Post by cweston on Sept 29, 2020 7:20:06 GMT -8
6 days (was planned to be 7)
Day 1, Tue. Sept. 22
Vallecito TH to Johnson Creek
Ca. 10 miles, +1,500 ft.
I had planned a different approach, parking 3,000 ft higher at Endlich Mesa. But, on more intensively researching the road the day before, I decided to start at Vallecito and earn the high country by the sweat of my brow, rather than through the punishment if my vehicle (and my nerves). I’m so glad I did. My 10 miles up the river (Vallecito is a river, not a creek, despite the name) and camp at only 9,100 ft were idyllic, and I would have missed that.
After climbing high over the canyon, the river not always seen but always heard, I took a quick pause at the high point, and peered over the precipice. (Being a boy, that’s not the only thing I did over the precipice. Clear and copious.)
First look at Vallecito:
The next 3–4 miles are a spectacular river walk, crossing twice on sturdy bridges. I thought about my parents and how they loved this kind of hike. (They were never enamored with the high country the way I am.) About 10:30, the sky darkened and it drizzled, then a little more than drizzled. (Little did I know at the time that this would be the only precip on the whole trip.) I was in an open patch of beetle-kill Douglas Fir and small Aspen, so there was little shelter. I eventually found two little live pine trees to sit under for about 20 minutes. This also gave me a chance to cool and dry myself so that I might be able to continue hiking with a rain shell. I was able to successfully continue with rainshell the rest of the morning—it drizzled on and off until about 12:30.
Shortly after restarting, I reached the site of the washed-out third bridge. The ford was knee-deep; no problem. (Fording Vallecito in summer can be a big deal.) From this point on, the trail was mostly in valley-bottom meadows that must be spectacular in summer wildflower season. But the Aspens are turning now, providing a different show.
Johnson Creek trail over Columbine Pass to Chicago Basin
Ca. 10 miles, +4,000 ft., –2,000 ft.
Wow—I would number today among my most challenging backpacking days. It is definitely a strategic error to leave all 4,000 ft of the climb to Columbine Pass in one day. I kept reminding myself that this was my choice—to start low and gain the high country slowly and with great effort, as God intended.
At 11:30, I called lunch at a beautiful little waterfall near treeline. I made myself sit in the sun until noon, and I almost nodded off. It was lovely. I was starting to seriously feel the effects of this grueling climb, but I felt pretty good.
Lunchtime waterfall:
The next hour was mentally and physically very difficult. I was climbing hard, using my whole repertoire of mental games: walk 10 minutes, walk 5 minutes, walk 100 steps, listen to this music in your head, etc. But it just didn’t ever look like the pass was getting any closer.
Day 3, Thur. Sept. 24
Chicago Basin to Sunlight/Windom saddle, descending via Lake 12,545 to Sunlight Lake
Ca. 6 miles (off trail), +2,500 ft., –1,500 ft.
If yesterday was among my most grueling backpacking days, today was among my most epic. And it all started at 2:45 am.
I awoke to the unmistakable sound of an animal tripping over one of my tent lines. I lied there listening for a bit, as it brushed against the tent, until I was sure it was a smaller animal and not a bear. I was expecting a marmot or maybe a goat. The noise intensified. I scrambled for my headlamp and turned it on—there was a porcupine fully inside my vestibule, attempting to chew the strap of my trekking pole (that was holding up the tent).
Now, a porcupine would not be at the top of the list of animals you do not want to have in the tent with you, but it would be a lot closer to the top than the bottom. I yelled, and in the commotion, either I kicked the pole down, or pokey man pulled it down by the strap, but as he retreated, my tent was now half collapsed. I fixed that, and climbed out, to check on my tent stakes/lines, check on my (crappily hung) food, etc. Everything was in order. Pokey man was a few yards away, sauntering slowly, clearly not the least bit afraid of me and my headlamp. (It makes sense that animals would be habituated to human presence here at this very popular camp.)
My tent was apparently a big draw, because several times over the next hour I had to yell and shine the headlamp, to see parts of pokey squeezing under the tent into the vestibule. It did eventually leave, though, and to my surprise, I actually eventually fell back asleep.
I arose at 6:45, and was on the move by 8:30. I saw a snowshoe hare run through camp while I was packing up. I felt pretty good, and was reasonably well recovered from yesterday’s exhaustion and soreness. I did have some anxiety about the Windom/Sunlight saddle and what I would find on the other side when I got there. From my research, I was absolutely confident about getting to the saddle, but I knew the east slope would be steeper and was a little worried about that.
There were mercifully some bits of snowfield at the very end that were a welcome respite from the boulders, and I crested the Sunlight/Windom saddle (13,680) at right on 1:00. What a place. The view was spectacular. But the view down the east slope? STEEP! I’m not afraid to admit I was a little scared. Half the slot was snowfield, but I did not bring axe or crampons, and it was way too steep to even consider without them. The other half was scree. I “talked myself down,” reminding myself that I had done this sort of thing before, safely. (Even if you slip on steep, loose scree like this, you’re not going to fall off the mountain, and while you might get banged by some rocks, they’re only large enough to hurt, not injure.) It was very steep, but once I got started, it was not as scary as I expected: but a little scary and extremely tedious (but all class 2).
Last push to Sunlight/Windom saddle:
First view of Lake 12,545; Rio Grande Pyramid, The Window, and everything else in the distance:
(In summer, you really might need to carry an axe and at least micro-spikes on this route. I suspect the whole slot might be snow, at least through July most years. To descend snow here without them would be suicidal.)
Sept. 22–27, 2020
My route was a lollipop loop, with only 10 miles retraced on the first and last day. Solid red = trail, dashed red = social trail/climbers' route, dashed blue = fully off-trail. Numbers in boxes = camps.
Day 1, Tue. Sept. 22
Vallecito TH to Johnson Creek
Ca. 10 miles, +1,500 ft.
I had planned a different approach, parking 3,000 ft higher at Endlich Mesa. But, on more intensively researching the road the day before, I decided to start at Vallecito and earn the high country by the sweat of my brow, rather than through the punishment if my vehicle (and my nerves). I’m so glad I did. My 10 miles up the river (Vallecito is a river, not a creek, despite the name) and camp at only 9,100 ft were idyllic, and I would have missed that.
After climbing high over the canyon, the river not always seen but always heard, I took a quick pause at the high point, and peered over the precipice. (Being a boy, that’s not the only thing I did over the precipice. Clear and copious.)
First look at Vallecito:
The next 3–4 miles are a spectacular river walk, crossing twice on sturdy bridges. I thought about my parents and how they loved this kind of hike. (They were never enamored with the high country the way I am.) About 10:30, the sky darkened and it drizzled, then a little more than drizzled. (Little did I know at the time that this would be the only precip on the whole trip.) I was in an open patch of beetle-kill Douglas Fir and small Aspen, so there was little shelter. I eventually found two little live pine trees to sit under for about 20 minutes. This also gave me a chance to cool and dry myself so that I might be able to continue hiking with a rain shell. I was able to successfully continue with rainshell the rest of the morning—it drizzled on and off until about 12:30.
Shortly after restarting, I reached the site of the washed-out third bridge. The ford was knee-deep; no problem. (Fording Vallecito in summer can be a big deal.) From this point on, the trail was mostly in valley-bottom meadows that must be spectacular in summer wildflower season. But the Aspens are turning now, providing a different show.
I reached the Johnson Creek trail at about 2:00. I would like to have pushed on, but for the first time, the sky looked very threatening with storm clouds rolling over Columbine Pass. There was a creek-side camp (9,100 ft.) so idyllic you could scarcely dream a more ideal camp, so I took it; happy to be able to beat the storm. Unfortunately, this meant I’d have to gain the entire 4,000 ft to Columbine Pass the next day. Of course, by the time I made camp, the skies were clear. I napped. Life is good.
Ca. 10 miles, +4,000 ft., –2,000 ft.
Wow—I would number today among my most challenging backpacking days. It is definitely a strategic error to leave all 4,000 ft of the climb to Columbine Pass in one day. I kept reminding myself that this was my choice—to start low and gain the high country slowly and with great effort, as God intended.
I got up about 6:30, shortly after dawn. In late September, of course, it is very cold at dawn, even at only 9,100 ft. I hit the trail at 8:00 and set out to hike myself warm. I knew that there was a crossing of Johnson Creek early on. It was still seriously cold, and I decided that if it were a wet crossing, I’d at least wait for the sun to hit the valley floor (which would have been about a half hour). But, thank God, the crossing was dry. (All of my crossings on this trip, except the fords of Vallecito, were dry.) I pushed pretty hard, hiking steady until 10:00, when I foolishly made an unnecessary (and tricky) crossing of the creek, because I had missed a switchback. After straightening that out, I heard my wise son’s voice in my head saying that this would be a good time to sit a few minutes and have a bite to eat.
Lunchtime waterfall:
The next hour was mentally and physically very difficult. I was climbing hard, using my whole repertoire of mental games: walk 10 minutes, walk 5 minutes, walk 100 steps, listen to this music in your head, etc. But it just didn’t ever look like the pass was getting any closer.
Finally, around 1:00, I entered the final drag, where I could see myself making progress against the pass ahead and above. At 2:00, exhausted from the grueling 6-hour climb, I topped Columbine Pass at just under 13,000 ft.
The descent to Chicago Basin was scenic and uneventful (passing through some intense beetle kill). I arrived about 3:30, but it took me a half hour to find a good camp: many meadow areas are closed to camping due to overuse of this very popular area. I finished all my camp tasks by 5:00, and the sun was still warm on the tent while I rested. By 6:00, the sun was no longer on the basin floor, and the temperature dropped rapidly. My camp is at 11,100, not far from Needle Creek. I’m whipped—I hit the tent at dark (7:30), to write in my log book. Normally I’d read then, but tonight I’m too tired.
Chicago Basin camp:
Chicago Basin 14ers evening alpenglow:
Chicago Basin camp:
Chicago Basin 14ers evening alpenglow:
Day 3, Thur. Sept. 24
Chicago Basin to Sunlight/Windom saddle, descending via Lake 12,545 to Sunlight Lake
Ca. 6 miles (off trail), +2,500 ft., –1,500 ft.
If yesterday was among my most grueling backpacking days, today was among my most epic. And it all started at 2:45 am.
I awoke to the unmistakable sound of an animal tripping over one of my tent lines. I lied there listening for a bit, as it brushed against the tent, until I was sure it was a smaller animal and not a bear. I was expecting a marmot or maybe a goat. The noise intensified. I scrambled for my headlamp and turned it on—there was a porcupine fully inside my vestibule, attempting to chew the strap of my trekking pole (that was holding up the tent).
Now, a porcupine would not be at the top of the list of animals you do not want to have in the tent with you, but it would be a lot closer to the top than the bottom. I yelled, and in the commotion, either I kicked the pole down, or pokey man pulled it down by the strap, but as he retreated, my tent was now half collapsed. I fixed that, and climbed out, to check on my tent stakes/lines, check on my (crappily hung) food, etc. Everything was in order. Pokey man was a few yards away, sauntering slowly, clearly not the least bit afraid of me and my headlamp. (It makes sense that animals would be habituated to human presence here at this very popular camp.)
My tent was apparently a big draw, because several times over the next hour I had to yell and shine the headlamp, to see parts of pokey squeezing under the tent into the vestibule. It did eventually leave, though, and to my surprise, I actually eventually fell back asleep.
I arose at 6:45, and was on the move by 8:30. I saw a snowshoe hare run through camp while I was packing up. I felt pretty good, and was reasonably well recovered from yesterday’s exhaustion and soreness. I did have some anxiety about the Windom/Sunlight saddle and what I would find on the other side when I got there. From my research, I was absolutely confident about getting to the saddle, but I knew the east slope would be steeper and was a little worried about that.
There is a good trail, originally a climbers’ path, to Twin Lakes basin. After that, you’re mostly on your own save for an occasional cairn, but they are marking the summit routes to Sunlight and Windom (14ers), not my route to the saddle. Climbers’ paths are made by the repetitive stomping of the boots of some of the strongest hikers on the planet (typically laden only with light summit packs, not a week-long full pack like me), so they don’t mess around much with switchbacks. I hit the gorgeous Twin Lakes basin (12,600 ft) at 11:00, with some mountain goats serving as the welcome party. I chatted a bit with a climber here who took my picture for me. The saddle was another mile and 1,000 feet of talus and class-2 boulders: tedious but not terrible. It was late in the morning, but I was reluctant to eat at this elevation. I was now passing 13,000, and between that and my lowgrade anxiety over the (unseen) descent from the saddle, I didn’t think food would be wise.
There were mercifully some bits of snowfield at the very end that were a welcome respite from the boulders, and I crested the Sunlight/Windom saddle (13,680) at right on 1:00. What a place. The view was spectacular. But the view down the east slope? STEEP! I’m not afraid to admit I was a little scared. Half the slot was snowfield, but I did not bring axe or crampons, and it was way too steep to even consider without them. The other half was scree. I “talked myself down,” reminding myself that I had done this sort of thing before, safely. (Even if you slip on steep, loose scree like this, you’re not going to fall off the mountain, and while you might get banged by some rocks, they’re only large enough to hurt, not injure.) It was very steep, but once I got started, it was not as scary as I expected: but a little scary and extremely tedious (but all class 2).
Last push to Sunlight/Windom saddle:
First view of Lake 12,545; Rio Grande Pyramid, The Window, and everything else in the distance:
(In summer, you really might need to carry an axe and at least micro-spikes on this route. I suspect the whole slot might be snow, at least through July most years. To descend snow here without them would be suicidal.)
Eventually, I was able to traverse through larger talus to a lower-angle snowfield complex that would take me almost all the way down to the inlet stream to stunning lake 12,545. I didn’t bother digging my gaiters from the bottom of my pack, and there was some post-holing involved, but all in all it was way preferable to descending 1,000 feet in boulders and talus. I didn’t glissade, because the snow was fairly shallow and there were a lot of rocks that had tumbled down onto the snow. I descended, with one or two class-3 moves, to the inlet stream, and then literally walked the stream down to the lake, tromped around the soggy shoreline, and finally dropped the stone at a scenic lunch spot near the outlet at 2:30 (!), for a much-anticipated late lunch.
Lake 12,545 is a glory to behold. Imagine a lake so beautiful not even having a name! Sunlight and Windom tower over the lake to the west, the spectacular and aptly-named Jagged Peak to the north. This is one of those special places where I can only imagine good little hikers go when they die. I have been very few places in my life that rival the beauty of this place. And I have had the privilege of hiking to some very beautiful places. My God, life is good, and the sky is still almost cloudless at 3:00 pm. (To do this day in the summer, you’d have to start at 3:00 am, in order to be down from the saddle before the storm.)
Thanks to joey , I had some detailed beta on the steep 500 ft. descent to Sunlight Lake. I was now feeling pretty invincible, so you know what that portends. I apparently did not follow his instructions well enough (I needed to ride the ridge further east, beyond the outlet of Sunlight Lake), and found myself in some very ticklish class-3 (at least) downclimbing. There were two consecutive moves where I had to drop my pack ahead of me and then carefully lower myself down. The first one, I dropped my pack onto snow, hopping it would land and stay, but it bounced and rolled a few times. I also landed pretty hard and banged up a shin, but it was otherwise OK. It was only after the next pack drop, not quite so high, that I noticed that my bite valve had been destroyed by the first drop, and my reservoir emptied. (No worries—the part that closes the valve was still in working order, and I was almost to camp.) Hallelujah! I arrived at the outlet of Sunlight Lake, greeted by the mountain goat welcome wagon. I was going to take a rest day here, and they (in numbers of 3-12) would be my constant companions. I selected a camp on a knoll near some scrubby trees. I have to keep a compact camp here, because it’d be too hard to keep an eye on all my stuff and all the goats if I spread out too much. Which is no big deal, but at a rest day camp, it might be nice to spread out a bit. What…a…place. Sunlight Lake (12,033 ft.) gives the really up-close and personal view of Jagged Peak, pointy Peak Ten, and aptly-named, serrated Knife Edge Peak. Cliffs tower over the lake to the SW, and Sunlight Peak towers above the cliffs. It’s virtually always windy here, due to the cliffy geography which probably creates a pressure differential.
First look at Sunlight Lake:
Sunlight Lake outlet:
The welcoming party:
My half-decent camp at Sunlight Lake:
Sunlight Lake outlet:
The welcoming party:
My half-decent camp at Sunlight Lake:
(end of part 1)