wizard's_tale

2011-12-19T12:56:00.000-08:00

19 December, 2011: I couldn't let the year come to an end without offering my candidate for the
Biggest Lie (and Liar) of the Year: Back in the summer, Janet Napolitano, the head of the misbegotten and misnamed “Department of Homeland Security” said “We don't do these things just to do them.”

The “things” she was referring to were the latest round of increasingly invasive, intrusive, provocative and humiliating warrantless searches visited upon airline passengers by her department.

This is, most definitely, a lie. They do do these things “just to do them.”

The official line, of course, repeated explicitly by Ms. Napolitano, is that some vague exterior “threat” has virtually forced the hapless public servants at DHS to institute things like X-ray strip searches of airline passengers. The truth is just the opposite. The control freaks in government have been trying one ruse after another ever since (at least) the Nixon administration, to get the Fourth and Fifth Amendments effectively repealed. The excuse has continually changed, from bombers trying to collect on life insurance policies, to “drug dealers,” and, finally, to “terrorists” (very conveniently vague, that last...). But the goal has always been the same: Allow unlimited, warrantless searches of individuals despite the Bill of Rights.

Illegal searches are not carried out to combat “terrorism.” The whole bogey man of “terrorism” was concocted, embellished, and dressed up to provide a cover for the searches. Janet Napolitano, you LIE!

Long life and restoration of the Republic.

2011-12-15T08:28:00.000-08:00

15 December, 2011: Today is Bill of Rights Day. It's the anniversary of the date on which the Bill of Rights, the first ten amendments to the US Constitution, was ratified.
So raise a cheer: after 220 years, the Third Amendment's ban on quartering troops in private homes (except in time of war...) is being fully complied with by the government!
Unfortunately, as has been true for some time now, this is the only provision contained in the BoR with which the government is actually complying.
Of course, not a single provision of the BoR has ever been formally and legally repealed. Instead, it's been riddled with "exceptions" and defined out of existence. Virtually nobody cared last year. Do you think anyone cares this year?
Oh, just BTW, using the phrase "Bill of Rights" in your emails, blogs, or tweets will get your communications flagged and investigated by the secret federal government, since that makes you a "terrorist." Happy Bill of Rights Day!
--P

2011-08-31T18:27:00.000-07:00

North Maroon Peak

(14,019 ft.)

28 August, 2011: Many climbers consider North Maroon to be Colorado's most difficult fourteener. Virtually all agree that it at least makes the short list. We'd tried it last year and been turned back by rainy weather.

After staying with our friend Miranda in Buena Vista Saturday night, we were up and on the road over Independence Pass long before dawn on Sunday. We rolled into the Maroon Lake parking lot shortly before sunrise. We hit the trail under clear skies, with very mild temperature and virtually no wind.

In less than an hour, we reached the junction where the Maroon-Snowmass trail turns west from the Maroon Creek trail. Scarcely half an hour later, having crossed Minnehaha Creek—and having started the serious climbing—we were shedding garments. We climbed in short sleeves most of the rest of the day.

The standard route on North Maroon consists largely of climbing two adjacent gullies, both of which top out along the mountain's northeast ridge. After that, the route basically flirts with the crest of that ridge, offering amazing views off the north side and finally approaching the summit from the north. The route is actually fairly well cairned, but it's not always easy to see from below. Just as importantly, it is unrelentingly steep, rough, and loose.

Climbing the second gully, we met a group of three who had abandoned their attempt for the summit because it seemed to them that weather was moving in. Respecting their caution, we nevertheless decided to continue up and evaluate conditions as we went.

Perhaps the most difficult route finding on this route comes at the top of the second gully. We finally found a big vertical step which led out onto the top of a large flat rock where we found two small but distinctive cairns leading out onto the ridge crest.

A short climb from this point leads to what is usually regarded as the crux of the route: a small but vertical cliff band which can be breached either by a 4^th class crack, or a 3^rd class alternative with more exposure, farther out to the right (northwest). We first tried the crack. Trisha went up with me spotting her from below. And that's when we got our first “wake-up call.” Lightning struck.

That's right: We survived a lightning strike. We both felt the electricity through the rock. From the delay before hearing the thunderclap, I estimate that the strike was about a quarter of a mile away—perhaps right on the summit. We got only a diluted bit of the electrical force, but it was still obvious what had happened. We both decided, right then and there, to turn around.

We retreated about 500 vertical feet, to the top of the second gully, and there sat down to eat, drink, rest, clear our minds, and watch the weather. Watching, we were rewarded for our patience. The clouds, thunder, and rain, all seemed to drift on by to the northeast. I could see bits of blue sky and thinning clouds south and west, and I finally suggested that, instead of abandoning all hope, we should start up again, in hopes that a sunny late afternoon would develop.

Showing great courage and determination, Trisha agreed. We forced our already tired muscles to climb onto the ridge and head for the summit once again. Soon, we actually had shadows. Anticipatory exhilaration began to replace the despair of just a few minutes earlier.

A ways up the ridge, we came again to the crux. This time, we passed it by, looking instead for the Class 3 alternative said to exist farther west (climber's right). In just a few minutes, we had found it. As advertised, it offered more exposure than the chimney, but it was indeed Class 3 instead of 4. Also as advertised, when we got on top of it, we noted that it was difficult to make out from above. So, before giving in to the euphoria of finally being able to see the summit block, we marked the location with one of Trisha's famous red mittens, tied to a prominent rock. This saved a lot of uncertainty on the way down.

A short climb over large, broken rocks led to a final saddle, perched in between the summit block and a spectacular promontory to the east (see photos). We finally hauled out on the small summit at about 2:35 MST—over nine hours after leaving the trailhead! (Had it not been for our retreat delay, the ascent time would have been about 6:45. That's still long, but not outrageous.)

The view from the top of this peak is astounding. The amazing symmetry of Maroon Peak grabs one's eye to the south. All the other Elk Range fourteeners can be clearly seen. I was surprised to see that Snowmass Mountain was actually missing most of its namesake snow. We also took in a stunning view of the unnamed peaks and pinnacles to the north—lower than, but every bit as rugged as, the Bells.

Needless to say, we were the last people on the summit that day, so we had it to ourselves. Even though it was getting late, we spent about half an hour there, as the weather was nearly perfect, with virtually no wind. After that, thoroughly pumped from our nearly-missed success, we set off downhill. We made it back to the trailhead in just over four hours—meaning that we still had to get out our headlamps for the last leg!

Photos are at:

https://picasaweb.google.com/tcogwr/NorthMaroonPeak

Long life and many peaks!

2011-08-19T14:25:00.001-07:00

Wilson Peak (14,024 ft.)

16 August, 2011: It's been a long time. Since our last fourteener together, Trisha moved north (to Greeley) and I moved south (to Rio Rancho, NM). After a hiatus of 13 months, we finally worked out the logistics to put together a trip to climb one of our remaining peaks.

Wilson Peak is the lowest of the three fourteeners in the “Wilson” group, but the high point of San Miguel County. Together with neighboring Mt. Wilson, it was named after (by??) A.D. Wilson, the chief surveyor of the Hayden expedition back in the 19^th century. The confusion resulting from this oddity of nomenclature is legendary. Access to it has also been seriously disrupted for several years, after the owner of a private mining claim in the Silver Pick Basin blocked the traditional standard route to the peak. Fortunately for us, mere days before our planned trip, the Forest Service and a coalition of private groups finally reached a land-swap and purchase deal which, together with some new road construction by the FS,opened the new Rock of Ages trailhead to the public. This makes for a longer route than starting from the old Silver Pick Basin trailhead, but it is still a considerably shorter route than any of the alternatives. So that's where we started.

We camped about a mile-and-a-quarter below the actual trailhead the night before, at one of the newly-developed campsites which the FS has produced. This is one of those rare occasions in which I have to offer kudos to the FS: It took a long time, but the road to the TH is very good, and there are many available campsites along the way. Even better, their re-worked website provides good, up-to-date information which made our journey very easy.

After the short drive to the TH in the morning, we hit the trail just about sunrise.

It took us less than an hour to pass the trail junction where the Elk Creek trail splits off, and reach the major turn where the trail finally rounds a northern corner on the ridge and enters the Silver Pick Basin. At this point, across the basin, you can see Wilson Peak dominating the eastern horizon.

After traversing south on the west side of the basin, the trail comes to an amazing plateau, invisible from below, where there remain the ruins of a large stone house (see photos). After that, a series of very steep trail sections lead up to the Rock of Ages saddle,named for the Rock of Ages mine which is just on the other side. It had taken us almost four hours to get to this point, so we paused for a rest. We also met climbers who had come up from the other side, in Navajo Basin. We had some food here, donned helmets and prepared for the tough part of the climb. It would turn out to be tougher than we had anticipated.

A very short section of trail leads to a low point on the Gladstone Peak/Wilson Peak ridge. Then the serious stuff begins.

After a short (but potentially frustrating) section where the trail is sketchy and the fall potential is very real, the trail gradually climbs back toward the crest of the ridge. The going here is slow, as the rock is always loose.

After reaching a low point on the ridge, which affords dynamite views out to the northwest, a clearly defined trail drops back off on the southeast side and heads toward the false summit (approx. 13,865 ft.) Here we encountered the true crux of the route.

The actual ridge crest between the false and true summits is utterly unclimbable. It consists of spikes and towers of rock twenty to fifty feet high with huge vertical drops in between, and hundreds of feet of vertical drop on the southeast (climber's right) side. Fortunately, a series of steep steps, well worn by past climbers, leads down on the left side to a small but useable level spot next to this wall of spikes. On the other side, a similar, but longer, series of steps allows a climb up past the wall and, finally, onto the easier terrain just short of the summit.

The rock is so jumbled that the correct route is hard to discern at first. We not only stared at it for several minutes before descending, we waited for another party of climbers to begin descending, and spoke briefly with them about the route.

Thereafter, however, the route ahead was relatively clear. We made the final climb with little trouble, and finally strolled out onto the small summit just after noon.

The return trip was uneventful, although we were rather pleasantly sprinkled upon shortly before reaching the trailhead. At the TH, we met up with a trio of other 14ers.com members who proved to be interested in employing my experience on the El Diente-Mount Wilson ridge next summer. We'll see.

Overall, this was a very satisfying climb, partly because it was harder than expected. We now just have two hard peaks left to do. Photos can be found at:

https://picasaweb.google.com/tcogwr/WilsonPeak

RT: 8.6 miles

Time: 11 hrs., 17 min. (including nearly 45 min. on the summit)

Vert.: approx. 3,900 ft.

Long life and many peaks!

2011-04-18T20:47:00.000-07:00

200 Ranked Peaks...and counting...

UN 9036

Tappan Mtn.(8,945 ft.)

Pt. 8857

UN 9083

18 April, 2011: I set out to finish off the Hackett Mtn. Quad. I had done the four ranked (and one unranked) peaks in the western extremity of Teller County, and needed the three sitting over the line in Park County. I couldn't quite meet this goal, but I made the best use possible of a partial day. To wit:

Foray 1: I pulled off Park Co. Rd.77—the Tarryall Road—onto FR 210 a few miles north of US 24. I found it gated basically right at the NF boundary, so I started from there. I had hoped to be able to drive considerably farther east, reducing my hiking time, but I knew I could still accomplish most of my day's objectives even having to hike from this point. East on the road (which even my Honda could easily have handled...), north on an unnamed 4WD track, and then ENE up the gentle ridge to the summit of UN 9036. It took just over an hour. I installed a register. Back down, almost to the car, in 49 min.

I headed north on FR 292 for Tappan Mtn. This pretty much deep-sixed my chances of finishing the Hackett Mtn. Quad, due to time, but, although Tappan is over the line on the adjacent Tarryall quad, I just couldn't pass it up, since adding it to this foray was a whole lot easier than making the same journey later. Besides, it would still give me three ranked peaks for the day, just not the three I had originally envisioned. It took me less than an hour to climb the south slopes (after leaving FR 292) and return to the car. Although Kevin's TR said there was a register, I could not locate it, despite the fact that my GPS confirmed the fact that I had found the true summit. Oh, well...

RT: 7.3 mi. Vert.: roughly 1,650 ft.

Foray 2: I headed back down CR 77 to CR 112. After crossing the creek (Tappan Gulch), the main road turns south to go to the Happy Meadows CG on the South Platte River. I instead headed north on FR 295, aiming to go as far as the road would let me. Once again, it wasn't really the road that stopped my wheeled progress, but a FS gate, just inside the NF boundary, where FR 296 heads off to the northeast. Based on previously published reports, this was not really a surprise, so I parked and proceeded north on the road on foot; at least, there would be no bushwhacking for a while. Noteworthy is the fact that a sign posted on the gate calls the closure “seasonal,” but the road beyond the gate had, obviously, long since dried out of the last snows; I can only conclude that the FS is arbitrarily expanding its authority yet again...

I left the road (not knowing how far it really went) at roughly 39.0286°N, and headed up the south ridge of Pt. 8857. I knew that climbing this unranked point was not really necessary to my ultimate objective, but I also knew that it would make route-finding relatively simple. What's more, the south-facing slopes offered quite a bit of relatively open terrain, not seriously encumbered by either rocks or timber; I felt it would be worth the extra vertical, not least because, in all probability, few have ever stood on top of this unranked high point.

After descending the steeper, rockier, and more wooded northern slopes, I finally tackled the south side of 9083. A cut for a power line helped with cleared timber, and I finally left it just short of the summit, which I reached an hour and thirteen minutes after setting off. With time now at a premium, I took a more direct route southward back to the saddle between 9083 and 8857, after which I did a gently descending traverse across the west slopes, avoiding most of the rocks, until I found the road (FR 295) just a bit north of where I had left it on the way up. I arrived back at the car just 50 minutes after leaving my third summit of the day.

And that summit was my 200^th ranked peak—including a number in New Mexico. There are many climbers out there—a few of whom I know and have been happy to climb with—who have many more peaks to their credit, but this milestone still made me feel a certain sense of pride.

RT: 4.35 mi. Vert.: roughly 1,100 ft.

Long life and many peaks!

2011-04-16T08:39:00.000-07:00

Santa Fe Quad

Atalaya Mtn. (9,121 ft.)

UN 8086

Sun Mtn. (7,952 ft.)

Talaya Hill (7,436 ft.)

As shuttling back and forth to Rio Rancho has become the background of my life, I decided that I should make every trip count. As it turns out, there are quite a few New Mexico and Colorado peaks which can be accessed with just a modest out-and-back off the trip I'm repeatedly making anyway.

The area around Santa Fe, near the southern end of the Sangre de Cristo range, sports a host of peaks. An accident of topography and cartography, however, puts just two ranked peaks and four unranked but named peaks on the USGS quad which includes most of the city, and bears its name. So, on the way down to Rio Rancho, I stopped off and grabbed one of those ranked peaks, and made the same little detour on the way back to climb the other one.

9 April, 2011: I took the Old Pecos Trail exit off the interstate to skirt the eastern edge of Santa Fe. Five miles further on, I arrived at the Atalaya Mountain trailhead, which is located on a city street, just after dawn. The streets finally give out, roughly at the National Forest boundary, and the actual trail takes off up a ridge, heading up to the range crest. The trail is surprisingly good, impossible to miss, and nicely signed where there are route finding choices to make. It leads to a saddle just south of the summit, where yet another sign clearly points the way. Having not seen a single other person, I arrived at the summit 56 minutes after setting off--just as the sun peeked over the hills to the east.

After installing a register, I made it back to the car in about 40 minutes, and was somewhat surprised to find that the parking lot--large enough for only 7 or 8 cars--was nearly full!

14 April, 2011: Taking the same detour on the way back, I pulled off Camino de Cruz Blanca a bit sooner, at the campus of St. John's College, into the parking lot which also accesses the Atalaya Mtn. trail. This access point appears to be a cooperative effort of the College, the city of Santa Fe's park & rec. department, and the Forest Service: How nice it would be if there were more similar collaborations in Colorado!

After following the trail down into the arroyo on the east side of the campus, I left it when it crossed the arroyo for the last time and took off to the east, and instead continued on southward to the water tank. Past this point, the road gradually becomes a trail, veering to the right (southwest) away from the bottom of the drainage. A couple of hundred yards brings one to the junction where a smaller, but clear, trail heads west to the saddle between UN 8086 and Sun Mtn.

From the saddle, I first climbed 8086 (since it's ranked!), then basically re-traced my steps down the north side and climbed the south face of Sun. 8086 was 90% a bushwhack, as the trail disappeared almost immediately. Sun, however, has bits of trail here and there all the way to the top, and although it is considerably rockier than 8086, it is not as steep and sports less visibility-impeding timber. Views from the summit are better, too. Neither peak has a register or cairn, but the high points are not hard to find.

I quickly descended, re-connecting with my ascent route at the saddle, and was back at the car in well under two hours.

Extra credit: After Sun, I drove a short distance north on Camino del Monte Sol and found the informal trailhead for unranked Talaya Hill. For a few extra minutes of driving and hiking, I got myself up to 4 out of 6 named peaks on this quad. Unexpectedly nice views from the summit of this one, too.

Long life and many peaks!

2011-04-08T12:35:00.000-07:00

Mount Garfield (yet again)

7 April, 2011: Mount Garfield (10,940 ft.) is the second-highest ranked peak in El Paso County. (That's right: There's nothing in between 11,000 ft. and Pikes Peak at over 14,000!) Despite this a) there's almost nowhere down in Colorado Springs from which its summit can actually be seen, and b) its summit is very rarely visited.
Map junkie that I am, however, I actually climbed this peak somewhere back around 1976. I climbed it a second time in the spring of 2007. On neither of these forays did I find the summit register, which another climber's trip report said was there. So, facing banishment from Colorado, I decided that finding, and signing, that register was a "must do."
By bushwhacking my way up the southwest slopes from FS trail 667, I finally found the elusive register--although I walked right past it once before re-tracing my steps and noticing it. Upon opening the metal (not PVC!) canister, I found not one, but two CMC registers, the older one placed in 1979 and still far from full. It still gave the CMC's address as Denver instead of Golden, where they are now located! I have no way of knowing whether or not the 1979 register replaced an older one but, based on the infrequency of entries, it seems unlikely--which means that, when I first climbed this peak, no one had ever even placed a register, and I was actually one of the first handful of people to reach this summit. Now I've done it three times, an obscure link the chain of my completion of El Paso County peaks.
TH: the Gold Camp Road closure parking lot above Helen Hunt Falls
RT: 6+ miles, 6 hrs., 25 min.
Vert: about 3,500 ft.

Long life and many peaks!

2011-03-21T20:04:00.000-07:00

Nameless Rock Outcroppings

21 March, 2011: On a quick outing, I climbed two unnamed, unranked rocky high points on the west edge of Colorado Springs.
The first, suggested to me earlier this month on a drive-by, is located in Bear Creek Park at approximately 38.8223°N, 104.8877°W. The high point is at roughly 6,650 ft. I took a use trail leading north along the ridge top to the "back" side (i.e., the east side) of the rocks, which required only a bit of Class 2+ scrambling. I believe I also could see a doable route up a gully on the steeper west side, which would lead to the saddle just south of the summit. It looked like also no worse than 2+.
The second one is located a bit farther south, just off High Drive, at about 38.8180°N, 104.8954°W. It rises to about 6,680 ft. Here, too, I did not scale the (likely technical) east side, which rises up dramatically from the creek bed, but climbed to the ridge behind the promontory to approach the summit rocks. This one still required about ten or twelve feet of fairly exposed climbing that I would rate as Class 3. It would be a different matter if the rock were wet.
Long life and many peaks!

2011-03-12T17:37:00.000-08:00

23 Skidoo!
(Mount Rosa)

It had been too long. After achieving my goal of climbing Mt. Rosa (11,504 ft.) in every calendar month in February of 2009, I had kind of put it on the back burner. But with gas surging toward $4 per gallon again, a big mountain requiring less than 4 miles of driving had an undeniable appeal. Plus it would be my first excursion above 10,000 ft this year.
Expecting snow to slow me down on the final push to the summit (it did!), I shortened my usual route by about two miles by starting at Helen Hunt Falls instead of the Gold Camp Road road closure trailhead, and climbed directly up the ridge to the collapsed tunnel, instead of running the road up North Cheyenne Cañon and back again. Other than that, it was the "same old" route, but it had been so long since I had done it that it was easy to love. I also loved finding almost no other people, relatively little snow, and a well-beaten path through it, all the way to the saddle before the final push to the summit. Yay!
Even so, the ascent took almost four hours, mostly thanks to postholing and trail-losing on that last leg.
Sadly, I also found that the old, bolted-in register canister is no long there. However, a new, informal register has been placed in the summit rocks, and I was pleased to find the entry of my fellow peakbagger Jeremy Hakes, and his dad, Greg, who climbed in late February(!). Somewhat fatigued though I was, I made it down in just over three hours. Climb #23 of this fabulous mountain. That's not the record, but maybe I'm number two? Obviously, it's my favorite mountain.
Long life and many peaks!

2011-02-14T18:44:00.000-08:00

Blue Mountain (D) (9,230 ft.), UN9122

14 February, 2011:After Crystal Peak, I ventured south across Hwy. 24, for the two other ranked peaks on the same quad (Lake George). Taking the Blue Mountain Road (CR 61/CR 98) just over 5 miles south out of Lake George leads to a Forest Service road heading north into the valley between these peaks. A 4-mile "Y" route allowed me to hit both these peaks in just over 2 hours. UN9122 proved to be harder, with a rocky summit requiring a bit of light scrambling. Happily, both summits held registers just under 3 years old. I was signer #12 on Blue Mtn. A scout troop and a camp staff group had swelled the numbers on 9122, but these are amazingly rarely visited peaks for being so easy, and easy to get to. A little chip off the 200 ranked peaks of Park County.
Long life and many peaks!

2011-02-14T18:27:00.000-08:00

UN 9580, Crystal Peak (9,637 ft.)

14 February, 2011: Happy Valentine's Day! These two Teller County 9ers constitute an isolated group north of Florissant. And, unfortunately, just south of the NF boundary. But they're both ranked peaks with dramatic rocky summits, so, after hesitating for months, I looked for the closest approach and set off on a Monday morning after morning commuter traffic should be over. It worked. BTW, I'm far from the only one to bag these peaks, although the number is not large.
Although they're both below timberline, both summits are exposed and treeless, affording excellent views in basically all directions. I was also blessed with a morning of clear skies, mild temperatures, and only modest breeziness. Both summits were fun to climb, offering great scrambling and bouldering. Crystal is a real challenge, and I circled halfway around the base of its summit block before finding away through the rocks to the small summit area. These peaks bring me up to 33 out of 54 in Teller County.
Long life and many peaks!

2011-02-02T19:14:00.000-08:00

2 February, 2011: Has anyone else noticed that the people of Egypt are now showing more spine in the face of dictatorship than we Americans have for decades? The government knocked out the internet, and cell phone communications, and it still didn't work to stop the opposition! Are you ashamed yet?

2010-12-30T10:52:00.000-08:00

UN 6495
Las Mesas del Conjelon West (6,988 ft.)

28 December, 2010: More trips to New Mexico meant a couple of additional peaks not far off the road. Ten days earlier (the 18th), I stopped on the way down and slogged through some snow to UN 6495. This is one of only three ranked peaks on the Tetilla Peak quad, so I hope to finish it off fairly soon. On the return trip, I scouted the approach to Tetilla Peak, and found that the last two miles of approach road (after county maintenance ends) is too rutty to attempt in the Honda, at least when it's wet and muddy, so it got put by for later.
Heading home yet again just before the new year, I decided to hit Las Mesas del Conjelon West, which is just east of, and the line parent of, the Wagon Mound. Cimarron, who hadn't had a climbing adventure for some time, accompanied me this time. Even though it isn't the closest approach from the road (NM 120), I started at the same place as for Wagon Mound, the Wagon Mound and Santa Clara cemeteries. Here I knew I could leave the car safely. I covered the roughly 1¾ miles to the summit by traversing over a couple of gentle ridges on the north side of the Wagon Mound, crossing the open, flat area in between (which sports a 4WD track), and climbing one of the gullies which split the west face of the Mesa. There is scrub oak part of the way, but it was nowhere more than a couple of feet high, and not really hard to get through. After getting to the mesa top, I first climbed the southern minor summit, which proved actually to be a tougher climb than the actual summit. Thus, it took an hour and six minutes to reach the high point. From here it was clear that I didn't have time to try to add Las Mesas del Conjelon East to my day; there may be a closer approach point for it.
Only after getting home did I realize that this peak completed the Wagon Mound quad for me, a nice surprise, especially since I appear to be the first one! This probably closes out the calendar year for me, as there is much to do at home with the remaining three days. But, ATC, it hasn't been a bad year: 66 ranked peaks in Colorado and New Mexico, 26 unranked ones, some of them highly obscure, and two counties and a bunch of quads completed. Happy New Year to all!

Long life and many peaks!

2010-12-07T11:54:00.000-08:00

The Hogback (6,584 ft.)

4 December, 2010: This was just a little easy one on an out-and-back on the way down to NM. Exit 34 (Aguilar) from I-25, then take CR 60 about 7 mi. east. The summit is the highest point on a volcanic ridge. Easy Class 2 or 2+ climbing on a broken catwalk for the whole length of the summit ridge. Another instant quad, as it's the only summit on the eponymous quad, and my first summit in Las Animas County. (Fishers Peak will have to wait for another day...)

Long life and many peaks!

2010-12-02T14:01:00.000-08:00

Dome Rock (9,044 ft.)

UN 9112 (attempt)

2 December, 2010: Both of these 9ers are ranked Teller Co. peaks. To avoid private property access issues, I used the “standard” (longer) route from the east. I started at the Dome Rock State Wildlife Area parking lot on Teller CR 61. It's 2 miles south of the intersection with CO Hwy. 67, right at Mile Marker 6. Perhaps the worst thing about this route is that you hike downstream along Fourmile Creek, which means that the return trip is uphill. Ugh.

The trip in was quick, however. I followed the trail along the creek until it turned south in between the two peaks. What a view! I angled northeastward up the west side of Dome Rock's gentle northern ridge, then turned south and more or less followed the ridge to the base of the north side of the rock. Up to this point, it is all just a Class 1 or 2 hike on trails and through the trees. That all changes upon hitting the dome. It's a HUGE rounded blob of Pikes Peak granite. The south side is a daunting cliff but, fortunately, the north side is more gently sloped.

It's still a challenge, however. The traction is good, and I was able to walk up most of it, although I took “some real care,” in the words of Random Hold. The crux, however, requires using all four limbs; I call it Class 4. It's a narrow, leftward-slanted crack about 30 feet high which connects the last walkable slab section to the more gently sloped top. I stashed my poles at the bottom of it, and spent the next ten minutes or so grabbing tiny projections on the rock, wedging my feet into spaces at the bottom, and pressing out on both sides with my arms to make vertical progress.

Finally, I lifted myself into an exit gully on the right (the overhung side all the way up), and was able to step out onto the walkable slopes just below the summit. The view to the south and southwest is truly amazing. Descending the crack was interesting, but not as difficult as I had been prepared for. I followed the north ridge more or less all the way down to intersect the trail a bit east of where I had left it.

On this trip, I also made an unsuccessful bid for UN 9112. The crux on this one, too, is a crack climb heading south on the east side of the summit ridge. With remaining snow in the crack, however, I found it too dangerous to continue. I made it to within about 200 vertical feet of the summit, and the way ahead seemed clear and relatively easy, but it will have to wait for another day.

RT (excluding the attempt on 9112): 9.2 mi.

Vertical: 2,420 ft.

Time: about 4 hours.

Long life and many peaks!

2010-11-20T15:31:00.000-08:00

“Tuckaway Mountain”...again (10,850 ft. (?))

20 November, 2010: Just when you think like can't get any weirder, it does! I recorded having climbed this mountain back in the spring of 2007. However, a few days ago, I got an email from John Kirk, the gonzo climber and number crunching wizard who runs listsofjohn.com, with “Tuckaway Mtn.” in the subject line. What could this be?

What it was was a report that he had poked around on Tuckaway's long summit ridge, and determined definitively that there was a higher point out at the west end of the ridge. (The existing literature shows the summit near the eastern end of the summit ridge.) Apparently, due to all the trees, no one had previously noticed this higher point! (Both are within the closed contour line at 10,800 ft. on the topo map.)

Worse still, the high point appeared to be a large boulder whose difficulty John pegged at Class 5.3—quite a change from the Class 2 walkup this peak had been regarded as before. And, for me, even worse than that was the fact that this threatened my completion of all the ranked peaks in El Paso County, which I thought I had accomplished on the 22^nd of December last year, with my climb of UN 6510 on Ft. Carson.

So I had to go back. This, after all the 3^rd highest ranked peak in El Paso County! So I went back.

As before, I took the Seven Bridges Trail west, and turned northwest into Jones Park at the trail junction. Once over the two gentle saddles, I followed trail 667 northwest past the western slopes of Mt. Garfield. On this leg, I discovered that not one, but four, wooden bridges had been constructed over the various stream crossings along the way. I was amazed, as I didn't think this trail got enough traffic to warrant such attention.

After the trail turns west, under the south slopes of Tuckaway, I followed it until it starts to descend gently, then headed up and north through the trees, hoping to hit the west ridge of the mountain. Going basically blind in the timber, I actually topped out in between the “old” summit and the new one. I therefore headed east first, to sign the register which Mike Garratt had placed there just after the turn of the century (and which I had missed on my first ascent...). It now contains the cautionary note from Mr. Kirk that “this point is lower than the one to the west...” So it was off to the west.

A few minutes of poking around in the trees and navigating rock outcroppings did indeed bring a higher knoll into view, if only briefly. It actually can't be seen at all from the register location, which does explain how it went unrecognized for so long!

As I finally approached the true high point, I saw the two boulders recorded in Kevin Baker's photographs from just a couple of days before: the actual high point, and a leaning “approach” rock to the north, with a serious gap in between them. I made one good faith attempt to friction up the southeast side of the summit boulder, but eventually went back to the north side.

Once on top of the “approach” rock, which wasn't hard to climb, I saw that the jump over to the summit wasn't really going to be as bad as it had looked from below. In fact, it wasn't a jump at all, just a long step which required committing to crossing the gap, but not actually flying. I was going to make it! I waited for a lull in the persistent wind that was blowing, and launched myself.

Once over and on top, with my county completion saved, I found that getting back down was actually going to be more of a problem. I didn't want to reverse my steps, because, from this direction, my target was considerably smaller, and the wind was still there. Finally, I wedged myself in between the two rocks, using such small protuberances as I could find for both hands and feet, until I was suspended just a few feet above the level ground below, and simply dropped down.

My GPS showed an elevation of about 10,850 ft. for the relocated summit. If this is accepted, it would raise Tuckaway quite a few notches in the altitude rankings of Colorado peaks! I guess Tuckaway has also instantly been elevated to being the most difficult ranked peak in El Paso County. But, I've still done them all!

RT: 11 miles, 5 hrs., 25 min.

Vert.: 3,430 ft.

Long life and many peaks!

2010-11-14T20:18:00.000-08:00

Cedar Mountain & Friends

UN 9514

Truman's Rock (9,420 ft., unranked)

Hackett Mtn. (9,424 ft.)

Cedar Mtn. (8,939 ft.)

UN 8630 (soft ranked)

Participants: me and Cimarron

13 November, 2010: This trip made some overdue progress on peaks of Teller County.These peaks all lie just off CR 51, which is also FS 360, north of Florissant. I actually picked up CR 51 at Divide (just north of US 24) and followed it north and west into Pike NF. It was supposed to be like “Five Easy Pieces,” but it turned out to be more like “Four Weddings and (almost) a Funeral.” By this last I don't mean that I nearly got killed; I didn't. But I actually did begin to doubt my chances of success. The “funeral” was Cedar Mtn., the lowest ranked peak, but by far the most difficult one of the day. More on that later. First, the easy ones:

UN 9514 and Truman's Rock

I started at the south end, just after the road turns to running basically north, about12 miles out of Divide (CR 51 has convenient mile markers!), and about 5 miles after the pavement ends. FS 220.1A heads west off the main road at about 39.0464º N, and gives access to these two. After going west just a few hundred yards, 9514 is on a spur road/trail to the south, and Truman's Rock is on a spur road to the north. I concur with an earlier climber that 9514 is probably the easiest ranked peak in Teller County—an easy walk-up with surprisingly decent views, especially to the west. Truman's Rock is unranked, with only 80 feet of prominence, but it is a more challenging summit, as some serious boulder climbing is required to reach the true high point. Total for this pair: less than 45 min. Onward and downward!

Hackett Mtn.

This gentle mountain lends its name to the topo quad. It is just west of the road, and can be seen from a couple of places as you approach. I parked just before the trees ended, giving out into the Hayman fire burn area, at about 39.0852º N. A gentle ridge leads up to the west to intersect the slightly steeper NW face of the mountain. The top is easy to locate, but I completely forgot to look for the register which my reading said was there! I also noted that my GPS showed the elevation to be about 9470—considerably higher than the literature value The view is sufficiently open that it was easy to follow the ridge back down to the car. Time for this one: also about 45 min. RT.

Cedar Mtn. (the prize of the day) and UN 8630

My idea going in was to do Cedar from the south/southeast. This was based largely on Jeremy Hakes' report noting an access road to a parking area on the south side, and an actual trail (!) leading to the summit. In addition Kevin Baker's TR had described the north side as “steep,” so I figured the southern approach was the way to go. Best-laid plans...

First off, I failed to find the access road, which actually shows on the topo map, and should have been at about 39.1152º N. So I just drove a little farther north on the road and found a place where I could pull off, roughly west of the summit.

I headed up, east, and south, skirting the cliffs which guard the summit, and hoping simply to intersect the trail heading north. Looking above me, I scanned the rocks for a weakness in the cliffs. I saw one possible one, but I was afraid it might be too steep for Cimarron, so I continued on to the south. Basically, I went all the way to the south end of the rocks, and curled around onto the east side, before I found anything that looked sufficiently dog-friendly to suit me.

Shortly after finally turning north, I encountered a cairn! I thought to myself “This must be the trail to which Jeremy was referring!” It was, but there were still surprises in store.

The cairns and easy Class 2 climbing continued, and I thought I might actually be closing in on the summit (which I now couldn't see, of course). Unfortunately, this led to confirmation of the first time-consuming mistake. The route eventually led back over onto the west side of the ridge, right into the leftward-facing cut in the rocks which I had rejected from below! It wasn't as steep or dicey as I had thought, and I could have saved a good deal of time by heading for it directly. Oh,well; I slogged on.

Next, the cairns led to a small saddle below a rather cliffy section. A quick check out onto the east face revealed a serious drop-off, so I could only conclude that the correct route was directly up the headwall facing me. Sure enough, I could see the next two cairns farther up. The problem was, although I knew that I could climb up the cracks or slabs between me and the visible cairns, I didn't think Cimarron could. So, with an eye on the time, and believing—wrongly--that the summit was just beyond what I could see, I concluded that I would have to summit alone, and launched myself up the fifteen feet or so of hands-and-feet climbing that led to the next section.

This led to an easy section, but it soon brought into view the next surprise. I was only on the south section of the summit ridge, and the true high point was on the north section, now clearly visible to the north. I now got another surprise: Cimarron had somehow made it up what I had assumed was the crux of the route, and was right behind me! Amazed, I scratched her head and pressed on.

Now it got really interesting! In between the two halves of the summit ridge, I found a cleft 20 feet or so deep, on the other side of which was—get this—a ladder fixed to a basically vertical section of rock! Again, I knew I could climb the ladder (assuming it held together...), but there was yet another problem: The drop down into the cleft was nearly vertical too, and the small ledges there looked perfectly doable by a human (due care strongly advised!), but not by a quadruped. This was indeed the route that Jeremy had described, but, clearly, he hadn't taken his dog! I could have gone on by myself at this point, but I really didn't want Cimarron trying to follow me down that drop.

The only option was to backtrack all the way to the little saddle, and very likely beyond that, and circle around on the east side of the summit rocks, hoping to find either an alternative way up into the cleft with the ladder or, better yet, another route up the east side onto the summit ridge.

Going back, I got to see how Cimarron had climbed the wall I had thought would stop her. Whereas I went down a steep crack, she flounced down a slabby rock face that I had thought looked too exposed and devoid of hand holds, as if it were nothing!

We did indeed have to go back nearly all the way to the south end of the summit cliffs to find a way to descend back onto the east face. When we finally headed north again, we were still on a steep slope, with plenty of broken rock and nasty vegetation to slow us down. I wasn't going to have come this far, however, and not knock off this peak, so we slogged on. Just as I was wondering if there were really any way to avoid the ladder, however, I spotted a narrow ledge which appeared to lead around a corner. There just might be a less steep gully on the other side...

Here, again, I thought I might have to leave Cimarron behind, but I knew the summit was close, so I went to check out the corner. I climbed up a steep crack, partially choked with vegetation, and onto the ledge, which was not exactly level and fairly exposed. Again, I had adequate hand holds, and adequate traction as long as the rock was dry, but I didn't think Cimarron could follow me.

Once around the corner, I found myself in a shallow but steep bowl of rock slabs which did indeed lead right up to a small lip just below the summit ridge. I carefully frictioned my way up the slabs, working to my left (south) to try to get to the narrowest part of the cliff band. Still fighting vegetation, I finally succeeded in hauling myself up through the final rocks and out onto the summit ridge, just south of the actual summit.

The summit is marked by a log cross about twelve feet high, secured in a pyramid of small stones nearly four feet high itself. After glimpsing this, and knowing that I had finally almost made it, I turned around to yet another surprise: Cimarron was right behind me, yet again! She had somehow negotiated the exposed ledge, climbed the slabs (which all lean the wrong way), and gotten up over the lip, while I thought she was marooned below. I could hardly believe it.

Looking down to the west, I could see the car barely a quarter mile away; it had taken an hour and 25 minutes to get here! To the east was Turkey Rock, a ranked peak variously reported as 3^rd, 4^th, and 5^th Class (guess I'll have to go there to find out...). Off to the northeast, I could see Turtle Mountain, Thunder Butte, and Sheep Nose in Douglas County, all of which I had climbed. West and north lay the amazing smooth rock of Big Rock Candy Mountain, the most likely candidate for preventing me from finishing Douglas County. And just to the north, I looked down on UN 8630, which had been my intended fifth target for the day, but which I now wondered if I would have time for.

On the way down, however, I changed my mind yet again. Instead of re-tracing my long route around the south end of Cedar, it seemed more expedient simply to drop off the east face onto less steep ground, and circle around the north end to my starting point. A sort of (unplanned) tour de Cedar. On the way down, I realized that 8630 was a simple walk-up, and there for the easy taking; why not!?

Indeed, with all the rock scrambling now behind us, we reached the rarely-visited summit of UN 8630 only 45 minutes after leaving the summit of Cedar Mountain. And barely 25 minutes after that, we finished the easy walk back past the north side of Cedar to the road and the car. An hour and 25 minutes up, but only an hour and ten minutes down, including the out-and-back to 8630, which required almost 300 feet of climbing!

Sorry, still no pictures on this one, as my camera continues to act up.

Long life and many peaks!

2010-10-17T10:07:00.000-07:00

Badito Cone (8,942 ft.)
UN 7091

5 October, 2010: I headed south for New Mexico before dawn with the intention of bagging a couple of southern Colorado peaks early in the morning. Just before sunrise, I left Colorado Hwy. 69 near Farisita and took (Huerfano) CR620 until it becomes FR 438, heading north and east into the southern tip of the Greenhorn Mountain Wilderness. The dirt road is easy to negotiate, and I had no trouble getting a passenger car to within half a mile of the NF boundary. I could actually have gotten farther, but I erred on the side of caution.
From the boundary, the road/trail continues east and up toward the summit. Eventually, it links to a whole maze of old 4WD roads. My original plan had been to take some of these roads onto the south side of the peak and then strike north. However, the main road offered an easy path onto the western slopes, so I followed it as far as possible, and then struck out east and up for the final push.
The views were great, as this relatively low peak has over 1,000 feet of prominence. I could see the Cone's early morning shadow on the valley below me as I climbed. The upper slopes are mostly a pile of dinner plate talus. It's steep, but mostly quite solid, so I made fairly rapid progress. I'd call it no worse than a 2+. I believe this is my 150th ranked peak.
At the top, I found a Bob Martin register with seven entries since early 2008--three summer seasons--so I became number eight.
A few miles back down Hwy.69, I took CR 520 south to roughly 37.7096°N at approximately 6,760 ft. elevation, and headed east toward UN 7091. This is one of just two ranked peaks on the Black Hills quad. I followed a disused 4WD road under power lines over one ridge and into an open valley before turning left (north) toward the summit. In less than an hour and a half I was back at the car.
No pictures yet, as I can't find my camera's cable to download them.
Long life and many peaks!

2010-08-19T11:38:00.000-07:00

St. Peter's Dome (9,720 ft.)
UN 10100 (D)

18 Aug., 2010: To stave off the worse effects of low altitude sickness, I headed for the Gold Camp Road (ex) shooting range parking lot to repeat St. Peter's Dome and UN 10100. I consoled myself with running the ridge in between the two peaks, which I had not done before.
Unlike my first climb of SPD, I left the trail and climbed the very steep gully on the south side to the notch between the two high points. This is actually a longer route to the actual summit, but it was more interesting.
Then, it was on to new territory. I dropped down to the west, and either went over or skirted several rock outcropping ridge points before climbing up to UN 10100 (D), a rarely-visited ranked peak. To my surprise, a Mike Garratt register had been placed in 2008. It had twenty or so entries, including "all the usual suspects." I believe I'm now the only person with two recorded climbs of this obscure peak.
I descended off the west side, and easily found the trail which leads down a gentle drainage back to the road. A third of a mile or so of jogging along the road--amazingly empty of cars--got me back to my car in just under two hours total.
A few pictures are at:
http://picasaweb.google.com/tcogwr/UN10100DStPeterSDome
Long life and many peaks!

2010-07-23T12:34:00.000-07:00

21 July, 2010: Made an unsuccessful :( attempt at technically unranked, but difficult, North Maroon Peak, trying to bring me to #49 and Trisha to #48. Despite an early start, rain rolled in just as we approached the summit, and the crux of the route. We stuck it out as long as we felt prudent, on what's considered one of Colorado's most dangerous fourteeners, but ultimately headed back down from somewhere around 13,600 ft. Here's hoping August brings much sunnier days.
Long life and many peaks!

2010-07-15T12:09:00.000-07:00

Longs Peak (14,261 ft.)
Battle Mtn. (12,044 ft.)

14 July, 2010: After two unsuccessful tries (yes, there was another one last month that I didn't even mention here), it was mandatory to get Trisha to the summit of Longs for 14er #47. The snow was finally all gone, and true summer conditions prevailed, so I felt sure we could pull it off.
After the best short night's sleep we could manage, we left Greeley shortly before 3 am MDT. We pulled into one of the two remaining parking spots at the Longs Peak Ranger Station parking lot, threw on our packs, and were on the trail just about 4:30 (just about dawn). With a starting temperature of 62° F, we set off in just long sleeves.
A couple of hours later, above timberline and with the sun up, we were forced to put on every stitch of clothing we had brought and hunker down against unexpectedly fierce winds! At 12,000 feet, a 30 mph wind with gusts of at least 50 has a lot of chilling power, as well as the ability to make you go very slow. As a result, it took us five hours to reach the Keyhole.
By the time we got there, we had already encountered half a dozen other parties who had turned around, having found even more wind at the Keyhole, and anticipating still worse conditions on the upper part of the route. The number of people making any real bid for the summit was plummeting rapidly!
At the Keyhole, we weighed our options. The wind out of the west had not abated, but the route ahead was dry. Not wanting to suffer the ignomy of a third turn-back on the same mountain unless absolutely necessary, we joined forces with another couple and pressed on. We figured we owed it to ourselves to go as far as we could, while hoping for an improvement in conditions.
Almost immediately, our boldness was rewarded. The wind was actually less of a problem as we traversed across the west side of the mountain! With no snow to make things slippery, or to hide the famous bullseyes which mark the trail, we made good progress toward the "Homestretch" climb. And we hardly noticed that the day was warming nicely, and the winds were indeed abating.
Two hours from the Keyhole, we stepped out onto the huge summit plateau. To my amazement (this was July, after all!), we were sharing the summit with only three other people! Also, the sun had finally come out and warmed everything to the extent that we could finally shed some clothing and enjoy our time on the summit. We spent about half an hour taking pictures, enjoying some lunch, swapping stories, and otherwise relishing our summit. Since it was Bastille Day, I made a sign with the date colored as a French flag (see Trisha's pictures--of which she took a lot more than I did)!
On the way down, we got both rained and graupelled on, in short bursts. It was enough to make us very careful on the last leg approaching the Keyhole, and enough to make me abandon the idea of climbing Mt. Lady Washington (the NE buttress peak of Longs). Instead, after the blustery weather finally was over for good, I left the trail at Granite Pass and did a quick climb of unranked Battle Mtn. I dropped off the south side, found the disused trail through Jim's Grove, and managed to arrive at the junction with the main trail just as Trisha got there!
There, we (finally!) stripped down to light summer hiking garb and made good time on the last 2.5 miles back to the parking lot. All in all, a very strange, but very satisfying day.
My photos are at:
http://picasaweb.google.com/tcogwr/LongsWithTrisha
RT: approx. 15 miles
Vert.: approx. 5,000 ft.
7 hrs. up, 30 min. on the summit, 6 hrs. down.
Long life and many peaks!

2010-07-07T14:29:00.000-07:00

Cow Mtn. (11,143 ft.)
UN 10,543

7 July, 2010: This was another trip up Gold Camp Road, to the part of Teller County which is on the Pikes Peak quad. I took GCR nearly to Victor and turned north on an (apparently) unnamed road at approximately 38.7446°N, -105.0755°W. I followed it for roughly a third of a mile. (The map shows this road continuing all the way around in a loop by Bison Reservoir, and back to the main road, but I found it coming to an end not far beyond where I parked at a convenient pull-out.)
Heading off at 4:44 MST, I followed the road, and then a rough trail (horse?) which continued on to the north to the saddle between the two peaks. A short (quarter mile) jaunt with just over 300 feet of elevation gain (If I'm not mistaken, this is the saddle which defines this peak's prominence, and leads to its being ranked!) led to the tree-shrouded summit. The high point is in a cluster of microwave-sized rocks located very close to the literature values for the summit location. I got there at 5:10.
Back at the saddle, I headed--basically blindly--north and west, up and into the trees. At this elevation, there are still a lot of aspens. The forest is not dense enough to impede progress much, nor is there any big problem with downed timber. However, the trees plus the gentle convolutions of the mountainside do make it impossible to see very far ahead. Just as importantly, the sky had gone totally overcast, eliminating sun navigation. As I climbed higher, I was actually hitting the underside of the cloud deck, and hiking through wisps of fog. Thus, I was navigating by compass, and just kept going up. This took me over one false summit, where I gave up a small bit of elevation. When I encountered another segment of the elusive, deteriorating 4WD road, I stopped to check my position by GPS one more time. Continuing up and west again, I soon encountered the steepest climbing of the day: The east side of the summit is guarded by a talus slope that goes on for a couple of hundred vertical feet.
I finally found what had to be the summit at 6:22, where GPS confirmed that I was indeed in the right place. It's a good thing that I had this modern device, though, since I couldn't see anything more than a few dozen feet away.
Hoping that the coulds would lift, I dropped off the north side until I once again encountered the old road. I still had hopes of crossing the drainage to the northwest (the outflow from Bison Reservoir) and adding Trachyte Knob to my day. After all, It was still very early in the day, and I had thought that afternoon thunderstorms would be my worst meteorological enemy. But no! The persistent clould cover and fog--which showed no sign of burning off--still made it impossible to see where I was going. I could see myself pushing on to the third summit (You can always get there by just going up until there isn't any more up!), and then getting hopelessly disoriented on the way down and being unable to find my way back to the slopes of Cow Mtn.
Thus, I called two rarely climbed, ranked peaks good for the day. Despite the fog, I managed to come right back to the point where the road crosses the Cow/10543 saddle, and quickly made it back to the car. Only two peaks left on the Pikes Peak quad! (Due to the fog, no photos on this one either.)
RT: 4.3miles, 3 hrs. Vertical: approx. 1,700 ft.
Long life and many peaks!

2010-06-30T20:57:00.000-07:00

Sheep Mtn. (12,397 ft.)
UN 11510

30 June, 2010: Another piece of (annoyingly) unfinished business. I had made two previous attempts at Sheep Mtn. and, possibly, its companion peak, UN 11510. For different reasons, neither attempt succeeded (although I did climb the third peak in the group, UN 11749, twice!) . Both of those attempts had been made with snow on the ground, so I decided that, with summer really here, it was time to expiate the jinx with the greater speed that summer conditions would surely allow.
Sheep is a relatively obscure mountain, mainly because it isn't easily visible from towns or roads. Even the access road I took in to climb it offers no view of the peak: You just have to know it's there, hiding in the distance. All the same, it is a ranked peak, in fact the second highest ranked peak in Teller County. So it had been on the peakbagging radar for some time.
The climb is actually straightforward and undemanding--Class 2. I started on FS 376 a few hundred yards from the gate below the reservoirs and headed up the obvious gully to the west. This leads to the long southern ridge of UN 11749, which I didn't repeat. Instead, I followed a degraded old road along a traverse across the southwest face to get high enough to cross the drainage to the west without immersing myself in the boggy parts. (I mostly succeeded.)
From there, a little rock hopping gets one to the east ridge of Sheep Mtn., and the first views of its summit. It's about three miles from the road, and I got there in about two hours. There are nifty rock outcroppings on all the several ridge points along the way, as well as the summit itself. Contrary to reports, I found no register.
To get to UN 11510, I followed the ridge down for a short distance, then just dropped off into the trees on the north side, to get into the valley of Boehmer Creek, which separates the two peaks. There's no trail, and only a little visibility, so I was mostly just traveling blind, based on what I remembered of the views from higher up. I got through the flat, willowy area along the creek pretty well. I spotted a small footbridge while descending, which got me across the creek with dry feet. After that, it was just a matter of climbing back out of the willows to cross the dirt road that runs up the drainage, and improvising a switchbacked path up the west side of my second peak.
Again, this was not a technically difficult ascent, just a steep walk-up. However, the true high point is a large boulder which would be quite difficult by itself. Fortunately, a tree grows right next to one of its vertical sides, and a downed trunk leans over a big crack on another side. I used the former to climb up, and the latter to get down. Very cool. The two-and-a-half mile traverse between the two peaks took me roughly another two hours.
I attempted to get back to the car by simply swinging around the west side of UN 11749, to rejoin my ascent route on the degraded road. Abundant timber, however, fooled me into going much too far west, and I ended up topping out on a saddle of Sheep's east ridge, making for a return leg of slightly over four miles. Nothing like a little route-finding adventure. Still, it was an enjoyable morning in nearly perfect weather, and two more ranked peaks in the bag--peaks which both see relatively few visitors! No pictures on this one, though.
Long life and many peaks!

2010-06-24T08:32:00.000-07:00

Greenhorn Mtn. (12,347 ft.)
"North Peak" (12,220ft.)

23 June, 2010: I'd been waiting for summer conditions to hit Greenhorn, since I'd heard horror stories about how hard it can be with snow on the ground. It's "only" a twelver, but, since it was also the last one I needed to finish the ranked peaks of Pueblo County, I wanted to jump on it as soon as conditions permitted.
Researching routes, I discovered a short hike requiring a very long drive, and a long hike requiring a much shorter drive. To spare the car, I selected the latter. Further research, and communications with fellow runner Paul Vorndam (Magwitch on 14ers.com), revealed two different long hike possibilities, starting from opposite sides of the small town of Rye. The trail that's actually called the Greenhorn trail starts from the north side of town, but actually hits the long summit ridge of the mountain nearer the northern end, closer to North Peak than to Greenhorn's summit. Plus, Paul was more familiar with the other route--the Bartlett Trail--so that was my ultimate choice.
We met at the trailhead on the NF boundary, at the end of Bartlett Trail Road, and headed out at 5:46 am. (The road, BTW, is dirt and a bit rough right at the end, but perfectly driveable by low-clearance cars.) The trail starts with seemingly endless, and highly convoluted, switchbacks through dense forest and brush. The FS has apparently abandoned all maintenance, and vegetation impinges from both sides most of the way.
The switchbacks quickly become steep, climbing the wall of the drainage. You have to go over a mile before you get a decent look out over the area of the TH, and it's already lost in the trees. A couple of miles in, the trail crosses over a ridge into another drainage to the south, but the pattern of switchbacks and shelf trail on steep slopes goes on and on all the way to timberline. The trail is clear enough to see, at least to anyone familiar with trails, all the way. However, the lack of maintenance and lack of use has made it a bit sketchy in places: Vegetation is seriously threatening to reclaim, or at least obscure, the trail in a number of places. Small trees have sprouted up right in the middle of the trail in places. This trail needs more use, or perhaps some clandestine maintenance, to keep it open!
After nearly three hours, I finally emerged from the trees and bushes into a shallow basin south of the summit, where the trail was basically out in the open. I followed cairns north to where I had to probe my way through a small area of trees (real pine trees--not scrub oak!) before I came out into a meadow where I could finally see the summit of Greenhorn, less than a mile away.
I traversed to the right (east) up the slopes to gain the gentle ridge leading west up to the actual summit. It was relatively easy going on mixed tundra and small rocks, but fairly steep. I had to get to within a few dozen yards of the top before I saw the stone windbreak on the summit. It held not only a CMC register in the usual tube, but a makeshift register in a metal can which, surprisingly, contained a business card of the Brown Bear Mountaineering Club (of Denver). I had previously seen a register placed by this group on Mt. Pittsburg (yes, I spelled that right), but didn't know it they still existed. The written date of 2007 confirmed that they did!
After about 15 minutes sheltering from the wind and taking pictures, I moved on for the traverse--nearly 2 miles--over to North peak. On the way, I met a family going south, who had come up the Greenhorn Trail. They were the last people I would see all day!
The traverse to North Peak took nearly an hour, but was well worth it. Totally above timberline, the ridge offers dynamite views in all directions, and Cimmy had a blast roaming free. Wildflowers were everywhere. I found a couple of cairns near the top of North Peak, but neither seemed to be on the actual high point--although that point was indeed somewhat hard to determine.
After taking a few more pictures, we simply re-traced out route (more or less), hit the summit of Greenhorn a second time, and began the long descent. It was windy on top, and I had my windbreaker on for a while, but after starting the real descent, it was a matter of progressively shedding clothing all the way down. I tried to slather enough sunblock on the back of my legs (I wore shorts the whole day!) when we turned east, but still got some sunburn on my legs. No complaints.
Pictures are at:
http://picasaweb.google.com/tcogwr/GreenhornMtn
Long life and many peaks!

2010-06-14T21:16:00.000-07:00

14 June, 2010: This is another of my rare departures from climbing, to make a brief comment on another extreme form of adventure: open sea sailing. Specifically, Abby Sunderland's unfortunately aborted attempt at circumnavigating the globe solo.
All of the people who are currently lambasting Abby's parents, and/or Abby, for launching this trip, and/or over the supposedly terrible "cost" of plucking her from her disabled craft, should just plain drop dead! Parents should tell their children to follow their dreams, not be timid and avoid risk. The idea that an obviously competent sailor like Ms. Sunderland should not have been, or, worse, should not have been allowed to be, out on the seas trying to accomplish something big like this, is simply the worst kind of anti-individualistic nonsense imaginable.
I say: Congrats to Abby Sunderland for taking on a truly great adventure! Sorry it didn't work out, but you have nothing for which to apologize. Congrats to Laurence and Marianne Sunderland for being such good parents, and helping to fuel their child's dreams and ambitions!
Long life and many peaks!

2010-06-14T12:06:00.000-07:00

UN 10940 (Teller Co., CO)

14 June, 2010: This technically easy peak is on the Woodland Park quad, just a stone's throw from the Crags Campground TH. Still, in at least 3 trips starting at this campground, I've just passed this ranked peak by. Go figure.
So, with only a half day to climb, I took Cimarron up there and followed the good directions on summitpost.org to get Teller Co. ranked peak #18--That's one-third of the way through! This also finishes out the ranked peaks on the Woodland Park quad for me.
A couple of pictures are on Facebook.
Long life and many peaks!

2010-06-10T12:49:00.000-07:00

Conundrum Peak (14,060 ft.)

9 June, 2010: Unfinished business.
Trisha and I had foregone the option of adding unranked Conundrum to our climb of Castle in 2007, because we simply ran out of time. It's common to do these two together, but snow on the NE ridge of Castle slowed us down quite a bit. So I went back solo to knock it off. Now I can finish the list of 58 at the same time I finish the list of 54!
I was hoping that, in early June, there would still be enough snow to make a snow climb of the (in)famous Conundrum Couloir possible. (This is not the "standard" route.) My hopes were rewarded.
I started at about 10,100 ft. on the Castle Creek road, later than planned at just before 7 am MST. The day was sunny and beautiful, and I soon realized that I had brought far more clothing than needed. I donned crampons at the end of the Montezuma Basin road, at about 12,800 ft.
Once in the upper basin, I at first thought I had gone past the Conundrum Couloir (which splits the two high points of this mountain), but a glimpse of the cornice at the top showed me that I was still on my intended route. I carefully worked my way across the bottom of the couloir, kicking steps in the snow, to get over to the extreme right (north) side. There, I used exposed rock for handholds wherever possible while going more-or-less straight up the steep snow.
About 50 feet below the top, I chose to climb out onto the rocks on the right for the final push to the summit. As soon as I topped out, I spotted the register right in front of me. It had been put in by Roger Wendell the previous August, and most of the dozen pages of entries were from 2009. I added my name to the relatively few from this year, took a few pictures, and began to re-trace my steps down the very steep couloir. (Overall, I would rate this climb as tougher than the similar couloir climb on Mt. Sneffels.) I didn't glissade the couloir, because the run-out is a LONG way below. I did save some time with a mushy glissade out of the upper basin. I couldn't believe the amount of meltwater gushing down Castle Creek and all its tributaries!
5.5 hours up, 4.5 hours down
RT: about 8 miles, approx 3,900 ft. vertical
A few pictures are at:
http://picasaweb.google.com/tcogwr.ConundrumCouloir
Long life and many peaks!

2010-05-15T09:19:00.000-07:00

Wagon Mound (6,930 ft.)
Starvation Peak (7,042 ft.)

11 May and 13 May, 2010: On a trip down to Rio Rancho, I bagged my first two New Mexico peaks.
Wagon Mound is a National Historical Landmark, used by early settlers as a guiding landmark, due to its high prominence. I took a short side trip and climbed it on my way down. From the cemetery at the east edge of the town of Wagon Mound, I reached the summit in 30 minutes, via a steep gully on the north side. The west high point is the true summit. Class 3 scrambling and crack climbing to get through the cliff bands.
On Thursday, I did Starvation Pk., named for an apocryphal story about Spanish soldiers besieged by Indians on its summit. It's in an isolated portion of Santa Fe National Forest. I started from Rd. 48, off of CR B28A. I circled clockwise to find a weakness on the west side of the cliff bands, which brought me out, via Class 3 scrambling, near the south end of the summit plateau. It reminded me a lot of Fremont Fort in Colorado. The true summit is located at the far northwest end. Pictures are at:
http://picasaweb.google.com/tcogwr/WagonMoundStarvationPk
Long life and many peaks!

2010-05-09T11:29:00.000-07:00

Sheep Nose (8,894 ft.)
Bell Rock (8,118 ft.)
UN 8,740

8 May, 2010: Back in the fall, I had checked out Sheep Nose but couldn't take the dogs up it. This time, I went back with partner Brad Darnell to claim it. First we hit UN 8,740 just outside Woodland Park, for another ranked Teller County peak, on the way up to Douglas County. Afterward, we added the unranked Bell Rock, as it is right in the same area near Westcreek.
Sheep Nose is, just as the literature states, Class 4. The crux is a very steep crack climb at the base of the summit block. I was very glad the rock was dry! The views from the top, which very few have savored, are fabulous. Very nice for a half day before going to work!
Pictures are at:
http://picasaweb.google.com/tcogwr/SheepNose
Long life and many peaks!

2010-04-28T14:47:00.000-07:00

UN 7635, Raspberry Mtn.(A)

26 April, 2010: Another obscure peak in western Pueblo County. I started at the Red Mountain Youth Camp on the North Creek Road northwest of Beulah. My limited experience suggests that the folks who run such places are usually quite hospitable to hikers. So, since the NE corner of their parcel offered the easiest approach to UN 7635, I parked at the front gate and just walked up to the front door. However, there was no answer. In fact, the whole place seemed to be deserted. Apparently, they're only open in the summer. With no one around to disturb, I just packed up and headed off up a ridge heading northeast.
The climb is a generally obnoxious bushwhack, just like all the other peaks in this area. I skirted point 7,190 on the south side, gave up a bit of elevation after turning east, and started the final climb up the west side of the long ridge which includes 7635. I wore gaiters to protect myself from the vegetation, but snow was virtually gone.
Two hours later, I reached the summit. With no tracks to follow, I wandered a bit on the way down. Thus, my return path was somewhat different, and took just as long as the ascent. When I wandered back into the camp, there was still no one around. A good half-day climb which got me to 7 our of 9 in Pueblo County.
28 April, 2010: I'm easily accepting longer drive distances these days. So, instead of just taking the dogs (Cimarron, Buddy, and Molly) up a "backyard" peak, I headed up to Divide, and a mile or so up the road to the Mennonite Camp (the road to the Crags campground TH for Pikes).
From a hairpin turn on the road, an old road, which has been blocked off to vehicular traffic, switchbacks up the east side of a ridge to reach the crest. From there, the trail follows the ridges, first north, then east, and then north again to Raspberry Mtn.
There was almost continuous snow most of the way, but I did all right without gaiters. Most of the snow was only an inch or two deep. Even better, a recent snowshoe track had compacted the snow well enough that I only rarely punched through much. My shoes and feet were soaked by the end, but with temperatures well into the 50s (even at 10,000 ft.), it was no problem.
We made the summit in an hour and twenty-one minutes. Fifty feet or so of bouldering is required to reach the top, which is the hardest part of the whole climb. Even with lingering snow, it was no problem. We made it down in just over an hour. RT: 4.86miles. Vert.: 1,270 ft.
The high country will be snow-free soon!
A few photos are at:

http://picasaweb.google.com/tcogwr/LastWeekOfApril

Long life and many peaks!

2010-03-26T17:11:00.000-07:00

UN 7140

25 March, 2010: The quest for Pueblo County continues!
Just this past winter, I climbed my first of the nine ranked peaks in Pueblo County--Booth Mtn., which is on Fort Carson. Now I am engaged in a great civil war--no, no, strike that--now I am engaged in trying to climb all the rest and finish off another county. Winter has come and gone, and I'm not finished, but I have made progress: I have six of the nine.
These are truly obscure peaks. Five don't even have names! Only one--the county high point--is higher than 9,000 feet. And all are clustered along the county's western edge. This one, in fact, lies (by my calculations) only about 500 feet east of the Custer/Pueblo County line.
As a result, I spent most of my day in Custer County. My starting point was on (Custer) County Road 388, which is also Forest Service Road 388, just outside the tiny community of Greenwood on State Hwy. 96. Setting off about 7:30 in the morning, Cimarron and I followed 388 eastward up a drainage (which I believe is called Hardscrabble Creek), until we came to the gate where it enters a private enclave of ranch property. There, we turned north along the fence line, climbing toward the ridge line to the north. My original intention had been to skirt the ranch altogether, but after climbing the slope for several hundred feet, and finding that the fence (apparently contradicting what my maps showed) continued on up to the cliffy ridge crest, we ducked through the fence and began traversing eastward. (An alternative would be to bypass the ranch on the south side and head east. This is actually a more direct path to 7140, but it would culminate in having to climb the steeper south slopes.)
After half a mile or so, we dropped into the saddle between 7140 and and UN 7380 (in Custer Co.). We crossed North Red Creek--conveniently still frozen over--and began the real climb. We headed up and roughly east-southeast through dense trees to reach the base of the rock cliffs which guard the south side of the long summit ridge. The first crack in the cliff face which I found offered a way to the ridge top for me, but the steps invloved proved to be too big for Cimarron, so we continued on east, looking for an easier option. We found one--quite easy, in fact--about a quarter of a mile short of the summit.
From there, we walked through seriously drifted snow to the true high point, which we reached after almost four hours of hiking. That was slower going than I had expected, considering that it was only about 3.75 miles! The weather was clear, calm and warm, and I got rid of some clothing. The views, especially to the north, were quite impressive.
We simply re-traced our steps back. That was easy until we got back on the traverse section. There, I found that the midday sun had all but obliterated my tracks! Fortunately, Cimarron's nose was an unerring guide, so I simply followed her. After getting back to the road, we then dealt with the abundant mud into which the same warm spring sun had turned it. The few pictures I took are at:

http://picasaweb.google.com/tcogwr/UN7140

Long life and many peaks!

2010-03-03T20:00:00.000-08:00

UN 8176, UN 6947

OK; I'm trying to get back to being more timely about posting these entries!
I'm currently working on Pueblo County. It only has nine ranked peaks (a whole slew of unranked ones, though!), but they're nearly all really hard to get to. These two are prime examples (which is why it took a whole, very tiring, day, to bag two).
6947, my first of the day, is located just inside the eastern extremity of San Isabel National Forest, north of the town of Beulah. But guess what? There's no public road that actually goes into the NF that comes within five miles of it! Five miles as the crow flies: the actual path is considerably longer. And that's five miles of intense bushwhacking through scrub oak and deadfall without a trail...
OTOH, if you sprint across just a quarter mile of open range on the east end of a ranch, you can reach the forest boundary barely a mile from the summit in about 10 minutes. Technically, it's only a Class 2. Only the snow and timber slowed me down. About 90 minutes up, 70 down. One in the bag early in the morning! Then it was off down the road to Beulah and out of the north end of town to another section of San Isabel.
For this one, at least there is a tiny stretch of the road (County Rd. 212) which pokes into the NF right at the Pueblo/Custer Co. line. There's even a real pull-out! So I parked in Custer County, and immediately trapsed back over the county line, heading north up a drainage toward 8176.
It's three of the toughest miles anywhere. I climbed to the long ridge on the east side of the drainage as soon as I could, hoping that the ridge crest would represent the easiest way north to my objective. It didn't, as trees and spiky rocks occasionally make it even slower than plodding through the snow on the more level just below and to the west.
So I finally dropped off the ridge, and plodded until I rounded the next-to-last ridge point on the ridge proper. There, I crossed the saddle and gave up a hundred feet or so of elevation to reach the lower saddle on the west side of 8176. From there, I climbed back to the right (south), trying to stay mostly out of the snow, toward what looks like the summit, although I knew it wasn't. Once on the south end of the sizable summit plateau, I head north to the actual high point.
It had taken me over three hours to reach this point, and I was getting tired! It's a good thing that the weather held warm, calm, and marvelously clear. Except that I was now overdressed, and getting hot...
On the way back, I avoided the ridge, and just tramped south, mostly gently descending, across the huge meadow area west of the ridge, until I intercepted my own tracks from the ascent. The snow was getting soft, slushy, and slippery by this time, but I had little trouble re-tracing my steps right back to the car. I had figured going in that I could do this round trip in six hours at the very most...and by the time I had stripped off some excess clothing and pulled away down the road, I had used every last minute of that!
Pictures are at:
http://picasaweb.google.com/tcogwr/UN8176UN6947
Long life and many peaks!

2010-02-12T15:30:00.000-08:00

Recap 2009

OK; I apologize for being away from this blog for so long. I haven't quit climbing since 2009's 14er season ended. But it's been a busy time. There haven't been any more 14ers, but I have been out bagging new peaks. Here's the "Reader's Digest" version:
25-26-27 August, 2009: We set off to climb the most distant group of 14ers remaining on our lists: the Wilson group, west of Telluride. One day to drive down there, a night at the trailhead, a second day to hike in to Navajo Lake (11,180 ft.), set up a camp, and rest, and finally, a third day to climb and get back out. That was actually Plan B, so we only got two of the three peaks: El Diente Pk. (14,164 ft.) and Mt. Wilson (14,265 ft.). The ridge in between them was dynamite. It was a long, long day, but we made it. 14ers #46 and 47 for me, 44 and 45 for Trisha. Photos are at:
http://picasaweb.google.com/tcogwr/MountWilson#
9 September, 2009: For 9-9-09, we sucked it up and went for a big one: Little
Bear Pk. (14,040 ft.) This is on most people's short list for the most difficult 14er, and almost universally chosen as the most dangerous. So we went back up the awful Lake Como jeep road for a third time. Kritter got us just about half way, which is very, very good. We hiked the rest of the way, under full packs, and camped near the lake (11,700 ft.). Up before sunrise the next day, we summitted about 9:20 am and raced a snow/graupel storm down. We didn't quite make it, and parts of the descent were dicey! But we made it down unharmed, broke camp under calmer skies, and made it out in time for dinner in the little town of Blanca. #46 for Trisha and #48 for me. We will finish in the coming year! Photos are at:
http://picasaweb.google.com/tcogwr/LittleBear#
and
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=102378&id=518399338&l=78bc044ba2
10 November, 2009: I climbed Thunder Butte (9,836 ft.), the Douglas County high point, with Buddy and Molly. It's a fairly demanding bushwhack/scramble, and my first Douglas Co. peak. A close look at Sheep Nose (8,894 ft.) showed it to be too technical for the dogs, so it goes on the "unfinished business" list for another day. Pictures are at:
http://picasaweb.google.com/tcogwr/ThunderButte#
24 November, 2009: Fort Carson (Chapter 1) at last! Four of El Paso County's 37 ranked peaks are located on the grounds of Fort Carson, and ever since last March, they've been the only ones I still hadn't climbed. Thanks to climbing partner Brad Darnell, I'd finally gotten the necessary permission to hit these peaks. On this first excursion, we got two of them: UN 6970 and UN 6740, plus the first recorded ascent of Wild Mtn. (6,695 ft.) which is actually in Fremont County(!). We thought we had also bagged Booth Mtn. (6,470), in Pueblo County, but a reality check after the fact showed that we had climbed the wrong high point! All the same, this got me to 35 out of 37. I have a few pictures, but haven't put them up yet; I will in the near future.
22 December, 2009: Fort Carson (Chapter 2). Brad and I went back, with Trisha this time, and I finally picked up the two remaining El Paso Co. peaks: Timber Mtn. (6,896 ft.) and UN 6510. I finished my first complete county with 6510, the lowest ranked peak in El Paso County. We celebrated with champagne. We also thought we were climbing unranked Buck Hill (6,390 ft.), only to find that we were in the wrong place. So we christened the interesting, and unnamed, little knob we had climbed as "Cimarron Cone," in honor of Cimarron, who also made this expedition with us. Pictures are at:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=130670&id=518399338&l=60ec65ddb1
30 December, 2009: Fort Carson (Chapter 3). With our "hunting" permits for the base about to expire, Brad and I went back and climbed the correct (south) high point on Booth Mtn, Buck Hill (really this time), and a repeat of Wild Mtn. Photos are at:
http://picasaweb.google.com/tcogwr/BuckHill#
5 January, 2010: Cedar Point (5,991 ft.). UN 7150, which I had climbed last March (Yes: I know there's no entry for that trip here, but there is a trip report at:
http://listsofjohn.com/PeakStats/TripReport.php?Id=903)
sits on the El Paso/Elbert county line. So when I climbed it in my quest to finish El Paso County, I also got half of the (two!) ranked peaks in Elbert County. On this date, I set out to bag the other one, and finish Elbert Co.
Technically, it's just a hike. The long drive out to Limon is the biggest challenge. To make all that driving worthwhile, I also hit 3 unranked Elbert Co. named summits: Matheson Hill (5,990 ft.), Eagle Rock (6,234 ft.), and "Elbert Rock," the Elbert County high point (7,370 ft.), which lies a stone's throw from the Elbert/El Paso county line. This gives me five of the seven named or ranked summits in Elbert County, more than anyone else, as far as I know! Photos are at:
http://picasaweb.google.com/tcogwr/CedarPoint#
10 January, 2010: Turtle Buttes (6,423 ft.). With Booth Mtn. really done, I decided to launch into Pueblo County, which has only 9 ranked peaks. The lowest is Turtle Buttes. I took a side trip on a journey to New Mexico to visit Suzanne to grab this obscure summit.
20 January, 2010: UN 11749 and UN 11830. Brad and I donned snowshoes (and Cimarron didn't need them) to hit these Teller Co. peaks on the Pikes Peak quad. 11749 is ranked, and was a repeat for me, and 11830 is unranked, but actually more interesting. This was my first snowshoe outing. We had intended to go on to Sheep Mtn. (12,397 ft.) and UN 11510, but Brad got cold fingers and toes and we bailed early. They're on the agenda for a future climb. I took some pictures but haven't posted them yet.
3 February, 2010: Table Mtn. (7,423 ft.), UN 6183, UN 6460. These peaks are all in Fremont County. Table Mtn. was the main goal, the last one I needed on the Mt. Pittsburg (Yes; I spelled that right.) quad. The other two are nearby. Plus, 6183, the peak behind the Florence landfill, is the only ranked peak on the Florence quad! Photos are at:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=141554&id=518399338&l=f685641804
11 February, 2010: Huerfano Butte (6,166 ft.). I went down to New Mexico, hoping to climb a couple of peaks near I-25. Recent snow and mud prevented me from reaching either. So, on the way back, I took a short detour north of Walsenburg and climbed the very unusual unranked peak, Huerfano Butte (or "El Huerfano"). This odd rock outcropping is the source of the name of both Huerfano County and the Huerfano River. Photos are at:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=143583&id=518399338&l=917652169a
And that brings us up to date. Stay tuned...

2009-09-12T08:35:00.000-07:00

Maroon Peak (14,162 ft.)

20 August, 2009: Sometimes, a good one takes two whacks. This one did. On the 5th, we tried Maroon Peak as a day hike, starting from the day use parking lot at 5 am MDT. We failed, having gotten off-route, and had to turn back at about 1:30 pm, having only reached Pt. 13,753. After some reflection, and some more route study, we decided to pack in, camp overnight, and try again.
So, on the 19th, we drove to and through Aspen, and arrived at the entrance to the Maroon Bells-Snowmass Wilderness at about 4 pm. We payed the FS their $10 fee to park in the "overnight" parking lot, shouldered our expedition packs, and headed up the West Maroon Creek trail as the sun was sinking into the west. We hiked for a couple of hours, and camped near where the standard south ridge route to Maroon leaves the creek trail, near the "bent tree," at about 10,500 ft.
Part 1: The Hill of Death
Good and lazy, we ignored our first alarm, and didn't hit the trail until 6:15 am. One group of climbers, three women, passed by on their way up as we were getting ready. We didn't worry, since this still put us more than an hour ahead of the timing of our previous attempt.
Once you leave the creek trail, the serious climbing begins immediately. The route goes straight up the east slopes of the mountain and it is steep. It's also loose. There is a cairned route, with a visible trail most of the way, but it's basically just an uphill grunt. And it goes on for 2,800 vertical feet. So, even fresh at the beginning of the day, it took us well over two hours to climb this open slope and finally reach the ridge. The climbing isn't over then, as we actually came to the crest of the southeast branch of the south ridge, somewhere around 12,500 ft. But the crest is rocky and lots more solid than the dirt on the east slope, so the going does get easier. We soon clambered over the one significant--and narrow!--ridge point separating us from the small saddle to which we had labored up the slopes two weeks earlier. Our longer route had probably actually taken less time to this point!
Part 2: Blind traversing
This is where the serious rock climbing begins, so this is where we donned helmets. As our previous experience confirmed, a detailed description of this route in words is difficult to produce, and difficult to follow. Suffice it, here, to say that you leave the ridge crest on the west side, and sort of traverse--meaning that there's a lot of up-and-down--for quite a long ways north before clambering up a loose gully and re-gaining the ridge.
The technical crux of the route is a steep chimney encountered early on. The wearying part, however, is the endless, loose rock filling the gullies, and the constant search for the cairns marking the desired route. The real trick of this part of the route is resisting temptation long enough, and finding the right gully to ascend. If you pick the right one, you find yourself just to the north of the minor summit ridge point at 13,753 ft. You are then presented with your first close-up view of the actual summit. Also, you can see that the rest of the ridge is fairly easy to navigate, and offers a basically clear path to the top. (See pictures.) Prior to this point, you really can't see where you're going. All you have are cairns in a fractal landscape.
Part 3: Back on the ridge and glorious views
We scampered up the ridge, now moving at what seemed like supersonic speeds, and hit the summit just after 11 am, and found something like eight other climbers already there. Some had preceded us up the south ridge route, and a few had made the monumental traverse over from North Maroon (14,020 ft.), just happening to arrive there at about the same time. It was a party on the summit!
The views, and the weather, were both astounding. We enjoyed both for nearly 40 minutes, but there was still that long descent ahead of us, so we headed down just before noon.
Part 4: How can going down be this slow?
Off the summit, we both stayed more right on the ridge crest than we had on the way up, now that we could better see where we were going. It's a bit exposed in places, but solid and largely level. Once at the gully separating the summit from Pt. 13,753, however, the easy going was over, and it was back to loose, dangerous rubble. Fortunately, we had little trouble with reverse route-finding. Little, not none: we did go around the opposite side of one rock outcropping. And it took most of an hour to get back to the saddle where we felt comfortable removing our helmets.Then it was time for our re-match with the Hill of Death.
Having done it before, and taking our longer but gentler route, both helped make it seem a bit less intimidating than the first time, but it was still slow going. You just don't dare develop any momentum on steep, loose ground like this! Once we came off the southeast ridge crest, and began the descending traverse in earnest, we found we could see our tent far, far below! Our route aimed us almost right toward it, and it slowly became larger. Still, it was well after 4 pm when we finally reached our campsite.
Part 5: Packing out
We rested briefly, but only briefly, before setting to work to break camp, pack up, and head out. This included taking down our suspended bag of food, a precaution which has pretty much become our standard. Groaning once again under full packs, we headed back down the trail at about 4:45 pm. We lost direct sunlight, regained it, and lost it again before we finally reached Maroon Lake and the parking lot. It was an uneventful march, and the weather still held, but we were both moving rather slowly by the time it was finally over, somewhere around 7 pm. Happy to have knocked off our unfinished business, but also knowing we had at least one more date with this trailhead (for North Maroon), we set off for home as twilight gathered.
Pictures are at:

http://picasaweb.google.com/tcogwr/Rescued

and pictures from the earlier attempt are at:

http://picasaweb.google.com/tcogwr/Marooned

Long life and many peaks!

2009-08-30T09:45:00.000-07:00

Ellingwood Point (14,049 ft.)

15 July, 2009: After some hmming and hawing around, we finally settled on Ellingwood Point as the only really feasible target for this week. We had really wanted to do a three-day trip and pick up this one in tandem with Little Bear Peak, to make one trip up the awful Lake Como Road do, but it was not to be.
We (Trisha, Cimarron, and I) left Colorado Springs in the middle of the night in Kritter, and got to the beginning of the awful road well before sunrise, prepared to see how far up we could get. It turned out to be about two miles. This helped, but it still left a long stretch of annoying hiking between us and the lake. We set off just before the sun rose.
Actually, there isn't much to tell about most of this hike. We took crampons and ice axes in case there was still snow, but we never needed them. It was a fairly easy (if long) trail hike up to the top of the basin, where we left the trail and headed left (north).
We followed the standard southeast ridge route, which actually involves traversing and side-hilling just below the ridge most of the way to the summit. It's steep, but the rock turned out to be pretty reliable. The weather was stunningly clear and mild, and we reached the summit just after noon. The view from this peak is astonishing (despite its being a rather low fourteener), including a dynamite view of our one remaining goal in the Sangres: Little Bear (see photos). Fourteener #44 for me, #42 for Trisha, and #2 for Cimmy!
The hike down turned into a death march, however, especially for Trisha. She had gotten new boots, hoping for better traction, but they proved to be too stiff and in need of breaking-in, and she really tore up her heels before we were done. She would have to take two weeks off from climbing as a result.
All the same, it was a great climb. Great scrambling, and a very satifsying summit. Pictures are at:

http://picasaweb.google.com/tcogwr/Ellingwood

and there's a summit video at:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IXFgxwN6y1c

Long life and many peaks!

2009-08-10T08:00:00.000-07:00

Mt. Sneffels (14,155 ft.)

1 July, 2009: Our original plan had been to use three days off together to attempt the Wilson group, but fatigue, lack of prep time, and, worst of all, reports of awful snow conditions there pushed us to a less ambitious Plan B: nearby Mt. Sneffels. It's still a long drive, however, so on Tuesday (the 30th) we (Trisha, Cimarron, and I) set off for Ouray, and the road up into Yankee Boy Basin.
To save both time and gas, we took Trisha's Toyota instead of Kritter, as reports I had read made me confident that virtually any vehicle could get at least up to 11,000 feet (once the road is cleared of the winter's snow). That was as far as we wanted to drive, anyway, since starting any higher would be "cheating." (There is actually a trailhead for this rugged mountain at an astounding 12,400 feet, which can be reached by any decent 4WD vehicle!) Seven hours or so of driving got us to the turn-off for Governor Basin and, just as expected, and that's where we found the first road section that looked like too much for a low-clearance vehicle. So, that's where we found a place to pull off the road, and a level spot for the tent, cooked up a dinner on the camp stove, and settled in for the night.
This is fairly short route (a welcome change from the previous week), so we made no attempt at a super-early start. The sun was almost up by the time we extracted ourselves from our sleeping bags, and it was up before we got packed up and hit the trail.
Owing to the aforementioned very high trailhead, the trail is a 4WD road almost to the wilderness boundary. It's not super scenic, although there is plenty of super scenery all around. Yankee Boy Basin is a spectacularly rugged place and, at least in July, abundant with greenery and flowers. The route is pretty easy to follow, too, making enjoying that scenery all the easier!
Only a short section of trail, nearly level, beyond the wilderness boundary brought us to the base of the couloir where the real climbing begins--the scramble up to Lavender Col. It faces roughly south, so it was already completely melted out. It's fairly steep and loose, however, so the pace slowed considerably at this point. Except for Cimarron, that is. She does very well on rocks, and was constantly waiting for us to catch up, in between spates of running all around as if the rocks and scree offered no hindrance at all.
The scree climb is annoying, but not really technically difficult--no worse than 2+. It didn't really take too long. We arrived at the Lavender Col, at about 13,XXX ft. and encountered the first of the remaining snow, so that is were we geared up.
The couloir above the col was still almost entirely covered with snow, which was good. It covered the loose rock, and gave us a consistent surface virtually all the way up. It's steep (35 to 40 degrees), but we made fairly good time up to the top. The top is the crux of the route: a v-shaped notch at just above 14,000 ft., formed by two angled slabs, which offers the only sane way out onto the slope leading to the summit. The rock is solid, but it's highly angled, and almost devoid of cracks or ledges. A few sizeable stones have apparently been purposefully jammed into the bottom to form useable steps, but large steps are still necessary, as well as pressure against the sides. And then there's the psychological difficulty: huge exposure to climber's left right at the base of the notch, with nothing much to brace oneself on, or to stop you if you should start over the edge. Thus, you simply have to maintain traction, and controlled motion, in the notch.
We got our biggest disappointment of the day from this combination of difficulties. Cimarron couldn't get enough purchase on the notch's rock to enable her to launch herself up through it. We considered for a moment trying to do some combination of pushing and pulling her, but the exposure at the base quickly convinced us that this simply wouldn't be safe. This had another consequence: One of us had to stay with Cimarron, so we had to summit seperately. Fortunately, the summit is only a few minutes away once you climb through the notch, and it's mostly just a walk. As I was already up the notch, Trisha told me to go first.
Cramponless, I traversed one last snowfield and made it out onto the tiny summit area. I signed the register and took just a few pictures as quickly as I could, so as not to keep the others waiting any longer than necessary. As I headed back, I met two climbers who had just completed a climb of the daunting north face, and were going down via our route. Impressive!
Then it was Trisha's turn. She lucked out with more clear sunshine on the top than I had had. That, plus encountering yet another party on the summit, which meant someone to take pictures, allowed her to come back with more engaging summit pictures than I. Some of them are included in the Picasa gallery.
The descent of the couloir offered its own kind of adventure. The two guys who had come up the north face--who were obviously more experienced climbers than us--made no attempt to glissade down it. Instead, they went down backwards, facing in, using the front points of their crampons and ice axes. Glissading could have saved a lot of time, but that couloir is steep. Plus, the steepness continues virtually unabated, right down to where the snow ends, which is still just above the col. Thus, there's no safe run-out: One would have to stop oneself with one's ice axe. Fail to do so, and you hit the rocks!
Thus, we decided to front-point our way down, too. Well, two of us did. Cimarron had a ball running--yes, running!--both up and down, as she shuttled back and forth between the two of us as we descended. After a few steps, I found I could make pretty good time in this mode. The crampons bit nicely, and the steps which we had kicked in the snow on the way up provided solid platforms to support body weight on the way down. It was possible to take rather big, and quick, steps down, while using my ice axe as a secondary anchor, and I quickly fell into a nice rhythm. Trisha didn't get the hang of it quite as fast, but she got better as we went down.
We wanted to make the best time we could, at least up high, since clouds had rolled in, and the weather wasn't 100% trustworthy. In fact, it didn't storm, but we didn't want to take unnecessary chances. The rocks below the snow were just as loose and annoying on the way down as they had been on the way up, but we made slightly better time descending. Before long, we were back on a good trail, with most of the vertical out of the way. We encountered numerous parties of people on the road/trail, many of them in jeeps and other 4WD vehicles. Most of them weren't heading for the summit, just out to enjoy the scenery of Yankee Boy Basin.
We made it back to the car in less than ten hours round trip, a short day by the standards to which we've recently become accustomed! Twenty minutes or so of breaking camp, cleaning up, and adjusting wardrobe, and we were ready to head off for Rio Rancho. Pictures are at:

http://picasaweb.google.com/tcogwr/MtSneffels

(Be sure to see the photo of Trisha's car on the "C-shelf" section of the road!)
Long life and many peaks!

2009-07-26T09:24:00.000-07:00

Longs Peak (Attempt)

25 June, 2009: Knowing full well that there might be snow left on the upper part of the route (beyond the Keyhole), Trisha and I decided to have a go at Longs Peak (14,261 ft.). This is the last 14er she needs on the Front Range.
We napped Tuesday afternoon/evening, and headed north about 11 pm (MDT). We arrived at the ranger station TH about 2:30 am, and found it surprisingly devoid of other cars.(This was due to it being a weekday, and early in the season.) Sure enough, a sign was posted to the effect that the Keyhole route was currently "technical"--by which they mean having snow and/or ice.
We set off at 2:35 am under clearing skies, with a balmy temperature of 51º. We made good time to the Keyhole (13,200 ft.), arriving there around 7 am, just half an hour after sunrise. Everything looked good!
There was indeed snow beyond the Keyhole. We got out our ice axes for stability, and Trish donned her crampons. (I had decided to go without mine.) The snow made the going a bit slower, but it wasn't the real problem. The real problem we encountered was route finding, based on my own failure to pay attention enough.
On my previous climb of Longs, I had come from the other direction after climbing Mt. Meeker. I felt sure I would recognize the bottom of the Homestretch when I saw it, but I forgot that the view of it would be slightly different. As a result, fixed on dealing with the snow, we followed another party of hikers and plowed right past the point where we should have turned left and up!
As a result, we wasted quite a bit of time plowing on farther to the south, until we started climbing up what I thought was the proper couloir. I just figured that it looked different from what I remembered because it was mostly covered in snow. Boy, was I wrong!
When we finally topped out, we found a benchmark showing an elevation of 13,749, and a view so totally different from my expectations and memory that I had to conclude firmly that we were in the wrong place. We could actually see the western slopes of Mt. Meeker, together with another steep drop-off to the southwest. Uh-oh...(I think we had actually climbed the upper part of Keplinger's couloir.)
There was no choice but to head back down, re-trace our steps to the north, and try again to find the correct place to turn (now) to our right and up. After doing so, we actually had no problem recognizing the correct route, as I was now seeing it from the perspective I remembered. The problem was that 1) we had wasted a lot of time, and 2) the warmth of the day was beginning to soften the snow quite a bit.
Nevertheless, we clawed our way about 80% of the way up the Homestretch in reasonably good time, to the place where the snow gave way to bare rock. I thought we were "home free" at this point, as the lip of the summit plateau was only a tantalizing few feet above us, and the snow climbing was over.
Well, almost over. The sun-warmed rocks had totally melted the adjacent snow, allowing the nightly freezes to convert it into a band of solid ice. Crampons refused to bite on this stuff, and the angle (35 to 40 degrees) made weight-bearing traction virtually impossible. I actually managed to find a place where I could lever my body up onto the bare rocks, but it required all my length of limb and quite a bit of exposed dangling. There was no way Trisha could duplicate those moves, and we both knew it. Even from above, I couldn't find any other place where she could safely get across the band of ice.
After minor slips forced us both to use our axes to self-arrest, it became clear that this was not going to be our day for Longs. Reluctantly, we turned around, knowing that we had given it all we could, but had no choice but to abide with my continuing contract with Suzanne that we both had to come back in one piece each, come what may. We'd live to climb another day.
Back at the Keyhole, we met a couple hiking up. They had already decided that they weren't going to summit that day either, just look over the ridge and head back down. They kindly took our picture in front of the stone hut, with its plaque memorializing Agnes Vaille (the first woman to climb Longs). We took a similar picture of them, and we all headed down.
The skies threatened, but we were only subjected to a few spits of rain on the long way back to the ranger station. We arrived there 14 hours and 15 minutes after setting out, having covered about 15 miles and climbed about 5,300 feet of vertical.
Pictures are at:

http://picasaweb.google.com/tcogwr/LongsAttempt

Long life and many peaks!

2009-07-05T08:16:00.000-07:00

Uncompahgre Peak (14,314 ft.)

18 June, 2009: The snowy spring--and work schedules--held back the star tof 14er season '09 until the third week in June(!). Trisha and I decided to start off with something easy. In fact, Uncompahgre was the absolute easiest peak we have left, except for our chosen finishers. So we cherry-picked off the bottom of the list. Off to Lake City.
We loaded upTrisha's new trailhead vehicle ("Critter"), a 1989 Isuzu Trooper, and left town Wednesday afternoon. Critter has awesome clearance, but no great power for high speed on the highway. Thus, five hours got us through Lake City, and five miles up the Henson Creek Road, where the 4WD road up Nellie Creek starts. With an hour left before astronomical sunset, we were hopeful that we would still have light to set up a camp for the night and cook dinner at the trailhead.
It quickly became apparent that Critter was going to handle this rough road just fine. Not only is it rough, it's steep, rising about 3,000 feet in just 4.3 miles. It also has tight turns and switchbacks, plus two crossings of Nellie Creek, but we cruised on up, without a hitch or a bottoming-out, in about half an hour.
We also took Cimarron on this trip, and the trailhead was where she got her first chance to run around without restriction. She loved it.
With only a couple of snoozes after the 4 am alarm, we heated some coffee, packed up, and were on the trail by a few minutes after 5 am--only half an hour after sunrise. We were treated to the sight of an old crescent moon and Venus rising above the ridge northeast of us before daylight washed them out.
We hiked the well-worn trail with decent energy, and in just a few minutes we had emerged from the trees, and began to get our first glimpses of sunlit peaks ahead. After climbing the one big switchback on the trail, which raised us up above Nellie Creek and up onto a small ridge, we finally could see our objective off to the west. It's impressive!
Above timberline, we finally began to encounter some snowfields covering the trail. They were not deep, however, and we had no problem walking over them. What we did have a problem with was the wind! Around 13,000 ft., it really kicked up, threatening our balance, and forcing us to stop now and again simply to turn our backs to it.
After marching west on the good trail, and over to the west side of the mountain's south ridge, we came to the crux of this climb: a 150-foot climb through the steeper rocks and boulders to reach the summit plateau. About here, the wind finally let up, and we continued on up the more gradual slope to the summit.
There, we had a chance to look over the nearly vertical north face, which has never been climbed. What a drop! We met two other climbers who had summitted just before us, one of whom was vacationing from Chicago. We hung around for about half an hour, soaking in the astounding views. Uncompahgre is the highest peak in the San Juans. It's also one, the lowest, of only six in Colorado which rise above 14,300 ft., and the last of these for us to climb.
The descent was uneventful, and found us hiking in summer clothes by the time we got back to the trailhead at 10,400 ft. Round trip, 6.6 miles, about 3,000 ft. vertical. Fourteener #42 for me, #40 for Trisha, and #1 for Cimarron!
Long life and many peaks!

2009-02-26T12:37:00.000-08:00

Mt. Pittsburg (8,197 ft.)
UN 8203C

31 January, 2009: After our checkered performance on the Turkey Creek peaks, Doug, Susan and I were nevertheless determined to try bagging the two southernmost ranked peaks in El Paso County. The trailhead for this one is at a campground on Barrett Road off of Highway 115. Doug had had some previous contact with the owners, so we were confident of at least getting permission to park there to start our hike.
When we arrived, just before 8 am, we found the office vacant and no one stirring anywhere. Susan got on her cell phone and called the number posted in the window, but could only leave a message. So, Doug parked at the north end of the campground, just a few yards from where the trail takes off northward, and we set off.
A decent trail leads up along the ridge crest for some distance before kind of petering out. After that, we dropped off the ridge on the west side, to stay out of sight from the handful of homes located on the east side. This got us into some steep sidehilling, combined with serious bushwhacking. It was slow going in places.
The last big obstacle was a house which sits facing south on the south face of Mt. Pittsburg. (Yes, I'm spelling that right.) To avoid it, we dropped off to the west yet again, and clawed our way up through scrub brush and timber to a point on the ridge crest somewhat above and north of it. There we came with spitting distance of the radio tower installation which sits just south of the summit (see photos). There didn't seem to be anyone about; it probably runs on auto-pilot most of the time.
From there, the summit was just a short distance away, and probably no more than 150 feet vertically. The ever-present scrub oak, however, made it a rather slow march. The true summit is the more northerly of two high points, and actually has a fairly large area that is open, tree-free, and reasonably flat. Once there, we got the nicest surprise of the day: There was a register, and it had been placed there in 1980 by the "Brown Bear Mountaineering Club" of Denver! There were only about two dozen entries, many of them made by people who live (or lived) in the immediate vicinity. This is truly an obscure, and rarely-climbed, peak!
I should mention that the weather was gorgeous, and we were already shedding clothing in the clear sunshine. After some food, water, and pictures, we dropped off the northwest ridge for the trek over to 8203C, which is the line parent of Pittsburg. The descent was steep, and we dodged both rock outcroppings and brush to get to the saddle, some 450 feet below. The climb on the other side was much gentler, but also considerably longer.
We followed the twisted ridge crest as best we could for over an hour before finally coming to the little rocky high point which GPS data confirmed was the summit we were seeking. Here, we didn't find a register, so we installed one. This summit is just barely within El Paso County: You could literally throw a stone westward, and have it land in Fremont County.
Rather than re-trace our steps, we only followed the ridge down partway, then we descended into the Red Creek drainage, trying to intersect the road that comes up to a quarry southwest of Pittsburg. It worked, but probably didn't really save us any time, compared to going back over Pittsburg. This was because we had to climb over half a dozen small ridges along the way, complete with the ubiquitous scrub brush.
We did finally arrive at the south end of the quarry, and the road, however, and followed it back to the campground. We got back to the car just before 4 pm, about eight hours after setting out. No gates blocked our way out this time, and we drove back to town in glorious sunshine, quite content with our twofer of obscure peaks.
Photos are at:

http://picasaweb.google.com/tcogwr/MtPittsburg

Long life and many peaks!

2009-01-26T13:40:00.000-08:00

Pt. 8487

Pt. 8418B

Pt. 7820B

17 January, 2009:

OK; I haven't really been doing nothing since last September. Snow blankets most of the high country, but the Pikes Peak region has gotten off pretty easy in that regard. So it was time to continue whittling down the El Paso County list of ranked peaks. I’ve been generally working down in elevation, with all the ranked peaks over 9,000 ft. already bagged. So the next one targeted was Unnamed 8,487, a remote and obscure peak located above Turkey Creek Canyon near the southern end of the county.

For this one, I got together with fellow local climbers Doug Hatfield and Susan Paul. A quick look at the map shows two other ranked peaks in the same vicinity, so it only made sense to try to nail all three of them on a single trip. We figured a 12-hour day would suffice. This might seem surprising, since the loop route was only about 7.5 miles long, with about 3,700 ft. of vertical. The catch is that it’s all bushwhacking; other than some dirt road walking at the beginning and the end, there is no trail to follow. Some navigation skills definitely required, YMMV.

Doug picked me up in the dark just after 6 am, and, after refueling with coffee, we headed off south. A cautionary note: These peaks are on private property, and we were blatantly trespassing. Personally (obviously!) I have no real qualms about this, as such peaks typically represent the “back end” of some ranch or vacation home, and (as we later verified) the landowners usually make no use of the mountains and have no idea on what sort of gems they are sitting. So we were willing to take our chances, trying to become the second, third, and fourth persons in recorded history to climb all of the ranked peaks in El Paso County. Topography makes no accommodation to legal niceties (or vice-versa…).

So…we drove up the Turkey Creek Canyon Road, then turned right (north) onto the road which runs northwest up Little Turkey Creek Canyon, as far as Doug’s Prism could get traction. After encountering a slope of packed snow and ice which, after three tries, he still couldn’t surmount, we gave up and parked at a wide spot in the road just below. This would turn out to be a mistake, but more on that later.

At 6:38 am, we were off on foot, heading up the road. The road leads up to the saddle between our first two objective peaks: 7820B on the east, and 8418B on the west. From that saddle, we left the road and pushed up through the trees and a tiny bit of snow to our first summit, 7820B, at about 7:30 am. It only required a climb of about 300 feet (thus, it’s ranked!), and it would have been a romp but for the timber. Even with the timber, it was pretty easy. We headed back down to the road, and started the westerly climb toward 8418B.

This one took a little longer, but it was very pleasant because, once we got a bit above the saddle, we were hiking in early morning sunshine. We followed the twisted ridge roughly west, over or around several major ridge points. At about 9:30 am, we came to the westernmost ridge point, which we agreed was slightly higher than the one before it and constituted the actual summit of 8418B. We paused for 20 minutes or so, taking pictures and snacking, before heading off for the real prize of the day, 8487.

We backtracked a bit, to head down the crest of a south-leading ridge into Turkey Creek Canyon. The descent involved a mix of scrub oak bushwhacking and negotiation of rock outcrops, and took us about an hour.

After descending to the road, we simply stepped across the small creek, and began the final climb of the day. Our objective was now hidden from us, being located half a mile or so south of a more prominent ridge point at about 8,300 ft. Naturally, on this north-facing slope, we had to slog through a little snow, but gaiters were all the equipment that was necessary.

Finally, about 1 o’clock, we topped out on a point where we could finally get a good view of 8487. The ridge in between required only a bit of net elevation gain, but involved passing either over or around half a dozen minor ridge points.

When we came to the final saddle, we decided that the most efficient route to the top would be to traverse off to our left (southeast), and make the final approach to the summit from the east. It was shady, and therefore snowy, but considerably more gently sloped than the west side of the top.

The traverse involved some serious side-hilling to get around a sharp corner, and the going was slower than anything we had encountered earlier. After we turned the corner, it didn’t really get any easier, as we were presented with the steepest climbing of the day. It was only about 50 vertical feet to the summit, but it was steep, loose, and still choked with vegetation.

But we made it, and got to the summit about 2:15 pm, in glorious sunshine. This got me to 28 out of 37 ranked peaks in El Paso County, three-quarters of the way! But note that that’s nearly eight hours to get our three peaks, and we still had to hike down and out.

Rather than re-climb the ridge between Turkey Creek and Little Turkey Creek Canyons, we dropped down somewhat to the east of our upward route, and found the road leading down to the east. We knew if we followed this road down, we would come around the east end of the ridge, and come to the gate at which we had turned aside on the way in. From there it would be just a short hike back up to the north to the car.

There was, however, one thing upon which we had not counted. On the way in, we had gone perhaps a hundred yards up-canyon from an open gate. When we came back up that road, just as darkness fell (about 6 pm), we found that that gate had been closed below us! Some landowner had decided to lock us in.

At that point, we had no choice but to collect what we needed from the car (which in my case was everything), and start hiking by starlight back out toward Highway 115. Things were really getting interesting.

We got perhaps halfway when headlights came up the road from the east. After they stopped and asked us if we needed help, and we rather humbly explained our situation, the most amazing series of events happened. First, they said that they would open the gate for us. (There was some initial confusion as to which gate it was, but that got cleared up in due course.) Then, against all odds and our expectations, they invited us to ride back with them to there house, which was located at the road junction where we had turned right in the morning. While the husband, Mike, drove Doug back up the road to retrieve his car, the wife, Beege, invited Susan and me in to warm up.

After Mike and Doug returned, we spent about an hour chatting and learning some of the history of the area. Instead of being mad at us, Mike and Beege showed a great deal of understanding of our situation (even though we had to explain to them what a “ranked peak” was!), and even served us hot chocolate while we warmed up in their dining room.

Finally, we said our goodbyes, with hugs all around, and piled back into Doug’s liberated car for the ride home. It was after 8 pm when we got to Normandy Circle—later than we had anticipated—but we all felt pretty good.

I took a few photos on the trip, and my photo gallery, which includes a few taken by Doug and Susan, is at:

http://picasaweb.google.com/tcogwr/UN8487

2008-10-10T14:05:00.000-07:00

The LoJ LCW PD*: short version
Peak Y, Peak Z, “Zephyr,” Payne BM, “No Payne,” Shawnee Peak, “X-Prime,” Peak X
RT: about 17 mi.
Vertical: approx. 5,000 ft.

(*That's the Lists of John Lost Creek Wilderness Peak Dash)

After Lindsey (what a thrill! See
http://www.14ers.com/php14ers/tripreport.php?trip=5343&cpgm=tripmain)
I accepted Dwight Sunwall’s invitation on Listsofjohn.com to sign up for the Lost Creek Wilderness Peak(s) Dash.
The full circuit was a long, ellipitcal loop from the Long Creek trailhead. It included 14 peaks, 11 of them ranked, over (Dwight estimated) 27 or 28 miles, with something like 8,500 to 8,600 feet of elevation gain.
The beauty of this loop was that the entry was near the middle, and several bail-out opportunities existed to shorten the circuit, reduce the number of peaks, and the mileage, and head back to the trailhead sooner than those die-hards who chose to do the full loop (and there were several who did!). I knew going in that I would opt out somewhere along the route, but it looked like a great, open-ended adventure all the same, with a multi-peak day in the offing, no matter what.
I rode up with Kevin Baker (shknbke) to the campsite on Friday evening, the 26th. After meeting with a few people who, up until that time, had been only names on the website, I retired to my sleeping bag to bivy for the night. It turned out to be an excellent night to bivy, as there was no precipitation or cloudiness, and I was able to enjoy the starry sky virtually all night.
About 5 am MDT (4 am MST), my alarm went off, and I shook myself awake. Others were astir, as well, including Dwight, who was busily trying to brew some coffee in an old-fashioned percolator on his propane camp stove. I passed on some of the underdone coffee, however, and begged a small amount of simple hot water, prepared on the other burner, to make myself some instant oatmeal, my breakfast of choice.
By about 5:30, virtually everyone was awake, and we all piled into various vehicles for the 1-mile ride to the actual trailhead.
A somewhat indistinct (especially in the dark!) trail leads up a drainage from the trailhead, to the saddle between the adroitly named Peak X and Peak Y, the first target for the day. From the saddle, a group of 11 headed southeast toward Y, and then on to the southern end of the loop, which lies oriented roughly southeast-to-northwest within the Lost Creek Wilderness.
We had our first peak by 7:15 in the morning. Small sub-groups formed and re-aligned along the way, but, amazingly, the whole group stayed pretty much together throughout the morning, re-assembling on each summit in succession.
Somewhere around Z, a conversation with veteran climber Jeff Valliere made me aware that he and his wife, Alison, were planning on bailing on the loop at Shawnee Peak, and cutting back across the Craig’s Creek drainage to unranked “X-Prime” and Peak X for a shorter day. Since I had gone into the venture fairly sure that I couldn’t really finish the whole tour-de-LCW with the real hard-corers, this sounded like a good basic plan. It would still net me eight peaks (seven ranked) and probably take all of the day for which I was really interested in staying on my feet.
Although I managed to stay fairly close to the group leaders (whoever they happened to be) getting to each of the early peaks, I had finally fallen to the absolute back of the pack by the time we all approached Shawnee. (This, despite having managed to hike along, and converse, with the semi-legendary John Kirk himself for a ways in the late morning.)
We congregated on the summit of Shawnee Peak shortly after noon, and I could tell that it was going to be fool’s errand to try to maintain the pace much farther. The earlier tentative decision was confirmed: head down the west slopes with Jeff and Alison, as well as Dave Hale, rather than go on to the north for the rest of the loop.
We marched down and across the broad drainage, getting our feet wet for the second time in the boggy bottom where the creek has no definite boundaries, and began the fairly substantial climb up to X-Prime. It did take a while, and before we all reached the summit of this interesting but unranked peak, fatigue did indeed begin to set in on yours truly. I wasn’t finished, but I was certainly slowing down.
We took a number of breaks throughout the remainder of the afternoon, including one while we tentatively waited out the gathering clouds. Those clouds actually dropped a little graupel on us for a few minutes, but, fortunately, it never turned into anything serious.
In truth, by the time I finally plodded to the top of Peak X (the highest summit on this shortened tour), everyone else was being very kind by waiting for me; I was really getting tired and slow. We’d all gotten six summits by roughly noon, but the last two took virtually the entire afternoon.
Still, there was some sunlight left when we finally stumbled back out into the trailhead parking area. Jeff and Alison, in addition to waiting so patiently for me in the last stages of the hike, offered me a ride back to the campsite, which I readily took. (This left my large pack, with all my gear, locked in Jeremy Hakes’s car, where it would remain for another six hours, but there was nothing I could do about that…) I was just happy to get back to somewhere where I could sit down –folding camp chairs, no less!—and enjoy the wood fire patiently built by Liz Rodgers, until the remaining hikers began to dribble in from the various longer versions of the loop.
It was my third hiking/climbing day that week, with each one being more demanding than the one before, so I was, frankly, bushed. But a couple of generously provided beers, and a decent night’s sleep under a starry sky smoothed everything out. There are no pictures from this trip, as I simply neglected to take (among several other things) my camera. But it was a great experience: my most “social” climb to date. However, some of John Kirk’s pictures, including a couple that include me, can be seen at:

http://www.listsofjohn.com/board/viewtopic.php?t=319&postdays=0&postorder=asc&start=15

and Kevin Baker’s photos (some of which also include yours truly) can be seen at:

http://picasaweb.google.com/shknbke/LostCreekWildernessPeakDash

Long life and many peaks!

2008-10-05T20:54:00.000-07:00

Mt. Lindsey (14,047 ft.)

Iron Nipple (13,504 ft.)

25 September, 2008: Regular readers will recall that, back in May, Trisha and I attempted to start our climbing season with a climb of Mt. Lindsey—only to be turned back by a combination of fatigue and exposure. After our climb of Pyramid Peak, however, Trisha decided that, if we could do that, then we could do Lindsey, and we ought to go back and nail it before the season was over.

I readily agreed, and a check of the weather forecast quickly showed that Thursday, the 25^th, promised probably the best weather of the entire week. We both knew that, in fact, this was the ideal time of year for this particular mountain, for two reasons: First, the snow of last winter was finally all gone, meaning that we could drive all the way to the trailhead this time (See the previous entry on Lindsey for an account of the extra work which the lack of this condition imposed.). Second, stream flow would be at or near its annual low, making the crossing of the Huerfano River—which does not sport an actual bridge—as easy as it was ever going to get.

Hopefully well rested this time, we left home at 3:15 am MDT, and were hiking from the Lily Lake trailhead by 6:30. This was before sunrise, but dawn had already come and, although we had brought our headlamps, we did not need them. There were no other cars, or any other evidence of anyone else, at the trailhead.

After crossing the river to its south/east side, we quickly reached the point where we had emerged from the trees back in May. There, we discovered that the trail stayed closer to the river, and in the trees, as it began to climb steeply up to the south. There were a few places where it was a bit indistinct on the forest floor, but soon a well-worn and obvious track emerged alongside the river.

A few hundred feet up, however, the trail re-crosses the river to its (now) west side. On the previous trip, I thought I had seen a trail over on the west side of the drainage as we were descending, but I couldn’t see how it connected to the route we had taken. This time, the answer was obvious: it had been hidden under the lingering snow in the upper basin.

Without the snow, we had no trouble following the trail all the way up to where it tackles the west side of the Lindsey/Iron Nipple Ridge. It took us less than two hours to make this part of the trip, which brought us to a few hundred feet above timberline, at roughly 12,500 ft. By a quarter to ten, we were standing on the ridge crest, at 13,300 feet, under stunningly clear skies, with the whole pageant of the Blanca group spread out around us.

I had avoided expressing any preference as to which route we should follow above this point, to let Trisha make the choice for herself. Somewhat to my surprise, she elected to give the ridge route another try. I was definitely up for the challenge, so we put on our helmets and off we went, clambering over the spiky points and across the tiny tops of steep gullies that make up the northeast ridge.

As we once again approached the crux headwall, however, the wind began to increase. Although we made it farther up than we had before, the exposure once again got to Trisha. (I wasn’t setting any speed records myself.) So, with some reluctance, we decided to retreat a ways down the ridge and take the less demanding couloir route.

It took nearly half an hour of careful downclimbing to extricate ourselves from the ridge, and join the obvious route into the base of the couloir. We were happy to find that, even though there was a smattering of snow in the couloir (it does face north, after all), and even though some of the scree surface was indeed loose, the going was actually easier than I had feared.

It is steep, however, and we carefully picked our way up, trying to avoid the snow for the most part, and always seeking good handholds to supplement our foot traction. Basically, we found that the best method was to stick to the extreme left (east) side, where we could use the mostly continuous rock wall for handholds, and where sunlight had removed the greatest amount of snow. After a few minutes to get the rhythm, we found we were making decent progress. We never dislodged any rocks of significant size, but there were occasional scree showers, and we were glad to see that no one else was on the mountain with us.

By now, it was clear that we would indeed make the summit this time, but our route finding adventures were by no means over. About two-thirds of the way up the couloir, we came to a tiny saddle. Rather than descend/traverse through the snow on the other side of it, I decided that it would make sense to exit the couloir to our right, and make a direct scramble up the face in the general direction of the summit—or what I thought was the summit.

I made this decision partly because the route seemed to be more snow-free than the remainder of the couloir. It was—but not by much. And the placement of some of the snow patches which we couldn’t avoid made for a few little pitches of rather “spicy” climbing, so this stretch didn’t go quite as quickly as I had hoped.

It went, however, and we found ourselves back on the ridge crest, well above the headwall. What I still thought was the summit loomed just a short distance above us. Seven minutes of easy scrambling brought us to the high point, where we could finally see the true summit, just a few feet higher but a couple hundred yards farther southeast.

The good news was that there was a clearly visible climber’s trail virtually all the way, we only had to give up a smidgen of elevation, and the final climb to the summit was just a walk-up. With the weather holding (the wind had even died down some), our goal was finally, literally, in sight and only a few minutes away.

As has become my custom, I made a short video of our arrival at this summit; it can be seen at:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EFESQbp6VHE

With the summit to ourselves and the clear weather holding, we spent nearly half an hour there. We signed the register with a somewhat surprising 200+ names on it since July of 2008, and took numerous pictures, enjoying the break from the technical climbing. We did not, however, feel like eating lunch in that breezy environment. Despite the unbroken sunshine, it was still cool; we decided to stop back at the saddle for lunch.

We also decided not to retrace all of our steps, and, instead, to take the full length of the couloir on our descent. Only a little bit of searching was needed to find the point where we could drop off the summit ridge and enter the top of the couloir: There were boot prints clearly visible from above.

When we got down to the small saddle to rejoin our ascent route, we encountered what may well have been the most dangerous segment of our entire day. The snowfield which I had chosen to avoid on the way up was indeed an obstacle to be negotiated with care: It was steep, with no trustworthy run-out below it, and the snow varied between too hard to kick much of a step in, and so soft that no decent platform could be created when our kicks did go in! We crab-walked across it sideways, very carefully testing each step, and using our hands, even right in the snow, all the way. It was a slow twenty feet!

Once we made it across and back to the small saddle, however, the going got easier, although it was still steep. We were on familiar territory, and made decent time all the rest of the way back to the saddle, where we finally were back on a clear trail. Not to mention back to walking, instead of clinging.

Despite our detour, it was clear that we had numerous hours of sunlight left, and we were not worn out (no small deal). I had mentioned on the way up that, if time permitted, I would like to climb Iron Nipple on the way back. Once we reached the saddle, Trisha assured me that time did permit, and that she wouldn’t mind pausing there for lunch and waiting for me to make what I hoped would just be a quick out-and-back. So I took off, hoping to make it back in something like half an hour.

I didn’t quite hit that time mark, but I was really happy that I took the detour. A decent climber’s trail led along the ridge to where the rocks began to require scrambling. I found the scrambling to be great fun—well within my limits—and the view improved rapidly. Just before reaching the summit, I got the big surprise: There is a short knife-edge ridge that must be negotiated! It looks for all the world like a much smaller version of the famous knife-edge on Capitol Peak, so I eagerly took it on as a little practice for that as-yet-unclimbed peak. The exposure was real, but I found it fairly easy.

I regret not thinking to take a close-up picture of this unusual feature. The photo album does include a longer-distance shot taken from a ways below on my descent.

From the summit, I could just barely make out Trisha below, but didn’t know whether or not she could see me. It turns out she could, and got a nice picture of me silhouetted against the sky. There was no register, so after standing momentarily on the highest point, I hurried down. First, however, I took a few pictures, including what I think is the best (meaning most informative) one I got all day of Lindsey. It makes both routes, gully and ridge, plain to see.

After descending, I quickly ate the sandwich which Trisha had graciously gotten ready for me, and we began our descent. From that point, the descent was just a re-tracing of our steps on the way up, so it went pretty uneventfully. Descending on the west side of the Huerfano River valley, we did lose direct sunlight long before astronomical sunset, but we were never cold. Plus we had beautiful views of the opposite side of the valley bathed in the afternoon sunlight.

Without really pushing ourselves, we made it back to the trailhead in only three and a half hours. There, we finally saw other human beings. They were a couple who corresponded to the other entry we had seen in the trailhead register just minutes before, when we signed out. They had hiked up to Lily Lake, and, coming up to the trailhead just minutes after us, cheerfully asked if we were “the Lindsey people.” A nice conversation ensued, and they inquired about, and were suitably impressed with, our progress in climbing the fourteeners.

This one felt really good. Lindsey is as tough as its reputation: not for beginners. But bagging it late in the season, in perfect weather, to take care of some unfinished business, was extremely rewarding. Plus, it brought me up to eight new fourteeners for the season, and Trisha up to nine: new personal records for both of us.

Pictures are at:

http://picasaweb.google.com/tcogwr/MtLindsey

Long life and many peaks!

2008-09-11T16:45:00.000-07:00

Mt. Eolus (14,088 ft.)

Glacier Point (13,709 ft.)

3 September, 2008: Worried about persistent reports that the footbridge over the Animas River at the Needleton train stop might be demolished, mountaineer Trisha decided that it was worth it to shell out for a second train ride, and go back to Chicago Basin to climb Mt. Eolus, the one fourteener we had missed on our early August trip. So Tuesday (the 2^nd) at 11:30 am MDT found us once again crossing that footbridge and starting up the steep Needle Creek trail.

This time, we gave ourselves a full day for climbing, and another day to hike out. We enjoyed beautiful sunny late summer weather on the hike in. To my surprise, without particularly hurrying, we substantially bested our time up the trail of a month earlier, reaching our campsite in only 3 hours and 15 minutes. Thus, we had plenty of time to set up camp, and enjoy a very leisurely dinner, before crawling into our sleeping bags.

Unlike last time, we had no time pressure on our one climbing day. So, instead of getting up in the pre-sunrise chill, we slept until the hedonistic hour of 6 am (!). After an unhurried breakfast, we hit the trail at the unheard-of hour of 7:15 am.

Even though there were clouds in the sky, we felt that the fact that we had all day virtually guaranteed that we could successfully climb our one remaining peak. Because Labor Day had come and gone, we saw absolutely no one on the trail, either above or below us, all the way up to Twin Lakes and beyond.

The sky remained partly cloudy, however, and we kept wondering whether or not we would be, again, climbing up into the soup and losing our visibility. Fortuitously, after hiking up into the broad plateau above Twin Lakes, we encountered climbers Matt and Chad, from Denver, who had gotten the more traditional early start and were hiking down after climbing Eolus. We consulted with them about the route from that point on, and then proceeded up.

It turned out—to my amazement—that we had been on the correct route four weeks earlier for much farther than I had thought. We quickly arrived, via a much gentler route, at the point on the ridge where we had turned right back in August. All we had to do was to turn left (south) at that point, and we soon found ourselves at the beginning of the Catwalk! Of course, there was no way in the world we could have seen this when we were enveloped in clouds, but so it goes.

Once we did get to that point, however, there was no remaining doubt about the rest of the route. As you can see from the photos, once you get onto the Catwalk, the balance of the path to the summit is unmistakable.

Even better, the clouds had continued to lift just above us, and now were actually breaking up. We finally had real sunshine! Enheartened by this, we set off across the “sidewalk in the sky” for the final climb to the summit of Mt. Eolus.

It’s probably no more than a quarter of a mile, as the crow flies, and perhaps 200 feet vertical, but it still took us about an hour to make that remaining climb. Once across the Catwalk, the best approach is to veer left off the ridge crest, and pick the easiest path through the many, many ledges which make up the east face of Eolus. We followed a combination of cairns and our own analysis of the ledges, and finally headed straight up a gully that topped out between two high points.

I had to climb up all the way to the top of the gully in order to determine which point was the actual summit. It turned out to be the one to our right (north), and a few more bouldering moves over and around rather large rocks were required to get to the summit, but, at last, the benchmark and register came into view. Just a few minutes after noon (MDT) we had made it! It had taken me three tries (and Trisha two) to get, finally, to the top of this majestic mountain, but we could finally check it off. The video of Trisha coming up to the summit is at:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ya91rt4skOY

Since we did have all day, we were in no hurry to leave. We spent quite a good deal of time trying to get the register canister open. The threads seemed to be jammed. Despite our best efforts, we never succeeded. But we took a good brace of pictures, ate some food, and soaked in the fabulous view before descending.

The second crossing of the Catwalk went much more smoothly, for both of us, than the first. My video of Trisha doing the first section of that narrow ridge is at:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y8yZ9ZbW1TU

When we got off the Catwalk, we decided that it was time for a real rest, and some lunch. First, though, I wanted to do a quick out-and-back over to Glacier Point, the thirteener which is the next major ridge point north of North Eolus. I dropped my pack, put my windbreaker back on, and took off running while Trisha rested and put together sandwiches for both of us. When I got back, half an hour later, she informed me that she had made a video of part of my side trip!

After getting back and eating, we began the largely uneventful trip back to camp. The sky continued to clear, but a significant wind came up and stayed with us until we were back below timberline. On the way down, we did meet a trio of climbers returning from an attempt on Windom. Unfortunately, they hadn’t made the summit because, by their own testimony, they weren’t willing to trust the weather. Too bad.

Beyond that, there’s not much to tell. We took our time hiking down, getting back to camp just after five, for a total time on the trail of just under ten hours. We re-encountered Matt and Chad when we passed their campsite, and exchanged news. After another leisurely dinner, we had an astonishing thirteen hours to sleep!

The only remaining surprise was the time we made on our way out on Thursday. We had our camp un-made and were off down the trail at 11 am, leaving four hours and forty-five minutes to get to the train stop. Accordingly, we made absolutely no attempt to hurry. Instead, we concentrated on enjoying the scenic beauty, taking pictures, and taking it easy on our muscles and joints. And you know what? We were back at Needleton in less than three hours! It had only taken us about 15 minutes longer than back in August, when we had pushed ourselves mercilessly. Of course, the fact that we were starting fresh instead of having just come off a 3,000-foot climb might have something to do with it…

Oh, well; we had plenty of time to relax and chat with the other climbers and hikers waiting for the train. Pictures are at:

http://picasaweb.google.com/tcogwr/Eolus

Long life and many peaks!

2008-09-08T13:32:00.000-07:00

Sentinel Point
(12,527 ft.)

Backdate: 21 August, 2008: With Trisha otherwise engaged for this week’s days off, fourteeners were out. But the forecast was for warm, sunny weather, so I looked around for some previously unclimbed, nearby peak which I could bag in a half day (had to work in the evening). I settled on Sentinel Point, the second-highest summit in Teller County, which sits just a few miles west-southwest of Pikes Peak.
In retrospect, it’s a little surprising that I had never before gotten around to climbing this peak. It certainly wasn’t for lack of knowing about it. Anyone who has come into Colorado Springs from the west, along US 24, has seen its conical profile sticking up prominently just to the right of Pikes Peak’s summit. Probably the major reason I’d never gone out to climb it before was that I was uncertain about just how to get there. National Forest access on the west side of Pikes Peak is spotty. However, in the age of the internet, abundant information is available. Thus, I was finally able to set off with certainty of finding a trailhead which I knew would lead me to this long-deferred goal.
Well, there was one snag. The trailhead is on State Highway 67, the road that leads from Divide to Cripple Creek. My old edition of the Pikes Peak Atlas said it was just south of a tunnel, and that the trail wrapped up from the west side of the road, over the tunnel, and thence east. The trouble is, there is no tunnel. And as I was starting before sunrise, I couldn’t see well what I verified later in broad daylight: There once had been a tunnel, but it had either collapsed, or been pre-emptively blasted away to create a deep road cut.
So after a little time wasted driving too far down the road and doubling back, I finally located the trailhead. It’s now on the east side of the road. I got started, carrying only a belt pack with gorp, water, Elmo, and a windbreaker for extra clothing, at 4:55 am MST. It was close enough to sunrise that I didn’t even need the headlamp I had brought.
The lower part of the trail may once have been a 4WD road; it’s quite broad if rough. It heads nearly due east into an area colorfully known as Horsethief Park. Three-quarters of a mile in, there’s a trail junction (thankfully, well signed), where the “main” trail (704) continues on east, and the trail I wanted (704A) takes off to the north. I believe either of these paths can be used to get to the summit of Sentinel Point, but I was looking for the fastest route. The various reports I had read clearly suggested the northern approach for this.
The trail continued to be clear and easy to follow as it paralleled a stream northward for most of another mile, before turning east again, entering the trees, and beginning to climb steeply. To my amazement, this turn did not involve any crossing or fording of the rather boggy stream: Where the center of the drainage is crossed, there was virtually no water, at least on the surface.
As I went up through the trees, I was surprised by the large number of small cairns marking the trail. I wasn’t finding the trail particularly difficult to see or follow, and I wondered why there were so many cairns, all of them quite small but unmistakable. I found out why on the way down: The trail is much harder to see coming down.
Once above timberline, however, I had no trouble spotting occasional cairns and picking my way up through the rocks to reach the ridge crest. The ridge connects Sentinel with the next ridge point to the north, which is actually higher, but unnamed.
At the saddle, I got my first direct sunshine, and an unusual view of Pikes Peak. I could also see the rest of my route: south on the ridge and onto the east face of Sentinel Point. I clambered up over increasingly large boulders and reached the summit just after 7 am.
The view is excellent. I could make out virtually all the fourteeners of the Sawatch range, as well as Evans and Bierstadt to the northwest. Without a cloud in the sky, the peaks of the Sangres to the south were also mostly easy to see and identify.
After a leisurely picture-taking session on the summit, I headed down fairly quickly, as I had to make this a half-day climb, and was back at the car by 10 am. I only saw one other person—a women hiking up with her dog—on the entire trip.
Photos are at:

http://picasaweb.google.com/tcogwr/SentinelPoint

Long life and many peaks!

2008-09-07T21:31:00.000-07:00

Pyramid Peak (14,023 ft.)

28 August, 2008: We’d let two weeks lie fallow since our trip to Chicago Basin, and I was beginning to feel antsy about summer slipping away. I cast diligently about for something on the list of remaining peaks that Trisha and I needed to climb—almost all of them difficult—and decided that a return to the Elk Range would be in order. Beautiful, clear weather was forecast for the middle of the week. Also, Pyramid was as close as anything else, and the round trip mileage from the trailhead was only seven miles. Seven tough miles, but still doable as a day trip.
We left home at 1 am MDT, and arrived at the (paved!) Maroon Lake trailhead parking lot (9,600 ft.) at a quarter to five, just before dawn. The trail heads south along Maroon Creek for a bit over a mile, before reaching the leftward turn-off for Pyramid Peak. It’s not signed, and not prominently cairned either, and we might have missed it but for a neat piece of luck: At the trailhead, we met a young woman, Emmi, who is a professional mountain guide, and has done Pyramid many times. She found the turn-off, even though it was just barely dawn and stars were still visible above. (The moon was old, and a beautiful, slim crescent in the east.)
That was the easy part of the trip. From there, there is still a clear, maintained trail, but it immediately gets steep. It took about an hour and half for us to reach timberline. By that time, the sun had risen, illuminating the Maroon Bells behind us, but we remained in deep shadow.
At about timberline, the maintained trail gives way to a cairned route over rocks. The angle, to begin with, isn’t great, but it gradually increases as the route makes its way up what is known as the amphitheater, a huge concave basin below Pyramid’s impressive north face. Not only does the angle of your climb increase, so does the size of the rocks. It’s serious, ankle-wrenching work to climb east to where bare rock finally gives way to an even steeper scree and dirt slope leading, at long last, to the crest of Pyramid’s northeast ridge.
We finally got to the ridge, and emerged into brilliant sunshine, after 10 am. We stopped here (just about 13,000 ft.), took a rest, ate some food, and shed some clothing.
We had climbed 3,400 feet, and had only a smidgen over 1,000 feet to go, but the climb was far from over. In fact, the serious stuff was just beginning! From our perch on the ridge, you can look right up the northeast ridge and almost see Pyramid’s summit. But it’s no piece of cake: it would take us two more hours of climbing steep ledges, with real and serious exposure, to reach the top.
After bypassing one major ridge point on climber’s right (northwest), we drifted off the ridge crest to our left to make most of the climb on the east face. Various descriptions which I had read left quite a bit of doubt as to just where the simplest route to the summit actually lay, but they all agreed that staying somewhere left of the ridge was the best choice.
After free-lancing our way to the left, we finally consulted with some other climbers who were already descending, and decided that we had drifted too far off the ridge. We did some quick direct climbing, and re-connected with a fairly clear cairned route much closer to the ridge.
Following the cairns, we basically avoided the “green couloir,” but found a succession of good ledges leading steadily up. Finally, perhaps 100 feet below the summit, we actually moved to the right around a corner and found ourselves, once again, out on the northwest side (right side) of the ridge crest, with just one steep and exposed moves left to pop us out onto the actual summit ridge. From there, it was just a walk to the true summit.
We topped out just before 12:30—seven and a half hours after leaving the trailhead! However, the weather was holding, and we spent half an hour in the glorious sunshine at the summit. All five of the Elk Range’s other fourteeners can easily be seen from here, and we took quite a few pictures. In addition, I made a video of Trisha (and me) getting to the summit. It can be seen at:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2wClBr2pvk0

This peak had lived up to its reputation as one of Colorado’s most difficult fourteeners. We knew it would still take some work to get back down, so we began our descent about 1 pm. We stuck closer to the ridge crest on the way down, and found that this was a sensible choice, well cairned and offering clear paths through all the steep steps which we had to negotiate.
The rocks of the amphitheater were just as annoying going down as going up, but we did have one trick up our collective sleeve: The sun had softened the snow still lingering in the middle of the basin, so we boot skied a good portion of the descent through this section. Not only did this save us a great deal of time, it was a lot easier on the ankles!
Largely as a result of this option, we made it back to the trailhead in just under five hours. This, despite the fact that we somehow missed the junction to our ascent route below the amphitheater and followed the old trail south almost to Crater Lake. This added a half mile or so to our return.
Still, tired and happy, we wandered back to the car just before 6 pm. Fourteener number 39 for me, number 37 for Trisha. Pictures are at:

http://picasaweb.google.com/tcogwr/PyramidPeak

Long life and many peaks!

2008-08-15T23:33:00.000-07:00

Sunlight Peak (14,064 ft.)

Windom Peak (14,087 ft.)

“North Eolus” (14,044 ft.)

6 through 8 August, 2008: I finally made it back to Chicago Basin. As faithful readers know, in 2005 I had run in overnight from the Purgatory trailhead on US 550 with ultrarunner Matt Mahoney, hoping to climb all three of the basin’s ranked fourteeners. The attempt failed because lingering snow high on the slopes of Mt. Eolus (14,088 ft.) was too steep and hard to be negotiated without crampons.

So, this time I brought crampons and an ice ax. I also took the more leisurely, and more common, approach. Together with Trisha, I took the Durango and Silverton Narrow Gauge Railroad north from Durango to the Needleton train stop on the Animas River (~8,200 ft.). This saves about eight miles each way, so Trisha figured it was worth the train fare. Suzi graciously drove us down to Durango the evening before, and we all stayed overnight in a motel room. This got us started with at least a reasonable approximation of a decent night’s sleep.

About 8:30 MDT the next morning, we tossed our expedition packs, loaded with everything we could think of that we might need, onto the baggage car at the train station, and waited for the 9:00 departure time. The train—authentic 19^th century narrow gauge equipment carefully maintained into the 21^st century—slowly chugged its way north along the Animas River. Top speed is about 25 mph!

It takes 2½ hours of, admittedly, very scenic travel to reach the one-time mining camp called Needleton, one of a handful of train stops on the way to Silverton. At times, the train is perched on narrow ledges, blasted out of very hard rock, up to 200 feet above the river below. As I write this, those train ride pictures haven’t been posted yet, but I promise I will eventually get an album online. Following my usual biases, I have given a higher priority to publishing the mountain pictures!

About 11:30 MDT, we got off at Needleton. We collected and put on our packs, then crossed over to the east side of the river on a good footbridge, and our journey was officially underway. Three-quarters of a mile downriver, we came to the bottom of the Needle Creek trail. It heads steeply up to the east along—you guessed it!—Needle Creek. Actually, it starts out going something like east-southeast. Then, over the next six miles (and 3,000 feet of elevation gain!), both trail and creek do a broad turn counter-clockwise, ending up heading east-northeast before leveling out somewhat in the lower end of Chicago Basin.

Chatting on the way up the trail, we decided to set up our camp fairly low down. This might seem foolish: it would make for longer climbs both Thursday and Friday to reach our target peaks. But the overriding wisdom of such a choice was that we would only have to travel the mileage in the upper basin with our day packs. Whatever distance we didn’t travel on the way in to find a campsite, would be mileage that we also didn’t have to travel under the weight of full expedition packs on the way out on Friday. Without a doubt, this proved to be the right decision.

So, after just under four hours of uphill hiking (fending off prodigious swarms of insects most of the way), we found a spot at about 11,100 ft., not far from the creek, where we set up our camp. After getting the tent set up, we both immediately put on long sleeves and long pants, to prevent getting cold in the falling temperatures of afternoon/evening.

Then we fluffed out our sleeping bags, and set about preparing our first camp dinner. Tired and well-fed, we suspended the food bag from a tree limb (a necessity here), laid out stuff for the morning, and happily plopped ourselves into our bags long before the sun had actually set.

We had nearly ten hours to sleep before the 4 am alarm went off. Even so, we gave ourselves nearly half an hour of extra snooze time before yanking ourselves out into the chill of pre-dawn and making some coffee. After that, and a breakfast of instant oatmeal, we finally hit the trail at abut 5:40 am MDT. It had rained some during the night, but precipitation had stopped, and the skies seemed to be clearing at least partially.

When the trail turns more to the north, just above timberline, it also turns dramatically up, for the final push to Twin Lakes. On this steep section, we finally saw a couple of climbers coming up behind us, and one large party (I think we counted 9) a short distance above us. It took us an hour and a half to get to the lakes (12,500 ft.).

Meanwhile, the clouds were persistently failing to burn off. After passing by the lakes, we made another turn, heading back in a more easterly direction, for the last leg of our approach to the basin in between Sunlight and Windom. First Sunlight Spire (14,000 ft.) came into view, then Sunlight Peak, and, finally Windom. All were completely or partially wrapped in clouds, depending on just when we looked up.

By about 8:30 am MDT we reached the base of the aptly named “red gully” on Sunlight’s southwest side, and the climbing steepened again. The rocks also got looser and gradually larger. We could see the party of nine heading up toward Windom (on our right), and wondered if they also planned on climbing both peaks. We trudged on, aiming for the saddle between Sunlight Peak and Sunlight Spire.

After peeking over the ridge at the saddle, we turned left. The truth is, the pictures tell a better story of what we encountered from there to the summit than words can. Basically, we turned left and contoured across the western side of the mountain, gradually climbing and slowly winding clockwise around the summit block. Several steep climbs over large boulders and through steep cracks were required. Trisha decided to leave her pack behind to aid in balance, and not long thereafter, I jettisoned my ice axe, because the point of it kept banging into overhanging rocks as I negotiated narrow spaces. She would pay a price for her convenience later…

About 10:30, we came to the final obstacle: a virtual tunnel where it was necessary to climb a steep groove completely roofed by a large boulder. Emerging at the top, we found ourselves on a level bench which led away a few yards to our left, where the benchmark and register are located. Just beyond, we looked up another fifteen feet or so to the true summit.

The true summit of Sunlight Peak is a unique thing of mystical beauty and fascinating danger. There is no other fourteener summit like it, not even on mountains that are actually harder to climb. To reach the top, one must either friction walk up a large slabby boulder tilted at about 45 degrees, and totally devoid of cracks or handholds, OR take the “Leap of Faith,” across a gap just too wide to be stepped across without momentum. And then, the rounded topmost boulder must be clambered up onto, again without any real handholds. On the other side—where your momentum would carry you if you got up too much of it—is another curving drop-off and 1500 feet or so of uninterrupted air.

Trisha demurred, but I simply had to go for it. I found it a little too breezy to stand upright on the top, but I got there, as her pictures attest. Fourteener number 37 for me, 35 for Trisha.

Even though we technically had all day, and it was still morning, we knew we still couldn’t trust the weather. In fact, we fully expected some showers; it was just a question of when and how intense. So after a few pictures, we headed back down to the saddle and off toward Windom. Before we got there, however, we met a couple on their way up who informed us that they had passed Trisha’s pack on the way, and that the famous marmots had chewed through one of her zippers to get at the snack food inside! Fortunately, it was only the small, outermost pocket, but the zipper would simply have to be replaced later. We could only laugh at our lack of foresight in forgetting to take the edibles out before leaving the pack behind.

We angled to our left going back down the red gully, and eventually gave up only about 800 feet of elevation before taking off on a gently climbing traverse. We had just a couple of very short stretches (50 feet or so) across some lingering snow fields, and the snow supported us perfectly well without gear. We got on top of the west ridge, which connects Windom to its sub-summit, Peak 18, just east of a gentle ridge point and turned uphill.

We generally stayed close to the ridge crest, bypassing any obstacles on the left. The greatest of these is a good-sized notch at about 13,800 ft. Although it required a significant detour, we found a well-cairned route leading back onto the ridge crest in fairly short order. Then, once again, we found the average size of the boulders increasing and the amount of hand work increasing too.

This only went on for five or ten minutes, though, until we could see that we were almost on the summit. Low clouds had completely closed in and blocked all direct light, but the rain had held off. Finally, we climbed onto the first of the strangely cubic boulders which characterize this summit. A video of our approach is at:

http://www.youtube.com/v/5_XkrQQgjOg

We found the register canister missing its cap and, therefore, a register. Fortunately, Trisha found a spare Ziploc bag in her pack, and I just happened to have a suitable rubber band, so we installed a new register and improvised a cap. We also placed the canister on a level shelf above its attachment point on a vertical surface, instead of letting it hang the way we had found it, and secured it somewhat with a handy rock. Hopefully, this will suffice until some dedicated person can bring up a real screw-on cap. I put out a call in my trip report for this action.

Once again, however, we didn’t want to linger long. (There weren’t any really good views to soak in, anyway!) Not ten minutes after starting down, we did finally get rained upon. It wasn’t heavy, nor was it sleety and freezing, but we proceeded with some caution. Also, the wind remained absent. By the time we got back to the saddle and exited the ridge, it had stopped. There, we actually met another climber heading up. He said he had climbed Eolus that morning, and was determined to hit Windom before the day was out, so we wished him luck and continued down.

Naturally, even with a couple more brief bouts of sprinkling, we made much better time on the return trip. Just after the steep drop-off from Twin Lakes, we took a wrong turn in one of the places where the trail goes across a rock slab, and had to backtrack for about ten minutes. We actually ended up on the Columbine Pass trail and approached the junction from a different direction than we had intended.

Still, we were back in camp by 5:30 pm, for a total descent time of barely three and a half hours. The round trip came to just under twelve hours—perfectly acceptable, IMHO.

We were encouraged when the clouds largely dissipated and late afternoon sunlight flooded our campsite. The first quarter moon became visible, and we drifted off to sleep with hopes that the following day would give us a better break on the weather than the previous one had.

Alas, it was not to be. Although only a few sprinkles of rain fell during the night, and day broke with partial clearing, it never really cleared up. We got up and going relatively quickly, knowing that we had only half a day to climb, and that we needed to hike out back to Needleton by 3:45 pm. We could see the tops of the many peaks which rim the basin in the dawn light, including one clear shot of Mt. Eolus, before the clouds re-formed and blocked off all direct light.

Still, I was very pleased when we passed the elevation where Matt and I had been turned around three years before: Everything from here on was new territory! We reached that point just before 8:30 am, and success seemed quite likely.

But new territory, together with the totally enveloping clouds, meant that we could no longer see very far ahead. As a result, we could only follow the cairns, which I was pleased to see were there.

At a point which had to be only a hundred feet or so directly below the famous Catwalk—the narrow ridge between Eolus and North Eolus—we followed obvious cairns up and to the right (north). Here we cached our crampons and ice axes to lighten our loads, as we both agreed that we simply weren’t going to need them. I expected the route the cairns defined to turn left and level out at some point and, sure enough, it did. This did not, however, deposit us at anything which looked like the north end of a narrow ridge.

Instead, the route flattened out into a saddle, and continued wrapping around to the left, where it commenced climbing again. The climbing was fairly steep, a mixture of bouldering and crack climbing, and I really began to wonder. It was past 9 am now, and I figured that we would really have to turn around by 9:30 in order to get back to Needleton before the train.

But we were still going up, so, even though visibility was severely limited, we pressed on. The wetness of the rock also began to be a factor, and we had to be careful. Finally, the cairns clearly led us to the base of a narrow crack fifteen to twenty feet high. It was very steep, and so were the solid slopes on either side of it, so it looked like the only available route up. Carefully—very carefully—we ascended it one at a time, searching diligently for every ledge and handhold.

At the top, we found a small saddle in the narrow ridge, and a route leading still up and to the right, roughly following the ridge crest. The climbing from there was still serious, over and around fairly large boulders, but after the crack it didn’t seem very bad! After just a few minutes, I thought I was a saddle/ridge emerging from the mist to my left. Could this be the Catwalk after all? I hurried to the obvious high point between me and it to find out.

As I approached, I finally saw an elevation benchmark (see photos) on the high point, and my hope soared momentarily. Was this, against all odds, the summit? When I put on my glasses to read the elevation—which, unlike everything else, had for some reason been hand-scratched into the benchmark—I finally solved the riddle of our location. It read 14,039: the accepted elevation value of North Eolus. In the fog, we had climbed the wrong summit!

The ridge beyond clearly led down now, to what must be the Eolus/North Eolus saddle, But the fog was thicker than ever, and we could only see a few feet ahead of us. Despite being less than a quarter mile from our objective, and forty feet below it, I knew we would have to abandon it. Unable to see what lay ahead, I couldn’t risk an untested route down to the saddle. It might cliff out, presenting us with real danger. And, even if it didn’t, we would still have to climb the ledges—which I knew to be poorly cairned—to get to the summit.

I couldn’t take that risk, because Suzi had given me just two unequivocal instructions for this trip: 1) Make sure Trisha was safe, and 2) Don’t miss the train! Dropping off toward that saddle, so close by, might put either or both of those commissions in jeopardy. The only prudent choice was to follow our ascent route back down, since this was a known quantity, and then make all the haste we could back to camp.

It took most of an hour to get back to the place where we had left our snow gear. While I was in the process of downclimbing the infamous crack, Trisha yelled down to me that she had been able to find a gentler way around it, somewhere over to climber’s right. She took it, but I completed the downclimb rather than reverse my progress, and we met up again at the bottom a few minutes later. Less than ten minutes after reclaiming our gear, we met the only other climbers we saw that day, a couple going up toward Eolus. We told them what we had found, and wished them good luck putting the information to effective use. Then we turned our attention to speed.

We succeeded in that regard, and arrived back at camp, some 2,400 feet lower, in only an hour and twenty minutes. Winter had magically changed back into summer by then, and the sun was out and the rain gone. We made ourselves one last quick cup of coffee, stripped off some clothes, and laid our damp outer garments out dry while we tore down the tent and packed up the remainder of our gear. By 12:50 pm we were ready to go, and headed down the trail toward the train stop. We were out of emergency mode, but we still had to hurry at least a little bit.

A couple of miles down, we began meeting the folks who had gotten off the morning train coming up; we were actually surprised at how few of them there were for a Friday. With a couple stops to shed still more clothing, we stumbled out of the Weminuche wilderness and over the footbridge with twenty minutes to spare. Needless to say, we spent most of that twenty minutes sitting down, leaning against our packs, although Trisha did take a few pictures of the area.

It was with a strange mixture of satisfaction and longing that we got back on the train when it arrived. Against all plans, we would have to come back to this incredibly beautiful place to snag that last peak—the highest one of the bunch. But we had had a fantastic adventure and knocked two more off the list of 54.

For a combination of reasons, there are precious few pictures of Friday’s climb, all taken with Trisha’s camera. My pictures, and a few of hers, are at

http://picasaweb.google.com/tcogwr/SunlightAndWindom

Long life and many peaks!

2008-07-28T16:48:00.000-07:00

Culebra Peak (14,051 ft.)

Red Mountain (A) (13,908 ft.)

23 July, 2008: (Note: I am so tardy in getting this posted.) Trisha and I climbed Colorado’s southernmost 14er (and the only one that’s privately owned and not freely open to the public), along with its 13er neighbor.

Privately owned or not, you have to have Culebra to say you’ve actually climbed all of Colorado’s 14ers. So Trisha decided a few weeks ago that she could afford the expense ($100 a head; sheesh!), and had me phone the Cielo Vista Ranch to arrange a date. They gave me a couple of possible dates when they already had groups going up, and we took the earliest one available.

Following their emailed directions (as well as readily available information from the web and guidebooks), we left town about 9 pm MDT on the 22^nd, and headed south to the tiny town of San Luis, on the eastern edge of the San Luis Valley. From there we followed a succession of increasingly rural county roads, eventually unpaved, to the gate of the ranch. We made the trip, which is about 160 miles, in less than three hours. When we pulled up at a quarter to midnight, there were three other vehicles already there, presumably all containing sleeping hikers.

Having been told that the attendant (Carlos) arrives at 6 am to open the gate, we set an alarm for 5, put down the back seat of the Forester, stretched out our sleeping bags, and settled down to a partial night’s sleep.

An almost completely overcast sky greeted us when we arose, but it didn’t look like a real storm building. I was hopeful that it would burn off in the morning sun. We slept reasonably well, and had no trouble rousing ourselves. A quick “breakfast” of coffee from the thermos and pop-tarts (courtesy of Trisha’s forethought) served to get us going. After taking advantage of the porta-potty conveniently provided a few dozen yards away, we then packed up our packs and spent a few minutes chatting with the other climbers. They were mostly from various other parts of the country.

Carlos did indeed come driving up the road in his pickup (with two ranch dogs in the back) just before six. He unlocked the gate, and we all drove the roughly two miles in to the ranch headquarters buildings. There, we gave him our signed waiver forms and our fees (they take cash or checks; no credit cards!).

It turned out that, of the nine climbers, only Trisha and I were going to climb Red Mtn. in addition to Culebra. As a result, Carlos recruited Trisha to take his GPS unit up and plot some coordinates on both mountains for him. To our amazement, in return, he refunded her entire fee on the spot! So our day started right off costing us only half of what we had been prepared for.

Beyond the buildings, a medium-quality 4WD road leads south and east up into the mountains. About 3½ miles gets you to an intersection with another road cleverly named “Fourway.” Although the road leads a bit farther on to the upper trailhead, this is where we started hiking, in order to ensure a legitimate, 3,000-foot ascent to the peak.

Fourway sits on a gentle saddle of the long, curving ridge which ultimately leads to Culebra’s summit. It is from the sinuous shape of this ridge, and not from any prevalence of snakes, that the mountain gets its name.

We set off a few minutes before 7 am MDT, and followed the road to the upper trailhead, and then a little beyond. We left the road as it went over a ridge which extends down to the south from the main ridge, and began hiking up across the trailless tundra.

Not far above timberline, we climbed into a solid cloud cover. At the start, we could see sunlight on the San Luis Valley in the distance, but we advanced into soup. The few pictures we took for the next hour or so have extremely limited scopes of view!

Roughly where this route gains the crest of the long, snaking ridge we would follow to the summit, one comes upon what is perhaps the most unusual feature of the whole trip: a cairn roughly ten feet high, built of carefully layered flat rocks. (See the photo album.) I don’t know when it was built, or how much labor it took, but, without clouds, it can clearly be seen half a mile away.

Turning right up the ridge, the average slope relented somewhat, as we hiked over sections of gentle tundra, interrupted periodically by outcroppings of dark, solid rock. The scrambling over these ridge points was actually enjoyable. But the non-appearance of the sun forced me to put on my fleece for a while, despite the work of gaining altitude.

We began to see occasional, and partial, clearing of the cloud deck, and we really hoped it would eventually burn off altogether.

Finally, about the time we reached the major false summit just below 14,000 ft., it did. By that time, we were basically above the clouds, and we could see that they were breaking up all around us. First, we got a clear look at the summit of Culebra and, moments later, Red Mtn. finally emerged from the cloud cover.

After dropping a whopping 50 feet or so from the false summit, we made the final, rather steep, rock hop to the actual summit. We got there at 10:20 am MDT, just 3½ hours after leaving the trailhead. We needed to be aware of time, since the ranch only gives you 12 hours—you have to be back at the gate by 6 pm or they assume there’s some sort of emergency. We certainly didn’t want Costilla County SAR to come looking for us! But we felt we were doing fine, and would have no problem making it over to Red Mtn.

All the same, we only spent about ten minutes on the summit, taking pictures and chatting with the other climbers—all of whom had gotten there ahead of us.

The route to Red simply follows the ridge linking the two mountains, and we could clearly see it all from Culebra. There’s a small ridge point at about 13,600 ft. about halfway across, and the low point is only about 13,400 ft. Shortly after we set off down Culebra’s south side, we found a fairly clear climber’s trail leading down the ridge. To our surprise, it continued mainly uninterrupted all the way to Red. The trail was especially clear on the Red side, even sporting a few small cairns.

We could not have gotten lost anyway, but the trail made climbing through the loose rocks on Red a good deal easier than it might otherwise have been. These two adjacent mountains (0.7 miles as the crow flies between the summits) could hardly be more different in their compositions. Culebra is made of heavy, dark, volcanic-looking locks, and very solid. Red is, well, red, and most of the rocks are small, light, and, worst of all, loose.

It took us about 70 minutes to top out on Red. The small stone windbreak on the summit can clearly be seen from Culebra, so there was no doubt we had reached the actual summit. It’s in the middle of a summit ridge a couple of hundred yards long, oriented east-to-west. We also found a summit register, and it was in considerably better condition than the one on Culebra (which I had replaced), due to the fact that far fewer people visit Red. We didn’t have to replace this register, but just signed it, and noted that one of the climbers we had met on Wetterhorn Peak just three weeks earlier had signed in on the previous Saturday. Small climbing world!

This time, we spent about half an hour on the summit, enjoying our lunch (as it was approaching noon) and leisurely taking a good brace of pictures. Trisha took a panorama series, and one of these eons I’ll get around to stitching them together (FLW).

This was turning out to be a great adventure, and in that spirit, we decided not to go back over the summit of Culebra, but traverse across its southwest slopes after descending to the saddle, and re-join our ascent route somewhere around 13,600 ft. This turned out to be the most technically difficult part of the day, as we went sidehilling across relatively loose rocks for most of a mile. The different views we got, however, certainly made it worth it.

When we got back almost to the megacairn, we finally dropped down into the drainage which harbors the upper trailhead. This was about two in the afternoon. On the way up, I had noticed a trail taking off to the north from the turn in the road just before the trailhead, and roughly paralleling the creek north on its west side. This is what is indicated on the map as the “talus route” up to the ridge. We crossed the upper part of the drainage, looking for this trail and a fast, direct way back to the road. We intended simply to follow the road back to the car from that point.

For whatever reason, we never found it. We felt, however, that our view of the lay of the land from here was good enough that we could do a little more spontaneous adventuring. We decided to contour west and re-gain the ridge crest, then simply follow the ridge to the saddle where we knew the car would be waiting. We were back below timberline, with all the steepness and serious rock outcroppings of the ridge behind us, so this looked like a topographically easy way to shorten our journey down.

In the end, we went over more mild ridge points than we had expected, but the strategy worked. After bypassing one dramatic cliff face to our right (Trisha got a nice picture of it), we found wisps of trail leading down to the road just a hundred yards or so short of the Fourway saddle. We had made the descent, all the way from the summit of Red, in just under four hours.

Of course, by this time, it was a warm summer afternoon, and we were hiking in shorts and tee-shirts, hoping that we’d applied enough sunblock. After cleaning up a bit with the water and washcloths we had been sure to have waiting for us in the cooler, we “saddled up” again and made the adventurous descent of the 4WD road, back to the ranch headquarters. There we, the last of the day’s hikers, signed ourselves out on the clipboard left for that purpose, and noted the lock code to let ourselves out of the gate, still another two miles (gentler miles, to be sure!) down the road.

We were both pleasantly surprised by these mountains. It was a great day, despite the weird start, and a really enjoyable climb. We put in just over 9 miles, and, by my figures compiled later, about 3,590 vertical feet. We racked up an often-missed fourteener and a centennial thirteener. We now have six of the nine fourteeners in the Sangre de Cristo range under our belts.

My pictures, and a few of Trisha’s, are at:

http://picasaweb.google.com/tcogwr/Culebra

Long life and many peaks!

2008-07-12T13:56:00.000-07:00

Mt. of the Holy Cross (14,012 ft.)
Still no Cross
Trisha finishes the Sawatch!

10 July, 2008: When I learned that the Forest Service had a plan in the works to close down the entire 8-mile length of the Tigiwon Road—the access road to the trailhead for Mt. of the Holy Cross—in order to do something or other about the massive pine beetle infestation in the area, perhaps as early as 2009, I suggested to Trisha that we really needed to do this peak this year. As faithful readers will recall, I had already climbed MotHC, back in ’05, but I was definitely up for a re-match with this nifty peak anyway. So when I came up with just a single day off for the week, and we needed something that could be done as a day trip to avoid letting the week slide by, Holy Cross was the obvious choice. A recent trip report had confirmed that the trailhead was easily accessible, and most of the snow was gone from the climbing route, too.

So we set off at 3 am MDT, on our first truly summery climb; we didn’t take ice axes or crampons. Thanks (I think) to my own missing a turn on the road just outside of Leadville, it took us longer than anticipated to reach the trailhead so, once again, we didn’t even need headlamps. We had hoped to be hiking by sunrise (about 5:45 am MDT), but as it turned out, it was about 7:30 when we finally shouldered our packs and headed up from the Halfmoon Campground trailhead (10,320 ft.).

The morning was beautiful, calm and clear, and we were jettisoning clothing before we had even gotten to the top of Halfmoon Pass (11,640 ft.). It was only after we had climbed over the pass, and were actually not far from bottoming out at the crossing of East Cross Creek (at 10,670 ft.), that we finally saw anyone else on the trail.

First, we met a party of four guys who informed us that they had summitted the previous day. A lot of people do this peak as a two-day adventure. Then, just before reaching the creek, we encountered a family (two kids and a dog), who had been unable to find an acceptable way across the creek and were turning back.

When we reached the creek, we saw why! There was considerably more water then when I had been there three years earlier, although it seemed that the very same collection of logs was in place to constitute a make-shift bridge, together with some stones. After scouting up and down stream, we decided that there was no better option than to remove our socks (keeping them dry to re-don on the other side), and scamper across as best we could.

I went first, using my hands as well as my feet. My hands got a little cold in the water, but, to my surprise, the logs offered decent traction, despite being mostly submerged. After that, Trisha boldly sauntered all the way across standing up; I was amazed!

Finally, it was time for the real climb: 3,340 feet up. First the trail winds counter-clockwise around onto the west side of the ridge, then ascends steeply in a more easterly direction to top out on the ridge crest. Needless to say, the going got somewhat slower.

It also got hotter. It wasn’t very long before we stopped to shed clothes, hiking for the first time this year is simple summer garb: short sleeves and short pants. Unbroken sunlight continued as we made our way up out of trees, and onto the jumbled but solid rocks of the ridge.

After we got our first close-up look at the summit, it was just a matter of slogging on through the rocks, following cairns along the increasingly sketchy trail. It’s fairly steep, with one respite just before finally tackling the summit block.

Before we came to that respite, we passed a pair of hikers who were also on their way up. They both looked to be about my age, and one of them informed that he had climbed an amazing 49 fourteeners. We chatted for a few minutes before pressing on.

The final push to the summit is a boulder-hop over large but stable rocks, coming up from the west. We were able to avoid virtually of the remaining snow, and topped out just after 12:30 pm MDT. Trisha got to the summit first, and I found her perched on the summit rock (which holds the benchmark) as I came up over the final lip onto the small summit plateau. What a glorious summit! Holy Cross comes in much higher on the prominence list than it does on the elevation list.

Trisha found that her cell phone had service on this summit, so we “phoned home,” to let Suzanne know that we had made and that all was well. With the beautiful weather, we stayed on the summit for about half an hour, soaking up the incredible views. We could easily pick out the summits of the fourteeners of the Elk Range to the west. This confirmed for us that that particular range is still(!) shrouded in too much snow for a summer-type climb, so those peaks are going to have to wait.

The trip down was mostly uneventful. At the bottom of the summit block, we met the hikers we had passed earlier, still on their way up. We assume they made it. For whatever reason, we dropped off the ridge crest sooner than we should have, and had to do a bit of free-lance route finding to get back on the trail, which we did just above timberline. Then there was just the grunt of re-climbing Halfmoon Pass. Needless to say, this entailed a number of stops to rest, but we finally made it.

Just over the pass, we encountered two parties of people making their ways up. They were doing it the smart way: hiking part way in, camping overnight, and doing the summit on the second day. (This is, in fact, what most people do. We just didn’t have the luxury of a second day, so…)

I had taken numerous pictures on my previous climb of Holy Cross in ’05, but I posted them on Sony’s Imagestation, which has since terminated its existence. So the pictures I took this time are at:

http://picasaweb.google.com/tcogwr/HolyCrossAgain

We made it back to the trailhead 10 hours and 14 minutes after setting out. Not too bad, really, considering the 5,600 feet of climbing needed to claim this summit which is only 3,700 feet above the trailhead!

Long life and many peaks!

2008-07-06T09:03:00.000-07:00

Wetterhorn Peak (14,020 ft.)

1 July, 2008: Trisha and I left home in the afternoon, headed to Lake City, with an overnight reservation at the Silver Spur Motel. (Kudos to Trisha for finding accommodations in a town this small on one day’s notice.) It’s a 4½ to 5 hour drive, and it was nearly 6:30 when we got there. That was just in time to snag a dinner of pizza at the renowned Poker Alice restaurant before settling in. By 8:30, before the end of twilight, we were set to go to sleep.

Our plan was to get a modest night’s sleep—not really a full night, but lots better than none—before arising at 3:30 am to head out of town. I mis-set the room alarm clock, but, fortunately, Trisha’s cell phone alarm went off more-or-less on time. She awakened me at 4:15 (with something of a start!), and we threw our clothes and gear together as quickly as we could. We could only bemoan the fact that there was no place open at which to get breakfast, or even coffee, at that hour, but we were headed out of town up the Henson Creek road by 4:45.

We were too late to start hiking in darkness, as originally planned, and we got to the Matterhorn Creek trailhead, just over 11 miles out of town, at about 5:40. The upside of this was that we never needed our headlamps. Yes, it took nearly an hour, as the quality of the dirt road steadily decreases heading up Henson Creek. The last three-quarters of a mile or so is the true jeep road portion, rough and steep. While the Forester made it just fine, it is necessarily slow going.

As we were getting ready, headlights came up the road below us. Moments later, we met Ellen and Joey, also 14ers.com members, who were setting off on the same hike as us. They were kind enough to snap our trailhead picture before we took off up the trail just ahead of them. They passed us a few minutes later, but we would see them again, as they took the wrong fork at the first trail junction. We later saw them backtracking below us, now behind us.

The trail roughly follows Matterhorn Creek northward up into the basin before leaving the creek to the right at this first junction. Then, already above timberline, the trail levels out substantially as Matterhorn Peak comes into view.

The views open up dramatically here. The much higher Uncompahgre Peak becomes visible to the east, as well as our target, Wetterhorn, to the west. The trail spins around leftward almost 180º, heading basically south toward Wetterhorn’s southeast ridge.

Fortunately, there is a clear and easy trail all this way, and we found only a few small patches of snow to cross. Although we had brought crampons, we didn’t need them, as the snow was well consolidated and easy to walk over.

Somewhere around 8 am, nearing 13,000 feet, we met the other party of climbers on the mountain that day: another 14ers.com member, Nathan Hoobler, and his brother and sister-in-law, both out from Pennsylvania. They had come in on a multi-day backpacking trip via the Cimarron Creek trail on the west, but were headed for our same destination. We hiked in close proximity to them all the rest of the way to the top.

One of the attractions of this climb had been that there is a very clear trail nearly the whole way. Even on the rocky ridge, there are cairns and at least wisps of trail. Thus, even though it gets steeper, and rougher, on the ridge, we continued to make good time.

The last section of the climb is the crux, and the most interesting. After passing the prominent rock tower known as “the Prow” on (climber’s) right, one passes through a notch onto the left side of the ridge. Then one must give up a few feet of elevation, fractioning down a very flat piece of rock—which slopes rather startlingly away into the abyss on the other side!

The downclimb is easier than it looks, though, as the rock offers good traction and numerous small hand- and footholds. More importantly, it leads to the base of the steep, shallow gully immediately below the summit. This, too, looks a little more difficult and intimidating than it really is, but it will definitely catch your attention. I’m not sure that my photo does it justice.

The rock is actually very solid. But the ledges are narrow, and there is loose scree and small rocks to deal with. Unsure of the rockfall potential, I started up alone, cautioning Trisha to wait until I topped out. I found that the easiest route was basically right up the center of the concavity. Once I got into the rhythm of it, I found the climbing was thrilling. I didn’t do a lot of “looking down,” however. In five minutes or so, I found an exit from the steep stuff, and I could see that I had only a short walk to the actual summit. I called down to Trisha to start up herself.

Despite the abundant sunshine and nearly total lack of wind, I knew this one would stretch her ability to conquer nerves. But Nathan was right behind her, and he graciously coached her from one hand hold to another. He had climbed Wetterhorn before, so he knew well what he was doing, and that confidence helped Trisha make fairly quick work of the climb as well. At 8:55 MDT, just over four hours after leaving the trailhead, we walked onto Wetterhorn’s small, slightly tilted summit.

This is one of the most dramatic summits I’ve been on so far, rivaling Crestone Needle in its feeling of floating in the sky. The views are fantastic. Uncompahgre, of course, immediately grabs one’s attention, towering 300 feet higher three miles to the east. The lower, but nearer, Matterhorn is prominent, too, and the vertical view of the connecting ridge is fantastic eye candy to any rock enthusiast who thinks him- or herself capable of handling it obvious difficulty (undoubtedly 5^th Class).

But it is the view to the south, out into the vastness of the San Juans that is really most impressive. It’s just mountains, mountains, and more mountains, as far as the eye can see. So many are visible that I found it difficult even to identify individual summits other than the very prominent Mt. Sneffels to the southwest. Even Handies, Redcloud, and Sunshine, the nearest group of fourteeners, managed to hide in the welter of only slightly lower peaks.

The view, the fabulous weather, lunch, picture taking, and extended conversation with the other five climbers (all of whom came up to the summit shortly after us), kept us on the summit for nearly 50 minutes. I think this is a record for us!

We also brought with us a small picture of Shadow, Trisha’s dog, who had died the week before. We pasted the photo into the summit register next to our names, to serve as a small memorial to this four-legged friend.

Finally, though we needed to start down. We had pretty much already decided that going for Uncompahgre would be unrealistic, as some clouds were beginning to form with a threat of showers later. But I still had hopes of taking the short detour to climb Matterhorn.

Once again, we took the crux one at a time. At the bottom, I found that going up the slanted slab to the notch was easier than going down it, or at least less scary. After that, Trisha waited a few minutes for me while I dropped my pack and climbed to the top of the Prow. It proved to be fairly easy, via ledges which led clockwise around the south side. But it sure looks impressive from the north (where Trisha snapped a picture of me), with a sheer drop of 40 feet or so.

As usual, we didn’t follow exactly our ascent route going down the ridge. We just picked our way through the rocks, picking up cairns here and there, but mostly just looking for the easiest path. We knew that much easier going was just a small distance ahead of us.

We also deviated from our ascent path after we got back to the trail, to take advantage of the remaining snow. Here, we finally got out our ice axes, and followed Nathan’s party through a series of three glissades, which probably added up to 600 or 700 vertical feet. The first, in particular, was steep and fast. It was great! It also saved us a lot of time going down. I regret that I didn’t take the time to unpack my camera and take any pictures or video of this. It was the best glissading we’d gotten in since Castle Peak last year.

Even though a couple of very light sprinkles actually fell on us on the way down, the weather held off and we arrived back at the car completely dry. The sky, however, was completely overcast by this time (12:35 pm), and we heard occasional booms of thunder. And sure enough, only minutes later, the clouds opened up with a pretty decent downpour. Through this, we saw Ellen and Joey coming out of the trees, dashing for their car.

The GPS said we had put in 7.15 miles—actually less than the eight mile round trip that Roach quotes. I credit the glissades with this. And it had taken us only a bit less than eight hours, so we weren’t dog-tired for a change! All in all, great fun! Fourteener #35 for me, #32 for Trisha. Pictures are at:

http://picasaweb.google.com/tcogwr/Wetterhorn

Long life and many peaks!

2008-06-24T08:01:00.000-07:00

Blanca Peak (14,349 ft.)

19 June, 2008: After having to abandon our attempt on Mt. Lindsey (14,047 ft.) in late May, both Trisha and I were anxious to get back to the mountains and get “fourteener season” actually started. In addition, a check of my statistics on listsofjohn.com a few days before had showed that I had climbed 99 distinct summits, so this was going to be my 100^th mountain, and I wanted it to be an impressive one!

With most of Colorado’s mountain ranges, and their approach roads, still well buried under snow, we knew our choices were somewhat limited. Thus, it was right back to the same general area: the Blanca group, which promised not only less snow on the ground, but milder weather than anywhere else. It also just happens to be the closest thing we have left!

Blanca is the monarch of the Sangre de Cristo range. It’s Colorado’s fourth highest peak, and one of only three in the state with 5,000 feet of prominence. (To get from Blanca to the nearest higher peak, Mt. Harvard, you have to descend at least to the summit of Poncha Pass, at just barely 9,000 ft.) Blanca is also the only peak in Colorado that is the high point of three counties: Alamosa, Costilla, and Huerfano.

We knew it would be a long hike. We had no intention of trying to get anywhere near the end of the Lake Como road, widely acknowledged as the worst 4WD road anywhere in the state. Our plan was to proceed cautiously from the 2WD trailhead, which is at barely 8,000 feet, and start walking as soon as it got dicey.

That didn’t take long. According to the GPS, our makeshift “trailhead” was at 8,100 ft., only a fraction of a mile from the beginning of the road. Expecting this, we left home at about 10:15 pm MDT, and started hiking at 1:15 am.

The moon was full, and the temperature was a balmy 57 degrees when we set out. We wore our headlamps, but didn’t need them for a long time—until we came to sections of fairly dense trees. The trail/road starts out in a virtually tree-free desert, and then climbs through sparse and short junipers and pinions. The climb is steep right from the start, but we made good time, as it felt amazing to be hiking virtually in shirtsleeves in the middle of the night.

We passed one other vehicle, a Ford Blazer, parked at a switchback somewhere around 9,000 feet, but didn’t see anyone else all through the night. The excitement of the early morning came when we came to the point where vehicles on the road ford across Holbrook Creek (the creek which flows out of Como Lake). The only way to stay dry was to venture upstream, looking for a much narrower place to jump or rock-hop across the creek. I hadn’t known about this little wrinkle in advance; none of the standard guidebooks mention it. I guess they all figure that the overall roughness of the road is so bad that, if that doesn’t scare you off, nothing will.

But we quickly found a narrow section where overhanging willows allowed us to stabilize our positions on a couple of large boulders and step across without too much fuss. After that, the road really gets steep, as it turns more to the east and follows the north side of the creek up the drainage. We also encountered the huge imbedded rocks in the road which have been given the popular names of “Jaws 1” and “Jaws 2,” etc. Only seriously tricked-up vehicles have a prayer of getting over these obstacles (see photos), and we found plenty of evidence of leaked oil from vehicles which couldn’t manage to do it unscathed.

Dawn came before we got to the lake (at about 11,700 ft.), and we actually got to it just about the time the sun rose. We found one tent pitched on its western shore, the first evidence we had seen of anyone else in the basin. We crept quietly on by, put on some additional clothing, and both stretched out for a short nap before heading on.

From this point (the “4WD trailhead”), Blanca is only about a 5-mile round trip, with 2,600 feet or so of elevation gain. We, however, had already hiked five miles (which would have to be repeated on the way out), and climbed about 3,600 ft.

After a brief rest, we plodded on, not feeling too tired yet. As the awful jeep road gradually devolved into just a trail, we passed the string of lakes which lie above Lake Como in the gradually growing light. Coming up from the west, however, we still had no direct sunlight on us, and it would be quite a while before we did.

We began to encounter snowfields, and, thankfully, the morning chill meant that it was almost all very firm, allowing us to keep going in just our boots. We didn’t need the crampons until we got above the last of the lakes, Crater Lake, at just over 13,000 ft.

This was where things started to get a bit weird. The snow hid the trail in many places. When we did finally put on our crampons, we began to pick our path upward, not so much to try to re-connect with the visible segments of trail, as to stay on the snowfields, so we wouldn’t have to remove them. (It’s a rather time-consuming process.)

So, instead of aiming for a point on the Ellingwood Point-Blanca Peak ridge just right (south) of the saddle, we started climbing the most continuous line of snow we could see, heading for a much higher point on the ridge.

Not long after we started this, we spotted two guys below us, making rapid progress up. We watched enviously as they took off in the direction of Ellingwood; they were soon higher up than we were.

Finally, the snow steepened to the point that we decided we had made a strategic mistake. We could now see the point where the trail actually intersected the ridge, which was really the way we should have come up. So we changed course, and began making our way back to the ridge crest by the easiest path we could find. This involved a gently climbing traverse back to our left (north), not giving up any elevation, but, unfortunately, moving away from the summit, which was still off to our right.

We finally gained the ridge, but the two young guys had totally smoked us. Somewhere above 14,000 feet, we met them coming down as we went up. They had bagged both peaks before we could even get one! And they had done it without crampons, by sticking to the bare rocks and avoiding the snow as much as possible. Oh, well.

Once on the ridge, the going was indeed easier. The slope eased, plus there are actually cairns and clear wisps of trail all the way to the summit. We finally topped out at about 20 minutes to noon. For all out difficulties, the weather had held and we enjoyed beautiful sunshine with virtually no wind.

As Blanca Peak sits right in the middle of the Blanca group, with the three other fourteeners arrayed around it like points on a three-spoked wheel, it’s the ideal place to take dramatic pictures of the other three. I think I got at least decent ones of all of them. You'll notice in the photo album, however, that there is no real shot of Blanca. There's nowhere on this route from which to see the summit until you are practically on top of it!

After determining that, against our expectations, Trisha could not get cell phone service on the summit, to let Suzanne know of our progress and trailhead ETA, we finally headed down right on the stroke of noon. Once we reached the snowfields, we were able to get in four good segments of glissading. Thanks to this, the uppermost section of the climb, which had taken us nearly four hours going up, took only an hour and forty minutes going down. The snow was getting soft, but it still supported us well. Even when the slope was too shallow to slide, and we had to walk to the next glissade, we did almost no postholing.

Somewhat surprisingly, we weren’t really exhausted. Even with a stop for lunch, and several shorter ones to shed layers of clothing, we made decent time. The entire descent back to the car took only six hours. By the time the car came into sight, though, we were slowing down, and it was a welcome sight. We were back down to the desert on a hot summer afternoon, and the cool liquids in the cooler were very welcome. We had put in a long, hard day, but it was rewarding to have this impressive mountain checked off. That's fourteener number 34 for me, 31 for Trisha.

Pictures are at:

http://picasaweb.google.com/tcogwr/BlancaPeak

Long life and many peaks!

2008-06-13T13:56:00.000-07:00

Esther Mount (9,540 ft.)
Mt. Heizer (9,076 ft.)

12 June, 2008: With a strained neck leaving Trisha in no condition for a 14er this week (plus snow, snow, snow nearly everywhere in the high country), we settled on teaming up to knock off a couple more of my El Paso County peaks. These two unranked peaks sit on the edge of Pike National Forest, above the town of Chipita Park.

The trailhead is right on Mountain Road, which is, in fact, the westernmost and uppermost town street in Chipita Park. We only had to drive about 100 yards off the pavement to get there. Knowing this would only be a half-day climb, we got a good and lazy start, and hit the trail at 7:18 am.

The first leg of the hike is a set of steep switchbacks which head west up the mountain face from the town. The trail climbs about 900 feet in half a mile before popping over a lip and basically leveling out. The view from here, at least out to the east, is eye-catching. Immediately after leveling out, we came to the junction with the Crowe Gulch trail. We headed right, north and west, gently uphill alongside the tiny stream which flows down the gulch. The trail starts out in an open meadow area, but soon heads back into the trees before climbing a small ridge, and merging with an old logging road.

We eventually found two places where the faint trail diverges (to the climber’s left) from the road, and at first we wondered which one to take. We took the trail, mostly to avoid giving up any elevation, and soon found that both these trail segments re-connect with the road after a few hundred yards. They also follow the poles of a power or utility line which is much straighter than the road.

After that, we finally trudged up a steep section of the road/trail to a ridge top. GPS measurements confirmed that we were only a short distance from the summit of Esther, and that we were both north and east of it. As the road led down from there (to the Crystal Creek Reservoir), we simply decided to bushwhack our way up the north slopes to the summit. The Pikes Peak Atlas shows a trail almost to the top on the north side, but we didn’t see one coming off the road.

We did eventually find a faint trail winding counter-clockwise up the mountain, but it petered out as we approached an outcropping of pillowy rocks which we thought to be the summit. After finding a crack in the cliffy north side of these rocks, we climbed to the high point via the much gentler south side, and there we discovered that the true summit was still a few dozen yards to the southeast, if only a little higher. Five minutes of traversing and a short climb got us to the true summit—which is much more choked with trees, and doesn’t offer nearly as good a set of views as the false summit! All the same, we had made it, so we phoned Suzanne to let her know that all was well.

We didn’t stay long, though, as a stiff and chilly wind (this is June, right?) had greeted us just as we made it to the top. I had been down to my t-shirt on the way up, but on the summit I put back on not only my long sleeves (Thanks to Michael and Susi for the cool new Under Armour!), but my windbreaker as well.

We did a slightly different bushwhack down the north side, and again encountered the faint trail. We followed it down, hoping to find the connection to the road which we had been unable to see on the way up. We discovered instead that we had missed it because it isn’t there! The trail disappears at both ends. Still, the timber was sparse and the slope easy, so we made it back to the road—at a point east of where we had left it—in less than ten minutes.

A few minutes later, we heard voices. They turned out to belong to a troop of Girl Scouts out on a guided hike from the reservoir. We chatted briefly with their leader before heading off again.

The wind had moderated, but clouds were beginning to roll in, so we both left all our clothes on as we made the easy descent back to the trail junction. Once there, we set off down the lower part of Crowe Gulch on a good trail, looking for the trail up the south slopes of Mt. Heizer.

We found it only a few yards from the Pikes Peak Highway, having dropped to about 8,560 ft. elevation. It’s not a maintained trail, hard to see in places, and it’s loose and rough, so we were soon working again. It also doesn’t go all the way to the summit. Thus, we were soon following our instincts again, looking for the easiest way to top out on the long summit ridge of Heizer.

The ridge sports two closed contours, and I had thought we would top out in between them. We actually gained the ridge crest north of both major points, and had to backtrack a short distance to the summit. We satisfied ourselves visually that the topo map was correct, and that the north point on which we were standing was slightly higher than the south point, which we could see clearly.

We decided to save distance by following the ridge north back to the trail, instead of retracing our steps. This worked out well, as the terrain is not really difficult. If I had realized in advance how poor the quality of the “trail” up was, I would probably have elected to go up this way too, but that’s hindsight. We were back at the trail junction in about 25 minutes.

By that time, the day warming, despite the partial cloudiness, and we finally got rid of some clothing and started looking more like summer hikers. Another 25 minutes sufficed to get us back to the trailhead. We got two little-visited summits in just a half-day hike! The pictures I took are at:

http://picasaweb.google.com/tcogwr/EstherHeizer

Long life and many peaks!

2008-05-05T11:22:00.000-07:00

"Goat Mountain" (8,510 ft.)

4 May, 2008: I did an early morning run/climb of soft-ranked and unofficially named “Goat Mountain”. This obscure peak sits near the extreme southeast corner of Pike National Forest, actually just a short distance west of Highway 115.

With the Eta Aquarid meteor shower set to peak on Monday morning (the 5^th), I knew I could spot a few of these meteors a day earlier (since the Eta Aquarids have a relatively broad peak), and the weekend was going to work a lot better for me. So I hit the road at just before 3 am and drove the roughly eight miles down Old Stage Road and off on FS 370 (the Emerald Valley Ranch road) to the Gray Back Peak trailhead. The obvious way to Goat seemed to be via a re-summitting of Gray Back, and then on eastward along the multi-pointed ridge between the two peaks.

I was hiking by headlamp by 3:25 am, and saw one meteor fortuitously as I hiked up the first section of the trail. In just about half an hour, I had reached Pt. 9,153, where I knew from previous experience that the trees opened out somewhat, and I hoped this would be a good spot to stop for a while and soak up some more meteors.

Despite my best efforts at an early start, the first tinges of dawn were already washing the sky, so I knew I wouldn’t have long. But I found a gently slanted rock on which to recline, and, using my pack as a pillow, I donned my one extra layer of insulation, extinguished the headlamp, and stretched out to soak up the celestial show. The temperature was probably still only in the thirties, but with virtually no wind, I was perfectly comfortable.

After about ten minutes, however, I realized that I probably wouldn’t see much more than the two meteors which had appeared. Since my goal was to get back home before noon (with Suzi’s “official” birthday party scheduled for the evening), I threw my pack back on and headed off for Gray Back. I got to the true south summit (after hitting the more interesting north summit) just before sunrise, where I snapped a first photo of Goat, with some city lights still showing behind it, as well as one of the sun just breaking the horizon.

This is the second time since last summer that I have ended up hiking down to my target peak. Not only is Goat Mtn. 800 feet lower than Gray Back Pk., it is about 200 feet lower than the trailhead at which I started! But the only way to come up to it would be to start from the east, down near Highway 115, and that is outside the National Forest. I just didn’t have any time to scout out the possibility of getting through the private land there.

As I headed down the east side, I also discovered the trail—which I had totally missed back in December—which leads right to the summit. I followed it down until it turned north (not very far!), and then set off on my long bushwhack for the day: following the ridge crest over (and down) to Goat Mountain.

This section provided the most excitement, and the most uncertainty, of the day. Looking at the map, I estimated that the distance from Gray Back to Goat was going to be nearly the same as the distance from the trailhead to Gray Back. What I could not tell from a map with 100-foot contour intervals was just how rough the ridge in between was going to be.

What I found was a long series of ridge points, most of which were gently sloped on the west side, and much steeper and rockier on the east side. I eventually lost count of just how many there are, but I think it’s seven or eight at a minimum. Now, some of them are quite small, but a couple involve elevation gains (on the way “down”) on the order of 400 or 500 feet. And my out-and-back route required me to do them all in both directions.

I quickly found that the rocky sections tend to be quite pointy, so that strict staying on the ridge crest is often difficult. The north sides tend to be a little easier to negotiate, and I repeatedly dropped slightly off the crest on that side. As this terrain is all below timberline, however, both the rocks and the forested areas below them are frequently choked with some mixture of growing trees, downed trees, bushes and/or scrub oak. This made for truly difficult going in places although, thankfully, it never lasted very long.

When I topped out on the last major ridge point before reaching my destination, I took a look at the drop-off on the other side, and decided that here I had better make a major deviation from my original route plan. I simply couldn’t see the route down to the next saddle. So, to avoid dangerous cliffing-out, I opted to take a much more circuitous route, dropping seriously off the north side in an effort to stay below the rocks. This got me onto very steep slopes choked with a lot of timber and brush. It also didn’t entirely spare me from having to descend some interesting little patches of steep rock. Thus, getting to that next saddle ended up taking me nearly 20 minutes from the top. Here I finally began to wonder if I actually would have enough time to complete this adventure as planned!

Fortunately, that was the only difficulty of that magnitude, although one significant ridge point did remain before I could finally finish giving up elevation and start the actual climb of Goat Mountain.

Finally, nearly three hours out from the trailhead, I was presented with the final challenges: Which of the three closed contours shown on the Pikes Peak Atlas at 8,500 ft. was the true summit? And, was there the magic 300 feet of rise from the saddle to qualify this out-of-the-way peak as ranked, instead of its literature status as soft ranked?

(A note of clarification here for anyone not familiar with the nomenclature: When a peak hasn’t been benchmarked, and many haven’t, all you have to go on for determining its exact elevation is the relevant contour map. The peak’s elevation, as well as that of the relevant saddle, thus both have a range of possible values. For a topo map with 40-foot contour intervals, a range of almost eighty feet is therefore possible for the difference. This is the “rise” which determines whether or not a peak is given a ranking number by elevation within the state.)

I measured the saddle’s elevation as 8,212 ft., the north summit rock as 8,542, the middle summit as 8,532, and the south summit as 8,530. That makes the north peak the true summit, with a rise of 330 feet: enough to qualify! Since 8,542, however, is actually over what the next contour line would show, I have to question the accuracy of my GPS unit, which I’m accustomed to seeing read a bit high. The difference should still be solid, making Goat Mountain suitable for wedging in as the “3297-and-a halfth” highest peak in Colorado.

It was, as I had hoped, a gloriously sunny morning, with scarcely any wind. By the time I headed back down to being the return climb to Gray Back, it was just before 8 am and I had shed not only my outermost insulating layer, but my windbreaker as well. I was confident that I would continue to shed clothes all the way back, as the forecast was for a high near seventy.

I was going to be satisfied with making the return journey in no more time than the outgoing leg, considering that I had had to give up some 1,100 feet to reach the last saddle. And that was the net figure, without even figuring in and up-and-down over all the ridge points in between. When I came to the large ridge point where I had taken such a time-consuming detour outbound, I studied its east side carefully from the better vantage point of the next point east.

What I saw convinced me that a direct assault on the rocks of the east face, although steep, was perfectly doable. I also concluded that it would actually take less time than any detour I could arrange, since it would almost totally eliminate the need to deal with timber and thick brush. This turned out to be correct: The scramble up the rocks definitely qualified as Class 3, but good gullies and ledges led all the way up, and it took scarcely ten minutes to make the climb. It was the most technically difficult climbing, and the most thoroughly enjoyable, that I did all day, with the warming sun at my back.

Shedding clothing all the way, I made it back to the summit of Gray Back at exactly 9 am. Sensing the chance to come in ahead of my time estimate for a change, and get back home well before noon, I decided to forego re-visiting the rocky false summits, and simply follow the trail back to the saddle between Gray Back and UN 9,410. Despite the climb back up, I felt reasonably energetic, and was able to keep up a decent running pace all the way down. Less than two minutes from the bottom, I finally saw some other people: four horse riders with two dogs. I paused by the side of the trail to let them go by, and almost at once, I could see the Honda down at the end of the trail. I made it back at 9:33, for a total time of 6:08. Not bad, all things considered.

I have only coarse estimates for my distance and vertical on this trip. I had forgotten to charge batteries for my GPS, so I didn’t try to keep it running. I merely turned it on at points where I wanted to check location or altitude, so it gave me no distance figure. I also gave up any serious attempt to add up all the little increments of climbing and descending on that ridge. Judging from the map, and gross elevation stats, I estimate something like eight miles RT and 2,200 feet (at least!) vertical. Especially with the excellent weather, this was a really enjoyable excursion for an obscure peak.

Pictures are at:

http://picasaweb.google.com/tcogwr/GoatMountain

Long life and many peaks!

2008-04-16T09:13:00.000-07:00

9,380C,

“North Benchmark”

(9,638 ft.),

9,385B

14 April, 2008: This is a more detailed exposition on this trip than the brief trip reports I posted on listsofjohn. After driving to, and beyond, Woodland Park to access the Schubarth Road to reach this cluster of peaks, I was determined to bag them all, so that I wouldn’t have to make that trip another time! 9,385B and 9,380C were the next two ranked peaks in order of altitude on my El Paso County list, and “North Benchmark” (also known as “Eagle Peak”), although unranked, is very close at hand.

The weather forecast was for beautiful, sunny weather, so, with over 12 hours of sunlight, I figured that getting to my starting point (I can’t really call it a “trailhead”) at 9:50 am would still give me a nice, long day to make the trip. I took Baldwin St. north out of Woodland Park until it curves northeast to the intersection at the bottom of Loy Gulch. Then it was up the gulch road to where it intersects Rampart Range Road. Continuing straight on across this intersection puts one on Schubarth Road (which was once the Schubarth Trail, and is still signed that way in a couple of places), which then heads south and east, across some private land, and eventually to the National Forest boundary.

I parked just about half a mile inside (east of) the forest boundary, where the road re-enters the actual trees, and begins to take on a definite 4WD character (i.e., deep ruts and pot holes), and also where patches of ice and snow continue to linger in the shade. In less than an hour, I had made it three miles in, where trail #721 splits off to the right (southeast) and begins to drop toward the Stanley Reservoir.

The reservoir sits at the top of steep Stanley Canyon, at about 8900 ft. From here, I could finally get a decent look at most of the “climb” portion of my intended route. It was really only at this point that I finally decided on the order in which I would tackle the peaks. 9380C sits on the south side of the drainage, and the other two are on the north. I decided to go south first.

A fairly decent dirt road actually leads away from the dam end of the reservoir, taking a long switchbacking route with a gentle grade to the saddle just north of 9380C’s minor summit at 9,335. With the snow melting away fast, I eschewed the road in favor of a direct climb up the north slopes; it isn’t really all that steep. With only a little stepping in snow, I reached the road at the saddle in just a few minutes. I then began drifting to my right (west), onto slopes which I hoped would hold less snow, spiraling counter-clockwise around the minor summit.

As I approached it, it became clear that there was no technical reason to avoid it, so I did a short section of scrambling up through the west side of the rock outcropping at the top. This gave me a good view, not only of 9380C proper (hard to get from anywhere else), but also of the lower sub-peak (9,120 ft.) back on the other side of the road, which hosts a prominently visible microwave tower. I would use this installation throughout the rest of the climb as a reliable fixer of my position.

After the small drop off the south side, another very short climbing section got me to the actual summit, just over two hours after I started. Again I spiraled around to the west side, but made my final climb onto the long, skinny summit rock from the north end. Here I took some pictures, including the novel view of Blodgett Peak, about a mile and a half to the southeast. Wonder of wonders, at one point my GPS actually showed the elevation as exactly 9,380 ft.

Then it was off down the north slopes to cross to the other side of Stanley Canyon. I skirted the minor summit on the east side, then followed the road east a short distance, to the spur which leads north to the microwave tower. Dropping down from there, I gave little heed to the amount of snow, as I had already discovered that plunge-stepping through the occasional drifts hardly slowed me down at all, going down. Plus, as expected, the day was so warm that I wasn’t being made uncomfortable by having my feet get wet.

Perhaps I should have paid a bit more attention to the details of my route down, though, because I finally crossed the stream, and found the trail just on the other side of it, considerably lower (farther east) than I had intended. I had to backtrack up the canyon a few hundred yards before I emerged from the trees and could see the dam again. Still, I had plenty of time, so I didn’t worry.

Just before reaching the dam, I struck out north up a gentle ridge. I had decided that I would go for the more northerly of my two remaining peaks, “North Benchmark,” first, since it is actually farther from the reservoir. I had to drop just a bit in a couple of places, but generally I stayed on ridge tops, working north and east. Here I was finally climbing on gentle, sun-dried slopes with few if any rocks, which made for easy travel.

I did climb to the top of one major rock outcropping, and had to drop a bit off the east side of it, before the final push to the summit. Theoretically, I could have skirted this on one side or the other, but I didn’t begrudge it; the scrambling was fun and the added elevation gain was minimal. It also gave me a good close-up look at the summit rocks.

North is definitely the rockiest of the three summits, with some sustained scrambling required, no matter from which direction the summit is approached. Indeed, from the west or southwest, a real cliff would have to be climbed, so I angled to my left (north), to make my final approach from the north, along the spine of the summit ridge.

I got to the top, and found the actual benchmark, just about two hours after leaving 9380C. The benchmark was placed in 1907. Survey methods must have improved in the intervening century, because it testifies that the elevation of that point is an even 9,400 feet, whereas the topo figure is 9,368. My GPS, which I am used to seeing read high, actually said 9,401. But the longitude and latitude confirmed that I was indeed on the intended summit.

Getting down through the rocks on the south side proved to be easier than I had feared it would be, and less than twenty minutes after setting out, I strolled onto the top of my final objective, 9385B. The topo map shows two closed contours but indicates the southern one as the true summit. I visited both, but visually satisfied myself that it is the northern peak which is a few feet higher. From here I could see both Stanley Reservoir and, farther to the southwest, the much larger Rampart Reservoir.

Although higher than my others, this summit offers only limited views, because it is well blanketed in trees, with no large rocks to get one above them. So, after a very brief stay, I began rather haphazardly picking my way down the west and southwest slopes, heading back toward the reservoir. This turned out to involve more serious scrambling than I had anticipated. Indeed, this was where I encountered the steepest rocks I climbed, in either direction, all day. Thus, I actually took quite a while before I finally encountered the trail at the foot of the mountain.

This was where things got a little weird. The trail I found myself on was not the Stanley Canyon trail, but seemed to be the one shown on the maps as #701, which runs north from the dam, and eventually intersects Schubarth Road at a point farther east than where I had left it in the morning. Hoping to make the going easier, I decided not to go back south to the reservoir, but to follow the 701 trail north to the road.

For whatever reason, I never found that intersection. The trail petered out on me, leaving me to wonder if I had misidentified it in the first place. I figured the road couldn’t be far off, however, so I set off cross-country, heading west and a bit north via the path of least topographical resistance.

It seemed to take forever, and I was starting to feel a bit tired. It didn’t help that my route was not steadily downhill, but involved repeated small climbs over the rolling landscape. When I did find a road, I got another surprise. Following it west and south—exactly the direction I expected—I soon came to a place where it turned back to the east, with no indication of returning to a westerly course! I concluded that, somehow, this wasn’t Schubarth Road after all, and, for the second time, felt I had no choice but to set off by dead reckoning, heading to the west. After rolling over seven or eight ridge shoulders, I finally did re-join my outward route, near to the 721 turn-off from the main road.

This still left nearly three miles of road to traverse, and the sun was already sinking in the west. Fortunately, the weather remained clear and calm, but I did finally pull out my windbreaker and put it on to conserve heat. I had seen a total of four other people since setting out, all hiking or running, but, if anyone had just happened to come driving along going my way, I would have had no qualms at that point about asking for a ride to shorten my day.

However, there were no cars. I did get a bit of a “second wind” in the last mile or so, but, when I got back to the car and checked my watch, it told me that the round trip had taken me just over eight hours—about two hours longer than I had really anticipated. I was tired! Still, I had tagged three new peaks, and wouldn’t need to do this drive again. This got me to 25 (of 37) ranked peaks in El Paso County. The GPS recorded a round trip distance of 14.5 miles, but I can only estimate the vertical on this trip. With all the up-and-down both on and off the road, it was probably somewhere around 1800 feet.

Pictures are at:

http://picasaweb.google.com/tcogwr/Schubarth

Long life and many peaks!