Pacific Peak via East Ridge

      Pacific Peak, reminiscent of a large wave in the ocean that has been petrified for eons, stands at 13,957'.  It's almost a 14er, but not as popular as the adjacent 14er, Quandary Peak.  This day was full of monumental challenges.  Although climbing mountains is physically enduring, most of the battle is mental.  As I looked through a notch in the ridge, I said to myself, "This is the most exposed I've ever been on a ridge.  This ridge feels like a tightrope sprinkled with loose rock."

       Earlier in the week, Andrea and I wanted to select a mountain that wasn't popular and would be a challenge.  13ers are always a good option for this desire, since Colorado has well over 200 to choose from.  Initially, we wanted to climb Father Dyer Peak, but later decided on Pacific Peak due to it nestling the nation's highest lake (13,420') called "Pacific Tarn".  Recently, a local scuba diver dove the lake, setting a record for the highest scuba dive.  Stole my damn idea!  Anyway, we had a couple days to mentally prepare for this climb with logistics, food, and gear.  I invited our friend, Ben, to climb with us.  He's been our consistent rock climbing buddy for the better half of the year.

       It was Friday evening and once again we were trying to fall to sleep early due to us needing to awake at 2:00am.  When the alarm clock beckoned with its hideous tone, I arose with the ceremonial phrase, "Shit, what's going on?"  Once the initial panic of interrupted REM sleep dissolved -- I was able to come to terms with reality.  We left our place around 2:40am to go pick up Ben down the street from us which happens to be a quick traverse through Garden of the Gods.  All the three of us were a little drowsy as we began the drive toward Breckenridge.  When it's this early, the drive only takes about 1.5 hours.  Not bad.  Everytime we  go to this area to climb on Quandary, or to ski, we always miss the damned Blue Lake Road because the sign only faces the opposing direction.  Once we found the road after several misses on Hoosier Pass, we were on schedule.  "The Quandary parking lot is looking pretty busy." Andrea said to me.  Some of the hikers starting moving their gear out of the vacant parking spaces to make way for me.  I said, "Not this time, fellas." And I kept driving.  The road quickly became a rough 2WD; however, I swear parts of it were some gnarly 4WD.  There was a point where I needed to put the Xterra in 2L just to get up a hill.  Only 1.68 miles though.  We found plenty of parking.

      Let me start by saying, Pacific Peak is not an adventure you take your family from Texas or Florida on.  There is no trail.  One must pick a line and go with it, so we did.  The first approach was gnarly as hell.  Bushwhacking turned into bush grabbing to prevent sliding down the hill.  Roots serve as great hand holds FYI.  Thankfully, this portion was only to gain 150 vertical feet.  It quickly ended after about 20 minutes.  We came upon the crest of a grassy meadow where the three of us hydrated and consumed fuel for the next approach.  This part of the hike was by far the easiest.  It was just a mild grade uphill with a labyrinth of willows to negotiate.  We trekked up toward the ridge where the class 3  scrambling began.  "Let's go ahead and hydrate again." I mentioned.  The time was 7:00am.  Not too bad for starting at 5:30am.  The sound of Pikas and Marmots were filling the air.  A warning, perhaps?

       Here's the thing with class 3 and class 4 scrambling/climbing.  It's not physically hard; however, the amount of concentration it takes is exhausting.  The first class 3 tower was too bad.  There were some loose rocks to balance on and some exposure.  After all the hydrating, voiding bladders was necessary.  I try my best to only pee on rocks, since there's some vegetation that can die from the contents in urine.  I guess it's just the eco-warrior in me?  Try to pack your poop as well.  I know, it's hard to do sometimes.   Okay, enough with poop and pee etiquette.  What lied ahead was a little innerving.  At the crest of one tower upon this narrow ridge was a small traverse.  Essentially, it was a ledge about two feet wide with loose hand holds which stood close to 1,000' above sharp talus.  The three of us slowly traversed across it, holding our breath.  What a rush.  When you have control over your mind, you can ignore the potential consequences by having such a magnified concentration in the present moment.  It's very Zen-like.  The story of this ridge was the following: Up and down and up and down and up and down and up and down -- all on very loose boulders, shifting with every other step.  Imagine being the tallest object on a narrow ridge thousands of feet above solid ground, balancing with every step, hoping not to slip up.  Hands sweating yet?  Well, there's a small knife-edge traverse.  I wouldn't recommend straddling this knife-edge.  The rock was about as sharp as a knife.  The best method was to cling over the edge and laterally shuffle across.  At the top of this tower, Ben said, "Dammit, we're not even close to Pacific Tarn."  It is astounding how long this class 3 and 4 ridge exists.  You really get the sense that you're closer to the summit than your really are.  The rest of the scrambling wasn't too bad.  It took an additional 45 minutes to an hour to get to the lake.

       We hobbled over toward a photographer in a bivvy to question his route choice because there was no way in hell we were going to spend another six hours on that ridge with the possible threat of thunderstorms moving in.  The photographer was a young guy by the name of "Savan" (spell check).  He mentioned that he ascended the talus slope from the southeast and it wasn't "too bad".  Andrea, Ben, and I had a quick lunch before climbing the last 400' to the summit.  Pacific Tarn was a beautiful blue color this day.  It was very interesting sun bathing next to the highest lake in America.  The approach to the summit wasn't bad at all.  Some loose rock. of course, bur only took about 20 minutes to ascend.  We met a very young guy descending from the summit.  He said that he climbed from the North Couloir which had no snow.  We were thinking, "Are you freaking out of your mind?"  Some of that couloir is 5.5 rock climbing grade.  I noticed that he was either wearing worn out Keds or Sketchers.  I guess that dude has some serious skill, or serious stupidity.  We finally made the summit after close to seven hours.  Andrea had cell service, so we thought it would be fun to stream a live feed onto Facebook for our families to see.

       The decision was made to descend the southeast side of the ridge.  The three of us were pretty nervous about this talus slope which is literally the only "easy" way down.  Once we reached the edge of this slope, we were quite baffled.  Loose talus rock at a little more than a 40 degree angle with a mix of old snow and scree for hundreds of feet.  We decided it would be best to utilize our third wheels (the ass) and slowly descend.  This was by far the most dodgy part of the day.  Each movement triggered falling rock.  We were cognizant of the fact that we should descend parallel to each other rather than a straight line which would prevent possible injury.  Regardless, we still ended up with chewed, bloody hands.  This descent took roughly 45 minutes.  Very slow and tedious.  At any moment, it felt like either of us could take off tumbling down the slope.  Once we reached the bottom, we let out a sigh of relief and looked back at the monster.  There were a couple other hikers staring into this abyss with hesitation.

       We were now on the valley floor with plenty of shifty, rock hopping to go.  All three of us are seasoned hikers/climbers and even with toughened feet, all of us were feeling the pain with each step onto uneven rocks.  We found the start of the grass and became very happy.  The grass was moist and spongy which felt like paradise.  Ben and I began to sing movie themes such as: Last of the Mohicans, Jurassic Park, Star Wars, and Indiana Jones.  Little did we realize, a new challenge awaited us...

       "How should we get back to the car?" I thought.  The car was up and over the ridge we came down from.  We decided to connect with the McCullough Gulch Trail which would ultimately take us to the trailhead and then to the road we drove on.  The only problem is is that it would've added a couple miles to our hike.  We came to a junction that was alluring.  Ben had the idea that we could bypass the last of the trail and the road, bushwhack .25 mi and be back at the car.  We all agreed to this option, since we were so tired; however, the bushwhacking ended up being quite exhausting and we weren't really sure which direction would be best.  A thunderstorm was beginning roll in, so we were getting a little nervous. Ben still had a ton of energy somehow, so he offered to take my keys and scramble up this slope real quick, and drive the Xterra down the road and meet Andrea and me at the road.  Andrea and I kept bushwhacking through the Aspen trees to get down to the road to meet Ben.  After about 20 minutes, we saw been wander down off of a hill and he said, "Hey guys, got the car."  We were said, "How did you find us out here?"  He wasn't sure how.

      We made it to the car and indulged in some fresh coconut water.  It was more than just a tough day.  Very challenging and epic.  I don't think there's anything else we could've done right.  Perhaps, staying on trail would've been a better move, but hey, we wanted to take the adventurous route.  This was definitely the most mentally draining climb I've performed.  Physically, my muscles were still strong.  I was just bruised and bloody.  After four days of healing, I'm nearly 100%.  Our next adventure is in the Sawatch Range.  Andrea and I will be climbing Missouri which is near Bel/Ox combo.

        All of this extreme training this summer is building up into one moment.  Climbing Mt. Rainier in September.  I think we're ready.  Look forward to the next post about Missouri.  Should be a good one!

Cheers,
J

MOHC (Mount of the Holy Cross) via Halo Ridge

       I said to myself, "My choice of shoes for this hike was not well thought out. I think I may end up with bone bruises." Often times, online research doesn't convey the reality of an experience.  It's usually hard to be proactive when deciding what pieces of gear might be relevant vs. irrelevant.  Perhaps, I've become complacent in some of my hikes this year...

       "It's 7:00pm -- time for bed, babe." Andrea said to me on Friday evening.  Alarm clocks were set for 2:00am.  Early start, right?  So, why didn't we camp the night before?  Well, we have a semi-precious, not-cute-whatsoever, Border Corgi that we don't want to leave alone for multiple days.  We decided to depart the Springs at 2:30am to arrive in the Leadville area around 5:30am.  We knew it would be a very long day, reminiscent of our Longs Peak adventure in August, 2015.

       As I drove past the abandoned towns and mines through the fog of Tennessee Pass early Saturday morning, I felt an eerie mystique about this area.  The history in this part of Colorado always fascinates me.  My grandfather worked as a silver miner in Leadville for a brief period of time, so it was an interesting thought imagining what it was like during the 1960's.

       The sun was beckoning over the crest of the Sawatch Range as we approached the rough 2WD road in my trusty Xterra.  It took about 30 minutes to drive 8 miles on this road, since its predominant features were large pits and small, sharp rocks.  The aspen trees were unique in this area.  I could tell they were very old due to the diameter and height of each tree, brilliantly networked together.  We drove up a little further to find that this was a very busy and popular hike.  We had to make the sacrifice and parallel park down the dirt road quite a way.  As I've read, thousands of people hike the North Ridge of MOHC, but only hundreds hike the Halo Ridge. Of course, given the extremophiles (not the archaean microorganisms) we are, Halo Ridge was our drink of choice.  Andrea has accomplished 25 total 14er summits and I've accomplished 29 summits, so our experience has built over time.

       "Let the adventure commence." I remarked at 7:00am -- an unusually late start time for us.  We began hiking at a steady pace, admiring the floral biodiversity along the way.  The wildflowers were energized, basking in the sun, while displaying their vivid colors.  The bees were buzzing, going about their busy days.  We briefly took photos, but wanted to keep making progress on the hike.  Ahead was the first of many great challenges.  A series of rocky switchbacks slithering its way up toward the ridge.  Thirty switchbacks to be exact.  Once we reached the ridge, we were able to survey the unique, historical shelter that was built in 1924.  We regained our bearings while peering at the mammoth MOHC.  The Halo Ridge Route is notoriously strenuous, but lying ahead of us was not what we expected.  Rock scrambling galore.  To get to Holy Cross, one must traverse three 13er peaks.  The first 13er was the most challenging, since we were gaining most of the elevation here.  Once we reached the summit, we had to lose some elevation.  The second 13er was much easier, but it was a game of "Can you balance on these boulders while they shift next to a 500 foot cliff?" The third 13er was the easiest; however, we had to descend several hundred feet, again while performing the balancing act.

        At this point, we were both getting a little aggravated.  For me, it was my shoe selection.  Typically, we can run some 14ers, so I usually choose a comfy pair of trail runners.  For this hike, that was a terrible selection.  My gut instinct was to wear my La Sportiva approach shoes.  They're stiff, stick to rocks like glue, and also pretty comfortable.  I went with my Saucony Peregrine trail running shoes.  Sticking to the rock was a challenge, but the worst part was the flexing of the shoe which would cause my ankle to bash against neighboring rocks.  Anyway, I guess as outdoorsy people, we don't always make the right decisions.  All we can do is base our future decisions off of past experiences.

       We approached the summit of MOHC.  It looked a little intimidating gazing up at it, but I decided to zone out and continue with more class two rock scrambling.  Before we knew it, we were standing on the summit.  We performed the ceremonial reapplication of the sunscreen, consumption of the Honey Stinger bars, and the guzzling of water... wait... what water?   My water supply was quickly depleted over the course of four individual summits.  I heard a man we had met earlier say, "Does anybody need extra water. I have a lot left."  I had to say yes because I knew that 14 ounces would not last me another 6 miles.  I thanked him and was grateful for his offer.  Andrea and I began our descent from the summit with more rock scrambling action ahead of us.  It quickly flattened out some and became more of a trail again.

        I'm a very obsessive person when it comes to logistics such as: directions, time, weather, etc.  During these 14er hikes, I feel that my eyes are partially glued to the sky, evaluating the clouds.  The time was around 2:00pm and we were still above treeline.  Typically, we are back within the shelter of the trees before noon on these hikes.  The risk of thunderstorms during the summer is very high.  Hiking above treeline during a storm is very risky.  You're basically tempting fate and inviting lightning to strike you.  Luckily, the spotty, dark clouds weren't sinister, so we did have time on our side.

       We kept descending at a pretty quick pace.  We found a stream where many folks were congregating and relaxing.  I dipped my hat and buff in the stream to try to cool off.  We knew exactly why everybody was relaxing.  The trail system takes a sadistic turn for the worse shortly after the stream.  Half Moon Pass was awaiting our arrival.  A pass that ascends 900 feet.  "Sip, sip.  Well, that it for me." I'm completely out of water with 2.75 miles to go.  Andrea also ran out of water at this point.  I felt pretty hydrated most of the day, but the last couple of miles really kicked my ass.  The dehydration, cotton mouth, and lethargy were setting in.  The only relief was to keep hiking forward, knowing that I had a treasure chest of water in my Xterra.  Stumbling and tripping, we finally made our way to the car.  It's amazing how the body responds to drinking water after a couple hours of dehydration.  I felt alert and alive again.  I was getting to the point earlier where I was willing to risk a Giardia infection just to chug some river water.  I'm thankful I refused because Giardia infections suck!

       After relaxing for a few minutes, the time was 6:00pm.  We were starving and knew of a place in Leadville that would meet our needs.  Tennessee Pass Cafe.  It was the best dinner after a long hike.  I downed a couple cups of coffee, since we had to get back to our semi-precious, not-cute-whatsoever, Border Corgi.  2.5 hours later, we made it home.  11:00pm and extremely exhausted, I said to Andrea, "We're camping next time." She said,"Okay." It seems that we should've learned from our Longs Peak experience that cramming these intense climbs into one day is absurd and borderline insane.  Amnesia is the mountaineer's affliction.

       This was a character-building experience.  I learned that I cannot simply rely on online research.  I have to use my best judgment for what works for me and I suggest that anyone taking on such a task to please use discernment.  But, it was an awesome day and we accomplished what we set out for.  There will always be little things here and there to learn for next time.  For me, choose the shoes/boots wisely and take an extra liter of water.

Cheers,
J

       

Hike or Flight

Hike or Flight

By Jonathan Barnes

     Capturing the essence of a wilderness adventure with phonetic lettering doesn't necessarily capture

the magnificence and beauty of the true experience first-hand. A deep connection occurs when it's 

you and nature. Small problems seems to fade as well as the stress of society. The moment that exists 

in the wild is the only moment that exists in that time. It doesn't matter if it was the year 1880 or 

2080.  The human spirit and its forebearance will be the same on the mountain.

    On April 4^th, 2015, Andrea, myself, and our friend Alisa planned an ambitious hike up Humboldt

Peak in the Sangre de Cristos range, 100 miles S/SW from Colorado Springs, CO. Sometimes it's

difficult to have the foresight of what a 14er (mountain exceeding 14,000 ft above sea level) will truly

be like, but I suppose adventure isn't always knowing as much it is doing. We studied topographical

maps, different routes, and “planned” the best we could. The east route of Humboldt Peak is the

declared winter route. Oddly enough, this route does not have an established trail, so bushwacking

is inevitable until breaching above timberline. A 13 mile hike on a trail doesn't sound too bad;

however, a 13 miles hike without a trail is another story.

    We arrived at the parking lot. It was 0730 with a cool, dry air and a warm, golden sun illuminating

the sky with brilliant oranges and pinks giving the Sangre de Cristos a dark shade of purple. There

must be something about the stillness and rugged power of mountains that soothes the souls of the

struggling and carefree alike. When observing mountains, you don't just see them, you feel them., and

they become part of you.

     The three of us got out of the Xterra, stretched our legs, voided our bladders, and began collecting

and organizing our gear. We started to don our gear and start the beginning of a very long day. We

followed the four-wheel drive road for 2.5 miles and exited on the Rainbow Trail, which is another

mile-long hike before the inception of our bushwacking experience. On the heavily forested, 

undefined trail we noticed many sections that had cairns to signify that we were heading in the right 

direction.

    After awhile, the cairns became very sparse, so at this point trail navigation was critical.

This section was extremely steep and taxing on the legs which made me think, “Am I going to have

the endurance to make the summit?” Sometimes it's very difficult to get over these provoking

questions manifested from fear and intimidation.

   It's tough to stop when you're in the rhythm of hiking, but it's critical to take breaks to hydrate and eat to maintain strength. I had two liters of electrolytic water which I believe helps significantly

throughout the course of the day; however, I ran out of food pretty quick. When you're expending a

vast amount of energy and burning more calories than consuming, fatigue sets in like a raging storm

and it will beat you down before you have a chance to get back up.

    We successfully made it above treeline after a few hours of crawling up steep terrain and bush-

wacking. “What's this?” I asked myself. It was a vast snowfield leading up to a false summit. The

false summit looked so high and far away. “If this was the false summit, what could we expect at the

true summit?” Andrea, Alisa, and I strapped on our microspikes, donned the gore-tex jackets, and

started up the snowfield. Using a measurement tool on my compass, it appeared to be about a 35

degree angle. The thing with hiking up these snow packed areas is trying to prevent falling and 

sliding. An out of control glisade can almost likely result in death. The slow climb upward, while fighting against the monstrous wind was exhausting. Each step felt like there were cinder blocks strapped to my feet. “Keep going” I told myself. “You can do this... You can't do this... You can do 

this... You can't do this.” The constant battle in my head was nonstop. The mental battle was harder 

than the physical. Every climb teaches us something new about ourselves, our courage, strength, 

emotions,and will power. “Was this the day I would fail myself or believe in myself?”

The consistency of our steps had brought us to the top of the false summit, a grassy patch of high

altitude earth. We stood in awe of the true summit which looked like the spine of a giant, stone dragon.

    The three of us started up this primitive mass of rock. The exposure was becoming a real factor.

The ridge became narrower and narrower. To the left, a steep grade hill with rocks and snow. To the

right, a vertical drop at least 500-600 feet. Either way, you're dead if you fall. Unfortunately, the wind

was blowing us toward the sheer cliff to the right. “What a coincidence..” I thought. The negative

thoughts began infiltrating my mind like trojan horse. The seeds of fear began to grow causing 

anxiety and eventually an overwhelming sensation of bad emotions and paralysis. “I've done this 

stuff so many times before? What's wrong with me? Why am I being smashed by this fear?” I told 

Andrea my thoughts and concern with the exposure and wind. She wasn't about to let me give up. 

She told me,“You have the strength, endurance and skills to do this. You're letting your mind make 

you doubt your abilities.” After this encouragement and brief episode of anxiety, we looked upward 

and said, “We're standing on top of this mountain and it's not going to stop.” Fear is what causes 

failure. It takes courage and resilience to push past our fear and anxiety. I took it and owned it. I 

shouted to myself, “Come on. Do this. Fucking come on. Get the fuck up and climb this god damn 

mountain.”

    After quite a bit of rock scrambling we slowly but surely summited Humboldt Peak. A relief of

emotional battles and physical pain even though this was only the halfway mark. We shot photos of

ourselves with the majestic Crestone Peak in the background. An epic and picturesque setting, no

doubt. Although there's a sense of relief upon summiting any mountain, often we try to forget that we

have to down climb. There's always odd decisions that have to be made and often tricky. We asked

each other, “Should we wear microspikes on this exposed, rocky area with icy spots when we down

climb, or not use them?” It was a tough decision because you want traction on rock and ice.

Unfortunately, microspikes are pretty terrible on rocks, so we decided to not wear them. It was a 

sound decision.

  The down climb went by pretty quick which was a good thing. But, the high temperature throughout

the day made the snow much softer, thus causing more postholing and sinking. It seemed at first that

we were making good time, since we were hastily hiking down the snowfield. Once we reached

treeline it started to get a little confusing. It was hard to follow our old tracks, so we attempted to

follow the tracks of the two climbers we met near the summit. “Surely they made it down.” I thought.

“Where's the god damned tracks?” We started hiking down a extremely steep area right below the

ridge. The snow was deep and soft. A terrible situation to be in, since the most avalanches that occur

in the Sangre de Cristos are below treeline. I started seeing little slabs slide by me. I shouted out,

“We need to get the hell off of this slope.” As I said this, I started noticing a lot of trees around me

bent over and broken. The result of past avalanches. Luckily, we made it to a flat area after that

treacherous excursion. “Oh look, a cairn!” We found a cairn and proclaimed that we had found the

right way. After hours of continuous bushwacking, the Rainbow Trail made its appearance once

again. A sigh of relief. The feeling of being lost in a thick forest can make your stomach turn.

Especially when it's dusk.

   We hastily hiked down the four-wheel drive trail, the longest fucking 2.5 miles one could

ever experience. As we hiked down this last stretch of the downhill terrain, we noticed a

weird phenomena. There was a red, orange glow in the adjacent range in front of us. It became

brighter and brighter as we hiked downward. It was the new moon of Easter. The moon slowly

ascended above the black silhouettes of the distant range like a slow motion volcano erupting.

This felt like quite the grand finale of this adventure. Earlier that morning, the moon was dark with a

sliver of light reflection and that night, a new moon, a rebirth, a resurrection.

Whether you're Christian, Buddhist, Muslim, Hindu, or Atheist, in the range of Sangre de Cristos

(Blood of Christ), the orange, red moon that resurrected itself above the remote, vast, Colorado 

terrain on the night of Easter is something that can be remembered for a lifetime. It was brilliant.

    We packed up the Xterra and began our two hour drive home. It's not too much fun when it's dark

and also being tired and hungry, but we made it. 13 miles on an undefined trail, bushwacking,

navigating, and summiting Humboldt Peak. The most difficult and beautiful 14er I have achieved and

earned.

“I came to win, came as I always do, in order to justify who I am and what I have become; now I don't even know what that is. The rot inside me, the cancer of desire, feels unbearable, now it knows it won't be sated. There's a malignant discontent in there, and without a climb there will be no peace. When - if - I pass over to normal life I know I will drag this feeling with me.”
― Andy Kirkpatrick, Psychovertical