The Lone Cone

From the top of the hill where my grandparents lived in Blanding, you could always gaze into four states. To the west there were the prominent buttes called the Bears Ears, jutting along the horizon from the distant hills of Elk Ridge. Separating the ridge from north to south was a teardrop gap called The Notch. From the green mesa of Milk Ranch Point, the terrain descended into rocky canyons around Comb Ridge, a stony spine emerging from the earth that seemed to run endlessly to the south. I could see Black Mesa, Butler Wash, and in the distance, the spires of Monument Valley, which run into Arizona. The one prominent landmark from New Mexico was Shiprock, a craggy-looking stone that rises sharply in the southeast. Moving my eyes into Colorado, there was the Sleeping Ute Mountain, a landmark sacred to the Utes, giving the appearance of a proud Indian Chief laying on his back and folding his arms. Further north were climbing peaks of the San Juan Mountain ranges. I didn't know the name of any of them, except for one, and that was the Lone Cone.

It stood by itself and looked just like its name indicated, an isolated cone. During early morning drives between Blanding and Monticello, the prominent silhouette of the Lone Cone, against the orange hues of sunrise, struck me with interest and mystery. For some reason, I never got close to that intriguing mountain. As we would travel further into Colorado, usually going to Cortez, it would disappear about the time we passed through Dove Creek. It was during that time, many years ago, that I decided that one day I would hike to the top of the Lone Cone.

View of Lone Cone from Norwood, Colorado.

My dream wasn't realized until about twenty five years later when I decided to hike it with my sixteen year old son, Jordan. I learned that there really isn't a short, direct route to the Lone Cone. From Blanding we drove a seventy-something mile circuitous route that led us through Desolation Valley and Norwood, Colorado. In Norwood, we were truly close. The cone rises due south of the little town and is so close that the individual patches of trees can be seen. Our route took us along a very rocky, two-mile road that climbed the southeast flank of the mountain. I forgot my GPS, but we were probably 10,000 feet high in elevation.

Middle Peak (middle), Dunn Peak (right), Wilson Peak (far left)

Lone Cone from east side.

This is where we camped. It was probably as beautiful as any place I had ever camped on earth. The air was crisp and clean, and I couldn't help but breath deeply and take in the scent of the wild flowers that surrounded us, and the pungent smell of pines. Every now and then I caught a whiff of elk. We didn't see any, but without a doubt, this was their country. I found a few wallowing holes and saw their sign on the ground. To our west stood the bulk of the Lone Cone. It looked less like a cylindrical cone from this angle and more like a tooth, with a sheer wall hanging from its belly like a belt. The most impressive sight, however, was the impressive mass of Middle Peak, soaring well above the treeline, in the near distance at our southeast. The sun was setting about now and I watched with fascination as the hue of this impressive peak changed colors.

I must mention, as a side note, that one of the reasons that I was so fascinated with Middle Peak, was that I mistakenly thought it was Wilson Peak, the infamous 14,000 foot summit that finds itself on all of the Coors beer banners throughout the world. I knew that we were close and from what I remembered, it looked very similar to what I was viewing right now. I hope to hike Wilson Peak some day, so I inspected it closely, planning how an amateur like me could scale its ridges. It wasn't until I got home and looked at my maps a little closer, that I discovered that what I was really looking at was Middle Peak, an overlooked neighbor with a puny altitude of just over 13,000 feet.

So I digress. To make a long and beautiful story short, we took pictures, ate kebabs, and slept in a tent until early next morning.

Northeast slope

We awoke and set out to climb to the summit of the Lone Cone. I don't know that I will go into tremendous detail, but suffice it to say, by the time we were done, we had circumvented the entire cone. Our first attempt to reach the top resulted in failure. This was on the northeast corner of the mountain and we got pretty near the tip, but the route to get there was becoming too sheer and rocky, and considering that I am a chicken when it comes to heights, we decided to move to another side.

Now, this wasn't easy. We moved to the northwest side, which reports had told us, was the easiest way to ascend to the top. But in order to arrive there, we had to lose some elevation and cross the giant rock field on the north side called the Devil's chair. It looks like a giant finger pressed itself against the north side of the cone, dug into it, and scraped a path northward. This divot in the mountain makes it impossible for an average guy like me to ascend the summit from here. Instead, we just crossed the width of this long field of rocks to the northwest side. The concern here is not falling, but twisting an ankle as you jump from boulder to boulder.

Northwest slope

At last we made it to the northwest side and began our way up the hill. The climb up the shale rock was very steep, but very doable for anyone in decent shape. After a long ascent, we finally made it to the top with no problems.

Did I mention what the elevation is at the top? It is 12,666 feet. What a nice feeling it is to be at the top of a peak and to know that you are higher than any human being for miles. It was gratifying to know that I was fulfilling a dream that I had since I was a kid. I tried looking for the little hill where my grandma and grandpa's house still stands, with no luck at all. The Blue Mountains that bulge from the ground north of Blanding were just small hills in the hazy distance. To the south we could see Ground Hog Reservoir and to the southeast, Middle Peak and peaking out from behind it, Wilson Peak.

Devils Chair

Looking south from the peak.  Groundhog Mountain (left) and Groundhog Reservoir (right).

Looking west

Middle Peak group, Wilson group, and Little Cone.

Our trip to the top took us roughly two hours from our campsite. Not bad. We stayed on the top for about twenty minutes, then began to work our way down. Originally, I thought that we could descend the southeast side. But gazing down it, we changed our mind. It was too steep and too craggy, and one of my goals was to return home alive.  So we opted for the southwest side, which proved to be just about as genteel as the slope we ascended. The slope worked a steady angle to the bottom. Our only concern was that our truck was on the opposite side of the mountain. About half way down, we decided to take a short-cut down the even steeper south side. We made it, but it was kind of rough going down. Jordan slid down about twenty feet at one time and lost his water bottle and tore a hole in his pants. I'm lucky that I didn't do the same. I was mostly worried about creating an avalanche of rocks and having them come down and break my leg.

Southeast slope

We finally made it to the bottom of the south side, then hiked along the base to the southeast side. Looking up at the cone, we were immediately glad that we did not attempt to come down that way. It would have been ugly. From this corner of the cone, it was just another steep descent until we reached the wild flowers and the streams that gushed from the hillside. This is where we completed our circumvention of the cone. We saw a porcupine climb a tree, took pictures of strange flowers, and drank deeply from the fresh mountain water.

Back at the truck, we were grateful to have beaten the July thunderstorms. I wont go into detail on our trip back to Blanding, but I will say that we took a different route. It was much prettier, and until we got to Dolores, all the roads were graveled and rocky. At one point, about twenty miles in, I was worried that we would have to turn all the way around because the rocks on the road looked like something that was made for four wheelers. We passed Ground Hog Reservoir and about fifteen minutes later got a flat tire. That was fun!

View of  Lone Cone from Groundhog Reservoir