An August roundup

Yesterday I enjoyed the benefit of not having to worry about thunderstorms and got up at the lazy hour of 7 am for a day in the mountains. A partner bailed but I still went out and climbed the West Ridge of Pacific Peak.

The approach thoroughly taxed me. It wasn't until I was descending back to the truck I realized how steep the hike was. Add to the fact that I went too high and wound up on the west ridge of Atlantic Peak, before descending to the Pacific Creek basin.

The ridge was rather easy and I ran up the thing quickly. A little over halfway up, the fun stops and talus slogging begins. I've come to terms years ago that I am not a peak-bagger. For me it's the journey that makes the day. So when the climbing ended, I reversed course and downclimbed, a little off the ridge crest this time, and got back to the basin.

Forgot the camera on the desk in my loft so no pictures. Not that I was stopped long enough to really do more than take in the views of the basins and the shrill chirps of pikas and marmots.

Some pics from previous excursions the past few weeks:

Spent three days in the Sangre de Cristo mountain range again. Only had one good day of climbing weather, where I rode up the worst road known to man (Hermit Pass Road) and climbed some headwalls that were more than I planned. Also the steep talus and forest in between made for a very stout 1,200 feet of climbing.

The camera tilt doesn't do it justice. Scampered up 10 feet before realizing I couldn't get off the rock on to the steep talus without possibly destroying an ankle or sliding down 100 feet into the forest. So I climbed up the slopping slab.



Some idyllic mountain stream photos. The stillness of the forest was buzzing with the flights of bees and other assorted winged critters. Great place to eat lunch and contemplate the noise of life.





The false summit of Horn Peak tries to peek out from clouds. I took the wrong trail and once near treeline, discovered everything was saturated with moisture. Any climbing was out for that day. Still got about 12 miles of forested hiking in of getting yelled at by numerous garrulous squirrels.



Fun Sangre rock. Some closeups on a boulder problem I scrapped my way up during my hiking.





Crestone Needle and other peaks in the south of the group. Drove up a 4WD road to treeline and nearly got blown away. Constant wind around 40 mph with gusts upwards to 60 mph. My hat blew away once while I waited for the blustery conditions to abate. They never did and so I left. Wasn't going to do a solo ridge climb in such conditions. I like me!







Weston Pass. Decided to check out a road I had passed numerous times in South Park. I got led to this spot, where I ran up a 13er near the pass and got snowed on coming down.

Weston Pass

Since the weather was gloomy and dreary on my days off in Denver, I sought sanctuary someplace that would be less damp.

I wound up heading out to Buena Vista for it is turning out to be an annual pilgrimage. The weather was unsettled to say the least: sunshine, quick storms, heavy wind, return to sunshine, repeat and recycle.

Still I got in some bouldering sessions in between the brief squalls. Funny how I was climbing stronger and harder in February than I am now in July. But I have been preoccupied with other activities and as a result, my climbing acumen has slipped.

On the way back I decided to sate a long-standing curiosity and turned down Weston Pass Road. The dirt track is located a few miles west of Fairplay and leads up into forested hills and, deeper into the heart, mountains.

Beautiful forested area that stands out starkly to the juxtaposing flat vastness of South Park. I grinded up in 4-wheel-drive to the pass, located a few hundred feet shy of 12,000 feet.



The weather was miserable; cold, beyond blustery and the grey sky streaked with sideways sleet. I donned my rain shell and stretched my legs by first walking, and then jogging uphill to the rounded hump in front of me.



The jogging didn't seem so arduous because of the miserable conditions I was running through. Alternating between a quick walk and a slow job, I made it up to the top of the bump. I saw it was a false summit and the true top lay close by. However finding myself completely exposed now to the elements, the wind which I though couldn't be possibly worst below, was renewed with extra vigor at the top.

I began my run down and was greated by falling snowflakes when I reached the truck. Oddly enough, it was the second time I've been snowed on in July.

Shirtless wishing for gloves

"Um... uh-oh," Ian called out. He laid down on the rock peering down ahead of me on the ridge. We had just finish climbing the third gendarme on the North Ridge of Mt Neva.

The ridge can go as mostly class 3 with a class 4 section. I read that doing the direct ridge, as in not bypassing the towers and dropping off to the sides goes at Class 5. So the sporting way was the one we picked.

I made my way towards him on the gendarme to see him turn around, lower his bottom half over the edge and then just the whitened fingers of both hands on top of the incisors of a rock flake. I peered down and saw what made him pause. It was a 15-foot downclimb, slightly overhung and very devoid of holds. I spotted a fin sticking out of a thin crack as the only foothold.

I positioned myself over and asked Ian to watch me and help direct my foot to the needed hold. After playing footsy with the rock for half a minute, I finally wedged my boot on it.

This wasn't going to work. My leg was akimbo in a half chicken wing position. The hold was way too high up for me to utilize it with my body positioning. So I backed off and told him I was going to check the sides. On the east side of the ridge there was a downclimb with some holds and then a blind move across a bulging face.

I made my way down and while there were footholds to the side of the bulge, I could not find a good handhold to keep myself in balance. I peered down the 300 or so feet below me down to the bottom of the cirque. Finally I finessed my way around the bulge, joined Ian on the other side of the gendarme, and let out a breath.

"That wasn't as easy as it looked," I informed him.

On the trail heading to the north ridge of Mount Neva, the skyline in the distance


Looking at the ridge from near the start






Ian above me on one of the first downclimbs. We came from the right of Ian's head. There were about four major downclimbs we did on the route.


Ian at an easier part of the ridge. A party of three in front of us. They bypassed much of the "fun" stuff that we tackled head on.




Looking down through a notch in the ridge at Lake Dorothy below


Ian coming across the last sketchy section on the ridge. The photo doesn't do the situation justice. It is an awkward knife-edge arete with serious exposure -- 500 feet down -- on Ian's left side. When I tackled the arete I found myself climbing up and facing straight out into the void. Thrilling!


Chewing up the last bit of scrambling and hiking to the summit of Mt Neva




Summit shot. I look odd.


We found the route description's crux section to be rather easy compared to some of the other climbing. We both agreed that the climbing was pretty easy and thought it was Class 4 with Class 5 consequences in a lot of spots.

Instead of reversing the ridge, I led us to a saddle between Neva and Jasper Peak. I spotted a lower-angle talus field leading to a valley between the mountains. When we got to some snow, I made a deal with Ian; he could use my trekking pole for the glissade down but I was keeping my rainpaints to keep my ass dry.

I grabbed a couple of rocks to use for self-arresting if needed and down I went. Ian followed and really enjoyed his first glissade. At first slightly apprehensive about the snow travel, by the time we finished our way down the valley, he was totally comfortable and talking about getting an ice ax.

Ian after his second glissade.


I have to give myself a pat on the back for picking a pretty good line on the bushwack out of the valley and back to the Arapahoe Pass trail. We only had to survey one time through a thick copse of stunted evergreen. We leaped over a quick-running stream and only had to make our way on the periphery of one bog. Probably the easiest bushwack I've had in the Indian Peaks.

On the trek out to the trail






As for the meaning of the title, when we got to the start of the ridge, it was cloudy and the wind was blowing hard. We had ever layer on and each wishing we had brought our hats and gloves. I contemplated about our chances of continuing in the bitter cold as we were ill-equipped.

The wind subsided partway through the climb and I got warmth in my hands halfway through the ridge.

On the way back, the sun broke through the clouds finally and we hiked back out with our shirts off because it was so warm.

All in all, another glorious day in the mountains.