It is manifestly Denver to arise terribly early on a Saturday morning, bound for the nearest car-accessible "fourteener." The typical "flatlander" attempting to "bag" a fourteener puts them self at the mercy of several malignant forces: cardiac failure at high altitude, lightning, blisters (ouch!), whinging children, granola bar shortages, sunburn, extreme slowness leading to a "night out on Bald Mountain," and attack by goats. The threats range from mild to fatal and are many, but deter very few urbanites from ambulating their fourteener fanny-pack up a steep hill which vegetation has all but scorned, in the company of split boulders, shale, erosion and fellow candy-bar-eating tourists.
So said, this Saturday we decided that the most car-riddled fourteener within arms reach of I-70 had our bag-napping name on it - Grays Peak. What's more, Gray's Peak is typically hiked in conjunction with Torrey's Peak, via a short jot down the saddle, making it a two-fer for the lazy hiker, and even more popular. We left Georgetown at perhaps 6:20 a.m.; later than we hoped, but still early. After exiting I-70 six miles up at Bakerville, we encountered what looked like a Suburu/Ford car sales yard, with the three-mile road in already parked up with a good 50 cars. Much like an oversold yoga class, we were going to have to do our best to ignore the wafts and whispers of the nearby other 500 hikers that day as we lurched forward in search of serenity. Above, Kelso Mountain is in background, with Stephen's Gulch at right denoting the route in as clearly as the ramp to the Cherry Creek mall theatre complex. To far left, the beginning of Kelso Ridge can be seen buckling up in preparation of class 4 climbing conditions. Kelso Ridge is the "other" way to get up Torreys; also known as a lot bumfuck harder than the stroll that is the main trail.
But there is something to be said for not looking like you are queuing up at the DMV as you summit a mountain. Staying out of the armpits and undershorts of those ahead of you is difficult on the Gray's Peak trail, and sometimes requires an awkward half-jog during an overtake, offset with a breathful "morning!" to demonstrate your virility. Otherwise, friendly mountainside greetings do not appear to be the norm on this trail, where you are passing a person every 10 seconds or so.
Here, Josh demonstrates peak-bagger etiquette, using his iPhone to capture "the moment" while obscuring the other 50 people sharing the summit at this moment. In the background, low lying cloud peacefully blankets lower ground, looking foamy and ocean-like, as we clutter the "Bondi Beach" of this metaphor. Summiting is cause for celebration, and, for many, cause to assume that many more calories have been burned than is actually the case, solely on account of the rockiness of the walk. We walked car to summit in 1:50, earning us barely an extra bite of muesli bar.
From the summit of Gray's Peak, the saddle to Torreys is a quick stroll, though the climb to the top is far more arduous than is Gray's. Seeing it in its full glory, we honestly couldn't be bothered to spend the extra hour cementing our superiority in the Hall of Baggers, and instead hoofed it toward the car, so to be back in Denver before noon.
Like an underpaid mascot, the resident mountain goats reluctantly prowled toward the crowd, half-heartedly suggesting that they may eat up our sandwiches, as per their contractual obligations with Arapaho Forest Service. No sandwiches or pants were eaten, however, and the abnormally hairy trapezius of a semi-naked hiker attracted far more covert attention. For a good route description, go
here; for a frivolous route description, go
here.
So said, this Saturday we decided that the most car-riddled fourteener within arms reach of I-70 had our bag-napping name on it - Grays Peak. What's more, Gray's Peak is typically hiked in conjunction with Torrey's Peak, via a short jot down the saddle, making it a two-fer for the lazy hiker, and even more popular. We left Georgetown at perhaps 6:20 a.m.; later than we hoped, but still early. After exiting I-70 six miles up at Bakerville, we encountered what looked like a Suburu/Ford car sales yard, with the three-mile road in already parked up with a good 50 cars. Much like an oversold yoga class, we were going to have to do our best to ignore the wafts and whispers of the nearby other 500 hikers that day as we lurched forward in search of serenity. Above, Kelso Mountain is in background, with Stephen's Gulch at right denoting the route in as clearly as the ramp to the Cherry Creek mall theatre complex. To far left, the beginning of Kelso Ridge can be seen buckling up in preparation of class 4 climbing conditions. Kelso Ridge is the "other" way to get up Torreys; also known as a lot bumfuck harder than the stroll that is the main trail.
But there is something to be said for not looking like you are queuing up at the DMV as you summit a mountain. Staying out of the armpits and undershorts of those ahead of you is difficult on the Gray's Peak trail, and sometimes requires an awkward half-jog during an overtake, offset with a breathful "morning!" to demonstrate your virility. Otherwise, friendly mountainside greetings do not appear to be the norm on this trail, where you are passing a person every 10 seconds or so.
Here, Josh demonstrates peak-bagger etiquette, using his iPhone to capture "the moment" while obscuring the other 50 people sharing the summit at this moment. In the background, low lying cloud peacefully blankets lower ground, looking foamy and ocean-like, as we clutter the "Bondi Beach" of this metaphor. Summiting is cause for celebration, and, for many, cause to assume that many more calories have been burned than is actually the case, solely on account of the rockiness of the walk. We walked car to summit in 1:50, earning us barely an extra bite of muesli bar.
From the summit of Gray's Peak, the saddle to Torreys is a quick stroll, though the climb to the top is far more arduous than is Gray's. Seeing it in its full glory, we honestly couldn't be bothered to spend the extra hour cementing our superiority in the Hall of Baggers, and instead hoofed it toward the car, so to be back in Denver before noon.
Like an underpaid mascot, the resident mountain goats reluctantly prowled toward the crowd, half-heartedly suggesting that they may eat up our sandwiches, as per their contractual obligations with Arapaho Forest Service. No sandwiches or pants were eaten, however, and the abnormally hairy trapezius of a semi-naked hiker attracted far more covert attention. For a good route description, go here; for a frivolous route description, go here.
aw, cute goats!
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