Humboldt Peak

20 September 2008

We did it! We climbed Humboldt!

It was a perfect day. Not too windy, not too cold. Not even too crowded. We did get a few clouds, but rain didn't begin until The Lizard and I began heading home.

Mike and Kim are such delightful hiking companions. It is so awesome to see a couple who've been together for 28 years so in love. It's refreshing.

My back hurts. But I made it. Slowly. Very, very slowly.

This was the first 14er we've climbed since Columbia, about a year ago. And it was a sheer delight compared to Columbia. This was a fun mountain, and the scenery was spectacular. I'm hoping we can go back many times.

This was the first time either of us have hiked on this side of the Sangres. This side is as steep as the west side. The morning light made the eastern slopes much more beautiful, though, because you get no light in the early morning going up from the west side.

South Colony Lakes in the early morning sun with the orange Crestones towering in the background grace the cover of what probably is the most popular 14er climbing guide. I've always wanted to see that view and get my own version of that shot. We missed the alpen glow atop Crestone Needle because I was so slow, but the sunrise we partially observed from dense cover was spectacular nonetheless.

The Lizard took more pictures than ever the entire hike. That's pretty darned exciting. I shot 266 pictures. I got one shot of a fish catching a fly on the water. Awesome!

The four-wheel-drive portion of the road to the trailhead is 5.5 miles long. When they close that section of the road next year, Humboldt is going to have one heck of a long approach. I'm so glad we did the peak when we did because I wouldn't want to have to walk that road.

I also wouldn't want to drive that road. The Lizard did it, and he did a magnificent job. It wasn't the worst road I've ever been on, and we didn't need actual four-wheel too much. But it is one heck of a bumpy road, and it does need clearance.

The water bars had the potential to bottom out the car. But The Lizard walked the 4Runner over them gently and although it always threw stuff around, the ride was not bad at all. I'm so thankful he was driving and not me.

South Colony is a beautiful valley I would like to return to often. Maybe by lengthening the approach, the valley will stay pristine the way it was while we were there. It probably sees a lot more feet during the summer because Humboldt is a mountain just about anyone can climb and because so many people want to tackle the Crestones, which are accessible via the same trail.

Even though we saw lots of fish in both lakes, they don't appear to get too many fishermen. Not that I have anything against fishermen and tourists. But Colony Lakes were a lot cleaner than some of the lakes I have visited closer to the Front Range. I love that. I'm going back next month for autumn pictures.

I made another bear during the long drive home. When The Lizard held my bear, which still had two strings attached because I hadn't woven them in yet, he said my baby still has her umbilical cord attached.










8 October 2008

I am back at the South Colony trailhead, and I am alone. The Lizard wasn't able to get time off for this fall leaf trip.

This means I had to drive. I had to four-wheel. Alone. In the dark.

I am so exhausted and strained, I could fall asleep in the driver's seat, still holding tightly to the steering wheel. This road is an absolute nightmare. I'm relieved I'm parked now, but I'm so stressed and shaky from the experience, I dread what's going to happen tomorrow when I head back down. I can't stand this road. I wouldn't want to walk up it in the dark, either, but I sure hated driving up it.

I had a big long list of things I was supposed to do today before I left, and I did them all, except for finishing my next little bear. I thought I might be able to finish it tonight after I park.

Not a chance.

I'm worried about going out alone tomorrow. I used to do this all the time. But now I'm scared stiff. Literally. I guess it's because the four-wheel drive portion of the road was so frightening.

I'd better get some sleep. Dawn is going to come pretty darned fast.








9 October 2008

I got up at 5, and it took me 30 minutes to talk myself into hiking up the trail. I prayed a lot. I was so scared. Everything was fine, but for some reason, I really had the heebie jeebies. Maybe because it was an area I didn't know. Maybe because no one else seemed to be there. Maybe because we saw a real bear last week.

The wind was furious. The temperature was fine. I got the sunrise. YES!!! I shot to my heart's content without the pressure of getting up a peak. That was somewhat enjoyable.

The wind really hampered bear shooting. My bears kept taking wing. At one point, my whole bag of bears flew. Yes, I was a batty woman hauling a shopping bag of bears up to a premiere fishing hole and climbing spot.

Somewhere along the way, I lost my cheap Wal-Mart fleece gloves. I decided not to go back and look for them. I had no idea where they might be; I'd been too many places. I decided to hope that meant someone else might need them more than me. I'll just pick up another pair next time I'm at the store.

I dreaded that downhill four-wheeling so much, I would have paid someone to drive my car down for me if there had been anyone else at the trailhead. But I was totally alone.

I did okay. But I was an absolute wreck. Well, I was a wreck without a wreck! Fortunately, my 4Runner is just fine.

I explored some dirt roads after I got down, mostly looking for aspen I could shoot with the peaks in the background, without success. I shot some bears. I had to go fishing for a blown bear through strands of barbed wire. That was fun. NOT!

The funniest part of the entire day was shooting a big white bear and a little bear in front of Blanca Peak and Little Bear Peak. I think the shot would make a terrific poster!

Tweet

Flash of Light

I've always been afraid of and yet mesmerized by lightning. My dad was injured in a lightning-related incident before I was old enough to go to school. A next door neighbor's tree was hit, knocked down and set ablaze by the loudest bolt I've ever heard when I was about 7. And yet, I can hardly resist setting up the tripod when I see flashes.

I've debated for two weeks now whether I should move Ferenc' recounting of our Challenger/Kit Carson trip from my Geocities website that will disappear in a couple of weeks or if I should just let go of this tragic episode that left such an impression on my life.

I finally decided to preserve the memory because Stano's loss and Martina's life taught me to respect the elements. I don't want to forget them, and I don't want to forget the lessons I learned that week. I also cherish Ferenc' writing style. He did a beautiful job with his tribute.

After we returned from Challenger Point and Kit Carson and before we learned of Martina, I wrote my naïve and light-hearted trip report (republished here Monday), admitting to being so scared I couldn’t continue up the mountain. Climbers more experienced than me seized the opportunity to belittle me, mock me and make fun of my fear because "there's nothing hard about that mountain."

For three days, I hung my head in shame because I was an outcast and wimp among my peers. But then we heard the news via Ferenc' trip report.

As I read Ferenc' words the first time, a knot formed in my stomach. I knew my fear on Challenger Point was rooted in something deeper than the rocks on which I was climbing and steeper than the trail I was ascending. I believe Someone was trying to tell me I needed to get down off that mountain. Now. Not after I reach the summit. Not after I take five or six more pictures. NOW. I move very slowly, and mere minutes could have resulted in a different outcome for me. Something in my gut told me it was time to turn back, and it wasn’t a feeling I could ignore. Yes, I was scared, but I’m not so sure now the mountain is what put that fear in me.

There is a saying mountaineers often quote but, in my opinion, don't always live by: "The mountain will still be there tomorrow. Will you be?"

Tweet

Tribute to Martina

by Ferenc Jacso

29 July 2003

I first met Martina Saturday 7/26/03. Hiking up on the Willow Creek Trail in the Sangre de Cristo Wilderness with Deborah, we were close to the camp site at Willow Lake. Suddenly a young pair in their mid 20s passed us like a breeze. After 2,500 feet of elevation gain, just as if they started a short hike to a neighbouring hill. I hiked Quandary that morning then met Deborah in Fairplay to drive to the town of Crestone and further up a rough road to the Willow Creek Trailhead. Hiked another three hours when this pair passed us.

The night was miserable. Rain started just as we jumped into our tents. Then stopped. Then started again, pattering just a few inches above our heads on the tents. This pattern seemed to continue all night. Sleep came to our eyes just for short followed by long hours of vigilance. Can we make it after this many rain? Rocks will be slippery, we will get wet and cold and discouraged. I depicted walking down the trail in the rain all wet after not climbing anything. Not Challenger Point neither Kit Carson.

After 4 a.m. I couldn't sleep any more. Finally decided to get up and start in complete darkness at 5 a.m. To our great surprise the rocks were dry, just the plants hold plenty of water on their leaves. Missing and searching the trail again and again in the dark we finally made it above the waterfall of Willow Lake for the first lights of the morning. Overcast, sun hidden behind the gray-white clouds. I expected better treatment from a fourteener given I wake up this early already near the peak...

We hit the steep long slopes of Challenger Point. Deborah’s legs were getting shaky after a while, so she decided not to continue. Looking back I could see a pair approaching us climbing the same route we did. I made it to the top of Challenger Point, signed the peak log, took a few photos then hurried to Kit Carson so Deb shouldn't wait too much. From Kit Carson Avenue the views of the Crestones were stunning. Although I missed the easiest and shortest route, I didn't find any difficulties I faced on Longs Peak a month ago. I made it to the top quite easy, signed another peak log, and spent 20 minutes on the peak because the views were so beautiful. Just the sunshine was missing.

Shortly after I left the peak I met the same pair again who we met the night before. They approached Kit Carson on a different ridge than I descended so I just shouted a Hi and kept going. Oh, wait a second. "Hey guys, stop moving, let me take a photo of you. You look just cool!" "Are you Ferenc? Are you American?" "Yes it's me, I'm Hungarian actually." "Oh, we are from Slovakia, Martina and Stano. But we have been living in the States for six years now. Just moved to Colorado from NY a year ago." Slovakia is a neighbouring country to Hungary, just about the same small, both smaller than Colorado. I've been there several times. So we continued talking. I took a note of their phone number, and we agreed to meet next weekend and climb some San Juan fourteeners together.

I continued down and found Deborah in our campsite just finishing putting together everything. Great, we can go right away.

We could be some 10 minutes from Deborah’s car when it started raining. Oh, wow, didn't the sun shine just 15 minutes ago? This must be a short, easy shower then. But not. In just a few minutes it started to pour down like crazy. Lightning started to strike one after the other. By habit, what I learned from my father, I started counting the seconds after the flash to measure our distance from the place the lightning hits the ground. Five seconds. Oh my goodness, run!

It hit the ground just one mile from us! We get to the 4WD car finally. Here we can't get hit by a lightning, we are in a metal cage. We started to drive down, completely soaked but happy. Soon we still started to worry again. The flash flood started to wash away the road completely. Once we even got stuck in a deep ditch carved by the water roaring across the dirt road. Deborah's legs got shaky again. But the good old Toyota 4Runner did what I thought impossible. Then I walked ahead to make sure the road is still there, under the "rivers" crossing it. We escaped, finally.

We kept our fingers crossed for those who were still on the trail. At least 10 cars parked at the trailhead so we were really worrying given how difficult we could escape.

This morning (7/29/03) I finally called the number I got from the Slovak guys to discuss our next adventure. "Hi, I'm Ferenc, remember we met on Kit Carson." The voice replying my call was fading away. "Yes... I remember. But... something terrible happened..." Oh, no, come on, they fell on the rock or what - ripped through my mind. "Martina has died. She has been hit by a lightning. Me too, but I survived. She didn't."

I couldn't believe it. Two heavy teardrops rolled down my face finding their way to the carpet. Then Stano couldn't stop talking. He didn't want to put down the handset. We were talking for an hour.

"You know she loved mountains. She was so proud she can climb them, she jumped on the rocks fast and self-confident like a bighorn sheep. We did Blanca in snowy conditions two months ago. We climbed Kit Carson early to get down in time. When the thunderstorm hit us, we thought we were on a safe place, way below the peaks and ridges, maybe 1.5 miles from the car. Then it came just in a second. Just above the Willow Creek Park meadow. That was her favorite meadow. She loved it. We separated 30 feet from each other just in case something happened to the other, we could help each other. I wish I didn't separate from her, and we were gone both, together. I couldn't help her. She was burning.

"We dated for four years and then married two years ago. She was 25. Maybe she is happy now. She is all right up there. I waited next to her. Later hikers passed by and they called the emergency number by cell phone at 6 p.m. I got dry clothes from them but of course it got wet soon again. I was with her all night wet and cold in the dark. I couldn't believe nobody comes. The rescue arrived at 12 p.m. the next day."

Here is their last photo from near the top of Kit Carson, maybe the only one where they are together on a big mountain.

And here is her peak list from what I learned from Stano: Grays, Evans, Bierstadt, Snowmass, Blanca, Challenger Point, Kit Carson. "Not everybody can make it - she could."

Rest in peace, Martina.

Tweet

Challenger Point

If at First You Don't Succeed...
...use up all that film you toted up the mountain on the waterfall!

27 July 2003

I reached the South Crestone trailhead at about 5 p.m. Saturday and hiked uphill to the camping area east of Willow Lake. The spot I chose to set up my tent was relatively flat, far enough from the lake that I hoped mosquitoes would not be a problem, and just near enough the waterfall to hopefully be lulled to sleep by the dull roar. Unfortunately, lightning flashes and crashes throughout the night sparked the pitter pat of rain that turned my leaky tent into a sleeping bag float pool. All night I worried the steepest parts of Challenger Point might be slippery.

I left camp at 5 a.m. and was able to put away my flashlight by the time I got around the lake. The sky never turned pink but stayed mostly gray most of the day. Leftover bug lotion from my parenting days came in handy; mosquitoes were particularly thick in the humid air.

Challenger Peak is the most difficult 14er I've attempted so far, and my confidence level was not where it needed to be. Fortunately, the trail was not wet or slippery, but I did not enjoy the scree-laced gully leading up to the west ridge. In order to escape the loose rocks, I moved far left from the trail proper to climb solid rock and got stuck a couple of times due to fear factor. The gully, similar to the Trough on Longs, is rated at Class 2+, but I think the rock walls I climbed off route were more like the Homestretch on Longs, just without the degree of exposure.

Every handhold I reached for had to be checked for stability. Every rock protruding from the mountain had more colors than a box of crayons. The conglomerate treasure chests of pink, yellow and gray-green rocks couldn't hold my attention long enough to get me to the memorial plaque I so desperately longed to see in person. My knees were shaking, and I wasn't sure my bad knee would survive the downclimb, particularly if I stayed on solid rock, which would require more stability and strength than the talus-in-motion gully. Because my adrenaline flow was rising simultaneously with the altitude, I opted to turn back at the top of the west ridge at 13,300.

During a breather, I heard what I initially thought was the roar of a jet engine to my right, near Kit Carson Peak. I looked at the sky, only to have my attention riveted immediately downward at the sound of boulders crashing in the snowfield below. My mouth and eyes stood agape as I watched a ledge break free from the northeast side of a cliff and tumble down the steep slopes, gaining speed and bouncing and setting off other rockfalls along the talus slope.

Back at my campsite, I took down my tent, drank my sports drink and tried to pack all the wet things so they would not damage any dry things. I then headed back down the lengthy trail to my car.

About 10 minutes from my car, the sky dumped, and by the time I headed out of the parking lot, completely drenched, the already rough dirt road was bed to at least six new raging rivers from the runoff. Maneuvering across the chewed-up road for the next mile and a half turned out to be the most difficult part of my entire trip. Well, except for waiting until 11:30 that night to find out who won the Tour de France.


At one point, the landscape was coated with two inches of pea-sized hail. In Crestone, where the dirt road turned to pavement, villagers were out in mass with shovels trying to clear the culverts that had clogged with debris washing down the steep Sangres. The front yards of the eight or so residences along the main road looked like floating kelp on the ocean, buried by approximately eight inches of foaming muddy water. I anxiously awaited news of how many people were stranded at the trailhead due to the flash flood and if climbers headed up the mountain as I came down got off in time. I was mildly shocked to see the fresh dusting of snow on Ouray on my way back to Denver.

Monday morning I read the tiny town of Crestone received 18% of its annual rainfall in 20 minutes.

This hike was yet another learning experience for me. I learned I can do hard stuff when I need to, and I learned I need to get more experience under my belt and build my confidence before I try another Class 3. Both Columbia Point and Challenger Point, both of which bear plaques in memory of our lost shuttle crews, continue to call out to me. Here's to successful second attempts.

Tweet