It was Donna’s contagious interest in doing The High One that had me studying the guidebooks during the previous winter. Always easily intrigued by the less-travelled alternatives to the “standard” routes, I found myself drawn to the Bull Hill route, and decided I would try to sell Donna on the idea, when the time came. But with Donna out for the season since June, I decided to do the route solo.
Unable to reserve a room in Leadville on short notice, I spent Saturday evening at the Topaz Lodge in Buena Vista. The next morning, I was at the Echo Canyon trailhead at 6:00.
I followed the trail — still a road, of sorts — up through the trees. It soon joined, then crossed Echo Creek just below an old concrete foundation, a remnant of the old Bull Hill ore tram. After little more than one-half mile, the road/trail started to switchback its way up the southwest-facing slopes below Bull Hill. Standing atop La Plata Peak a couple of weeks before, I had studied the route from this point to the summit, and had a good idea of what to expect.
There was quite a collection of interesting old mine buildings and other mining paraphernalia scattered along the route. As the road switchbacked upwards, I passed the remnants of the Last Chance Mine, then came to the ruins of the Golden Fleece Mine — and the end of the road. Two marmots who had been sunning themselves amid the debris here were kind enough to pose for pictures, but they didn't seem very interested in a piece of my Power Bar.
Above the mine, I hiked up the steep slope and onto Bull Hill's broad south ridge. Here I was able to look eastward across Monitor Gulch to the deteriorating buildings of the Fidelity Mine, less than one-quarter mile away. The sky had been partly overcast since I had started the climb, and while there was little vertical development to make one worry about lightning, things weren’t improving.
As I worked my way steadily up the gentle ridge, the rest of my route came
into view: the saddle northeast of Bull Hill and the rolling southwest ridge
of
Elbert,
and the summit, beyond it. At about 13,500 feet — maybe 200 feet above
the saddle — I began contouring around Bull's southeast side. Once clear
of the Hill's steep lower southeast face, I started a gentle descent toward
the saddle.
Across the saddle, some of the steepest hiking of the route was waiting for me. I followed the off-again, on-again trail up the talus and onto point 13,963, then hiked up the last three-quarters of a mile of Elbert's gentle southwest ridge. The clouds were starting to show some vertical development, and the prospect of descending the long, exposed ridges back to the Golden Fleece in an electrical storm spurred me to keep up the best possible pace.
At 12:10, I stumbled and gasped my way onto the summit, where 20 or so rested and relaxed climbers were already organized into little, exclusive groups, having little, exclusive conversations. Never before have I summitted a peak without having someone already on top extend a greeting. I guess there’s a first time for everything. As fate would have it, Elbert would present me with another first — but more on that later.
By 12:25, I had signed the register, taken some pictures and had a snack. With the weather beginning to deteriorate, and the human clutter on the summit, I was ready to start down.
The weather, my energy level and worries about making my designated check-in time nixed a planned side-trip to South Elbert, so I soon found myself descending the steep talus southwest of point 13,963. It was here that I would again remark to myself, “I guess there's a first time for everything.”
Concentrating on my own movement over the rocks, I noticed other movement out of the corner of my eye. Looking up, I saw a young woman, maybe 50 yards below me, climbing up, her long blonde hair shimmering in the sunlight. I looked again, then again, having decided that she was either wearing a flesh-colored body suit, or nothing more than a thong bikini bottom. A few moments later, after I had regained my footing (having stumbled on the rocks) we were close enough to verify that the latter alternative was indeed the case. How would I greet her, when we met? Maybe, “How ‘bout those peaks!”
Our paths were such that a large rock outcropping momentarily shielded her from my view, and when she reappeared, my well-endowed friend had pulled a long shirt from her pack, and covered up. As we passed, still 10 or 12 feet apart on parallel paths, she smiled shyly, and said hello. I did the same, burying an urge to express admiration and/or mention the burning properties of the sun at 14,000 feet.
It was becoming apparent that making my 5:00 check-in time was going to be difficult, so I continued on, moving at top speed, pausing only infrequently and briefly, as necessary. I once again skirted Bull Hill, and was soon off the ridge and walking along the trail below the Golden Fleece Mine.
The rest of the descent was routine. At 4:30, I strode down the last stretch of four-wheel-drive road above the trailhead, and back to my truck. I quickly stashed my gear, and headed for the nearest pay phone. At 4:45, with 15 minutes to spare, I phoned my father from Twin Lakes, and advised him not to call out Alpine Search and Rescue.
My 18th fourteener, the highest in the state, had been a long hike to a crowded summit, followed by an uneventful — with one exception — return. It had, however, afforded fine views of La Plata Peak and Ellingwood Ridge for virtually its entirety, something that would have been missing from the more popular eastern routes on the peak.
