Having suffered my second defeat of the season on Challenger Point two weeks before, and having added only three new peaks to my list so far in the season, I decided to set my sights on a more attainable target. Although long — 12 miles and 4800 vertical feet — I felt secure that Columbia’s class-2 southeast ridge would present a pleasant outing with a good likelihood of bagging a new summit. The weather, which was supposed to deteriorate markedly on Tuesday, was my only real concern. Full of hope (and mistrust of the meteorologists) I left town Monday afternoon about 1:20. By about 4:00, I had reached the well-marked trailhead. I had spotted a couple of nice camping spots on the way up, one just inside the national forest boundary, and another about a mile below the trailhead. But a third, maybe twenty yards below the trailhead, was too convenient to resist. With a cool, brisk wind from the west driving an occasional stray raindrop ahead of the approaching rain shower, I pitched my tent amidst the trees. My camp arranged, I reclined in my tent, and waited for the rain to hit. It soon obliged. After about 45 minutes, the rain stopped, and I took a short hike up the first ten minutes or so of the trail, pausing to examine the trailhead register and appreciate the scenery. Then, with the sun low in the western sky, I headed back to camp and fixed dinner. I was up about 5:45 Tuesday morning. Actually, the alarm had gone off at 5:30, but I required my usual 15 minutes to work up enough energy to get started. I dressed, then I packed up my gear in the glare of my truck’s headlights. With first light revealing an overcast sky, I ate breakfast, and prepared to start up the trail. I began the climb at 6:35. I followed the Colorado Trail north up switchbacks to the broad, forested end of Columbia’s southeast ridge at 10,000 feet, then started up the slope through the trees. After a while I came to the first of several rocky outcroppings on the ridge crest, most of which were skirted to the north. Although I never did see them, I heard elk bugling nearby. Finally, after nearly 2,000 feet of often steep climbing through the woods, I arrived at treeline and observed the serpentine upper ridge, arcing toward the summit, hidden in cloud, still high above. The weather, which had never been encouraging, was now degenerating steadily. Clouds were consolidating into a threatening layer above, as more clouds stealthily filled the drainages on either side of the ridge. These low clouds would, from time to time, make an assault on the ridge, only to be rebuffed, then try again, sending swirling tentacles over the ridge crest. Although I could see the next high point on the ridge above me, the clouds obscuring the ridge below me troubled me. A descent in thick clouds, and with no trail to follow might deposit me in the wrong drainage — or worse, might lead to one of several short cliffs along the ridge. I nearly turned back on several occasions; each time, I decided to proceed to the next high point along the ridge, hoping that the descent wouldn’t become a perilous undertaking. Gradually, it became evident that the weather, while not good, was no longer going downhill. Moving thus from point to point, I eventually found myself at about 13,500 feet, within about 30 minutes of the summit, which was finally in view, the clouds having lifted a bit. The summit lured me onward. At 12:55, I trudged onto the top of the rocky summit, under a cloudy sky punctuated by a few tiny patches of brilliant blue. Yale and Princeton, wreathed in tattered clouds, rose in majesty to the south with Antero beyond; Harvard and several other Sawatch peaks marched toward the horizon to the northwest. Pretty Horn Fork Basin lay to the west, and I quickly spotted the location where I had camped during my climb of Harvard, two months before. Most of the Arkansas valley was filled with angry-looking clouds. I took a few pictures, signed the register, and had a quick snack. Being only five minutes ahead of my schedule, I decided not to waste any time, and started down without the usual self-portrait at 1:10. The descent along the upper ridge was routine. The weather stayed blustery, with an occasional patch of sunshine to warm me up. I was able to skirt several of the high points on the ridge, saving myself perhaps a couple of hundred feet of elevation gain. As I approached treeline, it became apparent that the weather was finally going to improve. The thick layer of cloud was breaking up, revealing a few harmless, puffy white clouds above. I had won my bet with the weather, after all. I worked my way down-ridge through the trees, skirting those same rocky outcroppings I had passed on the ascent. Below the lowest of these, I became concerned about following the correct bearing down to the trail at 10,000 feet. Here the ridge broadened to a slope, and maintaining the correct direction became problematical. I followed numerous, short trail segments which died away after a few yards, I peered through the trees where it was possible to confirm my bearing, and at one point I got out my map and compass to confirm my course. Finally, my uneasiness gave way to relief when, at 10,080 feet, I intersected the trail, about two-tenths of a mile farther north than I had hoped to. I decided that was good enough. I made good time down the trail, and by 5:25, I was back at my truck. After 12 miles, it felt really good to pull off my boots. I changed into my driving clothes, and pulled onto the dirt road back towards civilization. I checked-in at 6:04 from Buena Vista, 11 minutes ahead of schedule. What with all my pauses to worry about the weather on the way up, this climb had really gone by the numbers: I had estimated the ascent at six and one-half hours, and had made it in six hours and twenty minutes; the descent had taken four hours, fifteen minutes, where I had planned for four hours, twenty minutes. By 8:45, I was home, with my 33rd fourteener under my belt (and my fourth for the season). It had been long and tiring, and the weather had been very marginal, but the views from the summit had been superb, and I felt the usual satisfaction and sense of accomplishment that accompany almost any climb. And now only one Sawatch peak remained to be conquered.

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.