But that pixilated nectarine on my computer screen was telling me otherwise. So was the forecast for heavy rain Saturday night and thunderstorms after lunch. So Indian Peaks it was.
Met up in Boulder and drove up Boulder Canyon, past Nederland, past Eldora and right before the paved road turned to dirt, Danielle slaps her leg and exclaims, "I left my boots in my car!" She was wearing flipflops.
Boulder Canyon is a beautiful drive but one I don't ever want to have to do back-to-back on very little sleep and only one to-go mug of coffee. Finally we were off from the Fourth of July trailhead. Due to starting an hour tardy, I changed destinations, foregoing Mt Neva's Class 4 North Ridge for Jasper Peak's East Ridge.
On the way to Diamond Lake
Whoever designed the trail to Diamond Lake really was in no hurry. The lake is practically due west from the trailhead. Yet you start off going north a mile on the Arapahoe Pass trail before branching off and making a giant horseshoe back around on the other side of the creek to get to the lake in two miles. True it is pretty, but you could save me the superlatives and get me to the alpine zone much quicker
It was on the NW shore that Danielle decided to call it a day. Her blisters which formed the week before on our Kenosha Peak outing never healed fully and her taping job was making them worst. We agreed to either meet back on this side of the lake or at the truck if I didn't see her on the trail.
Diamond Lake
So up I went through stands of evergreens and meadows, acres of beautiful meadows. I could have spent the rest of the day just laying on a boulder surrounded by such scenery.
I entered an upper basin which held Upper Diamond Lake, crossed over a high point and then made my way to a lower basin below the East Ridge.
Last remnants of winter
What remains of the couloir climbs on Jasper Peak
The East ridge is a choss pile. A giant, ankle-busting, tedious choss pile. I came to climb, not trudge up hundreds of feet on mountainous detritus. And so I spied this tower lowered down on the ridge. I'm sure it has a name but nobody would be dumb enough to climb the thing since it is out of the way to the summit.
Well, the "Jas" Tower met me that day. Great banded gneiss with very few incuts. I forgot how much fun it is smearing in full steel-shanked mountaineering boots. You put your foot down and tell it to stay there - and sometimes it listens.
I'd say 80 feet of low-fifth class, unless you go up the overhanging headwall, in which case, good luck.
From there a rising traverse on crud. Balance, lunge step, balance, don't knock that block down on you, balance, stub toes... I hate this crap! This is the kind of stuff I do my best to avoid and here I was embracing the idea of a mile-long ridge and two-thousand feet of this hell.
Actually on my equally-helacious downclimb, I decided Sisyphus isn't pushing a boulder up a slope in hell for eternity. He's hiking up and down talus forever and ever.
I should tardily preface that I was on fumes the entire day. I must have rode my bike too hard, lifted too much weight at the gym on Saturday. Because my reserves which always pop up a couple miles into a trip never surfaced. I was languid in my movements, never finding the energy to keep a constant pace.
The ridge is long with several points along the way. Don't climb up these points! It's a waste.
False summit
Finally at Point "12,580 - waste of my time" I saw the final push to the top. This is why I endured all this other crap for. Was it worth it? No, not to that degree. But what solid rock I could find was pure gold. Hewed granite so sharp it nearly cut my fingers and fins of banded gneiss. You can get up to the top with a little bit of 3rd-class scrambling.
I didn't come all this way for 3rd-class scrambling.
I wished there was more than 500 feet of this. Funny I found my reserves when I was climbing but not choss slogging.
When I got to the top there were two points at almost identical height. I tagged both so I could be sure of a summit. Didn't bother looking for a register since I don't sign them.
Icebergs in lake 11,836
Can you tell I'm tired?
It took me two hours from Diamond Lake to the summit - plus my little sidetrip up the tower. Total was 3 hours from the car. God I was slow.
Some pictures of the surroundings:
My time on top was cut short. A seemingly innocent cloud was growing very quickly. It was already black to the east, north and south. I knew my time in the sunshine was coming to an end. "Just give me an hour please," I beseeched to the mountain gods.
It was black shortly after I got back to the saddle. I cut across and stayed 50-100 feet below the ridge crest; no point in being a tall target. I descending traverse down the slope, making sure not to drop too soon and get cliffed out.
Finally when I thought I would go insane with any more banging of my toes, precarious near spills and any more F#@$%@# LOOSE ROCK!!!!, I got to the basin. I plodded across, was redirected by channels delved deep into the tundra and willow stands. Finally I bashed through with the grace of a ravaged grizzly.
More cutting across and I got myself cliffed out. It would have been a long traverse to get around it & I just wanted down. God bless Mount Erie and its myriad of Class 4 approach trails. The practice served me well.
I passed Upper Diamond Lake...
And then that's when I nearly died. The only notice I got was a rumble way off in the distance. As I hiked down as briskly as I could encumbered with the pain and fatigue I shouldered...
Purple, blinding purple, a crack so dry you thought the universe was swallowing itself inside out, and I sizzled! I frigging was charged!!! I don't know if the bolt came down behind me, in front of me or to one of the sides. That was my warning shot.
A bolt struck the South Ridge of Jasper Peak, another one struck the East Ridge I just came off of. Two more crackled and came down partially above my head.
I ran! I ran and hurdled boulders, trees. Down! Down! Down! I must get down! And finally I reached tree line. I found an island of trees near Diamond Lake. The gods threw down more bolts over my head. I was getting ruthlessly pelted with quarter-sized hail. As I fished into my backpack at my island of safety, thoughts entered my head. I still have to teach Hannah how to ski. I don't want to go just yet, not like this.
I've come close to death twice before. This time; the sheer randomness and unknowing on if you are going to get struck, that was the terrifying part. I know the mountains are going to claim me one day. I'll know I am on my final journey if I fall to my death. But not this way.
I thought of waiting it out but two more boom-flashes which rose the hair on my neck made my mind up. Rather go running. So I ran from tree clump to tree clump, getting off the trail and away from the lake.
It was only when I reached the far shore that I calmed down some. The mountain gods were finished with their archery practice and kept their bolts in the sky.
The final two miles to the truck were somber. Painful and somber. In my exhaustion I stubbed my toes too many times to count. Towards the end it got to be so painful I would curl into a ball, clinch my fist and grimace in the exclamation I wished to curse out.
A short distance from the trailhead Danielle popped up. It took me a second for her to register. I explained my ordeal on the way back to the truck.
There are no winners in the mountains. Tread with a humble step & enjoy your sojourn at this temple. You don't know what the admission fee might be.
ADDENDUM
The mountains gave me the hour I pleaded for. In their puissant humor, they started throwing the lightning down 15 minutes after my time was up.
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