Mt. Meeker and Long's from Loft Route

Mt. Meeker (13911')
Longs Peak (14259')
Mt. Lady Washington (13,281' / separate trip)



Earlier this summer, I took a couple more trips up Longs Peak. Since both of my previous trips were at least 12 hours long, it was nice to go a little faster and explore a bit more.

On the first trip, I headed up the Loft, tagged Meeker, then headed around to re-join the Homestretch for a Longs summit.
The following week, I joined Dan T. and Phil K. for a fun run up the Keyhole, followed by a summit of Mount Lady Washington on the way down. (The extra summit of MLW was a suprisingly fun addition for scrambling along the ridge and getting great views of the Diamond).

I took some video of Meeker from the Loft, I hope you enjoy it. (The climbing section clips are sped up to shorten the video!) Meeker is fun because summiting from either direction (including the long East ridge) requires travelling across talus on a knife edge. There is a summit register that is slightly lower than the true summit block -- standing on the summit block (thankfully and possible on a day with light winds) makes for a spectacular summit that is the polar opposite in both size and crowds from Longs summit.

meeker longs from mike hinterberg on Vimeo.

Missouri, Belford, Oxford, Emerald, Iowa, Pecks -- Sawatch Six-Pack

Nick has already had a writeup for a week, but in any case, wanted to make sure there was interesting beta on a great route on the Sawatch.

The Missouri-Belford-Oxford trio of Sawatch 14ers is a fairly common combination of 14ers, with the peaks being relatively close together and often either done in a one-day push or by backpackers who enjoy a few days in the gorgeous Missouri Gulch. It's still a lot of vertical in terms of 14er hiking, especially considering the re-climb of Belford that is necessary to avoid significant bushwhacking, but all 3 mountains have accessible Class 2 trails.

Furthermore, for those who haven't set sight on these peaks, Gerry Roach's famous book points out that which is also suggested by topo maps: accessibility of other centennial 13er peaks, Emerald and Iowa. Thus, a 5-mountain combo, which charts at about 16.5 miles, also makes for a nice day. I've been intrigued by this route for a few summers, ever since reading it on the toilet or waiting for an appointment or wherever I typically scan Roach's book for a quick 5-10 minute glance, but there are only so many good alpine weekends and opportunities in a year.

Since some of us were headed up to Leadville for the weekend, and the weather was looking quite favourable, I pitched the idea to the Nick's (Pedatella and Clark), despite a plan to run 21 miles at night in Leadville; which, at a social pace and after a one-way shuttle, I claimed would be "free" miles that were not at risk of being un-run. Luckily, they were game for this plan.

Then I worried about pace, but there was usual talk of taking it easy, feeling a little slow, having run a 50k the previous weekend (them) or an atypically high number of miles during the week (me), etc. Everyone was kinda telling the truth, but I still dogged behind a bit...although I was the only one with a camera and taking pictures!

Anyway, we got started from Missouri Gulch just before 7am, and hit Missouri, Iowa, and Emerald first. Missouri was the most interesting of the 14ers, with more of a fun ridge than the other 2, while Emerald was the sexiest looking, in my opinion.



Next up was the only real route decision-making: heading over to Elkhead Pass. Roach's book basically suggested re-summiting Iowa. Pedatella and I discussed dropping all the way down the basin, by the lakes (I also thought about getting some water here), with the tradeoff of extra climb/descent being done at easier terrain at lower elevation. As it turned out, we just followed Clark on a direct, loose talus sidehilling slog. Other reports make note of this less-enjoyable route. It gets the job done -- and Clark was moving really well in that area -- but was certainly the least fun part of it. Coupled with running low on water later (nothing available up high), I might suggest considering the low route.

But we made it to Elkhead Pass, and soon were on our way up Belford. Without much haste, we bounced down the saddle and then up to Oxford, which had a couple of small false summits, but was otherwise a quick and straightforward scurry. Reversing our tracks, we were back up on Belford, still enjoying perfect weather. One more decision remained, but ended up unanimous, as we forewent the standard switchbacking descend down Belford in favour of "ascending" one more (named-but-uranked) peak, Peck's Peak, which is really a final bump on the North Ridge.
Besides the satisfaction of another peak, this gave us a fun extra mile ridge run, and we got to see some mountain goats we otherwise would have missed:


I poked around the farther end of the ridge a bit before descending straight down, whereas the other guys took off from the summit. Their terrain was more rocky tundra, whereas further down the ridge it was enough scree to ski a couple turns at a time (before being broken up by tufts of tundra). Other than filling up the shoes with rocks, it was more enjoyable of a descent than I anticipated.

Otherwise, my fixation was on water, as I ran out. I had only taken 2 bottles up (as had the others) as I had word that there was ample water in the gulch, but that was only in the lower parts where people were camped, so I had pushed it for the last hour, and I wanted to play with my Steripen anyway, which I had been carrying all day...and failed, again, with annoying blinking red lights. Ah well. So I wasted time doing that and finally met the other guys at the trailhead.

Anyway, it was a fun morning up high and certainly a classic route to consider to get your money's worth from the trailhead.

Plan B: Winter Bierstadt

After Saturday's fun and sunny Salida Marathon, I was looking to do get up high Sunday morning. It's almost the end of winter, and I hadn't been up any 14ers, which is a shame in this low snow year.

Since I was already in the Sawatch, something down there made more sense. By Friday, I was leaning heavily towards Antero, as the weather forecast was very favorable, with sunshine, 30-degree temps, and low winds. I didn't bring my skis or any sort of flotation, expecting to stick to running a packed trail. My legs felt fine after the race, so it seemed like a good opportunity.

But as the afternoon wore on, various details piled together that convinced me to scrap that plan. The biggest part was the updated weather forecast: sustained 20-30mph winds, gusts up to 45mph. Ugh. I still drove up toward Mt. Princeton Hot Springs to check things out, and saw the snow still piled up in the trees below the trailhead. Finally, there was a ridge section on the final summit push that had some Class 3 (because the trail was covered in snow) and possibly traversing a short section of snow field. Putting this together, I would have to slog a bit up until treeline (though I did read it was mostly packed), be exposed to the wind for several hours, and have to bring my ice ax with me the entire way for a couple of spots. Frankly, I'd had enough of the wind this year, and when several factors start piling on together (in addition to being fatigued and solo), I began to realize there was a chance of not summiting and not having sufficient fun.
(Note: Later I read that it was a 13-hour day for one guy on Saturday, which had perfect weather. But also, Mt. Princeton via Tigger was perfectly packed and mostly dry on Saturday, meaning the only factor would have been possible wind. That would have been the best option.

So I aborted that plan, and came up with Plan B: Mt. Bierstadt. This is an appropriate emergency backup option because I've considered Bierstadt to be an abortion of a mountain. I've previous called it an "ugly, unspiring, and bulbous mass," and the summer finds it loaded with bucket-listers and tourist gapers, with not a moment for silent reflection between the crowded parking lots and toilets below and the mass above. But it would at least be uncrowded* and relatively safe for a winter ascent, and be closer to home so I could get back in town early in the afternoon instead of late at night. (*Hypocritically, the popularity, even in winter, helps pack down the trail through the willows so that I did not need flotation. Yes, I'm quite aware of this irony, and thankful for the previous hikers).

So I pulled up Guanella Pass and drove to the closure, joining one other parked car, and then slept for the night.

Being Daylight Savings Time, I woke up an hour later, by government decree, yet no more refreshed. Another few cars had assembled, and I saw 2 parties take off, as I leisurely got ready, heating up some water for oatmeal and coffee. Hmmm, it's cloudier than I expected... I met another couple getting ready to head out, and noted their Packer hats, chatting with them briefly about our shared homeland. While I wasn't adorned in any Packer paraphernalia, I did have my blaze orange facemask, which is about as common in Lambeau Field crowds in November as green or gold.

Fittingly, as we headed off, it began to snow.

I jogged lightly up the road, about 2 miles from the Guanella Pass trailhead. This extra credit jog would mean about 10 miles on the day, and put us over 3000 feet of gain total, which is another pleasant reason to head up here in winter.

Near the parking lot, I saw the group of 3 women that headed out about 20 minutes before me on snowshoes, and the solo gentleman who was crossing the willows. I chatted with him briefly before heading onto the trail.

The willows are infamous, and Gerry Roach has a hilarious take on them in his classic 14ers book. Apparently, there's a significant improvement with boardwalks through some of the boggier areas. In the winter, the reality is deep snow and postholing. However, on this day, with more recent traffic than snow, the trail was in prime condition. Stepping off to the side would lead to waist-deep snow, but postholing was otherwise avoidable. The willows weren't a problem at all.

After this flat section, we began more actual climbing, as the trail proper switchbacked upward. The wind was picking up more now, from the southwest, blowing small pellets of snow and stinging my eyes. I had planned on sunglasses combined with balaclava and facemask to be sufficient, but had no excuses for not having brought goggles instead.

Visibility was now getting poor, and I used the occasional posts to spot the trail, but soon enough the trail itself wasn't clear. I've read about mistakes of returning too deep into the drainage, so I occasionally turned around and made out the view as best I could of the descent, knowing that my footsteps would be obscured by the wind. I saw another hiker up above, greeted him briefly, and headed on -- shortly after that, I never saw him again, so I questioned my choice of route.

After climbing for a bit, I saw a party of 2 up ahead. I couldn't tell which direction they were headed, but I headed towards them, and a large cairn behind them, suggesting I was still at least near the route. They were now descending, and I asked how it was up there. "We just went up to the cairn," they said, "and decided to turn around, since we can't see anything." I agreed that it wasn't a bad idea, but kept on, and they told me to be careful.

That made me feel a bit more lonely. The summit itself was nowhere near to be seen, but hey, It's just Bierstadt. I still didn't need my microspikes, but slipped a bit on the snow. On one spot, I feel face first and landed squarely on my water bottle, which jammed against my ribs. I decided to stop at the next large rock, add a later of clothes, and put on the spikes.

The wind was not excessive or gusty -- maybe 20mph sustained -- but consistent and cold enough that 20 seconds of skin exposure would mean another couple of minutes of jamming my hands into my armpits or crotch to warm them up again, just so I could fumble with things like zippers. I eventually got everything in order and headed up into the great white unknown.

Finally, I the terrain was noticeable larger talus, and I recognized the final ridge, with a large windbreak and several large cairns. There's a short section of class 2 here, but it was a bit more fun and motivating to be near the top, while peering over the cornices and dropoffs to the right.

Soon enough, I was on an empty summit:



The views toward the Sawtooth weren't ideal, but in a way looked even more forbidding in the snow:


After warming up my hands from taking pictures, I began heading down, and noticed the views to the west were actually opening up:


I've already seen, and evangelized, the fact that the views in that direction are better from Square Top Mountain, and now I can say with certainty that Square Top is also hands-down a more enjoyable and scenic hike than the Bierstadt standard trail.

But, I've softened a bit on Bierstadt as a whole. The Sawtooth certainly looks like a fun route, and the views in that direction from the summit are an enjoyable treat. Bierstadt can be a fun, light winter-mountaineering trip in the winter, as well as sunrise/sunset/full moon hikes. Or, just chilling out and being leisurely or goofy in the summer, I imagine. It's still a nice area, so I could see coming back for Wilcox/Argentine, Grey Wolf/Spaulding, and other such loops.

Now, as I descended, the weather became markedly improved. The wind nearly stopped, and felt warmer when it did blow. Occasional sun replaced snow, and I could have kept my gloves off the entire time and still been comfortable. What a significant change in conditions in about an hour. I could make out the Packer duo headed up the mountain still -- glad they pressed on toward an even better weather window. We chatted briefly and they asked how the summit was, so I did a discount double-check Aaron Rodgers touchdown move. Then I bounded down the mountain some more in Microspikes, feeling much more alive in the better weather. As I descended, I did notice my ribcage hurt even more than it did before, especially when taking deep breaths or bending or twisting. That could have been more serious, and still hurts today, but seems to be getting better. What a lame injury, and I think I'll store my water bottle in a different place and try not to fall.

Bierstadt. Did I really just type a whole Blog entry on it? I guess I did.

More Running in the Sangres: Humboldt Peak

Humboldt Peak (14064')
Standard Route from lower 2WD TH
18M RT, 1M elevation gain
~5:10 moving, 5:45 total

I wanted to maximize my time with a quick weekend in the Sangre de Cristo Range, so I checked out Humboldt Peak. Among 14ers, Humboldt is deserving of its reputation of being comparatively easy, especially among the Sangres, when approached from the Class 2 walkup standard route from Colony Lakes. However, this "shapeless hump", as Roach calls it, also provides a great vantage point for viewing the Crestones, shown here in morning alpenglow:



The Colony Lakes area below is a common approach to Humboldt and surrounding peaks, and is therefore a popular backpacking spot. In the last couple years, several miles of very rough road have been gated off, to the dismay of the drive-slower-than-I-could-walk-or-bike crowd. The lower part of the road is still open and more manageable when going slowly, but in order to make this route interesting, I started at the very bottom trailhead. I am (still) not collecting 14ers, but this sounded like a good addition to a decent run.

I set up camp Saturday afternoon at the trailhead, where a few cars were parked and another showed up shortly after, with Sal(?) and his son Mario and dog Jake. We chatted a bit that night and the next day, it turns out 8-year-old Mario is into climbing the 14ers and has done quite a few already, eager to do more. The best part was when he said to his Dad, "Well I think I'm going to start getting ready for bed so we can get up early tomorrow!" It was cool to see his enthusiasm. They were setting up a camper and planning on driving up to the upper TH in the morning.

My 'camp' was sleeping in the back of our Civic -- did I mention we bought that for gas mileage (~40mpg for my Denver commutes) and that part of my test drive was folding the seats down to see if I could fit? Anyway, I do and it works nicely.

I wanted to get up around 3 for an attempted sunrise hike, but awoke to some light rain. I thought about it some more and then heard thunder, which settled it for me. I waited a bit, and by 4:30 the rain and thunder had both passed. That also meant more sleep and less time jogging at night during prime mountain lion time. So by 5AM, I was off, and only needed the headlamp for less than half an hour.

The road was a nice start to the run because it's easy and straightforward even at night. I had thought that I might be passed by cars heading up on the road, but instead my run was blissfully quiet and calm. Eventually I hit Colony Lakes, where I saw 2 people heading down from dawn patrol. Seeing them bundled up, I then remembered that sunrise hikes are always more romanticized than reality: usually the wind picks up right as the sun is rising, and none of the peak is yet exposed to the warmth of the sun, so you might be sacrificing 10-20 degrees of temperature right there.

After the road ends, the trail narrows and undulates before finally reaching switchbacks at timberline. Were the switchbacks runnable? This guy says yes:


Unfortunately, I tired out a bit and hiked most of this, so I wasn't making any blazingly fast progress. Mostly, the incessant wind made it even harder to breathe. But I caught up and passed the only other 2 guys above treeline. Rather than being busy with peak-baggers as I feared, the early morning was serene and I only saw 4 hikers on the way up. Finally, the views (and wind!) opened up at the top of the ridge, which is all Class 2. Some faint trails and cairns wind here-and-there, but awkward steps, wobbly talus, and directional changes mean that the running is over up here, and it was also time to put on pants (legs), wool hat, and wind shell. Most of the work, then, is up to a false summit, and then a quick bolt up the ridge itself to the summit.

I enjoyed the complete break from the wind and thawed my hands in the sun, with the summit to myself for about 15 minutes, before heading down. On the switchbacks, I saw the trio from the night before, and Mario was still in good spirits, ready to get up top.

After that came more folks in bunches, but still not the huge crowds that I feared.
agoracrophobia (noun): An irrational fear of crowds in high places. Also see: a psychiatrist! (rimshot)

Finally, a long but enjoyable descent on South Colony Road. I took it easy until the last 3 miles below the upper trailhead, and then had fun opening it up a bit. The cursed, rocky road -- no fun for walking or driving -- can be fun for running, with the right attitude.

All in all, another fun route for running, plus an easy scramble up top. I'm just feeling like exploring now when I can on the weekends, which is what summer is best for, I guess. I feel like I'm going pretty slowly, which is the bad news, but I feel like I can keep going slowly all day and night, which is hopefully good news.

Pikes Peak or Bust

Pikes Peak Marathon Route (Barr Trail/Cutoff from Manitou)
26+M, 7800' gain
6 hours moving, 7 hours with gaping and donuts


I decided to go up Pikes Peak on foot for Independence Day weekend. This wasn't necessarily spurred by my patriotism and the desire to go up the peak that inspired "America, the Beautiful," but mostly laziness on planning a route for a decent long run and wanting to go up a peak without snow or routefinding issues (that also has donuts and coffee on top). Plus, though I knew it would be relatively crowded, that made it easier for me to be lackadaisical about overpreparing for safety considerations. Especially since I decided to do this at about midnight before going to bed, only to wake up at 4AM to drive down there on Sunday. (I wish I had planned better, I certainly could have carpooled with some folks from the Fort. When you ride alone, you ride with bin Laden).

The Barr trail is a Class 1 trail that winds its way up from Manitou Springs, below 7000 feet, to the top of Pikes, which is above 14,000 feet. This is the most gain of a single trail in the state of Colorado. For this reason, it's the site of the annual Pikes Peak Ascent and Marathon in August of every year (the same weekend as Leadville). I've never done it, but certainly appreciate the vast amount of information online about the course. Some people are really into this race. I didn't initially "get" this, as my only previous visit, driving, made me feel like it was an uninspirational tourist trap, but after spending the day on the trail, I only just began to understand the appeal: the varied terrain and character of the race make it a very tactical one, and I can only imagine that charging back down into Manitou with crowds at the finish line would be quite memorable.

But this was just a training run, and I had no idea what to expect. I do recall reading that a common estimate of the ascent is roughly your flat marathon time (if you're used to some altitude), so I figured 3-ish hours on the ascent. Mostly, since I left at 7am, I wanted a realistic buffer for getting up and back down to treeline before possible afternoon storms. But that would be a consistent race effort without taking any wrong turns, and since I characteristically failed at that, I ended up taking almost 3.5 hours up. First, I ended up taking a wrong turn somehow and ending up near the top of the Incline. On the correct return route, I traced my wrong turn to a small trail between the National Forest sign and the Rock Arch. Whoops! I'm guessing I followed somebody nearby on that turn or saw people above and headed that way, it sure got steep in a hurry. I had to ask a few people how to get back the Barr trail and only one guy out of a dozen or so had an idea, which led me back on track.

Shortly after that, back on track, I felt something hit against my leg. I checked my pack and found it was still closed, thinking that my pockets were otherwise secure, so I kept on. Luckily, I noted the spot that that happened, because 5 minutes later my keys fell out of my back pocket (mt. bike shorts with a hole in them). That meant that the previous item was my cell phone, which was also in my back pocket, 5 minutes back up the trail. I headed back and looked for a good 6 or 7 minutes, before luckily spotting the phone off the side of the trail. Glad I found it, and perhaps with better preparation in the morning I wouldn't have done silly things like this.

Now I was back on track for a grind. I certainly enjoyed the cooler, shaded areas on a day when the cities below were pushing 100 degrees. Trail traffic was heavy for what I'm used to, but definitely respectful and easy to get around people. All kinds of shapes and sizes were out for hiking, backpacking, and running. The running group certainly filtered out after the top of the Incline, and even moreso after Barr camp.

Barr camp had a fair number of people milling around, but I kept on moving. I knew I could get water here if necessary, but I way overdid it and brought 4 bottles with me. I switched out for the other 2 bottles here and the lighter weight in my pack was noticeably appreciated.

Now more of a grind up, and I was definitely appreciating the above-treeline views. It now looked like a legitimate mountain. The weather was gorgeous, with a very light wind that was manageable with shorts and a long-sleeve shirt. Again, in the theme of overpreparation, I had a solid windproof/waterproof shell that I ended up not needing at all.

Despite some sections being steeper than others, I prided myself on running every step, save for a few 2-3 step sections through tight boulders. Finally I hit the (in)famous 16 Golden Stairs, which were rockier, and I didn't mind hiking here with short occasionally running spurts. Finally, I hit the summit right around 4 hours on my watch (including the backtracking and cell phone search) -- the most surreal summit situation I've ever been on.

Inexplicably, however, despite having a routine run on a mountain route I wasn't particulary focused on, I was hit with a massive wave of a runner's high at the top. This hasn't happened quite as dramatically in a year or two, and I can't quite predict when it will, although my unscientific observation is that it generally occurs when relaxing after a very long but steady effort (I've had the feeling more frequently on long, multiple-mountain pass bike rides). I can't predict nor understand this stuff. I was quite at peace and relaxed on the way up, and said hello to every single hiking group I encountered (which was dozens). The entire run, I was quite happy and at peace with the surroundings. But then, after all that work, you're treated to a parking lot full of tourist gapers, huffing and puffing at the prospect of getting from their car to the gift shop.

So, my runner's high was short-lived as I re-acclimated into the mundane. I had to cut through gift shop lines just to get to the cafeteria area. I waited in line for summit donuts and a capuccino. In a thick southern accent: "Daddy got a dozen donuts, so 2 for each of you" as the kids whined impatiently. Despite perfect weather outside, the tables inside were packed with people eating, consuming crappy food and crappy gift-shop trinkets. Why experience something when you can buy it? The American Way. At the time, though, I was just an amused and calm observer.

I didn't feel like waiting in line to take a picture in front of the summit sign, so I walked over to a non-descript pile of rocks forming the true summit. I was alone, briefly, before a few others wandered over and thanked me for showing them the "real" summit. I snapped a few pictures for them before heading off.

Now despite my superior mountain attitude evident in the previous few paragraphs, I finally looked up at the sky after 25 minutes of dawdling, only to notice a dark cloud enveloping the entire summit. Rookie! Time to head down, quickly! Right at the top of the trail, a family posed for a picture for Dad above, without room to sneak behind. (Never stop in the middle of the trail/Be sure of what's around you). Call me a jerk if you want: I'm not sure if I was too impatient to wait 3 seconds or if it would have been 20, but I kept running, and the guy sarcastically said, "Thanks." In stride, I replied, "I have to run 13 more miles to avoid a storm, I'm not concerned about your *@#$ picture!" I hope that picture was a keeper.

Within minutes, it started precipitating. Guesses? Snow! Snow, on the 3rd of July. Enjoyable for the time, though, as the wind wasn't picking up, and there was no lightning or thunder. On the way down, as the snow stopped, a few people asked for weather reports. One group thought about turning around, and though I'm very conservative about lightning, I told them I couldn't strongly recommend not going for the summit, which might even be safer/closer for them. As it turned out, a few large clouds came over the summit, and all of them swept nicely to the Southeast, leaving most of the trail safe from weather.

I took it easy coming down and it was probably relatively slower (compared to race day) here than going up. Nearly everyone yielded but I didn't expect it, as I generally yield to uphill folks if possible. Happy to make it back down to treeline but still no real storms to speak of. Then, just kept plugging away down to Barr, and traffic was light and sometimes non-existent for longer stretches of time.

Finally got back down to the split toward the Incline and made note of my wrong turn. I knew I was within 40 minutes or so of my car and still had 2 water bottles left, so I switched out for the final time. Just before I started running again, 2 guys flew by. They were going slightly faster as I started running again, and they had bright white shoes and cotton sports shirts on, military muscle, and music loud enough to hear as they passed. I hadn't been passed all day, and my pride made me want to go a bit faster, but I told myself they had been doing a much shorter run and this was foolish. I kept my own pace while thinking about it, and as they hit the next switchback I heard sliding gravel, a thud, and curses.

One dude was face down in the dirt, his friend waiting by him (earbuds still in on both of them). We both asked the guy on the ground if he was OK, no response. I said, "Let's give him a minute, it probably hurts like hell and he's trying not to pass out or puke." After awhile, he sat up and did a systems check. His leg was scraped, but his friend checked out his ankle. "Oh, dude!" He could feel the ankle, but it was already visible swollen, an extra golf ball that appeared in minutes. He explained how he "Just did that last week but it was feeling better" and that they were feeling good coming off the Incline so he wanted to push it. I offered him water and he accepted, then his friend asked for some since they ran out. No problem, that's why I had extra. I said I'd stick around to see if he needed 2 people to help him down. He eventually got up and slowly hobbled under his own power, so it seemed like his buddy would have been sufficient if he needed it. I told him to find a stick (I didn't see one immediately) to keep weight off of it, but there wasn't much more to do (and plenty of other traffic), so I headed down.

Finally, back down to the creek, then the merciless pavement (Ow-Ow-Ow) and then Manitou itself. It was so quiet and quaint in the morning, and now it was lousy with tourists! I dodged parked cars, Harley's, and cigarette smoke, eventually getting back to the car in the park by the civic center, 7 hours after I started.

I enjoyed the simple route and logistics, and although I can't stand the summit parking lot and the sad way we generally relate to nature (at least I had low expectations: the crowded valley floor of Yosemite was more disappointing to me because I wasn't expecting it), the Barr trail itself is actually decent. This was slower than I might have liked, but I won't read too much into it with the extra gear I was carrying. All in all, a fun training day with some elevation.

Quandary Winter Ski

Quandary Peak Hike/Ski Descent (East Ridge/East Face)
6.75 miles (fall line!) RT, 3450' gain
~4 hours RT


Earlier this winter, I had a goal of some summit hikes and/or backcountry skiing some peaks. One mountain I had in mind was Quandary Peak, which is a popular 14er just south of Breckenridge. This is an intermediate ski descent with generally low avalanche conditions in winter and especially spring. It is also such a popular mountain that dozens of people climb it every fair-weather weekend, which means I would have zero interest in climbing it in the summer.

I actually made plans to climb it at about 6am last Saturday, the beginning of my spring break. I was headed West with my skis in the car, and I saw that the wind, weather, and avalanche conditions were finally favorable -- as was the actual conditions when I passed through the Eisenhower tunnel. Since I was solo, I also felt that going on a weekend with some other people on the mountain would help mitigate any risk. But just because I made hasty plans to climb it in the morning doesn't mean I hadn't prepared ahead of time: it was another mountain and popular route which I had read and studied months ahead of time.

I started around 10AM on the forest road just off of Hwy 9, with other cars already lining the road. I had a macho plan to climb up as far as I could with my waxless skis, but soon found that the packed snow was too slippery and steep, so that bootpacking was much easier. I had microspikes in my pack, but they remained there the entire time. I also hadn't really noticed the loops in the bottom of my pack, but it turns out they held my skis nicely. Perfect!




So I spent a couple hours heading up the trail. The packed trail made it mindless and easy through the trees, and the rest of the route was plain and obvious above treeline.


I had some quick conversations on the way up, and passed several groups on the final pitch. I don't mean to disregard any mountain, but this hike was fairly pedestrian. It's very much all relative, as my previous climb up Sherman, also considered an 'easier 14er' was significantly more difficult due to the wind and cold. All I mean to say is, once again, the 'bragging rights' of 'peak-bagging' is very much irrelevant without the context of the specific mountain, route, and conditions. I can see why this route is recommended as a first 14er as a quick bang-for-the-buck, but I would certainly recommend other peaks and routes for a more interesting hike. On a pleasant winter day with almost no wind, though, it was a good balance for a ski attempt, one which I would recommend even to skiers or snowboarders (with sufficient safety knowledge/precautions/conditions) willing to carry their gear.

So in this case, I was more apprehensive about the ski descent, since I'm especially uncoordinated at skiing my too-short, too-narrow, beat-up but lovable backcountry skis. I was unsure if I would stick to the ridge, which has a more conservative angle, or try out the classic East Face. The East Face has a modest slope, and a previous group's compression test was favaroable. And, as I climbed the ridge, though, I gained some new information: the ridge was icier, narrow, and interspersed with rocks; but I watched a previous climber descend the face on what looked like snow that at least had some measure of grip.

But first, the summit, after just over 2 hours, and break. The face looked steeper from above, of course. I would have had no doubts on my alpine skis, but took it very slowly as I cut all the way across the upper part of the mountain, repeatedly zig-zagging across hard, variable snow. This was incredibly inefficient and slower than hiking, but it was better technical practice and helped me gain confidence, as I was able to ski off the summit. I took a break after the top pitch, and then the rest of the section above treeline had much better snow and less rocks, as I was able to make a few turns. I zig-zagged down to treeline and then continued either on the icy trail or across some of the open areas. As the trees became more dense, I appreciated even more how this popular trench of a trail was even more bastardized by trains of snowshoers and hikers making weird, abrupt turns through narrow trees, making skiing nearly impossible, but I slowly slipped and crashed my way through, inefficiently taking nearly as much time to descend as I did to climb.

But, I did it with my skis, and it was more fun!

Gear
Fischer Outtabounds Crown)
Alpina 75mm 3-pin boots (soft)
Ski poles
10 essentials (including map, despite obvious route)
Emergency overnight bivvy and extra clothes (not needed)
Ice Ax (not needed)
Microspikes (not needed)

Gear Thoughts
Skins or bootpack necessary, waxless not sufficient for climbing (but I already suspected this)
More of a downhill setup (wider tele skis, plastic boots) recommended for downhill (but I already suspected this): saw 2 tele skis, 1 alpine (not AT), and 1 splitboard
Though I was solo I should have brought beacon and shovel, in case this could have been helpful to anyone else or myself

Winter Shermanator

Mt. Sherman, 14036 ft
2850ft gain from Leavick Site
Hike/Ski






I had been wanting to summit and ski something high this winter, but most weekends had either bitter cold, snow, or both. Finally, this weekend shaped up to be sunny and warmer, albeit still with high winds in the mountains. The previous couple days had settled the recent snowpack somewhat, but avalanche danger was still "Considerable" on the CAIC website. I opted to check out Mt. Sherman, as I had some familiarity with the different route options and some ideas on how to avoid the riskiest avalanche terrain (namely, the cornice on the saddle towards Sheridan). Also, it is generally pedestrian and considered "easy" in the summer, so it is correspondingly crowded; ironically, this is the only one J and I turned around on due to snow and wind in November.

I brought my skis. The real 14er ski studs are pretty adamant about skiing from the summit, but I was going to see how far up/down I could get.

I went up solo, though when parking at the Leavick site, I met a group of 4 on snowshoes and their dog. They were going to evaluate either avoiding the cornice to the right of the standard route, or heading up White Ridge. I had the same ideas in mind, and headed off up the road, glad to have some company in the vicinity, though we never met up for the rest of the day.

But there were also mountain goats:


The wind was steadily direct straight at me as I hiked up past the lower mines and the cabin. Here, I evaluated my options. White Ridge had less snow and would be an easier hike on foot -- ultimately the other party took that route. Otherwise, there was a continuous layer of thin snow from the summit, but I didn't know how stable it was. There was more mellow snow and scree to the climber's right of the cornice. I decided to take this route up so I could evaluate the snow options for the decent.

However, I made slow progress up toward the ridge as the wind intensified. The skis were a liability, as they would catch any gust and twist me sideways. I could only imagine it being more difficult on the ridge. Plus, I wasn't overly enthusiastic about skiing solo on variable snow in windy conditions anyway, so I stashed the skis halfway up.

Climbing without the skis was remarkably easier. I was glad to have my ax with me for some of the steeper pitches, as well as Microspikes which fit nicely over my boots. Finally, I reached the ridge, which was as windy as advertised, a constant jet engine roaring in my ears.

By staying on the back side of the ridge, of course, it was easier to stay upright in the wind. Occasionally, I crossed back onto the top, and a gust would knock me down to my knees again.



Finally, I got over the false summit, and then onto the summit itself. By lying flat on my back, I could escape most of the wind. I had some great banana bread and still-warm coffee!

Now I headed back down the ridge, as carefully as before, and then back down to my skis. Downclimbing in the wind was even more disconcerting as heading up. I finally reached my skis, but didn't have a good spot to put them down, so I ended up downclimbing further until I was in solid but mellow-angle snow just above the cabin.

Finally, I was able to use the skis and wind to my advantage, as the road and creek below the upper cabin were a solid layer of skiable snow.

So I didn't get to ski anywhere near the summit, but still enjoyed a winter hike with mixed climbing and skiing. Just hiking above the cabin would have been much faster, but the ski down was considerably faster and more enjoyable than walking. This is even a good spot for a mellow ski or snowshoe outing, as I saw a couple of other folks doing, without heading to the summit.

Frostbite? Windburn?

Although I made great time up and back to the cabin, I took more time in between, and ended up back at the car after 5.5 hours. I was glad to relax and get out of the wind.

At some point later -- not immediately -- my watch felt somewhat uncomfortable, so I took it off. I was unpleasantly surprised to find that it was swollen and sore underneath. Within minutes, literally, a dime-sized patch of purple formed on the bony protrusion at the end of my ulna. Not 10 minutes later, that patch disappeared, as it turned bluish-white, though remained swollen. Remembering back, I had fallen lightly while skiing and landed on my wrists, though it wasn't that unusual; and, my gloves and clothing don't fully cover my wrists from the wind if I'm not careful.

A few hours later, it looked more like a swollen bruise -- nowhere near as nasty as most of the frostbite pictures online, but still out of the ordinary. That area of skin still has full sensation.

By the next day, a thin, jagged purple line appeared across the top of my wrist. I can move my wrist in any direction, pain-free, but bumping the bruise is painful.

Even stranger, the wife 'encouraged' me to shave. When I did, I noticed some reddish-purple, slightly painful blotches under my chin(!). I had a facemask on all day, and thought I did a good job of keeping everything covered and warm (my fingers and toes felt fine all day). However, I also had my ski helmet on, and I even buckled it at some point.



The only full explanation I can come up with is that the elevation induced some swelling which constricted bloodflow further at my watchband and helmet strap, made even worse in areas that had some exposure to the cold and high wind. Perhaps I had some trauma to my wrist from falling at some point, but the lack of bloodflow prevented proper inflammation and some of the blood kind of pooled there, only to disperse later.

That's all I can think of on another weird and obscure injury, but yes, more lessons to be learned. Glad to be on the summit of a mountain, but looking forward to warmer, non-windy days!

EDIT: This sounds more and more like windburn, based on some reading online. The skin is quite dry, and it's likely that somehow the sweat and constriction from my watch and having that wrist uncovered more may have affected it. There is also a small patch (much less dramatic) on my right wrist as well. But it appears to be healing somewhat.

Handies Peak: Grizzly Gulch Up, American Basin Down

Handies Peak
Grizzly Gulch Up, American Basin Down
~11 miles, 3650 elevation gain (4.5 miles is dirt road connector, see map)
7 hours



Grizzly Gulch Basin and American Basin are two of the prettiest places in the state, with a gorgeous but laid back mountain, Handies Peak, separating them. While the easy way is to drive a car up to the American Basin TH, the most scenery-packed way is to hike up Grizzly Gulch, and down American Basin. I would also suggest going in this exact direction, for several reasons.

First, the view of Handies from Grizzly Gulch is more splendid.


That is, the East Face presents itself as more impressive, while the western route sneaks through a blocked view that doesn't properly present a 14000 foot mountain.

Also, the route along the East Face takes a nifty direction onto a grassy bench before the summit ridge, before rising up along talus to the ridge itself. This exploitation of the surrounding area is better appreciated when going up, and the only touch of Class 2 on this route -- the summit ridge -- is certainly easier when going up.

Finally, this clockwise direction puts the Cinammon Pass road section at the end of your journey, where you're sufficiently protected below treeline and with some vehicle traffic in case of a weather emergency.

In sum, I hope I have sold this route as a fun loop alternative to the more common standard peakbagging route from the American Basin TH, which involves more driving, misses the beauty of the Grizzly Gulch side, and doesn't even yield a minimally satisfying 3000 feet of climbing.


Anyway, J and I found easy, free camping on a Friday night at the Grizzly Gulch TH, just past the restroom and old cabin, complete with a firepit. We got to this TH just fine with our trusty stock 4-cylinder Outback. There were a fair number of other tents, but it was sufficiently quiet, and we slept well.

I should mention, in the way up, we stopped at a Starbucks for the first time in months, and they had coupons for their new-ish instant coffee. I forgot to pack coffee, so this was a fortuitous development for my caffeine addiction. I got up early and made some coffee and oatmeal. Hungrily, I ate a couple packs of oatmeal, and half of Jess's, who didn't have as much of an appetite (poor girl). As you might imagine, this came back to haunt me...

6AM, we headed up the trail, with gorgeous views of Redcloud behind us.


This being the first week of July, we enjoyed some early blooming of wildflowers and general verdancy, though not yet near the wildflower peak.




We kept our eye out for some weather disturbances brought all the way out from remnants of hurricane Alex. Clouds formed and moved swiftly over the Peak, but nothing got pushed high enough to become threatening. We followed the clear and obvious trail above treeline, into the basin, before hooking right/North around a rise before heading up. BTW, Roach refers to going "off trail" at this point, suggesting the trail dead-ends at a lake, but at this time, the most obvious trail is the trail to the summit.

We encountered maybe 3-4 parties total on the way up, either taking a break or visible (or audible) in front of us.

Then, the summit was achieved:


With a belated nod to Canada Day (July 1), I slaked my thirst as a veritable Bizarro Brownie:


After lingering on the summit for a half hour or so, with a rotation of up to 6 others, we headed down to enjoy American Basin and the lakes below.


This trail was well-maintained, easily runnable, but more crowded. I enjoyed running down sections while waiting for J. However, my stomach was beginning to hurt, badly, enough that I removed my camera from my neck so it didn't press against my stomach. I needed a bathroom, and secretly hoped there was one at the American Basin TH. But I still enjoyed the scenery, of budding wildflowers, sheer rock walls, waterfalls, and streams.




Finally, we made it to the TH, but no bathroom, so I ventured into the woods, and returned a new man, feeling much better! I was able to enjoy the rest of the hike. We had a few drops but no threat of storms. Many 4-wheelers and various motorized folks went by, obviously having rented something from some local "adventure" company, but I couldn't help but think about what they were missing.

Anyway, made our way back to camp, enjoying a nice loop hike. Definitely a recommended route in a beautiful area! The only regret was staring at the gorgeous Redcloud Peak for an hour or so as we walked down the road...such a beautiful area, where we'll definitely be back!

On Top of Mt. Albert

Mt. Elbert (14433')
"South Elbert (14134')
11 miles hiking, 1 Mile elevation gain
Black Cloud Gulch, Class 1/Class 2


Mt. Albert is in New Zealand, while Mt. Elbert is the highest point in Colorado, and the highest point in the U.S. outside of Alaska or California, for that matter. So, on the day before Father's Day, 2010, J and I planned on hiking up to the top, where we dropped off some of Grandpa Al's ashes, along with Grandma Charlotte's. Neither of them were particularly mountain folk, but Grandpa spent some time in the Army down in Pueblo, and since the state high point is pretty much homophonic with his, I decided it might be a fitting tribute.

Back to the hike: there are a couple of easier options popular with peakbaggers, but the Black Cloud trail stuck out as a more intriguing option: over 5000 feet elevation gain; a beautiful, uncrowded basin and gulch with great views of La Plata and other peaks to the south; the chance to bag the unofficial "South Elbert", while spending a good couple miles on a high alpine ridge. So, this hike had a lot going for it! Otherwise, Mt. Elbert itself is less impressive and prominent than a state highpoint should be, a rather unfortunate state of geologic affairs for the serious alpinists in a state of more worthy scary, jagged peaks I suppose, but instead it reveals itself to be a democratic mountain, accessible to all.

Also, this hike was to serve as a tune-up for J to get ready for a Longs attempt this year. She's done the elevation, the distance, and bits and pieces of Class 3 and exposure. This hike added the last piece of the training puzzle, by giving her a feel for 5000 feet of gain as well as a true alpine start. One final bit of training: continuing a tradition of camping somewhere on Father's Day/Solstice weekend, albeit with camping being loosely defined as sleeping anywhere outside.

Friday after work, we were off to Leadville, in no big hurry (except I realized I forgot the camera, so we had to settle for cell phone pics!) other than to arrive in time to grab some High Mountain Pies pizza action before they closed at 10pm:


We got there by 8:30, put in a pizza order, then swung over to the liquor store for some a little beer and wine, as the restaurant doesn't serve it, but lets you bring your own in. No problem with that! I thought a large vegetarian pizza and an order of garlic bread might leave us with a few slices for breakfast, but I underestimated our (OK, my) appetite, whoops! Well, we still had 1 breakfast slice left, as well as an assortment of breakfast burritos I brought with us.

Satiated, we headed down to Twin Lakes and over to the trailhead. After reading various reports, I intended on being the first person ever not to drive past the trailhead, but this was not to be, as I passed it once, turn around at the Lodge, then passed it again. Ultimately, we arrived and saw one other vehicle parked there, and another arrived an hour after us. We made camp in the car and drifted off to sleep, though I was pretty wired and restless.

On the drive out, I warned J about every aspect of the hike: needing to leave early; the steepness; various false summits and the long view of the summit from the ridge; unknown snow conditions since last weekend; being exposed to weather (lightning and wind especially) for much of the hike. I've seen trip reports averaging around 8 hours on the low end, and other suggestions of allowing 10-12 hours, so I played conservatively with a 4AM start time.

4AM and we were off, headlamps a-blazin' and on guard for mt. lions. The trail was easy to follow and manage in the dark, and I tried to keep tabs of anything to the side or behind us that might have glowing eyes. Just after 5AM, twilight began, and 10 minutes later headlamps weren't needed. Here, just after an hour, we saw a tent pitched, as well as our first stream crossing, a makeshift bridge of logs.

Now we were near the open basin, but had a few more stream crossings to navigate. One of them was blocked by a fallen tree, so we hunted around for an easier crossing, then bushwhacked back east until we ran into the trail again.

As we made our way up the basin, the rising sun lit up the peaks behind us.


We followed the trail up to treeline, where the ridge came into view, and then began switchbacking in earnest. Now, many switchback trails (RMNP trails, CFI trail on Huron Peak, e.g.) seem to be too conservative, and you can at least appreciate the temptation to cut switchbacks, all the while acknowledging the erosion control properties of a well-planned trail, but these swithbacks were steep! The switchbacks almost needed switchbacks on some of the looser stuff. No, it was actually quite dandy, a calf workout for sure but not overly obnoxious.

It did take awhile to claim the ridge, but before that, our first objective ended up meeting the sunshine level before the ridge, where temperatures and optimism soared.


Finally, after obtaining the ridge, we could see what lie ahead: a rolling ridge and the big knob that made up South Elbert, followed by the ridge curving N-S up to Elbert itself. Snow conditions looked fairly decent, with shaded North spots holding snow of course, as well as leeward East-facing slopes on the final Elbert ridge. Wind wasn't too bad if we stayed on the East. We took a quick snack break and set off for South Elbert.

The rest of the hike was mostly Class 2, although faint hits of trail were scattered about through the talus, so most of it was picking a line across stable Sawatch rock and tundra. Dancing on the ridge, we continued to have great views to the south as well as new views to the North, while not looking ahead to the summit. J kept a great, steady pace: Relentless Forward Motion, just like we talked about, rather than getting anaerobic and taking too many breaks.

Finally, after 4.5 hours, we arrived at South Elbert, firmly above 14k feet.


Feeling good, it was time to press on. Without a cloud in the sky, we had little to worry about with the weather, and I was pleased that it was only 8:30AM. The downhill jaunt to the saddle was a fun relief more than it was an annoyance, and now the last grunt began. The left or West side of the ridge always offered solid, stable rock, but the snowpack remained nicely firm. In general, the snow ended up giving even better and faster travel without postholing. It was quite nice to have options!

After an hour, we obtained the summit, shared with perhaps 8-10 other folks (the first people we had seen after 5.5 hours of hiking) from the other side of the peak, all of them friendly and stoked to be up high on such a nice day:



I let the ashes fly into the wind, and signed my grandparents names in the summit register.

We sat down for a good 25 minutes or so for a nice, unhurried lunch break, and took in the views.

Now it was only 10AM, and time to head back. On our way down to South Elbert, we saw a solo hiker from Kearney, NE heading up in good spirits: he was the one who had pitched his tent partly in, and had his truck parked near ours at the TH. Heading down the softening snow, I alternated between running and sliding. There wasn't any great time-saving glissaditunites on this route, but I found a legit North-facing field with a good runout, and practiced sliding and self arresting.

After reaching South Elbert again, we saw a couple more parties. Among them was a woman hoisting a full-suspension mt. bike. A very nice downhill bike! She was friendly (gun-to-my-head, I'd guess "Swiss", but why didn't I just ask?) and asked about upcoming conditions: I suggested that the snowy downhill between the peaks would be a blast, but...Did you ride that up here? Are you really going to ride down past South Elbert? (Keep in mind, I am generally unflappable about this stuff, but I was momentarily flapped). She estimated ~2% of the uphill was rideable, but 80-90% on the way down. We bid her good luck (why didn't I try a "Berg Heil?") and kept this in mind as we finally finished the ridge and joined the trail again. This is more popular on the Class 1 trail from the North, but I hadn't read about it on this side, unless I misunderstood and she was making a loop out of it. I tried picture riding my bike down any part of the trail...and I just couldn't picture it. Then I tried picturing blasting straight down the tundra: maybe, but it seemed like hematoma-city. Kudos to her, though!

Where were we? Ah, the switchbacks seemed even steeper downhill, but again were in no hurry, as we were now protected from the wind, and shed layers in the warming sun. Tra-la-la-la-la, and we were back in the basin, back over the river, OK this is getting old now, time for a nap! 9.5 hours later, back at the car, where I cleverly had stashed an extra beer in my little cooler. We popped the back of the car open and piled in for a siesta, feet dangling slightly outside, the shade just cool enough to sleep. (I've seen Heaven sold as clouds and angels and harps, the chance to peer over the edge, as a voyeur, watching other people do stuff. Por moi, give me sun, and a chance to watch old videotapes like this one, over and over).

An hour later, we felt sufficiently refreshed, with enough energy to drive to town to get coffee to get enough energy to maybe eat. Oh, J promised herself fudge after a successful hike, so we procured some mint and marshmallow fudge from the tourist-friendly fudge shoppe in town, whose staff was also curiously dismayed when I asked to cut the large hunks smaller (so that we would only be purchasing $7 worth of fudge, for an immediate snack), as they seemed poised to sell $20 worth of fudge to any tourist that came through.

Anyway, fudge and coffee in hand, we now had enough energy to make it up the road to Frisco, where we stopped in by the river for some delicious Mexican food. Now, finally, I had enough energy to make it home. J declared this her favorite 14er hike. Score!

Huron Top

But nothing’s ever as good
As when you’re on top...
I want to wake up / And just start running
Into a ditch / Or straight up a mountain
I want to get / Where no one been gettin’
Make it deeper than hell
Or make it higher than heaven
Jakob Dylan, The Wallflowers "When You're On Top"


'Twas the last week of September, and a BFH ("Big Fat High") was coming through Colorado, so it was a good weekend to head to the mountains, check out some of the foliage, and climb something high. So, at oh-dark-30 (actually, 2:45AM) Saturday morning, we headed up to the Sawatch for the 3rd time this year to hiking sumpin' fun: Brown's Peak and Huron Peak.

Huron Peak is an easy 14er, with gorgeous views of numerous other 14ers and no paved roads. The standard trail is a class 1 walkup, around 2 miles from a high 4WD trailhead, and can get crowded in the summer. But that wouldn't be very interesting, would it? Instead, our plan was to ascend via Lulu Gulch, climbing Browns Peak along the way.

The drive out was uneventful: the sky was perfectly clear, and the low over Fremont pass was 24 degrees(!). We arrived at the South Winfield trailhead with just a tiny hint of dawn, and 30 degrees, but the day would get warmer as soon as the sun started clearing the mountains to the east. There was only one other car at the trailhead, a big change over the summer. We took our time getting ready, eating breakfast burritos, and generally allowing the sky to lighten, which saves headlamp weight and space (more burrito room) and wards off bears and lions (according to Jess).


So we actually started hiking around 6:30. We began down the main road, before taking the first left at 0.4 miles and switchbacking upward. Soon, we began to see the aspen on the mountainsides, surprisingly a bit before peak for late September:


This spur 4WD road continued long switchbacks until treeline, when Lulu Gulch and the Cirque from Middle Mountain to Brown's Peak was in view. At this point, we were to leave the road and find our own route up to the ridge along Brown's. Jessica picked our ascent route, a mixture of scree and tundra.

As we were in the shaded, west-facing aspects that still hadn't seen sunlight yet, the ground was still partly frozen. Rather than being icy, however, it kept it from being loose, so it was quite pleasant to ascend this route in this weather.

Next up was some boulder hopping from the saddle up to Brown's:

Full disclosure: Up until now, we couldn't even see Huron. Before this, in fact, I was arguing with myself as to where the hell Huron was, and after all this work, Jess didn't seem amenable to the mountain in front of us (Brown's) being a 'false' summit (if a separate 13er can really be a false summit). Well, either way, we had to make it up to Brown's, and then we could discuss further plans.

We made it to the top of Browns and had it to ourselves. There was a sparse summit register there -- one or 2 signatures per week during the summer -- and gorgeous views all around. Did I mention we hadn't seen a soul yet all day? Well, at this point, we could finally see Huron, as well as a few folks on top of it. This route was worth it not just for fun scrambling, not just for solitude, but also the sweet perspective of Huron that we'd miss from the standard CFI trail.
To get there, we had about half a mile to go, with about half of that scrambling over the snow-dusted ridge, before joining with the standard trail for the final summit push.
From this vantage point, covered in snow, Huron actually looked kind of gnarly, even given its easy reputation. Jess didn't like the looks of it, as the obvious trail was a ribbon of snow that seemed to go straight up. Either way, though, we needed to proceed to the saddle between Brown's and Huron, join with the standard trail, and then make our decision.

As we moved toward Huron, we took a cautious route to the right/below the top of the ridge. The snow was only a few inches deep, but slowed us down a bit. As we rounded a corner, with Jess slightly out of view, I heard a loud thunk that made my heart skip a beat. It turns out, Jess leaned on a decent-sized boulder at shoulder level, and it actually rolled out toward her! She got out of the way in time, but bruised her left hand in the process. This was especially unfortunate as we continued traversing the right side of the ridge; i.e., the left hand was frequently needed for balance. She shook it off admirably and kept at it, as we proceeded through the boulders to a flat spot where we could intersect the standard trail.

Jess took a more cautious approach slightly downward toward the trail, whereas I'm quite miserly with giving up gained elevation. I intersected the trail a couple switchbacks above her...
And that's when I did the stupidest thing I've done on a mountain.
A pure stupid, stupid rookie mistake.

I set my backpack down to take some pictures. Due to the snow and angle, there was just enough gravity to cause my pack to start sliding...
and then rolling...
and then rolling...
I watched it, entranced, willing it to stop, as it would slow down near a rock, then roll around it, and start picking up speed. It crossed the trail twice, and started getting near another hiker. I was preparing to call it out in warning, when it finally, mercifully, stopped.

The hiker (a friendly German ex-pat) retrieved it for me, as I cruised down past Jess to meet him.
I apologized profusely at my own stupidity (and having it been witnessed), and for small possibility, not realized, that he could have been endangered by my rolling pack or his own effort to retrieve it. I'm sure I've set my pack down dozens of times while skiing, but usually cut my skis below the pack above me (and maybe I have rolled it and just forgot, as skiing down to retrieve it isn't a big deal). Lesson learned, and shared here...

I turned around and met back up with Jess -- I will admit to enjoying a bit of extra-credit heart-pounding descent and re-ascent -- right as the switchbacks ended, and the snowy ascent began. This would have been a good time for Yak-trax or the like -- the very same ones we were looking at in the store the day before, perhaps -- but it was still manageable with some scrambling (on what would normally be a walk), aiming for one rock at a time. We were uncertain of the downhill awaiting us, as we watched one guy biff a few times as he descended.

Finally, the summit was achieved:


We were greeted by 2 women (first 14er for Mom), a dog, and perfectly blue skies. After taking our picture, the ladies left and we had the peak to ourselves for a few minutes -- quite a difference over the summer, I imagine.

Jess's mood improved, and she seemed genuinely happy on her 2nd summit of the day. Here, I must add that it was 2 days before our 7th anniversary, and I could not be happier sharing such a beautiful day with the person I love most in the world.

Soon, the German gentleman and his partner arrived, and we exchanged pleasantries.
We took some more pictures; ate some breakfast burrito and zucchini bread; and I fired off a cryptic text to my brother-in-law. Then, we began the snowy descent down the standard trail.


We passed maybe 4 or 5 folks coming up -- man, it was such a gorgeous day! -- and the snow soon gave way to mud. The views in the valley at the bottom were also spectacular, we were quite pleased with our choice of a loop route.

Now, we did have a bit of schedule in getting back down. We weren't rushed, but if we had no commitments, I would have loved to take a nap out in the meadow. That's how gorgeous and non-threatening this September day was. Alas, we trudged on down a million switchbacks on the standard trail, until finally intersecting with the 4WD road.

We arrived back at the car, still guarded by flaming yellow aspen

and headed back home, about 8.5 hours since we started. I would estimate the snow slowed us down by approximately an hour.

In summary, the Lulu Gulch route is a fabulous alternative to the standard route on Huron. I would consider it equally fun for ascending or descending when doing a loop with the standard route.

The Longs Peak Thing

Bike 102 miles (9 hours RT: 4.5 up, 3 down, 1.5 transition/misc)
Hike 15 miles (8 hours RT, East LP/Keyhole: 4 up, 0.5 summit, 3.5 down)




LET us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherised upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats


And so it was, in the pre-dawn, post-summer darkness of September 10th. Soon -- within weeks, perhaps -- the trees outside my balcony would sacrifice their leaves, and their naked outline would once again reveal a long winter's view of the highest Front Range peak. If I didn't climb it now, I would face another three seasons of uncertainty and anxiety at best, and regret at not taking advantage of health and opportunity. (In truth, I had no choice, for though I had been thinking about it the past two summers, this was the first year I said something out loud. Now that it was out there, documented and committed, it was a matter of working out the details and waiting for good weather).

Planning
Numerous folks have ridden their bikes to the trailhead, most often from Boulder. I have also heard rumors of a few folks from Fort Collins having done this, or thinking about it, but it is less formally documented than the Boulder thing. No matter, as I was not going for any sort of comparative "first" or "fastest" -- I just wanted to climb the highest thing I could see from myself under my own power. So I worked out my own personal parameters:
1. This would be my first time up Longs. The advantage of this would be to combine the excitement of the virgin experience with the purity of a carbonless commute. Whoa. Actually, I was also concerned that hiking the mountain a previous time would diminish my enthusiasm at doing it again anytime soon. I debated this point internally, since previous experience on this route would be safer and allow me to do it faster, but ultimately I'm glad that it was my first time.
2. No pre-arranged outside support, though I'm OK with stopping at known/expect public supply areas, whether it's filtering water and picking huckleberries or buying food from 7/11. The point (to me) being, doing what I'd do on a car trip, only on a bike instead, without meeting someone in a car that carried gear and sort of negated the whole car-free thing.
3. Solo, unless I had a riding partner at the same distance, so as not to be a physical liability on anyone else
4. A weekday, preferably after Labor Day, so as to avoid immense crowds

All of these points worked out fantastically.

I debated a leaving time considerably, and eventually decided on leaving between 1:30 and 2AM. Regrettably, I only had a couple hours of fitful sleep before leaving my house at 1:50AM.

Supplies
Supplies of note:
* Mountainsmith 'fanny pack' bungee'd underneath bike seat (with 2 water bottles)
* Medium-ish camelback backpack (used bottles instead of camelback/bladder)
* 10 Essentials, minus a knife (unneeded, but stupid mistake)
* Synthetic fill jacket, rain jacket (both unneeded)
* Emergency reflective bivvy
* Warm wool hat (unneeded) and gloves
* 140 ounces of H20 and Gatorade in 6 bottles -- Gatorade mixed higher than normal recommendation
* Headlamp
* NiteRider Mini-Newt bike light, and rear flasher
* Food: 2 PB/J sandwiches, 1 breakfast burrito, 2 organic toaster pastries, 2 cereal/breakfast bars, and a generous slice of my wife's banana bread! (The rest of the loaf, as I ate the previous 80% the night before -- carbo load!)
* Bike tools, including 2 extra tubes, patch kit, multi-tool, adjustable wrench, chain tool
* Cable bike lock
* Road bike

A few comments on gear. First, a duathlon adds a fair amount of weight to required supplies, obviously, so anything you can strap to your bike is helpful. I was overly cautious by taking an extra warm layer and emergency bivvy -- knowing that the weather forecast was favorable, I could have skipped these and saved a decent amount of room in my pack and been able to run more/hike faster, but I played it safe. Also, a mt. bike would be more comfortable in some respects but slower -- a touring bike with racks/panniers would have been ideal. Finally, I bought a bike light at the last minute: due to the 1/2 moon, I could have done it on headlamp alone, but it was nice for some faster descents and corners in the dark canyons. It only had a 3 hour run time, so I rationed it accordingly.

Outbound ride
It was dark, it was calm, it was quiet. I made my way out of Fort Collins on my favorite back roads, past Boyd Lake, down toward Eisenhower/Hwy 34 in Loveland. Normally, I avoid riding on 34 until the west end of town, but at the wee hours, I welcomed the street lights and wide lanes. I was slightly nervous about being sufficiently visible, as well as drunk drivers, cell phone drivers ("Let me talk on my phone while driving to stay awake, that's always a good idea") or being an easier target of harrassment, but the opposite was true: every car that passed me gave wide berth and no honking. So far, so good. I anxiously made it out of Loveland and into the Big T canyon; here, I felt like the adventure was truly beginning, as I left the city lights behind. I was wearing shorts and long sleaves, and expected the canyon to get cooler, but was pleasantly surprised to find it warmer. I kept a slow, steady, unknown pace -- my bike computer sensor was off a bit and I hadn't stopped to fix it. Not that I had extra energy to carry the excess pack weight, but I was also conscious to ride the hills slower than I normally do, as I absolutely needed to save my legs for the height.

As I got deeper into the canyon, I enjoyed the quiet solitude and muffled sounds of the river, the cool and slightly damp air, and occasional reflections of yellow eyes near the ground. The moon was high in the sky behind me, helping guide the way, along with a bevy of stars I don't normally see at home. Then, straight out of a cliche, a shooting star streaked just above my head and dropped deep into the horizon. At that moment, I resolved to do more general night riding in the future, without any particular destination.

I've ridden through Estes close to a dozen times or so, but hadn't done so this summer, so each turn and rise made me anxious for the final drop down into town. I coasted down and then turned onto Hwy 7, stopping briefly to eat the burrito and text the wife, and put on a jacket. But the worst part of the ride was ahead: the next 10 miles to the trailhead, with 8 of them being a solid climb. I've ridden this before, too, but it sure seemed different at night. Occasionally, a car would pass, and I'd watch the taillights continue to curve up and out of sight, along an invisible road on the side of high mountains. I resigned myself to a slow hour of climbing, and had to stop to take off jacket I had just put on. Dawn was breaking and I could make the outline of various mountains and hills, and was glad to see a cloudless sky. Finally, around mile marker 7, I crested the pass and enjoyed 2 miles of downhill, and reached the trailhead turnoff. One more tough mile to go. As the sun continued to rise, I could see hints of color on the aspen along the road:


The Hike

The parking lot was full, and a few folks had begun setting off when I arrived, so I knew there would be company on the trail immediately. I was a bit behind my anticipated schedule but still had margin and felt strong as I changed into my trail shoes and adjusted my gear. I locked my bike to the fence, along with my small pack with bike supplies and a half bottle of water for the return, and signed into the register around 6:40AM, right after full sunrise. My legs weren't up for running immediately, so I did a fast/comfortable hike and only ran occasionally on flatter areas. Soon, I began catching up to others.

There's not much more I can add about the East Longs Peak Trail. It's varied, gorgeous, and worth an out-and-back of any distance. Based on trail signs, it looks like I was hitting ~17 minute miles, which was slightly better than my conservative estimate of 20 minutes. This meant my estimate of hitting the boulderfield in 2 hours was reasonable. The folks I encountered were pleasant, cheery, and graciously let me pass. I slowed down a bit as the trail got rockier near the boulderfield, and eventually reached it about 1:45 after starting. I counted 26 people as I passed by, and now I felt more comfortable about not being "last" on the trail. There were more folks making their way through the boulderfield, and about a half dozen tents. While it's a beautiful area, I can't say I'd feel comfortable sleeping there: it can get windy, it's not very private, and it's definitely exposed.

On my way up to the Keyhole, I saw a young woman with a Boston Marathon jacket, so I greeted her with a "Hey, Boston Marathon!" She returned a curiously reluctant smile. We talked briefly about Boston -- "The best day of her life!" -- and I was quite happy to relive a beautiful experience like that in such a beautiful area. Soon, I learned about her hesitation, however. They made it to the Keyhole, but the heights and exposure were too much for herself, mother, and father. A few more of her party (from Connecticut) had continued on, including her husband. Her father made it a bit farther on the ledges before turning back at the exposed spot where two iron bars are hammered into the otherwise smooth and slippery rock.

Crap. I haven't particularly had problems with exposure or heights on previous hikes, but I have had a healthy dread of this part of the hike, based on stories and pictures with distorted perception. And what if it rains? Hails? Graupels? What if I'm extra tired or dizzy from the bike ride? What if it gets crowded in some narrow spots? And so on.

And indeed there will be time
To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair


But there was only one way to find out:


The Keyhole

I should also mention, since going through the keyhole turns the route in a new direction: no wind. DFC. Awesome.

I met another young man who just moved to Denver and was climbing his first 14ers before starting work in October. He was traveling very light and asked if I was thinking about the Denver Marathon next month ("Probably not, it's coming up quickly!"). He asked what the crux was, I told him that it was, supposedly, the chockstone at the top of the trough. He said we could do the ledges together, but I didn't want to hold him back. I won't lie and say it was "easy", but I do feel like it was much more manageable than I had feared. Part of my continued anxiety was the unknown parts that lie ahead, the weather uncertainty, and having to do everything twice. After everything, however, I will suggest this: as far as exposure, the spot with the bars just past the Keyhole is as bad as it gets. If you make it past that, you'll be fine, so that's the point you'll know how you feel about exposure for the rest of the route. After having done it again on the return trip, now it's not bad at all. It's just hard to find unbiased, non-polarized views of the ledges: either people turn around in terror, or they do it and say "piece of cake" as they forget about how they felt the first time. If you take it slow, focus inward toward the solid rock, and your heart rate/breathing is OK, you'll be fine.

Not much to add on the rest, as thousands of others have written about this route, but it wasn't too crowded at all, and I enjoyed the brief company when encountering others. I passed a young couple from Indiana who were smiling but taking a break, as the girl was a bit dizzy. She thanked her mate for carrying all their gear in his pack alone, I jokingly asked if he wouldn't mind carrying my stuff too.
"He would do it, he's such a sweetheart!" she gushed. Her enthusiasm and loving gaze toward him was inspiring.

There is a V-slot which can be tricky but was quite fun, and it felt like there were solid holds in just the right spots. The trough is the long slog as advertised, and I was glad to be there on a non-busy day. Still, a guy ahead of me kicked up a small rock, he called it as I was watching him anyway and we both were entranced watching it plink towards me before skipping sideways, though I had plenty of room to duck. I smiled back, if that was the worst that could happen! The chockstone at the top was not only manageable but fun. Next up were the Narrows, also advertised as having exposure, but I found this area to be more solid than the ledges and quite enjoyable. As I turned toward the Homestretch and stepped up around the corner, though, I bumped my head lightly on a rock to the left ("Stupid!") I saw a party just around the corner, one guy sitting down.
"You alright?"
"Yeah, I hit my head..."
"Just there, on the corner?"
"Yes!"
"Me too!"
He shook it off and continued on.

The Homestretch was also quite fun, going up at least. The moon was still visible straight above me, and a jet contrail:


My heart rate and breath were fine, I need more practice and confidence in footing, but I had fun scrambling up, and quickened my pace as I neared the summit, about 3:56 after leaving....
Yes!

The Summit

There were about 8 others on top, including one gentleman celebrating with a joint, who signed "Dank 420" in the log. I had my own celebration, with banana bread!


I stood on the summit rock, and unwittingly posed for the dorkiest summit photo ever, since I forgot my pants were still tucked into my socks.



I signed the summit register and mentioned "Biked from Ft Collins!" Another group saw that and then said, "Oh, we saw you in the canyon this morning!" I lingered for about half an hour, and it seemed like everybody found their own quiet spot on the summit. I met a group from Nebraska that had pounding headaches but good spirits. The Connecticut group said they've debated on what's harder, a climb like this or a marathon: I remained non-committal. The clouds remained unthreatening; I was able to text the wife and brother-in-law; and headed back down at 11AM. I slathered on more sunscreen on my nose, but failed to rub it all in, hopefully amusing the numerous people I saw in the next few hours that neglected to point this out.

I am a cautious and slow descender, and crab-walked much of the homestretch. Still, it wasn't crowded by any means, though folks were still headed up. Like I mentioned, pretty much everyone I encountered was cool. One strong hiker called another woman "Mom" -- I said how cool it was, that she was able to do it and they were able to do it together.
"This is my first time hiking this again in 31 years. I'm celebrating my 67th birthday by doing it again!"
"That's awesome! Happy birthday!"
67.

Descending around the chockstone above the trough ended up being a bit tougher, so I went skiers-right along a ledge and grabbed onto the lip of another rock. Here was the first (and only) time I encountered an annoying hiking stereotype: a type-A woman with blond highlights, still ascending with a group, asking if they were the "last ones" headed up -- obviously concerned at making slower progress than she anticipated. She didn't have the calm, mellow demeanor that everybody else seemed to have. I can only imagine how much worse a weekend would be.

Coming back to the Keyhole, I was slow and cautious, but still glowing from the summit stoke. I ran into some folks posing for pictures, and we figured out we were all Minnesota alumni. They had a tent in the boulderfield and graciously offered me water, but I declined.
"No thanks, I have 2 more bottles in my pack."
"Wow, that's impressive, you did great on your water!"
This small statement was a meaningful compliment, as I was proud that my planning was still going well.

I saw the Boston marathon girl again, and re-assured her with my assessment:
"I do think a *hard* marathon like Boston, where you're going all-out the whole time, is harder than this hike"
Reflecting back, I'll elaborate: it's one thing to push your limits as hard as you can, and it's another thing to do something long but slowly and cautiously. There's room for both, and you'll miss out if you don't do some of each, as often as possible!

Dark clouds were starting to roll in as I neared Granite Pass, and the trail was runnable in spots. I passed more parties, and day hikers just making it past treeline. Somehow, in the dawn light, I missed the gloriously colorful tundra underbrush, just as I had missed the glob of sunscreen on my nose:


A family from Houston was out for a dayhike, and I took their picture, as we agreed it was "Christmas-card-worthy" backdrop. Shortly after, I saw the couple from Indiana again, just as they met up with some dayhikers. They asked the dayhikers for extra water. I gave them the rest of mine as well. I felt for them, they had to turn around before the trough and didn't feel well, I had no idea they were low on water. This was their 3rd day in Colorado, and one of the well-meaning dayhikers said "That's good, it takes 3 days to acclimatize" but I corrected her to try to assure them, "It actually takes 6-8 weeks for the body to acclimatize fully" -- something people should keep in mind before getting too frustrated in comparing their efforts to "natives" (and natives should keep in mind when otherwise very fit flatlanders feel trashed)!

I dropped into the trees, and, finally, got a good couple of miles running in. I just missed an 8-hour roundtrip by a couple minutes, but that was OK. I had the extra time budgeted, but had anticipated taking around 6 hours -- whoops! I signed out and got my bike ready, very happy to see that nothing was disturbed! (Thank you fellow hikers!) One guy from Lafayette saw me and asked where I biked from, he also saw me in the canyon and kept repeating how awesome that was. Next, a ranger came out -- I wasn't sure how they felt about locking to the fence, but he was jovial and asked where I rode from. He was impressed by Ft. Collins, and definitely encountered Boulder folks a few times a year, but not Ft. Collins.
"That's a great thing you did, you should be proud!"
I'm not generally comfortable with comments like this, but I'll admit to appreciating it. It's a tough line to walk between trying to be modest, and trying not to be labeled "crazy." Lots of people like to do some sort of physical exploits, just to consume it, often in some sort of competitive fashion, and call themselves "crazy." They might shuffle through a marathon just to check it off a list, then never run again, for example. I don't like to think of it that way at all, and it was refreshing not to see much of that on this Thursday on Longs Peak. I found plenty of inspiration from the mountains around me, and the folks along the way: people challenging themselves physically and mentally; families spending time together; generations passing along a love for the mountains from one to the next.

For myself, I think of this trip more along the lines of picking something you love to do, anticipating it, getting ready, and going for it, enjoying every step along the way. It doesn't have to be physical, it can be devoting yourself to anything you enjoy. It doesn't matter if not a single soul knew anything about my trip, nor how long it took, but merely that I was able to do it, on my own terms, under my own power. On the path ahead, in the darkest and toughest of times, I will be able to return to the memory of this place. It is a feeling that is intensely private and personal, yet also universal.
Because it's there is Mallory's adage, to which I'll add
Because you can

Doing what you love and what you can is not crazy -- wistful regret at not doing what you love is.

To Estes and Back
All systems were great: tires held air, my urine was almost clear. Besides a mile or two on the highway, the rest was a lovely 35mph descent into Estes. Even though summer was over, throngs of tourists still infested the streets, consuming the mountains one knick-knack store after another. No matter, perhaps one boy would look up above the shops; perhaps one girl would see a reflection of Isabella Bird in a store window; and all would be right with the world.

Speaking of which, two food pilgrimages which I always enjoy when riding through Estes:
Cheese pizza by the slice(s) at "Chicago's Best"
Awesome coffee at Kind Coffee
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons


Winding through town on the river path and filling up took up close to an hour, but everything was still going great.
I wasn't tired, and I didn't have a headache!

Now for the ride home. Usually, some sort of car/bike encounter ruins my otherwise blissful mood either in the canyon, or Loveland itself. But a few things were different today...First, most of the traffic was likely regular commuters -- a bit more skilled and familiar with sharing the road, I would think. But also, cars were noticeably swerving across double-yellows and giving plenty of room for me, my bike, and my mountainous glow. Could it be that drivers were adhering to the new 3-foot passing law, and taking advantage of legal passing across a yellow lane? It was so uncanny as car after car did this. I never understood why people didn't do this before it was legally allowed -- why not err on the side of caution for everyone than brushing past each other? -- but for some reason, the new explicit law might have made people actually think about it.

So I made it to Ft. Collins, still no encounters with cars, and no mechanicals on the bike. I still cannot believe this good but simple fortune. Almost done...I decided a stop at Dairy Queen for a mint M&M blizzard was in order. I ate it while riding, no-handed, happy as a kid. Well, a kid of legal drinking age, because I also hadn't had a beer in a few days, and didn't have any in the house, so I stopped at the liquor store too. So yeah, 6 bottles of water, two packs, a blizzard, a bomber bottle of beer, and 17 hours later, I got back home!


The Aftermath

I anticipated 14 hours and it took 17, with no mechanicals or any problems.
I had a fantastic time and met great people, it was a great time of year to go.
I enjoyed every minute of it and fell in love with the mountain, I am eager to go back and try different routes.

I hope some of this information is useful to somebody.
Thank you for reading.