I arrived in Johnson Village Wednesday evening, and got a room at the Alpine Lodge. After unloading the car, I drove to Buena Vista, then west on the Cottonwood Pass Road to check out the trailhead and parking locations for the following morning.
The Denny Gulch trailhead would have been easy to miss, especially in the early morning darkness. When I found myself at the Denny Creek trailhead, I knew I had gone too far; seven-tenths of a mile back down the valley I located the recommended trailhead. The only clue to the trailhead’s location was a “no parking” sign planted in the middle of an abandoned old dirt road, leading through the trees to the north.
Luckily, I decided to walk a short distance up the trail, despite the chill in the air and the fading sunlight. Less than one-tenth of a mile up the gulch I found a Forest Service sign, warning of damage to the riparian environment and unsafe hiking conditions. The Forest Service was requesting that Mount Yale be accessed via Denny Creek, instead.
Naturally, both guidebooks I had brought warned strongly against the Denny Creek route. One of them, however, noted that an alternate route to the now-closed Denny Gulch existed: the Main Range Trail/East Ridge route. After much driving back-and-forth and gazing at maps, I still couldn’t decide what to do. So I had dinner.
The shrimp fried rice from the Shanghai Chinese restaurant in Buena Vista wasn’t great — definitely no China House — but it wasn’t all that bad, either. I ate my carry-out order in my motel room, still gazing at my Mount Yale topographic map and pondering the alternatives. Finally, I chose the more straightforward option over the Forest Service’s recommendation. I would use the Main Range Trail/East Ridge route. I called home and left word regarding the route change, then went to bed.
I was up shortly after 4:00, and left Johnson Village around 5:30. Shortly after 6:00, I was pulling into the huge Avalanche Trailhead parking area, about two miles below Denny Gulch. Apparently built since my 1982 Mount Yale topo was published, the trailhead featured restrooms, enough parking space for perhaps two dozen tour buses, and two signs, identifying the trail as the Colorado Trail. Southward, one could hike to South Cottonwood Creek; northward, to the Collegiate Peaks Wilderness (one-quarter mile) and beyond, to North Cottonwood Creek (seven miles). My route would follow the trail northward, until it intersected Yale’s long east ridge. There I would strike out westward for the summit.
I started the climb at 6:22. I would later learn that there were a number of paths starting from the 9,300-foot parking area that would merge here or there, and finally constitute a trail. The path I chose quickly became rather overgrown, and I feared that I had missed the correct path, having started before there was much light in the sky. After crossing a couple of small creeks, the path climbed steeply up a hillside and — to my great relief — joined the main trail at the Wilderness boundary.
The trail switchbacked up the hill, then climbed into Avalanche Gulch. There were numerous idyllic campsites along the well-maintained trail, and the climb was quite pleasant. There were excellent views of Yale’s 13,435-foot southeastern sub-peak, but the main summit remained hidden from view.
Roughly three miles from the parking area, the trail climbed into the shallow
saddle at 11,880 feet on Yale’s east ridge (see photo).
Rather
than following the trail down toward North Cottonwood Creek, I headed west,
contouring along the north side of the first bump in the ridge. After a few
ups-and-downs, the ridge narrowed, steepened, and became considerably rockier.
Although certain portions of the ridge would allow travel along the crest, there were a handful of steep cuts which I had to skirt. Some would go either to the north or south; others were a one-way affair.
At 12:34, I talus-hopped up the last stretch onto the rocky summit. To the north rose Mounts Harvard and Columbia; to the northwest, Huron, Belford and Oxford; and to the southeast, Princeton, Antero and Tabeguache. There wasn’t a respectable cloud in the sky.
When I went to sign the CMC register, I wasn’t sure whether I was more exhausted than I felt, or whether someone had pulled a clever stunt and glued the caps to the container. It would not open. So I took my summit pictures, including a couple of self-portraits. (I had brought along John’s autofocus, for a change of pace. Unfortunately, I wasn’t particularly happy with the results.)
The pictures taken, I again tried to get into the threaded and capped section of plastic pipe containing the summit register... all to no avail. So I had some trail mix and water, and prepared to start down. After one final try at the register, I gave up, and set off. My watch read 1:00.
The descent retraced the ascent with only minor deviations. As the sun swung lower in the western sky, it set fire to the multi-colored aspens in the valley. The walk back from the ridge saddle was absolutely beautiful. I hadn’t seen anyone else on the mountain, until I met a backpacker as I neared the trailhead. We exchanged the usual pleasantries, and wished one-another an enjoyable trip.
By 5:30 I was back at the parking area, my eleventh fourteener in the bag. My seventh for the season, it was also the most energetic single-day climb I’d done, with a vertical gain of nearly 4,900 feet. I felt a sense of accomplishment about that. And I felt surprisingly good, considering the amount of work I had done.
