We arrived at Kay’s condo in Breckenridge Wednesday evening, unloaded our gear, and headed up the dirt road along Monte Cristo Creek. Donna took numerous photographs of the local flora. After failing to locate the trailhead, we inquired of one of the locals, only to discover we had been on top of it without knowing it. We made note of its location, then headed back into town.
Dinner was above-average pizza and beer at Fatty’s. After returning to the condo, we played a round of “I’ll Take That,” then crawled into our respective sleeping bags, anticipating our early start the next morning.
The alarm went off at 4:30, and we started our preparations. First light revealed an ominously cloudy sky, but we were scrambling up the trail, undeterred, at 6:15. According to our map, we had started our climb at about 10,900 feet, and had about 3,365 feet to go.
The first leg of the climb consisted of a trail which crossed and recrossed a number of old mining roads. Before very long, it became consistently steep — a trait which would characterize the entire climb, on either side of treeline. Level stretches were few and far between.
The trail soon gained the long, broad east ridge of the peak, then swung to the west, and brought us out above the trees. The sky was slowly becoming clearer, with clouds giving way to blue sky. To the south, however, the clouds were becoming darker. The climb seemed to consist of gaining the top of several rounded slopes, each one leading almost immediately to another. Finally, we were working our way up the last long, rocky incline toward the summit.
As we talus-hopped our way up, the bowl to the north of the ridge slowly filled with swift-moving, wispy clouds. Blue patches to the west were becoming fewer and smaller, and clouds were consolidating and lowering in the eastern sky. The summit was obscured, and the deteriorating weather spurred us to climb as quickly as our gasping lungs would allow. Michele, who had been lagging, caught up to us as we finished a quick snack-and-water break, and suggested that we proceed without her — several months near sea level were clearly affecting her performance. She would continue, she said, as her lungs would permit.
We climbed on, into the lowering clouds. Parties descending the peak spoke of extremely limited visibility, and were hurrying off the peak. More than once, I commented to Donna that the conditions were becoming quite marginal, and that we could expect to be descending in raingear. She seemed confident that the summit could be made, however, and would yield only if lightning were to appear. The trail, which had become difficult to follow among the lengthy stretches of talus, finally brought us to the only snowfield of the climb, maybe 100 feet below the summit. At 10:45 we were on top, looking for the usual summit register, and casting nervous glances at the increasingly threatening sky.
We found no CMC register in any of the rock windbreaks on the summit, so
we photographed two of the survey markers to document our ascent. During
our search, however, the clouds had begun to lift and break up somewhat,
and we took advantage of some photo opportunities which earlier parties must
have missed.
To
the south we identified (from east to west) Bross, Lincoln, Cameron and Democrat.
A particularly rewarding view was the long gulch to the north of the peak,
which contained three blue-green tarns (the uppermost one apparently still
mostly frozen). At its western terminus, the gulch culminated in dramatic
rocky spires, still heavily draped with snow. Grays and Torreys Peaks, which
we had noted earlier in the morning, now hid beneath a blanket of clouds
to the northeast.
The only other party to join us on the summit consisted of a very pleasant fellow named John Hough, of Englewood, and his year-old Irish Setter (who seemed less than thrilled to be atop her first fourteener). As they had no camera, Donna took their summit photo, and promised to mail it to them. We had a snack and some water, and could wait no longer for Michele to join us atop the peak; we began our descent at about 11:20, with our acquaintances a few minutes ahead of us. The clouds were beginning to consolidate once again, and rain was falling in the valley south of Hoosier Pass.
We had perhaps pushed our luck with the weather a bit far, and payment was about to come due. Before we reached timberline, pea-sized hail began to fall — then to fall harder. We walked in the hail for perhaps 15 minutes before it became apparent that raingear would be necessary. Silently, we donned poncho and pullover, and set off again, thankful that the storm had produced no lightning. Naturally, the hail began to taper off almost immediately, and quit entirely after about 5 minutes more.
Once again below treeline, having walked for quite a while in the raingear, we decided to remove poncho and pullover. Shortly after committing this grievous error, the rain started. Out came the raingear, once again. When we reached the trailhead (at about 2:30) we found Michele: she was a somewhat beleaguered-looking hump, covered with a somewhat leaky poncho, sitting on a rather hard-looking rock. She appeared to be glad to see us, and not unhappy to gain entrance to the dry interior of Donna’s car. She claimed to have enjoyed herself.
Back at the condo, Donna and I celebrated our sixth ascent of a fourteener with leftovers from breakfast. We straightened the place up a bit, noted that the peaks were going to get tougher, and headed for home.
