Mt. Yale (Southwest Face), 14,196 Ft. - Feb 21, 2009

After taking some down time from my last climb in January, weather was looking good and I was looking for another climb, preferably in a new neck of the woods. Having never seen the Sawatch mountain range or at least no memory of I decided Mt. Yale at 14,196 ft. would make a good adventure for this Saturday morning. In true fashion I prepped Friday evening and around 4:00AM Saturday was up and on the road to Buena Vista. Initially I was a little nervous about the day in general, the weather forecast was showing some activity towards the North but nothing as far south as Yale and it's neighbors. Leaving my apartment the roads in Denver were slushy and slick and with a three hour plus drive ahead of me I was a little uncomfortable with driving through mostly unfamiliar lands. With the weather in mind I chose to take US285 to US24 (adjacent to Yale) rather than I70 to US24 as I suspected the the high mountain passes would be bit harder driving that far North. This was a good choice, as it turned out once I passed Bailey the weather cleared up, opening the sky to a nearly full moon. After a few hours I was nearly In Buena Vista and was greeted by my first views of the collegiate group including a spectacular view of Mt. Princeton and a mostly obscured view of Yale. I pulled off the road to snap a couple shots shortly after sun rise.


Arriving at the trail head shortly after 7:00 I was suited up and started on the approach. Mostly easy going, I snowshoed recently broken trail though Denny Creek following the Western slope of Yale. Beautiful landscape though unfortunately not very picturesque being hard to see the forest through the trees. Nearly an hour or so into the approach the tree cover began to thin as the trail ascended more directly up Yale's West face. About this time I began to hear the familiar sound of snowshoes crunching on hard snow but I'd yet run into another person. I briefly stopped to survey the surroundings hoping to identify where the nose was coming from. It was a bit odd because I would occasionally hear the crunching but I couldn't see anyone nor make out the directing the sound was coming from.



Continuing on I came to a point where the trial that I'd been following split, one path continuing on, another heading East in a quite direct route up the adjacent slope. Scanning the terrain ahead I could see that the tracks had stopped about 50 yards ahead and the split heading up the slope was actually the same tracks after back tracking. It was here I first noticed a fellow climber, now nearly at the top of the slope which mind you appeared a daunting task and definitely not the standard route towards Yale's summit. I began to wonder what could have been his motivation for choosing to climb here? Did he go further and find the terrain unmanageable, maybe he was game for a challenge? I was faced with a typical decision, should I follow or continue along the standard route? One thing that I learned very early on my back wood challenges is that you shouldn't follow tracks just because they're there and appear to go in the right direction. Despite knowing this, there was an instance when I was following a winter trail system, mind you on a climb yet to be done from the perspective of this blog, where I chose to follow what I thought was obviously the path to where I was planning on camping for the night. Camping after a quite long approach and prior to a big climb that I'd been salivating over for some time. As it turns out in this instance I ended up in the wrong place well after dark. This was a real problem because I was now separated from my destination by a very steep ridge line, backtracking was definitely not an option given the time nor was climbing the ridge, at least not with a full camping pack. But with writing like climbing it's important to keep focus on the current situation. I you climb a typical weekend hot spot peak you will without doubt come across someone who despite being on the same peak as you and heading in the same direction, is most certainly not heading to the same destination. I took a moment to check my GPS and confirmed that the standard route would intersect the top of this slope so ultimately I would end up where I wanted to be. With that in mind I scanned the terrain looking for a good line and determined that though difficult it was doable, off or up that is I went.

This portion was a bit difficult, route finding was challenging with many downed trees and steep snow, but still early in the day I was fueled and mustered through it. Reaching the top of the slop I paused to snap a few photos of the climb and surrounding mountain peaks. Those of which I now had a spectacular view.





Shortly after I could see that I was nearing treeline and got my first view of the summit of Yale, still quite far. Pictures hardly ever do justice to distance nor exposure. For example, a shot down a highly exposed ridge often appears as a gentle slope, whereas a slip on this gentle slope would likely end in a serious problem. In this picture, the summit which is "right over there" is actually at least two or three hours away. Someone could be climbing this slope and would be completely indiscernible.



From here Yale's summit grew as I approached, the snow became less and more wind blown so I opted to loose the weight of my snowshoes. As I approached what would surely be another even more daunting portion of the ascent I noticed that the sky, completely clear, had taken on a dark blue hue. I've read stories of how when climbing peaks as high as the seven summits, you can actually see the curvature of the earth and being that high the atmosphere thins out enough to give the sky a dark blue appearance. There have been days climbing that I too saw a noticeable difference in the color of the sky. Then again 14,000 feet is no 5,280, your eyes see it, you lungs feel it and unfortunately this day so did my skin. About this time I began to notice that skin was burning. Not the kind of burning you feel sitting out at the pool, where you feel strong radiant heat and know you're getting crispy. This is actually quite different, you don't feel heat like on a hot day, you feel UV, and its not till it's too late that you typically even notice. Comparable to sunburning your eyes (which despite excellent sunglasses I still do on occasion) while skiing.



Now that the views had opened up significantly I could again see the fellow climber, bobbing up and down behind small concaves in the terrain and large rocks. For a short time I followed him far in the distance until I could make out that he was in fact coming back. This isn't rare, as I recall on almost every bigger climb I've done, someone ahead of me has turned around. After about 15 minutes we met up, he was from Oklahoma, visiting to do some skiing the following day in Breckenridge and figured he crab a 14er today. He proclaimed that he'd had enough, surmising that the summit was at least another 2 hours away, now being noon. I quietly disagreed with this thinking "no way I can make that ridge in a half hour and the summit within the hour". We parted ways and I continued on... and by the way I was wrong.





Nearing the ridge, I again paused to snap some shots of the adjacent false summit, the remaining climb to the ridge and the surrounding basin, now looking like the view from an airplane. As the other climbing had guessed the ramaining climb to the summit took a little over two hours. From the summit view were spectacular as always, including a great view of Princeton to the South, and Harvard (among others?) to the North.





On the summit I was joined by another climber who told me that he was along with friend who had decided to stay down below the summit to take a nap, to exhausted to continue. He, as well as two others who joined shortly after had skinned up and fortunately for them would be skiing out. I was envious as the climb taken a lot out of me. I rested a bit then began the second half of the trip. The descent is a mixed blessing, often easier always challenging. You have gravity and momentum working for and against you and it's well understood that the majority of alpine climbing accidents happen on the descent. Think about climbing a latter, it's tough climbing up but how often do you descent the latter facing out? And for good reason.

Stopping about a half hour down from the summit now around 3:30 I ate lunch resting and refueling. As always it was a time for reflection and internal gloating. Uneventful up until the descent of the lower slope which had been difficult earlier in the day. Now wet from the days sun the slope was very slick, not enough snow for a wet slide but too little snow to get any worthwhile penetration which made for many falls a few that were dangerous. One fall in fact sent me glissading some and tumbling more than I would like to. I immediately attempted to self arrest, my butt, back and elbows smashing on rocks as I made unwanted but quick progress towards the bottom of the slope. Pictures of Bear Gyles tumbling end over end flashing though my mind I eventually arrested. Not hurt more seriously than bumbs and bruises I was a little shook up from this, realizing that an injury this far out would not be good. I composed myself and continued on. Finally making it back to relatively flat ground I mustered my way back out constantly thinking I should take up skinning.

As I later described it six hours up, one and a half "controlled fall" down.

Additional Photos

Torreys Peak (West ridge), 14,267 Ft. - Jan. 17, 2009

Everyday life is full of people just waiting to explain to you what's holding them back and why they can't accomplish their endeavors, you don't find these people climbing mountains. Just like any other walk of life, the people who share a love for this kind of adventure have common traits. Traits like fortitude, perseverance, words that you see on walls of an HR manager's office. Fortitude is a concept I came to know well on a winter ascent of Torreys peak from Loveland Pass. I can't brashly say that yet again, against the elements, I fought my personal limits and pushed through because I'm strong or because I'm that kind of person. Instead, for the first time I found myself in a situation that I knew afforded me no choice but fortitude. I know it now and I knew then, I was in deep and there was only one way out. I'll quote myself in a post I made soon after this trip.

"At times while being faced with decisions that carry very final immediate consequences you perform at the peak of endurance, mental strength, nirvana."

A week to the day after my trip up Quandary, I was feeling confident, weather was good and I was back to the top of Loveland Pass to finish what I had started. Now a standard, I was at the trailhead before the sun, met by few with the desire to trek through the elements in pursuit of proving that it can be done. I've been asked "Why don't you just jump out of an airplane?". This is like asking a painter "Why don't you just take a picture?", as if the motivation for painting a picture is merely documentation. Mountaineering is personal experience, providing clarity of mind, extending your palette, opening your senses to the appreciation of things which can't be provided at will, intangibles that are earned.


Setting out before sunrise, I made my up the Western edge of Point 12,850 with a feeling of familiarity. The slow grind of a nameless ridge to a nameless summit. The kind of place that makes for a wonderful accomplishment for the wife and kids on a Sunday afternoon, surrounded by the beauty of the forthcoming basin and awe of the seemingly towering Grizzly and Torreys. Nearing the top, the sun began to rise over the Tenmile and Mosquito ranges lighting the tops of the numerous 14er's where other aspirations were about to unfold. With clear skies and nearly limitless visibility I made my wat first over Point 12,850, Cupid, and finally up the difficult ridge of Grizzly Peak. The ruggedness and difficulty of the terrain on Grizzly and Torreys was the price for panoramic views of snow covered ridges, the like of which I had only only ever seen in photos.





From the summit of Grizzly which in itself was an accomplishment and the turn around point for the only fellow hikers out for this journey, I could see Torreys and Grays separated from me by the quite arduous descent (and return ascent) of Grizzly's Eastern ridge. Despite being tiny in comparison to peaks of which professional climbers face, it's always shocking to get the first glimpse of a 14er and just how massive it is in the context of its surroundings.



Hidden from view in the photo and not too hospitable a place for casual photo taking is the horseshoe shaped Eastern ridge leading to the saddle between Grizzly and Torreys. Rife with cornices, mixed terrain and high exposure, the ridge is exactly what I've come to know as classic, descending around 800 ft. to the North and around 1100 ft. to the South. With at sometimes no more than a foot or two room to navigate, I found myself straddling, seated with a leg a few feet down either side. It was here I made a critical decision which could have been my last. As the ridge descended it flattened out into a broad saddle, clearly my objective. Seeing the distance required to follow the ridge as it snaked Northward then South before ending safely in the saddle, I began scanning the terrain for a reasonable path of descent which would take me to the saddle but skipping the long haul around the Northern aspect. Ultimately I chose to make a more direct descend down the steep but manageable Southeastern aspect of the bowl shaped face. About 50 ft. down I began to realize the condition of the snow, now wet from the morning sun. Looking back up my path It was clear that given the time, aspect and grade of the slope, I was descending a very likely avalanche slope. Fortunately I realized this soon after starting my descent and made quick work to regain the ridge, although the distance down that I traveled and the time it took to return are really of no consequence in terms of avalanche danger. One I was back on the ridge I tried to get a shot which would accurately reflect the exposure though a camera never does justice.



From the saddle I began to make my up the Western ridge of Torreys, loose rock and talus were the themes of the climb. A thin vein of snow worked its way from the saddle to nearly the false summit so I decided to try my luck ascending it, which now was much more stable then the talus. Unfortunately I'd left my crampons in the car due to the conditions of the snow and relative angle of each ridge I'd be climbing and so was forced to chop steps out of the snow using my axe as I ascended. All in all this wasn't much of a setback, the slope was not too steep to ascend without the crampons (otherwise I would have chosen another route) nor was chopping steps too much work. After about an hour I had made the false summit and was approaching the the summit proper.

Views from the summit were spectacular, feelings of being well above the surrounding mountains, but in this instance with the exception of Gray's all the other peaks were so far below it gave the feeling of being in an airplane. I thought it would be great to continue on to Grays but given the time, my energy level and the fact that the return would require the re-climbing of Torreys, Grizzly, Cupid and 12,850, I opted for a few photos including a good shot of Evans and Bierstadt, both being previous accomplishments, and started my descent.





The snow path which I had ascended made for a great Glasside and significantly shortened the descent time. Nevertheless as I reached the saddle and began the ascent back up the Eastern side of Grizzly the time was nearing 3:30PM I was beginning to question weather I was going to make it out before sunset. I wasn't too concerned with light as I had as packed a headlamp, rather I was concerned with at least making it to the summit of Cupid before sunset. Ascending Cupid in the dark was not a delightful prospect, having just come down this morning I knew the terrain was a little sketchy in places and this in conjunction with the amount of energy I had remaining was starting to unravel my nerves. It's hard to describe the feeling, I knew I was a long hard trip from the car and a feeling of oh fuck begins to take over. This part of the climb has been the motivation for much metaphysical introspection into my life since. Hardly in dire straights, I was in a situation that I knew was going to take a lot hard work to get back out of and if I couldn't muster the strength to do it, I was going to be left far from anyone for the night. It was time to clear the mind and focus on what was most important, getting to the top of cupid by dark, from there it was a walk out. A final solace was that if things didn't go as planned I knew that once I made it to bottom of the opposite side of Grizzly, to the West, I could bail down the Western slope towards Loveland Pass and end up in Keystone Ski area and catch a cab back to the car. These are the things that you always have to keep in mind when do this type of activity.

On the topic of Keystone, as I ascended Cupid, probably around 5:30 I could hear the sound of a chopper in the distance. This isn't out of the ordinary, in fact it's out of the ordinary not to hear a chopper in areas like this. It seems that there are always SAR choppers out training, saving, scouting, etc. but in this case I could hear the chopper constantly getting nearer but couldn't see it due to the setting sun in the West. Finally the sound ended but quite near to me, I was relatively sure that the chopper landed in Keystone and around fifteen minutes later up it started. This time with the sun lower I could see it taking off from the park. It was one of the orange flight for life choppers (which I've also flown on). As it left the park it headed straight East, towards me. Passing over the saddle between Grizzly and Cupid so near the ground that I surely could have tossed my axe up and hit it, close enough to see the mustache of the pilot.

Now fairly relaxed knowing that I was going to make Cupid by sundown. I did in fact but shortly after had to dawn the headlamp, making my way up 12,850 and back down to my car at Loveland Pass around an hour after dark. Reflecting on this trip is interesting because for a short time I had to make an effort to keep a level head. Not the first time I've been in a dangerous situation but the first time I was in real danger.

Additional Photos

Quandary Peak (East ridge), 14,265 Ft. - Jan. 10, 2009

More than a month now since my last outing the weather was looking good and I was aching to get back out out onto another climb, or walk, or trudge. I did a bit of research looking at the easier of the 14'ers for winter and Quandary is well known to be an easy and safe one in any season. That being relative. In order for a 14'er to be rated as a 14'er there must be at least 3000 vertical ft. gain from the the saddle of it its adjacent peaks to the summit. Now I don't think that means all adjacent peaks or peaks like Torrey's and Gray's wouldn't fit the bill, rather at least one adjacent peak I assume. But that's semantics. I've read some interesting discussions on the criteria for which one can say that they've climbed a 14'er, for example; It's pretty universally accepted that there must be at least 3k ft. gain and you must achieve this under your own power. So after driving to the top of Mt. Evans, then walking the 50 ft. required to reach the summit, its not fair to say that you've climbed a 14'er. How about riding your bike? Obviously the bike affords you some amount of mechanical advantage but is it traded off in carrying the weight of the bike? I can speak from experience and say that I've been on bike rides where walking would have been greatly easier than riding, so it's necessarily always easier to ride. My favorite is the question, what if someone runs on a treadmill that stores an electrical charge, doing so long enough to save up enough energy to power an electric vehicle all the way to the top? Once again I digress.

Quandary and good weather.


The weather forecast was for highs in the 30's and blustery above 13k. What is blustery? Is it winds stronger than a breeze, lesser than windy? If blustery described the conditions on quandary that day, I would say extreme wind. I arrived at the trailhead, about 9 miles south of Breckenridge and directly off the main highway so I wasn't surprised to find about 15 people there before me at nearly 8:00AM. I was getting a late start due to just not getting my shit together in good time. In contrast with climbing in the summer, when it completely typical to find no parking and a steady stream of people moving up and down from base to summit, probably nearing 200 people at a time in places like Bierstadt or Quandary. In the winter it's I find it welcoming to see others on the same climb. This drastically increases the rescue index, i.e. chances of getting pulled out if you're in trouble. So in a sense I was relieved to find some company. Again as with Grizzly, beta on this trip said to be careful with route finding, specifically in the area between the summit and the top of the first eastern slope. The standard route takes you in almost a straight line up the eastern ridge, moving too far towards the North leads into some very sketchy terrain. I read a report of a climber who on the descent moved too far North and ended up descending onto the North face. Being unable to climb back off the face he was stranded and forced to spend the night, eventually be plucked out by a chopper. knowing the topo. and now having been there I find it very had to believe that it was a mistake that put him there. On the descent, even in a whiteout keeping a few things in mind keeps you on the right path... You're always descending, the terrain is never difficult and there's a slight elevation gain to climbers right. Assuming that you get too far to the North, the inability to easily descend should be evidence that you have went astray. But after being in situation where I've lost my bearings, I hold my opinions.

After gearing up and dawning the snowshoes I began a typical steady ascent to treeline and for nearly the entire way was enjoying a very nice peaceful day.


Fortunately, or shamefully in what felt like an excessively out of shape state, the other climbers out were breaking trail for me the entire way. As I approached treeline the climb ahead became visible along with the slight indication of stronger winds above. Looking closely you can make out the other climbers on the forthcoming ridge.


Continuing upward along the South edge of the Eastern ridge views, views of the surrounding mountains were spectacular, Grays and Torrey's in the far distance.


And NorthStar with the summit of Lincoln directly behind.



As the elevation increased so did the wind, giving way to incredibly forceful gusts from the Northwest relentlessly pushing me back, pausing only briefly to spin around and push from the South causing balance on some portions of the ridge to become a concern. The continual battle against the wind was beginning to drain me physically as well a make my face uncomfortably cold. I began to pull my balaclava up over my mouth witch ultimately was a mistake as the moist air that I exhaled began to freeze into a block of ice directly over my mouth. This wasn't so much a problem of my mouth being cold but rather the problem was that the balaclava became rigid with ice I no long had the ability to alternate it between shielding my nose and my neck. Eventually I was reserved accept only cover for my moth and nose leaving my neck below the chin exposed.


As I ascended along the South side of the upper bowl which is very broad and nearly flat from North to South, the combination of wind and blowing snow made for a sight and feeling that I have never experienced. It can be be described as being in the middle of a white desert.


Continuing upward from this point became painfully difficult. By now the due to the exposure of my lower chin and now the back of my neck, I could no longer feel the difference between the balaclava which was nothing more than a block of ice, my neck and the upper chest of my soft shell. When I say this I don't mean that my chest and neck all felt cold, I mean that with my bare hand, from my chin to my collar bones everything felt like a piece of ice. Other than numb everything felt fine. The last quarter mile of the ascent took nearly and hour while fighting the wind and as the slope began to increase I found it very difficult to make every ten feet. Goals, which I typically break down into small units like, "Lets make it to that next ridge" became baby steps like "lets make it to that rock" being only three steps in from of me. In this last push I began to meet the others on their way back down, all telling the same story, "if you have anything that you need to do before the summit do it now. You wont have a chance up there." They weren't mistaken, crossing the final lip onto the summit, they winds increased two fold. To point where instinctively I felt that I should crouch way down or crawl in order to move forward. These were winds were by far stronger than any other I have ever encounter previous or since. My summit of Quandary was nothing more than walking to the highest point then immediately turning around for reprieve. Unfortunately the last picture was my final opportunity given the winds. On the descent heavy blowing snow and cloud cover made for less than a photogenic experience.

The descent was very easy, wind at my back, the weather clearing with lower elevation. I made it back to the car in about 8 hours round trip, which for many of my winter climbs was good time. Back in Denver I followed up the day with a ritual night out at the brew pub, enjoying wings and cold beer. Noticing my neck was very wet I retreated to the restroom to take a look and found that the entire front of my neck from below my chin had blistered up and the back looked like a sunburn. When all was said and done, I had moderate frostbite on the back resulting the appearance of an odd tan, and severe frostbite on the front which scabbed and sloughed off leaving a fairly gaping wound for days to come... good times.



Additional Photos

Mt. Evans (West Face), 14,264 Ft. - Nov. 1, 2008

Now that the weather has begun to head towards the winter side Ron has lost the desire to go stomping up the mountains in knee deep snow and 20 degree temperatures. I've yet to be discouraged so this weekend which happened to be an extended one for me due to a much needed vacation, I decided to head up and make an attempt on Mt. Evans via its
west face.


Mt. Evans like Pikes Peak is one of the two Colorado 14er's that you can drive to or nearly to the summit. It must be frustrating and glorifying at the same time to to spend all day grinding up a mountain to finally reach the summit and find minivans full of families taking pictures and tossing rock down into the pit you just climbed out of. But alas this time of year at least in the case of Mt. Evans, the road up to the summit is closed, which leaves you with a few winter/fall options. The standard ascent of Evens starts from Summit Lake and can be considered a low challenge day hike. With the closure of the road leading up to summit lake this adds an additional 14 miles to the overall climb. With that in mind I decided that an ascent via the West face, the gully between Mt. Spalding and the Sawtooth was in order. Seen below on the far left of the picture.




When I arrived at the trail head, as with the day I ascended Bierstadt I found many more people than expected. I loaded up my pack, the first hike in my new Marmot pack that I purchased just for the added room for winter layering and carrying of winter tools. For a short while I followed the standard trail up towards Bierstadt, passing over the multiple bridges that span the trip through the willows. A short distance past a large rock on the left of the trail I chose a spot to make a break and headed off towards the base of the gully separating the Sawtooth and Mt. Spalding. For the entire hike up to the gully I was bushwacking through thick willows, around the base of the north face of Bierstadt, coming to a small beaver pond which gave me a full view of the gully that I was about to climb.




Shortly after crossing a beaver dam I had full view of the true height of the gully and began my ascent. I attempted to skirt to the left of the gully climbing the adjacent side of Mt. Spalding for as much of the ascent as possible, this maybe in vain but seemed logical to me that the higher I could get on the side of Spalding the shorter distance I would have to scramble up the talus in the center of the gully. Not entirely sure if this helped or hindered the approach significantly but after about two thirds of the ascent the grade grew enough that I had no choice but to drop into and begin ascending the gully directly.


The remaining portion of climbing the gully could be described as vigorous and after a short time I eventually reached the top to be greeted by a large snow filled cirque with the summit of Spalding to the left the top ridge of the Sawtooth to the left and a false summit of Evans straight ahead. At this point the weaker voice in my head was telling me that this might be a good place to turn around, knowing that more than a mile of climbing was still ahead and climbing the gully was much more difficult than expected. The other voice, the one that puts me into these places and feeds the soul was compelling me to push on. After coming so far I felt that it would be a shame to turn back so I marched on, up towards the top of the classic snow route overlooking Summit Lake. With the road to Summit Lake closed this late in the year and unplowed the view of the lake was quite a spectacle.


From here I followed a cairned route just below the south face of the ridge, pausing frequently to take pictures of Bierstadt and the Sawtooth.


After around another hour I approached the summit and the upper parking lot which during the warmer seasons boast many day tourist who drive to near the summit then make the final 50 Ft. walk to the summit to take in the grand views of Summit Lake, Bierstadt and the Sawtooth. Quite exhausted and hungry I stopped for lunch and an obligatory summit photo, Bierstadt in the background.


Just past four hours after my start I headed back for the long descent back to the parking lot, again stopping frequently to snap photos of the journey. At the top of the gully I took the opportunity to document the distance that I had traveled from the parking lot and during that time saw the first glimpse of other hikers since breaking from the Bierstadt trail. A man a woman on just reaching the top of the gully, obviously exhausted from the ascent. We briefly stopped to swap stories of the climb, these two also exclaiming their inner voice questioning whether to continue on just as I had. Given the time of the day, now somewhere around 2 - 2:30, I questioned to myself their ability to reach the summit and make the return trip to the parking lot within the remaining hours of light.


Downhill travel is both a blessing and a curse, in exchange for the lung burning stairmaster routine you get knee grinding, ankle crunching impact. On this descent I learned two lessons about the type and quality of hiking shoes. My shoes, which are quality shoes and have served me well, taught me the value of ankle support and weather proofing. My shoes low on the ankles don't provide much for support as they don't immobilize lateral movement and as I came to find when I worked my back the willows over the now melted boggy areas, the shoes aren't as water resistant as I would like and by the time I reached the parking lot my shoes were soaked and feet were cold. Fortunately I had a spare pair of socks. Overall the climb was great, I could check another 14er off the list and had decided that winter boots were much higher on the priority list.

Additional Photos

Mt. Bierstadt (West Slope), 14,060 Ft. - Sept. 27, 2008 and an Introduction.

For a few years now I've been an avid mountain biker with each season having at least one will breaking, reality inducing rendezvous with gravity. This year being no different. After a small bout of depression related to lack of adrenaline, my frequent riding partner Ron invited me along on a day hike. Initially I wasn't very optimistic about the joys of hiking as I had always considered such an activity to be a little tame for my taste. For most of life I've bounced from activity to activity, immersing myself with what has been described to me as a compulsion. Hiking had always seemed to be what people do with kids on Sunday before stopping for ice cream and after taking pictures of the buffalo. As I came to realize, hiking can be a very general term for everything from a two mile loop in the local county open space to a mountaineering expedition covering an eight hour approach followed by a class five WI ascent. Though the latter being a little more on the winter mountaineering side, but I digress. What I found during this initial hike was that the rush I achieved by falling down a mountain while sitting on bike seat, or I guess the feeling of opposing my personal prowess on the rigors of such an activity, was perfectly interchangeable with the exhilaration of pressing onward to reach a point where many but with increasing difficulty fewer have reached. And so my latest obsession begins.





The morning of Sept. 27 with much anticipation and a little nervousness I set out to "climb" (in the case of Mt Bierstadt, hike) my first of Colorado's 58 14,000 Ft. peaks. At first fight the mountain was awe inspiring, enormous and isolated enough to appreciate its true size.



Though Bierstadt is considered one of the easier of the Colorado 14'ers the ascent was by no means an easy outing. Regardless and as with many of the other peaks company was not in short supply.


The weather was perfect and as the day rolled on and the hike became increasingly more difficult. Approaching the summit the ascent turned more towards a low class three scramble and gave way to a great view of Grays and Torrey's peaks, on the list for next summer.


From the summit the views were spectacular including Mt. Evans and the path of a future endeavor.

After a short break for lunch a some good conversation with some of the others on the summit we headed back down, notice to left the of the green, above the shadows is where we started. I had definitely found a new activity.

Additional Photos