La Plata Peak

PEAK: La Plata Peak (SW Ridge)
DATE: 7/11/92
TEAM: Mark R. Vanderbrook

With Donna’s foot on the mend from her misadventure on Handies Peak, a climb of Longs was out of the question. But I still had four days in a row off from work, and couldn’t pass up a chance to bag a moderate solo climb somewhere. Scanning my list of likely candidates, I chose La Plata.
With differing accounts in the guidebooks as to access from the north, I selected the southern approach, which starts about 1.8 miles up Clear Creek from the ghost town of Winfield. I was familiar with the area, having twice started climbs of Huron Peak from Winfield in 1991.
I left town around 4:00 Friday afternoon, and pulled into Buena Vista a bit after 6:00. My room at the Topaz Lodge was undistinguished, but adequate; the same could be said of my dinner at the local Pizza Hut. I turned in just after 10:00, with a thundershower rumbling across the Arkansas Valley.
The alarm went off at 4:00 Saturday morning; by 4:45, I was motoring toward the trailhead. As I drove through the darkness, I wondered whether the lingering clouds which blotted the starlight from large areas of the sky would mean a wet descent, or possibly the threat of lightning. I remembered a morning, roughly a year before, when I had driven that same highway, thinking the same thoughts, but eager to add Huron Peak to my list of summits.
With light growing in the sky, I drove through “downtown Winfield,” and eased the truck onto the four-wheel-drive road which continues up the valley. According to the guidebooks, I could expect to drive about 1.0 of the 1.8 miles to the vicinity of the trailhead. To my great pleasure, I managed about 1.65 of those 1.8 miles, despite a stream crossing and some fairly rough and rocky going.
At about 5:45, after parking the truck alongside the road, I started off. A three-minute stroll brought me to the junction with the road which takes one north to the steel gate, which is where the trail begins. Contrary to published assertions, the trailhead wasn’t even slightly difficult to find (to my great relief).
The trail climbed through the trees — steeply at times — as it worked its way up the drainage. Before long, it crossed to the west side of the creek, and began to contour into the next drainage to the west. There it continued to ascend almost to treeline before it faded away, depositing me in a high willow basin with the picturesque remains of an old miner’s cabin.
Although one author had written that the willow basin was the highlight of the trip, and that its beauty would “test (one’s) summit resolve,” I found my summit resolve tested more by the willows.
Having thrashed about in the willows at the base of Mount Bierstadt just a month before, I suspected that gaining the Sayres-La Plata ridge from this basin would be — in the immortal words of the Rocky Horror Picture Show’s narrator — no picnic. I tried it up the middle, and was promptly turned back by the bog. I tried to get to the eastern edge of the basin, so as to skirt the willows on that side, and was again turned back. Nearly out of patience, I crossed to the west side of the creek fed by the basin, and finally found a path around the accursed marsh. The crossing appeared easiest at a point where the drainage forked, and included a small island. This point was well below the cabin remains and the worst of the bog.
Once across, I made my way along the west edge of the basin, and began to study the various alternative routes which could be used to gain the ridge at the head of the basin. Before long, I found myself following a sketchy trail, which seemed to be headed where I wanted to go: a moderately steep, reddish scree gully at the head of the basin. As I neared the base of the gully, however, the trail swung to the left, and looked to be making for a steeper gully to the west. Uncertain as to the obstacles that might exist on the ridge between the two gullies, I left the trail, and side-hilled my way to the base of the gentler gully.
During this early portion of the climb, the clouds had been consolidating. As I ascended the gully, I watched the clouds settle into the valley behind me, slowly obscuring Huron Peak and the Three Apostles to the south-southeast. Before I climbed out onto the broad, grassy ridge, I had to don raingear for protection from the snow pellets which had begun to fall.
The ridge, which had appeared sharp and pinnacled from the south, proved to have a very gentle, rounded shape on the north side. Eager to make the summit before the weather worsened, I set off, across the tundra, heading for the next feature of this diverse route: a talus slope.
I chose to tackle the south side of the slope, rather than heading directly up the southwest side. Doing so brought into view the dramatic cuts and spires of the imposing ridge which extends south from La Plata’s western false summit. Had the weather been cooperating, I would have more — and better — photos of this striking ridge.
As I worked my way up the tedious rock pile, the snow pellets slowed, then stopped altogether. The clouds showed little sign of lifting, however, so I kept the raingear on. When I came to the top of the slope, yet another false summit came into view to the east.
So did a party of five climbers who had driven past me just as I had finished parking my truck, below the trailhead. They had left their Jeep Cherokee just below the steel gate, where the actual trail began, and had started their climb only a few minutes ahead of me. They were descending, and we met between first and second false summits. We exchanged the usual fourteener pleasantries, discussed the less-than-ideal weather, and wished each other well.
The remainder of the route was mostly talus, though there were sketchy trail fragments here and there, and one small snowfield on the east side of the second false summit. At 11:15, I joined a party of four climbers atop the breezy, blustery summit of La Plata Peak, Colorado’s fifth highest summit, and signed the summit register.
Although the clouds had thickened into a nearly-solid blanket, they also appeared to have lifted somewhat, and all the surrounding summits were clearly visible. Perhaps the most striking was Mount Elbert, only a few miles to the north. It was easy to trace the entire Bull Hill route on Elbert, a route I was planning on climbing later in the season.
I took several photos, including a multi-exposure panorama which encompassed both Elbert and the fabled Ellingwood Ridge arching east, then north from the summit toward the valley below. I had one of the other climbers take my picture, too.
At about 11:40, having taken my pictures and had a snack, I started back down, eager to cheat the rain clouds, if possible. Some vertical development within the clouds was becoming apparent, and I wanted to be off the ridge before any lightning started.
The descent was routine. As I started down from the lower false summit, I spoke briefly with a man who was ascending, and was in something of a hurry, as his wife had turned back, he said, at about 12,000 feet. He hurried on toward the summit, and I continued my leisurely pace downward. Soon he overtook me, headed down. As I worked my way down the talus slope toward the saddle, he disappeared into the willow basin below.
I screed the gully back into the basin, and retraced my route around the west edge of the soggy stuff. I crossed the creek, located the trail, and marched along, taking only one break on the way back to the trailhead. At about 3:20 I was back at the truck, merrily yanking dusty boots off of tired feet, and changing into clean clothes.
My fourth outing for the season had been a rewarding climb, despite the killer willows and the marginal weather, and I had fifteen fourteeners in the bag. While the northern approaches to the peak might offer better views, particularly of the peak itself, the southern route had its attractions, and presented quite a bit of variety along the way.

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!