipped a little before stepping into the water. He quickly reached the other side and winced. I asked him if he was alright. He indicated that he may have re-aggravated his hamstring injury. I was concerned by this and told him that I didn’t want it to get any worse. If he felt that he needed to go back to the truck, it would not be a big deal to me. We waited for a few minutes, Chris stretched his hamstring for a bit, and indicated that he wanted to continue on. I asked him to let me know if it got worse. I don’t think Julie would be very happy with me if he returned home in worse condition than when he left!

As the trail meandered and weaved through the darkened tree canopy, we lost it a couple of times. There was a minute amount of backtracking involved to locate the correct path, but we were always able to find it. The trail eventually parallels Nipple Creek and climbs steeply on its southeast bank. It was around here that I lost the trail for a few minutes. We hiked up a steep, grassy slope to get back on trail. I asked Chris how his hamstring was doing and he replied, “I don’t know how much more of that I can do.” I needed to be more careful about staying on-trail.

We crossed over Nipple Creek and the trail climbed steeply through thinning trees as we approached treeline. While not up quite yet, the lightening of the eastern horizon provided us with enough illumination that we were able to turn off our headlamps. Once we rounded the top of a hill, I called Chris’ attention to our west. It was his first time seeing Blanca Peak and Ellingwood Point from this close of a distance and I immediately knew that he was as taken-in by them as I was when I first did this hike back in 2008. The east face of Blanca is one of Colorado’s greatest mountain walls and is awe-inspiring. Descending into a basin, we watched as sunrise illuminated some clouds behind Iron Nipple to our left, then saw first light on Blanca and Ellingwood. I stopped to take photos of both. Again, I asked Chris how his hamstring was feeling. He indicated that it was a little sore, but not enough to prevent him from continuing.

Chris and I crossed the basin and began ascending the trail up to Lindsey’s northwest ridge. From my previous trip, I knew that we needed to first gain the saddle between Lindsey and Iron Nipple. The standard route up Lindsey involved a nasty Class 2+ scramble up a gully filled with loose soil and rocks. When I summited the peak the first time, I spent about five minutes trying to scramble directly up the gully before abandoning it and climbing the more-solid Class 3 rock to the right of it. It was not an enjoyable route for me in the slightest (I was also a lot fatter back then) and know a lot of people echo that sentiment. I had heard so many great things being said about the northwest face by comparison, though. The closer we got to the saddle, the more excited I became. Chris advised me, though, that while hiking didn’t seem to be aggravating his injury too much, it might be a different story once we started climbing the ridge. He graciously said that if it came to that, he would hike back down into the basin and wait for me. I didn’t feel right about the thought of abandoning him and going off by myself, but we still had some time for him to make that decision.

We exchanged greetings with a couple of hikers that we passed along the way to the saddle before continuing on. When we reached the saddle, we were bathed in warm sunlight and took a moment to rest. To our right was the false summit of Mt. Lindsey — sometimes referred to as Northwest Lindsey. The actual summit of Lindsey wasn’t viewable from there. We also clearly saw the Class 4 crux wall along the northwest ridge. From the saddle, it does appear foreboding. I’ve illustrated this photo to show the location of the crux. When Chris asked how we were going to get up and over that, I just told him, “Very carefully,” and assured him that it isn’t normally as bad as it looks from afar or in photos. It was apparent that he was nervous about climbing it, but made no indication that he wanted to turn around. He was placing a lot of faith in me to be able to get him up and down safely. The climb was going to be challenging for him; the most difficult peak we summited previously was Longs Peak. I wasn’t going to let him down, though!

Chris and I hiked along Lindsey’s standard trail for a few minutes before I checked our location on my GPS. Apparently, we overshot the turn-off to gain the ridge, but the rock just to our right looked extremely climbable. We stopped to don our helmets; it was going to be mostly Class 3 most of the way to the summit from there. Once our helmets were in place, we began to climb up the solid rock and a few minutes later found ourselves atop the ridge. The crux wall seemed to stare us down with an evil eye. Chris asked again how we were going to get up it. I reassured him that once we got to it’s base, it isn’t going to look that bad. He followed my lead as we headed up the northwest ridge.

A photo that Chris took of me on the way up the northwest ridge

I had originally wanted to stay a little bit higher on the ridge. There were a few short, exposed ledges which would have allowed us to stay high and not have to lose elevation. I called Chris’ attention to the ledges and he said that he would be uncomfortable crossing over a gully up high. I wanted him to have good memories of the trip (not terrifying ones), so I told him we could descend into the gully below us and cross low. Once in the gully, another one loomed ahead of us. It was the gully that led to the crux wall. Chris asked me how close he should be to me. I told him that he should be close enough to see where I’m placing my hands and feet and would be able to spot him if he needed some assistance finding a correct route up. I, in turn, would need to temper my ascent speed. He was doing fine so far, so I wasn’t too concerned about it. In years past, I had troubles keeping up with him, so it was an odd position for me to be in, but I also knew the hamstring injury was hindering him as well.

A few photos of Chris scrambling up the gully beneath the crux wall

Once at the top of the gully, Chris and I continued to climb up some great Class 3 rock. I saw that Chris’s confidence was slowly growing; this was the most sustained climbing that he had done and didn’t seem too bothered by his hamstring. Despite this, I new he was also growing nervous about the most difficult section of our climb. I stopped a couple of times to take photos of the route above us and allow us some time to rest. We were nearing the crux wall and it wouldn’t be long before we had to choose our route to get over it. After about ten minutes or so of climbing, we found ourselves staring up at the crux wall.

The Class 4 crux along Mt. Lindsey’s northwest ridge

According to the route guide, we had three options on how to get up and over the crux wall. We could go straight up it, to the right of it, or to the left of it. I initially chose the direct route up it. Chris decided to try and climb a route to the left of me, but still straight up. I found myself above him, but I could not see what he was climbing on due to a small rib between us. I asked him how his route was looking, but he didn’t sound very hopeful. I was not having much luck, either, and was running out of hand and foot holds. Looking over to my left, I instructed Chris to climb down from where he was and climb the wall off to the left side as the rock seemed to have more ledges. I down-climbed from my position and quickly scrambled up so I could spot him. The route over the left side of the crux wall proved to be an easier choice and once over it, we both found ourselves scrambling back over to the top of the wall without much difficulty. The rest of the ridge to the summit of Northwest Lindsey was before us. It was basically going to be a Class 2 walk-up to it, then over to the true summit of Mt. Lindsey.

Looking over at the summit of Mt. Lindsey from the direction of Northwest Lindsey

Once we walked onto the summit of Northwest Lindsey, we stopped for a few minutes and I heard Chris breathe a sigh of relief. The difficult climbing was over. Mt. Lindsey was only a short walk away, so we quickly strode over to it and sat down for a well deserved rest. I turned on my phone and found that I had full cell service up there. I called Julie and let Chris talk to her for a few minutes before breaking out some snacks. Of course, I couldn’t leave without a few summit shots.

Blanca, Ellingwood, and Little Bear

Chris looking cold on the summit (it was a bit nippy)

Iron Nipple (l) and Huerfano Peak (r) viewed from Mt. Lindsey

Panorama taken from the summit of Mt. Lindsey

We must’ve been on the summit for about 20-25 minutes before the hikers that we passed on the way up arrived. Chris and I packed-up our thinks, bade them farewell, and headed back down. Chris wanted to take the standard north face gully down, so we started descending that way. It wasn’t long before we encountered more hikers. For the most part, we stayed along the Class 3 rock on our left until we got down to the col (notch) at the top of the real nasty gully. We crossed over to our right and descended the rock there while avoiding some hikers that were coming up. One of them had a dog that knocked loose some rocks that fell down the gully. Luckily, it didn’t cause too big of a slide, but I wouldn’t have wanted to be under it. Continuing down, Chris and I crossed the gully again to our left and began to descend again. Chris commented that maybe we should have climbed back down the way we went up! It wasn’t as bad as I remember it being, but I wasn’t in as good of shape two years ago, either. We passed a few more groups of hikers on our way back down to the trail. When we reached it, both of us breathed a sigh of relief while heading toward the saddle. On the way, I asked Chris how his energy level was. He replied, “I know exactly what you’re thinking.” Yes, I wanted to hike over to Iron Nipple and Huerfano Peak. He indicated that his energy level seemed to be fine as was his hamstring. Once at the saddle, we continued along the ridge toward Iron Nipple.

On our approach to Iron Nipple, we encountered a couple of hikers on their way down. I remembered spotting someone on Lindsey’s northwest ridge far ahead of us earlier, but had forgotten about it. I asked if they went over to Huerfano Peak as well and they indicated they did. We parted ways and Chris and I continued our ascent of Iron Nipple. Instead of climbing up a small gully we saw them descend down, we traversed over to the right of the rock formation between us and the Nipple. The route had a little bit of exposure; once across the rock, we traversed back up to a green, grassy area. In this photo, you can make out a rocky gully heading up the center of Iron Nipple. We ascended this and worked our way slowly to summit (which is off to the left and not quite visible from this vantage point). It must’ve taken us about twenty minutes to reach the summit ridge. Once I topped-out on it, I was treated to as sight and sort of a surprise: Iron Nipple had a mini-knife-edge! It was maybe about twenty-five feet across with exposure not even approaching what I encountered on the southwest ridge of Little Bear or on Capitol Peak, but it still kind of tickled me. “How do you feel about a knife edge?” I shouted down to Chris as he approached me. It was completely walkable. I asked Chris to take a couple of photos of me as I crossed and I would do the same for him from the other side.

Here I am crossing Iron Nipple’s knife edge

Chris crossing Iron Nipple’s knife edge

We reached the summit of Iron Nipple and stayed only for a few minutes. I did some goofy things up there that I wanted Chris to take a photo of, but he accidentally took a video of it (which I won’t post here because it’s kind of silly). I did take a photo of Chris, though.

Looking back down toward the Huerfano River Basin from the summit of Iron Nipple

Chris on the summit of Iron Nipple. Mt. Lindsey is in the background

Chris and I didn’t dawdle. We quickly crossed back over the knife edge and descended down toward the ridge leading up to Huerfano Peak. Since I was going to be near another land feature named for Albert Ellingwood, I once again brought my copy of Albert Ellingwood: Scholar of Summits by Jeff Arnold. When we were about half-way to Huerfano’s summit, I stopped and asked Chris to take a photo of me with it with Blanca Peak and Ellingwood Point behind me. In the photo to the left, you can almost see the entirety of Gash Ridge, the Class 5.4 southeast ridge route to the summit of Blanca Peak. In the photo to theThe week before, I took the book with me to the summit of Crestone Needle and did the same (Ellingwood has a route up the Needle named after him). It really doesn’t mean a lot, but I do have a published photo in the book (page 22), so it’s a novelty to me.

The rest of the way up Huerfano Peak wasn’t really challenging other than the fact that we were both tired from having just climbed Lindsey and Iron Nipple. Once there, I found a PVC tube. There wasn’t a CMC register inside of it; someone left a few sheets of paper that were print-outs from Gerry Roach’s Colorado Fourteeners book. Chris and I signed the back of one of the sheets and placed everything back inside before taking a long-needed break.

Chris loungin’ around on Huerfano’s summit and his official summit shot

My obligatory summit shot

Back in June, I had dubbed California Peaks East Ridge “Two-Mile Ridge” due to the fact that it is right around two miles long. The ridge looked massive from Huerfano Peak.

360° panorama taken from the summit of Huerfano Peak

There wasn’t really any hint of weather on the summit, so we probably stayed there for a good twenty minutes while we rested and refueled. There was barely any wind and it felt nice and warm. Once we were rested enough, we began the long trek back to the Lindsey/Iron Nipple saddle. Chris asked if we could skirt Iron Nipple below it so we wouldn’t have to regain the elevation and I didn’t see why we couldn’t. The talus beneath it looked a little sketchy, but not impassable. Once underneath the Nipple, I spotted a boulder that was about to tip over and slide hundreds of feet down into the basin, so I quickly ran across the talus and held it up long enough for all the hikers below to get out of the way! Actually, it was just leaning and I highly doubt there was anyone on that side of the mountain. The boulder had probably been in that position for a long time, too, but it made for a goofy photo opp.

Chris and I hiked back up to the green, grassy saddle just beneath Iron Nipple on the other side and took a brief respite before descending down to the saddle the way we spotted the hikers doing it from. It was actually the easier way around, but the other side was more interesting! We quickly hiked down from the saddle and into the basin below. By that time, there were dark clouds rolling-in from the west. It felt like weather was approaching. We had already been on the trail for over eight hours and were fortunate enough not to have encountered inclement weather, but were pushing our luck. We needed to get back down to the trailhead expeditiously.

Colorado has had an unusually wet summer this year. As a result, there have been mushrooms growing EVERYWHERE. The trail to Lindsey was littered with them. Chris and I didn’t notice hardly any on the way up because it was dark, but were seeing them all over the place on our way down. Along the trail next to Nipple Creek, I spotted a humongous growth of mushrooms that I couldn’t help stopping for. I’m not sure how to identify the species, but it appeared that four or five of them had grown together into a giant cairn-like mushroom. It was actually pretty cool. I had to put my left hand over it to be able to illustrate how large it was. On my way up to Capitol Peak with Brian and Brad, we spotted some really colorful mushrooms that I neglected to take photos of, but they reminded us of the 1-UP mushrooms from Super Mario Brothers.

Chris and I found some logs to cross over Huerfano River and walked over it without incident. I felt random sprinkles of rain on me and quickened my pace. We crossed an open meadow, took one last look back at Blanca, and returned to the trailhead at around 2:00. While we were there, the sky opened up on us and it really started raining at a good clip. Some hikers had just arrived at the trailhead and were about to hit the trail, but I’m not sure how far they were going to get in the rain. We drove through a heavy thunderstorm on our way back out to Gardner. From there, we headed south into Westcliffe. Chris’ neighbors gave him an envelope with some of their dog’s ashes they they wanted to have scattered somewhere in Westcliffe. I took him to a city park that I knew of and he scattered Annabelle Starr’s ashes to the wind. Afterward, we had pizza at a local eatery, then returned home.

This trip had the unfortunately distinction of being the last one I took before being laid-off by my employer. After over five years of employment there, they decided to close operations here in Colorado Springs and my position was eliminated. Hopefully, I’ll be able to find new employment soon.

GPS stats taken from our trip up Mt. Lindsey, Iron Nipple, and Huerfano 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.

Jodi looking back at Crestone Needle (14,197 ft.) at sunrise

GPS and elevation profile of our route up Crestone Needle

Google Earth profile

When I climbed Crestone Needle last summer, I knew it wasn’t going to be the last time I’d climb it. Of all of Colorado’s 14ers that I’ve hike/climbed thus far, it is my favorite scramble. There’s something about the distinctive rocky, multi-colored knobs that are a part of the conglomerate rock that makes up much of the Crestone Group so much fun! Before I had a number of Class 3 and Class 4 climbs under my belt, I was very intimidated by the Needle. Now that I consider myself a bit more experienced, I figured that it would be nice to see how much my scrambling skills and confidence had improved.

The first time I met Jodi was back in April at the 14ers.com Spring Gathering. A few weeks later, we made plans with another member, Sandy, and hiked up Humboldt Peak as a snow ascent. Since then, Jodi and I have kept in touch and met-up a couple of times for drinks and/or meals. Once, she drove up to Colorado Springs for a meeting and I took her downtown to a Mexican restaurant. A week later, after my failed attempt at climbing Kit Carson Peak’s north ridge (I was spooked off by the weather), I stopped through Cañon City and had lunch with her. Needless to say, Jodi’s one of the coolest women that I know. When I decided early in the week that I wanted to climb Crestone Needle again, I looked to her as a climbing partner. I knew she was capable; she had climbed Crestone Peak earlier in the summer. My choice of peaks provided me an opportunity to enjoy her company once again.

I picked Jodi up at her house at 2:30 AM and we drove through Westcliffe to the South Colony Lakes trailhead. We were on the trail at 4:00. I had originally wanted to start out a little earlier, but came to a painful realization that the sun is rising later in the morning as we approach Autumn. I didn’t want to have us climbing up Broken Hand Pass in the dark, so told Jodi we should probably leave a little later. The South Colony Lakes trailhead used to be a couple of miles further up the road, but the Forest Service closed that trailhead and moved it to its new location due to damage being done to the road by vehicles. When I summited Humboldt Peak for the first time, I started my hike from that old trailhead and it made the trip a lot shorter. Adding another five miles to the round-trip total was going to be interesting.

With our headlamps blaring, Jodi and I crossed a very new log bridge, signed-in at the register, and began making our way up the dark road. Hiking on it wasn’t difficult; it was just long and tedious. We enjoyed our conversation which helped pass the time. It seemed like it took us a little over an hour to reach the old trailhead at our leisurely pace. We crossed another bridge over a creek and found our way to a familiar gate. Above us, we could see the outline of Crestone Needle and Broken Hand Peak. The road continued past the gate, but eventually turned into more of a trail. I remembered from my last trip to this area that the campsites near the South Colony Lakes was not too far away. We entered the tree canopy and gained a little bit of elevation before encountering campsites. Coming to a wooden sign that read “Crestone Needle Standard Route”, we turned left and began our ascent of Broken Hand Pass.

From the trail turn-off, we began to gain elevation pretty quickly. As the eastern horizon was lightening, I saw lower South Colony Lake below us to the right. When we were high enough on the trail, we stopped to watch the sun rise over the Wet Mountains to the east. Our view of sunrise was unobstructed and beautiful. Having experienced sunrise in this area a few years ago, I knew that the Needle was soon going to be bathed in a rich, red hue. We marveled at the changing color of light as the sun rose for a few minutes before continuing on. I had never been up Broken Hand Pass from this side; when Matt and I climbed the Crestones last year, we did it from the other side via the Cottonwood Creek trailhead (with permission from the Manitou Foundation). I heard that it contained a lot of loose soil and rocks and was generally not enjoyable to climb (it has a few short Class 3 sections). I wasn’t looking forward to it — and neither was Jodi.

a few weeks prior to our climb, a couple from Texas died while trying to climb the Ellingwood Arête on Crestone Needle. They were caught in a torrential downpour and were washed right off the side of the mountain. It was another sad tragedy in what has been a deadly summer in the mountaineering community. The same storm damaged the trail up Broken Hand Pass, washing out a portion of it. As we started getting higher and approaching sketchy rock, we stopped to don our helmets. I gave Jodi my compact camera and asked her to take some photos for me. The trail damage from the rainstorm that killed the two climbers was deep and very obvious; it looked like a couple of huge boulders slid right down the mountain. Jodi and I gingerly crossed the damaged portion of the trail before scrambling up some pretty solid rock. On top of the pass, I counted at least five people that I could see. I had no idea of how many people were truly up there. Above the short scramble, we found the trail again and found our way up to the top of Broken Hand Pass.

Looking back down Broken Hand Pass. Lower South Colony Lake is visible (photo courtesy of Jodi)

The wind was blowing pretty strongly at the top of the pass. Jodi decided to put on her fleece before we continued on. From there, the trail was familiar to me having climbed the Needle last summer. We needed to traverse to the northwest toward the base of the East Gully and then ascend it. To keep the climb at Class 3, we then needed to traverse over to the West Gully and climb to the summit from there.

Crestone Needle seen from the approach to the East Gully

Jodi and Humboldt Peak on our way to the base of the East Gully

A photo of me on the approach to the East Gully

Looking up Crestone Needle’s East Gully

Jodi and I made short work of the traverse from Broken Hand Pass to the base of the East Gully. There were a couple of short Class 3 scrambles along the way, but nothing major. When we reached the base of the East Gully, we stopped for a short rest before beginning our ascent of the Needle. Once rested, I took the lead and started climbing the knobby conglomerate rock. Not to be outdone, Jodi ascended quickly behind me and looked like a pro! I thoroughly enjoyed that portion of the climb. The tricky part was going to be finding the crossover point to the West Gully. If I had been with Jerry or Brian, I probably would have wanted to ascend the entire East Gully, but past the crossover area it forms a Class 4 dihedral which I didn’t think Jodi would be comfortable climbing, so I wanted to keep our climb at Class 3.

Jodi and I reached the crossover point and traversed into the West Gully. Upon entering it, I spotted something peculiar. Someone had placed a white trash bag under a rock. I thought this sort of odd, but we paid scant attention to it and moved on. The climb up the West Gully was a little bit steeper than what we had encountered on the east side, but all of the rock was solid and fun to scramble up. All along the way, we heard voices — loud voices — but couldn’t figure out how many people were ahead of us. Jodi heard someone exclaim, “God, this sucks!” at one point when we were in the East Gully. Apparently, someone not too experienced among them.

A few shots looking up the West Gully during our ascent

When we were getting pretty close to the top of the West Gully, a few climbers began their descent. We were immediately informed that there were about twenty Texans on the summit. Great. Not only were we going to have to share the summit with all of those people, but the group was mostly inexperienced. I told Jodi that we were going to be spending at least an hour on the summit after they left it to allow them enough time to get down. When we reached the top of the gully, I found another white trash bag under a rock. Really? This one annoyed me because if I attempted to take a summit panorama while the Texans were on top, it would be a part of it. Grrr. Behind us was another couple who were about to summit as well. I gave them a heads-up about what we were about to encounter. Jodi and I walked over to the summit past the Texans and went to the far west side of it to find a place to rest. Fortunately, the Texans were about to start their descent. We only ended up sharing the summit with them for five minutes or so. Thank goodness. They were being pretty loud.

Once the crowd was dispatched, Jodi and I settled down with the other two climbers and enjoyed the summit to ourselves. I looked over at Crestone Peak; Jerry was supposed to be attempting the Peak-to-Needle traverse, but I didn’t know how long it was going to take him to complete it. He invited me to join him, but I didn’t think that Jodi was going to be up to attempting something that technical. When I mentioned Jerry’s intent to Jodi, she commented that she would like to meet him sometime. To my surprise, one of the two people we were sharing the summit asked, “Oh, do you know Jerry?” When I told him that Jerry has been my climbing partner for most of the summer, he asked, “Are you Terry Mathews? You did that northwest ridge route on Little Bear, didn’t you?” It was a bit of a shock to me that someone knew who I was. Apparently, the climbers (a man and his wife) had met Jerry at the campground near lower South Colony Lake.

The couple also informed Jodi and me that there were about fifty-five Texans altogether that were camped down there. They drove up and hiked to the campground on Thursday, then hiked up Humboldt Peak on Saturday. They were apparently on some kind of endurance trip or something. A bunch of them vomited on the way up Humboldt; there was a little bit of vomit on the summit of the Needle with us as well. It was not the most intelligent thing that I’ve ever seen done. The woman also said that they were up all night yelling across the campground to each other and that she caught a lot of them cutting down live trees to use as firewood. It’s people like this who end up giving people from their state a bad reputation up here. They just don’t have any respect for other campers or leaving the environment in the same condition it was in when they arrived.

Panorama taken from the summit of Crestone Needle

While we all sat and refueled for about fifteen minutes, I saw someone scrambling up the west side of the summit. It was Jerry! He was with another climber, Mark, whom he had met on the way up the Peak. We all greeted Jerry and I introduced him to Jodi. When I told him who he just missed, Jerry confirmed that they, indeed, kept him up into the night as well. Our summit mates left after about twenty minutes or so and bade us a fond farewell. The rest of us must’ve talked for an additional twenty minutes or so before deciding that we had allowed the Texans enough time to get far ahead of us. Before departing, though, I wanted a couple summit shots.

Jodi on the summit of Crestone Needle

Here I am holding my copy of Albert Ellingwood: Scholar of Summits by Jeff Arnold. Earlier this year, Jeff contacted me and asked permission to use one of my photos of Ellingwood Point in his book. My photo is on page 22 of his book!

Mark, Jerry, Jodi, and I began our descent of the Needle down the West Gully. We didn’t descend down quite far enough and traversed over into the East Gully too soon. Rather than crossing back over to the West Gully again, we decided to down climb the Class 4 rock. I didn’t know how much Class 4 experience Jodi had, but she handled it quite admirably. She asked me to stay close to her so I could spot her foot placements, which I gladly did. There was a fun dihedral that we had to stem our legs across to climb down. It was a blast! Jodi looked like she was having a lot of fun. I certainly did! I caught quite a few photos of her down climbing.

We eventually got back down to the Class 3 portion of the East Gully. Instead of down climbing back to the trail, we decided to traverse over to the east a little further and climbed down. It was an unfamiliar route to me, but we had all of the same kind of knobs and rocks to descend on, so it ended up being a lot of fun. Right at the end, there was a bit of a gap to leap over. I stood on the edge of the rock and leaped over the gap onto the rock below me. Jodi was uncomfortable doing the same and managed to climb down and jumping over the gap from a lower angle. Upon doing so, she hopped once and threw her hands up in the air. “I give that dismount an 8,” I said.

“Yeah, there was a bit of a hop right there at the end, wasn’t there?” she replied. We laughed and continued to descend to Broken Hand Pass.

The wind was still whipping at Broken Hand Pass. When we started descending down toward lower South Colony Lake, they dissipated a bit. Jerry and Mark went ahead of us. At one point, Jerry climbed atop a small spire and I took a photo of him with Humboldt Peak in the background. Once we were all past the Class 3 climbing the trail deteriorated, so we had to take it a little slower to avoid slipping or sending a rock slide down below us. Finally, we got onto more-stable rock and I stopped to take off my helmet. While I did, I looked down and saw some sort of fossilized plant. It was pretty cool, so I took a photo of it. Jodi joined me soon afterward and I pointed it out to her. It was a day of discovery!

Jerry and Mark had pulled way ahead of Jodi and me. By the time we reached Jerry’s campsite, Mark had already left for the trailhead. Jerry asked if we were going to wait for him or head back. We weren’t in a hurry, so we helped Jerry pack up a little and together we headed back to the trailhead. Jerry just completed seven 14ers after being on vacation for seven days, so he was tired and ready to get back home. The hike back to the trailhead was long, hot, and arduous. We passed several backpackers on the way down and warned them of the fifty-five Texans at the lake, but Jerry thought they were going to be on their way out that day, too. We arrived back at the trailhead and Jerry gave another hiker a ride down to the lower trailhead while Jodi and I unwound for a few minutes. Before long, we were back on the road, ourselves. We met Jerry at the lower trailhead and decided to head into Westcliffe together for a bite to eat.

Westcliffe had some sort of celebration going on. We asked about the big tent on the west side of town, but after talking to a couple of locals, we found out that they would charge us $15 to get in. I asked if there was a place to get pizza at and was told of a geodesic dome in Silver Cliff that served good pizza. Jodi, Jerry, and I went there and ordered a few personal-sized pizzas, enjoyed some drinks, and good conversation. After dinner, we bade Jerry a fond farewell and I took Jodi home to Cañon City before heading home, myself. I hope I get to climb with her again in the near future!

GPS stats taken from our climb up 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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Culebra Peak (14,047 ft.) and Red Mountain (13,908 ft.), one of Colorado’s Centennial Peaks

GPS and elevation profile of my route up Culebra Peak and Red Mountain

Google Earth profile

“Culebra” is a Spanish word meaning harmless or venom-less snake. Culebra Peak was the only 14,000-foot peak I had left to summit in the Sangre de Cristo Range for a reason — it’s on private land. The landowners — Cielo Vista Ranch — while gracious-enough to allow groups of twenty-five hikers at-a-time access to the peak, reap a pretty penny. To hike to the summit of Culebra Peak will cost you $100.00. The optional trip over to Red Mountain — a Centennial Peak — costs and extra $50.00. Needless to say, many of my peers in the mountaineering community reject Culebra as being a part of their completed 14er list and often refer to it as the “ABC” list (All But Culebra). While $150 is not a drop in the bucket for me by no stretch of the imagination, I still wanted to summit Culebra and Red Mountain. After spending virtually the entire previous month’s time tackling the upper-echelon peaks of the Elk Mountains (Maroon Bells traverse, Pyramid Peak, and Capitol Peak), I just wanted to enjoy an easy hike. The southernmost 14,000-foot peak in Colorado seemed like a good option — if I could get in.

My timing couldn’t have been better. I waited until Thursday (8/12) to contact the Cielo Vista Ranch. When I did, I simply asked whether there was room on Saturday for a solo hiker. Surprisingly, the ranch just had a few cancellations earlier that day, so I went ahead and reserved a spot. The ranch emailed me a liability waiver to fill out and bring with me and a few other documents like a map of the area and some guidelines to follow. I was expected to be at the ranch’s gate by 6:00 AM and would be let in. It seemed simple enough, though starting a hike after 6:00 was not my usual style.

After work on Friday, I went home and directly to bed. My plan was to wake up at 1:00, leave at 2:00, and arrive early enough to get in as quickly as possible. It went almost as planned. I didn’t actually get on the interstate until about 2:15. To top it off, by the time I was ten miles into the trip, I realized that I forgot my camera! I turned around and sped back to my home as fast as I could, grabbed my camera, and was back on the interstate again at 2:38. I lost some valuable time and needed to make-up for it. I didn’t actually know how long it was going to take me to reach the small town of San Luis, CO — the closest town to Cielo Vista Ranch — but I knew I didn’t want to be late. I drove about five miles-per-hour faster than I normally would have and made good time. Once in Walsenburg, I headed west on US Hwy 160 over La Veta Pass and into the town of Ft. Garland. From there, I headed south on State Hwy 159 into San Luis and followed directions to the ranch from there. I arrived at the gate at 5:00 and decided to try and catch a few more winks. There were some hikers who had car camped, others who had set up tents just inside the gate (which they allow).

At 5:50, one of the ranch hands arrived to let us in. I walked up to him with a check and my waiver in hand, but he told me that he would get those items from me at the ranch office. I jumped back into my truck and proceeded through the gate. He checked off my name as I drove through and I continued on to the ranch office which was about two miles further in. The entire group of hikers parked near the office and once the ranch hand collected our money and waivers, took us back outside for a few words of encouragement, and sent us on our way. I was the first to drive up the road. Since I wanted to record 3,000 feet of elevation gain, I wanted to start at an area they refer to as “Four Way”. Most of the hikers that day parked in the same area, but a few vehicles continued on to the trailhead at the end of the road, about another mile in. I quickly donned my backpack and headed off.

I made short work of the easy hike up the road. By the time I reached the end of it, there were just a few people ahead of me, but not by far. From the road (though not to the end of it where vehicles park), a faint trail moved off toward the southeast (I noticed a small, round blue reflector near the start of the trail). One of the things that the ranch touts is that Culebra is one of the most pristine 14ers in the state. This is basically true. By limiting the amount of foot traffic that the peak sees, it doesn’t have the large and obvious trails that most 14ers do. Unlike peaks such as Pikes, Bierstadt, and Grays and Torreys (just to name a few), it doesn’t see dozens upon dozens of hikers on a daily basis in the summer months. Culebra is an easy Class 2 hike and would undoubtedly be the most frequented of the Sangres if it weren’t privately-owned. It’s relatively easy to get to (other than being far away) and requires little skill to hike.

The rest of the day’s Culebra hikers below me.

The Blanca massif to the north viewed from just below the talus on the Culebra Peak trail

Panorama looking to the west from the Culebra Peak trail

Among the literature that was emailed to me was a map of the peak with three routes highlighted: The ridge route, the “talus” route, and the “Roach” route (a route that Gerry Roach, author of Colorado’s Fourteeners, mapped in his book). The guidelines stated that one should try to take a different route up and back down to cut-down on trail erosion. By the time I was high into the basin above 12,000 feet, I spotted a line to the south in the talus that I decided to take. I had moved far ahead of the group by then, so there was no harm in taking a slightly off-kilter route. I don’t believe it was the true “talus” route; I think I overshot the start of it at the top of a small gully with a creek flowing through it. The edge of the creek was rimmed with ice and I saw frost on the grass. It would put me up on the ridge and into the sunshine quicker, though.

After spending some time talus-hopping, I neared the ridge and was greeted by warm sunshine. As I got closer to the ridge, I noticed a large cairn ahead of me. I thought this a bit ironic because one of the guidelines mentioned in the literature sent to me stated that hikers should knock down any small cairns that they come across in order to preserve the pristine nature of the route. I guess some large cairns were in order, though, to prevent people from becoming lost. I suppose that could happen if low clouds moved in an obscured the view, but there was no chance of that happening that day as the forecast was near-perfect. Once at the top of the ridge, I got my first glimpse at Culebra’s summit. It lay beyond a false summit which appeared to be higher than the true summit due to forced perspective. The trail turned right and went in a westerly direction. I stopped for a few minutes for rest and for a photo or two

The point that appears to be the summit in this photo is actually a false summit. Culebra Peak is to the left of it.

I started walking to the west and saw that I was going to be losing some elevation before heading up to the false summit. Great, I thought to myself. The hike hadn’t been very difficult, so this minor obstacle wasn’t going to make much of a difference. Ahead of me, I saw something mighty peculiar — a huge cairn. I had no idea how tall it was, but my interest was piqued. When I approached it at last, I realized that it was probably one of the largest cairns I had ever encountered. It stood atop an already large boulder; building it must have taken quite some time and tall people to construct. Square-shaped, it reminded me of a huge, life-sized Jenga (though I wasn’t about to start pulling rocks out from the bottom to re-stack on the top :O)! I carefully stood on top of the boulder next to it to get an approximation of how tall it was. Standing next to it, I saw that it was clearly taller than I was — about half-a-head or more. I estimated it to be about six feet tall! Yep, it definitely one of largest cairns I had ever seen. I hopped off of the boulder and took a photo of it. Again, the irony of the literature sent to me came to mind. I doubted that anyone was going to be knocking this cairn over! I laughed and moved on.

After the huge cairn, I descended a little bit along the ridge route before starting back up toward the false summit. The trail in this area was faint, but easy enough to follow. I only needed to walk the ridge until I reached the summit, after all. There was quite a bit of talus-hopping involved; I remembered seeing a post on 14ers.com where someone was asking about toting a baby in a carrier to the summit and a few people advised against it because of this section. Some of the talus was very tippy and one shift could put parent and child in danger of serious injury. It wasn’t much for me, though. I’ve done so much talus-hopping this summer that I actually feel like my balance is improving! A few summers ago, my “signature” move on any 14er was a slip and a wipe-out. I was quite clumsy. I think my weight loss has also helped, but I attribute most of my improved balance to an improvement in skill-level and just feeling more comfortable and at home in the mountains.

Gaining the false summit wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be. Whenever you have to lose and re-gain elevation above 13,000 feet it’s a pain in the ass, but all a part of the experience. When I topped out on the false summit, I saw that the true summit was only a short distance away. Beyond that, I got my first view of my second destination — Red Mountain. There are a few summits in Colorado that bear the name “Red Mountain”. Personally, I think of Red Mountain Pass along Hwy 550 in the San Juan Range whenever I hear it. This one happens to be “Red Mountain A” and as mentioned before it is one of Colorado’s Centennial Peaks (one of the highest 100 summits in the state). From the false summit, I only hiked for another five minutes or so before I found myself on the summit of Culebra Peak at 9:00. It took me less than two-and-a-half hours to make it there. The wind was stiff and cold, but not unbearable. I sat behind a large windbreak, enjoyed half a sandwich, and re-hydrated before taking a few summit shots.

Various shots of the Blanca and Crestone Groups to the north

The Spanish Peaks to the northeast

Obligatory summit shot

360° panorama from the summit of Culebra Peak

I stayed on the summit by myself for about twenty minutes before I decided to pack-up and head to my second destination — Red Mountain. The saddle between Culebra and Red Mountain dropped about 500 feet, so I figured it was going to be slow-going. As soon as I stepped off the summit, I was immediately pelted by strong winds. If that wasn’t bad enough, by the time I had gotten almost half-way down the initial descent, I realized that I had forgotten my SPOT on the summit! I turned around and began back up to retrieve it. When I got there, a solo hiker was signing the summit register. He found my SPOT, figured I’d be back for it, and placed it on the windbreak. He asked if I was heading over to Red Mountain and I answered affirmatively. He then mentioned that he would probably see me over there. Now, when I was back at the ranch office, mine was the only name that I saw “Red Mountain” next to. I told him that I didn’t think the ranch would appreciate him breaking the rules and hiking over to it without paying the fee. His response was, “Well, Gerry Roach says that you should just summit it while you’re up here.” I was a little irritated by that. There I was — playing by the rules — and some ignoramus was going to summit for free while I chose to pay the extra fee? It did get me thinking, though, about how the ranch prevented people from summiting Red Mountain if they didn’t pay. I was seriously considering reporting him to the ranch if he attempted to do the traverse — and there was no way he was going to be able to catch-up to me.

Agitated, I left the summit for a second time and began to descend on loose talus. The wind was bitingly cold and pretty fierce. It made me wonder if I should have put my fleece jacket on. Following the ridge directly would have taken me up another high point before descending to the low point on the saddle, but I chose to skirt to the east of it and was granted a temporary reprieve from the wind. Another short descent to the low point on the saddle brought me to the base of Red Mountain. I looked up; I spotted a faint trail swichbacking sharply up to the summit. I started up thinking that I was going to tire quickly but much to my surprise, I made extremely good time. Back on Culebra, I noticed a group of hikers had summited. What I didn’t see, though, was anyone following me over. I summited Red Mountain at 10:00, found another windbreak, and immediately sat down behind it. The wind sucked a lot of heat out of my body, so I dug the fleece jacket out of my backpack and put it on before enjoying the other half of a sandwich and a Nalgene of Propel Fitness Water.

Culebra Peak viewed from the summit of Red Mountain

The Spanish Peaks seen from Red Mountain

Uhh, I don’t think this is normally an issue with summit registers O_o

Near-360° panorama from the summit of Red Mountain. I tried for the full 360°, but the wind was blowing pretty fiercely.

I only stayed on the summit of Red Mountain for about fifteen minutes before I started back. I wasn’t sure if the same group was still on top of Culebra or not, but there seemed to be a few different colors! By the time I reached the saddle, the wind was blowing at a sustained 50-60 MPH. Standing and walking became very difficult and, again, I welcomed the windbreak provided by the bump in the saddle. It was actually quite warm without the wind. To the west of me (in the direction the wind was blowing from) was a pretty deep valley. I suspected that it was this topographic feature that was contributing to the wind speed by funneling it up and over the saddle. It certainly wasn’t as strong at the top of Culebra before I left it the first time. After warming up, I continued on to the summit of Culebra again. This time, it was really slow-going. Re-gaining 500 feet of elevation again — no matter how simple it seemed the first time — was going to be a little tough. I talus-hopped up the steep slope and eventually made my way back to Culebra.

Before I plopped down behind the windbreak again, I noticed a solo hiker making his way back to the trailhead. I was going to need to rest for at least ten minutes before heading back. I ate some energy snacks as well as a Detour protein bar. Now that the sun was in a better position, I wanted to take a couple more panoramas.

Near-Panorama taken from my second summit of Culebra Peak

Near-Panorama taken from my second summit of Culebra Peak

I took this panorama looking southwest between the true summit and false summit of Culebra Peak

Various shots of the trail on my way back down to the trailhead

I passed the solo hiker on my way back up from the low point on the ridge. I asked him if he had driven up by himself (I was concerned that he might have to walk all the way down to the ranch office) and he told me that he did, so I continued on my way. I passed the large cairn and decided that I was going to walk back down the ridge route rather than descend the talus. Before I got too far down on the ridge, I decided to take one last panorama of Culebra.

Panorama looking at Culebra Peak from its northwest ridge route

The ridge route was pretty easy to follow down. There was a portion of it that looked like it could have been a road at sometime. It switchbacked down, but seemed to be going too far to the north. I took a turn, then headed straight down into the basin — back to near where I started hiking up the talus.

Panorama looking northwest from the Culebra Peak Trail

It didn’t take me long to locate the trail again as I approached treeline. I stopped in various spots and took photos of the route since my last ones were before sunrise.

Various shots of the trail on my way back down to the trailhead. If you look carefully in the photo on the far right, you can see the small, round blue reflector next to the road. I figured it was there to mark where the trail left the road.

When I arrived back at the road, the hikers who had driven up to the trailhead were still there. One of them offered to give me a ride back down to where I parked, but I politely declined. It was only another mile to walk and in order for me to get the 3,000-foot elevation gain, I had to return under my own power. Two vehicles passed me on the way down. The sun was shining brightly and the temperature rose as I got lower in elevation. I arrived back at my truck at 1:00, packed-up, and drove back down to the ranch office.

GPS stats taken from my hike up Culebra Peak.

The ranch hand explained to us that we needed to stop and sign out. The gate had a key box with a combination that was written down on the sign-out sheet. I drove down to the gate and located the key box. I had to pull the gate open myself, drive out, and lock it behind me before replacing the key. My hike was complete! I still had to endure a long drive home though. As I drove out, I stopped to take one last photo of Culebra and Red Mountain from just outside the ranch. Although the hike was easy and relatively enjoyable, it’s not likely that I’ll hike the two peaks again. Well, I suppose if someone paid the fee for me, it could happen.

Culebra Peak and Red Mountain seen from just outside Cielo Vista Ranch

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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Columbines silhouetted by Capitol Peak (14,130 feet)

GPS and elevation profile of our route up Capitol Peak

Google Earth profile

Capitol Peak was the last 14er in the Elk Mountains that I had yet to climb. Named in 1874 by the Hayden Survey, it was called “Capitol Peak” after the stately US Capitol building in Washington, D.C. (even though it doesn’t actually resemble the building). Prior to 2010, I had only summited two of the Elk’s official and one non-official 14ers — Castle Peak, Snowmass Mountain, and Conundrum Peak, respectively. The Elks are rugged and a few are very remote; I didn’t feel like I had the experience or the nerve to climb most of them — especially Capitol. It is regarded by many experienced mountaineers as having the most difficult standard route of all of Colorado’s 14,000-foot peaks. What makes it intimidating is its infamous Knife Edge: a 150-foot very narrow section of rock with about 1,200 feet of exposure on either side of it. A little over a year ago, a U.S. Paralympic Swim Coach, James “Jimi” Raymond Flowers, died when he slipped on some lingering snow on his way down from Capitol Peak. Capitol is a mountain for neither the faint-of-heart nor the inexperienced.

Brian and I have been planning on Capitol for — well, since last year. When he asked me when I was planning to climb it, I told him that I was aiming for the first weekend in August. Brian and I have been on several hikes and climbs this summer. I wasn’t sure if we were going to have anyone else on the trip, but his brother, Brad, decided to join us as well. We made plans to meet at their sister’s house in Carbondale, stay overnight there, then hit the trail the next morning. After work on Thursday, I made the long four-hour drive to Carbondale. Brian and Brad arrived about forty-five minutes later and we enjoyed a few drinks before turning-in for the night. The next morning, we ate at Red Rock Diner and then drove to the trailhead. We hit the trail right after 8:30.

There are actually two trails that one can take from the trailhead: The old standard trail or the “ditch” trail. Over the years, the ditch trail has pretty much replaced the old trail as the standard route because the elevation gain and loss along the way is less pronounced. Having hiked to Capitol Lake last fall, I already knew the ditch trail. We planned to camp at the lake, head up early on Saturday to hopefully summit, and hike out the same day. There was one unpredictable variable in our equation, though — the weather. Over the past few weeks, Colorado has experienced a much wetter Monsoon season than in previous years. Because of this, though, the mountains are lush and green. All of the rain can cause soils to become loose and cause rock slides, however. The weather forecast was not favorable for us; there was a 60% chance of thunderstorms on Friday, a 70% chance of thunderstorms on Saturday, and an 80% chance on Sunday. Typically, these storms roll-through in the afternoon, but if enough evaporation occurs early in the day from saturated ground, storms can pop-up much earlier.

The backpack in was a lot easier than I expected. After my Navajo Lake debacle with the nearly seventy-pound backpack, I hoped to keep it a little lighter this time. I had a lot less extra clothes, no mountaineering boots, no crampons, no ice axe, and a little less food. It was only about fifty pounds this time around! At any rate, we made good time along the ditch trail. It was about six-and-a-half miles to the campgrounds at the lake. I wanted to get up there early for two reasons: 1) To beat the weather; and 2) To have a better selection of campsites. Since there were only two other vehicles at the trailhead, it looked like were going to luck-out on #2. Hopefully, the weather would hold out as well.

Panorama of the ditch trail as we started our descent toward Capitol Creek

After crossing Capitol Creek, the ditch trail intersected with the main Capitol Creek trail, turned right, and meandered through the forest. We passed the intersection with the West Snowmass Trail which is accessible from the Snowmass Lake Trailhead. Some people choose to hike in to Capitol Lake via the West Snowmass Trail; I heard that it isn’t much longer than from the Capitol Creek trailhead. We entered a clearing that gave us a great view of Capitol above some trees before entering the tree canopy again. Right as we did, I noticed something a little peculiar to the left of a trail. I wasn’t sure if it was some branches or something, but it ended up being a dead, decaying cow. It looked like it had been dead for a week or two or more. We quickly moved past it and into the forest. The trail under the canopy was extremely muddy in areas due to all of the recent rain. We came to a cattle gate, moved through it, and continued on.

After crossing Capitol Creek a couple more times, we finally came to the camping spots near Capitol Lake. It was just after noon and clouds had been increasing the entire time. We quickly set-up our tents and settled into camp for a couple of hours. I guess it was around 2:00 when we decided to take a stroll over to Capitol Lake which wasn’t that far away. When we reached the lake, however, the sky opened up on us and we were forced to run back to our tents for shelter. The wind blew strongly and it appeared that we were going to be in for quite a ride. I climbed into my sleeping bag to keep warm and began to doze off. About twenty minutes later, the temperature in my tent began to rise. The sun was coming back out and there were patches of blue sky all around. It appeared that the storm had moved over without a deluge — something we were all thankful for! Brian, Brad, and I climbed out of our tents and decided to walk over to the lake again.

Together, the three of us reached the lake and meandered along the shoreline. With the clearing sky, it was absolutely beautiful. I looked to the west; at the top of a trail was a saddle which sat just below the 5.7 Class North Buttress of Capitol. The last time I hiked up to Capitol Lake, I regretted not hiking to the saddle. I really wanted to see what was to the west of it. With Brian in his Crocs, we hiked the trail. Along the way, we passed a lady who was fly fishing in the lake. We don’t think she spoke English as she did nothing more than nod or shake her head in response to the questions we asked about her luck with fishing. We smiled and moved on.

Panorama of Capitol Peak from Capitol Lake’s north shore

Brian, Brad, and I were in no hurry. We strolled along the easy trail and stopped many time to “smell the roses”, so to speak. The photo at the very beginning of this entry was taken during one of these stops and the wildflowers were (to borrow a term from a popular ABC reality show) “amazing”. When we reached the saddle, the expansive views to the west were incredible. Some clouds were beginning to move back in, but it was beautiful, nonetheless. Below us was a basin with a trail which eventually led down to Avalanche Lake. Above us to the left was Capitol’s North Buttress. Its presence was intimidating. I walked beneath it and looked upward. Maybe someday when I’ve had some technical climbing experience, I’ll return here and climb it, but I don’t think anyone could convince me to try it at my level of experience right now. The time was right around 3:00 or so. We stayed for a few minutes more before heading back down the trail.

Looking east at Mt. Daly over Capitol Lake

Panorama looking west into Avalanche Basin

On our way back down the trail, I stopped by the lake to fill up the Katadyn Base Camp bag that I had been carrying the entire time. Once filled, I continued to follow the trail, but was called back to the lake by Brian. Inspired by another 14ers.com member, he wanted to jump in and asked if I would take some photos (!). He stripped down to his boxers, then took those off, too. Tossing them onto a boulder he was standing on, the boxers made their way into the lake. Brian jumped into the 40°-45° water and quickly swam around to retrieve his drawers (which were sinking into the lake by then). He asked me if I had gotten Capitol in the background, but because I had zoomed-in, I did not. I told him that if he did it again I would be able to, so he climbed back onto the boulder and jumped in again! By this time, he was really cold. Fortunately, the sun was shining brightly and was warm. Brad was eventually coaxed into jumping into the lake as well (I was not convinced ), but only one time. Once Brad was dressed, we headed back to camp (due to the nature of the photos of Brian and Brad jumping into the lake, they will not appear in this post).

Back at camp, we lazed around and basked in the warm afternoon sun for a couple more hours. Brian and Brad read books while I simply listened to the sounds of nature surrounding us. I also ate almost the entire time. It’s not often that I get to eat like that simply because I have nothing else to do (plus, I needed the calories and carbs for the climb the next morning). The sun eventually began to set and the temperature dropped quickly. We ate dinner and talked some more before I decided to turn-in. It must’ve been about 7:00 or so. I’m not sure how much later Brian and Brad turned in, but it couldn’t have been that much. I do know that a few hours after that, I was awakened by some late arrivals to the camping area. They proceeded to talk out loud without regard to who might already be there. Frustrated, I unzipped my tent and yelled, “Excuse me! Can you keep the chatter down, please?” They quieted the talking, which I was thankful for. I went back to sleep with much anticipation for the next morning.

I awoke at 3:00 AM the next morning and peered upward outside my tent. The night sky was clear and hundreds of stars were easily visible. I got dressed, then proceeded to make breakfast. At 3:30, I roused Brian and Brad. After their morning constitutions and a quick breakfast, we were ready to go. A few people who had camped near us were already on the trail; I followed their headlamps as they slowly made their way up to the Capitol Peak/Mt. Daly saddle. We left camp at about 4:23 and headed in the same direction. It was about twenty minutes later than I wanted to start, but everything worked out just fine since we had a delay due to darkness further into the hike. To my amazement, I was able to power up the trail to the saddle without stopping. I think we made it to the Capitol/Daly saddle in about half an hour.

We caught up to the other party along the trail after the saddle as it meandered to the south side of Capitol’s northeast ridge. Along this portion of the hike, we came to a crux of sorts — a gully. Now, normally something like this would be easily dealt with but because the sun had yet to make an appearance (it was quite dark still), the six of us stood around and decided to wait for a little more light. I examined my GPS; it was pointing us straight across the gully. As soon as there was a little bit of light in the eastern horizon, I down climbed and made my way up the loose soil-and-scree-ridden gully to rejoin Brian (who had down climbed a little higher up than I did). Brad followed Brian’s route down. We crossed to the other side of the gully were I discovered cairns. We were back on track!

As the eastern horizon continued to lighten, the cairns become easier to spot and the trail to follow. The photos to the right and to the left were obviously taken on our way back and give an idea of the terrain that we had to traverse. While following the trail, we encountered a snowfield which was probably about half the length of a football field across. The snow was soft at first, but the second half was harder and made me a little nervous. After my glissading incident on our way down from El Diente, I’m a bit more wary of crossing snow when there isn’t a safe run-out below me. We made it just fine, though. Our sights were set on what was still ahead of us: a pretty massive talus field. Beyond the talus was K2 — the 13,664-foot sub-peak of Capitol Peak. It’s topographic prominence is less than 300 feet, so it is not considered a separate peak, but is apparently enjoyable to summit, nonetheless. Following K2 along the route was the crux of the journey — the Knife Edge. The anticipation was getting to me!

Our sights became fixated on a ridge that was directly in front of us. Following the ridge to the left was a subpeak and a higher peak that we assumed was K2 and Capitol. Just below the ridge was some lingering snow and we spotted some steps kicked-in to it. We scrambled up to the steps and discovered that the snow was way too hard to attempt to walk up it safely without proper foot gear. We followed the bottom of the snow until we were able to climb up to the top of the ridge. To our right, we spotted another couple of peaks. I checked my GPS and it was telling me that the next waypoint was over 400 feet behind us. We had become so fixated on the ridge, we didn’t realize that the actual trail curved over to the right further down and headed to the northwest toward K2! Looking in that direction, we saw a solo climber making his way along the route we were supposed to be on. It was easily remedied, though. Once we discovered our mistake, we simply followed the ridge until we spotted cairns again below K2. Below us, I saw a group of three climbers and two groups of two climbers (which could have easily been one group of four), so I knew we were not going the only ones making a bid for the summit that day despite the horrible forecasted weather. I later discovered that the peak we were heading toward was Clark Peak (13,560 feet), named for mountain navigator Harold Clark of Aspen, CO.

Looking back at Capitol and K2 from the Capitol/Clark Peak ridge (left) and up at K2 from along its own ridge (right)

Brian, Brad, and I stayed high on the the ridge up K2. The 14ers.com description of the route leads in a slightly different direction, but does mention that getting to K2′s summit was rewarded with a great view of Capitol. Before we realized it, we were very close to the top as we traversed across the north face of K2. The three of us decided to take a detour to the summit to rest for a few minutes and refuel before taking on the true crux of our climb.

The climb to K2′s summit was easy and I recommend it to anyone who is attempting to summit Capitol. Once there, Brian, Brad, and I removed our packs and began to refuel/rehydrate. Below us, we got our first glimpse of the Knife Edge. Up until then, the Knife Edge was something of a legend for me, a hush-hush place only spoken of in furtive whispers. It was a place that I treated as a celebrity — untouchable, unattainable. I never thought I would ever be that close of it, much less staring right at it in front of me. I shuddered in excitement. The previous years of hiking, climbing, and mountaineering had prepared me for this moment. The weather was good; nothing was going to turn me back.

The climber ahead treated us to a demonstration on how to cross the Knife Edge from the summit of K2

The three of us down climbed K2 and walked across a short notch. To my left was a steep couloir with an extreme drop-off. That was one of the most extreme exposure moments that I had ever experienced, but it further excited me. Climbing up the other side of the notch, it wasn’t long before we were staring down the gun barrel of Capitol Peak’s Knife Edge. Only about 150 feet to the other side, it had turned-around many a climber who was sketched by the 1,200 feet of exposure on either side of it. Most people are forced into straddling the Edge and scooting across it. That was what I intended to do as I had no concerns about how silly it looked. My pride was going to be left on this side of it.

Capitol Peak’s infamous Knife Edge

Brian was leading the group at first; I felt a twinge of nervousness from him, so I offered to go first. With a “gulp” and a deep breath, I started across. The rock was solid, but there was no way I was going to be able to walk across it. The Edge was a lot narrower than I anticipated it to be; the crossing — a bit scarier. I had hoped that Brian and Brad would stay on the other side until I finished my crossing, but heard them right behind me. About half-way across, I stopped to take a photo of them. I was immediately ordered to keep going. I think we ended up straddling the Edge the entire way save a few areas on the south side of it where there were cracks in the rock to stand upon. The sense of accomplishment I felt upon safely reaching the other side was like no other. My companions and I shouted at the top of our lungs in excitement. Our journey was far from over, though.

Getting to the base of Capitol Peaks summit pitch was no walk in the park. We had to follow the ridge after the Knife Edge over some pretty sketchy terrain. I didn’t feel as exposed on any of it as I did on the Knife Edge, though.

We eventually down climbed into another short notch and climbed up to the base of the final summit pitch. From here, the route description recommended we stay away from the ridge proper and look for cairns on the south side of it. The route-finding and climbing was tough at times; on several occasions, we found ourselves either looking up or looking down at cairns that were twenty feet or more above or below us. I tried to pick out portions of the climb where we could ascend ledges, but they were few and far-between in areas.

Looking back down at the northeast ridge

A look at the climb ahead

There was a point where our only choice was to climb straight up along a rock face. Climbing to the top of the rock face, I realized that we had reached a false summit. Across from me to the west, I saw the solo climber and a familiar object that I had seen on many a trip report in the past — a U.S. flag. There was a short scramble along the ridge involved before we reached my Elk Mountains 14er finisher — the summit of Capitol Peak! It was the pinnacle of my achievements in my quest to summit all of Colorado’s 14,000-foot peaks. Brian, Brad, and I celebrated vociferously and without shame.

Capitol Lake viewed from the summit of Capitol Peak

Snowmass Mountain and the Pierre Lakes to the south

K2 viewed from Capitol’s summit

Mt. Daly and Capitol Lake from the summit

The Pierre Lakes

Brian, Brad, and me on the summit

“Oh, say, can you see…!” I felt very patriotic

Panoramic shot from the summit of Capitol Peak

Even thought the weather was terrific, Brian, Brad, and I only lingered on the summit for about 20 minutes. We conversed with Carl — the solo climber — who was nice enough to take a photo of us together before he started back down. We ate some snacks and rehydrated before packing up and starting the second half of our journey. People often forget that reaching a summit is only the half-way point of any successful summit bid, but it was foremost in my mind. We needed to traverse the Knife Edge one more time.

We took extreme caution when down climbing from the summit. Guided by cairns, it didn’t seem like long before we approaching the narrow section of the ridge prior to reaching the Knife Edge again. I looked ahead; there were climbers making their way across the crux of the route. I noticed something else — they were roped together. I had hoped to avoid having to wait for groups of people to cross the Edge, but it appeared that we might be in for a short wait, at least.

Maroon Bells, Pyramid Peak, and Castle Peak viewed from Capitol’s northeast ridge

By the time the three of us reached the Knife Edge again, the group that was roped together were just finishing their traverse of it. The guys at the front and the end seemed to be quite a bit younger than the two in the middle. Brian found out that they were from an Aspen mountaineering guide service. When asked how things were going, the guide at the end seemed concerned that their bid for the summit was taking longer than anticipated. There were already signs of weather building in the clouds. I hoped that they would be able to successfully summit and return safely.

Looking across the Knife Edge toward K2

I want to thank Brian for these awesome photos of me traversing the Knife Edge on our way back towards K2. I felt a bit more comfortable on our return and actually walked over portions of it, but it was mostly straddled again.

When I safely reached the other side, it was my turn to return the favor. When I turned around and prepared to take some photos, tragedy struck! I watched Brian ahead of Brad and saw something fall to his right. For a moment, I thought it was a rock, but Brian was visibly upset. He and Brad continued to look down to their right; a string of obscenities spewed forth from Brian’s mouth like molten lava from the maw of Kilauea. At first, I thought it may have been his digital camera. Upon calling out to them, I was informed that it was Brian’s Garmin 60CSx. He had forgotten to zip-up the pocket on his pants. When straddling the Knife Edge, it pushed upward and fell to its demise. Brad said he saw pieces of it break off while it tumbled probably over 500 feet down. Brian lamented.

When Brian and Brad were safely across, we took a few moments to remember the GPS. Brian hadn’t known it long, but it was going to be missed, nevertheless. My own 60CSx unit lost a brother that day; I swear I heard the faint sound of “Taps” echoing throughout the Elk Mountains. We will never forget. :’(

Instead of re-summiting K2, we decided to traverse the north side of it. This was probably not the best idea. The rock was not as stable as it was on top of the ridge and there were areas of loose soil to contend with. We all made it back to the lower portion of the ridge just fine, though. Clouds with dark bottoms were building. The quicker we could get off of the mountain, the better. We only rested a few minutes before heading back to camp.

On our way down from K2, we encountered a couple of climbers who were attempting Capitol as a day trip. We stopped and talked to them for a few minutes; Brian gave the climbers the route description print-out since we were no longer in need of it. They thanked us and continued on. We, in the meantime, made short work of our return trip. It didn’t seem like long at all before we were back at the gully that gave us so much trouble earlier that morning. In the daylight, it was not much of a challenge. Brian and I walked directly across it and ascended some easy ledges. Brad, in the meantime, descended down into the gully and crossed — eventually finding a faint trail that switchbacked steeply back up to the main trail. Together, we walked back to the Capitol/Daly saddle. Only an easy descent to camp remained. I think the gravity of what I had accomplished hit me then. I had safely summited Capitol Peak. Damn, that was fun!

A final look back at Capitol Peak from the Capitol/Daly saddle

Brian, Brad, and I had a noticeable spring in our steps as we descended off of the saddle and headed back into camp right after 12:00 PM. Even though I was coming off of a high, I could tell that I needed to rest for a bit. Our plan was to pack-up and return to the trailhead the same day, but I needed to recharge for a bit. We walked back into camp, ate a small meal and snacks, and rested for probably about half an hour before our packing was placed into high-gear. Clouds were becoming more numerous and our campground had even more visitors. As I was finishing, Brian called my attention to the Knife Edge. Three silhouettes appeared to be straddling it — the group that was roped together. It was nearly 1:00 and weather was threatening. We hoped that they could make it down before it started raining. Walking across rain-slick talus was something I would want to avoid at all costs, personally. I later learned from someone formerly associated with the guides that they did not reach the Capitol/Daly saddle until 4:30.

The guides and their roped climbers crossing back over the Knife Edge as seen from our campsite

I felt a few raindrops as my companions and I left camp. It wasn’t until we were past the cattle gate that it really started raining. We sought shelter underneath some trees along the trail past the widest crossing of Capitol Creek. There was no lightning or thunder, so we felt relatively safe doing so. Once the rain slowed, we resumed our trek to the trailhead. The rain continued, albeit lightly, but it was enough to turn the trail to mud and make it very slick in areas. Beyond that, the clouds and rain made for a cool (temperature-wise) return. We didn’t have the pleasure of encountering cows (other than the dead one) along the trail. Many before us have complained about how much of a nuisance they can be. Tired and ready for rest, food, and libations, we reached my truck around 4:00. Our journey was complete!

Capitol Peak was more than an adventure for me — it was a culmination of years of preparation both physically and mentally. Of Colorado’s 58 official and unofficial 14ers — I am at 52. My quest or dream or whatever to summit all of them is nearly complete. For someone who was a fat kid as a child, didn’t participate in a single sport in high school, and was 60 lbs heavier in April 2009 than he is now, it is something that I can take pride in.

GPS stats taken from our hike and climb of Capitol Peak. The numbers don’t reflect our 3-mile round trip to the saddle below Capitol’s North Buttress. Our total mileage would be around 20.48.

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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Pyramid Peak (14,018 feet) in the Elk Mountains of Colorado near Aspen

GPS and elevation profile of our route up Pyramid Peak

Google Earth profile

I have a quest this summer: I want to finish the 14ers of the Elk Mountains. I would also like to finish all of the official and unofficial 14ers in the state of Colorado. With my successful summit of Pyramid Peak (14,018 feet), I have seven left. I could easily knock out four of them, but that would involve taking three to four days to backpack into Chicago Basin in the San Juans. I simply do not know if I have that kind of time to take off of work right now, unfortunately. I’m in no hurry, though. The mountains are going to be there a lot longer than I will!

I made plans to climb Pyramid Peak with my buddy Brian at first, but Jerry also wanted to climb as well. Both have proved themselves to be solid partners and I enjoy their company. I figured that if they can put up with me, they would certainly get along with each other! I left work on Friday and immediately headed to Aspen, CO. Jerry, Dzuy, and I were here only two weeks prior when we traversed the Maroon Bells. That was quite an adventure! Pyramid Peak is considered by many to be an easier climb than Maroon Peak. The route is shorter, the rock more solid, and the climbing more enjoyable. Back in June when I was initially considering summiting Maroon Peak as a single summit, I received a number of messages from people on 14ers.com stating that I should consider doing North Maroon or Pyramid, first. Both North Maroon and Pyramid have Class 4 sections and are technically a class above anything that I’ve climbed this year (with the exception of Little Bear Peak and portions of the Bells traverse). I can honestly say that after having traversed the Bells, I have a greater appreciation for the level of difficulty that I experienced on Pyramid. When I rolled through Aspen, I received a text message from Jerry saying that Dzuy decided to join us as well. It was going to be a great trip!

The night was uneventful, but we were more than a little concerned about the weather. The forecast was calling for a 50% chance of thunderstorms, but mainly after noon. I woke up around 2:15, ate breakfast, and roused Jerry and Dzuy. Brian was staying at his sister’s house in Carbondale and would join us at the trailhead around 3:00. It wasn’t until about 3:05 that he pulled-up as he had stopped to make a donation at the gate for the Maroon Bells. We were on the trail right about 3:20 or so.

Having hiked this trail only a couple weeks ago, I was determined to not take a wrong turn. We found the turn-off for Crater Lake very quickly and proceeded in that direction. A number of people had mentioned that the turn-off for the trail up to Pyramid Peak was difficult to spot — especially in the dark. I set my GPS to alert me when we were within twenty feet or so of it. About a half-mile before reaching Crater Lake, the proximity alarm went off. We spotted the large cairn and the trail from there. The new trail headed in a southern direction from the main trail to the left and almost immediately started switchbacking up the mountainside. About half-way up, something interesting happened to me: I started having difficulty breathing. I have asthma, but it hasn’t affected me in years — not even throughout last winter. I still carry my rescue inhaler with me on all trips, though. I took a puff of it and the wheezing subsided after a minute or two of rest. Odd, but I’m glad I do carry the inhaler.

It was still dark by the time we reached treeline. Beneath the moon, we could make out the shape of Pyramid Peak. Some high clouds were still present in the area, but they looked like they might burn-off with the morning sun. We walked across a pretty long patch of snow (which could have been avoided completely to our right) as we made our way up into the Amphitheater below Pyramid. We had some fun yelling choice words to listen to the echoing all around us. After a short rest in the amphitheater, we started searching for the gully that would take us up to the northeast ridge. It was then that we got our first glimpse of daylight on Pyramid Peak. I stopped to take a photo before continuing on.

After locating the gully, we immediately began to make the ascent up to the northeast ridge. The gully was full of loose rocks and soil that was slightly muddy from the recent rains; we chose to climb the more-solid rock to the right of the gully because of it. Once we reached a certain point, though, there was no avoiding it. The higher we got, the lighter the sky became. Pyramid Peak was soon bathed in morning sunlight, but we were stuck in the shade of an adjacent mountain. The temperature didn’t matter much, though; the morning had been extremely warm and all of us were basically down to our base layers. It was nice not having to stop a couple of times to peel off layers and pack them up.

Pyramid Peak seen from near the top of the gully up to its northeast ridge

The Maroon Bells, Snowmass Mountain, and Capitol Peak to the north of Pyramid Peak

Our trek up the gully continued, but we were nearing the top quickly. At one point, I pulled on a rock and it fell away below me. I could already tell that getting down was going to be treacherous. Hopefully, there wouldn’t be anyone underneath us on the way down, but it was too early to tell how many climbers there were going to be on the mountain that day. I figured that the weather forecast would chase-off a lot of people. After all — who climbs when there is a 50% chance of thunderstorms? There were only thin, wispy high clouds up until then, fortunately. Had the clouds thickened and the ceiling dropped, I think the top of of the gully would have been the turnaround point. We didn’t feel threatened all by the weather, though. When we reached the top of the gully, we found ourselves emerging into sunlight. We took a few minutes to rest and take some photos.

Panorama looking north from Pyramid Peak’s northeast ridge. Pyramid Peak is on the left

From the saddle, the trail continued over to the right (north) of the ridge. This was the first of our day’s scrambling. We weren’t on that side of the ridge for very long before it crossed back over the ridge again and began to climb on the south side of the ridge. Ahead of us, we saw the “green wall” — a portion of the route which contains the most technical climbing pitches — named because the greenish tinge of the rock. Before we get to it, there were a couple of other obstacles. While climbing across some ledges, we came to a small gap in the trail. It wasn’t a very large gap and was avoidable by keeping close to the wall to our right, we thought it would be a lot more fun to jump across it. Across the gap, we saw the narrow ledge that others have described as being pretty sketchy because of the exposure beneath it. We all needed to get across the gap, first. I jumped first, then Dzuy, Jerry, and Brian. I wanted to be on the other side so I could catch each of them jumping across. We were still early in the climb and we were already having a great deal of fun! After the gap jump, we all shimmied across the narrow ledge and continued on.

Brian on the ledges after the gap jump

The trail continued along a ledge close to the wall. It eventually curved around into a depression, then rounded and turned back to the right. The entire route was magnificently cairned. After rounding a small buttress, the green wall came into view again as well as the summit. Our next goal was to scramble across more ledges (Pyramid is really ledge-y!) to the green wall and then climb up it or adjacent to it on the right. When we reached the green wall, cairns drew my attention up and to the right. Some fun climbing was to be had! Brian followed me up my route while Dzuy chose the more-direct route up the wall. Jerry followed Dzuy up the wall and we all eventually came together before continuing our journey to the summit.

The higher we scrambled, the more dramatic the exposure below seemed to become. While the scrambling was challenging, it continued to be a lot of fun. At no point during the climb did I ever feel nervous about falling or frightened of the exposure. I just concentrated on where I placed my hands and feet and didn’t let myself be distracted too much by the potential for danger. I think that dwelling on such things was what prevented me from doing this climb for so long. The aspect of “psyching” one’s self out can either be a strong motivator or a strong de-motivator. A few years ago, Class 4 seemed untouchable to me; now, however, I find myself looking forward to climbs like this. It helps that I have surrounded myself with friends who share my passion for the mountains as well.

I began to have so much fun on the climb that I lost track of time. When Jerry asked for a time check, I looked at my watch and realized that it was just after 7:00 AM. Our early start and terrific weather truly allowed us to enjoy our time together on the mountain. We laughed and joked while poking fun at each other. The summer of 2010 has been filled with these kinds of memories for me. We were nearing the summit and the half-way point of our climb (we still had to get back down safely!).

After a lot of scrambling, the summit was finally within our grasp. Our climbing led us to a point just to the east of the summit. Once on the homestretch, it was a simple walk-over. Brian, Dzuy, and I started on the homestretch together. Feeling energized, I ran over to the summit and was joined by the other two shortly afterward. Jerry hung back for a little bit so he could get a picture of us together. Pyramid was special for him as it signified the last 14er of the Elk Mountains for him. Congrats, man!

Jerry’s run toward and arrival on the summit of Pyramid Peak

It was 7:30 and the weather was holding. We had a lot of time to sit around and goof off as we had the summit completely to ourselves. The Maroon Bells looked incredible to the north.

The Maroon Bells from the summit of Pyramid Peak

I’m not sure exactly where Jerry took these photos, but I believe it was somewhere near the summit

Brian and Dzuy having some fun on the summit

Dzuy and his yoga stuff!

Jerry’s self-photo

Group shot on the summit

Panoramic shot from the summit of Pyramid Peak

Another panoramic shot

Brian, Jerry, Dzuy, and I spent an entire hour on the summit. The weather was perfect; not even a breeze was blowing. The wind started picking up as the air temperature rose, but it wasn’t unbearable. Right before 8:30, I spotted a few climbers making their way toward us. We felt that it was time for us to vacate the premises and let them have a turn at the summit alone. We packed-up our gear and began the descent.

I have to admit that I am often times more nervous about a descent that I am about an ascent. Most accidents happen on the way down. I know I’ve had my fair share of wipe-outs over the years on my way back down. I tend to sweat just as much going down as I do going up, but more because of nerves rather than physical stress. A slip and fall off of Pyramid in some places would result in grave injuries — possibly fatal. Everything seemed to be going smoothly, though, and we greeted at least eight people in separate groups on their way to the summit. We wished them safe travels before parting ways.

Jerry descending Pyramid’s northeast ridge

The northeast ridge of Pyramid proved to be an exciting way for us to spend a great Saturday, but the fun wasn’t over yet. We crossed over the narrow ledge and jumped back over the gap on our way down to the saddle at the top of the gully. It was important that we descend the gully safely as we did not know if there were any more climbers heading up from below. A lot of the trail below the saddle was unfamiliar to us due to the fact that we started up in the dark. We ended up following social trails on the right side of the gully going down. I recognized some of the rocks that we scrambled over across the other side of the gully from us to avoid the loose soil and scree. We eventually made it safely down into the amphitheater before stopping for a rest. While we did, we heard a large rock fall to the west of us and watched it roll down a long slope of talus. I didn’t think that anyone would attempt to summit that way, but it was possible that the rockfall was human-caused.

We walked across the amphitheater and encountered a couple hiking with a Shih-tzu or some kind of small dog. They asked for directions to the summit and we tried to provide them some guidance. I mentioned to them that they were probably going to have to carry the dog up quite a few pitches. The woman replied that they were considering leaving it in the amphitheater and summiting. Surprised, I informed them, “There are cougars around here, you know.” I don’t know how far they ended up going, but I hope that they had sense-enough to not attempt a summit with a dog like that. Once we moved past them, we descended below the amphitheater and walked down some low-angle snow. It got to be a little too slick for Dzuy and me, so we ended up abandoning it and descended the talus adjacent to it while Jerry and Brian (the skier and snowboarder) enjoyed several standing glissades. I ended up wiping-out on the rocks a couple of times, but fortunately I did not injure myself too badly.

Once off of the talus, we located the trail near treeline and made short work of the descent back to the Crater Lake trail. On the way down, we encountered another couple on their way up. They asked for directions on how to summit and we once again started to provide some insight. I asked Jerry to dig the route description that I had printed off of 14ers.com and give it to them. We were nearly done with our trip, so I figured I could part ways with it. We wished them good luck and hiked down to the Crater Lake trail intersection. The trail was extremely busy and we encountered several dozen people. We made it back to the trailhead right after 12:00 PM. With that, my quest to complete the Elk Mountain 14ers was one step closer to fruition. Capitol Peak — here I come!

Dzuy needed to head back to Denver, but Jerry, Brian, and I returned to Aspen. At the end of July, I stay one night at the Annabelle Inn to commemorate what I call my annual “Stuck in Aspen” trip. Back in 2005 (before I started hiking and getting in-shape), I had to abandon my truck near Taylor Pass when I took a wrong turn. I ended up staying in Aspen for two nights at the Annabelle. Charley, the innkeeper, was extremely accommodating and friendly, so I return there every year as a reminder of who I used to be before hiking changed my life. Brian stayed long enough to have dinner and a few drinks with us; Jerry was going to be staying in town with me. It ended up being a great night of laughter and libations as we spent several hour walking all over town (not to mention having the Elevation Bar & Grille’s famous wasabi caesar salad!). I’m definitely looking forward to next year’s trip!

GPS statistics taken from our summit of Pyramid 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.

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If something should ever happen to me while I’m climbing, this is how I want everyone to remember me:

I give you this one thought to keep –
I am with you still – I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning’s hush,
I am the swift, uplifting rush
of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.

Do not think of me as gone –
I am with you still – in each new dawn.

The Maroon Bells near Aspen, CO

Route profile based on data taken from my GPS

Google Earth profile of our route

Almost anyone who has lived in Colorado for any period of time knows of the Maroon Bells. The twin mountains — Maroon Peak (14,156 ft.) and North Maroon Peak (14,014 ft.) — are named as such because of the red-colored rock that is abundant in this area of the Elk Mountains and their distinctive bell shapes. I’ve visited the Bells several times throughout the years, but due to their reputation (they are often referred to as the “Deadly Bells”) I have avoided climbing them because up until now, I didn’t believe that I possessed the knowledge, skills, or the physical stamina to climb them. Like many, I have gradually improved upon myself over the years. This year, I became determined to cross some of the more-difficult 14ers (basically, the ones I have left) off of my peak list. The Maroon Bells were among these.

Like I have many times already this Spring/Summer, I made plans with my climbing buddy, Jerry. The traverse between the Bells is known in the climbing community as one of the “Four Great Colorado 14er Traverses” — something that I was virtually unaware of a couple of years ago. Along with the Mt. Wilson/El Diente traverse (I didn’t get to do this one due to weather), the Crestone Peak/Needle traverse, and the Little Bear/Blanca traverse, the Bells traverse offers climbers long, challenging, and physically-demanding routes between two 14,000-foot peaks. I have come to trust him and he has proved himself to be solid as far as showing up for our climbs. He and another friend of his, Dzuy (pronounced “zooey”), were going to meet me at the Maroon Lake Trailhead. I planned to leave directly after work, have dinner in Aspen, and sleep in the back of my truck.

With traffic, the drive from Colorado Springs ended up being about four hours. After eating my favorite menu item at Elevation Bar and Grille (their wasabi caesar salad is great!) and driving to the trailhead, I stretched out my sleeping bag and hit the sack around 9:30. My last communication with Jerry stated that they expected to be there after 11:00. It was going to be a short night of sleep. I set my phone’s alarm for 2:00 AM.

I heard Jerry and Dzuy pull up next to me in the parking lot sometime during the night, but didn’t bother to check the time. All I knew was that I needed to get in a few hours of sleep. When the alarm went off, it felt like I hadn’t gotten any, though. I got dressed, made some breakfast, and readied my gear. Around 2:30, I gently tried to rouse Jerry and Dzuy. They eventually woke up and readied their gear. After a short conversation and introduction, we were on the trail at 3:00 AM.

I hiked up to Crater Lake and a little bit further back in the Fall of 2008. I figured it would be simple enough to get the three of us up there, but I ended up taking a wrong turn and led us along the upper scenic loop of the trail around Maroon Lake. Once I realized that we weren’t on the correct trail, we quickly backtracked to a sign near a bridge over the creek. We eventually found the correct trail for Crater Lake. I cursed myself for making a stupid mistake. About half-way to the lake, I was getting pretty warm. I stopped to take off my fleece. The weather was supposed to be superb that day; the night had already been really warm. It’s very unusual to have consecutive rain-free days in the Elk Mountains, but I hoped it would hold out for us. We reached Crater Lake in the dark and continued on the trail — eventually coming to a tree with a bent trunk. According to the route description, the turn-off for the trail for Maroon Peak was about fifty yard west of the tree. We located the turn-off pretty quickly and began the long, steep slog up Maroon Peak’s south ridge.

Immediately after leaving the West Maroon Trail, we angled north and encountered a bit of rock to scramble up. The trail was faint in spots and difficult to locate in the dark. I had downloaded a .gpx file for the route and was able to guide us back to it, though. We hit treeline pretty quickly and as the eastern horizon began to lighten ever-so-slightly, shadows of mountains became apparent all around us. Above us to the north, we saw Maroon Peak’s south ridge. To the south was the silhouette of Pyramid Peak — another 14er that I want to climb this summer. Brian and I are going to be attempting it on 7/31 and I believe that Jerry is also interested as well. It should be a good time.

Dzuy (left) and Jerry (right) on the trail up to Maroon Peak’s South Ridge. Jerry was interested in finding out what the angle of the slope was and was trying out an inclinometer.

While we were stopped, I noticed Dzuy’s footwear — Vibram FiveFingers. I had looked at these many times at REI, but had never seen them being used. I asked him how he liked them and he said that they were great. He told me a story about how he went for a 6-mile run after purchasing them and paid the price as it was a couple of days later before he was able to walk again. Apparently, the manufacturer recommends easing into the shoes gradually. Below us on the trail, we noticed a group of three and another group of two making their way up to the south ridge as well. It wasn’t long before sunlight hit Maroon Peak. After hiking for another hour or so, we neared the ridge and began to encounter loose soil and scree. We stopped to put on our helmets and some sunblock before continuing on. From there, we found some more-solid rock to scramble up rather than continue on in the loose soil and scree. It increased the difficulty a little bit, but it was a lot more enjoyable than taking a half-step backward for every step forward that we were experiencing. Trying to hike on loose stuff is tiring and frustrating! Before long, we found ourselves on a small saddle along Maroon Peak’s South Ridge and we treated to the splendor of the view to the north — Snowmass Mountain and Capitol Peak.

Maroon Peak seen from the saddle along its south ridge

Snowmass Mountain, Capitol Peak, and Maroon Peak

Panorama looking northwest from the saddle along Maroon Peak’s South Ridge. Maroon Peak is on the right in the foreground while Snowmass and Capitol are just to the left of it off in the distance.

While we rested and took-in the view, one of the two groups that were behind us caught up. We exchanged a few brief greetings before continuing on. According to the route description one of our first obstacles was going to be a chimney to scramble up. When Jerry, Dzuy, and I located it, we noticed an interesting-looking dihedral to the left of it. I actually wanted to scramble up the chimney because it was going to be my first, but was pursuaded to attempt the dihedral. It looked to me like it was going to be a bit of a technical pitch which made me a little nervous and excited at the same time. While I have plenty of Class 3 scrambling under my belt, I have very little Class 4 and virtually no Class 5. I knew that portions of the traverse were going to require some Class 5 climbing, but I had to make it to the summit of Maroon Peak, first.

Dzuy went first, then Jerry, then me. Below are some of the photos that Jerry and I took of us.

I had a lot of fun! The rock was a lot more solid than I thought it would be. Jerry and Dzuy decided that the climb up the dihedral was low Class 5 — probably 5.1 or 5.2. If so, the climb was my first Class 5 pitch. I wasn’t expecting to be doing that so early on the route, but it was a welcome addition to what was going to be a challenging route.

From the top of the dihedral, we met-up with the other group (now five) and began traversing in a northerly direction. We went around a bump in the ridge and encountered a gully. The other group decided to climb the gully, but we traversed on and discovered a second one that we wanted to climb. We stayed to the right side of it as the rock was more solid there. When we reached the top of the gully, we found that the other group had pulled ahead of us. It didn’t matter; we weren’t in a race or anything and really wanted to enjoy our time there. We were already having a lot of fun with the scrambling/climbing that we encountered and wanted to prolong the experience as much as possible. There was still another traverse across some ledgy terrain and another gully ascent before reaching the summit AND the big traverse over to North Maroon, so we couldn’t afford to expend too much energy.

Dzuy and me scrambling up a Class 3 section

Once we reached the top of the gully, we were exposed to the sunlight once again. After climbing on cold rocks, the sun felt great on my fingers. We were about to go back into the shadow of the mountain, though, as another tricky traverse across ledgy terrain was in our sights. We continued in a northerly direction, making our way to another gully. We didn’t encounter the other group at all from where we diverged up the separate gullies a little earlier. It seemed that maybe one or two of them were a little more certain about the route than we were. It was cairned pretty well, but finding the cairns was a little more involved than we expected.

Once we were on top of the second gully (I believe that the photo of me on the left is near the top of the second gully), there was still more traversing we needed to do before reaching the final pitch toward the summit ridge. The terrain on Maroon Peak provided some great, albeit sometimes sketchy, ledges to walk across. Seeing this peak from afar so many times in the past made it seem like it was nearly impossible for me to climb. Now that I was so close to the summit, I realized that beyond the long slog up to the ridge, I thoroughly enjoyed it. Jerry and Dzuy seemed to be enjoying the climb as well.

Finally, after a lot of climbing and scrambling, we found ourselves walking atop the summit of Maroon Peak. If one counts the named 14ers that don’t quite qualify as “official” due to the 300-foot topographic prominence rule, it was my 49th. If not, Maroon Peak was my 47th. Either Way, it was a great experience! Maroon Peak ranked up there with Little Bear Peak among those that I never really thought I would be able to summit. Prior to last summer, I never felt that I was physically capable of doing it. The change in my diet, exercising throughout the week, and just a change in attitude has allowed me to push myself further than I ever would have thought when I first started hiking 14ers. I certainly am thankful that I am able to do what I do.

Snowmass and Capitol from the summit of Maroon Peak

Pyramid Peak (14,018 ft.) from the summit of Maroon Peak

Crater and Maroon Lakes from the summit

Jerry’s summit shot

My summit shot

Dzuy in his yoga-esque pose on the summit

Panorama looking to the southwest from the summit of Maroon Peak. Pyramid Peak is on the left.

Panorama looking to the north from the summit. Snowmass and Capitol can be seen off in the distance. North Maroon Peak is on the right.

With the first leg of our journey complete, I looked north to the second and greatest challenge of our climb — the traverse to North Maroon Peak. I have to admit that I was a bit anxious about it; after all, my short climbing resume had not included anything that some felt like they need to be roped up until that point. Jerry had reinforced to me that he felt that I was ready to do some technical pitches based on our previous climbs, but to be honest — I didn’t know if he just told me because he actually believed it or because he wanted to give me a little extra boost of confidence. Either way, I had to take his critique at face-value. Unlike a lot of others that I have met in my life, I tend to under-sell my abilities. I think I’m less capable than I actually am. This has kept me out of trouble a lot of times, but it has also held me back in a few circumstances. I needed to be confident and trust that my partners would look out for me as much as I was willing to look out for them. There was no turning back!

Panorama looking toward North Maroon from the descent off of Maroon Peak

Jerry took the lead in descending off of Maroon Peak. Our first goal was to down climb into the top of the Bell Cord Couloir. Jerry and I had discussed climbing the Bell Cord about a month ago, but there was still significant snow left on Maroon Peak’s standard route and many 14ers.com members were recommending that those who were not familiar with the route not attempt it. I heeded that warning and put it off for a few weeks. After finding myself atop Maroon Peak, I never thought I’d be moving toward the other Bell. It was exciting and frightening to me simultaneously. As I was down climbing, a large rock dislodged and broke away underneath my legs as I was scooting downward. I was able to stop it, but it was heavy and there was nowhere to prop it. Jerry and Dzuy were underneath me, so I quickly called their attention and told them that the rock was going to drop. I had hoped that it was going to just plop down and stop, but I had no such luck. Once the rock fell, it slid past Dzuy and Jerry and fell into the Bell Cord. What happened next was about sixty seconds of a rock slide that made me cringe. I hoped upon all hopes that no one was climbing up the Bell Cord. It was already past 9:00; most couloir climbers would have already summited by then, but I had a nagging feeling. I’m VERY conscientious about being careful not to kick down loose rocks, so this huge mishap had the potentially to be emotionally and psychologically devastating. We hollered, “ROCK!” several times hoping that if someone was below, he would hear us in time to move out of the way. When the rocks stopped sliding, we listened. Nothing. I was very fortunate that no one was below. I breathed a profound sigh of relief.

After the rock debacle, we continued down into the top of the Bell Cord. Jerry was first to drop into the couloir, navigating down a series of ledges. When he was at the bottom, he guided Dzuy down, but told me to look further to my left to see if there was an easier way. I walked back up a little further to avoid kicking rocks down on them. I didn’t get too far before the rocks became more and more sketchy. Below me, I spotted s small dihedral about 30 feet long. The rock on the sides of it was smooth and appeared to have a couple of footholds that might be negotiable. They were spread pretty far apart, though; I didn’t know if I would be able to negotiate something like that. I waited there and contemplated — even going as far as placing a foot down into it. After a couple of minutes, I heard Jerry call over to me. I plucked myself out of the dihedral and walked back over to where Jerry and Dzuy descended. I could barely see what was underneath me and had to rely on them to guide my foot placements. I slowly began to descend and realized that this was the first time during the climb that I was outside of my comfort zone. I felt like I was being overly cautious and tested every single foot placement and handhold. It took me a few minutes, but I started to make progress. Jerry told me to work my way over to the right where there was more solid rock, so I followed his instructions despite not seeing a clear path in that direction. Eventually, I was able to make it down safely. It was only the first obstacle in our traverse, though.

According to the route guide that I had printed out for us, there were three major obstacles between us and the summit of North Maroon. The first, an enormous spire, would require us to traverse from the Bell Cord to the west side of the ridge and climb up a dihedral to a ledge about twenty feet above us. Upon locating the dihedral, I spotted a couple of mountain goats above us. We were not going to attempt to climb up with them potentially kicking rocks down on us, so we waited a few minutes until they moved on. Seeing what was ahead of us, I began to think to myself, “What the hell am I doing here?” Jerry and Dzuy seemed to be confident enough, but a lot of lingering doubt still remained within me. I had to put that doubt out of my mind to continue on.

Once the goats flitted away, Jerry led the charge up the first obstacle. We needed to climb about twenty feet up the dihedral to a narrow ledge, then route-find our way up and across to the north to the top of the first spire. Dzuy went up after him, then me. Once I was on the ledge, I started feeling a bit more confident in my climbing ability. I think it was about that point when I realized that I could actually do this. I thought to myself, “I am a capable climber.” I knew it was one thing to be confident, but that there was a fine line between confidence and arrogance. The moment I become arrogant is the moment when I put not only my life in much more danger, but the lives of anyone who might be with me. I never want to be in a situation where something tragic happens only because I believed that I was incapable of making a mistake.

Once the three of us were on the narrow ledge, Jerry decided to change our climbing order. Since I was obviously the least-experienced climber of the group, he wanted me to be in between him and Dzuy so they could watch me from above and below on the more technical pitches and offer guidance, if needed. I was thankful and appreciative of their watchful eyes. Any opportunity that I can get to learn from others, I most certainly welcome. We were only half-way through the first obstacle, though, and needed to work our way up and over the first spire.

Jerry, Dzuy, and I began to realize that the route was cairned pretty well even though we referred to the route guide several times. We located another dihedral heading another twenty feet or so up to near the top of the first spire. One at a time, we climbed, being careful of the rock that was becoming more and more unstable. Often times what appeared to be a secure handhold proved to be a loose rock upon further testing. The rocks of these mountains are volcanic in nature; they are rotten, crumbly, and fracture/splinter easily. There was more than one occasion where I had to look for more secure handholds for fear of pulling a rock loose on a Class 4 or 5 move. With the amount of exposure beneath us, it would spell certain disaster. It didn’t seem to take long at all before we found ourselves rounding a corner and topping the ridge. We completed the first obstacle. I looked back toward Maroon Peak past the first spire and marveled at our accomplishments thus far.

Looking back at Maroon Peak and the first spire from along the Maroon/North Maroon Traverse

We followed the ridge down until we were met with what seemed to be an impassable cliff. According to the guide, we needed to traverse on the east side of the ridge and locate a dihedral to climb up. The problem was it didn’t seem like there WAS a safe way to traverse on the east side of the ridge. We must’ve searched for a good twenty minutes and did not see a way (not without ropes, at least). Behind us, we noticed a couple more climbers making their way across the first spire. They called out and tried to help us locate a route up. We were told that they thought the path went on the west side of the ridge, but the trail guide said otherwise. Jerry decided to scope out the west side. Sure enough, he found cairns. The cairned route deviated from the guide, but at least it was offering us a continuance on our path to North Maroon. We thought we’d give the cairns a try.

It seemed like we traversed across the route below and west of the ridge for a long time. There were a couple of spots where snow still lingered, but nothing that prevented us from going on. There was a lot of exposure beneath us. I seem to be becoming a bit desensitized to it, though, as it didn’t bother me as much as I expected it to. The more I’m “exposed” to it, the less attention I give it. I find that because most of my concentration is focused on where I’m placing my hands and feet, I don’t have a lot of time to worry about being afraid of it. I’ve always considered myself to be a bit clumsy; one of my signature moves in the past involved me completely wiping out on talus or slipping on loose soil or scree. I’ve discovered that I’m displaying a lot more balance and dexterity as of recent, however.

Jerry, Dzuy, and I discovered a gully heading up toward the top of the ridge that appeared to be climbable, but I saw another cairn below us. Jerry scouted ahead and discovered a second gully that also seemed to be climbable. Because of the placement of the cairn, we decided to climb the second gully. It was a good choice because as Dzuy soon pointed out, the first gully ended up in a narrow crack that would have required us to perform an airy Class 5 ledge move to pull ourselves up. Near the top of the gully, I noticed some movement beneath us — a single climber. I didn’t pay much attention to him because I thought he was one of the two that we had seen back on the first spire, but made note to be careful about kicking rocks loose. When we reached the top of the gully, I looked ahead and realized that we were much closer to North Maroon than I thought we were going to be. Furthermore, once I referred back to the route description, it appeared to me that we had completely bypassed the second obstacle. I recognized another spire ahead of us from the route description. I also spotted a couple of climbers on the summit of North Maroon.

Dzuy led us across to the east side of the ridge. A rock jutted out against what appeared to be a semblance of a trail beneath us. Once investigated, we discovered that it did actually allow us passage pretty easily and we continued on. Dzuy tried to stay low on the ridge, but the rock was slabby and smooth. Jerry took a high climb of it and suggest that I do the same. We met-up with Dzuy a little further along the ridge. It was an easy walk to the final spire and we had a full-view of the final ascent up to North Maroon Peak. All we needed to do to reach that final summit pitch was perform an easy downclimb below the spire and route-find our way up. By the time we finished the short downclimb, another climber had caught up with us. He was not a part of the two-man group that assisted us earlier and was, surprisingly, alone. He seemed a bit nervous and seemed to go with our group, which we didn’t mind.

We worked out way across a narrow portion of the ridge above the low point on the final summit pitch and angled up to the left. We aimed for a dihedral which appeared to top out east of the summit. We were all tired and hungry by then; our energy was nearly expended. I couldn’t wait until we got to the summit so I could dig through my backpack for food and my Nalgene filled with Propel Fitness Water. I definitely needed some B vitamins to help revitalize me. The dihedral was more solid and a lot easier to climb than it looked, which pleased me to no end. I was quickly running out of steam. Upon reaching the top of the dihedral, we turned right and the destination was within our sight. A short distance later, we reached the summit of North Maroon Peak. More importantly, we completed one of the Four Great Colorado 14er Traverses! We enjoyed some much-needed and much-welcomed rest, but still had over four miles to go before the journey was truly complete.

The hikers we had seen from the ridge were still on the summit. The left a few minutes later, but before that, we greeted the other two climbers we had seen on the ridge to the summit.

Maroon Peak viewed from North Maroon

Pyramid Peak viewed from North Maroon’s summit

Looking north to Snowmass and Capitol

A summit shot of us together. Pyramid Peak is behind us.

Panorama from the summit of North Maroon Peak. Maroon Peak is to the right of center.

After spending nearly 25 minutes on the summit and enjoying pleasant conversation, the entire group of people decided to descend together. Before that, though, I took off my mid-weight baselayer and zipped-off my pant legs. As we descended, the temperature was going to rise and I didn’t want that extra insulation. Since none of us had been up North Maroon before, the more eyes we had to route-find, the better we felt. Dzuy led the charge down some ugly-looking rock and loose soil. The route was decently cairned, but not being familiar with the route, we all chose to err on the side of caution. The was one tricky section with a 4th Class drop-off. One of the two climbers we met was able to drop himself into the section, but Dzuy found a way around it. We all helped each other find a hidden step which wasn’t viewable from above and continued on down the ridge.

Jerry and I eventually fell to the back of the group as our feet started to really hurt. When we caught up to the rest of them, we discovered that the two hikers who were on the summit before us were positioned on a buttress-like section of the ridge. All appeared to be at a loss about where to go. When we reached the rest of the group, I looked at the trail on my GPS. It was pointing me down and across a grassy gully to the southwest. Once the direction was known, others spotted a trail on the other side of the gully. Before we continued on, though, I introduced myself to the lone climber who joined us on the tail-end of the traverse. His name was Mike and seemed to be a really cool guy. Some might call him courageous, but some might call him otherwise. North Maroon was his twelfth 14er and he soloed the traverse. That’s quite an accomplishment!

Our lone climber-friend, Mike, on the descent of North Maroon

Once down the gully, the trail became pretty straight-forward and we broke off into our original factions. Mike stayed with us for a little while longer, but eventually moved on ahead. The descent of North Maroon led us northward; I told Jerry and Dzuy that I believed that it intersected with the trail going up Buckskin Pass just east of Crater Lake, but wasn’t 100% sure. The longer we were on the trail, the more and more frustrated we became. It was getting hot and we were tired. When we reached a section of the trail that involved a lot of talus-hopping, I had enough. I was SO over talus. After Little Bear, Ellingwood Ridge, and El Diente, I felt that I had enough of the damn things. Past the talus section, we entered a thicket of brush and crossed over a small stream. We had our sights set on a much larger creek, though. Upon reaching the creek, Jerry and Dzuy enjoyed some quick splashes of water to the face while I took off my baselayer and soaked it in the water before putting it back on. I also enjoyed a much-needed sit and some orange slices candy while they filtered out some creek water for reservoirs and Nalgenes. Sadly, we were only about half-way back to the trailhead.

The next couple of miles seemed like a self-imposed hell. The air temperature continued to rise the lower we got in elevation. We reached the intersection with the Crater Lake Trail and made a beeline back to the parking lot at Maroon Lake. It was 4:30 PM. Jerry and I seem to be making these 10+ hour hikes a habit.

Not too long after we arrived, Mike appeared. He had been camping near Crater Lake, but upon parting ways with us, he went back to his camp, packed up, and returned to the trailhead, too. I invited him to have dinner with us at the Double Dog Pub and he accepted. We all drove to Aspen and planned to meet there. Jerry, Dzuy, and I discovered that it was closed for renovation before Mike walked up. Fortunately, Mike was a bit more familiar with the town since he had done some electrical work there and we located another place to eat. After dinner and a few drinks, we bade each other farewell and parted ways again. I was proud of my accomplishments that day. One traverse down, three more to go!

GPS stats from our traverse of the Maroon Bells

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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El Diente Peak (14,159 feet)

Wilson Peak (14,017 feet)

Track and elevation profile based on data from my GPS

Google Earth profile of our track

The 14ers in the Wilson Group — Mt. Wilson (14,246 feet), El Diente Peak (14,159 feet), and Wilson Peak (14,017 feet) — are part of the San Miguel Mountains in the San Juan Range and the furthest ones from my home in Colorado Springs, CO. Mt. Wilson and Wilson Peak are named for Allen David Wilson, chief topographer of the U.S. Government‘s Hayden Survey of 1873-75. El Diente Peak was named by San Juan mountaineer Dwight Lavender for its appearance from the south (“El Diente” is Spanish for “The Tooth”). It wasn’t long ago that I visted this area of the state. Due to the fact that El Diente only has about 259 feet of clean topographic prominence from its parent peak (Mt. Wilson), it is not considered an “official” 14er, but anyone who has climbed it will tell you that if you summit, you deserve the right to mark it off of a 14er list!

Last October, I sojourned to Navajo Lake, base camp for many when they come to hike these magnificent mountains. During that trip, I made it about 3/4 way up Wilson Peak, but turned around because I got a late start and I was hiking alone that day. The trip not only gave me great photos, but it also gave me some insight on how difficult these remote mountains really are. After writing up a blog entry, my buddy Brian, whom I climbed Snowmass Mountain with a couple of months prior, asked me to let him know when I was returning to the area as he was interested in climbing with me. We kept in contact about it and decided that the weekend after the 4th of July would be a good time. Brian and I have hooked up for a couple of other hikes — Mt. Sherman and Mt. Massive. It was during the Mt. Massive hike that I was able to hike with his brother, Brad, another friend, Greg Moon, and Nick (who also climbed Snowmass Mountain with us). This same group of people would also be joining us for the Wilsons. Brian and I made plans to meet at Navajo Lake and camp there for two nights. Little did I know that events of this trip would lead to what I consider my first near-death experience on any of these mountains that I have loved for all my life.

I started out by signing in at the trail register and almost immediately entered the tree canopy. At 0.8 mile, I crossed a bridge over West Dolores River. The headwaters for this river is high in upper Navajo Basin just below Mt. Wilson and feeds into Navajo Lake. The trail switchbacked and quickly climbed from out of underneath the canopy — entering a lush, green meadow. Even though the trail was completely dry, the weather forecast for the next few days called for 50% chance of rain each day — something that Brian and I were concerned about. The San Juan Range is known for being the wettest mountains in the state. They receive by far the most amount of rain and snowfall annually. In fact, because of this, I encouraged Brian to make sure that everyone had ice axes and crampons. This knowledge and information provided to me by other members of 14ers.com, suggested that we would, at some point, be ascending or descending hard snow. On my way in, I saw a sign on Hwy 145 stating that the fire danger was “Low” and laughed in spite of myself. Back on the eastern slope, everything is “High” bordering on “Extreme”.

The trail meandered through the meadow past some waterfalls, through a stand of trees, then turned northeast through another meadow. From there, El Diente Peak was clearly visible and one can see why it was named as it resembles a molar. While hiking through the meadow, my mind wandered and I reminisced about my last trip through here. I knew that I would soon reach an intersection with the Kilpacker Basin Trail. There is non-standard route up El Diente from Kilpacker Basin that is said to be a little safer than the route that we were taking (North Slope) when there is no snow in the couloir. When absent of snow, couloirs are usually filled with loose soil and rocks — making them treacherous to climb. I hoped that this early in the summer, we would still encounter superb snow climbing. Mixed-condition climbing requires more gear, though, which was why my backpack weighed about 10-15 lbs more than in normally would. Because the crampons I have use a hybrid binding system, they require the use of mountaineering boots (mine weigh about 8 lbs together).

When I reached the intersection with the Kilpacker Basin Trail, I found a log that I sat and rested on. I checked my GPS; I was about 2.25 miles into the hike or approximately half-way there. After removing my fleece and hydrating, I strapped my heavy pack back on and headed into the tree canopy again. Because I was carrying the bulk of the weight of the pack on my hips, it felt like I had been doing lunges for hours. When I was close to exiting a second stand of trees, I encountered some climbers on their way out. They had camped at the lake for a couple of days and climbed Wilson Peak. They also informed me that crampons were probably needed for Mt. Wilson which echoed what I learned before on 14ers.com. A little further up, I ran into a couple more people in the same group and asked them if snow gear was needed for Wilson Peak. They said that no special gear other than a helmet was needed. I thanked them and headed toward the most difficult portion of the approach to Navajo Lake. I was approaching the third hour of my hike and already threatening clouds were moving in from the east. When I heard a clap of thunder, I looked at my watch. It was 10:55. Afternoon thunderstorms are fine because most climbers usually aim to be off of a summit before noon, but if storms were going to be moving in earlier than that, it would shorten our time window for safely summiting without inclement weather.

At the top of the headwall the trail intersects with another one that goes to Woods Lake about 4 miles away. Last October, I ran into another hiker on his way down from Wilson Peak (he also did not summit). He told me that he was camped out along this other trail. It is accessed off of Hwy 145 north of Telluride. From this intersection, the trail descended into the basin containing Navajo Lake. Increasing frequency of thunderclaps and intermittent raindrops hastened my pace to the campsites near the lake. I spotted a single tent on the right side of it adjacent to the creek. I needed a campsite that could accommodate 4-5 tents. Nearing the lake, I found a social trail leading up to nice camping area. Though not under any trees, it appeared large enough for our group, so took off my pack and was able to quickly set up my tent in less than fifteen minutes — a feat considering I hadn’t used it since August! I found a tree to hang my food sack on and quickly secured that as well. No sooner than I did, graupel began to fall. I ran back to the tent, threw my packs and shoes underneath the vestibules of the rainfly, and climbed into my sleeping bag.

I spent the next 3+ hours listening to frequent thunderclaps accompanied by the sounds of rain and hail pelting my tent. During a few moments of lessened precipitation, I poked my head out and looked east toward Gladstone Peak to see if there was any sign of it clearing up, but to no avail. Around 4:00, there was a hint of sunlight to the west and I rejoiced! I exited my tent and wondered if Brian and the rest of the guys got caught in the storm of if they decided to hike in at all. Brian has been a solid hiking/climbing partner for me, so I didn’t think he would. Since one can see portions of the trail from the intersection with the Woods Lake Trail and it was only 3/4 mile from camp, I decided to hike back up there to see if I could spot them. Along the way, I encountered two individuals. I hoped it might be them, but it was not. A couple of hikers were heading in to Navajo Lake, so I greeted them. They were planning on hiking a couple peaks as well. After the encounter, I continued on to the intersection and spent about twenty minutes watching the trail before heading back into camp.

I found the two hikers setting up their campsite and decided to stop and talk with them. They were planning on climbing Wilson Peak on Thursday and then maybe Mt. Wilson on Friday. I asked them if I could join them if my group ended up not showing and they were fine with that. Jay and Bill were their names. We shared some snacks and I helped them set up their tent’s rainfly. About an hour later, I decided to walk back to the trail intersection to see if there was any sign of my companions. Right when I was walking uphill to the intersection, I spotted Brian’s brother, Brad, heading my way! I shouted triumphantly! Brian and Nick followed right behind him and I led them all to the campsite. A while later, Moon strolled up and the group was complete. Everyone set up his tent and we gathered together for conversation and freeze-dried meals. It was going to be a fun couple of days now that my companions arrived. As the sky continued to clear and the sun began to set, I ventured to the lake’s edge for some photo opportunities.

Panorama of Navajo Lake with Gladstone Peak off to the east

We hit the sack right after 8:00. I set the alarm on my phone to go off at 3:00 AM. We aimed for a 4:00 start on the trail.

The five of us followed the trail with the help of headlamps. It climbed quickly above treeline since we were already camped near it. Large portions of the trail is on large talus and not enjoyable to walk on. It took us less than an hour to climb into upper Navajo Basin. Brian spotted the couloir we needed to ascend to El Diente with the help of a route description he printed off of 14ers.com. Moon and I crossed the river near there while Brian, Brad, and Nick walked a little further up the trail before crossing. Moon and I carefully traversed some snow remaining in a gully that was on a slope and met up with the rest of our group on the way up to the snow-filled couloir. We all took off our packs and donned crampons and ice axes. Brian, Brad, and Nick had not done a snow ascent like this before (Moon used to ice climb), so they asked me to lead for awhile. Once my crampons were secure, began our ascent to El Diente.

The snow was relatively soft near the bottom of the couloir, so I was able to kick-in some steps for the rest of the group. After that, I felt frustrated with my progress, so I splayed my feet outward (parallel to each other) and began a rapid ascent. I did this for probably about 10-15 minutes before I noticed that the snow was getting hard. I knew it was going to be tough-going without steps, so I started kicking some more in. The snow was so hard, though, that it was taking me about 10-12 kicks to cut a decent step into it. This sapped my energy quickly and Brian caught up to me in the meantime.

About half-way up, he informed me that his calves were cramping, so he decided to abandon the couloir and angle to the rocks on our right. I wanted to continue on the snow since it was firm and easy to gain purchase on with crampons (I was only able to drive the shaft of my axe in a few inches past the spike). In the brief section exposed to the morning sun, the snow softened a little bit, but once past it the snow became extremely hard again. Having only worn these hybrid crampons with my mountaineering boots only once previously on Atlantic Peak, I was pleased to find that I didn’t have any issues with performance (they didn’t slip off of my boots like the strap-ons did on my ascent of Dead Dog Couloir). When I looked down behind me, I only saw one person below, but couldn’t tell who it was. The other two must have seen Brian abandon the snow and followed him up the rocks.

At about 3/4 way up the couloir, I heard Brian call down to me. He was making rapid progress on the Class 3 rock. I asked him who was behind him, but he wasn’t aware that anyone followed his route. He disappeared for a few minutes, then told me that Brad and Nick were climbing up behind him — which meant Moon was the climber behind me on the snow. Bravo! Up at this elevation, I saw evidence of the previous day’s storm in the form of graupel mixed with snow on top of the hard layer that I had been enjoying climbing up. I continued my rapid ascent method and eventually topped-out on the snow portion of the couloir. I stopped to take my pack off and pack-up my crampons. I looked at what was ahead of me: Climbing on wet, loose rocks and muddy soil. I began to wonder if Brian had the right idea in choosing to climb dry rocks rather than continue up the couloir. No matter, though — it was too late to change my mind, so I had to continue on the path that I had chosen. Before going on, I took a photo looking back down what I had just ascended and felt a twinge of pride.

I met Brian at the top of the couloir. El Diente’s summit mocked us to the west from there. Behind us was a notch that we had to pass through to get to the south side of the peak’s summit ridge. We were unsure of everyone else’s position, so we rested for a bit and occasionally called out to them. After awhile, Brian spotted Brad and Nick to the west and called their attention up to us. Below me, Moon climbed into my field of view, so I zoomed in with my camera and snapped a photo. A few minutes later, Brad and Nick joined us and sat down to rest. When Moon reached the top of the couloir, we greeted him briefly before continuing on. Building clouds were making us nervous; I believed it was at that moment that we decided not to traverse over to Mt. Wilson. It was obvious that we were not going to have enough time to summit El Diente and an extra 3-4 hours to get to Mt. Wilson before thunderstorms moved in.

Nick and Brad with El Diente Peak in the background

Wilson Peak viewed from near the top of El Diente’s North Slope Couloir

The five of us passed through the notch and continued our trek to the summit on the south side of El Diente’s summit ridge. There was a cairned route which involved some tricky downclimbs and lots of Class 3 scrambling. Moon was pretty fatigued after ascending the couloir and made the decision not to summit. We reached a gully near the summit and climbed up and over it back to the north side of the summit ridge. Brad and I chose an incorrect path and begain to climb up directly on the ridge before Brian spotted another downclimb on the north side. We made our way down and traversed over to another short gully. From there, the summit was within our sights! Brian and Brad climbed high, but I spotted some cairns across from were Nick and I were standing, so we crossed the gully there and scrambled up good Class 3 rock to the summit. We made it!

Summit shots: Nick (left), Brad (center), and Terry, Brian, and Brad (right)

Panorama from the summit of El Diente Peak. Mt. Wilson is in the center. I meant this to be a 360° panorama, but I didn’t quite make it (I was a bit nervous standing on the summit block), but it’s still pretty spectacular in its own right.

Brian, Brad, Nick, and I didn’t want to dawdle on the summit even though we had it to ourselves. As evidenced in the above panorama, there was definitely weather moving into the area. If there’s one thing that I hate is trying to downclimb on wet rocks. They are slippery by themselves, but having mud on the bottom of your boots makes them even more so. Plus, water can loosen rocks and cause spontaneous rock slides. It was in our best interest to descend El Diente quickly. We met Moon at the bottom of the gully which brought us back to the south side of the summit ridge and began traversing back to the notch. About half-way back, we heard our first thunderclaps. This caused me great concern and I wanted to be off of the mountain right then. On our way to the summit, we discussed possibly bailing-out into Kilpacker Basin and following that trail back to camp, but none of us was sure of the route. We decided that we would downclimb the rocks that Brian climbed up. In the event of a severe electrical storm, I thought that a glissade would be another possible option for a rapid descent. None of my companions were comfortable with that option, however.

We hadn’t even reached the notch when graupel began to fall — not a lot, but enough to cause me concern. Water on rocks was one thing, but soft, frozen hail pellets were another. We reached the notch and Brian led us down the Class 3 rock that contained an occasional Class 4 move or two. Brad broke away from the group and chose to descend less-stable soil and scree. He managed to beat the rest of us down by a lot. Moon fell behind Brian, Nick, and me as we downclimbed as quickly and safely as possible. When we were close enough to the couloir, I announced that I was going to attempt a glissade. I had stepped in some snow along our descent and it seemed decently soft enough after having been exposed to sunlight for a few hours. Had it been as hard as it was when we ascended, I wouldn’t have even considered it. I broke away from Brian and Nick and jokingly mentioned that if I wasn’t able to glissade, it would give me an opportunity to practice my self-arrest technique. Brian joked that he would take video of me.

What followed was about 45 seconds of terror. I believe it was the closest I’ve been to a near-death experience on any mountain.

I made my way down into the couloir and took out my ice axe. When I stepped into the snow, I was pleased that it was soft and wet. I’ve made plenty of glissades on soft, wet snow and have always been able to stop myself without using my ice axe too extensively. The one HUGE difference was that in those previous glissades, I had a safe run-out. My nervousness about the approaching thunderstorms caused me to make a hasty and poor decision, however. I sat down and dug the spike of my axe into the snow next to my left hip and pushed off. The glissade started off normally for the first ten seconds and I felt comfortable controlling my speed. After that initial ten seconds, I must’ve descended into a small gully because I picked up speed rapidly. I hit a bump in the snow and jumped slightly, but not enough to become airborne. I tried to dig my heels into the snow and leaned back onto my backpack in hopes that this would help slow me down, but it didn’t work. I came to the terrifying realization that I was in an uncontrolled glissade.

My thoughts immediately turned from slowing my glissade to self-arrest. I have pretty good knowledge of self-arrest techniques after having studied it on several occasions in The Freedom of the Hills, but as we all know — knowledge and application are two completely different things. Still, through good knowledge and a lot of luck, I was able to save my life. Already having grasped my axe with a self-arrest grip, I nervously brought the shaft across my chest and placed the adze near my neck and right shoulder while grasping the shaft near the spike. When I rolled-over onto my stomach, I was surprised by the amount of force that was placed on the pick and I think the axe was taken from my grasp. I can’t be sure because everything was a blur, but luckily I had a leash attached. All I know is that I was able to regain control of it. I wasn’t sure how close I was to the boulders beneath me, so all I could think to do was dig the pick into the snow above even though the shaft of the axe was no longer beneath me and dig my knees and feet into the snow as hard as I could. After a few seconds, I slowed to a stop. I had self-arrested.

I lay in the snow for a few seconds to gather my courage and make sure my pants weren’t soiled. When I stood up, I ventured a look down to see how close I was to death. I was about 200-300 feet away from the boulders below — probably about 15-20 seconds away at my initial rate of descent. I wasn’t out of the woods yet, though, as I had to traverse about fifty feet to reach the rocks to my right. It was then that I heard Brian and Nick calling down to me asking if I was okay. I was visibly shaking (and understandably so), but I didn’t have time to sit there and reflect on the poor decision that I made. We were still in danger from lightning and rain/hail — all of which were omnipresent threats. I met Brian and Nick near the edge of the snow. They told me that I hit a rock on my first self-arrest attempt. This may have been why I lost control of my axe. They said that they were impressed that I had enough presence-of-mind to remember to self-arrest. Regardless, the terrifying glissade was over and I learned a very important lesson: No matter the situation, never ever, ever, ever, EVER, attempt a glissade unless I have a safe run-out.

Brian, Nick, and I joined Brad at the base of the mountain. Moon had fallen behind and we could not see him. Brad and Nick returned to camp and Brian and I waited in the rain and occasional hail for Moon. We were not going to leave anyone on the mountain. When Moon rejoined us, we put out butts in gear and headed back to camp. The sooner we were below treeline, the better. We arrived sometime around 1:00, climbed out of our wet clothes, and into our sleeping bags for the next few hours while the storms moved over.

When the rains finally ended, we replenished our water suppllies, ate dinner, and reflected on the experiences of that day. Nick had a swollen ankle, so wasn’t sure if he was going to be able to join us on the next day’s hike. It was decided that we were going to attempt to climb Wilson Peak rather than Mt. Wilson. After 8:00, we went to bed. I was thankful that we all made it off of El Diente alive and without injury.

Group shot (L to R): Terry, Brian, Brad, Nick, Moon

I admitted to Brian and Brad that I was feeling a bit slow from our previous day’s climb. Fortunately, they were feeling it as well — I just didn’t want to feel like I was slowing them down. When we reached the portion of the trail where we broke off to head up the couloir to El Diente, we stopped and reflected on it. We felt quite accomplished at what we did. I offered a quick one-finger salute to the couloir and some choice words, but I really can’t blame it for what happened to me. When I chose to attempt a glissade, that choice was my own. No one else made that decision for me. I found myself being thankful that my companions didn’t chose to follow me down. Brian didn’t have a leash for his ice axe, so I shudder to think of what might have happened if the same thing happened to him. I know it’s cliché, but sometimes what doesn’t kill you really does make you stronger. I’d like to think that I will become a stronger person because of the lessons I learned that day.

Brian, Brad, and I followed the trail as it meandered up to the Rock of Ages Mine. We stopped for a few minutes to rest here and take a few photos of us in the miners’ cart and by the cabin. The cabin was so short, I made an offhand comment that perhaps Hobbits were the miners. There were remnants of a bunk bed and shelving inside. According to data I located on the internet, the mine was a past producer of Lead, Gold, Copper, Silver, and traces of Zinc. I do not know when the mine stopped producing, but it has most likely been several decades. Land near the Silver Pick Mine on the other side of the Rock of Ages Saddle may still be producing these. The Forest Service has been fighting the mine owner for a number of years now because access to Silver Pick Basin and the Wilson Group was blocked due to property rights issues. The trailhead for Silver Pick Basin is currently being relocated off of the private property and should reopen sometime this year.

Sunrise on Mt. Wilson (left) and El Diente Peak (right) from near the Rock of Ages Mine

After our break, the three of us made a quick ascent to the Rock of Ages Saddle. From there, we needed to follow a short ridge before breaking from it and traversing over some horrible rock to a small saddle between a subpeak of Wilson Peak and Gladstone Peak. The last time I was there, I remembered the rocks being tippy and mixed with loose soil. I also remembered that although the next destination was clear, the route wasn’t cairned well. We would just have to chose our route well and make sure that the rocks we walked across were firm. There was also a lot of low-level clouds moving right toward us from the west which was a bit disconcerting — especially to me. Since I didn’t get to summit Wilson Peak last time, I was hoping that this attempt would be successful.

Panorama looking into Silver Pick Basin. Wilson Peak is the second peak in from the right side of the pano. The gendarme-looking peak on the far right is a subpeak of Wilson Peak, but looks higher due to forced prospective from Rock of Ages Saddle.

When Brian, Brad, and I reached the small saddle, we decided to continue on to see how far we could get before the weather moved in. We stopped for a quick break before continuing. One thing that I noticed about the clouds was that the lower-level ones were moving toward us while the clouds which appeared to have convection building-up within them were moving to the southeast. This may have been a sign of wind sheer in the upper atmosphere. Mt. Wilson and El Diente had already been socked in by developing storms, but only the low-level clouds were moving in our direction. We had a chance to summit if we did it quickly and got off of the mountain early.

Our first obstacle on our way to the summit of Wilson Peak was immediately after the saddle. We seemed to have a bit of difficulty finding our way across some smooth rock that didn’t have a lot of hand or footholds. The exposure below us was pretty dramatic and to top it off we had encountered frost on the rocks. While the section of the trail we were on was exposed to the sun, the frost still lingered and we were hesitant to walk across this smooth section of rock due to the aforementioned conditions. Brian and Brad eventually made it across the smooth rock while I chose a lower path underneath it. Beyond that obstacle, we found the route to be decently cairned and made good progress. We came to a notch on the ridge and looked west. Clouds were moving over us shrouding us in a haze for a few minutes, but eventually passed over. Our next destination was a false summit. We would evaluate the weather from there and decide on whether to continue on from there. It would be a shame to be that close to the summit and not make it, but safety needed to come first.

When we reached the false summit, the weather seemed to be holding off. We continued on, but there appeared to be a bit of involved Class 3 scrambling between us and the summit. We decided to shed our backpacks to make us lighter and more nimble. We were descending the west side of the summit ridge which hadn’t had any sun exposure yet that day, so we expected some of the rocks to be frosted. Plus, we could see freshly-fallen hail and snow in areas.

Clouds over Mt. Wilson and El Diente.

Clouds moving toward us from the west.

Right below the false summit was a dirt-filled gully that Brian, Brad, and I descended. Because of the exposure below and frosty rocks, we all just kind of butt-scooted down until we were met with more solid rock. Below the gully, a series of ledges became evident. It didn’t seem like very long before we reached the lowest ledge, then moved to climb back up to the other side. This section of the climb was a lot of fun! The only thing that could have made it more enjoyable was if the rock wasn’t so freakin’ cold. A few minutes earlier, I sliced open my left index finger on a cold rock edge and it was bleeding, but not too badly. We climbed for about 150 feet or so before we topped out on the final portion of the summit ridge. Brad hurried on ahead and I heard him cry out triumphantly. Apparently, the summit was closer than we thought! I was excited, too, so I picked up my pace and found Brad sitting in the summit rock circle. Typically, these are meant to serve as wind breaks, but this particular one wasn’t large enough to offer shelter. Between his legs was a memorial plaque dedicated to four individuals who lost their lives in September of 2006. We were puzzled by this and thought that maybe they were hikers who were struck by lightning or something. Research on the plaque, however, revealed that it was placed there in memory of a plane crash which occurred during some of the San Juan’s notoriously bad weather back then.

Speaking of weather, we didn’t want to to dawdle on this peak either given the current conditions. We took a few photos and rested for a few minutes.

Me on the summit of Wilson Peak (right) and a group shot of me, Brian, and Brad on the summit (left)

Panorama looking southeast from the summit of Wilson Peak. Lizard Head can be seen here.

Close-up of Lizard Head as seen from the summit of Wilson Peak

Panorama looking west to Dolores Peak from the summit of Wilson Peak

Panorama looking southwest toward Mt. Wilson and El Diente Peak from the summit of Wilson Peak. Impressive clouds!

Upon leaving the summit, I took a few photos of Brian and Brad descending and ascending the Class 3 portion of the climb to the false summit. It really was a lot of fun! We chose to climb the more-stable rock to the left of the dirt gully on our way back up to the false summit. The rock looked stable and fun to scramble on.

We made short work of the climb back down to the saddle on the Wilson Peak/Gladstone Peak ridge and quickly descended to Rock of Ages saddle as well. When we reached the miners’ cabin, we stopped for some snacks and to once again reflect on our climb. This time, there was no talk of terrifying glissades or lightning and thunder. The three of us thoroughly enjoyed climbing Wilson Peak. Our journey wasn’t over yet, however. We needed to return to camp, pack up, and hike back out before any major weather set in. With clouds building on the east side of Wilson Peak, that was looking less possible. After our break, we quickly descended into Upper Navajo Basin. Brian joked about attempting to summit Mt. Wilson, but knew we didn’t have time for it. Near the edge of the upper basin, I stepped across the headwaters of West Dolores River and took a photo of the picturesque Dolores Peak to the west.

Brian, Brad, and I returned to camp shortly after 10:00 and immediately began packing-up. Rain had already began to fall at that time. Nick and Moon were already packed and ready to go. Brian and Brad packed relatively quickly, but I was another story altogether. I still had about 65 lbs of stuff to pack between two backpacks. I would have preferred to wait and rest a couple of hours, but didn’t want to hike out during a thunderstorm. Waiting a couple of hours only increased the chance of that happening — especially given the weather patterns over the past couple of days. I eventually finished packing and Nick helped me load my backpack onto my back. I could tell that it was going to be a long hike out.

With such a heavy backpack weighing on my hips, it was actually more difficult for me to go downhill than uphill. Again, it felt like I was doing some rather difficult lunges. Only a half-mile into the hike out, I had to stop and rest. Brian and Brad offered to help carry some of the things that they could get to easily. Brian took my mountaineering boots and Brad took my fleece and a couple other items. I struggled to go uphill to the intersection with the Woods Lake trail, but made it eventually. Descending from the headwall into the forest canopy proved to be more difficult than expected. Whenever I spotted a log, I sat to alleviate the pressure I felt on my hips. At one stop, I took my backpack off and rummaged through the side pockets for some food. I realized that I hadn’t eaten anything when we returned to camp and that some of my issues involved a general lack of energy. I found some Clif Shot Blocks, some orange slices, and Jelly Belly Sport Beans and devoured them. After that, I felt a bit more energized. I stopped one more time at which point Brad offered to carry my backpack for awhile. I politely declined. I know it’s stupid, but it was a matter of pride for me. I hiked all that crap in with me, so I should be able to hike it back out, right? I’m very fortunate that I had great hiking buddies like them. The trail was very muddy in areas, so I really needed to watch my footing. I heard someone slip and fall behind me. Brian twisted his ankle in the fall, but was able to stand on it. He brushed it off and said he would just work through the pain.

Brian, Brad, and I stopped to rest near the intersection with the Kilpacker Basin Trail. Rain, which had been falling intermittently since we left Navajo Lake, began to fall more steadily and was accompanied by an occasional clap of thunder. We were at the approximate half-way point to the trailhead. The knowledge of this brought me some comfort. When hiking in, the same log that I sat on was 2.25 miles from the trailhead. The next visual reference I knew with an accurate measurement of distance was the bridge over West Dolores River — a mere 0.8 mile from the trailhead. We started back on the trail and Brian wanted some photos of us with El Diente in the background, so we took turns taking them. I turned to the side so I could have a photo of my over-sized backpack. It felt as huge as it looked. I’m actually hunched over a little bit in the photo to the left because if I stood up straight, I probably would have fell backward! After the photos were taken, we continued our trek to the trailhead.

Brian and Brad stopped to see some waterfalls along the river, but I continued on since I had found a bit of momentum. I caught up to Nick and Moon who had taken shelter underneath some trees. They didn’t have a key to Brian’s truck, so they waited along the trail (there aren’t many trees at the trailhead). I rested for a few minutes on a log, then continued on again until I crossed the bridge. There, I sat on a tree stump and decided to wait for Brian and Brad. Nick and Moon passed me and continued to the trailhead. When Brian and Brad reached me, I picked myself up off of the stump and hoped that I wouldn’t have to stop again. I hit a slick patch of mud and tumbled over to my right side along the way — without injury, fortunately. I was so happy to finally see vehicles off in the distance. When we reached the trailhead, I made sure to sign myself out at the trail register and nearly ran to my truck. I opened the back and placed the backpack on the tailgate. If I were Atlas, surely it felt like the weight of the entire world was lifted off of my shoulders. I nearly fell forward!

Brian invited me to his parents’ cabin in Lake City, but I decided that I wanted to sleep in the comfort of my own bed even though it was 6.5 hours away. Before I bade all of them a fond farewell, we got together for some final group shots. I know our trip isn’t close to being our last adventure together. I have found some great hiking/climbing buddies in Brian, Nick, Brad, and Moon. They are a solid, dependable group. I hope they enjoy my company as well.

Group shot of us post-hike (L to R): Moon, me, Brad, Nick, and Brian

GPS statistics taken from my trip to the Wilson Group. The linear distance total doesn’t account for two trips from our campsite to the intersection with the Woods Lake Trail (.75 mile each way for a total of 3 miles) and the distance between Wilson Peak’s false and true summits as I left my GPS with my backpack (about .25 mile each way for a total of .5 mile). Total linear distance is about 25.29 miles.

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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La Plata Peak viewed from Ellingwood Ridge

Google Earth view of our route

Route and elevation profile based on data from my GPS

Albert Ellingwood was a pioneering mountaineer in Colorado during the early 20th Century. He was the first to document an ascent up the long ridge to La Plata Peak’s summit, a ridge that now bears his name. He was also the first to climb Lizard Head in the San Juan Range and Crestone Needle in the Sangre de Cristos. Ellingwood Arête, a popular technical climb of Crestone Needle, is named in his honor — as is Ellingwood Point, a part of the Blanca massif further to the south. Basically, he was a bad-ass dude.

So, Jerry and I had been discussing throughout the week what might be a fun climb. June 27 is his birthday and it seemed to me that he wanted to do something challenging, yet fun. He had thrown around the idea of heading down to do the Crestones and maybe the traverse between them. We had also discussed climbing the Bell Cord Couloir between the Maroon Bells, but a recent conditions report had the descent of Maroon Peak rated as being pretty treacherous the week before (possibly requiring ropes), so we decided against that as well. That’s when I suggested Ellingwood Ridge. The long two-mile ridge of La Plata Peak offers one of the only technical routes to the summit of a 14er in the Sawatch Range. If one does careful route-finding, he can keep it at the Class 3 level, but believe me — there are plenty of Class 4 and Class 5+ climbing opportunities along this ridge as well.

After Jerry and I had decided to give Ellingwood Ridge a shot, I made a request on 14ers.com for some photos of the ridge to see how much snow remained. During this process, I was contacted by another group of people who also wanted to climb the ridge. We all made plans to meet at the trailhead on Friday evening. I took the afternoon off of work so I could get to the trailhead a little earlier. Jerry said he’d be there between 8:00 and 9:00 PM.

The last time I hiked La Plata, it was from the southwest ridge. I have never hiked the standard route, so I wasn’t exactly sure where the trailhead started. When I arrived, I drove a couple of miles down a dirt road until I came to a sign for Sayre’s Gulch and parked there to wait for the others to arrive. It was after 5:00 PM, so I knew they would be arriving within an hour or two. I asked some people who were camped near me if they were part of a 14ers.com group, but they were not. Well, I took a short nap, ate a small meal, and after waiting for awhile I decided to head back to where the dirt road intersected with Highway 82. Not seeing any cars parked there, I drove back to the turn-off for Sayre’s Gulch and waited for a little while longer before driving back to Hwy 82. Just as I got there, I saw a Ford Explorer turn toward the dirt road. He drove up next to me; I asked him if he was part of the 14ers.com group and he was! Javier was his name. I told him that we could drive back to the trailhead and he followed me down the dirt road. Little did I know that the actual trailhead was at the intersection of that road and Hwy 82. After talking to the campers near Sayre’s Gulch again, we drove back and waited for the others. Jerry arrived after 8:00. The three of us decided to sleep in the backs of our vehicles and that we would hit the trail around 4:00 AM.

Jerry, Javier, and I hit the trail the next morning and signed in at the trail register. While still dark, the trail was easy to follow. According to the guide that we printed off, we needed to look for a faint trail immediately after a second creek crossing. It seemed that we did find the trail and were on our way. The trail led us in an easterly direction until we came to a large open area that looked like it had once been used for camping. The three of us wandered around to try and relocate it from there. I eventually found one, but I know now that it wasn’t the correct one. We followed it until it came to a larger, more well-used trail. It didn’t take us long to figure out that we were back on the standard route. We had a decision to make: 1) We could continue to the summit and make our way back down Ellingwood Ridge; or 2) We could backtrack and try to find the correct route up Ellingwood Ridge. We decided on the latter. Fortunately, we only backtracked for a short time before we found what seemed to be a game trail heading east. A few minor bushwhacks later and another trail was located. We crossed over a creek and eventually began to encounter talus. A clearing in the trees brought us the first view of our ascent to the ridge. It was enormous. A little while earlier, I realized that I had a topo for the area loaded into my GPS which was serendipitous to say the least. I didn’t create a route the night before, but at least I was going to be able to tell us where we were.

Jerry, Javier, and I spent nearly the next two hours ascending 2,000+ feet in a linear distance of about one mile. The talus-strewn slope was loose and not a joy to walk on. Much of the talus was tippy and larger specimen “seesawed” when we walked atop them. It was not easy and would rival the difficulty of Mt. Sneffels’ standard route had there been more people on it. Jerry led the way while Javier and I sort of kept each other company behind him. About half-way up, we decided to put our helmets on and stash our trekking poles. Hand contact with the rocks became more and more important as the slope continued to steepen.

The three of us stopped what seemed like a few dozen times along the ascent. I would have rather been climbing Class 3 or 4 than that 2+ BS. One thousand feet per half mile was more than Jerry and I climbed when we ascended Dead Dog Couloir in May (that was only 1,200 feet total!). There was some discussion about having to return back down this way if the weather became inclement, but I honestly felt I would rather wait out a storm on the ridge than have to return this way again. Descending a slope like that is treacherous, but we would do it — if necessary. Eventually, the slope started to round-out a bit and we found ourselves walking on a grassy slope. We were nearly at 13,000 feet. The ridge pretty much stayed at 13,000 feet until near the very end when it starts to ascend East La Plata. We knew we had a long day ahead of us.

Panorama looking to the southwest at La Plata Peak

Jerry, Javier, and I did our first bit of rock climbing as we topped 13,000 feet. We easily climbed over it and settled between it and another rocky area near some lingering snow for a snack. At that time, we were still hopeful that we would make good progress, but none of us knew what the east side of the ridge looked like. From photos that were provided by another 14ers.com member, we only saw what the west side of the ridge looked like from La Plata’s summit. While it looked mostly clear and dry, it was not necessarily indicative of conditions were like on the other side. We all decided to bring ice axes in case there was snow left along the route. This would prove to be a prudent choice. Javier brought a light climbing rack, but left it in his vehicle. We didn’t think we were going to need it as long as we kept the scrambling to Class 3/4. It wasn’t long before we came to the first gendarme along the ridge. According to our guide, there were going to be a lot of these. We decided to climb up and over the gendarme, but came to a notch with a 20-25′ drop. Trying to find a route to the west of the ridge was going to be treacherous at best. We needed to find another way around.

The three of us descended off of the gendarme and began to work our way over to the east side of it. There, between us and safe passage, was a short snow field. We summoned our ice axes and carefully traversed across it. Once on the other side, the route wasn’t so clear. From atop the gendarme, I did see a safe route to continue on the west side, so I suggested that we climb up toward the notch and descend it on the other side. It worked! Once we passed through the notch, we downclimbed a bit and traversed over to our left — back up to the ridgeline. I felt a bit accomplished in helping with the route-finding. It just goes to show that with multiple sets of eyes, it’s easier to find your way around obstacles.

Through the notch looking at the route below

After we regained the ridge, we stayed on the east side of it for the next few hours. Below is a collage of photos by Jerry and me. Unfortunately, we were on the ridge for so long and made such slow progress that my thoughts became all a jumble. I know the photos are mostly in chronological order (except the ones that Jerry took of Javier and me at the end), but I’m unsure of how to narrate the rest of this without a lot of filler words and thoughts. Here goes.

360° panorama from Ellingwood Ridge

Looking back at our climb

I remember stopping with Jerry and Javier to look back at what we had just climbed through. It seemed almost impossible that we were able to traverse all of that and I felt a twinge of pride inside of me. Even though I knew then that we were not likely going to summit that day, I got plenty of Class 3 climbing practice in. As we moved on, Jerry descended into a gully that was full of snow. I located a cairn along a ledge above me and decided to follow it to a small saddle and met Jerry there. While we waited for Javier to descend into the gully and climb up to join us, I decided to scout on ahead. Past a corner, I cliffed-out. Off to the south, I believe I spotted a scree slope that is described in the trail guide that we had printed out, but I couldn’t be sure. Between me and there was another couple of hours of climbing down and up into lingering snow and steep gullies. Jerry and Javier joined me a few minutes later and we discussed the situation. We were unsure of the weather as the clouds started to darken. It was 2:30; we were tired and had enough. We decided to abandon our route and descend into the gorge to the east of the ridge.

I checked my GPS and discovered that the creek below us was Crystal Lake Creek. It was a mere 0.53 mile from our location, but there was about 1,700 feet of descent between us and it. We stopped for a few minutes and ate lunch before trying to tackle the descent. Jerry went down first and found a safe path across a lingering snowfield. I descended after him and made my way across. Javier didn’t descend as far down as we did and tried a horizontal traverse across the snow, but eventually stepped down along the rocks and took our path across. We stepped down along the rocks next to the snow field and moved past it. What followed was nearly an hour of walking down an extremely steep, grassy slope. Melt-off from the snow that we just traversed across gave me reservations about following the drainage directly down below us as I detest walking on grassy slopes that are wet. Javier traversed off to the northeast across a small ridge and located a safer line of descent.

When we finally arrived at a talus field, we felt a lot better. I’ve illustrated this photo to show our general line of descent. While on the way down, I spotted what looked like a trail on the other side of the creek. The water was flowing rapidly due to runoff, but we managed to cross safely. We were able to locate what looked like an old trail that no one had used in years and followed it along the creek. There was still a lot of rock-hopping to be had. We eventually passed by a small, serene lake. It was nice to look at, but frankly I was too tired to stop and take any more photos. It was already past 4:00, so we had been on the trail for twelve hours by then. We passed through a small meadow and entered the tree canopy again as the trail continued downward. We were only about 0.9 mile from Hwy 82, but finding a way to cross the creek flowing parallel to it was going to be a challenge.

The trail we were on somehow split into three trails — one above another. We walked down to the lowest trail next to the creek and eventually it turned away to the northeast. On my GPS, I noticed that there was an “Access Road” labeled across the creek, so it may have been a good place to cross. We ended up on a private road. A house was to our right. Jerry told Javier and me a story about how he got lost while backcountry skiing in Rocky Mountain National Park once and had to knock on a door to ask for a ride. Well, I ended up walking to the house and ringing the doorbell. A minute later, a man emerged behind me and asked if he could help us. I explained that we had to abandon Ellingwood Ridge and follow the creek down and that we were lost (which wasn’t really true, but we hoped he might give us a ride back to the trailhead). Sure enough, the man offered to load us up in his Honda Element and drive us back to trailhead! It was another couple of miles up the road and none of us felt like walking it. We were fortunate that he was such a nice guy.

We thanked the man several times as we unloaded our gear. It was about 5:45. Our long day was finally over.

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The roads you used to access the Southwest Ridge route of Little Bear Peak are private roads. The reason that route is not listed in guides is that several years ago the land owners requested the county sheriff begin issuing trespassing charges for anyone who isn’t a resident who is found in that area. If you found recent information about that route, it may be related to the operation to recover Lygon Stevens in 2008. That subject’s family and the sheriff were granted explicit written permission to use the private property roads to access the Little Bear Lake Gorge for that operation only. As a SAR unit, we are allowed emergency access, when necessary, through those properties. All others are legally trespassing.

Also, the Lake Como road was only closed on the day that we were extracting Kevin’s body. Because of the number of SAR personnel, we needed to close the road for public and SAR safety. It was reopened last Wednesday evening and remains open.

Even though I was apparently doing it without my knowledge, I do not condone trespassing. I have always — and always will — respect the rights of property owners. If anyone who reads this entry is considering climbing Little Bear via the Southwest Ridge, please use the Lower Lake Como trailhead. The land north of where we were is public and can be accessed legally.

Little Bear Peak (14,037 feet) in the Sangre de Cristo Range. You can visualize nearly the entire ridge route from this vantage on US Hwy 160.

Google Earth overview of our route. You can tell where we were bushwhacking a lot near the base of the ridge.

Profile of the route based on data taken from my GPS

When opportunity knocks on your door, you have to answer. Last Tuesday when I first heard that a member of the 14ers.com community died on Little Bear Peak, I was shocked. Earlier that day, I was looking for climbing partners for Little Bear for May 26. I was going to take the standard route — the Hourglass Couloir. This was the route that Kevin Hayne died on. It is considered by many experts to be the most dangerous standard route on any of Colorado’s 14,000-foot peaks. Kevin was someone that I only knew from his presence online, but his passing affected me profoundly. I believe that it was my search for a partner on the peak earlier that day that presented me with a unique opportunity that I couldn’t pass up.

On Wednesday last week — less than 24 hours after Kevin died — I was contacted by Dave and Phil (also 14ers.com members) and asked if I wanted to climb Little Bear Peak via the Southwest Ridge this upcoming weekend. I read earlier that Alamosa County closed off the road leading up to Lake Como — basecamp for most who hike the 14ers of the Blanca Group. I politely declined stating what I had heard about the road and because I believed there was bad mojo on the mountain right now. This was when I learned that the Southwest Ridge was accessed by a different trailhead and route. The route had only been documented a couple of times that we were aware of and doesn’t appear in a lot of publications. Many years ago, the Southwest Ridge used to be the standard route up Little Bear, but because of the time commitment one needs to complete this route, the Hourglass Couloir seemed more accommodating because of its proximity to Lake Como and because climbers could summit multiple peaks from that area as well. The Southwest Ridge route fell out of favor in the mountaineering community and knowledge of it faded into obscurity.

Dave explained to me that he attempted this route twice before, but was turned-back by snow conditions at the time. He and Phil decided that they wanted to attempt to summit Little Bear via the Southwest Ridge in order to bring knowledge of it back into the community. They were looking for a couple more climbing partners to join them. I mentioned it to Jerry, whom I climbed Dead Dog Couloir with back in May. Jerry summited Little Bear via the Hourglass only a few weeks ago. He had plans to hike Torreys Peak with another friend over the weekend, but expressed interest in climbing a lesser-documented route. He basically self-invited himself! I didn’t mind, though — especially since Little Bear was still fresh in his mind. I also really enjoyed his company the last time we climbed. We made plans for Jerry to drive from Denver to Colorado Springs on Saturday afternoon so we could ride down together. Dave and Phil were going to be leaving Ft. Collins around 2:00 PM the same day and expected to be at the trailhead at around 7:00. Due the intense bushwhacking we were going to encounter, we needed to be on the trail by 3:00 AM. The route, while not as technical as the Hourglass, is extremely arduous and I expected to be on the trail anywhere from 12-18 hours.

Jerry and I arrived in Blanca, CO at about 4:00 and ate at Lu’s Main St. Cafe. The chicken-fried steak there is a staple food for me whenever I am passing by. Plus, we needed to carb load for the climb, so it seemed like a good compromise. After dinner, I spoke with Dave and Phil briefly and let them know that we were going to try and find the trailhead. I had forgotten the print-out with directions to it at home, but programmed some waypoints in my GPS that I hoped would take us there. On map, the area looks developed; on the road, though, you need a 4WD vehicle to get anywhere. The roads were named things like 21st St., 22nd St., etc. There was a Poplar St., Grant St., Vine St. Don’t believe for a second that any of area is developed, though.

From Blanca, we drove west on Hwy 160 until we saw the sign for Great Sand Dunes National Park. Taking a right, we drove 2.5 miles on Colorado Hwy 150 to Road 4.4 and turned right. After driving another 2.5 miles, we came to an intersection. There was a road to our right heading south — not the direction we were heading. Besides, we could see the ridge from there and just needed to head in that direction. There was another road heading slightly to our left and one about 270° to the left along a fence. I started down the far-left road at first but had second thoughts, so we drove down the road that was going slightly to the left of the intersection. Jerry and I ended up on 21st and Grant. According to my GPS, there was an unpaved road leading up to what I thought was the trailhead. Well, we did find a road off to our right, but it looked like it passed through a fence that was cut. We both walked up the road at different times. It was not something that I wanted to drive. I managed to contact Dave while I was walking back to my truck and attempted to get directions from him. He wasn’t able to talk me through it, so rather than proceeding down an unknown road, we decided to turn around and try the road that I first started on. That road wasn’t much better as far as driving conditions. We followed it to the end. It turned right and headed uphill. Surprisingly enough, we passed a couple of homes out there — one on Andrew Ln. and one on Gary Ln. (yes, there were actually street signs) until the road ended. I looked at my GPS; we were on 24th and Finton. I also noticed that we were a mere 0.2 mile from the “unpaved road” that I thought we were going to be able to drive up before I found out that “unpaved” was being used loosely. Could this be the trailhead? I didn’t want to take the chance of missing Dave and Phil, so we drove back down to the 4.4 Rd. intersection and waited there.

When Dave and Phil arrived, we introduced ourselves to each other and headed to the trailhead. Sure enough, we were right there. They led us to the exact spot on 24th and Finton. We parked, chatted for a bit, and they set-up their tents (I chose to sleep in the back of my truck because I didn’t want to have to deal with the chore of breaking-down a tent since we were camping at the trailhead). After a delicious desert worth about 800 calories, I took my standard sleeping meds (benedryl and melatonin) and headed off into Lala Land. I was worried about not being able to sleep as it happens frequently the first night I sleep anywhere, but I was anxious about the climb the next day as well. I set my phone’s alarm for 2:00. This would give me enough time to boil water for a high-calorie breakfast and get packed up as well.

About four hours later, my alarm went off. Even though I only slept for a short period of time, I was ready to go. I made breakfast while everyone broke-down his tent and made sure I had everything that I needed. I neglected to bring a vital piece of equipment, though, something that I absolutely could have kicked myself for: a helmet. Based on past accounts of this route, there was quite a bit of Class 3 climbing involved above 13,000 feet. That didn’t even include the traverse between South Little Bear and Little Bear Peak. In that short section, there was Class 4 climbing involved — not a lot, but enough to warrant head protection. Depending on how loose the rocks were at that altitude, I needed to make a decision whether or not to continue on. We left camp a little after 3:00.

Since this was going to be Dave’s third attempt, it made sense to let him lead. From the trailhead, we started out in a northerly direction. There seemed to be a semblance of trail here, but it quickly deteriorated. Bushwhacking through the trees, I noticed there was prickly pear and yucca scattered all about. It wouldn’t be advisable to slip and fall anywhere in the brush. I kept looking at my GPS during this time. The unpaved road was really close to the east of us, so we trekked to the right until we reached it. We decided to follow the road north, but when a cairn was spotted, we didn’t know if it was put there to signal the trail down into the brush to our right. We decided to take it, hearing Tobin Creek flowing below us. Tobin Creek flows from Little Bear Lake and we were going to be climbing the ridge south of it. The creek crossing was barely a foot deep, but getting to the other side involved crawling on our hands and knees under a tree. We regrouped and trekked in a northerly direction. Eventually, the “trail” became more and more steep as we started gaining the ridge. I used my GPS to find the nearest waypoint that I had created on the ridge and we were heading right toward it. Eventually, we topped out and to the best of our abilities in the dark, began trekking to the northeast.

As if all that bushwhacking wasn’t enough, we still needed to make our way around in the dark. Even though the eastern horizon was lightening, we were still going to need our headlamps for at least another hour. Along the ridge, the brush wasn’t nearly as thick as it was down below, but still significant. I continued to track our progress on my GPS and cried-out triumphantly every time the proximity alarm went off (signals that I’m within 20 feet of a waypoint). Evidently, I did a pretty good job at mapping out the route based on terrain. Treeline is higher in the southern part of the state — around 12,000 feet or so — but the rocky terrain was also going to play a factor in how much longer we were going to be among vegetation. We were all going to rejoice once we reached it and could actually visualize our route. When I spotted part of the ridge through the trees, I decided it was time to take my compact camera out and begin to document the route. My DSLR was in my backpack; there was no way in hell I was going to bushwhack with it hanging around my neck. Once above treeline, it was going to be a different story.

The group stopped at one of the last trees that we saw and rested. Jerry and Dave, who had been carrying extra Gatorades, stashed the drinks there for the return trip — a good idea since the bulk of the day would be spent in the absence of a fresh water source. Studying the terrain and the route that I had created, I saw that we were going to be ascending almost 1,000 feet of talus to a high point on the ridge at 12,880 feet — not fun considering that we needed to descend it as well. We encountered a bump on the ridge that obscured our view of the high point which, like a false summit, was a bit discouraging. Once we were past the hump, point 12,880 rolled into sight. Below us, we could see the massive field of talus that we ascended as well as the shadow of arguably Colorado’s deadliest 14er.

Jerry, Dave, Phil, and I crested point 12,880 and Little Bear’s west face came into view. Beyond the dips on the ridgeline, ahead of us we could practically visualize almost the entire route. With the sun in our eyes, it was difficult to make out any features, but below us to the north we started recognizing some features of the landscape in the shadow of the mountain such as Little Bear Lake. I also managed to point out the Chinook helicopter that crash landed in the area while attempting to airlift Kevin off of the mountain. The rear rotor struck the mountainside and the pilot managed to put the aircraft down in the gorge, saving the lives of the eleven passengers. There was already a tragedy on the mountain that day; fortunately, through the skills of someone who ought to be given some kind of metal of valor, it did not end up even more so.

After a rest and a snack break, the group descended the ridge and headed up toward the next high point on the ridge — point 13,132. Technically, from there Little Bear is only about 1,000 vertical feet. Due to the dips in the ridge along the way, however, we still had probably another 1,800 feet to gain with the loss in elevation — a daunting task to say the least — and that was only to South Little Bear. Traversing to Little Bear Peak (if we chose to do so) would involve even more elevation loss and gain. I stopped at one point and looked back down at point 12,880. It seemed small from were I was standing, which was a stark contrast to how I felt about it on my way up. I secretly thought that, perhaps, we could do this climb in under twelve hours, but I knew then that the thought was purely delusional.

Panorama taken from point 13,132. Point 12,880 is left of center and Little Bear’s west face is on the right side.

Past point 13,132, there was another small hump before the ridge dropped into a large notch. This was the top of what seemed to be a pretty significant couloir which looked like it would be a fun snow climb if one had that kind of time to commit. Fortunately, we hadn’t surpassed Class 2 on the hike up until that point. With the upclimb of the notch, that began to change to Class 2+ with maybe a Class 3 move thrown in for good measure. Ever since we topped out on point 12,880, I saw a disconcertingly familiar knob which I knew from research was the false summit of South Little Bear. Why it was disconcerting to me was because I knew that was where the true Class 3 scrambling was going to begin. Without knowing how loose the rock was going to be, my helmet-less head was going to be exposed to potential rockfall. Jerry asked me on several occasions if I wanted to wear his helmet, but I declined. There was no telling if I would change my mind about that later, though. It was about this time when we spotted two climbers on Little Bear. They were not descending the Hourglass — they were downclimbing a southwest aspect of the peak. We couldn’t tell if they were roped or not; certainly, anyone trying to descend that aspect should at least consider it. Because there was a possibility of people being in the Hourglass, we would need to take extreme care not to accidentally kick any loose rocks down it should we attempt the traverse.

Panorama of Little Bear taken from near the notch. Little Bear Peak is the round-looking peak left of center. Due to forced prospective, the “higher” peak to the right of it is South Little Bear. The “highest” peak to the left of South Little Bear is SLB’s false summit.

There was one more dip in the ridge that we had to descend before we started ascending SLB’s false summit. We needed to keep as close to the ridge as possible because the rock was more solid there without plunging off of the west face which had quite a bit of exposure. Because the route we were on was not well-established, there was always the possibility of a seemingly solid hand or foot hold coming loose. If we hugged the ridgeline too closely, that could make for disastrous results. We were also about to enter into private property according to USGS and Forest Service maps. Please note: Neither my companions nor I condone trespassing on private property. At that high elevation, the property owner probably wouldn’t mind, but it does open up a-whole-nother world when it comes to liability and the logistics of evacuation if a climber is injured. Please tread carefully if anyone chooses to do this route.

I was pleased with the climb up to SLB’s false summit. With the exception of a few loose rocks, the rocks along the ridge were nice and solid. It also helped that Jerry, Dave, and Phil were all being very conscientious about kicking down rocks. When I first spotted the false summit from way back down on the ridge, it seemed so close. Because of all of the dips and notches in the ridge, though, it was a lot further away than I imagined. Once we reached it, the game was going to change a bit. Had I a helmet, I wouldn’t have been quite as anxious about it. The only thing I could do was push ahead and hope that I had good luck and karma on my side.

Looking down from the false summit (Photo courtesy of Jerry)

When we crested SLB’s false summit, I got my first glimpse of the next obstacle — a moderate knife edge. As the name suggests, a knife edge is typically a narrow section of rock with exposure on both sides. This was my first encounter with a knife edge of any sort. Kelso Ridge on Torreys Peak has a Class 3 knife edge; Capitol Peak’s knife edge is Class 4 due to the fact that there is about 1,000 feet of exposure (I believe) on either side of it. While the west side of the knife edge on Little Bear’s southwest ridge dropped about 800 feet, the east side of it was on less of a slope requiring Class 3 moves to traverse it. For those who are unwilling to walk across it, there is an option to drop down about 100 feet below and walk under it.

The following is a collage of photos of the knife edge and of us crossing it:

The knife edge was quite an adrenaline rush for me! I had a lot of fun scrambling across it. As I’m steadily improving my climbing skills, little things like that give me the confidence to keep going. After the knife edge, the summit of South Little Bear seemed a stone’s throw away. There was another short Class three scramble to a bit of a false summit, but a simple walk to the true summit. Jerry and Dave were the first to reach it. I stopped for a moment and took a photo of them. Reaching South Little Bear via the Southwest Ridge was an accomplishment in and of itself. When I walked to the summit, I looked across Blanca Basin at Mt. Blanca, to the southeast at Mt. Lindsey, and to the northeast at Ellingwood Point. A summit of Little Bear Peak would complete the Blanca Group for me. Culebra Peak would be the only Sangre de Cristo 14er remaining.

Blanca and Ellingwood viewed from South Little Bear

Mt. Lindsey viewed from South Little Bear

Little Bear Peak and the traverse over to it

Panorama taken from the summit of South Little Bear

The four of us decided to shed our heavy packs and leave them on the summit. They were heavy and bulky due to the time we expected to be out; we needed to be lithe and agile in order to walk the narrow ridge and perform a Class 4 move or two. The dramatic east face of Little Bear dominated our view to the right. The first obstacle on the traverse was a “fin” rock, which is apparently a distinguishing feature of the mountains in this part of the state. We needed to drop down the more accommodating west face of the ridge and bypass the fin before climbing back up to the ridge. The climb down revealed a bit of a walkway that we traversed before we had to climb back up. Being that I left my DSLR with my backpack, Jerry was fortunate enough to catch Dave climbing up a section of rock with the compact camera that I gave him to use before we started ascending SLB’s false summit. Since I was the last to descend, I guided Dave by shouting out directions. To regain the ridge, he needed to climb up and to his right. I can’t remember if it was Jerry or Phil, but one of them talked me down off of the initial descent. Once I was down, I walked under the fin and scrambled back up to the ridge to join the rest of my group.

After that first obstacle, we pretty much just followed the ridgeline. It felt so good not lugging around a twenty-pound backpack. I felt nimble. There are some really narrow portions of rock that might make others uncomfortable, but I decided to do my best Karate Kid impression long enough for Jerry to snap a photo of me. I’m fairly clumsy at times, so I was surprised that I was able to hold that pose long enough for Jerry to notice me (I actually called his attention after about 30 seconds). The next obstacle in our traverse was to find a safe way to drop into the top of the notch that formed the top of the Hourglass Couloir. Jerry tried to stay on the ridge, but found that it cliffed-out. We decided to drop into a dihedral-looking Class 4 section of rock. It required us to drop in, then turn around to face the rock and downclimb until we reached the Hourglass. It wasn’t a long downclimb, but exciting, nonetheless. From there, we just needed to walk across the top of the Hourglass and climb to the summit of Little Bear Peak. On my way there, I couldn’t help to think that maybe if Kevin knew about the Southwest Ridge, he would have taken it instead of the Hourglass. No one will ever know for sure.

Jerry, Dave, Phil and I summited Little Bear Peak at around 10:30 AM. It took about seven-and-a-half hours to do it, but I finally got this peak under my belt. I had actually considered doing it as a snow climb from the Houglass; I’ve spoken to many people who have told me that it’s safer because the risk of rockfall is lessened. No matter how you look at it, Little Bear can be a deadly peak. My thoughts immediately went to Kevin. I had the presence of mind to grab the print outs that I had made at home to bring with us from my backpack and stuffed them in my fleece. This summit, perhaps one of the first since his fatal fall, was dedicated to his memory.

From left to right: Dave (l) and Phil (r), Jerry, and me

360° panorama from the summit of Little Bear Peak

The four of us had the summit to ourselves, but we didn’t want to linger for long. Since we didn’t have our backpacks, we didn’t have any food or snacks to eat. We needed to traverse back over to South Little Bear, but that wasn’t going to be a big deal for us now. Traversing over to Little Bear Peak took about half an hour; barring any incidents, we expected to duplicate that time back over. We dropped back down into the top of the Houglass and made our way to the rock that we had climbed down. Phil was the first to ascend. It must’ve been nice to have long legs. He worked his way up like a pro while Jerry took a few photos. It was then that I asked him to take some video. He offered to take video of both Dave and me. Dave was first to go, then me (no that’s not a hole in my pants — my pocket ripped out).

We traversed back over to South Little Bear without incident. Once there, we rested for a bit and refueled on energy bars, candy, and water. The wind really started gusting. We still had to get across the knife edge and downclimb the false summit, so without further ado, we packed-up and started our long trek back to the traihead.

Descending South Little Bear

Regaining SLB’s false summit

Because the wind was gusting to about 30 MPH, we decided to bypass the knife edge and walk beneath it.

Looking back up at the descent from SLB

Little Bear Lake down below

Panorama taken from Little Bear’s Southwest Ridge

Little Bear Peak

Now that the light was better, I was able to get a better look at the Chinook in the basin. There was also a tent set up there as well for the soldiers who were on constant guard. The aircraft is, after all, property of the US Government.

There wasn’t much to report on the way down besides the various aches and pains one feels after being on the trail for over twelve hours. Descending back down into the trees, route-finding was going to be important. We found our way up in the dark, but fortunately I had my GPS to guide us. We followed the ridge until we came across the stash of Gatorade that Jerry and Dave had left on our way up. It was a welcome refreshment! After eating more food and consuming more water, we continued our descent. We pretty much followed my GPS tracks down. When we got close to the area we ascended the ridge previously, we became separated for a little bit. I thought my companions went back down the same way we came up, so I started backtracking down. It was then that I heard someone calling for me to my right, so I trekked in that direction while calling out the entire way. On the way down a slope, I slipped and my left leg landed in some prickly pear cactus. I had to take a minute to pull needles out of my pant leg and skin. I didn’t enjoy that at all!

Down by the creek, I discovered Dave waiting for me. Jerry and Phil were on the other side. I bushwhacked across the creek and we were reunited. Following my GPS track from there, I eventually led us to the unpaved road that we walked up for a little while about fourteen hours ago. We followed the road down until I saw Jerry and Phil in the trees. They told me that we were at our starting elevation, so I checked our coordinates again. Sure enough, the vehicles were 0.2 miles directly to the west of us. We had enough of bushwhacking for one day, but we only had a little bit more to go. A few short minutes later, we found our vehicles. We successfully completed the arduous Southwest Ridge of Little Bear Peak. We were among a few in recent history to complete this circuit.

Jerry, Dave, Phil, and I sat around camp for about twenty minutes or so and reflected on our accomplishment. With the death of one of our fellow community members fresh in our minds, it is our hope that this report will give climbers another option for Little Bear. The route will test the limits of endurance and stamina of anyone who choses to take it. It’s also important to make sure there is very little chance of thunderstorms. There are no bail-out points on the route — you have to be committed to it. Climbers need to have a good navigator — whether by GPS or by map and compass. They should also arrive early enough in the day to study the landscape. No one should arrive in the dark and expect to find his/her way without difficulty. There was nothing easy about this route. I’m glad we were dedicated enough for this task. It truly is a testament to the human spirit and I felt that Kevin walked at my side at times. This trip and report is dedicated to him. Be at peace, young friend.

GPS statistics taken from my climb up Little Bear 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.

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