Mt. Massive: A (Massive) Disappointment

Mt. Massive (14,421')

miles hiked: 12.2 miles
elevation gained: 3,600'

As we approached the end of our Sawatch journey, we settled in for the grand finale: a five-day stretch in a beautiful region and a shot at climbing the two tallest mountains in the state. Our final campsite was deliciously poised in-between the trailheads of these two great mountains (Mt. Massive and Mt. Elbert) and within easy walking distance of each. This allowed us to give our overburdened car a much needed rest.

The east slopes route up Massive is long, one of the longest standard routes up a single fourteener in Colorado. The almost 14-mile journey courses from Massive's south side to its east side via a long, serpentine path. We began this pertinacious trek at 5:30 on a brisk Saturday morning. The sky was troubled by a sheet of stratus clouds that severed into gray cumulus blocks as they coursed with the prevailing winds east over the Sawatch Range.

After hiking through the beautiful, silent forests of the Mt. Massive wilderness for several hours, we emerged from the trees after four-and-a-half miles of exhaustive climbing. The camel-humps of Massive's long summit ridge were visible at last. It was not too difficult for the discerning climber to decipher which of the astonishing nine summits on Massive's summit ridge was the main peak, but we overheard several nearby climbers, perhaps out of exhaustion and misplaced hope, point out the much-nearer South Massive (one of Massive's four "unofficial" 14,000 points) as the trajectory to their companions. There was no need to correct them; there was no mistaking Massive's highly traveled trail, and they would soon figure out the truth for themselves. The name Massive is particularly apt for this mountain, for it is massive. It is more a range or sub-range than a singular peak.

Views of Mt. Elbert on approach to Massive:

From here the trail turned west directly toward the summit, and it was tempting to think that the uphill-portion of our journey was almost complete. But as we hiked steadily upwards, it seemed as if the mountain was retreating just as fast. Rows after rows of ominous clouds were building and breaking over Massive's hulk, and we questioned whether the weather would hold. We cursed the relentless, unsettled weather that had plagued a large portion of our trip (the past week in particular), but persisted onward with the hope that a summit window would open up. It was, after all, only 8:30 am.

Views from Massive's eastern slopes north towards the Holy Cross Wilderness (Mt. of the Holy Cross visible in the distance):

As we hiked through the pristine high-alpine meadows, the clouds grew only darker and the wind more fierce. By the time we reached 13,000' both wind and cloud had become a constant threat. A long queue of climbers both preceded and succeeded our position, however, which encouraged us onward. We continued to 13,500'.

The summit ridge was tantalizingly close now, but the clouds were no longer breaking apart as they had been previously. A dark anvil now hung poised over Massive's summit. We faced a difficult decision.

Clouds building over Mt. Massive:

We had hiked nearly six miles but still had about an hour's push to the top. It was not a pleasant day and threatened to get worse. We could either stop now and all our hard work would be for naught, or we could push on and risk being caught above treeline in an unpleasant storm. The best we could hope for, even if we did make the top, was a windy, uncomfortable summit. After debating for several long minutes and watching the clouds worsen above us, we made the difficult choice to turn around.

The grim storm that turned us back:

The journey down was difficult. We passed numerous groups ill-clad and under-prepared still persevering towards the mountain. The realization that if these people were going to make it we surely could have put us in a somber mood. The long walk out became a walk of shame. We second-guessed our decision. We were massively disappointed.

It was the first time in my mountaineering career that I had turned around completely empty-handed. It surely will not be the last. It was difficult to hike down with the usual sense of accomplishment replaced by a sense of deep disappointment and failure. The moment we reached camp, however, the clouds opened up and rain and lightning began tumbling from the sky. Had we pushed to the summit we would surely have been caught in a deluge. But was this one of those moments in life when you are tested, body and soul, and have to choose between a tough road to success or an easy concession of failure? Or was this a moment where wisdom outpaced valor, and we wisely turned our backs to visceral pleasure?

The mood remained somber at camp for most of the afternoon. We sat by the creek and discussed the day and our decision. Ultimately, we decided that we weren't here in the high country to "bag" summits. We were here to gain experience and commune with the natural order. Summiting these mountains, in many ways, is simply a perk of a larger, more important experience. The people who persevered may have won bragging rights for bar-counter banter later that evening, but at what cost? A wet, cold, unenjoyable summit and risky exposure to the threat of lightning?

We will come back and demand a better experience on Massive.

Mt. Shavano: Angel of the Sawatch

Mt. Shavano (14,229')

We're back now from our three-week Sawatch adventure. It is good to be home, though in many ways difficult to re-adapt to life in civilization. After being mostly in the backwoods for the last week, I can finally catch up on the blog posts. These descriptions, however, were mostly written in a journal while still in the wilderness.

The Angel of Shavano (7/8/10):

miles hiked: 9.0
elevation gained: 4,938 feet

Today was very likely the most awe-inspiring and dramatic day we have had this summer. After a cold, stormy day yesterday in which we were side-swiped by numerous, malicious thunderstorms, we went to bed thinking it was unlikely that we would be able to climb today. In the morning, however, the skies were mostly clear, and we gave our day the go-ahead, hoping to out-pace the usual development of afternoon weather. If they metastasized as they had yesterday (and they were supposed to by the weatherman's predictions), we wanted to be as far away from Shavano's high ridges as possible.

The first part of the climb was not much different than any other: a long approach through a beautiful forest with a bouquet of pine and other flora exacerbated by fresh-fallen rain. These early morning jaunts never get old and would be worthy hikes in their own right. Though we were troubled by the usual early-morning struggles (exhaustion, cold, stingy eyes, burn-out), by the time we reached treeline we had settled into our rhythm for the day.

Shavano's east-facing basin is a beautiful, lush place and home to one of the Sawatch's more colorful legends: the Angel of Shavano. The Angel myth stems from old Native American folklore in which a tribal princess, in a time of great drought, sacrificed herself in the hopes of appeasing the gods to provide much-needed moisture. The princess than reappeared each successive year on the slopes on Mt. Shavano in the shape of a woman with two arms outstretched towards the summit. Every spring she sacrifices herself, sending life-giving water to the valley below. Though her northern arm/wing was melted, the angel provided us company for the better part of our climb.

Just above treeline we had one of the more amazing experiences of our summer to this point: a close-encounter with a herd of bighorn sheep. The herd was on their way down the mountain as we were on our way up, and, as fate and the angel would have it, our paths crossed within fifty feet of each other. There were at least a half-dozen lambs in the heard, rendering the mothers cautious, but nonetheless they offered us a unique display of the majesty of nature's womb.

Part of the bighorn herd, cautiously crossing the trail:

one of my favorite pictures, the bighorn and the fog:

A short video clip of the bighorn (I apologize for the shaky quality):

The spectacle of the bighorn was enough to end any lingering morning stiffness, and we accomplished the rest of the climb in high spirits with our desire for a display of natural beauty thoroughly satiated. The angel, however, had a few more surprises underneath her halo.

At the top of Shavano's basin, we reached the 13,300' saddle between Shavano and her 13,630' companion peak "Esprit Point". This was a colorful, lush place with thick, high-alpine grasses and an armada of multi-colored, multi-shaped flowers. Shavano is not one of the craggy, rock-strewm peaks more resembling Frodo's Cracks of Doom. It (except for its highest reaches) is an ambrosial wonderland, teeming with life. The final scramble to Shavano's summit was tedious but not overly difficult.

Looking down to Shavano's grassy high slopes:

Shavano's final summit pitch:

We reached the summit around 9:30 am. High on top, it was a clear day, but a boiling, beautiful blanket of fog was raising up the mountain slopes from the valley below. Nature provided us with a dramatic show as the fog lifted with dramatic, convective action. We got an amazing, eye-level dissertation on cloud development and lingered in awe too long, perhaps, as the clouds turned quickly into towering thundercaps. Because of this rapidly building weather situation, our pattern of not completing our multi-summit traverses continued and progressing on to Tabeguache (pronounced tab-uh-wash) Peak, as per our original plan, was out of the question.

fog building to the northeast:

me on the summit with clouds/fog growing:

Ella on the summit:

On the descent we dropped down from the high ridge into slippery, tendrils of fog. I had the distinct impression that we were hiking through the mossy hills and mountains of Scotland. It was admittedly intimidating, however, as the playful clouds had developed into an ominous storm. We passed several groups still on their way to the summit and tried to offer them encouragement to reconsider. Most of them, despite clearly knowing better, decided to continue. We pondered their fate later as stout crashes of thunder pursued us down the mountain's final slopes. We, for one, were thankful to be below treeline, heading downward....

The two of us near the summit together:

Mt. Princeton: Prince of the Sawatch

Mt. Princeton (14,197')

miles hiked: 13.4
elevation gained: 5,234 feet

So we're on the summit of Mt. Princeton and a Search and Rescue helicopter is circling the skies above us, looking for a fallen climber....

Our day climbing Mt. Princeton, Prince of the Sawatch, began with omens of dark portent. We spent the night huddled in our tent as oscillations of rain played our rain flap like a drum. Loud enough, even, to drown the pops and crashes of Buena Vista's Independence Day firework celebration. We lay hoping that the seams of our tent and the various, pre-departure treatments of Camp Dry would hold.

We set an early alarm, 4:30 am, since Princeton, with 6,000' of topographical prominence from Buena Vista, is one of the longest and most-strenuous climbs in all the Sawatch Range. Needless to say when we brought ourselves from the tent neither of us could boast a solid night's sleep. The air was crisp with chilly winds and the nearby mountains were frosted with a light coat of fresh, July snow. All the signs seemed to point towards a poor day for a climb. But the skies had cleared, and though we both struggled with the 4 am witching-hour blues, we had motivation enough to make our way to Princeton's popular trailhead even as the first rays of the morning sun crept above the eastern horizon.

Trailhead: Princeton's trailhead is a lowly 8,900', leaving almost 5,300 vertical feet for us to ascend. We'd hoped to abridge this grueling approach by driving up the Mt. Princeton Road (which serves as the first part of the trail) to a set of radio towers located at 10,800'. Gerry Roach's guidebook, Colorado's Fourteeners (the bible of Colorado fourteenering), offered this sage advice on this trailhead/approach: "There is a large parking lot at the bottom of the Mt. Princeton Road at 8,900'. If you value your vehicle, park here; this is the trailhead". We'd harbored a sincere hope that this advice was perhaps a bit outdated and overzealous, but once we reached this parking lot we discovered a large amount of cars and trucks, many with higher clearance than our humble Subaru, already parked, so we brought our car to a halt alongside them, tightened our bootstraps, and began the long, long, ascent. (We would later discover that most of these cars were not parked here by climbers but by attendees of a nearby dude ranch).

The beginning of the Mt. Princeton Rd. and our trailhead:

The bummer of this base-assault technique on Princeton is that the approach becomes a 4.5 mile slog up a moderately busy 4WD road. Road approaches on mountains have never been my favorite. Four-wheelers, dirt bikes, and Jeeps kicking up choking clouds of dust makes for a mood-killing morning.

As we hiked up this relentless road we were passed by many climbers (cheaters) blasting with their trucks and SUVs up the side of the mountain. I came to look upon these people with contempt, claiming to myself that we were here to climb the mountain, not drive up it. It is more likely, however, that I was merely envious of the several miles of tough hiking that they were spared.

The road-approach to Princeton:

At 11,800' "Tigger Peak" (a 13,300' companion peak of Princeton's) loomed above us, and the route steered away from the long road at last. No more cars, trucks, or "cheaters". Only a switchback or two later, mighty Princeton appeared on the horizon. It was clear from this first vantage that Princeton truly is a monarch and a powerful peak.

Not much farther, at 12,300', the rest of the route opened before us. Though it did not look far, it was a deceptively long, arduous climb to the top.

Mt. Princeton in view at last:

The last mile and a half required careful, tedious route-finding through large boulders and loose talus. Concentration was mandatory with each step to avoid a slip. Above 13,000' the route became very steep and the boot-worn trail was analogous to a precipitous slip-and-slide of gravel ball-bearings. I often found myself frequently employing all four limbs for greater purchase.

Starting to feel the benefits of having climbed nine mountains already this summer, however, we caught and eventually surpassed most of the climbers that had driven past us earlier that morning.

Princeton's long talus ridge to the summit:

Four and a half grueling hours after leaving the car behind at the trailhead, we were on Princeton's dramatic summit sharing congratulations with other climbers. One climber loudly claimed Princeton as his "21st fourteener". He added to this voluminous boasting his opinion that "all the mountains looked the same". The Prince was my 14th fourteener, and I couldn't disagree more. I found myself resenting his brand of high-alpine cynicism. Each mountain to me is as unique as the climbers who climb them. He refused to smile when we took his summit photo for him.

View to the northwest from the top (Mt. Harvard on the right in the distance, Mt. Yale in the center):

So back to the Search and Rescue helicopter...

Word reached the summit, passed along the climbing chain, that somebody had fallen on the mountain. Almost as soon as we heard this disturbing news, a bright-orange Search and Rescue helicopter appeared and proceeded to circle the mountain for most of the remaining day. We could see the entire difficult portion of the climb from the top, and nobody appeared to be injured or in distress of any sort. As we descended we ascertained from other climbers still on their way to the top that a woman was claiming that her daughter had fallen. With understandable panic (had this actually been the case) she had summoned Search and Rescue to the mountain she thought she was climbing: Mt. Princeton. Unfortunately for everyone involved, she had made a major miscalculation and had actually been climbing "Tigger Peak" (Princeton's aforementioned companion mountain).

The Rescue chopper dizzily circling overhead:

By the time we reached the bottom we had learned the full story: in the process of ascending the wrong peak, mother and daughter had somehow become separated. Panicked, the mother had summoned Search and Rescue. Nobody had ever fallen. Nobody had ever been hurt.

My conclusion from this strange event was that many people climb 14ers who do not take these mountains seriously enough. First of all, nobody should climb a 14er if they haven't done enough research to avoid ending up on the wrong mountain. Proper studying of topo maps and the numerous available guidebooks would have made such a miscalculation almost impossible. Secondly, Search and Rescue should not have been summoned unless there had been, without a doubt, an accident. Ambulances, Sheriffs, a helicopter, and a Chaffee County Search and Rescue team a half-dozen members strong spent the better part of a day searching for a climber who was never in trouble in the first place. These hard-working folk might have had an actual emergency to attend to. This false rescue was a clear waste of resources. Though I was glad, of course, that nobody was injured, I was secretly satisfied with the knowledge that the mother-who-cried-wolf was likely stuck with a $10,000 bill for her mistake.

Mt. Yale: Friends in High Places

Mt. Yale (14,196')

miles hiked: 9.0
elevation gained: 4,300 feet

Mt. Yale offered a different kind of experience for us as we were not alone on the climb but were joined by a small group of friends. We decided on an early rise: 4:30 am. This, we figured, provided ample time to head-start the crowds of Fourth of July weekend. When we arose, however, we were greeted by a smother of gray clouds and several waves of cold rain that forced us to retreat to our tents and re-think our plans. We reset our alarm clocks to 6:00 for a second evaluation.

Rising for the second time, it turned out, was mysteriously more difficult for most of the members of our group, but a pale-blue blanket hovered above us: not a cotton-ball or mare's tail in sight. This troubled collision of good and bad weather proved to be a lingering theme for the day.

Once on the trail we all settled into our own paces, and I found myself, after only a switchback or two, alone with my thoughts. This separation persisted all the way to Yale's summit where we were eventually reunited.

The hike up Yale is long, but not as long as some of the others in the Sawatch Range. It is relatively short, in fact, when compared to Missouri or Harvard. After several miles of mostly moderate elevation gain, the trail steepened and emerged from the trees. Yale's southern ramparts came into view at last. As is true of most Sawatch climbs, the view was spectacular.

some views on the approach to Mt. Yale:



As I climbed the last switchbacks through the scree to the saddle of Yale's west ridge, it was apparent that solitude was not going to be a part of the day. A trail crew twenty members strong was hard at work reinforcing the switchbacks to battle the erosion caused by too many boots. A dotted line of climbers also graced the slopes both above and below me.

looking down the route from above:

The wind was swelling and had a winter-flavored bite that I had not anticipated. I grudgingly conceded that I was under-dressed for the occasion. By the time I reached the summit ridge at 13,800', my hands and face were feeling the first tingles of numbness.

the view north from 13,800':

The final scramble to Yale's summit was, similarly to Harvard's, surprisingly tricky. A miscalculation in route -inding found me staring down a short but intimidating class V cliff. Upon backtracking, however, an inconspicuous but easier class II route opened up through the boulders on the ridge's west side. Such miscalculations, I observed, were common on Yale's summit ridge, and I found myself coaching others who made the same mistake as me to the right path.

Yale's summit ridge:

After finall attaining the summit, I sat under-dressed but still somehow enjoying the troubled weather of the morning. Dark masses of clouds built with remarkable speed overhead and soared east towards Buena Vista. The swelling clouds hung low, almost close enough, it seemed, that an outstretched hand might be able to scrape their bottoms. Mt. Harvard to the north and the Three Apostles to the northwest hid their heads in the clouds, giving them a rugged, malevolent appearance.

The Three Apostles shrouded by clouds:

Mt. Harvard, Mt. Columbia, and the Horn Fork Basin:

Half an hour after arriving, I decided that I could wait no longer for the rest of the group to catch up, so I began my descent. As I should have anticipated, I encountered the others at the bottom of the summit ridge and was goaded into climbing back to the top for group photos. Though the wind was reaching a crescendo (recalling without quite rivaling our horrible day on Mt. Lincoln) the late arrivals were not keen to leave the summit quickly, so I spent another half an hour on top under-dressed and over-cold.

Once everyone had had their fill of wind and scenery, we began the long descent back to the trailhead.

Some of the friends:
Thanks to everyone who joined us for this climb: Kayleigh, Michelle, Eva, Trent, and Bridget. What a day in Colorado's high country!

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: