Red Cloud
August 3, 2012
Chuck Wells
We arrived mid-afternoon in the
aftermath of a gentle rain and rendezvoused with our companions at the
Matterhorn Motel in Lake City, CO on Thursday. Two new adventurers, John and Dave, joined our regular trio
of geezers, lowering the group's average age. Fred and Dave drove in from their homes in Steamboat
Springs. John and I arrived at
altitude several days in advance, and Jim drove in from Kansas City the day
before, making his subsequent achievements all the more remarkable. Fred, Dave, and Jim made a test run to
the trailhead before arriving in Lake City to minimize the potential for
missteps the morning of the climb. The forecast for southwestern Colorado
called for rain for the foreseeable future, a welcome relief from the drought
conditions plaguing the region, but unwelcome to climbers fearful of lightning.
We journeyed to Bruno's, a French
restaurant in Lake City, and enjoyed one of the finest dining experiences of my
life. As noted on the menu,
"Reservations are a must."
Bruno is a bearded, gruff fellow, but a gracious host and remarkable
chef. During dinner John recounted
the recent exploits of his 31-year old son-in-law who just completed a 100-mile
foot race through the Sierra Nevada's, offering a humbling contrast to our more
modest enterprise. We retired
early in anticipation of the climb.
The benefits of climbing a 14er
are abundant but not easily discernible.
One enjoys a near euphoric feeling when attaining the summit, a
combination of relief from the required exertions and satisfaction from the
achievement of a difficult task.
The consistently striking views afforded along the journey reach a
crescendo with the breathtaking panorama from the summit. One's preparations
for the ordeal can't help but yield healthful benefits. And sharing the experience with
intrepid and likable comrades also provides an element of safety and
succor.
A climbing friend told us a story
adding greater emphasis to this last item. While climbing Mt. Whitney (elevation 14,501' in CA) with
her brother, they encountered a Korean woman lying near the trail
shivering. They learned that her
husband and another couple had abandoned her, as she couldn't keep up. My friend gave her a warm coat,
notified search and rescue of her plight, and they helped her down the
mountain. Many would find her
comrades' behavior quite irksome.
The disadvantages of 14ering are
more readily apparent. Eight hours
of strenuous hiking can be rather unpleasant, and potential exists for harm to
one or more body parts.
Red Cloud, elevation 14,034', is
one of fourteen 14ers in the San Juan mountain range in southwestern
Colorado. Lake City is the closest
town to most of the trailheads leading to these treasures. We left the motel at 5:00 am and drove
10 miles to the trailhead for Red Cloud.
Miraculously the skies were clear with bright stars and a nearly full
moon. About one-half of the 45-minute drive was very rough requiring 4wd and
heavy-duty tires. Fortunately it
was dark, sparing me the terror of viewing the potential for catastrophe should
we bounce off the narrow shelf road into an abyss.
The website www.14ers.com offers
the following information about Red Cloud: difficulty - Class
2 (on a scale of 1-4, 4 being most difficult); trailhead elevation - 10,400'; trip
length - 9 miles; elevation gain - 3,700'; trail to summit - sort of (sic); stability - unstable in some segments (no shit Sherlock), and exposure - 2 (on of a scale of 1-4, 4
being most dangerous). We
encountered a young man while atop Red Cloud who, in response to my query,
explained the exposure ratings succinctly, "4 = you slip, you will die; 3
= you slip, you might die; 2 = you slip, you're going to get hurt; 1 = moderate
danger."
Up to now my climbs had been
confined to those rated 1 for difficulty and exposure. Our trip captain Fred, two months shy
of his 72nd birthday, chose Red Cloud as his 15th ascent as he had exhausted
those classified as ones. I
hesitate to use the word "easiest."
We left the trailhead at 6:00 am,
our path well lit by a full moon.
The sun wouldn't appear over the eastern ridge until after 8:00. The route followed an unnamed creek
emptying into the Lake Fork of the Gunnison River, up the aptly named Grizzly
Gulch.
After the first couple of miles
of hiking we mistakenly surmised that the rockiness of the trail accounted for
Red Cloud's 2 rating. Thus far the
trail was formed by loose gravel, scree, and boulder fields, presumably the
product of moraines from days long gone.
The inequality of the rocks made the footing consistently treacherous.
We ascended through a waverly of
aspen into a thinly populated forest of pine following the modest gradient
alongside the cascading stream.
Portions of the trail dropped close to water's edge and Fred observed,
"In years with normal snowpack, we'd be waist deep in water at this
spot."
Three of our number possessed
altimeters and mileage indicators, which kept us abreast of our progress. Absent those devices one can pretty
well determine the altitude in this region: 12,000' marks the tree line, 13,000' marks the end of
meaningful vegetation, at 13,500' small critters disappear, and at 14,000' one
looks down at the circling birds.
We were becoming mildly concerned
that we weren't gaining sufficient elevation as the miles passed. Conversation was typically held
to a minimum as we huffed and puffed up to the tree line, excepting Fred's
frequent and appreciated words of encouragement. My internal mantra was, "One step at a time." I'd follow Fred, keep my eyes on the
ankle bending trail, count each time my right foot set down, and upon reaching
100 I would reward myself with a glance upward." We reached a small alpine pond populated by marmots and tiny
rocky mountain voles at 12,000'. Our calibrating equipped comrades noted,
"We've gone 2.5 miles but have only ascended 1,500'." We all knew that we would soon pay a
price for this agreeable rise. After
climbing through a bowl, lush with alpine grasses and wild flowers owing to the
recent rains, we reached a ridgeline leading to our goal. We had traveled 3.7 miles, but had only
reached an elevation of 12,400'.
With a visual aid of the path ahead to the summit and simple arithmetic,
we understood the reason for Red Cloud's 2 ranking: a 1,650' ascent in the final .8 miles.
With five such climbs under my
belt, I could now discern a mental health pattern. Early morning excitement and energy aids reaching the tree
line. Mindless slogging gets me
from 12,000' to 13,000'. My low
point is 13,000' - 13,500' with nagging doubts about my sanity and concern
about the ignominy of potential failure.
Adrenaline, combined with the increasing prospect of success, kicks in
from 13,500' to the top, oddly making it the easiest portion of the climb.
My training left me better
prepared than in years past. My legs, upper torso, and lungs were satisfactory
for the task. I also benefited
greatly from Jim's tip to use my poles going uphill as well as downhill and to
avoid supporting my pack with my arms behind me. He advised, "You lose a lot of momentum when you don't
allow your arms to swing forward." Unexpectedly though, I had other
problems, notably tendonitis in my right hip. I compensated with heavier reliance on my poles and
exaggerated use of the left leg.
We reached the summit at 10:30
am, exhausted but exhilarated. We
encountered a young man, Travis, at the summit who had just climbed his 27th
14er and was resting before the descent.
He said he liked to spend as much time as possible at the high elevation
to favorably impact his body chemistry.
He was a chatty fellow, and we
listened attentively while taking in the stunning views, eating lunch, enjoying
the flight of two white butterflies, and regaining some semblance of
strength. I mentioned reading about
the adventures of Aron Ralston, the author of Between a Rock and a Hard
Place, who ascended all fifty-four 14ers, solo, during the winters after he
recovered from the self-amputation of his arm. In response to this tidbit, Travis became highly agitated
and denounced the recklessness and stupidity of such efforts saying,
"Those stunts only endanger the search and rescue teams that have to clean
up their messes."
Fred and Travis were comparing
notes on the 14ers that require carrying gear sufficient for an overnight stay
owing to the distance from/to the trailhead. He was surprised to learn that a geezer like Fred had
climbed Snowmass, until Fred clarified, "that was over 30 years ago."
The young man was astonished at this news and queried, "How did anyone even know about
14ers before the internet? Surely
they didn't have trails and roads back then?" Fred gently reminded him of the existence of books, and that
the trails were most likely a product of the Civilian Conservation Corps in the
1930's.
The severe drought besetting the
region dominated the conversation of Coloradans during our stay. Blue Mesa Lake, the largest body of
water in Colorado, around which we drove en route to Lake City from Gunnison, was
reportedly 85' below normal levels.
During the four acclimatizing / training days we spent in Crested Butte,
I didn't see a single patch of snow.
Once atop Red Cloud we observed a few tiny pockets of snow, but Fred
observed, "In all the years I've been doing this (30), I've never seen
less snow pack."
Sunshine, elevation 14,001', is a
neighboring peak and easily visible from the summit of Red Cloud. Three miles of additional hiking
accompanied by another 1,000' ascent and descent yields a two'fer for an energetic
soul. All of the younger climbers
we encountered completed the Sunshine leg of the journey. Jim, the manliest man in our group,
joined them. I was briefly
tempted, as I wasn't feeling too bad after resting on the summit. But after contemplating the difficulty
of the impending descent I concluded it would be prudent to preserve my
strength for that necessary task.
Travis advised Jim, "The
safest route back from Sunshine is to regain the summit of Red Cloud and return
the way you came. The alternate
routes are extremely dangerous and require negotiating steep couloirs (a new
word to me; a rocky gully descending from a mountain peak). He shared a valuable tidbit to the rest
of us, "Wear gloves on your descent.
There's a good chance you'll take an involuntary glissade and tear up
your hands." He then held up
his injured palm to demonstrate his point. We did as instructed and appreciated the valuable advice.
Two college-age young men, one
tall one short, reached the summit just as we were preparing to descend. They were wearing gym shorts and
sleeveless tee shirts. This
contrasted to my outfit of a rain jacket (covering two layers of capilene),
stocking cap, and gloves. We
chatted briefly and learned that earlier that morning the lads climbed nearby
Handies Peak and then drove the 10 miles of bad roads to climb Red Cloud, which
they ascended in two and a half hours.
After a brief rest they intended to make Sunshine their third 14er of
the day. We were mightily
impressed. We ran into them
several hours later as they passed us on the way down. They confessed to being tired, but they
bounded down the mountain at a vigorous pace quickly disappearing in the
distance.
At our dinner before the climb, I
was asked what's hardest, going up or going down. With a nanosecond's contemplation I exclaimed, "Way
harder going up." And that
remains my view. But the Red Cloud
descent was truly awful. The steepness and unsure footing took their toll on my
hips, knees, and feet. When we arrived back at the trailhead, I was out of
gas. I don't think I could have
walked another 100'. Had I
attempted Sunshine, my carcass would now be serving as carrion somewhere along
the trail.
Jim returned from his two'fer
about 30 minutes after we reached the trailhead. We celebrated with a couple of cold beers and drove down the
treacherous mountain road. I was
too tired to be terrified. We
returned to the Matterhorn for farewells as everyone was heading in different
directions. New guy John, who was
a great addition to the group, said, "Count me in for next
year." Jim and I were more
circumspect. It's going to take a
lot of forgetfulness before I do this again. It may remain 6 down and 48 to go for a very long time,
absent the intervention of reincarnation.
p.s. Jim sent an email the day after the climb with interesting
comparative data about his eleven 14ers.
More importantly he bestowed upon Fred the coveted
"Oldest-Thing-On-The-Mountain-Other-Than-The-Rocks" award.
p.p.s. He proclaimed me the,
"Most-Improved-Hiker/Climber," a sobriquet I shall carry with
pride. This is a marked
improvement over last year's, "Comeback-Climber-of-the-Day," award
referring to my recovery after a near total collapse whilst climbing Mt. Elbert
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