14er Day!

See how windy it was?

Well, it happened. I spent a perfectly good Sunday clambering up and down Longs Peak, the highest 14er in the Front Range. It's a rite of passage, really, if you are a Coloradan. I mean, we have a few 14ers in California, but people don't keep little passports and check each peak off as they bag it. Perhaps because most Cali 14ers are somewhat technical, or at least a huge pain in the ass to access, even if you want to spend a weekend doing it.

So, I figured it was about time. I've heard about the legendary shitty weather. I was supposed to climb the Kieners route in June with my BMS class, but my need to spend a week on the San Juan (I'm so NOT sorry) negated that. This seems like the best time of year to go for a "hike" route, even though our weather has been unpredictable even by Colorado standards, which is saying something.

Jamie and I had tried to do Audobon the day before, but weather. It was cold,rainy and generally shitty from waking up in the morning, and it didn't get better until we were mostly back to the car, lolsob. As a few drops fell, and thunder rumbled languidly in the distance, we looked at each other, not wanting to turn back but... we said, we'll turn back if the graupel comes. Sure enough, right before we popped out above treeline the graupel hit--fortunately for us we had timed it perfectly and the hill plus trees provided the perfect lee if we hunkered down low. It passed, and we decided to go up to the top of the ridge and see what it looked like. It looked better, but then there was a huge, ugly black cloud moving fast from behind the summit, straight at us. The cold wind picked up and nearly knocked up sideways. It was painful, but we bagged it and started down. By the time we got to the car, it looked better at the peak, but... it's close, we'll do it another day.

So for Longs, I crashed at Bob's and we got up at 4, were out of the house before 4:30, and were walking by 5:05. The parking lot was FULL, so we found parking on the side of the road, which was also pretty full. And it was COLD--about 45º, less than I would have thought, even if it is 9400 feet. And it was windy--cold windy. Bob's headlamp died a sputtery death before we even got to the trailhead, so it was all on our little LED flashlight (I forgot mine too, duh). A harbinger of things to come? Sort of.

We stopped after about an hour when Bob announced he had to dig a cathole. He said something about, "You can go on if you want..." trailing off into the trees. But it wasn't settled, so I sat down to wait. And wait. And wait. I tried to take a 5 minute catnap, thinking surely he wouldn't miss me coming back to the trail. Weeeeell.
After 20 minutes or so I decided to go tell him I was going to start moving, because I was starting to shiver. But I couldn't find him. I shouted out, but nothing. So, do I assume he moved on, or? I picked up the trail and started walking, and asked the first party of people coming the other way if they'd seen a man meeting Bob's description. Sort of--they were positive they did, but then they also asked if he was wearing glasses and a turtleneck and trekking poles (he was wearing a short-sleeved crew, no glasses and no poles). Hmm. I made a note of the burnt snag at the side of the trail, checked my watch, and kept walking, in case I needed to find the spot again. After a few more minutes who should come hurrying down the trail, confused because he knew I wasn't as slow as some of the people out there but no way I could be that fast either. We resolved to wait for affirmation of communication from now on.

We peeled off onto the Jim Grove trail, and soon enough joined back up to the masses and found ourselves at the Boulder Field. We found ourselves some boulders to hide between and snack on last night's leftover pizza. This was where the fun part would start.

Boulder-hopping onto the north face, no big deal, just easily winded from out of shape and 13k feet. Then, the route crossed a snow field. The snow was rock hard and crusty. We had no axes or crampons. We opted to scramble up the exposed rock spine at the edge of the snow, and discovered that there was a net of ice, or verglas, strewn over lots of the rocks, which made placing hands and feet limited. We started up a crack that looked a little dicey but doable, until Bob, who was above me, said, "Let's not go this way." We downclimbed, traversed back across the snow and onto the proper crack.

But, we had no pro--and our only ropes were a cordelette and a 15ft length of 11mm rope someone had fashioned into rap sling which Bob retrieved on our way up, thinking it might come in handy. Ahem.

The crack route got icy, and there weren't super bomber handholds everywhere for starters. The cable has long since been taken down, although the fatty eyebolts are still there and frequently used as rap anchors. Thus, making sure your hands and feet weren't going to slip or otherwise make you lose your balance was super, SUPER important--because if you did, you were probably going for a tumble off the north corner of The Diamond, a huge, sheer cliff on the east face. It would be a recovery effort more than a rescue, likely. But we didn't let our brains go there until after we sat, shaky, at the top of that section saying, "Let's never do that again."

Fortunately, Bob is a better and taller climber than I, so he led us up. We fashioned a ridiculous belay for me with a loop of the rope around my wrist and him holding onto the other end and the rock with a death grip. Also fortunately, I'm good enough that I only needed the rope as a kind of aider for my left hand on the last pitch, where he could hitch it securely around one of those eyebolts.

All that was left was more scrambling to the top, where we popped out onto a huge, windy and cold football field at 14,265 ft, or something like that. Even tucked in behind a rock it was still cold. Bob grabbed his super sexy red GoLite down jacked for me, but packed only a thick fleece for his insulating layer. I admit, and so does he, the wind was unexpectedly cold that day. We finished the rest of our pizza, and headed back down the Keyhole route like everyone else that day--we had Cables all to ourselves. Still, it wasn't nearly as crowded as I thought it might be.

The route down was just long--seemed way longer than the way up, but then I guess it usually does.

Jamie and I are doing Elbert on Labor Day weekend. According to my sources, there is considerably less of a pucker factor on that one. Stay tuned!