East Ridge via Silver Creek Sawatch Range - Colorado Rocky Mountains Collegiate Peaks Wilderness, San Isabel National Forest Round Trip Distance: 11.0 miles, Elevation Gain: 4,800 ft. Grade II, Class 2, Moderate Snow May 2, 1998 Tom Stybr, Ross Townsend From: Tom Stybr
It had taken us a little longer than I had hoped to attain the top of Mount Yale but we still felt the satisfaction of having gotten here. The summit register was hopelessly lost under a thick blanket of snow. Tiny flakes flitted around us and we could see that the nearby peaks were having their share as well. While resting and replenishing our energy and hydration, our second thought, after the celebration of clanging ice axes to summit cairn, concerned our descent route. . .
The evening before, hurtling across south Park County toward Buena Vista, Ross and I assembled our list of excuses as I for one didn't want to get caught short in a time of need. Ross could only offer up one: groin pull. I wasn't about to be outdone. Hmmm, let's see, strained Achilles tendon from being forced off a running path by a group of Brownies, sciatic nerve adhesion, no time to train with all the gardening to be done, hayfever from all the gardening, bermuda in my fescue and last but not least, hemorrhoids. I'm not saying I got 'em, but who's gonna call me on that one?
Our choice of trailhead was Silver Creek. If snow barred our way, we would shift to Avalanche Gulch. There was no need. Snow covered the road just beyond the Harvard Lakes trailhead preventing our passage to the Spring Creek trailhead but the parking area there is only a tenth of a mile or two from Spring Creek and provides for a flat spot to park the truck. We settled in for a level slumber after watching a Toyota 4X4 back up the road after also deciding the road was impassable. After a surprisingly good sleep, we woke at 0300. Munching, dressing, arranging gear and discussing why we do this took half an hour and we strolled to the bridge across North Cottonwood Creek by 0340. It was 31 degrees and the night had been clear. I thought that was a good sign of firm snow higher up.
Snow was abundant on the trail but firm underfoot. However, it didn't support our weight for long and on went the snowshoes, the first time for both of us. Shoeing turned out to be quite easy and rather fun. The approach to the beautiful alpine meadow at 11,000 ft went smoothly by headlamp as we followed week-old ski tracks up the trail and the sun trailed a melody of color over the horizon just as we entered the basin. The east ridge lay before us in its entirety. Instead of following the trail up to the saddle, we decided to ascend into the bowl a bit before climbing to the ridge. We ascended the left edge of a slabby, snow-covered slope before traversing right across the slope - one at a time - then up again reaching the ridge west of Pt 12,140 just where it steepens leading towards Pt 13,420. It was 0730.
On the ridge, the snow was plentiful. Mostly firm, it accepted both boot and axe squishing like just-right ice cream occasionally. We took turns kicking steps and although it seemed we were making good time it took us a little over two hours to reach Pt 13,420. It didn't strike me then that that was a dogged pace. The wind had risen from our right reaching nearly 30 mph. It proceeded to blow my hat off and somehow it sailed down the ridge to the right, against the wind. "Darn" (or some variation of the theme.) We watched it until it seemed to come to a stop a thousand some-odd feet below. From where it ended its cascade, I thought we might be able to find it later. At least I still had a balaclava to ward off the wind.
Complicating matters were what appeared from our aspect to be considerable cornicing on the left edge of the ridge. A little dodging here and there was required to keep a safe distance. It again took longer than it seemed to traverse left around the crags at that height, over half an hour before we had side-hilled our way on slippery snow and rocks, crampons scraping, to where the ridge rose again towards the summit. The summit was within our reach.
Emerging from the outcrops, we watched the spindrift whirl from right to left trailing a steady stream of snow from Silver Creek Bowl into Avalanche Gulch. The wind was blowing hard and we agreed it must be nearly 40 mph. I lead on and again started the process of step-kicking trying to find that elusive, sustainable rhythm. For much of the next three to four hundred vertical feet it was step-kick-breathe, step-kick-breathe and not until it became step-kick-breathe-breathe did I offer Ross the lead.
He found his pace quickly and soon I was forty feet behind him. He led at that tempo for some time and if it weren't for following his steps I would have fallen behind farther. He finally stopped to survey the route ahead and I caught him a minute or two later. The wind had dropped off as abruptly as it came up. Instead of cresting the ridge, we decided on a short, tedious, ascending traverse to the right of the false summit that brought us to a notch just below the true summit. I'm not sure that bypassing the ridgepoint bought us anything. I snapped Ross' photo just as he was stepping onto the summit, his first 14er after many alpine experiences in the Canadian Rockies. I gave him a smile and walked on to the summit cairn. A few more photos then we sat and watched the world at our feet. I couldn't believe what my watch was telling me; it was 11:45.
How could it have taken so long when it seemed we were making such good progress up the ridge? Perhaps the breaks we took were longer than we thought. Maybe we were sinking into the snow as we climbed a little more than we realized. Some off the snow was firm enough not to require a step-kick, fine for cramponing, while other times we went in to our ankles. Maybe we were just slow. I forgot to put the fact that yesterday at this time we were at 1,400 feet, ten percent of our current altitude, on my list of excuses. Can't use it now. No matter, we were on top and happy about it. Now, about that descent. . .
It appeared from our vantage that wind slab covered the slope directly north below the summit. We thought it prudent to traverse below the ridge about two hundred yards to the east where we found safer snow. The wind slab probably wouldn't have slid on the thirty to thirty-five degree slope but why risk it. At first we had to guide ourselves through some rocks but then followed a long glissade, requiring a few course corrections, on quickly softening snow and within half an hour we had dropped one thousand feet. Another half hour, another one thousand feet though with a little more effort. That was as good as the glissading would get. A fragile sun crust was deteriorating on top of a Silver Creek Bowl full of mashed potatoes. We alternated plunge stepping with vain attempts at sustained seat-of-the-pants sliding.
I tried not to descend too quickly since I still held out hope that we would find my hat. Apparently, it hadn't made its way down as far as we now were. Resigned to the fate of living without it, we strapped on snowshoes and made tracks. We had made our way quite well for awhile when it happened. Our tracks turned to gaping holes just as we reached the trees. "This can't be good." I mused to Ross.
We broke through the upper crust and down into the lower layers of snow first up to our shins, then to our knees. It occurred sporadically at first and was punctuated by a "WHOOMP" at one point as an area of the snowpack one hundred feet long and thirty feet wide collapsed under our weight and dropped three to four inches. Cracks in the crust surrounded us. Being away from avalanche terrain, we absorbed the ride it had given us then just looked at each other. "Whoa. There's something you don't see everyday." Many times this entertained us but on a smaller scale. What was planned to be a quick, one hour dance down to the trailhead from Spring Creek Bowl turned into a three hour slog through increasingly unsupportive snow.
Needless to say, it wasn't very enjoyable. We were having fun; we just didn't know it. We apologize for the destruction we wrought on the snowpack. We had no choice. It was either post hole our way out.thigh deep at times.with snowshoes on.or sit down and wait for the snow to stabilize. "Darn again" (or some variation on the theme.) I led the entire descent and Ross fell behind several times though he was following the now broken trail. I couldn't pull my foot out after one of the zillions of times I broke through. I dug down to my foot and loosened the bindings. Out popped my boot from the shoe then I dug it out, too. "Oh, bother" as Pooh says.
On top of it all, I had promised to call my wife by 1800 and I thought if this persisted much longer, we wouldn't make it in time. I told Ross I was making a dash to avoid having a long distance call to the Chaffee County Sheriff on my phone bill. Ross waved me on; he had become spent from our efforts and couldn't pick up the pace. There was a stretch of south-facing trail that was devoid of snow but that lasted only a few hundred yards. The worst was over, though. When the snow reappeared it was no less frangible but much shallower and I sunk only to my ankles. This lasted all the the final one thousand vertical feet to the bridge.
I signed out at the trail register by 1610, mainly to let Ross know how far ahead I was, and made for the truck. I changed out of my sodden togs and after leaving Ross some food, water and sleeping bag, motored down the road to the nearest phone and actually had an hour to spare. She was glad to hear from me as she was starting to wonder. After learning what a fine time my two-year-old daughter had at the zoo with Mommy and Gramma, I had to get back to my partner. I arrived at the parking area to find a smiling Ross propped against a tree. "Hey, man, how you doin'?" "Fine. Why do you ask?" . . . or some variation of the theme.