Subject: TR: Maroon Bells - Snowmass Wilderness (long) Date: Thu, 2 Sep 1999 19:51:09 GMT From: Tom Stybr Organization: The Boeing Company Newsgroups: rec.backcountry Maroon Bells - Snowmass Wilderness White River National Forest August 13 - 19, 1999
We weren't off to a very good start. Fallen timber and twisted undergrowth impeded and stymied us at nearly every turn as we struggled for right of passage along West Snowmass Creek. Moon Lake had come little nearer to us in forty-five minutes of thrashing. "What are we doing wrong? What are we missing?" Ross and I said to each other with glances instead of words. Unhefting our large packs, we sat on logs for a rest and discussed our options. It was about ten in the morning, we were scarcely above 10,000 feet and we were really in danger of breaking our own spirits on day one of a week in the Maroon Bells - Snowmass Wilderness. Retreat and refuge was our decision. I had met Ross in Glenwood Springs after yet another mad dash from Wichita. Ross had spent the last ten days meandering from Seattle down the coast to Redwoods, Sequoia and Yosemite National Parks before turning east. After a last taste of civilization consisting of grilled trout and au gratin potatoes, we ventured on to the Snowmass Falls Ranch Trailhead at 8,390 feet on the north side of the Wilderness. After spying elk in a distant, ridge-top meadow and dividing items between our two packs, we were off to sleep. The event we had planned for several months was finally here.
Awake by six, Ross and I unhurriedly made ready for the trail and were on our way shortly after seven. Our first destination: the ford of Snowmass Creek and the West Snowmass Creek drainage beyond. Finding the creek is the easy part; deciding where to cross, having not been there before, was not. After a bit of exploring, the obvious ford was the broad shallows upstream of logjam and beaver dam. The rickety logs could be crossed until about twenty feet of the crossing remained when it was apparent we would receive this morning's eye-opener. Boots off, we waded up to thigh deep across the sand and gravel shoals to the pasture on the other side. Several cattle gave witness to our crossing. We traversed the meadow towards West Snowmass Creek and were greeted by the trail angling up through white-trunked aspen. This trail winds up past tall grasses and brilliant flowers perhaps just past their peak before the aspens gave way to lodgepole, then spruce and fir. Reaching the meadow at 9,800 feet, we searched the far side along the creek for the faint trail that supposedly gave passage to Moon Lake. We failed to find said passage and circled around eventually to the main trail. We followed the trail until its first switchback to the right when we pushed westward and contoured along what was probably a game trail. As we angled back towards the creek, we encountered nothing but fallen timber and heavy undergrowth. We certainly didn't find anything that resembled a trail heading upstream. After some time spent searching both sides of the creek, we gave up and retreated to the meadow where we pitched a premature camp and relaxed, wondering what we were missing. This would be the big mystery of the trip. The thunder and rain started about four, quit for an hour at six, then intermittently kept us tentbound after seven. The next morning, the skies were gray and low, the flora sodden. Deciding to give Moon Lake another chance, and not believing we had a realistic chance at Capitol Peak, the 14,000 foot summit beyond, we headed out in rain gear to keep from getting soaked from the bottom up. Our failures of yesterday pointed us up the Haystack Mountain trail to an elevation of about 10,600 feet before spying a promising route westward. Eventually, this traverse fizzled at a point where we could look down to the meadow below the slope where West Snowmass Creek falls from the upper basin. A steep slope covered with tall, wet green stuff separated it from us. We retreated back to camp somber in our route-finding failure. As the sun broke out of the late morning clouds, we dried our wet items as best we could then packed up to leave. Our next destination would be Snowmass Lake.
The trail proper led across the meadow next to Snowmass Creek to a point 400 feet upstream of the shallows. We searched this area before concluding the best place to cross was just where we had the day before. This time I stayed on the gravel as long as I could, comfortably in the chilly water, before sinking ten inches in silt - back to the logjam. Safely across we settled in to the seven mile, 2,500 vertical feet hike to the lake at nearly 11,000 feet. Surprised by the lack of traffic on this Sunday afternoon, we encountered only three descending groups by the time we had reached 10,000 feet. It was four o'clock and time for today's lightning and thunder. We donned shells prior to a lengthy logjam creek-crossing and the rain started while we were halfway across. By the time we had reached the switchbacks at the upper end of the flats, the rain was falling in earnest and the temperature plummeted to the low forties.
Ross was leading at this point, travelling a bit faster than I and was out of sight after about twenty minutes. Nothing to do but keep my head down, put one foot in front of the other and trudge on through the deluge. Ah, the backcountry. I found him waiting on a log and we took a few minutes to rest. A quarter mile from the lake we asked to partake of a friendly couple's fire then finished our march as the rain tapered off. We found a spot to throw down the tent and unfurl the bags before starting dinner. Hot food gave us quite a recharge as we both agreed we had probably been mildly hypothermic. A long day behind us, we went right to bed.
Monday dawned clear and mild for a summit bid to Snowmass Mountain. It was after eight before we circled around the south side of the lake for the interminable talus that we would skirt on the right. Traversing the talus, we passed a party of two, one of whom was moving very slowly and would eventually abandon the climb. An eroded trail led along a cascading stream to a lip of grass and boulders. We stayed left of the stream and crested a ridge of talus and boulders that ran along the base of Snowmass Peak and contoured towards the steep boulder field below the summit ridge of Snowmass Mountain.
Occasionally encountering teetering boulders, we climbed up through, around and over them and cracked slabs enjoying a sustained and easy scramble to the summit ridge. Ross suffered a bruised rib dodging a boulder he had dislodged when he landed awkwardly onto neighboring rocks. The route became only marginally complicated cresting the ridge and switching over to the west side. Here, class three scrambling interspersed with a bit of rock hopping led through the well-cairned route on very solid rock. Handholds were abundant up to the relatively small summit. We spent a good forty-five minutes up there during one of the best summit experiences I've had - partly cloudy skies with light winds and warm temps. Each of us scaled the pedestal of rock that led to the highest point on the mountain and peered down the precipitous east wall.
Photos taken and snacks eaten, we meandered down onto the ridge again and tried not to descend too quickly. We discovered we had about a forty-foot upclimb to get over the ridge to the east side again when one from the previous party popped up over the ridge. He was about to quit when we told him he was less than twenty minutes from the top. For the descent, we made nearly straight down in the direction of the distant green-swathed drainage, zigzagging down the boulders for the best route. Descending down a large, steep boulder field is as much an art as anything else in my opinion as steps are planned a few in advance, always judging if the next rock will move and pausing occasionally to take in the bigger picture. The terrain bottomed out leaving us unscathed and ready for the talus and scree of the lower slope. We found ourselves between the two streams that drain the upper basin and found a rocky bench on which to cross the southern of the two to the eroded trail that ventured down the edge of the vast talus field. Steep and loose, we couldn't help but boot-scoot here and there until reaching the traverse across the rocks. Nearly off the rocks, I made a misstep when my foot slipped off mud and grass pinching my right shin under the sharp edge of a two-foot-wide rock. "Ouch, that's gonna leave a mark." And it did. I decided I hated pain on an empty stomach so we stopped for a snack right there. Finishing the traverse led to willows and another trip around the lake leading us back to camp just before two. A good day in the mountains was our consensus.
A little later as I was filtering lake water, an older gentleman, who seemed to have trouble negotiating the logjam across the outflow asked about the route up The Mountain. He had never climbed a fourteener and thought this would be a good one to go for. I answered all his questions but I couldn't help feeling a twinge of reticence aiding and abetting a novice with dubious capability and experience. I only hope he didn't hurt himself. As straightforward as Snowmass was for me I would be very surprised if he came anywhere near the summit. Tuesday was a gray day and, again, we unhurriedly went through the motions of breakfast and such until nearly 8:30 when we made ready for a day-hike to Geneva Lake over Trail Rider Pass. We made sure not to follow the trail around the lake and headed due south past campsites until the correct trail snaked towards the west hugging rocky and steeply wooded slopes above the lake. Snowmass Lake shimmered a brilliant blue in the diffuse sunlight and from 300 feet up we could easily make out the bottom well away from the shore. Further on as the views evolved, we lingered from one vantage to the next, alone as we were along the trail, basking in the many moods around us. Finally cresting Trail Rider Pass, we were met by a brisk breeze and yet another wonderful view. The trail led down to a broad shelf containing a tarn and many wildflowers. Past the tarn, we moved off-trail for a stunning vantage of Fravert and Hasley Basins, the distant headwall dominated by Maroon Peak. Devil's Rockpile and Lead King Basin were off to our right. The panorama required four photos even with a 28mm lens. We relaxed for nearly thirty minutes here munching snacks and gazing. Back on the trail, we selected the way to Geneva Lake and watched the trail to Fravert Basin plunge steeply down a rib before disappearing behind it and away from us. Trees occasionally framed the basin making for fine photos before our trail wound around a rib of its own and started to descend, first through a clearing then through willows to the upper end of Geneva Lake.
After stopping for a zoom-shot of the west side of Snowmass Mountain's summit ridge, our attention was captured by the sea of willows we had to traverse to get to the west side of the lake and the well-blazed trail. Campsites were strictly posted and "closed for revegetation" signs were everywhere. We counted three occupied campsites near the lake as we made our way to the outflow and crossed a logjam there. An outcropping of large, conglomerate slabs poured into the lake and made for a good lunch spot. It wasn't long before the flies started biting. We didn't stay long and followed a fisherman's trail around the east side of the lake until we could see the willows in front of us. We trended east and up along a faint trail then across a small clearing and saw our trail when we were a scant six feet from it.
Reversing our track gave a different perspective to what we had seen on the way in and it wasn't until we were nearly to the tarn below the pass that we encountered two gals with large packs headed our way. They were headed to Fravert Basin. Below the pass, a large group of youngsters were sprawled out on the grass. They were headed to Geneva Lake. We took a break when we saw a couple coming down from Trail Rider Pass and discovered they were day-hiking Buckskin, Trail Rider, Frigid Air and West Maroon Passes from Maroon Lake; I guess that would make for about 25 miles and perhaps 10,000 feet of elevation gains and losses. Whew! Ross and I agreed we'd have to try something like that one of these days.
Back over the pass, we loped down the trail passing a party of two guys and a gal. All were in good spirits and wondered how long it would take them to get to the pass. They asked about campsites at Geneva Lake when they learned that we had just come from there. A last group of a middle-aged couple and teenage girl were packing their way back over the pass to a site at Geneva Lake after meeting and sharing a campsite with friends at Snowmass Lake.
The skies were now beginning to cloud up quickly but the rain didn't start until about six. Dinner was out of the way by then and we were exploring the northeastern end of the lake, surprised by the view of the Maroon Bells from there. The photos of the Bells and a nearby fly fisherman turned out nicely except for one shot in which I tried to catch the clouds streaming off of the Bell and the raindrops rippling the lake. The vast contrast was not captured in the failing light. Campsites had begun to fill up and it wasn't until now that we felt it was getting a little crowded. A young couple had plopped their camp just fifty feet away from us even though a prime spot nearby would have kept them well over one hundred feet from anyone. The last straw was watching a human shaped blob of ignorance wash her hair right in the lake. It was all I could do to keep from saying something to her and her beau. Good thing it was to be our last night here. Big, fat drops made up the late evening's showers amplified by the taut rainfly of the tent. We alternately read and watched the big-screen (what we called the mesh door) until dusk when we went to sleep.
Wednesday morning, mist lingered in the trees though the sky was clearing quickly. Breakfast over, we packed up and moved out over the outflow and onto the trail towards Buckskin Pass, our packs now a bit lighter than on Sunday. The muddy trail moves around a ridge separating Snowmass Lake from Snowmass Creek before descending to meet the creek. Crossing the creek on large logs, we could very clearly see trout in abundance. Sunshine bathed the basin we had to ourselves and glinted off the dewy grasses. We began ascending in earnest up the first of two groups of switchbacks and stopped for a rest when we were well into the trees. Again we followed the steep rise to an upper basin and stopped for another rest among large rocks. We could make out the pass from here and could see a few descenders. We were on our way by the time they came upon us and exchanged the usual greetings. Now on the second group of switchbacks, Snowmass Mountain and Capitol Peak were stunning in their white-rocked beauty. I thought back to the summits of peaks from which I could see Snowmass believing the white east face to be the namesake snowfield. I now believe it was mostly the white rock that I was seeing. We closed in quickly on the small throng collected at Buckskin Pass, all of them dayhikers from Maroon Lake. Pyramid Peak commands your attention at first, its mass and rugged southern ridge stretched out directly across from Minnehaha Gulch. Along Sleeping Sexton, the ridge to the right led to North Maroon Peak. Dayhikers slowly wound up from the gulch. Ross and I lingered while snacking and shooting pics before hefting packs and moving eastward again. Soon we came across the trail junction with the Willow Pass trail and followed it left. Our plan was to set down our tent out of view of the trail for one last night in the Wilderness. We didn't want to descend with our packs into Minnehaha Gulch since we would just be marching back up the next morning. After ascending about 300 feet, we found a grassy bench between two groups of rocks and set our camp here at 12,200 feet. Flies gathered and pikas barked around us. While enjoying lunch in front of our immense picture window, we decided we would hike with minimal load down to Maroon Lake 2,700 feet below for a view of the Maroon Bells that Ross had not yet seen. My first visit there was four years ago. Already early afternoon, we knew we would be risking a turn in the weather and a possible late return but decided it was worth it. We raced down the trail and were at the West Maroon Creek trail at 10,200 feet within an hour and, slackening our pace due to the congestion on the trail, to Maroon Lake at 9,500 feet twenty minutes later. In the twenty minutes we spent at the lake, the weather began to turn. The glassy lake over which many a photo has been shot turned choppy and the clouds churned. Sunlight glinted off the Bells for the last time as thunder rumbled down the basin. Back up the trail we went. "Going back up, guys?" was a question put to us to which we could only answer over our shoulders, "That's where our camp is." Shortly after branching off the trail for the ascent up Minnehaha Gulch, lightning and thunder began flashing and crashing above us. Then came the rain. Ensconced firmly in our rain jackets, we put our heads down and sent the trail behind us, braving a short spurt of hail. After an hour of soggy hiking, we were at treeline and paused to check the skies, just marginally threatening. The trail junction was a welcome sight and it meant we were just minutes from shelter. The rain had mostly stopped but it was quite chilly while we ate our last supper of rehydrated beef stew fortified with instant mashed potatoes. We ate every last bit as we listened to a few coyotes in a heated discussion somewhere nearby. Fed and tired, we dozed while daylight ended and tried to sleep at our high camp. I slept in fits but felt fairly well rested in the morning. I poked out of the tent to see mists and light dancing over the West Maroon Valley. North Maroon Peak was just catching the first rays and began to glow a bright copper color. An uneventful breakfast preceded packing our packs for the long haul out. Willow Pass was 400 feet above us and we met the sun just before reaching it. A long last look at North Maroon Peak led to a long first look of Willow Lake. The crumbling ridge to the west was blood red and contrasted with the green slope lapping at its feet. Following the trail down we came across a set of tire tracks as well as footprints. Descending to 12,000 feet brought us to a junction with a faint trail leading west which we followed to ascend to the pass separating Willow and East Snowmass Creeks. This route led through a talus field and switched steeply back and forth to pass. The wind was very chilly at 12,700 feet but we stopped long enough to see Pyramid Peak loom over Willow Lake and tried to determine which peaks lay in the distance. Hayden and Cathedral were likely the most prominent; I'm not sure we could see Castle and Conundrum. To the west, Capitol Peak just put its head up above the nearby ridge. The valley before us was deserted and, we knew, long. It was our task to descend 4,300 feet in about seven miles. We quickly spooked a covey of small ptarmigan and I wouldn't have seen the sixth one that Ross was pointing out if it hadn't blinked, that amazing was their camouflage. After that, we didn't waste much time on the rather rugged trail. It was such that it was hard to get into a rhythm while slope varied, rocks and mud challenged and foliage impeded. I was a bit impressed to see tire tracks here as well.
We stopped for nature calls at tree line then again after another hour. It was at the latter that I plunked my pack down right on an ant colony. I whisked them off one by one before one last hoist on to my shoulders and hips. Rarely did the trail near the creek as it wound this way and that over and around the minor ribs that led down from the ridge to our left. We heard what we believe was an eagle crying somewhere near us but could not find it. We were soon aware that we could hear Snowmass Creek much more than East Snowmass Creek perhaps because much of East Snowmass Creek is diverted eastward by a ditch to Brush Creek and Snowmass Village but also because we were looping westward to the switchbacks that would deposit us on the road below. A middle-aged couple here were the only people we had seen this day and we knew that meant we were close to the road and fifteen minutes later there it was. Relieved, we strolled up the flat, wide road to the parking area. I challenged Ross with a "race ya'" but he only laughed saying he was at top speed already. Passing past the trees, it soon became apparent an unwelcome visitor had had his way with Ross' truck. Driver and passenger side front windows were shattered. Glass was everywhere and the doors were covered with fluorescent fingerprinting dust. The Pitkin County Sheriff had left a note indicating some of his belongings could be retrieved at the jail in Aspen. The perpetrators had also hit a van from Florida. We made the best of a bad situation and got on with changing, packing our trucks and cleaning up as much of the glass as possible before bouncing over ski trails to Snowmass Village and beyond through construction to Aspen.
Ross found that his sunglasses, CD case and a duffel with clothing and toiletries were the only things missing. Had we known how much the deputies had recovered from outside the vehicle, we might have spent a little more time searching the area for the possibly flung duffel. Criminal mischief: takes someone with a brain the size of a pea to put a damper on what should have been a celebration for us. Instead of a nice lunch in Aspen, two tired and hungry dudes spent an hour at the jail then headed over Independence Pass for Buena Vista (best sub sandwich either of us could remember) and Colorado Springs. Ross could keep his truck in a friend's garage in The Springs until his windows were replaced. He quickly realized that nothing lost could not be replaced and the unfortunate incident should be put in the past and left there. I cheered him and me up with pictures from home. This was a trip of change for me, I think. My goals are usually above 14,000 feet and I thought I might get a few in the Wilderness. But after failing to find our way up Capitol's east flank and easily sending Snowmass Mountain, I gazed upon Pyramid Peak and the Maroon Bells with a mountaineer's interest but did not feel an overwhelming desire to climb them. I thoroughly enjoyed hiking among them and plan to do more of that. Perhaps the two young daughters back home that I'm looking forward to introducing to the backcountry weigh on my mind. Perhaps I'm not willing to accept the same level of risk that I have in the past. Climbing all of them in Colorado has never been an obsession though I doubt very much that I've climbed my last fourteener. I've climbed only two this year - a far cry from recent years. Only time will tell how many and which ones I will climb.
Next year my older daughter will be four - she'll get a lot of chances to find the mountains with her mom and dad. Little sister won't be far behind.
Tom Stybr © 1999