Summitbagger: La Plata Peak edition

Once again the wagon headed west, bound for frontiers unfathomable.

Actually, I have fathomed La Plata Peak, Colorado's fifth highest at 14,336 feet, many times this summer, plotting my triumphant straddling of the kitter litter streusel atop the Sawatch Range. This weekend the window opened up, framed by aspens crisping to tater tot gold beneath a lacquered blue sky.

An agreeable dusting of snow from earlier in the week informed out quest as far more rugged and extreme than was the reality. Much like blonde highlights, a few streaks of white laid into high ravines and crags will do an excellent job of highlighting the "dimensionality" (in Loreal parlance) of Colorado's majestic mounds. Our campsite, above, was at a secret locale known only to ourselves and four or five other RVs, four other dogs, and a broad selection of granola tent-dwellers - in other words, a few thousand people, tops. It looked over the Twin Lakes southwest of Leadville, and was nestled into the navel hair of Mt. Elbert's lowest approach.

The hike into La Plata Peak does a good job of building to a crescendo of thigh-crushing switchbacks over increasingly unstable rock. Above, we scaled a track that beat its way up to the northwest ridge of La Plata, glancing all the way at the impressive outline of Grizzly Peak (an almost fourteener at 13,988 ft). We passed no one until late in the hike, but could see hikers silhouetted high above the rising sun. Much like Shoeless Joe, they bid us into the upper realms where vegetation and sediment seem to explode open against themselves, looking either to take off or plummet to the bottom of La Plata's central gully.

We were accompanied by three load-free dogs, each of whom possessed an endless thirst that quickly dwindled our royal supplies of water. Note that they were all kept on leash, per forest requirements, and all eagerly yanked the leash forward, bringing their steward into awkward ankle-crunches over the mish-mash of steps, gravel, dirt and boulders.

The terrain got sketchy enough that after 2 1/2 hours of climbing, and enough progress over sketchy scree-fields while thinking "how will we get down?" with the dogs, we reached this friendly balcony and paused for a photo-op. Bringing the dogs up the last few hundred feet of gain was unquestionably a recipe for disaster (Gaston later admitted he had walked through the mental possibility of having to bury one of his dogs on the mountain after a calamitous misstep), so we debated leaving one person behind to mind the three dogs while the other two of us bagged our summit. Leaving one person on a boutique-sized plateau at 13,800 with three dogs for an hour seemed a poor decision, though the pull of summit-bagging was strong as ever. Rather than become "those dickheads" who were suckered into a summit campaign only to become shredded to pieces in an avalanche chute and mentioned briefly in the Denver Post the following Monday (Denver man falls off mountain), we made the prudent decision to invest instead in a couple of great iPhone pics. As the photo above proves, a non-summit bag will often make for a far more impressive souvenir pic than will actually standing on the summit. If you peruse the halls of internet summit-bag photo-ops, you will notice that they all look the same: two people, cold, against a blue screen, with some pebbles under foot. On the other hand, a gnarly summit will advocate the hiker in foreground with low growl of topographic contrast: "Ten contour intervals to go, biatches!"

Here, you will notice my dog taking the wussy dry-foot option for the river-crossing, faithfully following his master. Neither dog nor human is too disappointed at chalking up a summit attempt. Indeed, in the trailhead log, I note "Karen and Irene" of Denver whose destination was "until we get tired :-) " Likewise, my response to such a question is always "Up! Then down." To the mountains!

Saturday morning stretch o' the legs II

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.