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