Peak “S”, South Slate Drainage

I awoke again fairly late, this time around 8 AM.  My plan was to climb Peaks “R” and “S”, three days in a row of lots of exertion!  So, after a short breakfast, I packed up a light pack and headed up.  I decided to head to the saddle between “S” and “R” and see what things looked like.  The climb up to the saddle is typical Gore grassy ledges.  There was a little bit of bushwhacking here just to find the quick route up to the saddle.  After departing the grass, I followed semi-stable talus blocks to the saddle.

From here, I couldn’t tell how far Peak “R” was away.  I didn’t have a map (I had brought one for the Black Creek area but felt that I didn’t need one up here since I know the area) and wasn’t sure if I was closer to Peak “S” or Peak “R”.  I wisely decided to hike up Peak “S” first since I suspected it was closer.  A little higher up confirmed that Peak “R” was indeed pretty far away.  So, I continued on to Peak “S” and passed two large towers on the south side to finally gain the summit.  Looking back on Peak “R”, I decided to leave it.  After all, I would have to scramble up a long way along several talus-laden towers.  I also gave a bit of thought to head over to Peak “T” and try the first free-solo attempt of the true summit.  Again, I decided to leave it.  I didn’t have any business attempting a bouldering problem all by myself up here.  And, after the steep descent down “Might Pass” and the long long return out of the South Slate drainage that lay ahead of me (yes, I decided to go out this way), I realized that I didn’t have that much time and didn’t want to accept any more risk.  This turned out to be the right decision.

I headed down a slightly different route – a little more direct and through some easy willows and alongside a couple of small waterfalls.  I was back at my camp around noon or so.  I took a little bit of a break and then packed up and headed out.  I had a long way to go ahead of me and there is no beta on this drainage.  Certainly, it would be three miles of trailess terrain, and most-likely passable, but how much work or difficulty would I encounter?  All I had to do was to get to Slate Lake.  The Slate Lake trail heads northeast from the lake to join up with the Gore Range trail which then connects up with the Pebble Creek trail.  This section of the hike out was another whopping ten miles.  So, I had a long long way to go, much of it through the unknown.

I packed up as efficiently as I could and headed out.  The first part of the hike out was quite easy.  I followed the creek fairly closely along grassy knolls and easily passable forests.  I crossed to the east side of the creek within a quarter of a mile.  I passed several more tarns and moved in and out of talus and tundra.  As I descended, the foliage increased.  Pretty soon, I was hiking in thick alpine flowers and patches of willows.  I kept an eye on the long northeast trending ridge with Peaks “X” through “Z” to gauge my distance.  I was making good time.

Then I had a bit of a shock.  As I was hiking, I noticed that the ground a hundred yards in front of me was vanishing away!  I was coming to a huge cliff that looked really wide.  The forest was also starting to get quite thick and the downed trees were increasing which slowed my travel.  As I approached the precipice I heard a roaring and I realized that I was coming to the top of a large waterfall!  Uh oh…could I get through?  I got closer and then was stunned to see one of the largest, no, by far the largest, waterfall in the Gore Range.  The creek approached the cliff which then widened to a huge tumbling solid piece of rock that was about two hundred feet high.  Very exciting!  The rock wasn’t vertical, of course (doesn’t seem to be the style of Colorado falls), but steep and very wide – the falls were very clear and unobstructed by trees.  But I realized they are invisible from the lake or any prominent spot on the ridges to either side.  I was able to friction climb down the giant boulder to the base of the falls where I stopped and took many pictures.  These falls were indeed outstanding – giant tumbling cascades that terminated in a twenty-foot free fall into a sun-drenched pool.  What a perfect place!

After I enjoying these falls, I headed down some more.  Then about one hundred feet down, I realized I was at another cliff and another large set of falls, this one about one hundred fifty feet high!  I had to down climb this section in the forest and then emerge back out at the base of the falls.  Although these falls weren’t quite as big as the first set, they were spectacular as well and qualified as the second largest falls in the Gores.  Combined, these falls comprise about 400 feet of cascades!  But, this still wasn’t the end!  About a quarter of a mile down the valley revealed yet another falls!  This one was much smaller, about the size of the Piney Lake falls.

I spent many minutes enjoying each waterfall and taking pictures.  Then I headed out with much excitement, sort of oblivious to the fact that I had more miles of unknown in front of me.  It wasn’t too long though that I encountered very rough terrain all the way back to the lake.  My progress was very slow.  The terrain became alternatively brushy, boggy, and cliffy.  Several times I had to retrace my steps to get to easier ground.  I cross over countless fallen trees and walked through many marshes.  I had to cross the creek at one section and absolutely soaked my left boot.  I ended up having to completely sacrifice my left boot by submerging my leg up to the knee to get across the creek.  Then I had to work my way around hot stagnant ponds infested with mosquitoes.  It felt like forever until I finally saw the lake.  Even then it was tough getting down to it and traversing to the other side took a long time as well.  The mosquitoes were becoming quite merciless!  At the northern edge of the lake, I stripped down and took a quick dunk in the lake.  This drove off the mosquitoes for a while so it was pleasant enough while I dried off in the mountain air.

I then packed up again and headed out.  Apparently the log crossing to Slate Lake was washed away and the crossing of Slate Creek was pretty tough but at least I didn’t get my other foot wet.  On the other side of the lake I hooked up with the trail and prepared for the final 10 miles.  It was already a little after 5pm, the time that I told Bill that I would return.  I’d better hike fast.  I really didn’t have much choice; the mosquitoes forced me to hike fast.  If I stopped they swarmed all over me.  They were many times worse on this side of the range than the other.  I wonder why.

Before arriving at the Gore Range trail, it began to rain.  Not very hard but it was very welcome – it drove the mosquitoes off for a while.  I should have stopped to zip my pant legs back on and maybe put on my shell jacket.  Not to protect against the rain, but the mosquitoes.  Instead, I was only focused on moving quickly.  At the Gore Range trail junction I took a short break.  I noted how much more faint the Slate Lake trail was.  If you didn’t know where it was it would be very easy to miss it.  It’s not much more than trampled grass at the Gore Range trail junction.  From here, it’s about four miles to the Pebble Creek trail.  I had to ascend up and over a ridge to Harrigan Creek then another, steeper one over Boulder Creek.  At this point I was quite exhausted, moving much like a zombie but not daring to stop due to the mosquitoes.  At times I constantly smacked them on my shoulders and legs…and sometimes my face!  The buzzing in my ears drove me nuts.  These creatures are absolutely maddening.  My shirt was soon pock-marked with little blood stains and mosquito bodies.  My only reprieve from them was the tops of the ridges where the wind blew sufficiently to keep them away.  Finally I was on the descent to Pebble Creek but still driven on by the hounding mosquitoes.  I probably killed a hundred of them on this hike out.  I didn’t have a map and had never been on the Pebble Creek trail before (it’s private) but I knew roughly where it was.  I took the left hand turn at what looked to be the trail and headed another mile and a half until, at last, I saw the cabin and Bill and Joan having dinner outside.  Man, what a great traverse and what a relief!  Many thanks to Bill and Joan for feeding me, hearing my adventure, and putting me up for the night!

So, looking back, the most memorable parts of this trip were not necessarily the peak climbing, although Peak “P” ranks high, but the more odd times like waking up and seeing the peaks lit by the moon, simply the views themselves from various vistas, and my personal discovery of the secret waterfalls.  Sometimes I worry that my trip reports encourage too much use of this reclusive mountain range but I think I now realize that those who are willing to endure the hardships of getting into the deep areas are those who have an appreciation of this special place and will do their part to keep the range pristine.  Maybe I give myself too much credit for describing these falls, thinking that my little trip reports encourage hoards of hikers.  I really doubt this is true.  But those who want to see the really special places, will have to pay the high prices as well.  I say, “have at it” and enjoy this awesome and wild range!

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Text and photos by Theron Welch, July 22nd, 2003

Peaks “U” (“West Partner Peak”), “Q”, and “P”

Waking up and heading out felt good.  Moving forward and deeper into the wild is always exciting.  I was in to new territory.  My first idea was to hike up to the bowl underneath “West Partner Peak” aka Peak “U”, drop my pack and climb the peak.  West Partner Peak sits at the very head of the Pitkin Valley and is just over thirteen thousand feet.  It’s a good bit easier than it’s neighbor, “East Partner Peak”.  I went straight up the south face along easy grass ledges until I converged with the ridge high on the peak.  A 3rd class stroll on the ridge revealed a couple of false summits.  I had to cross an annoyingly loose gully then stood on top.  I had great views of the rest of the familiar range.  I did find a summit register on the top, placed by one of the 13er hardmen, Garrett or Martin, I don’t recall which.  The neat thing though was that, according to the register, there were only 3 people to summit this peak in 2003!  Such an unpopular peak with such great views.  This peak, along with Peak “P”, affords excellent views of the Booth Lake peaks like “The Spider”.

I spied the rest of my trip – the South Slate drainage and the remote row of peaks from “P” to “T” (“T” was out of view).  I also checked out the terrain below for camping spots.  Several locations looked promising.  I could camp high in the upper basin near a stream or I could camp lower down among a myriad of alpine tarns.  Those were the two obvious choices.  Unfortunately, I couldn’t see a good view of the pass that I had to descend.  It was obviously quite steep.

On the descent, I decided to take the south ridge to the low point on the saddle and hike back to my pack from there since it would require less steep descending.  Along the way I pass some bighorn sheep -  I think.  They were goat-like in appearance but dark gray.  There were no males so I wasn’t able to confirm.  They bounded past me and then several yards stopped and all abruptly turned around and stared past me.  One of their companions was heading in the other direction and the others had an expression of confusion on their face as to why that sheep was heading the other way.  I hope I didn’t disrupt them although I’m sure they all reunited.

I headed back down and took a rest at my pack then headed out.  The hike up to the top of the pass was uneventful save breaking through the snow up to my hips.  The area was quite rocky which is conducive for melted holes in the snow.  I aimed for what looked to be “Might Pass”, the most gentle part of the ridge.  When I arrived there, I realized that this was not a good spot to descend.  The other side was very steep, certainly too steep for me to do alone and without a rope.  So, I decided to search around for a better descent spot.  I bypassed a small talus pile northward and found a notch with a little gendarme protecting it.  The right gully looked doable but still very steep.  It turns out that the real “pass” is at a high notch to the north marked by a sharp gendarme.  I didn’t realize this until I had descended.  I actually had to gather my thoughts and really decided if I wanted to head down this alone.  It featured loose steep rock and about 500 feet of 50-55 degree, at the minimum, snow.  Well, I knew I could do it if I just paid attention and kept cool.  So, what the heck, I started descending.

I’m becoming less of a fan of loose rock since I’ve been rock climbing.  It didn’t really bother me that much before but I found myself wanting to trade the loose stuff for some solid 5th class.  Soon enough, I was at the snow.  It was about 3 in the afternoon and the snow was a bit like wet sugar.  I didn’t need crampons, just big kick steps and my ice axe.  I began the descent facing in and kick-stepped my way down.  I broke through more than once but one was especially interesting:  I broke through to my hips, caught by the bulk of my my camera case and backpack.  I swung around my legs looking for something to stand on – nothing!  I was floating in the air, supported by the snow.  So, I swiveled around and brought my legs out of the hole.  I then faced in again below the hole and continued the process.  It seemed like quite a long time that I descended but I finally made it to more gentle slopes and a nice set of falls.  At this point I turned around and bounded through the snow to the base of the idyllic basin.

There was a lovely stream carving the tundra up here and I stopped and took a rest at the shore.  I filled up my water and drank and ate some.  Then, I stashed my extra gear under a rock and headed out to Peak “Q” with a lighter pack.  From here, the peak looked quite easy and indeed it was.  I hit the ridge between Peak “Q” and “P” at a higher gap to the right of a couloir and began climbing easy grass slopes to the top.  The true summit of Peak “Q” is on the other side of a nasty notch.  I was on the western summit which can’t be more than 5 feet shorter than the other.  But, without a rope and a companion, I wasn’t about to try to cross it.  A rappel would have taken care of it no problem since the other side looked like easy 4th class blocks to the top.  I enjoyed my views nonetheless.

During the descent I was toying with the idea of climbing Peak “P” too.  It was already about 7pm and I didn’t want to have to hike into camp in the dark.  I was planning to camp at one of the tarns underneath Peaks “R” and “S”.  Still, I had about an hour or two of sunlight.  What the heck, I thought.  I headed off for Peak “P”.  This peak turned out to be the best of the trip.  Although the ridge scramble was short, it was delightfully solid and fun.  At the notch above the couloir, the climbing becomes 3rd and occasional 4th class.  Some of the ridge is exposed but the holds are so good that I felt great just holding on and checking out the space falling away.  A mere 20 minutes later and I was on the top.  I realized that I was now acclimated!  The view of Peak “P” was outstanding as well, easily the best.  Great views of the Ripsaw Ridge peaks and the elusive “Spider” as well as a beautiful angle on the towering Peak “L”.  I ended up hanging out on the summit for a long time snapping lots of pictures.

I headed back down and took the couloir down.  Easy plunge stepping led to a more slippery section where I was forced to face in with my ice axe and tediously kick steps down again.  After much tedium, I was back at my stashed gear with just enough daylight to spare.  I packed up and headed down to my next camp by following the creek down to the tarns.  The mosquitoes were starting to get worse.  Still, they weren’t too bad.  They were saving themselves for the last day, I s’pose.

I worked at top speed to get everything ready before it got dark so I started dinner cooking while getting my bivy sack ready.  This was by far the most remote spot that I’ve ever solo camped before.  I was deep in a remote valley of the remote Gores with nobody and no trails for miles and lots of vertical feet.  What a fun feeling to be so isolated!  I headed down to a small creek coming off of Peak “R” to rinse myself off.  I’d been pretty much moving this entire trip during every minute of daylight so I was a very dirty.  I let out a few yells just to let any critters know not to bother me for the night and then went to bed quite late, pushing 11pm.  I remember waking up at 3:30 AM thinking that it was morning.  I opened my bivy sack to reveal a spotlight full moon beating down on my hidden valley.  All the peaks were lit up around me.  It was so bright that I could see maybe only a couple of stars.  It was certainly a surreal moment.  After a few moments of staring, I zipped up and went back to sleep.

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I was very excited:  my first Gore Range trip in almost two years.  Unfortunately, my regular hiking partner, Ken, wasn’t able to make it so this trip turned into a solo expedition.  I was originally planning to explore the Black Creek region but decided at the last moment to postpone that when I had company.  I wasn’t exactly set on what to do though.

One thing that made this trip to Colorado so memorable was staying with the Betz’s at their cabin on Pebble Creek at the base of the Gores.  They invited me out for a slide show the evening that I arrived and I was more than willing to accept the invitation.  On arriving, Bill told me that a guest of honor was none other than Joe Kramarsic, the Gore Range connoisseur and author of Mountaineering in the Gore Range.  The other guests were interesting folk as well; it was great meeting them all.  The slideshow was held in the great outdoors under the full moon.  I included scenes from various trips of mine from all season.

After a great nights sleep at the cabin I decided to head out.  My changed plan was to hike up to Pitkin Lake and over “Might Pass” (as named by Robert Ormes) into the South Slate drainage and climb some of the remote peaks like Peak “Q” and “R”.  Bill had the interesting suggestion of hiking out the drainage back to the cabin on Pebble Creek which sounded most intriguing.  What to do.
 
I was a little worried about acclimating.  I recall breathing really hard when I just hauled my pack around the Betz’s cabin.  I never felt bad – just short of breath.  I drove down to the Pitkin Lake trailhead in Vail.  The sun was very bright and intense – typical Colorado – and it was hot.  Upon starting the Pitkin Lake trail, which is initially pretty steep, I felt the altitude.  I was deliberately slow on those first steep steps along the trail.  I was breathing heavy, but feeling fine.  The plan was to keep it that way…well, not the breathing heavy.  Hiking Pitkin trail was very familiar; this was one of my most visited trailheads although I’ve always left it before the lake for climbs in the environs.  This time, I was going to camp at the lake.  I saw several parties on the way down.  Some commented, “You sure are getting a late start.”  It turned out that they didn’t realize I was carrying a 3-day overnight pack and not a day pack!  They thought me insane when I said I was going to come out the other side.  “That’s all trail-less!”, they said.  Yes, I knew that.  I guess I was a little crazy…as you’ll see as you read on.  I was starting to realize that I really wanted to try the more ambitious itinerary and hike out to Pebble Creek.

A slow three hours later, I arrived at the lake.  I had the entire place to myself, of course, and I wandered around taking pictures and just checking the area out.  A deer wandered very close to me.  The mosquitoes were out but certainly tolerable.  I had been warned about horrid mosquitoes but decided to just deal with the buzzing rather than the stinky spray.  After a good hot meal and some reading, I turned in.  I fell asleep quickly but awoke several times throughout the night with gasps for air!  Not quite acclimated I suppose.  I slept late, perhaps until 7:30.

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