Category Archives: Colorado

Several of my remaining Weminuche 13ers are unfortunately “orphans” I skipped on various long dayhikes, meaning they are both deep in the wilderness and cannot be easily combined with other peaks. Of these, Peaks Eleven and Twelve are probably the most interesting, and could be combined on a loop of Chicago and Ruby Basins out of Purgatory, but the short days and recent snow put that long grind out of reach for this season. Two others, Valois and Peak Twenty-Two, are only a couple miles apart in the less-visited southern Weminuche, so I thought I might be able to combine them. I have previously reached the area from the Endlich Mesa trailhead, but I do not have the vehicle to drive that road, or the energy to hike it again.

I decided instead to come in from the Lime Mesa trailhead to their southwest. This is a ridiculously long drive on dirt roads, and not worth repeating, but it is easy driving for any car up to Henderson Lake. I started the drive in the evening, finished it in the morning, then hung out until around 8:00, when it was finally warm enough to ride with mitts and a down coat. It is peak redneck season in Colorado, the time to harvest meat and wood between when the hikers leave and real winter sets in, so there were several large, aggressively-styled trucks with horse- or ATV-trailers parked at various pullouts.

The road remains decent for a few miles beyond the lake, then deteriorates into a mix of slabs, jumbled rocks, and ruts. I had to push my bike in a few sections. I was impressed to see a bad-ass old Mitsubishi van parked at the top of the final climb, which looked like Jeep terrain. I sort of wanted to meet its owner, but he seemed to be just waking up, and you don’t disturb someone in their home like that. The road remained terrible as it rolled across the mesa to the trailhead, and I debated stashing my bike, but pushed and carefully rode all the way to the trailhead, where I found two stock-looking Tacomas. Clearly my judgment of what a vehicle can handle has become poor.

I stashed my bike in the trees, then started out north along the Lime Mesa trail. There were a couple sets of footprints in the fresh snow, but they seemed to be going out and back, so I did not expect to meet anyone. I soon turned east on the City Reservoir trail, which joined the Burnt Timber trail to meander east toward said reservoir through gentle ridges and valleys. I saw a large tepee-shaped tent in the woods off the trail, and was surprised not to see a horse to carry it nearby. Soon after, I spotted a hunter couple talking to each other on the trail ahead. I half-waved as I approached, but they did not notice until the woman turned around and startled. I found it funny that they hoped to track and surprise an elk, but had not noticed a middle-aged guy traipsing along the trail listening to a podcast.

The human tracks soon gave out, and soon after I saw fresh tracks of elk using the trail, though I neither saw nor heard the animals themselves, despite passing through several meadows that seemed like ideal places for bull elk to scream their aggression and lust. I eventually reached the reservoir, noting that the hike from Lime Mesa was only about a mile longer than from Endlich Mesa. I continued up the trail toward Lake Marie, then left it near Logtown (a very Mad Max-sounding name) to make my way up Valois’ south ridge. I found an old trail at the start, then followed a mix of game trails and common sense through the grass and granite outcrops to the upper talus. I felt pathetically slow on the climb, weakening my will to add Twenty-Two to the day.

Valois’ summit plateau is connected to a false summit by a narrow catwalk, which I enjoyed despite the lingering snow. Once past this bit of fun, it was an easy plod to the summit cairn. The peak is utterly unimpressive from this side, but its steep north face is more dramatic, and it has an excellent view of Johnson Creek to its north, bounded by the Grizzly-McCauley-Echo ridge, descending to the deep Vallecito. I looked across Castilleja Lake toward Peak Twenty-Two, but it was hard to even pick it out among the Emerson Peaks and other unnamed bumps. I lacked the will to put in the work to tag it, especially since my late start would put me at risk of a headlamp bike descent.

I decided instead to make a loop, traversing over Florida and Bullion to Mount Kennedy before returning to the trail via what looked like easy terrain on West Silver Mesa. The ridge to Florida started out miserable, with slick talus lubricated by fresh and softening snow. In my worn shoes, it made for tedious and cautious climbing, moving crab-style along the ridge. At the saddle, the ridge turned so that the snow melted, and the minor climb to Florida was much easier. From its summit I could clearly see the Trimble Pass trail, covered in snow, traversing toward Columbine Pass. I also saw a well-trodden elk- or sheep-path near Lillie Lake to the south.

I followed what might have been a faint trail to the pass, then climbed more easy talus along the ridge to Bullion, another unranked 13er. I had already somehow done Aztec on a previous outing up Johnson Creek, so I skipped the tricky ridge, dropping to the grassy plain to its south. The descent off Bullion was the day’s misery crux, a steep slope of large, shifting talus covered in slick snow. Too many things moved that should not have, and even crab-walking, one boulder bit me on the back of the calf. It shredded my pant leg, but fortunately I was wearing tall socks, so I got off with no more than a small bruise on my Achilles.

Relieved to finally be on low-angle grass, I was heard rushing water, and was surprised to find an old pipe sticking out of the ground, with water still burbling out. I saw a tailings pile below the Bullion-Aztec ridge, but no ruins of a building or other detritus nearby to justify the effort of improving this spring. I stopped to fill my water, then hurried on with an eye on the increasingly serious-looking clouds to the south and east. The forecast had called for a slight chance of showers, and it seemed increasingly likely I was going to feel some precipitation.

Kennedy has an exceptional view of the central Needles, from Pigeon to Windom, and I took some time to admire and photograph them in the dramatic partly-cloudy light. It also has cell service, from which I learned that a couple of prolific Colorado peak-baggers had been just behind me on my White Dome excursion a couple days earlier. The weather was deteriorating as I descended West Silver Mesa, but fortunately the travel was as easy as I had hoped, with mostly open country and very few willows. I was surprised to find quite a few more boot-prints on the trail, but met no one on my return to the trailhead.

It started graupel-ing a couple of miles out, and gradually grew more intense. I was not looking forward to the ride back to Henderson Lake, especially since the clay-rich soil had turned to slick mud. The two trucks were still at the trailhead, and the Mitsubishi van’s resident waved as I passed, riding cautiously over the mix of mud and limestone. I was impressed at how well my bike’s tires handled the surface, despite their lack of aggressive tread. I initially tried to avoid the puddles and the worst of the mud, but gradually gave in to the fact that both me and the bike would be filthy no matter what. My hands ached with the cold, and I needed to get back to the car before dark.

I managed to ride most of the upper rocky section, picking my way cautiously and riding the brakes. I put on a bit more speed on the lower, smoother part, as the graupel turned to rain and my brake pads wore down from the grit. Finally reaching the car, I leaned my bike against the side to deal with later, and was happy to find I had just enough manual dexterity to unclip my keys from my pack and unlock the doors. I crawled inside, frantically stripped off my wet clothes, put on a dry t-shirt and sweatshirt, started water for cocoa, and curled up in my sleeping bag. I had a painful ten minutes as my hands came back to life, but suffered no permanent harm. I made dinner, read a bit about Harvey Butchart, then went to bed early, leaving the problem of dealing with my wet, muddy bike and clothes to the next day.

[This writeup skips several quality outings over the past two weeks, which I hope to return to, but the blog is getting badly behind. — ed.]

Climbing all the Weminuche 13ers has been a late-season, low-urgency project of mine for some years. Most of them are fairly remote, which makes them appealing but also hard to day-hike, especially late in the season when I normally visit. One of my last mother-lodes of peaks was the group north of Vestal Basin and south of Elk Creek, from Hunchback to Peak Three. I had expected this to be a truly grim outing from Molas Pass but, while doing some last-minute research, I realized that it would be significantly easier to reach the peaks from Cunningham Gulch. I had somehow never visited this trailhead, which is a viable 2WD alternative to the slow and punishing drive to Beartown for accessing the northwest Weminuche.

I was not sure how long the outing would take, but I had to be back by dinner, so I set my alarm for a painful hour and started by headlamp around 4:30, planning to do the trail approach by headlamp. It is no longer summer, so I began hiking in mitts and a down jacket. While I eventually stowed the jacket, I remained borderline cold on the long, rolling commute south along the Continental Divide above 12,000 feet, and had to put it back on above Kite Lake when my hands got too cold. I finally turned off my headlamp near the top of Elk Creek, continuing south on an old but clear trail to the saddle between Hunchback and White Dome.

Hunchback Peak is made of some kind of crumbly shale, so it is not particularly steep, and its west ridge is mostly easy. The snow on the north side was sometimes supportive, but more often the expected breakable crust over ankle-deep sugar. I dodged a couple of small pinnacles near the top, and reached the summit in time for sunrise. I watched the light hit familiar peaks to the south and west in the Needles and Grenadiers, then retraced my steps as Hunchback’s shadow descended the east face of White Dome, my next goal.

Near the saddle between the two peaks, I transitioned from dark choss to the Grenadiers’ lighter quartzite, which is particularly light-colored in this part, giving White Dome its name. This rock can be solid and pleasant to climb, but because it is hard and breaks along smooth planes, it forms terribly unstable talus. I therefore stayed along the right-hand ridge where possible, opting for solid rock with a few class 3-4 steps instead of shifting boulders. By the time I reached the summit, it was warm enough to ditch the mitts and jacket for the rest of the day, though I would keep my hoodie and thin work gloves for several hours. The Vestal Basin peaks began to come into view here, with their strikingly bent uplift layers.

From White Dome I followed an easy ridge to its junction with a minor spur, then turned south toward Peak One. This was the first north-facing terrain I had to deal with, and it was as unpleasant as I had feared, with unpredictable ankle- to calf-deep powder between protruding rocks. I tried to hop from rock to rock where I could, which was slow but far less aggravating than postholing. A combination of fatigue and altitude also had me plodding and gasping more than I should have been. Peak One was not particularly interesting in itself, but it offered a clearer view of the main Grenadiers. Notably, the east side of neighboring Peak Three shows the same layers as Arrow and Vestal, though the eroded valleys are in the wrong direction to make for good climbing. I also had an excellent view across Stormy Gulch to Trinity Lake, the long Trinity-Storm King ridge, Silex, and the Guardian. Looking north, I could see most of my descent route to Elk Creek and the Colorado Trail, which looked easy if a bit tedious from this angle.

I dropped down the ridge to the head of Stormy Gulch, then followed a rib on Peak Three’s east side to its summit. I had suspected for years that this peak would be an ideal spot to view the main Grenadiers, and it did not disappoint. I sat for awhile admiring Arrow and Vestal, whose Wham Ridge looked tricky with a dusting of snow on the steeper upper half. Through the gaps in the quartzite ridge I could see Jagged, Eolus, and Pigeon poking through. Peak Two looked like a slog, so it took me a minute to steel myself to get going. It was every bit as tedious as expected, unstable quartzite talus mixed with a bit of choss, with the usual sugary snow on north slopes. I slogged it out, admiring the high plateau to the left and my scree descent to the right. From its summit, I had a clear view up and down the deep trench of Elk Creek. I had only been as far up this drainage as the Vestal Basin cutoff, and was both looking forward to traveling its upper reaches, and dreading the long climb out.

After a couple minutes on the summit, I retraced my tedious steps a bit, then happily plunge-stepped east, crossing some sheep-trails in the pliant scree. The bottom of this drainage was blessedly willow-free, so I was expecting an easy hike down to the Colorado Trail. Unfortunately it also contains a couple of bands of slabby cliffs which are hidden from above. I did not have to do anything sketchy to get through them, but they did cause some frustration and delay. Below, I followed game trails to the right, aiming to hit the trail high. These eventually disappeared, and I found myself hopping and thrashing through a mess of deadfall above the creek junction. Looking back, I did not see a better path.

Once back on the trail, I was surprised and impressed by how steeply it climbed toward the Divide. I slowly ground out the 1800-foot climb, mostly appreciating the trail, but cutting straight up through some turf where it turned to maddeningly-flat switchbacks. I was ahead of schedule, but still tried to jog the flats and downhills on my way back north. Though it was late in the year, it was also a weekend, and I saw a group of three hunters who had probably driven to Beartown, a couple of day-hikers, and a pair making camp near one of the high lakes. Given the forecast for snow the next day, these last seemed either masochistic or oblivious, but they were too far from the trail for me to say anything. I jogged down to Cunningham Gulch, quickly rinsed off at the car, then drove into Silverton to grab water at the fire station and cook some real food.