Pikes Peak

PEAK: Pikes Peak (NW Slopes)
DATE: 10/23/92
TEAM: Mark R. Vanderbrook

With metro-area temperatures in the seventies and a whole Saturday to myself, I decided there was little excuse for not getting out and bagging just one more peak before winter complicated the task. Since there was only one peak I hadn’t climbed which was close enough to town to do in a single day, the choice was easy.
I left about 5:30 Saturday morning. Soon I was tooling down I-25, watching the first hint of light appear over the eastern skyline. Not having any real idea what conditions I might encounter, I brought along my ice axe and some extra clothing, including a down jacket. Knowing that a portion of my route closely paralleled the Pikes Peak toll road, I wondered whether the road would be open, and if so, how cluttered with tourists it might be.
I carefully followed the directions to the Crags Campground trailhead, at 10,100 feet. At 7:30, a half-hour later than I had planned, I started up the trail. The guidebooks had warned me about a critical piece of route-finding early on, and I did some thrashing about, following faint little trails through the woods, crossing and re-crossing the stream in an effort to make sure I was heading up the correct drainage. I finally found what could have been the “ancient logging road” described in the guidebooks, and followed it upward through the trees and the early morning chill.
The occasional misgivings I was having about the route were magnified as the trail wound closer to an impressive rock formation that had to be “the Crags.” As is so often the case, the route bore little resemblance to the descriptions in the guidebooks — which in this case contradicted each other. Still, I reasoned, I was on the south side of the spires, where I should be.
The trail wound upward past the crags and toward treeline, and eventually brought me out onto the grassy slope that extended to the 12,700-foot saddle at the head of the basin. Here the trail became faint, but the saddle was in plain view. Numerous cairns marked the several alternate approaches, and I plodded upward.
Finally the slope eased, and as I strolled into the broad saddle, I was greeted by the first view of the peak, monarch of the southern Front Range. A very light dusting of snow was visible on the summit block. Winding across the intervening terrain was the toll road, with the progress of each car marked by a plume of dust. Two things were immediately apparent. I would probably not be needing my ice axe, and I would probably have a lot of company on the summit.
Connecting the eastern side of the saddle to the toll road was an old spur which wound past — and through — more of the fantastic volcanic rock formations in the area. The relatively flat terrain was a welcome relief, and soon I was crossing the toll road. A sign indicated I was in an area known as “The Devil’s Playground,” so named for the way lightning would jump from rock to rock during electrical storms. I was thankful that my chances of experiencing that phenomenon seemed slim, indeed: the weather was perfect Indian Summer. The few clouds in evidence were high and thin, and nothing to worry about.
The topography on the peak’s northwest ridge dictates that one stay quite close to the road from its intersection with the old spur until one is nearly upon the final, 700-foot talus slope immediately below the summit, so I hiked along, trying to ignore the curious tourists motoring up the toll road.
There is little elevation change in the miles between the saddle and the point where one finally leaves the toll road to tackle the talus, and what change there is, is gradual, so I made good time. I didn’t expect my late start to jeopardize my chances of making my pre-arranged check-in time.
There are a couple of rather dramatic cirques along the route, one extending from the ridge eastward into the “Bottomless Pit,” and another directly off the peak’s abrupt north face. These features seemed almost defiant on this peak, tamed by both toll road and cog railway.
The final 700 feet of talus were a pleasant change from the gentle hiking from the saddle, and I didn’t mind the opportunity to leave the toll road behind. It was steep going, though. I had been aware that a couple was hiking behind me since shortly after first crossing the toll road, and they finally passed me on the rocks. They were not the friendliest people I’ve ever met on a fourteener, but they were cordial. The male half seemed to be most concerned with impressing the female half, always sprinting ahead, then waiting for her.
At 12:40, I trudged onto the large, uninviting summit, where at least one-hundred people were busy, taking in the view, taking pictures of each other, trying to keep their oxygen-starved cars running, and trying to get their ill-tempered children to behave. It was definitely not your run-of-the-mill fourteener summit experience, and it was somewhat depressing. I took a couple of pictures, had a snack, rested my weary legs for a bit, and explained my motivation to one pleasant, curious older woman. Then I prepared to start down.
At 1:10, I set off, down the talus. Almost immediately, I met a very pleasant couple with a Doberman, climbing up. We exchanged the usual pleasantries, and wished each other a good climb.
The descent was routine. It was warm enough for the middle of summer; only the lower angle of the sun gave away the fact that it was a week before Halloween. I wound up playing leapfrog with the couple that had passed me on the ascent, almost all the way back to the trailhead. They never got any friendlier.
I was back at the trailhead at 4:30, tired but happy to have bagged number twenty-two (number eleven for the season). For the first time, I had climbed a peak that did not particularly interest me, simply because it was one of the fifty-four I had set out to climb. I expected few of the remaining thirty-two peaks to fit that category.

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!