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Arrowhead Slushfest

March 3, 2010

It was the 5th weekend in a row since the end of July that promised rain, and this time with a chance of snow!  What were we to do, since we couldn’t rock climb and couldn’t count on a hike peak due to lightning?

Brian had the idea of attempting Arrowhead in RMNP with a lightning backup plan of simply hiking to Black lake.  He thought it was a good idea to bring a rope just in case the conditions turned a 3rd class scramble into a technical nightmare.  I agreed it was a pretty safe plan.

Packing at the last minute, I couldn’t find my gaiters or my waterproof bibs.  But I figured the odds were for me to be overheating anyway…so I let it go.  I settled for my spring bibs (think: thin), but threw a fleece sweater and balaclava into the pack for insurance.

On September 9, 2006, we left Boulder around 7:30am and reached the parking lot around 8:45am.  The drive in took a few minutes longer than normal due to the later than normal start (more people awake), the Man-Dress Festival in Estes Park, and the poor luck of driving behind two cars driven by old men who were still coasting in from the 1940s. As we drove into Estes Park, I could see blue patches opening up after days of rain.  It looked like it was going to be hot, just like I figured.

Step 1

The hike in followed the normal approach to Black Lake but with an early exit from the trail below Arrowhead and Thatchtop at approx. 10,200 ft.  We went too far initially and had to backtrack to find the right spot which happened to be full of avalanche debris.

Step 2

From the avalanche debris field 2 miles up the Black Lake trail, we exited to the right to find a nice trail across the creek and up the muddy slopes below Thatchtop and Arrowhead leading to Solitude Lake at 11,400.

The hike in was cool, but sunny.  Hiking in just a shirt but with nylon bibs was too hot, as I expected; that is, until it started snowing.  It actually started raining & snowing, but by the time we got near Solitude Lake, it was full on snowing.  I didn’t stop to put on my jacket because my shirt was already soaked with sweat and I was too hot to put on a jacket anyway.  By the time we got to Solitude Lake, I was cold and wet; and it was time for some new clothes.

At that time, the blue sky was obscured by heavy cloud cover and falling snow (it was a whiteout beyond 100 feet), and the visible rocks had a 2-3 inch coating of fresh snow. The snowfall was heavy but was melting fast….dripping from everything and soaking a muddy ground.

Step 3

Fortunately, I brought a spare shirt for just such a need.  I sought shelter from the thick-falling snow by ducking under a large rock. with dripping cold water on my bare skin, I made record time in changing my shirt and donning my waterproof jacket and gloves.  It took a couple minutes for my hands to thaw, but otherwise I felt pretty good….except for the wet feet (no gaiters).

We continued up the valley toward the start of the 3rd class scramble, slipping and falling over snow covered rocks.  I was wondering how far should we go before retreating?  It wasn’t a question of whether to retreat, but when….right?

Step 4

Brian thought we should push on, and I reluctantly agreed.

My bibs were wet and my legs were very cold, acting like radiators for my protected upper body.  I could feel my body temperature falling and knew that it would go lower while moving slowly on the slippery 3rd class climb.  I put on the fleece sweater and balaclava that I had been sure I wouldn’t need.  I could only hope that too much insulation on my head and upper body would overcome wet & cold feet and legs.  I felt very fortunate to have the extra clothes on a cold, wet & windy day.

Step 5

We started up the 3rd class scramble and found that it was covered in a layer of snow and slush that obscured the rock and acted like grease.  We knew right away that this was not going to be easy, and that the descent would be even harder.  We didn’t have axes, and I’m not sure they would have helped anyway. Brian was leading the way, and I followed behind thinking (or hoping) that he would give up soon.

We couldn’t find the exact way and had to backtrack to find our way a couple of time.  The route was usually well-marked with cairns, but the cairns were covered in snow.  Slowly, we worked our way higher.  As we neared the top of the scramble, we faced the crux of the climb, a 15 foot steep wall.

Step 6

I finally said, “this is a mistake; I hope we don’t have to pay a terrible price for it.”  Brian felt it was safe enough because he thought he could downclimb the moves, but I wouldn’t follow until he found an anchor for a rappel on the descent.  He complied, and I followed him to the talus slopes that we climbed to the Arrowhead summit.

We reached the normally impressive summit in a whiteout.  Cold, we didn’t stay long; we only paused to put on our harnesses and take a drink.

Our route up Arrowhead via Solitude Lake

Descent

We scrambled down the snow covered talus with far more comfort than expected due to our ability to follow our own footprints.  The snow had stopped falling so we could still see where we had placed our feet on the way up.  Otherwise, we’d have struggled to descend without multiple slips and falls.

Once we reached the steep section, we stopped to pull out the rope.  Brian offered me the top-rope and I accepted gladly.  I slowly worked my way down the slush-covered grass and gravel to reach the top of the 15-foot cliff.  I had to slowly work my way up to the edge and then ever so carefully work my way down the snow-covered rock.  I worked down a total of 25 feet of terrain before stopping to provide Brian a belay.

He came down quickly, and we setup for the next section.  I started down the next section even slower than before.  Even though my successful downclimb of the previous section gave me a boost of confidence, the ground felt more slippery than ever.  About 10 feet into the second section of descent, I attempted to step down a drop in the ramp.  My uphill foot slipped on the slush.  As I slid forward on my rear end, I jammed my downhill foot on the only exposed rock while Brian’s belay slowed my apparent attempt to jump off the mountain.  Without the rope, I fear Brian would still be dragging my broken bones down the mountain.

We continued with the descent, stopping to move the belay lower when we could find a safe spot.  Eventually we reached easier terrain and put the rope away.  I was never happier to have a rope along for the ride.

Once we reached the bottom of the valley below the climb, I stopped to drain the considerable volume of cold water from my boots.  Afterward, with dryer feet and intact bones, it felt like a good day.

We then hiked back to Solitude Lake, and then back down to the Black Lake trail by 4pm.  We stopped for a drink and a bite, and attempted to do something about our wet clothes.  But it was all in vain as neither of us had anything dry to put on.

Finally, after a 3 miles trek back to the car ending at 5:45pm, the day was done.

We had hiked approximately 10 miles, gained approx 3,400 feet in mud and snow over an 8.5 hour day.  We had been drenched and frozen, but we had persevered to achieved our summit, even if it was against my judgment to do so.

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Much Ado About Nothing on Chiefs Head

February 16, 2010

For eight years, one of the most significant rock formation in RNMP had stared us in the face every time we’ve ventured into Glacier Gorge, and yet, we’d never thought to venture onto its features.  Primarily, our lack of attention was due to the very long approach, but in some important way, its forbidding and committing look was also a deterrent.

The guidebooks didn’t paint a rosy picture, either.  Rossiter’s guidebook says…

The Northwest Face of Chiefs Head is one of the finest alpine walls in the contiguous United States.  The immense and unusally smooth oval face rises a thousand feet…and is home to some very aesthetic and very hairy routes.  All of the routes have long runouts and no fixed anchors[.] In the event of storm…it is very difficult to escape.

Plus, all the routes seemed to be 5.11X or 5.12R, so our attention was rightly elsewhere.  But one day, Brian sends me an email:

Joe:

How about “Much Ado About Nothing”.  This is about the only climb on Chiefshead that isn’t 5.10 or above.  It’s way right of the big wall, and has five pitches, with the last one 5.8.

Brian

My thoughts were along the lines of: Heck yeah!  Only 5.8, really?  Why haven’t we done it before now?  And we can bag another Chiefs Head summit! I responded via email with agreement and a question about the descent.  Brian replied:

Joe:

Descent may be most interesting part.  Stoneman could be done, but it would be a long way back to pick up packs.  Rositer recommends rapping down his Birds of Prey route, but first you have to find it.  And find it empty.  The third choice is a third class route much closer than Stoneman. Finding that route could be valuable knowledge.

Forgot to mention:  this climb gets no star in the book.  But I thought it would be worth it to do something on that mountain.

Brian

I wondered about the “no star” thing, but was already enthusiastic about the climb. They say, ignorance is bliss, at least for a while.  Soon, we’d find out just how wise it is to be afraid of Chiefs Head’s Northwest Face.  We find out just how hard Chiefs Head climbs really are, even a mere 5.8 route.

The Story

On the morning of August 23, 2003, we caught the 5am shuttle bus (earliest available) to travel up Bear Lake road as we set out for the far end of Glacier Gorge. We had to hike approximately 7 miles and over 3,000 vertical feet just to reach the start of the climb:  we hiked up past Black Lake, over the north shoulder of Spearhead, past Frozen Lake and beneath the west face of Spearhead, and then we scrambled up a rocky shelf before crawling up the snowy talus to reach the northwest face of Chiefs Head.  Then, we turned west and climbed up the snowy ramp to reach the base of the climb.  It was a brutal 3.5 hours; and we hadn’t even started the climb.

Our route plus alternative descent routes from Chiefs Head

Prior to reaching the base of the climb, we stopped for a moment of study while we could still see the entire wall.  The key was the figure of a head that would guide us to know where to start and where to aim during the initial pitches.  We were looking at shadowy patches trying to find one that looked like a head; Brian claimed to be able to see an “Indian’s head” but I could not.  But with a target in hand, we finished the approach.  Just before 9am, we started up the Much Ado About Nothing route on Chiefs Head’s Northwest Face.

Pitch 1

I took the first pitch and climbed over steep, broken ground that was supposed to end at the base of a “head” I could not see.  I could do no more than take out as much rope as I could and find a good spot to belay.

Pitch 2

Brian took the second pitch, following huge broken flakes that provided small left-facing dihedrals on their left side.  He finished over some easy ledges and belayed at the base of a left leaning ramp.  At this time we noticed that the weather was worsening; our view west was blocked, but the sky above was clouding up and darkening.  We knew we had to hurry since the crux was still ahead.

Pitch 3

I took the third pitch which was to climb the ramp leading up and left angling toward a big dark roof that stretched for more than a pitch as it arched left.  To save some time on an easier section, we decided to simul-climb. Using the ramp to travel diagonally under the  roof started out easy, but then steepened.

And then the rain started.  It was a only a drizzle, but now we were in it.  It was approximately 12pm.

The crux of the climb was still ahead; I knew we had to get past the slabby crux before the lichen turned into grease.  I put in a quick belay with about 1/2 a pitch of the roof remaining so Brian and I could put on our rain jackets. We then moved the belay to below the crux pitch so Brian could race the weather past the crux.

Pitch 4

Just as Brian arrived at the end of the ramp, the rain began again in earnest.  We could see the next ramp approximately 30 feet above us; Brian had to get there before the rock became unclimbable as well as unprotectable (a slab).  He started quickly but soon slowed as the  rock was quickly getting slick.

As I sat in the freezing rain, I could feel the water soak thorugh my rain jacket.  As I watched Brian slowly working his way up, hoping he wouldn’t take a long fall, and as I got colder and colder as my clothes became more and more wet, I came to understand just how important it is to have proper gear when venturing into hard to escape terrain.  Apparently, my windproof, water resistant, insulated and wonderfully packable North Face jacket was not up to the challenge of a real Alpine adventure.  I was going to suffer terribly as a result.

Brian decided to stop before the ramp, but after the hard section, to allow me to get past the crux before it became too wet.  But it was too late, the rock was completely drenched, and I was certain I could not climb the rock.  I was mentally prepared to “fall up” over the slick rock.

And it was like climbing a greased slope, but 3 points of contact allowed me to cling to the rock like a spider in the shower.  Once I reached Brian, we quickly moved the belay up to the ramp so we could figure out where we were.

Pitch 5

We were very confused because, according to the information we had collected, we should be at the summit ridge already.  But there was no summit ridge in sight.  It turned out that Rossiter’s topo only showed the unbroken portion of rock that was set into and below the full NW face.  We didn’t have any certain knowledge or clue as to how to get to the summit ridge.

All we could do was follow the ramp we were on and then follow our noses to try to find the rappel anchors or at worst take the summit ridge down to either Stone Man Pass or find the mysterious “broken ramp” that Rossiter described as an ascent route to the right of the Much Ado About Nothing route.  But first things first.

I took the lead for a simul-climb of the ramp.  After a couple hundred feet with no rap anchors or anything else looking promising, I found a right leaning ramp that promised to intercept the ridge as it sloped down. Desperate for any escape, I abandoned the search for rap anchors and took the right leaning ramp.  It went, and I was able to piece together a climb off the face.

Yes!  We made it.

While I was sopping wet and freezing cold, I now had control over my fate; I knew that I knew how to get home.  I just needed to escape Glacier Gorge before it got dark; it was approximately 3pm.

Much Ado About Nothing route plus descent. Photo from Longs Peak of Chiefs Head edited to highlight Chiefs Head features by removing other peaks (e,g,m Mt. Alice) from the background.

 

Descent

Shivering with no hope of getting warm, I had no intention of continuing to the Chiefs Head summit.  I wouldn’t have done it even if I had never stood on top of Chiefs Head.  I felt that my life was in play and wanted to take no unnecessary chances.

Brian thought he could find the gully that Rossiter described as an ascent route; from a safety, time & energy management perspective, we desperately wanted to avoid going all the way around to and down Stone Man pass.  We hiked down the much of the NW Ridge to find a likely big gully to descend.  It was more like a series of steep gullies that would work for 40 feet, then we would have to find ledge that would allow us to traverse to another gully.

We kept trying to turn back to the east where the climb started, but each time all we could see was a difficult ledge heading east and then a rock rib would prevent us from seeing whether the ledge continued.  Brian said it reminded him of Pyramid Peak.

Eventually Brian found a ledge that led out to the biggest rib, and from there he could see the start of the climb, and sloping, rubble-covered ramps leading down to it.  We scrambled down and followed it until the terrain started to break up; a path to the right appeared and we took it, hoping it would lead to the snowy ramp we started on.

We had to retrace our steps a couple times as we’d cliff out, and then we split up to double our chances of finding an escape path.  Eventually Brian found a path through tumble that worked.

It was approximately 5pm.  Three hours of light left.

We packed up our gear and headed down as fast as we could manage.  We were going to get caught out by darkness; it was only a question of how much hard hiking we had to do in the dark without headlamps.

We retraced our steps so not to introduce any new variables, and we made it to within a quarter mile of the Bear Lake road before it became too dark to see what we were doing.  Since the buses ran until 10pm, we took our time creeping in the dark to find the Bear Lake road.  Once there, we started downhill and found a small group of people standing by the road.  We confirmed that it was the bus stop and then we layed down on the pavement to wait for its arrival.  We had spent our last ounce of energy.

We made it.  We had hiked 15 miles, and climbed nearly 4,000′ in over 15.5 hours.  And this time we had overcome serious route finding problems, freezing rain, and one serious case of rain gear stupidity to make it home once again.

It was a glorious adventure.

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Odessa Gorge Circuit

February 14, 2010

In preparation for my upcoming 40th birthday 14er trip to bag the Crestone Traverse, I wanted to get in some snow climbing and some rock scrambling.  I suggested we try one of the cols in Odessa Gorge for a start; Brian agreed.

We left the Bear Lake parking lot at 7am and headed up toward Lake Helene.

Our route with sequence numbers corresponding to route description below

Step 1

I had originally liked the look of the East Couloir, but a team got into it ahead of us.  We didn’t want to eat rolling snow for 1000’ so we turned up the “Hourglass” (class II W14 per Rossiter); it is the middle couloir of the three Flattop Northface couloirs.

The snow was in good shape but the temperature was very warm, so we hurried to finish before the snow turned problematic.  We made good time until reaching the overhanging cornice blocking our access to Flattop.

We worried about the cornice falling on us and about us falling off the cornice, so we setup a belay behind some big boulders near the top on the left side.  Brian found/made a path over the cornice involving some tunneling and some mantling; my position off to the left provided good protection from the massive snow chunks raining down the slope.  He then brought me up and we moved a few yards east to reach the Tonahutu Creek trail.

Step 2

For the next portion of the day, the plan was to follow the Continental Divide in a traverse of the top edge of the gorge and then descend via a traverse to the summit of the Little Matterhorn.

After a short break, we headed west and then turned the north at Ptarmigan Pass to follow the Continental Divide.  A short bit of hiking led us to the back of Notchtop Mountain (12160’), which we studied for a short time, reminiscing about the climbs we’d done on that rock.

Cool view of Flattop and our snow route from Notchtop, with Longs, Hallett & Taylor in background

Step 3

Continuing roughly north along the Continental Divide, we made it to Knobtop Mountain (12.331’) where we stopped to look for a route to the Little Matterhorn.  I gazed over at Gabletop Mountain, thinking this might be my only chance to bag it, but I needed to get some rock scrambling practice in advance of the upcoming Crestone Traverse.   I stuck with the plan.

Step 4

We started down the Knobtop ridge and found the terrain, while a bit loose, was sufficient for a proper ridge traverse.  We stayed on the ridge much of the time until we reached the end of the ridge and the Little Matterhorn (11586’).  To get onto the summit of the Little Matterhorn, we had to negotiate some challenging, but with a bit of route-finding, not overly difficult terrain.  I’d call it 4th class, just to be conservative.

Joe on Little Matterhorn summit with Notchtop in distance

We scrambled up to the summit of the Little Matterhorn and found it to be a worthy summit with great views into the Odessa Lake area.  We also found a cool chimney on the north side that we descended a bit just to play around on nice rock.  I later read in Roach’s RMNP book that the Little Matterhorn is the lowest elevation peak in his book.

Little Matterhorn

Step 5

Out of water and dried up likes prunes in the hot sun, we scrambled down to Grace Falls.  At the bottom, I turned around to look at the Little Matterhorn.  I could see why it made it into Roach’s book.  It is a spectacular little peak.  And I could even see how it got the name of Little Matterhorn…it sort of looks like the real thing, just on a smaller scale.

Then we bushwhacked up to the Fern Lake trail, which we hiked to cover the 3+ miles back to the Bear Lake parking lot.  Sunburned and dehydrated, we didn’t make any attempt to make a fast escape; we were just glad to be under tree cover and heading back to the parking lot.

We arrived at the parking lot at 4:30pm for a 9.5-hour round trip covering approximately 12 miles.

Come on Crestones! (see 5 14ers for my 40th)

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McHenrys At Last!

February 10, 2010

I had been looking at McHenrys Peak with great desire for many years and had been close twice, but had never quite set out to bag it.  And McHenrys is not a peak to climb on a whim, or is it?

 

Close but no cigar on McHenry

 

Close but no cigar:

  1. Spring Climb of Stone Man Pass; no thought of trying for summit
  2. Rock climb of Dog Star route (climbs the center of triangular buttress on McHenrys NE face); ran out of time for attempt on summit

On June 2, 2002, Brian and I decided to visit Stone Man Pass for a bit of exercise.  We didn’t think we’d move fast enough or weather would stay good long enough to do more.  But we were mistaken.

We left the parking lot at 6am and hiked 5 miles to Black Lake by 8am.  The trail was in good shape even though it was mostly snow covered.

 

Looking toward Chiefs Head from above Black Lake

 

We decide to take a shortcut to the pass by heading directly toward Arrowhead, and by 10am we reached the bottom of the snowfield reaching toward Stone Man Pass.  This snow was also in good shape and we reach the top of the pass at 11am.

The conditions had allowed us to finish early; and the weather was too good to think about going home.  While resting at the pass we looked around for something interesting.

I looked to the summit of McHenrys, but hesitated.  I thought it looked hard, even technical.  But it was on the top of my wish list, so eventually I suggested we give it a go; Brian agreed.

 

Looking back down toward the Stoneman from McHenrys

 

We didn’t have any route info aside from a vague memory Brian held of a descent of the route some years before (after climbing NE ridge), and snow covered anything that might look like a trail or a trail marker. We figured we’d just wander on up and see what we can see.  I didn’t have any concerns, at least not at first.

 

Our ascent (red) and descent (green) routes. Photo taken from climb of Chiefs Head.

 

We wandered low to get around the first major buttress, and then went straight up the gully toward the summit.  This path worked fine until near the top where the climbing got hard.  It was big blocks and pillars that we had to climb up and around; I’d call it 4th class in spots.  It was 5th class if not careful; I was not careful.

I got stuck on a ledge with no good way off.  I had made hard-to-reverse moves to gain the ledge thinking that I could escape it; but the only move I found was a dynamic one that would be fatal if I missed the mark.  I just didn’t like it in my Makalus, so I just kept looking for anything else; and perhaps just delaying the inevitable.

To my delight (and relief), I found a less risky move and took it.  A short while later, I joined Brian on the summit.

 

Brian atop McHenrys enjoying the spectacular views of Longs, Pagoda & Chiefs Head

 

It is far better than any summit in RMNP; completely awe-inspiring. The valley floor drops away dramatically from all sides.  It is a must climb.

 

Our routes on McHenrys Peak; Red for ascent, Green for descent.

 

The decent was easier and exhilarating.  We found a better path on the way down (isn’t it always so?) to Stone Man Pass and then glissaded down from Stone Man Pass and later down the bench below Arrowhead to reach the Black Lake area.

Another 2 hours of hiking got us back to the car for an 11 mile, 11 hour round trip.

It was a great day!

But I don’t recommend climbing McHenrys Peak on a whim.  It is a peak that deserves respect, and some preparation.

 

The long trek to Stone Man Pass & McHenrys Peak

 

See Solitude Lake Cirque for another route up McHenrys

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The Long Way Up Longs Peak (Stettners-Kieners)

February 3, 2010

I love Longs Peak, and one of my unofficial missions is to climb a different route/season combination nearly every time I reach for the summit.

Next on the list was to reclimb the route used by the Stettner brothers (Joe & Paul) to climb Longs Peak on September 14, 1927, including the Stettner’s Ledges (5.8) route to climb from Mills Glacier to Broadway Ledge.  As they did, we’d also use the Kiener’s Route (5.3) to skirt the difficulties of the Diamond and reach the summit. Stettner’s Ledges represented the hardest multi-pitch alpine route in Colorado (and perhaps in North America) for the subsequent 20 years.

“We were familiar with two established climbing routes on the East Wall — Kieners and Alexanders. We studied them. But we wanted to find a new route. We searched for a route by starting at Alexanders Chimney and working our way to the right with the binoculars. With the help of these field glasses, we found a line of broken plates, ledges, and cracks that we could eventually use as a route. It looked challenging enough for us.”

~ Joe Stettner’s Journal, recounting the events of September 14, 1927

On the morning of July 17, 1999, Brian and I started up the the trail towards Long Peak, passing the Longs Peak Ranger Station @ 4:15am.  It would be my 6th different route to the summit of Longs Peak, if everything worked out.  The only thing I worried about was the weather report; we’d have to get lucky to reach the summit on this day.

My Routes (prior to 7/99) to the Longs Peak Summit

  1. The Diamond, Casual Route (7/94)
  2. Notch Route (6/96)
  3. Keyhole Route (11/96)
  4. Kiener’s Route (7/98)
  5. Gorrell’s Traverse with a direct finish of The Notch (9/98)

The hike in went as so many have gone before it….long but tolerable.  And, despite a serious attempt by a slippery trail to destroy my knee, we maintained a good pace and reached the foot of the climb by 7am.  I somehow managed to forget that Mills Glacier would be hard snow and didn’t bring anything to aid my ascent of the glacier/snow field to reach the start of the Stettner’s Ledges climb.

Stettner Brothers 1927 (dashed) & Joe/Brian 1999 (solid) Summit Routes

Aiming for the bottom of the obvious left leaning flake system, I used my nut tool as a make-shift ice axe and kicked steps when I could and otherwise crawled to ascend the shockingly steep Mills Glacier.  During this ridiculous episode, I stole a moment every now and again to think how this was a really stupid way to ruin a day, a season, or worse.  My relief was palpable when I finally reached solid protection from a long slide to the bottom of  Mills Glacier.

Looking back on our approach around Chasm View Lake

Stettner’s Ledges

1st Pitch

Brian took the first pitch.  It was a 140-150′ long climb angling somewhat left over many flakes and cracks with a few pitons to guide the way.  He found a nice ledge for our belay.

2nd Pitch

I took the second pitch that started with a step around a corner and involved easy climbing over some blocks to reach a good belay at a right facing large flake (5.5).

3rd Pitch

Looking up, we could see a series of pitons jammed into an overhanging dihedral protecting a steep climb over thin holds navigating a robust layer of slime.  The water trickling down from The Notch was feeding an aquatic ecosystem that looked like it would be protected by Boulder’s Open Space & Mountain Parks organization if located a few miles further east.  I tried to help Brian’s psyche by suggesting he could aid the climb if it was as bad as it looked.  Right.

Brian on Stettner's Ledges

Not one for delaying the inevitable or waiting for government intervention, Brian took off to figure it out (in proper Paul Stettner fashion).  After a moment of sitting, I noticed that the sun was gone; I was stuck in the shadows and my body temperature was dropping quickly.

I got small to preserve my body heat while I waited for Brian to swim up to the next belay and free me from my static duties.  The conditions demanded a slow climb, but my suffering was all out of proportion to the hour it took for Brian to finish.

Climbers Rule of Variable Time Passage

“The rate at which time passes for a climber is directly proportional to the level of preoccupation for the climber and inversely proportional to the level of suffering and pain endured by the climber. “

And to make matter harder to endure, it was during this pitch that the rockfall barrage begain.  I don’t know if it was climbers (I think it was although no one yelled, “rock” ) or merely natural falling rock from freeze/thaw action (the Stettner brother wrote of rock fall here in 1927), but it was damned unnerving to have such volume of rock crashing down the rock within 10 – 20 feet of my head.

When it was my turn to climb, I was so stiff and my hands so useless I didn’t think I could climb the 3rd Flatiron.  But the body can warm up quickly when the stress is right.  I followed Brian’s path through the slimy ecosystem, taking huge sections of it with me on my clothing.  When I reached Brian, I could see he had taken a hit to his nose somehow.  It was now a “blood” adventure.

4th Pitch

I traversed left onto the Lunch Ledge after mounting a steep flake system which felt harder than the rated 5.5.  When I reached the end of the “Lunch Ledge”, it was obvious that we needed to make a team decision about how to proceed.

5th Pitch

I brought Brian up and then we took a few minutes to look for the direct line (Hornsby Direct variation).  The rock was very confusing, and we just couldn’t spot the correct path out of the many options above us.  We reasoned that we needed to hurry given the weather report and our plan to continue to the summit. We decided to find the easiest, quickest path to Broadway Ledge: The Alexander Chimney route. (Note:  we also thought that this was the original line of the Stettner brothers, but that has since been refuted; the original line took a direct path, probably the Hornsby variation).

Even still, the path wasn’t obvious.  Brian followed his nose, generally left and up over ledges and around corners.

6th Pitch

The final pitch was mine.  I couldn’t figure out what I was looking for and eventually tried to climb a dihedral that didn’t quite work.  After a downclimb I finally found something that looked like the Alexander’s Chimney finish, but ran out of rope without a belay spot in sight. I waited for Brian to take down the belay and then we simuclimbed the last 40 feet to Broadway Ledge.

It was a struggle, but we made it.  And we did it without falls, but it took us 6.5 hours compared to the Stettner brothers 5 hours.

“With great trouble, we fought our way upwards. Time-wise, it appeared that we would have to retreat.  The wall was approximately 1,600 feet high and, besides being steep, it had many overhanging sections.”

Yet, despite multiple falls held by a hemp rope (static) they bought at the Estes Park General Store (“Though not the best, it ought to fulfill the purpose”) that was merely tied around their waists, the Stettner brothers reached Broadway Ledge after 5 hours of climbing.

~ Joe Stettner’s Journal, recounting the events of September 14, 1927

Traverse to Kieners

We followed the Broadway Ledge to the Notch Couloir, and then to the far edge where we knew at least one variation of the Kiener’s Route that worked.  We were on terrain we knew, but it was late on a day with a threatening weather forecast.  But, with the weather still holding up well, we figured it was better to run up terrain we knew than to try to rappel down to Mills Glacier without a known rap route.  And descending via Lambs Slide was completely out of the questions without crampons and axes.

Kiener’s Route

“Walter Kiener, a climbing guide, pieced together this route in 1924, looking for the easiest way up the east face with an eye toward future clients. Very little new ground was covered on the ascent. It’s possible he did this over several visits, with help from Agnes Vaille and Carl Blaurock. Another guide from this era, Guy C. Caldwell, installed cairns all the way up the route and advertised his services in the Aug 7, 1925 issue of the Estes Park paper”

~ Bernard Gillett, The Climbers Guide: High Peaks, 2nd edition (2001)

Our Upper Kiener's Route

To save some time, we decided to simul-climb the low 5th class section.

We started straight up through the broken rock and over a chockstone, and then into a narrowing chimney which we took to its end, and, then, up a waterfall to a big, grassy ledge.

Past the 5th class climbing, we unroped to make fast time up the 700 feet of talus and gullies.

We knew from previous experience to aim for the edge of the face and look for the “Black Bands” of rock.  When we finished climbing over the long section of giant steps, we moved to the edge of the Diamond to turn the corner and reach the east talus slopes.

And after scrambling the final 200 feet of talus, we reached the summit at 3:45pm; my 6th Longs Peak summit was in the bag.  We had climbed the 1600′ of elevation between Broadway Ledge and the summit in 1 3/4 hours; its good to see we can pickup the speed if we have to do so.

Our weather luck had held out, but we still had to get down.

Descent

We chose the Cables Route, as always, for its direct approach to the Boulderfield.  The path is easy to follow since we’d done several time before, except this time the path was blocked by a large snow patch covering the last 100 feet above the rappel anchors.

Crap.

Fortunately, this snow had been in the sun all day.  But the terrain was steep enough that it wouldn’t take much of a slip to generate the speed needed for air travel.  We carefully kicked steps and jammed exposed fingers into the snow…anything to get a little friction.  By the time we found the first rap anchor, my fingers were frozen stiff.

Then it started to rain.

Combined with the approaching darkness, we didn’t need any additional encouragement to hurry once again. A quick pace down that death-march trail got us to the Ranger Station by 7:45pm for a 15.5 hour round trip.

The best adventures always include some amount of overcoming or dodging serious setback, such as:

  • A smashed knee
  • Missing ice gear
  • Rock fall
  • A bloody nose
  • A route finding error
  • Threatening weather

And this trip was a great one.

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Longs Peak: Kieners’…er, Notch Route

January 18, 2010

Rich (left end) and me (right end) during our Amazon river cruise in 1993.

When I first moved to Colorado in May, 1996, the only person I knew was Rich whom I met on a 1993 Ecuador mountain climbing trip that included a successful climb of Cotopaxi (19,347′) and a failed attempt on Chimborazo (20,560′) as well as a canoe exploration of a tributary of the Amazon river. I only knew him for 3 weeks, but knew him to be an excellent climber and all-around good guy.   And, he welcomed me into town in the best way I know…he invited me to join him on some adventures.

After a “try-out” trip in May, 1996 to bag Horseshoe Mountain (13,989′) and Sheridan Mountain (13,748′), Rich invited me to join him on an attempt at the Kieners route on Longs Peak.  Longs Peak was already my favorite mountain (as it was the first and only 14er I had done), and besides, I was ready to try anything if Rich was willing to let me tag along.  Rich described it as a classic mountaineering route with snow climbing and rock scrambling; I accepted with inappropriately high enthusiasm.

A view of the distant Kieners Route on Longs Peak, with Mt Meeker to the left and Mt Lady Washington to the right. Photo taken on descent.

On June 17, 1996 at 2am, Rich and I left for RMNP and the Longs Peak Ranger Station.  We started up the trail in the dark, and me without a headlamp, I made sure to stay on Rich’s heels to borrow some of his light.  I wasn’t in top mountain climbing shape, but Rich politely kept the pace at a level that I could survive.

We hiked past Chasm Lake as the sun started to come up and then up to Mills Glacier at the base of Longs Peak.  I recognized a few features from my Diamond trip a couple years earlier, but most of it looked unfamiliar.  I was able to spot the Diamond which dominates the east face and the Notch which splits the east face.  According to Rich, the Kieners Route started at the base of the Notch and ascended the south edge of the Diamond.

I was past ready for a break, but we continued up to the base of Lambs Slide before stopping only long enough to put on our crampons and have a bit of water.  The plan was to ascend the Lambs Slide couloir, heading up and south along the lower east face of Longs.

Rich heading toward the Kieners Route (the low angle rock above the steep "Diamond")

I had done several snow climbs before, so I wasn’t nervous in the days leading up to the climb. But this turned out to be an iron climb.  Lambs Slide was hard ice and I rarely got penetration from my flexible crampons. I was wishing fervently for my plastic boots and mentally going over my self-arrest training as I slowly I crept up the couloir, stepping from frozen footprints to rocks protruding from the ice wherever possible.  When the rock face to our right broke up, Rich announced we were at the start of the Broadway Ledge (~13,000′).

The scramble along the ledge was easier than I feared.  I started to think that Kieners was going to be fun after all.  Then we reached a break in the ledge blocked by a protruding boulder. Incredibly, we had to crawl around the protruding boulder with our butts hanging out over an 800′ drop back down to the bottom of Lambs Slide.  Rich saw the look on my face and asked if I’d like a belay. With a gratitude since unmatched, I accepted his offer.

Rich in the distance on the narrowing Broadway Ledge with The Diamond and Chasm View in the distance

Getting past the roadblock was easier than it looked, but I was glad to have that belay.  Once past, we continued working our way along Broadway Ledge, heading toward The Notch and The Diamond. I was disappointed that Broadway Ledge was such a frightening place, with a sloping edge and ball-bearing sized pebbles atop a smooth rock foundation with an 800′ fall rewarding the least error. I couldn’t see how people avoided slipping off with public-outrage-level regularity. But I couldn’t turn back now without re-crossing the ass-overhang.

I caught up with Rich as he stared at the rock face on the far side of the Notch.  He looked over a me and said that the start to the Kieners Route should be here, somewhere. Naturally, I was of no use except for having the sense to keep my mouth shut when I had nothing useful to say. As the official “belay slave” I hadn’t bothered to study the route and wouldn’t know where to begin to look for information anyway.

Rich decided that we’d go higher up the Notch to find a way to get onto the Kieners Route, so up we went.  The  couloir was more snow than hard ice, but it still felt insecure…and now I could fall much farther.  Up and up, we looked and hoped for a solution.  We crawled up much of the Notch before we found an exit to the right.

Looking back down the Notch Couloir

I had no idea where we were; all I could see were giant cliffs on 3-sides and a lot of air on the fourth. But faith is a powerful thing.

Rich led us across a number of gullies with ice and running melt water, one in particular felt like it would be the last thing I ever did. Stepping onto sloping ice with only the spike of my axe on a rock to save my inevitable slip did not seem to be a smart thing to do; but I had to keep moving forward as the day was getting old.

Rich said we needed to traverse back toward the east face to escape the cliffs blocking our access to the summit block. That sounded good to me as I had no notion of being off-route or what getting lost might mean; I was just following Rich.

Once past the icy gullies of death, the going was pretty easy with only a few technical rock sections; at least rock climbing was something I knew how to do.  Rich even let me lead a couple pitches.

Eventually, we reached the edge of the east face.  Rich was studying the rock when I started to remember the path I took during my guided trip up The Diamond.  For lack of a better option, we tried it and found it worked.

A few hundred feet of scrambling up talus led us to the summit of Longs Peak at around 1pm, 9 hours after we started hiking.  It was my 2nd summit of Longs Peak, and only my 2nd time above 14,000′ in Colorado; it felt even more exhilarating than my guided trip up The Diamond.  It felt like we had faced far more risk on our the snowy, icy terrain than I did going up clean rock on The Diamond.

My Longs Peak summit shot

I felt wonderfully satisfied with the day until I remembered that I had to catch a flight in the evening.  I was going to have a very long day.

Without much of a rest, we scrambled down the Keyhole route.  Rich had wanted to do the Cables Route, but we met a fellow on the summit who convinced us that the Keyhole Route would be easier in the snowy conditions.  And I was hungry for the “easier” way; my sense was that I’d used up my good luck and wanted to take no more chances.

But the Keyhole Route was no cakewalk.  Ice covered the Homestretch; the Narrows was a bad surprise (I had never done the Keyhole Route); the Trough was unpleasantly loose.  It took 2 hours to reach the Keyhole, and to think I just had to do 2 rappels to get down the Cables Route.

Rule of Rational Skepticism:

Do not believe anything or anyone on the trail without sufficient reason to do so

Once we reached that little rock shelter near the Keyhole, we stopped for the last of our water.  I also checked my voicemail to see if anyone from work was looking for me; it was a relief to find no voicemails, especially from my boss wondering why I was no where to be found.

Our route up Longs. The dashed line represents our actual route vs. the correct Kieners Route. We really did the Notch Couloir route.

Another 3 hours got us to the parking lot for a total time of 14 hours.  That left me with 3 hours to drive home (1 hour), get ready for my trip (30 min.), and get to my airport gate (1.5 hours)!  I made it…the best day of work in consulting history.

I’ll admit to being a bit tired the next day after being awake for 22 hours straight and moving for 14 hours covering 14 miles while ascending and descending 5,100′. And I didn’t even realize that we hadn’t done the Kieners Route.  It took me another 2 years, in the preparation for a repeat (see Brian’s Lucky Day), to finally figure out that we had done the Notch Couloir route. But any day on Longs Peak is better than a good day in the office

And another big thanks to Rich for a great trip.  But that was the end of my following anybody up a mountain like an innocent lamb.  I would be prepared to be a good teammate on all my future adventures.

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2 Classic Climbs: Northcutt Carter & Petit Grepon

January 5, 2010

It was one of those things that gets into your head and you just have to do it.  When I first heard of it, I wanted to do all or at least a lot of the 50 climbs listed in the Fifty Classic Climbs Of North America (a climbing guidebook and history) written by Steve Roper & Alan Steck in 1979. Out of all the climbs in North America, the best 50; the ultimate tick list.  Since two of them were within my reach as a climber and nearby my house (in Boulder), I wanted to start as soon as possible.

The Colorado Climbs within “The Fifty”

  1. Hallett Peak, Northcutt-Carter Route III 5.7 [1956] (in RMNP; top of my list for a while)
  2. Petit Grepon, South Face III 5.8 [1961](in RMNP; had done once before)
  3. Longs Peak, The Diamond, D1, V 5.11 (in RMNP, but too hard; did “Casual Route” instead)
  4. Crestone Needle, Ellingwood Ledges III 5.7

Brian wasn’t crazy about the list (he is too anti-establishment to follow someone else’s list), but he did want to do the Petit Grepon and was willing to re-do Northcutt Carter; so, for next two weekends in 1997, we agreed to focus on 2 of the 50 classic climbs: Petit Grepon & Northcutt Carter.

Petit Grepon (August 30)

It probably wasn’t the smartest plan, to climb the most popular rock climb in RMNP on the busiest weekend of the year (labor day). I guess we just didn’t think of it in time to start the “classic” program earlier and couldn’t wait any longer with the changing season. And, the Petit climb is long enough (8 pitches = 5-8 hours, depending on difficulty and avg length of pitch) compared to the daylight hours before the probable rain (7am to somewhere between noon-2pm = 5-7 hours) such that we had to be first on the climb or expect to fail. [Note: learning to climb faster was another option, but it would take too long to get ready.]

Another complication was the planning for the descent.  The details we could find on returning to the base of the climb were too vague and included ugly descriptions of a “death gully”. So we agreed to escape over “The Gash” as I had done a few years earlier with my CMC rock climbing class, and descend down the Sharkstooth approach.  But, this meant we had to carry everything with us on the climb. It is never ideal to carry everything up the rock, but sometimes that is the best or only way to do it; the obvious key is to not bring too much.

The fact that we couldn’t get a bivy permit worked well with this detail.  We bring very little, start very early, and blast up the trail to be first on the rock.  In reality, we figured we’d be tip-toeing past the sleeping climbers to beat them to the rock. It was a great plan.

We hit the trail at 4am and got in line.  It was crowded like I had never seen it before in the pre-dawn hours.  We put it into high gear and passed everyone and got to the rock ahead first.  One group of sleepy climbers tried to pull themselves together quickly as we passed by, but it was too late; we were first on the rock. “I love it when a plan comes together.” (Col. John “Hannibal” Smith, A-Team)

Our path up the South Face route (III 5.8) of the Petit Grepon. We descended over "The Gash" which is directly behind the Petit Grepon, between the Sharkstooth and the Saber, from this vantage point.

To make sure we stayed in front, we skipped the initial pitch by scrambling up the west-side talus to reach a ledge which we used to traverse back to the South Face III 5.8 climb.

Still in a race to be first or at least not hold up anyone else, we quickly got ready for the next part of the day.  After putting on more clothing (we wouldn’t be burning calories like we did on the hike in) including rock shoes and harness, organizing the climbing gear & ropes, and eating a quick breakfast (a couple bits and a swig of water), we packed away everything else we brought into our small packs.

And, then, without another glance back at the climbers jostling for position, we started up.

Pitches

  1. Traversed right to reach the giant chimney in the center of the face
  2. Exited the “cave” to the left and climbed to a large ledge below another, but smaller chimney
  3. Climbed the chimney, then traverse right to a belay below the right end of a roof
  4. Moved right and then climbed a steep crack, into a left-facing corner with a finger crack (crux), and continued up and right to a ledge on the east side of the Petit Grepon
  5. Climbed up, then right and then left to a small stance on the southeast arete.  I believe this spot is called the “Pizza Pan” belay
  6. Climbed a crack above the belay to a ledge, and then up the wall. Belayed on ridgeline
  7. Followed the ridge to the teeny tiny summit
  8. Enjoyed the spectacular views of the world from the sofa-sized summit while resisting an urge to lay flat on the rock

It was incredible; the summit was a 10×30 diving board offering lots of air time before the sudden end.  The summit was so small that I had to look at my feet when I stood upright to keep my balance; the ground was outside of my peripheral vision.  And the fear of falling off was somehow magnified by this phenomenon.  When I sat down, I thought I could feel the rock swaying, which brought on fears of the rock breaking off.  It was the coolest place I’ve ever been, and getting down right away felt important and promised to be interesting.

A profile view of the top 1/3rd of the Petit Grepon from behind. It is a really disconcerting sight that forces you to wonder if it might break off!

We looked around for rap anchors and found a good set on the back side (NE corner).  We then scrambled up a deep chimney to the north to reach the Sharkstooth side of “The Gash.”  From there we descended back down the Sharkstooth approach.  Once we reached the the Loch Vale lake, we found the crowds again; the trails were packed elbow to elbow; it was horrific.  Welcome to Labor Day weekend at RMNP.

But the weather stayed perfect the entire day:  clear skies, warm temperature, no wind, and after 11 hours, we made it back to the parking lot.  We got back so early that a Ranger questioned us intently to see if we had done an illegal bivy.  All we had to do was point at our tiny packs to prove we didn’t do so.

One classic down, and one to go.

Northcutt Carter (September 6)

Then it was time for my test-piece.  And I was scared for a number of reasons.  At the top of the list, the route was famous for route-finding disasters; a rating of 5.7 was only true if you could stay on route. Undoubtedly, the actual difficulty would be harder.  Another was that I had never climbed on Hallett Peak before; I just hadn’t worked up the courage yet. If I could overcome my fear and successfully climb Northcutt Carter, if I could pass the test, then I could call myself a real climber.  Well, that’s how it felt, anyway.

To combat the legendary route-finding difficulty, I studied my copy of Bernard Gillett’s High Peaks, 1st edition (the importance of this detail will become clear later) more carefully than ever before.  And, of course, I made a photocopy of the topo and route description to remind should I become confused.

Just as the week before, we were planning on climbing a very popular route.  And this time, the weather report promised bad weather in the afternoon.  We needed to get an early start and move fast to make it.  Yet, since the approach was far shorter, we slept in a bit; my alarm didn’t go off until 3am.

We hit the trail from the Bear Lake parking lot at just after 5am and took only 30 minutes to reach Emerald Lake.  It was still dark so we couldn’t see how far we had to go.  I thought we might have started too early, but we didn’t reach the bottom of Northcutt Carter until 6:45am.  And once again, we were the first to arrive; and we didn’t waste any time getting started by scrambling up the broken rock to the right of a break in the “white band” to reach the bottom of the climb.

Pitch 1

Brian took the first pitch, and climbed a corner for about 1/2 a rope before moving a bit left and climbing up a slabby rock.

Pitch 2

We were swapping pitches, so the 2nd pitch was mine.  I took out my topo for a quick refresher; Gillett said, “go straight up a crack, then move a bit right to the belay.” Unfortunately, the guide book was wrong!  Mr. Gillett was describing what Rossiter calls the “Faux Pas” route…a common mistake on Northcutt-Carter.  Of course, I didn’t know this until I later bought a copy of Rossiter’s book.

As directed by Gillett, I started straight up and then passed a roof.  It was pretty hard (turned out to be 5.8), so I figured I did something wrong; the pitch was only rated 5.4.

As I looked up I could see a couple pins with some gear left behind.  Booty!  I scrambled up to claim it without a thought to why someone would have bailed at that point.  And then it started to really get hard.  With the rock still a bit wet and the terrain now a bit overhanging, I was in trouble.

I kept making progress, but I was wearing out.  I found an unlikely leg jam that I could hang on with no hands.  That gave me a life-saving rest.

The rock was overlapping plates of rock like tiles on a roof…the pieces of rock were loose and the downward slope of the rock plates didn’t offer much to hold on to.  While I struggled to find the right piece of gear, one of the loops on Brian’s gearsling broke and sent the two large cams into oblivion.

Running out of gear and strength, I took to hanging on the pro to gather enough strength to make it another few feet.  But eventually I made it.

After Brian came up, we both were very confused about the route.  We couldn’t begin to think of how we got off-route.  But since the belay looked right, we decided to push on.

Pitch 3

Brian took the third pitch.  The rock all looked similar (the reason for the route-finding difficulties for many); following his nose, he took the original line of Northcutt-Carter, which was a bit to the left of the route we were trying to follow.  We had to simul-climb a bit so he could reach a good anchor.

Pitch 4

I had no idea where the route went.  I continued up the line until I got to a good belay stance in an alcove; the route didn’t seem to go anywhere from where I was; I hoped that Brian could find the route.

Pitch 5

Brian thought he knew where to go and traversed far right to link up with the route.  Once at the belay together, we both felt confident we had re-acquired the route.  This was the good news; the bad news was that the rain had started.

Pitch 6

I continued up toward a chimney and then climbed the chimney.  I saw a great belay spot and got to within 3 feet of it when I ran out of rope.  I had to jam my foot in a crack for balance while I struggled to find a place for one of the last pieces of gear remaining.  I then clipped a long sling to that questionable piece of gear and lowered myself to a sloping ledge where I could find a good placement for my last cam.

My anchor contained 1 good cam, a questionable tricam & my ass on a ledge; I wasn’t happy, but I was out of options.  I gave the rope 3 tugs and hoped Brian wouldn’t fall on the slippery rocks.  I sat in the rain wondering how we would get out with our lives.

Brian didn’t fall.

Pitch 7

Brian slowly crept up the wet rock while I froze in a freezing rain.  By the time he reached the top, I was a stiff, wet fool.  But since Brian was at the top, we were going to make it…I could just fall up the rest of the way.  Retaining a bit of pride, I managed to reach the top without resorting to falling.  And once I started to thaw out, my fingers hurt like the devil was eating them.

Descent

The descent gully was very hard to find.  Brian had been in it once the year before but I had never been on Hallett’s north face.  We eventually found something awful that Brian was certain was the right gully, and we started down.  I didn’t believe we were in the right place until climbers descending above us nearly killed us in a rock fall. Eventually we reached the bottom and spent 40 minutes fruitlessly looking for the fallen gear.

After a fruitless search we gave up and hiked out to go eat.  We reached the car at 7pm for a 14 hour day, and then went into Estes Park for a Mexican Food celebration.  I felt that I had accomplished something important, but that was the end of my obsession with the Classic 50; just too many great things to do close to home.  And, while 2 of 50 isn’t really a great accomplishment; not finishing the list at all seems to be rather common.  According to Wikipedia, no one has ever done all 50; perhaps everyone has too many good things to do nearby home.

That was also the end of my use of Gillett’s guidebook; I’ve used Rossiter’s book ever since.  I’ve heard that Gillett fixed that mistake in his 2nd edition, but I wouldn’t know for sure as I never bought it; some mistakes are simply unforgivable.

It is worth noting that it was good that we got Northcutt-Carter done when we did.  A few years later (I believe 1999), the bottom 2 pitches fell off the face into a pile of rubble at the base of the climb.  Northcutt-Carter was dead.

Hallett Peak with "dead" Northcutt-Carter route indicated

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Sharkstooth: My first RMNP love

January 2, 2010

The Sharkstooth taken on approach in July 1992

Sharkstooth.  My first RMNP love.

The Sharkstooth is well named.  It is the highest (12,630′) of the Cathedral Spires group of pinnacles on the ridge that splits the Loch Vale area and separates the Sky Pond/Taylor Glacier area from the Andrews Glacier area. When viewed from below Andrews Glacier, it looks like a massive tooth jutting up from the jaws of the Earth. It is located just east of the Continental Divide and Taylor Peak, and is a stone’s throw from the popular Petit Grepon.

In July of 1992, the Sharkstooth was the very first alpine climb I ever did, using the Northeast Ridge (II, 5.6) route. At the time, the 5 mile approach in darkness and 6 pitches of technical climbing for a total of 3350’ in elevation gain over snowy rock were far beyond anything I had ever experienced to that point in my life. I honestly felt I might not survive but thought the experience would be worth the risk. Adding to the allure, I was told that Sharkstooth was the only officially named peak (i.e., name is on map) in RMNP that required a technical climb to stand on the summit.  It seemed the perfect candidate to be the only peak I would ever summit, and I planned to brag about it for the rest of my

Me and a couple buddies on the Sharkstooth summit in 1992. From left to right, Mark, Jim, Joe

life. Fortunately, survival was not an issue; and in the months that followed, I couldn’t stop thinking about climbing more peaks.

My inevitable return visit to Sharkstooth occurred in October 1996, and was the first climb I ever did with Brian. It was a freeze-fest due to the late season effort that concluded with a 4pm summit, leaving only 2 hours of light to rappel down and hike out (in case you don’t know, it takes at least 3 hours).  And we didn’t bring headlamps.  As you may guess, it was another epic experience, cementing the Sharkstooth’s place in my heart.

Despite being my first RMNP love, so many peaks to climb meant it would take 3 years before we’d return once again; and this time, to complete the North Face [5.8] route, the key factor in success would be perseverance.  Return trips would come much more quickly, out of necessity.

The Climb

After digging deep into Rossiter’s guidebook, Brian had the idea of climbing the obscure North Face route [III, 5.8] which starts at the popular Northeast Ridge route but then spirals up and right around to reach the summit from the west side.  And on August 29, 1999, we set out to climb Sharkstooth once again.

We drove into RMNP in the predawn twilight and parked at the now extinct Glacier Gorge access parking lot.  With a quick sorting of gear, we were hiking at 5am.  We kept up a good pace and reached the base of the climb at 8am to find the rock wet & very slippery.  Our only hope was that the wind would dry the rock before the climbing got too hard.

Progress made in initial attempt of North Face route on the Sharkstooth. Photo from 1992 climb.

From the start, we knew it was going to be an adventure.  Rossiter’s description of the route was more like a set of tips than detailed description of the pitches he generally lays out:

“Climb the first pitch of the Northeast Ridge route, then traverse right to the higher of two grassy ledges.  Work up and right onto the North face following the easiest line. Continue in a spiral onto the West face until it is reasonable to climb directly up to the summit. Beware of climbing too high on the North face before rounding the Northwest arete; follow the line of least resistance.”

Essentially, he says to start at the SE Ridge route and go up and right. And the topo didn’t help very much either, as it just showed an arrow pointing around the corner of the NW arete.

But that is okay; more adventure for us.  We enjoyed and were good at route-finding.  We just hoped we had time for that sort of adventure.

Route-finding Rule of Fun

Good Route-finding Skills plus Enough Time

=  Fun Adventure

The first couple pitches were clean rock alternating with grassy ledges which brought us to the shoulder where we could see the north face above us.  That was our last sunlight for the day.  An ascending traverse right over broken terrain took us to the far right base of the north face.  And by 11am, I found a windy belay perch on a ledge from where we could peek around the corner and see the steep unlikely-looking west side.  This spot was about 150 feet short of the summit (2 short pitches).

And a few drops fell.

In a valorous effort to intimidate the weather, Brian ignored the mosture and started up the pitch.

Brian adds the following details regarding the crux pitch:

I led over couple blocks, then onto a grand piano sized flake.  It seemed like something we didn’t want the rope connected to.  After some more traversing past a grungy flaring chimney, I could see the slope start to ease off above me.  A couple more moves, and then I had my chin and a bomber brown tricam right at the crux move.

All I had to do was pull over onto easier ground.  Unfortunately, the rain drops that I had been denying were now becoming very insistent.  I could see that we still had more than a pitch to go, and while it was less steep, it was also thin on protection, and getting wetter by the second.  I must have been staring at it quite a while, because Joe politely yelled up that it was obvious we would have to bail, so why was I just standing there getting both of us more and more soaked…

We were fortunate to have the double ropes that day.

I think he was tempted to push it, since he was so close; but since we were in a good position to retreat back down the path we had taken, we had to take the only safe option.  If we continued up our spiral route but didn’t make the summit, we’d probably have no choice but to try to rappel into the gully below us, between Taylor and Sharkstooth.  And since we didn’t know if such a rappel was possible or how dangerous it would be to escape from that gully if we reached it, well… it was another time for a bit of discretion.

  • “Courage would fight, but discretion won’t let him” — Poor Richard’s Almanack, B. Franklin (1747)
  • “The better part of valour is discretion, in the which better part I have saved my life.” — Falstaff in Henry IV p.1, W. Shakespeare (1597)
  • “Than as wyse and discrete he withdrewe him sayng that more is worth a good retrayte than a folisshe abydinge — Jason, Caxton (1477).
  • “Bravery consists in foresight” — Suppliants, Euripides (510)

Brian managed to escape his position losing very little gear.  Then we backtracked around the North face and rappelled down the east face to our packs and the hiking terrain. And after the long, wet hike out, we reached the parking lot after a total of 11 hours of fruitless labor.  It was only the 2nd time either of us could remember bailing on a climb; we agreed that we’d come back soon to complete the effort.

Attempt #2

The approach to The Sharkstooth

We had tentatively set September 12th as the return trip, but the weather didn’t cooperate.  In fact, on the 11th, we decided to climb at Eldorado Canyon State Park due to the forecast; but at the very last minute, we decided to go for it.  We were worried about losing the season and not being able to finish until the next summer.

To give ourselves a better chance of beating the rain, we started hiking at 4:30am. Unfortunately, the rain started @ 5am.  It is a strange experience to hike in the dark while it is raining.  My initial reaction was, of course, disappointment; but quickly I realized that it was early enough to go back to Eldo and still get a full day.  Brian again convinced me to press on with the reasoning that the rain might stop and the rock would eventually dry.

The rain didn’t stop until we reached the base of the climb at 7:30am.  We sat for a minute to ponder our fate, but the cold temperature and wet conditions had us shivering before long.  We decided that it was possible that we could climb up the decent route,  and quickly started scrambling up to the start.  On such a bad weather day and with our early start, we correctly guessed that we wouldn’t be in anyone’s way.

Once we reached the descent gully, we could see it was full of snow.  Rather than give up, we decided to climb in our hiking boots. We knew the rock from previous visits and knew we could bail at any time.  And while the climbing was slick, we progressed steadily and reached the summit by noon.  We both insisted on a stop for lunch, and as we ate and shivered, we enjoyed our latest “alpine” experience.

The descent was uneventful and we arrived back at the parking lot after a 10 hour effort.  On the drive home, Brian made sure I understood that we had to go back to finish the North Face route.  Who was I to disagree?

Attempt #3

Against all the odds, the RMNP rock climbing season stayed open for another week (actually two additional weeks, but that is another story).  With a good weather report, we set out for Sharkstooth once again on September 18, 1999.  To give us an even better chance for success, we started hiking at 4am.  This meant we’d be in darkness for nearly all of the approach, but we absolutely didn’t want to miss what was almost certainly our last chance for the next 6 months.

The completed North Face route on The Sharkstooth.

Hiking over broken ground in the dark is hard, but we knew the trail better than most after 3 trips in the last 4 weeks.  And we almost made it without mishaps except for an overhanging rock that clipped my cheekbone as I sped by while my headlamp and attention were focused on my footing.  But without a serious delay we still reached the base of the climb at 7am…and we found beautifully dry rock.  Oh, the joy!  Our goal was to complete the climb by 11am, which was the time of the rainfall that ended our initial attempt.

We knew the initial pitches very well and cruised up quickly.  The last two pitches were very interesting…and hard.  It was my opinion that if we had pushed it on our initial attempt, we’d have gotten into serious trouble.

We reached the summit at 11am and enjoyed the fruits of Brian’s persistance.  Unfortunately, when we tried to leave, we had to share the descent gully with a team of 6 climbers climbing up the East Gully route (5.4). Through excruciatingly slow movement and brain numbing care, we managed to avoid knocking down any rocks or pebbles and made it back to the base of the climb and our packs.  A very fast hike back (1 hour 40 minutes) got us back to the parking lot in time for some guiltless football watching.

As they say, “Persistence Pays.”

“Nothing in this world can take the place of persistence. Talent will not; nothing is more common than unsuccessful people with talent. Genius will not; unrewarded genius is almost a proverb. Education will not; the world is full of educated derelicts. Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent. The slogan “press on” has solved and always will solve the problems of the human race”

~ Calvin Coolidge

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My First 14er: Longs Peak via The Diamond

December 30, 2009

…being too smart is no excuse for missing out on the chance of a lifetime.

~ me

It was the summer of 1994, and I was desperately looking for an adventure to fill the long July 4th weekend. I was new and late to the rock climbing obsession having started only two years earlier at the age of 30, but I had it bad. And, as far as obsessions go, this was more like an addiction.  Sure I liked it, but more to the point, I had to have it.

I was living in the Lincoln Park area on the north side of Chicago and was earning my climbing stripes in Baraboo, WI at the Devil’s Lake Bluffs and at the Mississippi Palisades State Park near Savana, IL. These climbing areas were 3 hours away from Chicago, so rock climbing was a weekend-only affair. And with wet weather haunting so many of the warm-enough days in that part of the country, I averaged only a few days a month. Constantly suffering from withdrawals, I regularly resorted to bouldering on the stone structures in Lincoln Park just to take the edge off.  My favorite was the black (dirty?) stone structure  housing the statue of Ulysses S. Grant (see more recent photo); it had a few surprisingly good routes, all about twice my height.

For the 4th of July, the obvious answer to the question of “what to do?” was to go to Colorado again. And the hardest, biggest, baddest climb I’d heard of in Colorado was The Diamond.

The Diamond is the sheer and prominent east face of Longs Peak and named for the shape of the cliff. The face has a veritcal gain of more than 900 feet all above an elevation of 13,000 feet. It is a world famous "big wall". The easiest route on the face, the Casual Route (5.10-), was first climbed in 1977.

I learned about The Diamond during my two previous visits to the Colorado Mountain School (CMC) in Estes Park, CO. My instructors/ guides (Mike Caldwell, the dad of the famous climbing Caldwell, Tommy, and Topher Donahue, the son of the CMC Founder) led me & my pals up graduation climbs in RMNP (Sharktooth [5.6], Petite Grepon [5.8]), which always had that wonderful sense of being the absolute limit of human capability.

These fantastic “near death experiences” always led to discussions of “what was the hardest” RMNP rock to climb; the answer was always The Diamond on Longs Peak.

My Midwest climbing pals, whom I’d met at the Colorado Mountain School, would scare each other regularly with threats of “signing up for The Diamond”. We had a shared sense that The Diamond was just out of our reach where failure felt deadly. Looking back, I think  “The Diamond” served as our inspiration for improving our skills, both physical and mental.  We didn’t dare do easy (for us) climbs when we might be forced, through peer pressure, to climb the Diamond at some point in our near future.

Joe, Mark & Jim at the Mississippi Palisades and on the summit of The Sharkstooth.

The Spring of 1994 had been especially rainy, particularly on weekends (it seemed). My climbing-withdrawal induced insanity lead me to think the unthinkable.  And, after a few days of hard self deception, I had myself believing that I could handle the 5.10- climbing and 14,000 feet of altitude.  To do so, I had to put two disturbing facts out of my mind:

  1. I had never climbed anything harder than 5.9, and nothing harder than 5.8 since the previous summer
  2. I had never rock climbed above 12,600′ and had not been above 600′ (plus a few floors) in many months

I suppose I didn’t really think I was ready. I just couldn’t think of anything else to do that would be hard and scary enough to feel like an adventure, even just in the attempt. Not knowing very much was part of the problem, or, perhaps, the key to the solution.

Perhaps it was unreasonable, but I was going to do it and I wanted my buddies to join me. I put the word out, but each had the plausible yet lame excuse of having July 4th plans already. Shocked and amazed into poor debate form, my feable attempts at guy-reason got me nowhere. Looking back, I suppose they were a bit smarter than me; but I’ll still argue that being too smart is no excuse for missing out on the chance of a lifetime.

Nothing was going to keep me from taking that step, even if I had to do it alone.  So, determined to proceed and with credit card in hand, I placed a call to the CMC to hire a guide to take me up. I was really going to do it.

Or not.  After all that buildup, no guides were available for the only weekend of the year I could make work. Noooooo!

What a bummer!

Maybe I should have been happy to spend a few uninterrupted days of romance with my girlfriend; maybe I should have been satisfied for the opportunity for 72 hours of personal growth.  But I wasn’t.  I couldn’t.  I was going to miss my chance.  And that is how the greatest adventure in my life would end…

…that is, unless something changed.

And a couple weeks later, the situation changed.  It was about noon on Thursday, June 29th, the 2nd to last day of work before the start of the long holiday weekend, when my cell phone buzzed.  It was Topher Donahue, one of the guides I knew at CMC, with some unexpected news; he’d come available for Saturday, July 1st if I still wanted to climb the Diamond.

YES!

Now all I had to do was get there in time.  I had to meet Topher at 1pm on Friday, June 30th, which was only 24 hours hence.  The easy thing to do was fly, but I had a company car with paid gas.  It didn’t feel like I had a choice.

From a previous trip, I knew the 1100 mile drive from Lincoln Park to Estes Park, CO would take approx. 17 hours driving straight through. And I still needed to get home and pack.  Well, don’t tell my boss, but my 1994 July 4th holiday started about 30 hours early.

The long drive from Lincoln Park to Estes Park.

As I drove home, I knew the plan would come off much better with a co-pilot. I prepared my case by getting a reservation for a tiny bed and breakfast in Boulder called The Briar Rose.  My pitch was that trip was going to be a wonderfully romantic Colorado getaway, during which time I would do only one climb.  My girlfriend bought it.

By 7pm, we were heading out I-290 west.  At first, the excitement of the adventure made the driving fun.  But, seventeen hours is a long time when waiting for each of 61,200 seconds to pass.  I really did try to sleep in the back seat for a few of those hours.  But no way; my racing mind never let me doze off for a moment.

As I tried to sleep, my mind hit on the biggest problem of all:  I was not going to get much acclimatization. During the initial 24 hour period, I would ascend from Chicago (600′) to Estes Park (7500′), and, then would continue the ascent, first to the Longs Peak Ranger Station (9500′), then to The Camel (~13000′).  Then, after another opportunity for sleep, we would climb to the Longs Peak summit (14259′) for a total of nearly 14k feet of elevation gain in 48 hours … not what the experts recommend.  I figured all I could do is try; I’d go up as far as I could and feel proud for daring much and trying hard.

The more I thought about how badly I needed sleep, the further away the chance for sleep ran.

It is terrible to not be able to fall asleep, but it is agony to have to stay awake.  I just hoped I could make it to dawn; I figured sunlight would ease the struggle.  But when the sun came up, I was in Nebraska, which is not what you’d call an interesting place to view from the highway.

“Hell, I even thought I was dead ’til I found out it was just that I was in Nebraska.”

~Little Bill Daggett, Unforgiven (1992)

But after a few more hours of suffering, I could see the mountains.  And the blood started to flow again. And then we were in the mountains.  And the adrenaline started to pump.  And then we were there, driving up Big Thompson Ave and then turning south onto Moraine Ave and then north onto Davis Street and, finally, pulling into the dirt parking lot of the Colorado Mountain School.   And it was done:  1100 miles and 5 bathroom stops in seventeen hours.

I signed in at the Colorado Mountain School and then went through my gear with Topher to make sure I had what I needed…I had enough gear to attempt Everest. After dumping most of what I brought, we set off for the Longs Peak Ranger Station.  Since Topher was planning to stay at the Boulderfield for an extra day of climbing, the plan was for my girlfriend to pick me up at the trailhead after the climb on Sunday.

And this is where things really started to fall apart.

Based on Topher’s advice, I told my girlfriend that she should ask someone “official” for directions and then pick me up at 6pm on Saturday.  What could go wrong?

The Approach

Without another thought, Topher and I took off for the trailhead and then we were quickly making our way up the trail.  I had no sleep and no acclimatization. But I was scared to death, and that made all the difference.

We used the standard trail, as best I could tell until we reached a junction to “Jim’s Grove”. Topher suggested we go that way to save some distance.  I continued following and hoped we’d also save some elevation somehow; my pack felt like 100 pounds.

Topher sitting in The Camel bivy shortly after arrival. Note the shelter provided by the overhanging rock.

We reached the Boulderfield around 5pm, just as I was running out of steam. I was thankful to be done for the day, but Topher looked up toward a peak above us (Mt. Lady Washington) and pointed to a rock formation on the ridge line called “The Camel”.  He indicated that we would sleep on the far side of that formation, in a comfortable and dry bivy spot.

Topher had been talking about the importance of doing everything quickly and efficiently on the Diamond. My plodding approach made me worry about Topher thinking I couldn’t do the climb, and leading him to bail on the effort. I tried to look strong.

Another 30 minutes and we were there; 3.5 hours from the Ranger Station.

It was as nice as Topher promised.  I chugged down a 1/2 liter of Gatorade (1/4 of my water supply), then felt ill for about 10 seconds before spraying my guts all over the rocks in front of me. At first glance, I could see my vomit was blood, and that made sense given how badly I felt.  But on second glance, I could see that it was just my red colored Gatorade.

Topher asked if I had ever had Mountain Sickness before; I went with the ignorance angle and responded with a “what is Mountain Sickness?”  Now I was really worried that Topher might bail on me, so I put on my best brave-face and busied myself soaking up (and photographing) my first up-close view of the Diamond.  It looked like nothing I had ever climbed.  Heck, it looked like nothing I’d ever seen.

My first up-close view of The Diamond, seen from "The Camel" bivy area

A bit later, Topher asked with a knowing look if I could eat some dinner.  I didn’t know that I wasn’t supposed to be hungry; all I knew was that I was starting to feel better and I was very, very hungry. There is nothing like starvation for making a meal taste delicious, even a freeze dried one.

At last light on Friday, Topher mentioned that the weather wasn’t looking good, but hoped it would clear by dawn.  I didn’t know what to think, but didn’t struggle long.  I was exhausted.  My brain pulled the plug and I was unconscious for the next 8 hours.  It was my first bivy above 12,000′, and only my second bivy anywhere without a tent.

At first light on Saturday, around 5:00am, Topher woke me with a “the weather is bad” announcement.  I open my eyes and see wet rock and fast moving, low-level clouds not too far above.  Topher suggested we call it quits and head down to climb at Lumpy Ridge.  He promised to make it an interesting day still.

I explained that I had worked pretty hard to get to the Diamond and wanted to take every chance to climb on it.  I declared I want to stay.

Topher went on to explain that The Diamond is a particularly bad place from which to bail.  He explained that climbers have to rappel down two pitches more than they climbed (if starting from Chasm View), and then they have to climb back up to the Boulderfield to collect their gear.  He asked if I was certain I wanted to pass on a sure thing. I did not waiver.

Topher then indicated that our only hope was to wait an hour and let the bad weather clear, if it would.  In my entire life to that point, I had never argued against another hour of sleep.  I rolled over and took it.

Two seconds later (it feels like), Topher woke me again.  The sky looked the same.  He announced that the weather hadn’t improved, but we could head over to the Chasm View and see if the weather had improved at all by the time we had to commit.  I agreed.

I ate a Powerbar and finished my water supply.  Then we packed the rock gear and started over to the Chasm View.  I told Topher that I needed to get some water; he said we can “get some in the Boulderfield”.  I didn’t know where that was but felt reassured that getting water would not be a problem.

The slightly downhill traverse to the Chase View went by quickly.  And, in that brief period of time, the weather started looking a bit better.  Topher futilely gave me one last opportunity to bail, and then we started down the rappels to Broadway ledge.

The climb had begun.

The Climb

We started late enough that everything was well lit, and the poor weather had chased off all the other climbers. We quickly finished the rappels down Chasm View to the Broadway Ledge and completed the traverse over to the start of the Casual Route.

Pitch 1

The climb started up some easy terrain which let me continue to believe (read: hope) that the 5.10 rating was intended to scare beginners away even though the climber is really easy.

Pitch 2 & 3 together

Climbers doing a hard route and showing the steepness of The Diamond face.

My illusions were shattered by a hard crack followed by a horrifying traverse.  The fantasy of easy climbing was utterly destroyed. I’d done one traverse before in my life (final pitch of Pear Buttress), and that one scared the fool out of me as well.  The lack of overhead protection meant I would take a long whipper if I fell. My increasing fear pushed me into some sort of zone where I don’t notice anything except the climbing.  My climbing skills became preternaturally sharp; I climbed better than I ever did in my life.  I had to.

Pitch 4

I was introduced to the joys (do not fail to note the sarcasm here) of squeeze chimneys 1000′ off the deck. The climbing moderated enough to keep me from vomiting as I made my way to the belay in a snowy inset.  By the time I reach the top of the 4th pitch, I was relaxed enough to notice some details beyond mere rock and climbing technique.  One detail I noticed was Topher’s rather thin anchor: a tricam and 2 nuts.  I was used to top-rope anchors with 6-8 solid pieces using several feet of webbing that could hold a falling Boeing 747.  While I was confidentTopher knew his stuff, my stress-level moved back up another notch.

Pitches 5 & 6

More hard climbing went by in a blur. When we reached the Yellow Wall Bivy ledge at the top of pitch 6, Topher suggested a quick break for lunch. And that’s when it dawned on me that I never refilled my water bottle.  With my desiccated mummy-mouth, there was no way to eat a Powerbar and live (remind me to tell you about an attempt to do so during a triathlon).  Fortunately, I also brought an orange, which I ate with such relish I didn’t waste a drop of fluid; and, I thought hard about eating the skin as well.

And, for whatever reason, despite every negative influence, I felt good.  I actually started to think I would really make it.

Pitch 7

More hard climbing led to another squeeze chimney near the top.  This one was a killer squeeze, as I had a pack on. I had to work my way out of the chimney and face face the remain few feet to reach the final move:  a bulge with a single finger-lock hold.  I pulled up on the finger-lock and found nothing above to haul on and no feet; I lowered myself back down.  Topher, at the anchor only 2 feet away, tells me this is the crux.

After trying in vain using a few different holds, I finally broke down and asked Topher for advice.  He said “you figure it out,” and then went on to say that he could not believe that I made it the entire climb without a fall only to fail here. But after a moment, he took pity on me and offered a nugget:  “use the knob on the right to stem”.

But I couldn’t make it work so I decide to summon my remaining strength and did a lay-back using the crack on the left.

I made it.  I actually stole a moment to be proud of myself for getting past the crux.

Pitch 8

But we weren’t done yet.  One last pitch; a traverse, crap.  Topher told me to lead as it would be safer in case I fell.  (Assuming I know how to place gear!)  I’d never led anything in my life; my first lead would be on The Diamond!  It turned out that I only had to clip a couple pins, but the sharp end of the rope felt electric.

And then I was on easy ground.  I’d made it.  I had actually climbed the Diamond.  I felt my life would never be the same (it wasn’t).

I belayed Topher to my ledge and then we scrambled a short distance up and left and then up and right a longer distance to reach and step around a corner that led to talus above the Diamond but below the summit. After a couple hundred feet of scrambling we were sitting on the summit of Longs Peak…my first Colorado 14er summit.

Post Climb

Sitting on the summit of Longs Peak, I thanked Topher for a great climb.  To my great surprise, he told me that I was his first guided client on The Diamond. It was yet another first for me, in an odd way.

Six Firsts for Joe:

  1. First bivy above 12,000 (a rare great night of sleep @ 13k)
  2. First (and second) squeeze chimney climbed
  3. First lead: the final pitch of The Casual Route on The Diamond
  4. First high altitude rock climb over 13000′ (up to 13,900′)
  5. First Colorado 14er summit
  6. First client of Topher Donahue on The Diamond (I lived; good job, Topher)

As the adrenaline started to wear off, I started to feel tired.  We sat to organize the gear, but since I had no water and only an orange to eat since dawn, a long stay wasn’t in the cards.  Topher led me down to the Cable Route area where we descended via rappel to the Chasm View area to complete a circuit begun 8 hours before.  On the way down I took a photo of some climbers that showed the steepness of the climbing.  I intended to make full use of my bragging rights.

Once we arrived at Chasm View, I insisted on some photos including posed shots before we scrambled back to The Camel to collect gear. I thanked Topher again and asked for directions to the water supply.  He pointed down to the Boulderfield and said to ‘follow my ears’ to find access to the water running beneath the big blocks of rock.  Then we parted ways.

Joe and Topher posing with The Diamond in the background. Thanks to Topher for indulging me.

The Hike Out

The lack of food and water (and altitude?) started to hit me pretty hard.  I hadn’t had any water or food aside from an orange in 9 hours, and I had only consumed 2 liters of water in the last 28 hours.  And all of this on top of gaining 14k feet in elevation in a short time, vomiting, and climbing 1000′ of hard rock. (Thankfully I was still young). After a bit of following water noises, I finally found a gap in the rocks and collected a liter of the wet stuff, which I had to put away to let the iodine pills dissolve. Using and waiting for iodine pills was another first for me; it was not the last time I’d have to suffer and wait.

Once I started hiking down the trail, I felt strangely exhilarated.  Even though I was around other people and walking on or near a well established trail, it was the first time I had ever been in the “backcountry” without other people I knew.  I felt very isolated, and I liked it. Taking in the sights, snapping photos, and watching with real interest the exploits of the local marmots, I just floated down the trail.  I felt great once more.  Everything was good.

The Casual Route and descent from Longs Peak

I followed the trail signs until I reached the trail junction for Chasm Lake. I couldn’t wait any longer for water, so I stopped and ate my last Powerbar and finished my water while admiring the spectacular views of Longs Peak. I decided it was the greatest peak in the world and that I really needed to come back someday to climb it without a guide (I did so in 1998; see The Casual Route?).

I continued down the trail and reached the Ranger Station ahead of schedule. I was going to have to wait an hour for my 6pm ride, but that was okay. Nothing could spoil my great mood, I thought.

Around 5:30pm, the weather turned ugly.  The wind picked up and rain and hail/snow started beating on me. I tried to get into the Ranger Station, but it was locked.  I put on all my clothes and huddled in the roofed map alcove to hide as well as I could. I was freezing.

And, then, my ride was late.

By 8pm, I was truly miserable.  Wet & cold with only poor shelter from the wind, I knew that my girlfriend was lost and that I was screwed. As I played out the scenarios in my head, I couldn’t see a good outcome. If she couldn’t find me in the daylight with whatever directions she had gotten, how was she going to figure it out before morning? No more light to see by and no one to ask for help; oh, I was definitely screwed.

Our route up Longs Peak (red) and my descent variation used (green)

Out of the gloom, a couple walked past me, on the way to their car.  After a polite WTF question, I explained my reasons for riding out the storm.  They offered to give me a ride to town, but I declined.  I didn’t have any place to go in Estes Park.  I needed to get to Boulder, but I couldn’t even go there without getting word to my girlfriend. And I had no way to get any word to her; I was royally screwed.

A few minutes later, as the couple drove past, they paused to make one last offer before abandoning me to the elements.  I decided I would be better served by having no where to go in Estes Park than being stuck out in the open in the middle of nowhere.  I accepted. I piled my stuff and body into the couple’s car and buckled my seatbelt, and then a pair of headlights approached.  It was my ride.

And was she pissed.  While we drove to Boulder, she explained how mad she was about having to drive all over creation, etc., etc. I said that I was sorry for her troubles, but that since I had to sit for 3 hours in wind, rain & hail I probably had the worst of it, and my vote was that we should call it even and drop it.  Uncharacteristically, she agreed.  I must have looked pretty bad.

While sitting in the car and thawing out, I wondered what my climbing buddies would think and how they’d react.  I wondered when they would decide to climb The Diamond.  But as I feared for myself, sometimes the chance to take a particular road less traveled only comes once, and an opportunity missed is an opportunity lost.

“Jump as quickly at opportunities as you do at conclusions.”

~ Benjamin Franklin

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Flattop Loop

December 18, 2009

In writing this trip report, the initial title was “Escaping the slippery slope of incremental decision-making on a last minute hike up Flattop” but that didn’t really work for obvious reasons.  I revised it to “The Slippery Slope of Flattop” but that also didn’t really work because it implied a trip report about slipping down a steep and/or icy mountain slope, which wasn’t true. Ultimately, I decided to go with the title you see above which accurately indicates the primary object of the trip, even if it doesn’t foreshadow any lessons learned.  I hope that is alright.

On July 29, 2000, my regular climbing partner, Brian, was sick and no one else was available for a last minute mountain adventure.   To get some exercise, I had resigned myself to a Green Mountain linkup with other nearby peaks.

My lack of enthusiasm kept me from getting a prompt start; it wasn’t until 1:30pm that I got myself ready to go.  As I was leaving home, I happened to notice that my RMNP Annual Pass was expiring 2 days hence.  In a spur of the moment reflex (I dare not call it a decision), I drove to RMNP with gear for Green Mountain.

Naturally, the traffic and parking were horrific at the height of tourist season and so late in the day.  But I was desperate and found the mental strength to push on.  I parked in the Bear Lake parking lot and started hiking at 3pm.

Wearing shorts and a tank top and without a hat or jacket, I didn’t expect to get far on my hike up Flattop.  In fact, I would have been satisfied with a couple mile hike to treeline.  I certainly started with the sense that the inevitable thunderstorms would chase me off.

As you might guess, I’m a fan of the good-plan-ready-now instead of the perfect-plan-ready-tomorrow.  But it turns out that it is also important to carefully distinguish between a good plan and a bad plan.  It turns out that starting with a bad plan leads to spur of the moment changes to deal incrementally with problems and new ideas; and the new overall plan, as seen in hindsight, can end up making no sense at all.

The standard route from Bear Lake to Flattop Mountain An 8 mile round trip gaining 2,800 feet in elevation.

But, to my amazement, the clouds in distance stayed away all the way up to the broad flat summit of Flattop.  Overjoyed with my good fortune, it occurred to me that it would be fun to finally bag Mt. Otis while I was there; I mean, it was just on the other side of Hallett, how long could it take?

But when I looked to gauge the distance to Mt Otis, I couldn’t see it.  And since I didn’t have a map, I figured the best thing was to start hiking towards Mt Otis until I could see it, so that’s what I did.

While I was moving, it occurred to me that it would be even more fun to also descend Andrews Glacier, since I’d be so close, and create a magnificent loop route.  I reasoned that the extra distance couldn’t take too much longer than just heading back down the way I came up, and I would have salvaged the day with a great adventure.

For a mountain adventure, I love a loop route.  Compared to an out-and-back or “lollipop” route, a loop route means covering and navigating more new ground.  Since the terrain never repeats, the risk of route-finding failure compounds until the final steps to safety are taken. In other words, in a loop route, there is always a chance of having to retrace the entire route until the final few steps.  Uncertainty = Drama.

My imagined route to Otis

Once I could finally see Mt Otis, I noticed that it was actually further away than I expected.  Without much of a pause, I figured I had better hurry if I was going to make it to Otis and beyond before the storms came on.

I actually did hike faster for about 5 minutes before a little birdie whispered in my ear, “YOU ARE BEING STUPID!”

The spell was broken.

Suddenly, it occurred to me that I was foolishly slipping into some very dangerous decision-making.  I didn’t have a watch with me, but I knew it had to be around 6pm.  That meant I only had 2 hours of daylight left.  And I didn’t have a head lamp, either. And like water from a breaking dam, all of my really bad assumptions started crashing down:

  • the hike down Andrews Glacier and past Loch Vale was certainly going to take a lot longer than the Flattop trail and certainly more than 2 hours before adding the time it would take to summit Otis
  • using hiking poles for a descent of a lump of ice (Andrews Glacier) probably was going to be tricky if I couldn’t find a scrambling descent along the north side (which I had done before but later in the season)
  • if I had to back off of Andrews glacier, I was going to have to retreat all the way back over and down Flattop, potentially a 3+ hour affair that would start just as it got dark
  • and I was essentially naked with no extra clothes in case I did become caught out in a storm or after dark or both.

This was just too stupid, even for me.  I backed-off.

But I hadn’t completely lost my nerve.  It occurred to me that there was another way that would be shorter than going back down the Flattop trail; and it would involve only a small gamble.

My imagined escape route back to Bear Lake

I decided to head northeast to find the Hallett Peak climber’s descent gully which I’ve used many times to descend into Tyndall Gorge for the hike back to Bear Lake, passing Emerald and Dream Lake along the way.  I just hoped that there were no impassible obstacles between me, standing near the top of Chaos canyon, and the climber’s descent of Hallett peak.  I bet my life that there weren’t.

Rough route taken up Flattop and down Hallett. Note: photo from a different trip.

I started with a very fast pace and quickly found that the ridge from the summit down to the climbing area was unbroken.  But I also found that finding the descent gully was hard coming from the “wrong” direction.  Every gully started to look like the descent gully and I had to check out every one to avoid passing it by.  But eventually I came to the right one; it looked just like all the other gullies except for a few details that I couldn’t remember until I saw them.  It would have been impossible to figure out how to get down without direct, personal experience with the terrain.

The descent gully is a loose mess, but it goes.  And I was able to get my body, including a just recently functioning brain, down to the Tyndall Gorge in working order.  Then I worked my way down past the climbing area which was devoid of climbers at that late hour.  And straining to beat the sunset, I hurried down to Emerald Lake and reached the easy hiking trail with plenty of light left.

I had the trail to myself as I made my way past Dream Lake and then Nymph Lake, and finally to the Bear Lake parking area.  I reached my truck right at sunset for a 5 hour round trip.

On this trip, my biggest danger was my own carelessness.  But, hey, I got in one more Rocky Mountain National Park adventure before my pass expired. And I got a cheap reeducation on mountain sensibility.

The routes imagined and taken

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