At about 1:30 Sunday afternoon, Donna and I were underway, en route to Lake City and our first San Juan summit. We made pretty respectable time, arriving at the Silver Spur Motel shortly after 6:00.
The accommodations were unexceptional, but adequate for our needs. After unloading our gear, we set out to locate the trailheads for the two routes under consideration. Donna was interested in the American Basin approach, while I had decided on Grizzly Gulch.
The
trailheads weren’t at all difficult to find — they were marked
with big signs shouting “This way to Handies!” — but I was
glad to have a map showing the correct way out of town. Both of the trailheads
are located along the Cinnamon Pass road, which follows the Lake Fork of
the Gunnison River. One simply follows the signs to, then 16 miles or so
beyond, Lake San Cristobal. Despite the guidebook’s warnings about the
steep and narrow “shelf road” above Sherman, we found the road
quite tame — narrow in spots, but otherwise in very good shape, and
not at all intimidating. We did find some four-wheel-drive terrain while
exploring American Basin, however. We turned back at the first creek crossing.
Our visit to American Basin confirmed my suspicions about that route, and convinced Donna to try Grizzly Gulch. Any route up Handies from American Basin would appear to involve a steep encounter of the talus kind. Not, in my book, pleasant climbing. But the American Basin Crags were definitely worth the excursion. With the late afternoon sunlight casting long shadows across their snowy heights, these rugged spires demanded to be photographed, and we obliged.
Back in Lake City, we bought gas at the last open station. While we did so, the last open restaurant closed. We snuck into the local market just as they were preparing to do likewise. We rounded up bread, ham, pickles, and goodies for the morning, then watched them lock the doors after us. It was a close one.
We were up at 4:30 the next morning, and en route the Grizzly Gulch trailhead, just above Silver Creek, by 5:25. As we started our climb, my watch read 6:08.
Among the first things we noticed were the little pink flags secured to short metal rods, driven into the ground at semi-regular intervals. Bending down, I read “Hardrock 100 Trail Run Marker. Please do not remove before 7/12/92.” They would follow the trail, all the way to the summit.
After crossing the Lake Fork on a two-log bridge with handrail, the trail
started climbing through the trees, up the gulch. The going was fairly steep
in spots, but we were rewarded with a fine view of a group of about eight
deer, plus the usual marmots and smaller critters. After a while, Handies
came into view.
We
climbed above treeline, then took our first real, sit-down break, not far
from the point where we would leave the trail as it appeared on our map,
and head for Handies’ north ridge, rather than the small lake at 12,300
feet.
During this break, it became evident that Donna had somehow injured her foot, badly enough that she could not go on. She had been struggling along, hoping that the pain and tenderness would abate, but they had only become worse. She was sure she would have no problem getting down, so I gave her the keys to my truck, and we parted company.
As the trail became less discernible, I followed a hit-and-miss collection of cairns and pink flags up the gulch. I was beginning to think I had gone too far, and should have already angled onto the Whitecross-Handies ridge, when I saw a large sign, emblazoned with the word “TRAIL” and an arrow. The pink flags went that way, too. How could I go wrong?
The spotty trail, the cairns and the pink flags wound steeply up, and I followed them. It had become clear that there was a better route onto the ridge than the one I had planned, and the trail appeared to be using it. Gaining the ridge to the northeast of Handies’ northern, 13,577-foot subpeak would have meant both a steep climb on talus, and some rough going along the ridge crest. The trail allowed me to gain the ridge instead via a steep snowfield, between the main peak and its subpeak. I was glad to have my ice axe along.
Climbing onto the ridge, I was impressed by the view: Uncompahgre and Wetterhorn dominated the skyline to the north, Redcloud and Sunshine stood shoulder-to-shoulder to the northeast, and lesser peaks, all draped with snow, stretched to the horizon. Listening to the wind whistling among the rocks, I studied the 600 final, steep feet to the summit, and was glad the weather was cooperating.
I
followed the trail up the steep switchbacks, over some rocks and onto the
summit. The view was fantastic. In addition to the peaks visible from the
ridge, I could now see the rugged Needles and Grenadiers to the southwest.
At 11:08, precisely five hours from the trailhead, I pulled the summit register
from its container, and signed in. I took the usual summit photos —
including a self-timer auto-portrait — and was putting on my polarplus
jacket and rain pants for protection from the wind and sun when I noticed
four young men, all wearing hard hats, about to join me.
They turned out to be Outward Bound students, 20 days into their three-week “final exam,” and they had found a route up from American Basin. They were a pleasant group, and were quite appreciative of my offer to share some gorp. After the usual pleasantries, I bid them a good descent and started down. I’d spent about 30 minutes on top, enjoying the view, the wind, and the gorgeous weather.
The descent was a simple reversal of the ascent. I used my ice axe for self-belay descending the snowfield off the ridge, and followed the trail and/or the cairns and pink flags back into the gulch. Three hours off the top, I was back at the trailhead, gleefully pulling off boots and guzzling Pepsi.
My thirteenth fourteener was a beautiful climb, and made me anxious to get back into the San Juans for more. Unfortunately, however, Donna would later be told she had broken some bones in her foot, and would be wearing a cast. She would be out of commission, essentially for the remainder of the season.
And, once again, I would be anticipating climbing Longs Peak without a partner lined-up!
