Chased by Lightning Down Windom Peak (#29)

Looking toward the upper basin before dawn. 

I awoke at 6:30 am to the sound of voices on their way up the trail. I didn't get out of my tent until 15 minutes later.

Darkness began to dissipate. Nearby peaks were now illuminated enough for recognition. I detected no glow on the summits, so I knew the sun had yet to rise.

I walked down by the other tents and could hear stirring, but no one was up. The same tame doe loitered outside.

Once they got up and cooked some breakfast, a fox with his bushy tail came to visit, but then quickly left.

By the time everyone was ready it was 8:15 and I noticed clouds already forming around the peaks. Theoretically, we could climb four peaks in one day: Windom, Sunlight, Eolus, and North Eolus⸻all above 14,000 feet. Windom was our first goal. Sunlight was too technical, so I didn't even consider it. The Eolus peaks would require an additional 1,500 feet of climbing, and I wasn't sure I was up for that, nor did I think we had the time. Eolus also had a “catwalk” and a steep pitch to the summit that made me hesitant.

The trail to Twin Lakes was steep and we quickly gained 1,000 feet. The trail stayed close to Needle Creek, which had several waterfalls.

Climbing toward the upper basin. 

High elevation cascade. 

We arrived at Twin Lakes. It was very beautiful, but I was disappointed there were no mountain goats. Apparently they're really tame up here. From here we could see Eolus and North Eolus, but Windom was hidden behind a craggy ridge.

A common trail for both Windom and Sunlight leads to the east. As we climbed we gained greater views of Sunlight and the Sunlight Spire, a gnarly-looking pinnacle that only crazy people climb. The spire rises to just under 14,000 feet.

Rest stop to enjoy the view of Twin Lakes. 

Twin Lakes from a higher vantage. Now in view are Eolus (left) and North Eolus (right).

Sunlight Peak on left, Sunlight Spire on right.

Finally we began our ascent toward Windom, sometimes on a trail and at other times climbing over boulders. More and more climbers seemed to appear out of nowhere, some going up and others coming down. Some had already climbed Sunlight, and without exception, everyone said it was very sketchy!

The higher we scaled, the more precarious it became. On the north side were still patches of ice.

Ascent to Windom Peak. 

When we arrived near the peak, we still had to climb atop giant blocks to reach the true summit, which only had room for one person. After getting my obligatory pictures I joined the rest of the group off to the side.

The view atop Windom was wild. Just like most places in the Colorado Rockies, there were craggy peaks everywhere, a few over 14,000 feet, but most in the 13,000 range. Among the few I could recognize were the two Eolus peaks and Vestal Peak.

View from Windom Peak, looking back toward Twin Lakes and Eolus Peaks.

Sunlight Spire in foreground. Arrow, Vestal, and Trinity Peaks in background. 

As best as I can tell this is Monitor Peak on the left, Peak Thirteen on the right, and Animas Mountain peeking from behind. 

Below us were several high mountain lakes, each in their own cirque or basin. One of those, directly below us, was Grizzly Gulch. As the story goes, back in the late 1800's during the mining days of the San Juan Mountains, one prospector had rheumatism so bad that he had to be helped onto his horse. One day, after dismounting his horse, he found a cure for his rheumatism when he spotted a grizzly bear and took off running. He ran until another man was able to scare the bear off. Thus, they named this location Grizzly Gulch.

Apparently the peak was named in 1902 after William Windom, a senator from Minnesota. I think it is quite silly to name a peak after someone who likely never saw it.

Chilling on the peak.

Windom and Sundom Lakes. In the distance is the Rio Grande Pyramid, and if you look closely, "The Window."

Looking into Grizzly Gulch. 

We took our time near the peak until we were the last ones there. I knew it was time to get down. Darker clouds were now gathering.

It seemed as if the way down was more difficult than the way up. I felt as if we were always losing the route.

As we descended, the air felt different. It was subtle, but it now felt cold and dank. I knew something was moving in.

Dave, Britt and Devin were well ahead of Derek and I, but they kindly waited for us. They waited next to a cairn that was six-feet tall!

Not long after we met up it started to hail. It wasn't much and didn't even blanket the ground, but it was enough to keep us on our toes.

On the way down storm clouds are gathering.  Viewing Twin Lakes and Chicago Basin. 

Devin was pretty set on hiking up to Eolus, but I didn't feel good about it. I was confident there was more storm to come. To accomplish this we would have to hike all the way back down to Twin Lakes (which we had to do anyway) and then ascend 1,500 feet on the other side.

Finally we arrived at Twin Lakes and it was there we finally took a well-deserved break. I laid down on the rock, popped my back, put a ball cap over my face, and closed my eyes. It felt as if I were laying on a heavenly cloud!

Final rest at Twin Lakes before the storm. 

Our view into the basin was limited, but I could sense the storm was coming from that direction. I felt uneasy and suggested it was time to leave. Then we heard the first rumbling of thunder.

I first noticed raindrops piercing the surface of the lake, then I felt them on my skin. We quickly gathered everything and hurried down the trail.

Another clap of thunder and we moved even quicker. I stopped to put on my poncho, fumbling with the clasp on my pack. As we scurried down the trail I noticed the reflection of a flash from the corner of my glasses, then suddenly a boom of thunder from behind that pushed us along.

Everything was wet now―the trail, the trees, the bushes. Devin and Dave fell behind with Derek, who struggled to find traction with his tennis shoes. Britt pushed far ahead.

Luckily for us there was no more lightning. Derek fell pretty hard and hit his funny bone. There was no time to enjoy the scenery because it was a mad dash to get down.

Near the bottom I talked to a couple who were fleeing just like us. They had been on the catwalk of Eolus when it started to hail, so they turned around. They thought they might try North Eolus, but that's when the first lightning struck. They didn't bag a single peak.

When we got back to camp, Dave and his boys found their tents flooded with water. Luckily for me, mine was dry.

For the next two hours I listened to the rain patter on the roof of my tent. During that time I wrote, ate and slept. My pants near my lower legs were all that was wet.

When the rain finally stopped I got out of my tent and found the Dunnell men busy hanging items up to dry and gathering wood. Although it is prohibited in this area, they built a fire and I can't say I blame them.

Everything they brought was wet, and if it weren't for the fire, nothing would have dried.

Hanging out to dry.

Devin cutting fire wood. 

The warmth of a fire!

For the next several hours they fed the fire and held socks and sleeping bags near the flames. Even I, who was mostly dry, appreciated the warmth.

After the sun set we remained by the fire. We told stories of skinwalkers, possessed people, and anything else that came to mind. The clouds finally moved out and a canopy of stars unfolded over the basin.

We listened to the crackle of the fire and constant rush of the stream. It felt good to be disconnected from the rest of the world. ♠

Milky Way in Chicago basin.

Windom Peak

Distance from camp: 2.4 miles

Distance from train: 9.1 miles

Elevation gain from camp: 2,842 feet

Elevation gain from train: 5,821 feet

Final elevation: 14,061 feet

Total round-trip mileage from train (including small detour at end): 20.8 miles

Chicago Basin

I feel like I could fall asleep right now, but it's only 8:30 pm. The skies are dark and the air is frigid. My fingers are so numb that I can barely move this pen, but at last I am in a warm tent and in a warm sleeping bag.

We are camped over 11,000 feet in elevation, under the brisk September sky. Our journey started far from here, several hours ago.

This was the fifth time I took the Narrow Gauge Railroad from Durango. The first was when I was a young boy. My brother and I went with my grandpa Lacy during winter when the train turned around at Cascade Station. I remember heavy snow on the ground and a large herd of elk that Grandpa spotted through the window.

I also came twice to search for a silver mine, and once with my wife. That was the only time I took it all the way to Silverton.

Taking the train to the trailhead.

This time I came with a friend and his three adult sons. We got off at the Needleton Stop and waited for the man to unload all the packs. I have been wanting to do this hike for more than twenty years now.

As soon as I strapped on my pack, I remembered how heavy these packs were! I had enough food to keep me alive for three days, two nights, and then some.

Crossing the Animas River. 

The grade up Needleton Creek wasn't steep, but still took a toll on my legs. The waist strap alleviated the weight of the pack from my shoulders, but instead transferred it to my hips.

The trail we followed ran parallel to the creek, usually staying quite a bit higher. I read that in times past, during the mining days, the path was closer to the stream, but after a flash flood they moved it up higher to where it is now.

Most of the trail was redundant, but beautiful. Here and there waterfalls cascaded down the canyon.

One of many waterfalls on Needle Creek.

After 5½ miles the mountain began to open up, and after 6 we were no doubt in Chicago Basin. We saw on a slope one pile of gold-colored tailings, reminding us that at one time this basin was mined.

We hoped to get as far as possible up the trail to alleviate our burden for tomorrow, so we didn't find a camp until around mile 7.

Entering Chicago Basin.

Looking north in Chicago Basin toward Windom and Jupiter Peaks. 

We found a nice location overlooking the basin, and beneath peaks that towered to over 14,000 feet. As we set up camp we noticed the temperature becoming dramatically colder. Before long I donned a long-sleeved shirt, coat and beenie.

We were able to explore some of the surrounding area and found another pile of tailings. Next to it an opening, just large enough to crawl through, led to a tunnel inside the mountain.

Tailings pile in Chicago Basin. 

Old Mine. 

Nearby and in the trees were a couple wooden cabins. Neither were very large and one was small enough we surmised it could be a tack shed. The larger one was big enough possibly for a couple beds. My guess is that these cabins were not connected with the mines, but built at a later date for recreation.

The first known white men in the basin came before 1877. They originally accessed it from Vallecito Creek, which is on the east side of Chicago Basin. When the railroad was completed in 1877, the easiest access came from the west side via the predecessor to the Needle Creek Trail. I don't know if that trail was wide enough for vehicles to come up, or only a pack mule. We have not see any abandoned machinery while up here, so that offer a clue.

Modern cabin hidden in the trees. 

Old wooden shed. 

It is such a peaceful setting up here. We have no connection to the internet and even though there are a few other campers, they are scattered throughout the basin and it feels as if they're not here.

Dave and his boys pulled out their portable camp stove and began cooking a bag of stuffing they brought from their pantry. For me, dinner was not hot. I chose not to bring a stove. We'll see later if that was a wise move or not. I scooped pulled pork from a vacuum-sealed bag onto the top of a cold pita bread.

They say there are mountain goats around here that are likely to scavenge around campsites. We haven't seen any yet. There is a friendly doe that likes to hang around.

Looking back across Chicago Basin. 

Tame doe coming into camp. 

I hope I am able to sleep. My body is exhausted. I thought about going outside and looking at the stars, but I'm comfortable inside my little tent.

After writing this I will lull myself to sleep with an Edgar Allen Poe story. I haven't decided which one yet, but they all go well with the dark night, far away from anywhere.

Chicago Basin

Distance from train: 6.7 miles

Elevation gain: 2,979 feet

Final (campsite) elevation: 11,147 feet

Over Scorched Earth to Copper Belt Peak (#28)

Copper Belt Peak.

For fifteen minutes I just stood and listened. Somewhere in the distance, tucked away in a hidden mountain glen, a symphony of bugles and grunts and whistles echoed through the fall air. This was the rut and bull elk were out gathering their harems.

I hadn't seen any yet, but I could hear their majestic roars coming from my right and also from my left. It wasn't just two bulls, but several. The majority of the bugles came from a timbered ravine, but the solitary call on my left aroused even more excitement. The bellowing roar and deep grunts seemed to be getting louder and perhaps coming closer. I waited with anticipation for the shiny glint of antlers to peek above the horizon. It didn't come.

I knew I couldn't wait all day. I was just beginning a long hike and too much time spent chasing elk could jeopardize my safety in getting done before dark. I chose to pursue the solitary bull since he was in the direction I needed to go.

Part of the long climb up the mountain. 

One of the few sections of fall colors in a charred forest. 

With a DSLR and monopod in-hand, I carefully stepped forward along the ridge, attempting to avoid crushing noisy twigs. As I came to a patch of blackened pine trees, I heard the bellowing roar again. It couldn't be too far away, I thought. My eyes scanned the distance from where I heard the sound and I could see nothing. Elk are masters of camouflage.

Slowly I crept along, pausing occasionally to look around. Then it happened. The bull, with a heavy set of antlers hanging across the length of his body, turned and bolted away from me up and over the hill. Before I knew it, he was out of sight.

I didn't give up. I continued my stealthy march forward, up a steep hill, across an open meadow and into another stand of charred pines. Suddenly from behind came another bellowing cry. I froze in my tracks and slowly turned around.

I was in the stand of trees, about thirty yards from the meadow, and through the branches I could make out the body of a bull coming into view. He didn't know I was there. He bugled again, tipping his head up into the air. His focus was the other bulls hidden in the timber. He moved across the meadow, his muscular tawny body walking through a narrow opening where I was able to capture a photo. Then, he was gone and I was satisfied.

This bull finally came into view. 

By this time I was about two miles into my journey and had climbed nearly 2,000 feet in elevation. I was on my way to Copper Belt Peak on a route that I invented myself. The standard route begins much closer, whereas this one pretty much starts at the bottom. There is no trail and normally I would have never considered this route, but last summer a huge fire moved through the area, incinerating the dense vegetation that once grew here. Now the route was passable, although it still required at least a 4,000 foot ascent. I still wasn't sure it was possible.

In the area around where I saw the elk I also noticed a metal bucket, some old tin cans and other charred items. It looked as if this place was used for something at some time. Perhaps there was an old mining cabin somewhere nearby, but I knew of no roads that came anywhere near here.

Charred bucket on the ground. 

Although the majority of the forest had been burned, there were patches that survived and others that had only been partially singed. Of course, there were also many meadows that weren't affected at all. I was pleasantly surprised to see some oak brush that was untouched and now in the full color of autumn.

Walking through one of these scorched stands of trees was a surreal experience. The bark, the ground, and anything else was blackened. Trees were nothing but skeletons, although sometimes the pine cones stayed attached to the branches, but even they were charred. Many of the trees had nothing remaining except hollow stumps. The ground was mostly barren with the exception of scattered sapling scrub oak and an interesting weed that looked like it could have come from my garden.

An eerie scorched landscape. 

Near full moon above blackened treetops. 

The first four miles of this march was a steady uphill climb. At last I arrived at my first destination, an unnamed bald peak that offered splendid views. By this time I had ascended 4,481 feet.

The wind had picked up considerably. I removed my pack and placed a rock over my ball cap. To the west were unobstructed views of Signal Peak and Gold Mountain. Mount Baldy halfway hid behind Mount Belknap. To the south reigned my goal, Copper Belt Peak. It looked a lot taller than I thought it would be. I hoped I had time to do it.

Panorama view from the first peak, looking west.

View of the ridge I would have to walk and Copper Belt Peak at the end.

For the next mile I walked along a ridge between the two peaks, the terrain being relatively flat and averaging about 10,800 feet. I walked on gold-colored shale rock and through more charred forest.

Once I saw two metal plates and several metal poles lying next to a blackened tree. I figured it was probably someone's tree stand that was now collapsed on the ground.

I now arrived at the base of Copper Belt Peak and was pleasantly surprised to find a trail that at least led partially around it. The tall mass that stood before me appeared daunting, but I knew I had to do it.

At the base of Copper Belt Peak.

I followed the trail, which wrapped around the left flank, gradually climbing. I didn't know if it climbed all the way to the top, or just circumvented the peak.

As I followed it around, I quickly learned that it would not lead to the top, and that I would have to forge my own way. At that same time I heard the timbre of a notification on my phone. It was my first text I received that day. It was probably my wife checking up on me. I decided to remove my pack, get a drink, and read the text.

It was from my daughter: “Did you see that Charlie Kirk got shot in the neck at UVU?”

What??!! That was not good news. If you get shot in the neck, you're probably not going to survive. And to have it happen in my home state. This was awful!

Suddenly, the mood of my mind changed. A dark pale came over me. I responded to her that I hadn't, then put the phone back in my pack and proceeded up the hill.

The very steep hike up wasn't as hard as I thought it would be, probably because my adrenalin was now running. When I reached the top the winds were ferociously strong and I struggled for balance. Of course, the view from the peak was beautiful and virtually all the peaks in the Tushars were visible.

From Copper Belt Peak, looking north toward the first summit I climbed. 

Looking south toward Edna Peak, Mt. Brigham, and Delano Peak.

Zoomed-in look at Wedge Road and others that wind up the steep hillside.

I settled down against a rock where the winds weren't quite as strong and opened my phone. Kaitlyn had messaged back. She said her roommates' friend was filming when it happened and it was quite a scary experience. She said there was so much blood spewing out that he would most likely die. It sounded like it just barely happened.

The imagery of how I imagined that awful event turned in my mind. Between that and the miserable wind, I just wanted to get back down to my family. I took a few obligatory pictures, then made my way off the peak. I would have eaten my sandwich, but I preferred to wait for a better location.

Looking west at Mt. Baldy, Mt. Belknap, Gold Mountain, and Signal Peak.

Descending the peak happened pretty quickly. Perhaps it was because I was preoccupied. For much of it I had to hold on to my glasses in fear they would blow off my face.

I made it off the peak and next to a grove of trees. Here the wind was blocked. I took off my pack, drank some Gatorade, ate my sandwich, and responded to more texts that were coming. I knew with the first text from Kaitlyn that this was a very, very big deal and would be of historical significance.

Eventually I made it to the shoulder ridge where the route began to descend. The wind had stayed strong, although not as fierce as on the peak. I kept hearing ghost whistles in the distance, not knowing for sure whether they were bugling elk or just my imagination.

More charred trees with pinecones still attached. 

As I approached the area where I saw the elk that morning I started to hear true bugles. The elk were still here and hidden all around in the timber.

As I walked through a stand of trees, I suddenly froze and looked ahead. Through the jumble of branches I saw what I knew were the antlers of a bull elk. I couldn't see much more of him other than what protruded from either side of the tree that blocked his face. To my right, and about as far away as the bull, stood a cow elk. I was pretty sure she had seen me.

After watching them for five minutes, they took off toward the right on a trot. Not too long later, another bull followed the couple, then he disappeared also.

Bull elk through the trees.

This is a different bull. 

I slowly moved down the hill when I heard another bugling yell at my left. Once again, I saw a bull in the distance, camouflaged amidst the branches and tree trunks. He saw me and took off another direction.

All these elk made the hike back very pleasant. Clouds in the sky began to gather and occasionally block the sun. I hoped it wouldn't rain.

About half an hour later I spooked another bull that took off on a dead sprint.

At last I came to the top of the final descent. This was probably the steepest part of the whole hike, dropping over 1,600 feet in 1.2 miles. But before my descent, I caught a glimpse of something moving on the very far ridgeline. With the aid of optical gear I learned this was a cow elk. Her body made a perfect sillouette, along with the trees. I wished it had been a bull, but I couldn't complain. There were also four other cows just below her. That made the daily total of six bulls and six cows.

5 cows, 0 bulls.

After twelve hours of hiking, I was very glad to arrive at my vehicle and even happier to find all my family safe at home. Today had definitely been an exhilarating, exhausting, and somber day, all rolled into one.

Rest in peace, Charlie. ♠

Copper Belt Peak

Distance from car: 5.5 miles

Net elevation gain to peak: 4,877 feet

Final elevation:11,385 feet

Total elevation gain: 5,354 feet

Total distance: 10.9 miles

Nice silhouette of the skyline on my way down.