Mt. Harvard: (Back) Into the Wild

Mt. Harvard (14,420')

miles hiked: 14.0
elevation gained: 5,341 feet

Pizza, beer, and showers are a nice luxury, but nothing beats the calm sigh of the wilderness: the gasp of wind in the pines, the rustle of snowmelt trickling through boulders, the conversations of birds. This is what we are up here for. This is the wild.

The Horn Fork Basin, nestled in the heart of the Collegiate Peaks Wilderness, is one of Colorado's special places. Though prone to crowds, the Horn Fork is still a beautiful, rugged cirque festooned with crystalline streams, high-alpine lakes, and, of course, dramatic peaks. Mt. Yale, Mt. Columbia, and Mt. Harvard protect this amazing place like tall, gray sentinels. They watch over everything with dignity and power.

Mt. Harvard is the third tallest point in Colorado behind only Mt. Massive and Mt. Elbert. But it is also a bashful mountain not visible from roads or towns. Mt. Harvard's prize is reserved only for us that bother to hike into one of the dramatic basins that line its base.

We began our planned three-day backpack on Tuesday. The goal was to hike into the Horn Fork Basin and set-up a base camp the first day, climb Harvard and move basecamp to Kroenke Lake on Wednesday, and climb Mt. Yale on Thursday. Although we struggled with heavy packs on the difficult approach, we executed the first portion of our plan and established a gorgeous basecamp at 11,300'. It was easily one of the most beautiful camps we've seen yet.

The next morning we began our hike toward Harvard. The incessant trail wound its way past treeline, through the scree around Bear Lake, and onto the south slopes of massive Mt. Harvard. It was a clear, flawless morning, and the breathtaking views of the surrounding cirque was sufficent distraction from the exhausting climb.

Moonset over an unnamed thirteener in the Horn Fork Basin:

Rock formations on Harvard and Columbia's connecting ridge:

As the slopes of Harvard steepened, beautiful views of the Horn Fork Basin opened below us. The familiar shapes of other Sawatch fourteeners rose in their usual posts: nearby Yale and its sister Princeton, sharp Antero, and the distant blue outlines of Shavano and Tabeguache. It is difficult sometimes while struggling to climb in the thin air to take a moment to appreciate the drama of a Colorado skyline, but this is why we live here. And this is why we climb here.

Ella reflecting on Bear Lake with Mt. Yale in the background:


unnamed lake at the base of Mt. Harvard (Mt. Columbia in background):

Capping Mt. Harvard was a surprising summit block of angular granite slabs. The guidebook rates this mountain as class II, the same as Belford, Huron, La Plata, Elbert, etc. There might be a class II line through the boulders here, but we didn't find it. The last fifty feet were hand-and-foot scrambling that required care and technique. I could see this surprising crux catching many-a-casual climber unaware. Quite a distinction from the soft, easy trail leading to Belford's summit.

Ella picking her way through the crux:

the same photo with arrow to show Ella's position:


Me on the summit block:

the obligatory summit photos:


the view from the summit back towards the Horn Fork Basin:

Back at the tent we napped as a light rainstorm rolled by. We intended to relocate our basecamp from the Horn Fork Basin to Kroenke Lake, a move that would require over a thousand feet of elevation loss to where the two trails intersected and a thousand feet of gain back to Kroenke Lake. We realized now, with protesting weather and protesting quadriceps, that this may have been over-ambitious. We made the prudent decision instead to retreat and treat ourselves to a night in a cheap hotel (with wi-fi, hence the blogpost): the first night in a bed for over a week. Though because of this decision we may have to forfeit another summit, we agreed we could use the respite to prepare for the second half of our Sawatch adventure.

Many mountains still to come...

Mt. Belford: Simply a Beauty

Mt. Belford (14,197')

miles hiked: 7.68
elevation gained: 4,537 feet

Beautiful Mt. Belford is a perfectly simple climb: a series of switchbacks through the trees, a series of switchbacks up its northwest ridge. There is a soft, solid trail all the way from the bottom to the top, and an excellent summit block of jagged rock. The views are excellent, and the day was perfect.

After a day in Buena Vista (our first breath of civilization for five days) that was more frustrating than refreshing because of the crowds of people, we decided to backpack into Missouri Gulch and set-up a high camp just below treeline at 11,300'. Contrary to the day before when there was a virtual city burgeoning in the wilderness, this well-worn high camp was almost empty. We shared the beautiful expanse with only two other tents. This seemed odd to us, since it was a saturday night. We had worried before setting out that we might even have trouble finding a spot.

Though the steep approach was difficult with fifty pounds of gear on our backs, we were the first on the trail in the morning and had the mountain seemingly to ourselves all the way to the summit.

A beautiful view of La Plata on the climb up Mt. Belford:

On top we were having one of the best days yet of our summer, and the mile and a half traverse to Oxford looked strenuous. We decided that, instead of being peak baggers, we wanted to cherish our wonderful experience on Belford and not push ourselves to the point of exhaustion simply to bag another summit. Besides, Oxford is a peak worthy of its own experience, and we decided that a return trip, perhaps with a backpack into the Pine Creek Basin on Oxford's opposite side, would be the best way to do the mountain justice.

Ella on her way towards Belford's excellent summit block:

View to the southwest of Mt. Emerald, Iowa Peak, and Elkhead Pass:

Me and Ella on the summit:

So Oxford joins Lincoln and Bross on the "Mountains Left Behind" list, but it gives us just another excuse to return for more climbing. We retreated to Buena Vista for a few days respite in the local KOA. Showers and a washing machine! Our climb up Belford was yesterday, and today we had a great soak in the Mt. Princeton Hot Springs and discovered a wonderful new brewpub on South Main near Buena Vista's whitewater park. Great pizza, and great beer, and a dramatic change from campstove pasta and oatmeal. Tomorrow, if the weather holds, we are back into the woods for a three day backpack into the Horn Fork Basin to attack Mt. Harvard and Mt. Yale.

Missouri Mountain: A Sawatch Range Anomaly

Missouri Mountain (14,067')

Miles hiked: 10.8
Elevation gained: 4,824 feet

5:00 comes early. Rising like Lazarus from the dead of sleep to a cold, high-alpine morning is tough to get used to, no matter how often we do it.

Missouri Mountain is a Sawatch Range anomaly. In a range dominated by mountains that, though undeniably massive, amount to little more than gently sloped mounds of grassy fields and scree, Missouri Mountain is a rugged crag and a surprisingly challenging climb. It is even challenging to determine which of the many points on Missouri's jagged ridge is the actual summit.

The Missouri Gulch trailhead, our launching pad, was very close to our basecamp, so after a quick breakfast we arrived just after 5:30 am. We strapped on our boots, yawned a good half-million times, and set out up the beautiful trail towards Missouri Gulch.

The trail starts off right away climbing steeply up a series of switchbacks through a lush growth of trees. After only a few switchbacks, we were passed by a man running up the trail! People of all sorts, unimpressive and impressive, climb fourteeners.

An hour into the climb we came upon a tent city and a rather large group of people who were camped just below treeline. This gave us the idea that when we returned to the basin to climb Belford/Oxford in two more days we could backpack to here to lessen the length and elevation of that notoriously long climb.

The next portion of the route took us through a long, broad meadow at the top of Missouri Gulch. Missouri Mountain appeared on the horizon and seemed to rise tectonically as we crested the hill on approach. We tiptoed back and forth across Missouri Gulch Creek as the jagged bastions of Missouri's north face grew before us.

Missouri's impressive north face:

Looking back on the Missouri Gulch Basin:


Ella (faint in center) in beautiful Missouri Gulch:

At 12,700' the we turned west and faced the most challenging portion of the ascent to Missouri's summit: a tough scramble up loose scree with exposure.

A view of the route up to the ridge on Missouri as seen from Mt. Belford:

same view with the route drawn in:

After some difficult and treacherous loose rock, we reached Missouri's northwest ridge. The half-mile traverse to the summit was airy and exciting with two sections of knife-edge tight roping across snowdrifts, and one downclimb that required both hands and feet. Great focus was required for each movement, which helped distract us from the intense exhaustion of a long day.

looking back on the easier portion of Missouri's ridge traverse:

When we reached Missouri's summit, I was coming down with a mild case of altitude sickness (dizziness, disorientation), so we did not linger very long. The views from this incredible perch, however, were astounding.

The Three Apostles to the southwest:

Looking across at Huron Peak:

The hike out was long, exhausting, and bone jarring. Ominous towers of clouds were building on the western horizon, and we had one peculiar encounter with yet another member of the I-shouldn't-climb-mountains crowd: a woman dressed only in tiny biking shorts and a sports bra. She was carrying no water, had no protection from inclement weather, and had such a deep sunburn her skin bore a striking resemblance to the skin of a tomato. We considered offering her sunscreen but decided that enjoying a second-degree sunburn, and an exacerbated chance at skin cancer, was her prerogative. I suppose she didn't understand how much less ozone there is protecting you from UV above 13,000'.

hiking out through the Missouri Gulch basin:

Mt. Huron: Return to the Sawatch Range

Mt. Huron (14,003')

miles hiked: 10.0
elevation gained: 3,815 feet


For the first climb of our second trip, we climbed beautiful Huron Peak. We were eager to return to the Sawatch Range where the mountains are taller and, in general, more remote than those of the Tenmile-Mosquito Range. At just over 14,000 feet, Huron, has a reputation as the easiest Sawatch fourteener to climb, so it was as logical a place as any to start. We soon discovered, however, that even an "easy" Sawatch fourteener is a long, committing, thigh-busting day. Despite this, Huron was a beautiful mountain and a thoroughly enjoyable climb.

At 5:00 am the alarm pulled me from strange, troubled dreams, and we tightened our layers of clothing to block out the chill of a 10,000' morning. We took down a bagel and made the relatively short drive to Winfield, an old mining camp where the trailhead lie. It was a pristine morning to begin the second portion of our summer: the sun graced the upper slopes of the mountains and the crystalline water of the South Fork of Clear Creek tumbled by with a crowd's whisper.

Ella at the beginning of our Sawatch expedition:

It took fifty minutes of hiking to reach the actual trailhead from where we parked our car to the spot where the relentless 4WD road ended. The trail began with a relentless set of switchbacks through the high alpine trees, gaining over 1,500 feet. Near the top, we reached a ridge that boasted huge vistas of the valley from which we'd come. Breathtaking sights of the Three Apostles, three of the Sawatch's more dramatic peaks (but not fourteeners), opened before us.

At 12,000' we reached the basin at the foot of Mt. Huron, and the summit was visible at last, though still towering above us. The basin was a short, flat expanse with babbling streams and armies of brilliant, multi-colored flowers. We watched marmots chase each other with remarkable dexterity through the steep scree at the basins top end.

Ella climbing towards the basin at Huron's base:

Though the basin floor provided a much-needed respite, it did not last, and the most challenging section of the hike loomed before us. The last 2,000 vertical feet consisted of a dramatic set of gravelled switchbacks. Though the trail was well-defined, the climb was relentless. Slowly, however, the basin floor sunk beneath us, and we reached the upper defenses of Mt. Huron's Northwest face.

Looking down on the basin at the base of Huron's northwest face:


Beautiful views of La Plata to the north:


view up towards Huron's summit:

A little before 10:00 am we made it (finally) to the summit. We were rewarded with calm, azure skies and perhaps the best views yet from any summit. The Three Apostles dominated the view to the south. To the west we could see the basin from which we'd come and distant views of the familiar Elk Range skyline. To the north we could see our old friend, La Plata Peak, the first fourteener we climbed. To the east were much of the Collegiate Peaks: Missouri, Belford, Oxford, Harvard, Yale, and Princeton.

Ella making the last few feet to the summit:


Breathtaking view of the Three Apostles to the south from Huron's summit:

West Apostle:


Ella on Huron's beautiful summit with the Apostle's in the background:

Smiling on the summit:

Me on the summit:

On the descent we could relax and enjoy the scenery, but by the end the exhaustion overtook us. We passed several beautiful campsites and were disturbed to find them polluted with reckless garbage: beer cans, soda bottles, and other refuse. It was unfathomable to me to imagine coming to a place as pristine and breathtaking as this and casting into it your ugly, disgusting garbage. What sort of person would do such thing? Sadly, quite a few of such people exist. A disappointment like this tempts me to misanthropy, but I must, instead, try to maintain compassion.

Mt. Sherman: Gettin' Back on the Horse

Mt. Sherman

summit elevation: 14,036 feet
hike length: 5.66 miles
elevation gained: 2,415 feet

The best thing after a fall, they say, is to get back up on that damn horse. After our “fall” yesterday on the Decalibron (and in lieu of forecasts calling for more high wind) we had essentially decided last night to sleep in this morning and call it a week. Just before it was time to turn in for the night, however, the itch to climb returned despite our exhaustion. In a stroke of inspiration, we re-packed our summit bags and set the alarm for the usual 4:00 am. Climbing mountains, after all, not sleeping in, was what we were here for.

When we awoke this morning, the air in Frisco was dead calm. This considerable improvement from the day before was omen enough to convince us to resist the temptation of a lazy morning and proceed Mt. Sherman's trailhead.

After driving up over Hoosier Pass for the second straight day, we made the turn onto the long dirt road up Fourmile Creek towards Sherman's lofty base. The drive was surprisingly smooth, and we were able to get Ella’s Subaru to nearly 12,000’. Though I’m not normally a fan of high trailheads (I prefer to climb mountains, not drive up them), we were at the frayed end of our proverbial ropes both physically and mentally after yesterday’s tribulations, and I was more than happy to abridge our day climbing Sherman. The dark side to the morning, however, was apparent from the moment we stepped out of the car and were greeted by eerily similar morning winds to the day before (let the second-guessing begin).

early morning ice forming on the edges of small pond:


The first mile and a half of the climb coursed along old mining roads to a beautiful basin at 13,000’. Though I usually find the scars of Colorado's former mining industry repulsive, here the derelict remains of a 19th century mining operation oddly added to the beauty instead of distracting from it. These hardened miners, we decided, were truly the first Colorado mountaineers. They pioneered the way into these awesome places in more ways than one: literally by constructing the roads we present-day climbers use to access them, and yet also by filling in the blank corners of the map that these mountains once guarded with recalcitrance.

remnants from Colorado's pioneers:


The next part of the climb entailed a steep snow ascent to the saddle between Mt. Sherman and its 13,748’ neighbor Mt. Sheridan. The short climb was steep and icy, so we took a moment to strap crampons back on our feet. With these stainless-steel teeth to provide traction, the icy ascent was not a problem.

more mining detritus (the snow climb to the Sherman/Sheridan saddle visible in background):


Once on the ridge, we had reached 13,120’, and the unfortunate truth of the climb was immediately evident: we were in for another gusty summit attempt. Down in the bowl on the south side of the mountain, we had been sheltered from the worst of the wind's force. Exposed now on Sherman’s west ridge, we could tell that it was only slightly less intense than the day before.

From the saddle, the 900-foot climb to the Sherman’s summit was revealed before us. The climb looked strenuous but passed fairly quickly. At about 13,700’ there was one exposed section where we had to navigate around short gendarmes of rock with icy, hardpack snow jammed into the crevices between them. This short section gives Sherman its class II rating and proved quite intimidating. To the north were impressive views of the southern Mosquito Range and a thousand+ foot drop (at a steep fifty-degree angle) into the Iowa Basin. One tiny slip could easily lead to a vicious tumble. Though not as severe as the day before, the wind added considerable excitement to this section. Excitement that, still gun-shy from yesterday’s thrills, I wasn’t quite prepared for mentally. As a result, I fell into a let’s-get-up-this-and-back-down-as-soon-as-possible climbing mentality.

looking back on the crux section of Sherman's route (note the steep drop-off to the right):


Luckily, Sherman’s long, rotund summit appeared just after this spooky section, and we reached the summit cairn with the morning still young. Much like yesterday, I didn’t feel much into standing on the summit, and we spent just enough time on top to snap off a few pictures before beginning our descent back down.

the view to the north from the summit:

Ella on the summit of Mt. Sherman:

As usual, the descent went much faster and passed with minimal excitement. We did, however, note a disturbing trend: a general un-preparedness of the majority of the climbers we encountered on their way to the summit. We saw everything from a family with kids easily under 12 years old donning sneakers, blue jeans and possessing no water, to an entire group of fifteen or more, each as ill-equipped as the last. Though Sherman (like most of the Tenmile-Mosquito Range mountains) has the reputation of being an “easy” fourteener, any mountain this high demands to be taken seriously. It is “casual” climbers such as these that get into trouble and give mountaineering its “extreme” reputation. Surely, with a dry trail on a hot day in July, Sherman is a Mecca for climbers of this sort, but the conditions today (with the ice and high wind) made this ascent challenging and potentially dangerous. I couldn't fathom exposing a young child to these conditions without even the protection of basic mountaineering accoutrements.

looking down on the valley from near 14,000' on Mt. Sherman:


At the end of the day we were glad that we’d decided to climb, and (with defiance to the accursed wind) had had yet another amazing mountain experience. Each mountain has a unique personality, and climbing a variety of them is far more enlightening than climbing a single favorite over and over.

Ella after descending off Mt. Sherman's windy west ridge:


And so ended the first trip of our “summer of fourteeners”. Though we made only four out of six of the summits we’d planned (and oh-so-close to the other two), the trip was a spectacular success. We can only hope that we have as many great experiences ahead of us as we already have behind.



P.S. Our second trip (to the Sawatch Range alongside the towns of Granite, Buena Vista, and Salida) begins on Tuesday. Thanks to everyone who has been following along. We hope that you have enjoyed our pictures and our tales thus far.

P.P.S. The rest of our summer will all be camping based, so I will not be able to post on this blog as often as I have been able to up to this point.

The Decalibron: How to Climb in a Hurricane

Mt. Democrat/ Mt. Cameron/ Mt. Lincoln/ Mt. Bross

Mt. Democrat: 14,148 feet
Mt. Cameron: 14,238 feet
Mt. Lincoln: 14,286 feet
Mt. Bross: 14,172 feet

miles hiked: 6.8
elevation gained: 3,444 feet

The Decalibron [De(mocrat)ca(meron)li(ncoln)bro(ss)n], as Gerry Roach's classic guidebook Colorado's Fourteeners calls it, is the only reasonable route on any of Colorado's fourteeners where you can climb four mountains in one day. Several of our friends and family members, when viewing our itinerary, commented that it seemed "over-ambitious" to attempt four 14ers at once. The truth is that, on a normal day, this loop is probably an easier hike than many single mountains in the Sawatch Range.

Today, however, was not a normal day.

We reached the trailhead at Kite Lake at 5:45 in the morning, anticipating a long, arduous climb and hoping to get an early start so we could finish before the weather turned sour in the afternoon. It was a cold, windy morning, and we hit the trail just before six, winding our way along the icy trail toward the saddle between Mt. Democrat and Mt. Cameron.

The view back toward Kite Lake from the first part of the trail:

After just under a mile and half of twisting and turning our way through scree and ice, we arrived at the 13,380' saddle and were rewarded with a dramatic view of the Tenmile/Mosquito Range to the north. We could clearly see Mt. Quandary and other rugged, impressive summits.

The view from the 13,380' Democrat/Cameron saddle (Quandary is the big peak on the right):


and to the northwest:


It was windy but manageable, and after a short break we turned west up the ridge towards the summit of Mt. Democrat. Here the climbing became much steeper and more interesting. To the north the mountain dropped precipitously, and with the heavy wind we adopted a technique of spreading out our ski poles and crouching low during the more intense wind gusts and marching upward during the short lulls between. The trail was steep and icy, and we decided to put on our crampons for better traction. Slowly but steadily, we made our way to the summit of Mt. Democrat.

Ella struggling her way to the Democrat summit:


At the summit the wind changed from being a nuisance to being a little frightening. Neither of us dared to stand for any length of time, and we had to be careful when rummaging through our bags not to let any of our gear catch the wind and take flight off the mountain. Because of the intense wind, we considered hiking down after Democrat and returning tomorrow to complete the loop. After a short debate, however, we decided that we had come too far to stop now. This was a decision that we would come to regret.

me on the summit of Mt. Democrat:

Ella on Democrat:

While descending back to the saddle we encountered two new friends we had made climbing Quandary two days earlier. It's a small world above 14,000 feet! Crampons made the icy descent far easier, and we were feeling good when we reached to the 13,380' saddle. The wind seemed to be dying off, and the decision to continue the climb seemed reasonable. We had a quick snack and began ascending Cameron's west ridge.


looking down Democrat's ridge:


Unfortunately for us, the break in the wind was only temporary and gusts gradually intensified as we ascended. Our technique of dropping to all fours for stability when confronted by the stronger gusts became a ritual we now relied on. The power of the wind was enough to nearly knock us over, and the exposure to the north was becoming more and more intimidating. The possibility of being blown off the mountain seemed very real. But our progress towards Cameron's summit was slow and steady, and we still felt confident in our ability to complete the four-mountain day.
Our pleasant day, however, took a sour turn on Cameron's summit. The powerful gusts had now turned into a constant blast, strong enough that neither of us felt comfortable standing for more than a few moments. We could see Lincoln's summit not far to the northeast, but the prospect of climbing in gale-strength wind was unpleasant. We decided once again, however, that we had come too far to turn back. We tightened our jackets and started towards the final climb.

Ella with a wide stance on Cameron's summit to keep from blowing away:
me trying to find something to smile about on Cameron's summit:


me looking melancholy with the last ridge to Lincoln visible in the background:

It was on the last ridge to Lincoln that we encountered the strongest wind of the day. I read when we got down from the mountain later that a person will have trouble standing in wind blowing around 70 mph. This was surely the case for us, and we spent more of our time crawling than walking. I had experienced wind in the 40 mph range but never anything like this.

At an ant's pace, we struggled up to Lincoln's false summit. The most intense  wind now had become constant. Gone were the days of dropping to all fours to wait out the more powerful wind gusts. Later that afternoon, I discovered after plotting my GPS data for today that we had had less than a tenth of a mile in distance and forty vertical feet to climb when we decided to turn around. The thought of being on that summit in hurricane-force winds was enough to deter us from making the final ridgline. It was sad to be so close, but without a doubt the right decision to turn back.

The day had gone from being fun to frustrating to downright horrific. This was easily one of the most-bizarre and scariest moments I have had while mountaineering. I hope never to have another day like it.

Mt. Lincoln's summit (we made it to the false summit on the left):

Now we were faced with a tough decision: how to get off the mountain. We could either return the way we had come back up and over Mt. Cameron and down its tedious west ridge, or climb the shorter route up Mt. Bross and descend directly back to Kite Lake. Both options seemed bleak, but we decided eventually on the latter. Although we would have to climb back (once again) over 14,000 feet, it was a shorter hike. We were ready to be back at the car. We traversed along the west face of Mt. Bross without even considering doing the twenty-minute sidetrip to its summit. Checking off summits was beyond the point now, we simply wanted to get off the mountain with souls and bodies intact. The sound of the wind roaring up the basin was deafening, like standing behind a 747 as it kicked into gear for liftoff. Sometimes you could hear the bigger gusts ripping toward you a moment or two before you felt them, giving you just enough time to drop to your hands and knees for balance.

The horrible wind was nearly constant as we did the agonizingly long traverse along Bross. After an excruciating hour and a half of traversing, we finally turned down the gulch on Bross's southwest face. It seemed at this point that the nightmare would never end.

Mt. Bross:
Eventually, we made it to our car at Kite Lake. I couldn't remember having been so thankful to get inside a vehicle. We could laugh at the crazy experience we had just had now that it was over. It was easily the most strenuous, most difficult, and most frightening day of mountaineering that I have ever experienced. I hope to never have to face such wind on a mountain again. In retrospect, not all was lost. We learned a valuable lesson about ourselves and about mountaineering.

The forecast for tomorrow is more of the same, so it is likely that Ella and I's first trip of the summer could be coming to a conclusion three summits short of our goal. I don't feel, however, as bad about this as I could. We have had a great time already, and there is plenty more to come. The reality of mountain climbing is that you never conquer a mountain, as some people like to claim, but that the mountain is simply kind enough to let you pass. We can only hope for better luck for the remainder of the summer.