Colorado 14ers (Part 2)

Mt Elbert (14433ft) - Mt Yale (14,196ft) - Mt Princeton x 2 times (14,197) 

Flag in peak Mt Elbert (Picture Sept 2006)

One of the main reasons I started this blog was to show some pictures from travel and secondarily to write a few notes on the trip; however, the following tough boot-camp hiking trip  is devoid of pictures as I lost my camera on the otherwise wonderful trip.  The circumstances under which I lost the camera are slightly bazaar as described below.  I do include a few pictures taken from my blackberry (OK, I am firmly planked in the last century) more a record that the mountains described do actually exist, rather than for any aesthetic value. The other pictures are from a hike of Elbert in 2006.  I have hiked in Colorado many times the past decade, say one or two days in a week, but I came out a year last September for day hikes of grueling proportions (Mt Massive, Mt of the Holy Cross, Mt LaPlata & half way up Mt Elbert), which was exactly the physical challenge I needed at the time.  A year later, after moving back from Netherlands to Houston, I again signed up for the challenge of four day hikes to new peaks along the Colorado 14ers.

Gladly upgraded to business class on the Thursday night flight to Denver, I dosed and woke to a left side view of a giant thunder storm unleashing enormous quantities of water and electricity over Denver center, while the suburbs and Rockies were clear; I could hear in my mind some preacher explain why the sinners of progressive downtown were being punished, while the goodies of the suburbs were saved.  The weather was a little concerning for hiking and was clearly more unstable than last year.  After picking up a Ford F150 pickup truck, I was off across the dark city finding a motel, The Mountain View Inn, on the west side. Friday morning I worked a while to finish some pressing items and after sticking up at Wholefoods, was off west on highway 70 for Leadville.  A wood truck blocked all of the eastbound lanes, across the concrete barrier from the all clear westbound lanes.  Passing miles of vehicles lined up still behind the blockage as I climbed the hill to the tunnel above, I also viewed miles of plank wood strewn along the roadside; discharged when the truck failed to make the downward curve.  The eastbound tunnel was closed to avoid more downhill accidents and another chain of cars stood still and silent for miles behind.  On the radio I heard news that Christo's "Over the River" art project along the Arkansas River gained Colorado court approval over the objections of opposition a d was now just waiting Federal approval; I would hope to visit the project with the family in future years.  After checking in at my regular barn-side cabin at Olson's, Twin Lake, I took the truck up the unpaved road to the trail head of Mount Elbert.  Last year I had started later in the day and did not complete the hike to the summit, but today would have time to push all the way up the highest peak of the state, which would also allow me to acclimate to the thin air.  Although Elbert is the the highest, it is one of the easier climbs and I would hike tougher trails the following days.

As I ascended beyond treeline I me a number of hikers returning from the peak and then isolation for much to the barren ridge hike up from the east side of the mountain.  I did meet one more group, a fit military cut hiker coming down from the peak at a fast measured pace, his father still ascending slowly lower down and they met to descend together.  He said the peak was clear of weather which was a relief, as the distant skies were already a tumultuous mess of thunder clouds in places, each with a blue-gray column of rain descending to the valley floor.  I plodded onward and arrived at the peak somewhat unexpectedly, or sooner than I had in my mind's eye.  A happy oasis of calm, the peak was spared the stormy havoc being wroth on the peaks to the north and west, Mt Massive, Williams Mountain and the Hunter Fryingpan Wilderness.  An weather beaten American flag stands on the peak of Mt Elbert, it being the highest in Colorado, but surely not the same flag as that I pictured September 12th of 2006 when I first hiked the peak.  That year the snow had come earlier and I was welcomed by an ice cold shrill wind as I ascended from the northeast ridge, rather than the east as I had on this visit.  I descended in fast order, running part of the way down the well smooth trail, with view north to Leadville in the valley getting the worst of the thunderous afternoon showers and twin lakes basking in the sun to the south.  As I sat in the cabin that evening, the whole area got a heavy dose of wind and rain to clear the day's climatic buildup.

Mt Elbert, easy route to the highest point on Colorado

View north to Mt Massive (Picture Sept 2006)

View South to Rinker Peak, Mt Hope, Quail Mountain (Picture Sept 2006)

View down to Twin Lakes (Picture Sept 2006)

Saturday morning I was up with the sun and after picking up coffee in Leadville and drove down to Buena Vista, from where I took the 306 Hwy west to the upper trail head for Mt Yale.  The lower trail head (3 miles before) is called Avalanche trail head and accesses the continental divide trail and the east route to Mt Yale.  I would take the more well known southwest approach, but considered returning via the east route.  The parking lot was already full when I departed at 9:00AM; most people leave early to avoid the afternoon thunder storms.  The weather was perfect as I traversed the forest lands at a good pace.  I had rarely seen dogs on the longer trails in the past and assumed that their inability to cool by sweating (panting through the tongue instead) meant they were unfit for a sustained long hike; however, my misperceptions were corrected hiking Mt Yale, as I passed so many dogs happily hiking all the way to the peak with their owners.

While still in the thick of the valley forests the Yale trail split from the main Browns Pass Trail, which leads to the Hartenstein Lake and further to the isolated Texas Creek valley, locked in by the Sawatch range to the north and the Collegiate Range to the east.  The valley drains toward the west and the remote Gunnison National Forest, through which one could like for days with the right backpack gear.  I headed northeast on the Yale trail which slowly meandered up the Delaney Gulch.  Across the low water of the gulch the trail started to get steeper and a set of switchbacks soon brought me above the tree line, with full view of Gladstone Ridge to the south.  The weather was good, but the clouds of the day were already starting to gather.  The trail straightened out on a ridge around 12,500 ft, but it was difficult to see exactly how it was routed to the peak; the direct approach looked too steep, so I rightly assumed an approach to the lower saddle back and then a turn right along a rock ridge to the peak.  There I complemented a man on his descent on his dog's ability to make it to the peak; he told me that he actually approached from the Avalanche Trail, which made the feat more impressive.  I asked about that route, as I had hoped to descend that way, but he told me that there was two miles of rough unmarked rock ridge which was difficult to navigate, so I was already having second thoughts.  The trail was busier than most of the hikes I had taken over the years, indicative of the growing popularity of a hike to the peaks and it being a weekend.

I arrived on the saddle back, with view of Mt Harvard to the north. Mt Yale was first climbed by a Harvard research team in 1869; having already named a higher peak by a few hundred feet, Mt Harvard, they assigned this peak Mt Yale.  Mt Princeton, the next peak to the south is just 1ft higher than Mt Yale and the old story goes that Yale students would hike Mt Yale with rocks to surpass the elevation of Mt Princeton.  I continued up the rocky ridge toward the peak.  The last section was longer than one might anticipate, partly because the trail broke down and relented to the chaotic heap of granite rock which guarded the sharp ridge against the constant erosion by the elements.  Hands as well as feet were needed to maneuver over the rocks, small and large, they being steep in places.  In the thin air I went slowly and I felt my energy running low. The last 500ft of the peak, like most of the 14ers, takes on a striking harshness when compared with the docile barren highland ridges, or the warmth of the tree line. Vegetation is sparse at the top and soil rare; instead the peaks are dominated by steep and battered granite rocks, set up at precarious angles as if ready to topple down.  The smaller rocks seem to hide among the crevasses, or disappear into the ground beneath the last protective cap of the peak.  A few false ridges hid the peak, but finally I arrived at the high point.  Any chance of meditating in the silence and isolation of the high point was dashed by the obnoxious ramblings of a large group if hikers howling silly like hennas.  A few other groups on the peak seemed relieved when they departed and not too long later I had the place to myself and I let my imagination bounce off the continental divide sitting confidently to the west at 12,000 to 13,000 ft.

I charged up with some fruit and water and started the descent.  How much easier it was to traverse downward, bouncing from rock to rock.  At times I looked up at the massive boulders, which could come tumbling down at any time; with a shudder I moved on as quickly as I could to get out from under the stored energy above.  I descended quickly and soon my hands were buzzing with "pins and needles", that sensation which one gets when the blood recirculates through a limb which had gone to sleep, however, on these heights I recognized that I was short of oxygen at the heights and the descent was now re-saturating my bloodstream with the precious element which was being pulled in my lungs under the steadily increasing air pressure.  I kept a fast pace on the way down and was soon in the valley woods, meeting up with the Brown's Pass Trail.  I mistook a large dog sitting on the trail for a small bear, as bears often sit upright in the posture of this dog.  There was no owner around and the dog was panting vigorously, so I assumed he was overheating (back to my earlier theory).  As I passed he got up and walked a little, but then sat back on the trail.  Soon I came across a hiker sitting on the side of the trail who explained the dog was injured and he had sent people out for a stretcher to carry the dog out; he was sitting away from the dog in hope of inducing his along, but it wasn't working too well.  I marched the last part of the trail in fast order and met the group of dog rescuers near the trail head.

Each evening around five of six, while relaxing at the cabin, the skies would darken, the wind pick up and soon there would be a tumultuous storm of rain, lightening and thunder.  These storm systems had grown all afternoon as the sun baked valleys and plains pushed hot air high in the atmosphere and the mountain peaks acted as launching ramps.  After the beautiful turmoil a calm would develop and gradually the evening brightened shortly as the sun declined before duck set in.  I walked through the village of Twin Lakes which takes on a simple but steady nod to the tourists each year by adding a new cafe, or cleaning up it's main street which is permanently guarded by a police car; inside is a manikin sat naked, awkwardly stiff and inanimate in the driver's street, but enough to keep the cars to a slow crawl when passing through the otherwise fast and windy road to Aspen.  Boat tours were now advertised on the twin lakes nearby which sat at low water, lower than I had on past visits and much dry land and beach exposed.  A change in wind direction could change the direction of the narrow conduit of water between the two lakes, so low was the water flow.  As the light declined I drove up to Independence pass at 12,095ft and imagined winter conditions on the narrow feat of engineering which serves as a road to the summit.

Mt Yale trail

Sunday morning I was up early driving into Leadville as the east light of dawn lit up the bulk of Mt Elbert and Mt Massive to the west.  So taken by the morning beauty was I that I found myself facing an oncoming police truck and just realized I was above the town speed limit; within seconds the lights were on and I was pulled over as the police did a U-turn to follow suit.  56mph in a 35mph zone is not a ticket I expect to get lenience upon, as I know how strict small towns are.  Polite as I was, I was still quite surprised when I was let off with a warning.  My first destination, as it was each morning, was City on a Hill Cafe, for my morning coffee to go.  An art for sale exhibit was on display of wooden carvings of the contours of the various 14,000ft mountains, although I was suspect of the accurate some of those with which I had hikes and know well.  As I fueled up at the gas station that morning I learned that the group of bikers there were Icelanders on tour a long way from home.

The day prior, while driving via Buenas Vista to the Mt Yale trail head, I was taken by the robust form and structure of Mt. Princeton to the south and decided I would hike it on Sunday.  It would be my longest hike of the weekend, but not as challenging as Mt Holy Cross from the year prior.  It was advertised at 13 miles on the 14ers website, but must be longer when considering the road trail along is 5.4miles and at least 2.0 to the summit making 15 miles in my estimation when measured from the lower parking area from where I hiked. Rather than the typical trails through woods, Mt Princeton follows a forestry mud road which also serves a large communication tower up on a high bluff.  The 5.4 miles up that road allowed my mind to wander on auto-pilot and think while enjoying the increasing elevation and view down the valley.  Just above treeline and turning right onto the real trail to the peak I rounded a ridge and gained a wonderful view of the peak and the hollow valley below.  The trail followed an easy climbing contour across the sloping side of a ridge.  The slope was of steep white granite rocks which were strewn at their angle of repose, which might make one concerned about a rock slide, but the angular boulders were tough enough to hold strong against gravity, except for the few which tipped in balance as I bounded over them making a loud heavy thud.

Many hikers carry polls with them for stability over the rougher steep terrain and I always ponder whether I should get some myself, but I never do preferring to practice balance instead.  There had been something moody about the weather over the few days of hiking and although I was hiking under a rising eastern Sun heating the rocks and my body to a sweat, I knew the cold could also come in minutes as I topped a ridge, or the wind, rains, hail or snow could break the late season calm of morning and I carried protective clothes in my backpack just in case.  The high altitude weather reminded my of the High Atlas mountain passes of Morocco where the Glaoua, Goundafa and M'tougga tribes lives year round in their djellabas to protect against the turbulent weather, where it can feel hot and cold at the same time with sun on the left and hail on the right.  Although Colorado's highest peaks are snow and ice free in summer due to the warming of the center of such a large land mass, the High Atlas at 2000ft lower elevation retain their white cap year round. The High Altas are also rich is life and legend, from the Greek Atlas the Titan to the Glaoua's canon of Telouet, and I wished that the heights of Colorado would be so too, but they seem sterile by comparison.  I made my own stories of an ancient high mountain tribe of the Collegiate peaks who captured the stored energy in the high granite boulders by sliding them down a chute, a cable brake generating electric power to light their cabins by night.  There along the trail I came across a man and his son of seven years descending from the peak; I must get my own children up on the peaks I thought.

The trail before me meandered slowly upward along the contour of the slopes and I could see the trail end toward the peak away above, but the in between was not visible in the bland white granite rubble; a little like life's path I thought. Shortly then an omen halted me mid pathway; a little rock wrapped in luminous orange blocked the way and I would go forward no longer, but turn left up a steep switchback trail.  One in ten would miss the marker and continue on the old eroded trail and scramble to the peak.  I braced myself for a steep haul adjusting to a slow steady pace as the twinge of lactic pain reminded me of my hikes the two days prior.  Sooner than expected the path softened and crested the ridge, opening up a view across the Buena Vista valley and south to Mt Antero; my mind lifted also to the broadness of the vista and only now was it truly free of the rigours of daily life back home.  Surveying the wicked rubble trail to the peak, it steepening at each ridge, my mind now being free harden in resolve for the difficult final kilometer.  The bland rock made the distance to the peak look longer and the hikers far ahead were visible as red and blue dots against the gray white peak.  There were less hikers along the trail than Mt Yale, but they were a friendly lot.  A few dogs passed with their own backpacks carrying food and water as they panted their descent.  I was making good progress, looking not upon the gathering clouds which could unleash their fury cutting short an ascent to the peak, but instead I drifted off in thought to hiking similar terrain on the snow free Venezuelan Andes 1990s.

I didn't drift for long as the path disappeared at times with the way steepening and at times a rock gave way, sliding into a new more stable position.  Being exposed to the cold air of the peak I donned my hooded jacked and as the gnarly clouds swirled.  I came across a brass plaque on a sheltered granite rock in memory of 30 year old out door's woman, Catherine Pugin, killed by lightning strike on the peak in 1995. Reaffirming my resolve to go on as the hail now started, I quickened my pace and wished again for walking polls to stabilize my way over the trail-less raw steep rock, which became slippery with the melting hail.  A man and his daughters came rushing by as I approached the peak; he said he "did a high five and left the peak as they felt electricity".  I wondered how one would  "feel electricity" as I finally made it to the pinnacle with the hail continuing to fall gently.  A dark cloud over the peak stretched to the north downwind and there were thunderous storm clouds scattered over the mountains to the west and north and over the valley, each spewing a thick blue gray river of water, rain and hail to the ground.  I walked around the few low stone wall pens of the peak to gain a view and pictures in each direction.  As I stood there on the peak of Mt Princeton, I was startled by a busing sound which I heard through the slightly damp hood of my jacket; thinking it might be my camera I knelt to the ground to inspect and the sound went away.  My digital camera would not make such a sound, I thought, but as I stood up again the sound came back.  It changed in pitch as I elevated from kneeling to standing and I immediately recognized it as electrons flowing through my hood to the sky, or visa versa.  Below about 3ft, there was no sound; above that, it started with a low pitch and with absolute repeatability it increased in pitch and intensity as a direct function with elevation. Recognizing the extreme danger of being caught in a lightning strike, I rushed off the peak, listening to the pitch vary as I ran and in suspense at the prospect of being in a lightening strike at any instant.  The noise stopped as soon as I was off the peak and descending the steeper upper  rock slopes, but I kept as low to the ground as I could, using both hands and feet.  As I scurried down I could see the man and his daughters ahead, also in a hurry, buy nobody spoke.  When I finally felt safe, I stopped to take a picture, but my camera was gone, lost in the scuffle to get off the peak.  I was not about to return in search of the camera under the weather conditions at the time. Just then a bright spark of lightening illuminated along the rains falling to the north of the mountain; 8 seconds later (I was recording sound at the time and was able to measure) a thunderous crashing sound came through, indicating that the strike was about two kilometers away (sound travels about 5% slower at 14,000ft).  The rocks and scant humus of the peak has absorbed the sun's heat all morning and quickly melted the ice hail which still persisted, making the way slippery and although I tried to scuffle quickly down the slope, I slipped a number of times, so adjusted a moderate but firm pace.  I used my glove less hands for stability also, but being exposed to the cold and hard rock they were numb and bloody by now.  I caught up with the man and his daughters at a lower safe ridge and we discussed the electricity on the peak. One of the girls described a buzzing sound coming from the steel bobby pins in her hair, the other one recognized the sound I had heard in her hood also.  We described our experience to another hiker who was on the ascent to the peak and he said he was glad to have taken out his body piercings for the hike; we felt that only those who had felt the electricity like we had would heed caution of the peak, although the weather was by then improving.

There are a number of times in my lifetime when I have felt fully fragility of our existence on earth and this was one of them; I felt like an uninvited actor in a play being staged by mother nature and the play was going on with or without me, me being setup as the victim in the murder scene, I decided to exit stage left.  I have often been caught in lightening storms when running and it bothers me, but at least I feel that the chances of me being hit are just a statistic.  On the peak, I felt like the initiator antenna rather drawing on a strike than a neutral party.  There is often a randomness associated with mother nature, but there was an eerie accuracy and repeatability to the pitch of the electrons buzzing in my hood as I varied height above ground; this left me with a sense that I has had a glimpse behind the curtain of the immense power of nature, but also reinforced my belief in nature as supported by science over the supernatural.  The electric charge which drives lightening is generated when electrons are stripped off the polar water molecules of a turbulent atmosphere, so being outdoors under such conditions is dangerous.  I often see that lightening does not travel inside a rain funnel to the ground, but along the outer edge or in front of the rain funnel through dry air.  Approximately 400 people a year are struck by lightening in the US, or which approximately 10% are killed.  Apparently one has a 0.02% chance of being hit by lightening in a lifetime.  I would have dared Benjamin Franklin to fly a kite up on Mt Princeton that day.

After an hour of fury and suspense came calm and better weather as descended the slopes of Mt Princeton with view of the afternoon thunder storms north up the valley toward leadville. I was offered a drive down along the last miles of the forest road to the trail head, but refused so I could complete the entire trek which took about seven hours.  My camera was lost near the peak, so I left a note on the board entering the trail head with my email in case someone would find it.

Full route from lower parking lot to peak (Approx 15 miles round trip)

Memorial near the peak for lightening victim Catherine Pugin, killed 1995 aged 30

Monday morning was my last hike as I would fly that evening and I considered hiking Mt Belford and Mt Oxford, dual peaks at the north side of the Collegiate Peaks, but in flash of inspiration I decided to return to Mt Princeton in the slight chance I may find my camera.  There were only two other hikers behind me on Sunday, so the chances of it being still there was high.  Still I had reasonable skepticism of my real chances of finding it, but I would enjoy the shorter hike (6-7 miles) from the upper forestry road, rather than the full 15 miles from trail head (www.14ers.com say 13 miles, but I measured it at 15).

As I arrived at the trail head I set the Ford F150 truck in 4x4 and took off up the narrow dry mud road to the upper trail head.  Decades ago, the Ford F150 used to be a small utility truck for farmer, but today it is a massive hunk of metal and it took up the entire width of the narrow road; there were no turnouts, just the additional space at switchbacks in case one came across another vehicle.  Sometimes it was over a mile between switchbacks and the road, which seemed adequate on food the day prior, now seemed traitorous with steep drop-offs ready to draw my truck to tumbling demise.  Fortunately I didn't encounter anyone for the 5.4 Miles I measured on the road, which ascends the steep eastern slope of Mt Princeton provided an impressive view of the golden morning sun over the valley fields.  I was an hour earlier that morning and starting from higher up, so the light was of morning as I parked the truck at the last switchback and set off on foot on the trail.  Rounding the first ridge, I gained a full view of the peak and surrounding ridges of Mt Princeton which was cloud bound; these were a friendly cloud not sinister like the day prior, but instead they were fluffy clouds of morning dew, a hangover from wet storms of the night before, more like sheep's wool and not threatened.

The early train was devoid of hikers as I traversed the steep sloping granite, which was a close angle to the sun at that time of day, so my shadow extended down the slope 20 to 40 meters as I stood as tall as I could on a rock ledge.  The high mountain mice squealed at a high pitch as they darted across my trail; their cuteness and innocence belies the devastation they can cause as carriers of Hantavirus, which can kill victims in short order.  I turned left at the right spot and took the steep climb to the ridge which leads to the summit. The view along the ridge was just as awe inspiring on the second say and my energy was higher for the haul to the peak,having started a couple thousand feed higher on the trail head.  Approaching the peak I slowed and scanned the various pathways for a sign of my distinctive blue Cannon D10, but to no avail.  On the peak all was calm with no signs of electricity, so I lingered taking in the views.  Already the clouds were building across the ranges and valleys, but the peak was stable and I was able to get some pictures on my Blackberry.  I spent a while searching the various pathways for the camera on the return, but to no avail. There were less hikers on the trail being a Monday, but I stopped and chatted with each group, leaving a few slips of paper with them in case they found the D10.  Returning to the truck I descended the 5.4 miles of narrow road, stopping at switchbacks to listen for upcoming traffic.  A large microwave communications building stands on a bluff along the road (call sign: WPNE287, frequency 6619 MHz) which carries an air of 1950's secret government UFO program.  

Shorter route to Mt Princeton starting at the upper forestry road

I decided to return to Denver via Fairplay and Route 285 instead of Highway 70.  I had some truck problems between Buenas Vista and Fairplay which left me stranded and the rental company could not get a car out to me before evening, which would delay my return to Houston by a day, so Annette called a local taxi to pick me up for a $300 ride to Denver Airport.  Dave, my driver happened to be returning from Buenas Vista in his personal car when the call came in, so he collected me along the remove stretch of road and switched to his Cadillac taxi at his house in Fairplay.  I would have been happy to dose in the passenger seat, but Dave liked to talk; in fact he said he was a good fit for a taxi driver because he liked to meet people and talk.  Our meeting was supernatural in his mind.  Brought up in New York in a middle class family which traveled and experienced some of the world, he had then followed the Grateful Dead across the country back in the day, ultimately migrating out to Colorado.  There was something of the counter culture about Dave which is common along the towns of the front ranges.  He railed against the illegal taxis and the government who would not enforce the rules upon them, threatening his business.  I would not make the 6:24PM flight, but had it rebooked for the last evening flight at 9:30PM.  The rains came down in torrents as we crossed Kenosha pass and descended into Denver, but we made it on time.  However, the airport was a mess of delays and cancelled flights due to the weather in the area and we finally only got off the ground around midnight, arriving at my house at 3:00am, but I made it for the commitments I had on Tuesday and was up again at 6:00AM for an exhausting week, but all worth it for the out doors of Colorado.

The days I hiked were beautiful, but there was an undercurrent of unstable weather developing over the region.  Partly I had witnessed this in the afternoon storms, thankfully after I had descended from the peaks, or in the electric charge on Mt Princeton, however, I had not the full picture of the moist currents of air flowing from the gulf of Mexico at low level and in from the pacific at high level, which would unleash record rains over the front ranges starting the last day of my trip and delaying my flight.  17 inches of rain, almost a year's worth, fell on Boulder Colorado in the days following, causing severe flooding and deaths.

Mt Princeton

Mt Princeton Peak (1st view from upper trail)

Peak of Mt Princeton (Monday - 2nd visit)

Looking north to Mt Yale

Mt Princeton from the plains

After returning home I searched for the mountain top electric buzzing phenomenon and found some similar stories; two notable ones below, one from 1892 and one from 1968.

From Journal Science 1892

Notes from Section 14 of some electric UFO project;

1968 hike in Ecuador; "Suddenly they felt an odd sensation about their heads, described as mild electric shocks and crackling and buzzing sounds. Their aluminum glacier goggles began to vibrate, and their hair stood on end. The climbers dived into the snow and waited. Thunder was heard in the distance. They found that whenever they raised their heads off the ground, the electrical effects recurred. It seemed as if there were an oppressive layer 50 cm above the surface. After waiting half an hour, the climbers crawled off the peak on their bellies"

Copyright Patrick McGillycuddy 2013

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Email: patrick@mcgillycuddy.net