Hamish Gowans Climbing all 54 Colorado 14,000 foot peaks in winter Logbook by Hamish, as received by Dawson via phone and email -- lightly edited.
January 22 - 2005 I was planning on one night out so I brought a stove, my belay jacket, and my Elephant's Foot (half-bag with integrated bivy sack that zips into my belay jacket). The plan was to get up the four unplowed miles of road to the summer trailhead, follow the Belford Trail up the selfsame peak, stash the pack and run over to Oxford and back, descend to Elkhead Pass and climb Missouri via the East Ridge, descend 3000' west to Cloyses Lake and bivouac, and then climb Huron, descending to the Clear Creek drainage and skiing the eight miles out from Winfield. Sounds like a well-laid plan, right? Well, you know what happens to those... Things did go pretty smoothly, making it to the trailhead in about ninety minutes. From there, CFI has again built a very prudent trail that switchbacks briefly and then climbs steadily into Elkhead Basin. There was a large slide here that has taken out some trees. The runout area is sparsely treed with pines of different ages, so it must not be a consistently big mover. Still, I skirted the debris and kept my avy-eyes open. Above treeline, the snow was again solid as cement and I made haste to the Mt Belford Trail. It rides many, many switchbacks on a long ridge that continues almost to the summit. I gained a small shoulder at around 13,900', also gaining my first views south into expansive Missouri Basin. Belford has a satisfyingly rugged summit, that does not hide behind any false summits. After a picture, I hopped off the rocks and headed down and up to Oxford, basically following mountain goat tracks the whole way. Fine, I thought, at least they know where I'm going. True enough, they did get me there -and back- in about an hour and a half. I had gotten dark, mostly owing to the late start I'm sure, so I decided to just camp at Elkhead Pass. With the skis, I linked a few patches of snow and got there in mere minutes. Mere minutes later, I was digging into the snowslope for a cave. My tool was my stovepot and it was absolutely necessary that I drop it and listen to it clank! and *bong* and SSSsssssss..s.s down the slope into Missouri Basin. Four hundred vertical feet down. I gave myself a little slap on the wrist, but the real discipline would come from having to go down, find the pot in the dark (oh yeah, did I mention I forgot the headlamp, AGAIN?!) and reascend four hundred feet to my cave-in-progress. I followed the fall line down from my camp and found the pot rather quickly, dented but pretty much OK. The climb back to the pass made it late when I finally crawled into my cave and fired up the stove for water and dinner. My rations were adequate: after all those exertions, I had more food than I could finish that evening. Fat and happy, I fell asleep till morning. That's when, upon poking my head out of my snowhole, I realized why the East Ridge route wasn't in any of the guidebooks. Missouri's East Ridge is technical, no way around it. Still, it didn't look that bad, so I figured I'd make it turn me around. Good sign to see mountain goat tracks leading up to the cleft buttress where there would definitely be climbing. They apparently traversed onto the S Face so I would say, for the easiest beta on the E Ridge, just follow their tracks! Still, a couple gendarmes, nice incut holds getting into a dihedral holding snow and a bit of handcrack at the top. Probably 5.3, but feeling way harder with an overnight pack on, skis on it, and feet shod in zero-sensitivity AT boots. There are a few false summits before getting to the highpoint, and they were really hard!
Actually, I was gassed. Eating CLIF Shots, even the caffeinated kind, couldn't pep me up and I knew the descent to Cloyses Lake, then climb of Huron wasn't happening. The vista of alpenesque Huron, Ice Mountain, and the Three Apostles was moving, but not enough to move me over the miles. Had the E Ridge really taken that much out of me? Were the late-night hijinks to blame? Can't say. All I can say is that the mountains were tougher than me that day. So I descended the easy route on Missouri, back into Elkhead Basin. Skis and good snow made it a splendid slide and I didn't have to work until all the way back at the trailhead. From there it was just four miles of flat to rolling skin track to Tetonka. I passed a foursome trying to four-wheel into their cabin for the weekend, but the masses of beer they carried were sinking their gokarts into the snow. I wished 'em good luck and carried on. Almost back at the truck, I met a lone lady out with two lovely labs. Said hi, talked about the weather, you know, acted neighborly, then got back to my truck. Truck, Sweet Truck. The mountains were stronger this time, but I'll be back for a rematch. I've still got the hunger. January 19 - 2005 I'm at the Massive trailhead. Well, not really. I'm actually at the snow closure on Halfmoon Road, about 3 miles from the summer trailhead. It's a gorgeous, spring-like day and the road is packed by snowmobiles so the only trailbreaking I'll have to do is getting over the plow berm. Well, not really. After I skin up Halfmoon Creek, between Massive to the north and Elbert to the south, I get to the trailhead. There is a very faint track buried by at least two storm cycles. Oh well, no one ever said this would be easy. After listening to the absence of wind and soaking up a few more rays of sun, I trudge up and onward. The trail stays more or less level, heading northward until the Mt. Massive Trail projects perpendicularly to the west. As I clomp, the snow clumps. I have huge, sopping, KISS moonboots of snow sticking to my skins. I can knock my skis with my poles, but they pick up 10 pounds of snow with the next step. I'm clomping, snow's clumping, the world is laughing, rage is blowing gauges. This will be a day that tests me. I take the skins off and stuff them in my jacket to dry. The snow sticks almost as well to the skis themselves, but my ankle weights now only pull down with five pounds each and they glide on the downhills. The problem with wet skins is that they become saturated with water, which freezes once you go to a shady aspect on the hill, at which point you have sheets of ice on the bottom of your skis and the skins are basically useless. Coating them with some kind of petroleum product is the only answer, but I wasn't exactly anticpating spring snow in the middle of winter -were you?. I'm learning my lesson now that, huh, Colorado's weather IS unpredictable, Sherlock. I'm starting to hallucinate from the heat, the exertion, the exASperA-SHUN. I'm seeing red, not seeing the forest for it is green, heading straight for the open spaces. My course is set for the point A (me) - point B (Massive) beeline come hell, highwater, trailbreaking up to my knees or whatever. I think I've really lost it when it starts to seem easy; it's like I'm following a snow highway made by square-footed packyderms, stampeding to altitude. I'm trying to tune out this cognitive dissonance the same way I'm sublimating the desire to chase the pink pachyderms romping on the ridgline above. A blast of cold water, in the form of snow, brings me to. The wind is flinging it in my face, but that's a good thing. At least I'm at treeline. Suddenly, I'm happy, but contrite; I owe the mountain and my gear many apologies, for they did me good in the end. Still, the pink elephant-shaped clouds above are a sign of impending sunset. Nevertheless, I'm beginning to sense that benightment is a theme for the whole 54:14:1 adventure and have an extra layer with me. I also carried my speedy boots. Gore-tex, mid-top runners by Montrail. They fit my feet, keep them warm and dry and are about a fourth of the weight of my AT boots. Lighter is faster and also farther because you are more efficient. This system is pretty much the key to doing these peaks in a day and still having enough to go at it again the next day. After the switch, I head off into the massive bowl between Massive's south and main summits, cruising on the beeyootiful trail maintained by the Colorado Fourteeners Initiative. Sometimes the trail is lost under the snow, but I get back on it right away after crossing what few patches there are. Out behind me, the spindly shadows cast by the mighty Sawatch are slowly leaning across the valley. Eventually, they'll reach the backside of peaks I climbed a few weeks ago and then, as a group, they will cast their collective shadow above the plane of the horizon, spilling blackness into space's murky depths. It takes the power of a hydrogen furnace to cast light through this shroud, and it seems Orion is always there with me, plus a shooting star or two every night I'm out. I'm starting to think, maybe I could get used to this, maybe I'm not that dumb for seeing so many sunsets from on high. It’s a simple matter to scramble the last 500 feet to the summit (or summits: there are always a few false ones). Then, what next? Descend! Surrender to gravity! Yippee! A pogo stick would make this sooo much fun! Back to skis, I can almost smell the beans and rice I’m cooking for dinner. Zoom down the well pach’d trail. WhoA! I missed the return route by shooting right past the sign for the Massive Trail (where it splits west). But that’s O.K. because the herd of snowshoers has taken “the direct” from this junction straight to snow closure. Dawson noted this option in his guidebook, but I wasn’t expecting it to be broken. Apparently it’s the standard route in winter, and is not all that hard to find. There are even some turns to be had in the loose trees, something those shoe-clod grunts missed out on. Perhaps they got to see the sunset though. I hope someone is on a summit right now –maybe in the Sierra or Hawaii– enjoying the same sunset, their shadow at the apex of the peak streaming out into the heavens, standing on a star. January 17 - 2005 The difference lies in having a broken trail.
On Elbert, I was lucky to have a group of six snowshoers ahead of me, leaving a smooth, wide, well-packed trail. Thanks guys! On La Plata, I had almost nothing. From the trailhead register, I gather the last visit was almost two weeks ago, before the big dump. So I had naught but a faint depression in the snow, almost like a gopher had tunneled through and left a collapsed tunnel behind him. Turns out following this path was only slightly less work than forging my own as it saved me dropping through the buried, but weak, crust with every step. Elbert was a cruise, pure and simple, the biggest inconvenience being when I had to step off the trail and let the trailpacking crew (read: snowshoers) by on their way down. I was able to stay on skis all the way to 13,000' at which point I changed to my tennies and charged to the top. Then (and this is the best part) upon returning to the skis, I harvested 4800' of pure glisse. Apologies, Dawson. I actually got some turns too, but mostly snowplowed down the tree-confined trail. On La Plata, someone forgot to hook up my luxury package. Instead, I cracked the whip and busted up the 4-6" fresh, following the tracks from someone else's aimless wander. La Plata was also where I found the first clear signs of avalanche danger. Elbert had a slide, but all the terrain I crossed was low angle and bare or windpacked. On western exposures on La Plata I found collapsing, even in the flats and shooting cracks on a few open areas in the trees. I followed a column of trees leaning against the slope, forming an elevator shaft up to 11,800' and switched footwear. Gleefully, I marked the location of boots and skis on my GPS (the device is accurate to 16ft at best so it still helps to find a distinctive landmark for your cache. The GPS also tracked my exact path up the hill, which made it easy to return by the same route and avoid the big avy chutes on either side of the column of trees. The sky was variably cloudy all afternoon, but the sun kept poking through, casting heavenly light into La Plata gulch and against the other elements of nature that made up Mt Sayres and Parry Peak. I stopped once, twice, too many times to stare awestruck at sunbeams playing along Ellingwood Ridge and wind tussling with cloud all around. Above about 13,800', the summit was poking into a solid layer of cloud and so I didn't have much in the way of summit shots. I was surprised at the summit since the GPS had told me just a minute before that I was still 200' too low. I thought I would catch it being wrong and, I don't know, be the first to document a GPS lying. Well, I set it next to the summit register and got my camera ready, but the darn thing was reading the right altitude! I guess you just have to give it some time. At any rate, it still guided me right back to my skis and to a crucial bridge near the trailhead. Back to where the ever-patient Tetonka was waiting, I drove back to Leadville for the usual hot Ramen. There were cars at the trailhead for Massive, I noticed, and silently prayed for each of them to be packed full of snowshoers. January 15 - 2005 January 12 - 2005 I'm relying on Colorado's famed 300+ days of sunshine to provide a few more breaks and I plan to make the most of them. It appears that the cold front pushing this snow through will bring somewhat calmer conditions for a few days this weekend. My lighter - and therefore faster- approach allows me to take advantage of shorter weather windows than a traditionally equipped winter ascent. I've planned from the start on doing almost all the peaks in a single day push, carrying only water, food, an extra layer and my camera. No emergency shelter, no stove, no spare socks. 'Course, on Shavano, the vulnerabilities of this system were illustrated quite memorably! This weekend, after bagging Yale on Friday, I festered in Buena Vista, hoping the clouds would lift. While watching the Broncos get whupped at The Lariat (sign reads "we sell and service hangovers"), I befriended a local named Dave and told him about my epic on Shavano. Since the whole problem had been locating my stashed skis, he kindly offered his GPS for the duration of the project. I'm glad, therefore, that I spent some time in small-town Colorado. I owe a debt of gratitude to Dave and others who have offered advice, gear, and shelter when I needed to hunker down from storms. I think I owe more than thanks: I should take their assistance and apply it toward achieving my goal. At any rate, I have these very special people to thank for their help to now and for the possibility of eventual success. Thank you Meaghan, Lou, Kelly, Mark, Mona, Phillip, Jenny, Dave, the other Dave, Chris, Barbara, Dakers, Stephen, Tom, Penn and Cloudveil, and others. January 8 - 2005 I'm trying not to push it while the weather grounds me. It will clear, I'll climb some more. I'm also not interested in peaking out in a whiteout or trying to climb peaks I haven't been on before without trail, visual markers etc. I need to know if I'm on an avalanche slope or if I'm descending into a different drainage from Tetonka (that's my truck). Yale is also a benchmark in that it's the first peak I've been on this winter that I'd not climbed before, so I was happy to have a good track to follow and a relatively easy route: Yale is only 4000' instead of 5000' like the others in the range! On the upside, the dumps lately have made skis even more efficient and I look forward to lugging them up more of these peaks. Actually, I look forward to the schuss down, not the lug up. Dawson himself says in his guidebook that "these are skier's mountains!" On a related note, I wanted to point out that I have been completely avoiding any avalanche danger. Not by hazard evaluation, but by terrain selection. The only time I've been on a slope steeper than 20 degrees was on the Angel of Shavano and it was so wind hardened I had to kick multiple times just to scratch it. People worried about the danger of avalanches on winter fourteeners have reason to be cautious (I have seen many old slides), but should know that there are many potential routes without any hazard at all. That's how I have been able to climb several peaks the day after a storm clears and while there are still avalanche warnings in other areas of the state. January 6 - 2005 January 3 - 2005 First climb was Princeton (December 31), for which I skied with climbing skins all the way to treeline, then hoofed it along the ridge over Mascot peak to the summit. Somehow forgot my headlamp, which of course meant getting benighted. Windy! Snow blowing every which way, only took one summit photo. Had to put skis back on by feel (Dynafit bindings no less!) and then basically skied down by the glow from Buenie's streetlights. At least all I had to do on the Mt Princeton Road was point 'em. Very smooth descent. Still, I got back to the truck wasted. Drove to the gas station and made some Ramen. After wolfing it down, I just keeled over in the cab and fell asleep until 1:30a. That's what 5,000' will do to ya! I missed the New Year's revelrie, but oh well. I've gotten over counting down to the big second. I did make some new year's resolutions. First, to get after the 'teeners with more zeal. I don't think I'm being lazy, but I am behind my schedule, and am finding that I have the fitness and system to do more. I also resolved to respond to everyone who smiles, makes eye contact or says hello. New Friendly World Order, starting with me. I think it'll catch on pretty quick. Anyway, New Year's day 2005, Antero. Have to thank the gang of snowshoers who packed the trail to treeline. They took a different route from there and I went straight up that gully to the top switchback on the road, right before it tops out on the shoulder of Antero. Bulletproof slab again on the W facing gully, but old debris below a N facing slope so I stayed wary, sticking to the side of the snowpatch. Once on the shoulder, I switched to my sweet North Dome shoes from La Sportiva. Sticky rubber and suddenly lightened feet flew me to the top (or did I really just get blown up there?) Strange how the wind can be so atomic all the way to the top, but the summit is calm enough to play cards.
Passed the snowshoers coming down on my way up. Nice fellows from Denver, with their own winter fourteeners quest. By and by they aim to get there. Anyway, they were motivated to get out on New Year's Day, presumably moderating the night before. Gotta have priorities. Happy to get back to my skis again because, well, who doesn't love it when all you gotta do is ride while they slide. Did have to pay attention with tight turns on the nail-hardness windpack in the gully. But from there, I was just along for the ride. Caught the snowshoers at the junction and then kept going, back at the car about 6 P.M.. Next day (Jan 2), next fourteener, or two! Road not plowed to Blank Creek trailhead so decided to go from Angel of Shavano campground. Figured it would be more packed. True, for about a mile. Then it was bust the crust up over a bunch of moraines for a looooong time. It took me 5 hours to reach the bottom of the Angel and only two hours from there (just below treeline) to the summit. Seems like the system works well. Skis until the snow runs out (usually at the ridge) and then into the Sportivas for the summit dash. One small snag this time -- what's a climbing trip without an epic? I stashed my skis at what I thought was a very conspicuous boulder on the obvious trail, but turned out to be wrong on both the conspicuous and obvious parts. There are a lot of boulders up there and also a lot of trails (and a lot of trampled tundra therefore). So, after tagging Shavano at dusk and dashing over to Tabeguache in the dark (a project like this requires a bit of stubborness), I started looking for the skis. Brought the headlamp this time, but to no avail. At midnight, I still hadn't found them, even though I probably only had a 2-3 acre area to search. There was no way I was going to hike down, slog out the knee-deep snow to the truck and then slog back up the next day. So I dug a snow cave and got cozy. Actually, it was horrible with no bivy gear: waking up every ten minutes with tremulous shivers. I toughed it out for four hours until, at five, I decided to take my chances with the pre-dawn. Still no luck searching for the skis, but I did see five shooting stars, so I figured I had some kind of luck on the way. After looking into the possibility that the bighorn sheep had dragged them off, the sun came up and solved things right away. Silly me, if only I had that kind of candlepower on my head. So here I am, taking another rest day, because of the wastage and forecasted dump. December 28 - 2004 Toes still affected by frostbite from Longs. Can confidently diagnose as partial thickness. Just removed big toenail from L toe and blebs continue to weep. Oh well, no signs of gangrene and they're healing.
Looking forward to having a little more snow on the Sawatch; looking at them from Sherman, they were pretty bare. There's so much vertical - and often longish approaches - that being able to ski would be very very nice. December 27 - 2004 December 25 -
2004 December 23 - 2004
|
-
-
-
Custom Search
