I left Denver Sunday morning, just before 8:00. I wanted to be sure to have enough time to hike up past Lake Como, and find a suitable camping spot for the evening. I took I-25 south, then US 160 west to Colorado 150, about 6 miles west of the hamlet of Blanca. Shortly after 11:30, I turned onto the dirt road angling northeast toward the Blanca massif. Several passenger cars were parked about 1.8 miles up from the pavement, at about 8000 feet. Engaging four-wheel drive, I was able to continue for another 1.4 miles or so, up to approximately 8800 feet, and the first of many incredibly rough stretches of jeep road on the way up to the lake. I parked in a convenient spot just below the difficulties, changed from my driving clothes into my climbing clothes, shouldered my new-and-untried Lowe pack, and at about 12:30, set off for the heights above. It was definitely not your usual fourteener approach. Hiking along with the midday sun beating down, I was amused to spy small cacti growing in clumps beside the dusty jeep road. These, and the fragrant lowland scrub, made it seem as though I was much lower than the 9000 feet I was actually at. As the wearisome road climbed relentlessly upward, the scrub and cacti finally gave way to some fir, pine and aspen. I took my first short rest in the shade of a pine tree, on the edge of an idyllic camping spot, ringed with aspen trees. As I started back up the road, I met the first of several groups on their way out — four young men, equipped with hard hats and rope. I guessed that they had attempted Little Bear’s summit. Every few switchbacks, I passed parked four-by-fours, whose drivers had shown more daring than I. I took a moment to admire the personalized license plate on one: ALPNIST, it proclaimed. As I gained elevation, and the trees began to outnumber the bushes, it began to cloud up. The air temperature dropped quickly, and a cool breeze provided welcome relief from the heat. Soon, however, I found myself waiting out a brief rainshower under the sheltering branches of a tree, just above the ruins of some old cabins. The mosquitoes were fierce, and I made every effort to keep moving. Despite this, I chatted briefly with many of the climbers I met who were on their way out, and it soon became apparent that few had bagged more than a single summit. I was not surprised to meet climbers who had done “only” Little Bear, but many had summited only Blanca, and not Ellingwood. Shortly after 4:00, with an occasional raindrop hitting my hat with a “splat,” I finally beheld the fabled Lake Como. Only a few very rustic structures at the west end of the small lake, and the concomitant “No Trespassing” signs marred the setting. After a picture and some water, I set off, in search of a fitting camping spot. A few tents were already erected in the trees at the east end of the lake but I had planned on finding a place on the bench above the lake, anyway. About two-tenths of a mile up from the west end of the lake, and perhaps a half-mile west of Little Bear’s summit, I spotted a gently-sloped patch of grass adjacent to a low rock wall, and decided I would carry my pack no farther. With the threat of rain still present, I pitched my tent as quickly as my fatigue and the scarcity of oxygen at 11,900 feet would allow. That done, I dragged my pack and my self into the tent, zipped the door against the mosquitoes, and curled up for a nap. I didn’t sleep, of course — I never sleep inside a tent — but I enjoyed closing my eyes and listening to the sounds of Holbrook Creek and the several species of birds I could differentiate. Feeling somewhat refreshed from my rest, I packed the gear I would need for the morning’s climb back into the pack, arranged the rest of it about the tent, and strolled down to the creek to filter a fresh supply of water. Dinner was Fantastic Cha-Cha Chili and a freeze-dried veggie — a combination that had worked well on San Luis, and looked to be well on its way to becoming a climbing staple. Unfortunately, the freeze-dried green beans weren’t much more appetizing than the peas I’d had at the foot of that San Juan summit. Still, the food helped me feel more human, as did taking the leftover warm water from the coffee pot and washing up a bit. Dinner over, I resumed the eyes-closed aural scan of my surroundings I had enjoyed earlier. Light was beginning to fade now, and it was becoming a little nippy in my shirt-and-shorts attire. I stepped out to find most of the basin above me already cloaked in shadow, the sun’s last rays quickly disappearing from Blanca and (especially) Ellingwood. I took a quick picture (without fully advancing the film, I would later learn) then settled in for the evening. I was awake when the alarm went off at 5:15, just as I expected to be. The lack of any light in the sky seemed ample excuse to roll over and put off the inevitable. I was semi-conscious about 5:30, when a roaring sound startled me fully awake. One of the steep gullies tumbling north off Little Bear’s west ridge had just seen a fabulous rockslide; I hoped no one was caught in it. At 5:45, the need for speed was becoming urgent, and there was too much light filtering through the tent to have a good excuse for immobility. So I sat up, put on my climbing clothes, and had breakfast. At 6:30, I started up the remainder of the jeep road, 10 or 15 minutes behind a middle-aged fellow who had passed my campsite as I was making my final preparations. My Lowe pack, now carrying only my climbing essentials, felt only slightly heavier than my Jansport day pack similarly packed. Although I’ve never been a big fan of backpacking per se, I decided this versatile pack and I would get along just fine. After a few minutes, the jeep road finally became a trail, which immediately began a switchbacking climb around the northwest end of a bench between Blue Lakes and Crater Lake. Surveying Ellingwood’s southwest ridge, I doubted that the most cautious route-finding could keep the difficulty below class 4; I quickly ruled out ascending the ridge, at least on this outing. I took a pleasing early-morning picture of sky and water across the tiny, unnamed lake just below Crater Lake, then continued zig-zagging across broken cliffs, following the generously-cairned route as it climbed toward the Blanca-Ellingwood ridge. When the trail and the cairns finally gave out on the talus, I continued zig-zagging my way toward the large, obvious cairn atop the ridge, about one-tenth of a mile southeast of (and maybe 100 feet above) the saddle’s low point. Gaining the ridge at about 13,800 feet, I peered over the edge and down Blanca’s awesome, 1500-foot northeast face. Just over two miles to the east rose shapely Mount Lindsey. The ridge ahead of me climbed steeply toward Blanca’s summit, one-quarter of a mile southeast and still more than 500 feet above me. Across the saddle to the northwest, I spotted the gentleman who had passed my campsite earlier in the morning, now cautiously crossing the first of several couloirs which spill off the Blanca-Ellingwood ridge. A gentle breeze blew across the ridge from the west, but only a few benign clouds dotted the sky. After a short break, I started up the talus and boulders of the ridge. I was surprised to find several spots where the ridge became narrow and somewhat exposed, but each time I found easier ground just to the southwest (or right) of the crest. Finally, I found a steep pitch that wouldn’t go that way, and wound up climbing an exposed, low-angle crack across a slab on the northeast side. This led back to the now-gentler ridge crest. As I climbed, I watched the other fellow climb Ellingwood, then begin his descent back into the saddle. Although I had hoped to climb Ellingwood, too, I was beginning to doubt that I would have time for both summits; my relatively poor condition and the steep going on Blanca were slowing my progress well below the pace I had hoped to set. At 9:45, I walked up the final few feet onto Blanca’s lofty, smallish summit. It was a gorgeous day, so I leisurely snacked and drank, and enjoyed the incredible views, including the Crestones, perhaps 25 miles to the north. On my second pass around the summit cairn, I spotted the summit register, and signed in. Then I found a passably flat rock, set my camera on it, and took a self-portrait with Mount Lindsey as a backdrop. At 10:15, I started down. The more I thought about the hike out to the truck, the more convinced I became that I was too tired and too slow to attempt Ellingwood. I would surely miss my phoned check-in if I tried it. So I contented myself with one peak, and cautiously down-climbed the steep stuff. On one stretch, I found myself descending just off the crest on the northeast side of the ridge; through a break in the rocks I spotted the other climber ascending on the other side of the crest. I greeted him, and we spoke briefly about Ellingwood. He indicated it wasn’t much tougher than Blanca, and that he had stayed fairly high on the traverse. We also discussed Little Bear, which he had climbed a day or two before, and he pointed out the five climbers I had earlier heard, and now saw, ascending below us. We wished each other well, and went our respective directions. The descent was routine. At about 12,900 feet, the climber I had followed up the basin, and spoken to on Blanca, overtook me. We chatted a little further about the various peaks, and he noted he had 51 of them done; he needed Culebra and the Wilsons to complete the task. He was disappointed, however, that he would be unable to climb Culebra and finish them off during the remainder of the year. Apparently, the landowners had closed the peak to climbing for the rest of the season at the end of July. He was making better time than I, so I bid him farewell, and watched him pull away as I strolled down the trail toward camp. At 12:45, I was back at my campsite, but not without first marching a couple hundred feet past it, turning around, and seeing my blue rainfly poking out above the rocks above me. Upon returning to my tent from a quick water-filtering expedition, I surprised a marmot, who must have been investigating my gear, which I had strewn about in preparation for repacking. He raced around the rock wall behind my tent with surprising speed, then, after a couple of minutes, cautiously reappeared. He never let me approach too closely, but I did get a picture of him before he decided I wasn’t sharing my trail mix with him, then went off to sun himself on the rocks. I got the tent down, and managed to squeeze everything back into my pack. About 1:30, I heaved my pack onto my back and started the long walk out. There was not nearly as much four-wheel drive traffic as there had been during my hike in on Sunday. Dark clouds had begun to accumulate over the high peaks, and I was not far below Lake Como when I heard the first thunder rumble down from the heights. It was a long, warm, cloudy hike down to the truck. I waited out a very brief bit of hail under some trees on the way, but the weather never deteriorated to the point where raingear became necessary. I was footsore and more tired than I had a right to be, I felt, but I kept moving to keep off the less determined mosquitoes. At 4:15, I was back at my truck. I loaded my pack, changed back into my driving clothes (oh, sweet tennis shoes!) and watched a man and a boy in a Willys jeep try to navigate the rough piece of road just above me, unsuccessfully, as the rain gradually started. By about 4:30, it was coming down in earnest. At 4:35, with the Willys pilot still trying to find a way around or over the road’s obstacles, I started driving down the road. As I eased down the rough road, nearly at a walking pace, the rain tapered off, then quit entirely. The pavement on Colorado 150 felt as smooth as glass compared to the jeep road I had just descended. About 5:30, I called in from Blanca, very weary, and slightly disappointed not to have bagged two peaks. I was pleased, though, to have my 28th fourteener — and my first Sangre de Cristo summit — in the bag.

Warning: Mountain climbing entails certain risks and can be a dangerous activity. Many Colorado peaks have seen climbing fatalities. The most common factors in mountaineering accidents are poor judgement, inadequate physical conditioning and improper equipment. When faced with bad weather, fatigue or terrain that may be beyond your abilities, turn back. The mountain will still be there when you’re stronger, more experienced or better-equipped for another attempt. And remember: the summit is only the halfway point. Many accidents occur while a party is descending from the summit. If you climb, do not rely solely on the information contained herein. Do not assume that the route descriptions are completely accurate. The route descriptions were written after-the-fact from memory, and human memory is fallible. In addition, many factors (especially weather) can cause a route that is normally a “walk-up” to become a serious, hazardous proposition. Thoroughly research your route, have appropriate equipment, anticipate sudden and drastic changes in alpine weather, and know your abilities and limitations. Seek professional instruction before climbing, and build your climbing skills gradually: climb several easier peaks before attempting a more difficult route. Don’t become a statistic!

Text and photo(s) copyright © 2001 Mark R. Vanderbrook.
All rights reserved.