When slow progress on steep, loose talus doomed a late-July attempt on this peak’s west side, it was decided that the Labor Day weekend would see another attempt, but via the longer, gentler east slopes route. Accordingly, I made the two-hour drive up to Leadville’s “Sugar Loafin’” campground Sunday afternoon, arriving about 5:15.
We were up at 4:45 Monday morning, and enroute the trailhead shortly after 5:30. By 6:15, we had parked at the trailhead adjacent to the Elbert Creek campground, and were signing-in at the trailhead register. That formality completed, we started up the trail through a stand of aspen in the dim early morning light.
After a gentle start, the well-built trail started to gain elevation more rapidly. After we had gained several hundred feet, the trail began a gentle descent, then crossed South Willow Creek, then Willow Creek. Without either losing or gaining much elevation from this point, the trail brought us to the Mount Massive Trail junction at 8:00.
Here the trail again became steep, and we soon reached treeline, and a pretty, sloped meadow full of fall-colored grasses and dotted with patches of willows. Now the goal was in sight: the Massive/South Massive saddle and the somewhat rocky ridge up to Massive’s broad summit were at the head of the basin. We made slow, steady progress up the trail, through an occasional boggy spot and eventually, into the saddle. Here nice views of Elbert and La Plata, which he had enjoyed from below treeline, were joined by fabulous views of the Elk Range: Capitol, Snowmass and the Maroon Bells all greeted us. The sky above remained virtually cloudless.
Just above the saddle, Donna suggested we stash unneeded gear and only carry a single pack to the summit, and we did so. I swapped my raingear for her water and trail mix, and we were on our way up the ridge, her pack waiting patiently among the rocks. It was an easy, fun ridge walk on trail segments, across talus, around an occasional boulder, across a false summit, and onto the top of Colorado’s second-highest peak at 12:45.
Although we counted ourselves the second party to leave the trailhead, we had been passed by numerous other groups, and we found more than a dozen names already in the summit register. We signed in, took other climbers’ pictures for them, had ours taken in return, and enjoyed the fabulous view and the perfect weather. Although a few puffy clouds had popped up, mostly to the south, none were a threat, and none obscured the Elk, Tenmile or Mosquito ranges, which were easily identified, as were many peaks in the Sawatch. We took more pictures, snacked, photographed one plucky climber in mid-backflip, and exchanged the usual summit chatter. Then, about 1:15, we started down.
We
more-or-less followed our ascent route down the ridge, getting too low once,
and having to reclimb a short distance to avoid crossing a steep snowfield.
(Neither of us had thought it necessary to bring an ice ax.) Just above the
saddle, we retrieved Donna’s pack, shuffled gear, and set off down the
remaining six-plus miles of trail.
On the way up the ridge, Donna had noted that her knees were starting to give her some trouble, but that she was too close to the summit to turn back. On the descent, her knee trouble really caught up to her, and our progress down was scarcely quicker than our progress up had been.
Other than one brief, unintentional off-route excursion while still high in the basin, and our painfully slow pace, our descent was routine. The late afternoon sun enflamed the gold and red tundra grasses of the high meadow, as we looked back to the summit to see climbers still atop the peak at 2:30.
Still above treeline, it became apparent that we would be cutting our 7:30 check-in with Donna’s mother close, and that my expected (and optional) 6:30 check-in with John was completely blown. To forestall any unnecessary rescue effort, I sent a quarter and a note down the trail with a climber who was passing us, asking her to call the Lake County sheriff’s office. She was to advise them that we were running late, and to disregard any calls about us until 8:00.
Donna
limped, and I sauntered down the trail in the failing daylight. Finally,
at 6:45, we reached the trailhead, and without even changing out of my boots,
I raced for town and the nearest pay phone. About 7:10, I called the
sheriff’s office to advise them we were safe, then called John. Then
we drove to the campground, arriving about 7:15 to find Donna’s mom
rather worried about us.
I changed back into my driving clothes — to the great relief of my feet, these included my Tevas — and packed my gear into my truck. We wished each other a safe trip home, then I headed out. My 29th fourteener had been a long, wearying affair — 14 miles, and more than 4400 vertical feet — but a very pretty late-summer climb. And the ridge had undeniably been fun.
As a general rule, the aspen we saw were perhaps two weeks from their most brilliant colors, and a part of me regretted that a trip to Mexico had been scheduled later in the month: my next climbing opportunity would be in early October.
