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

Brutal, but Beautiful: Climbing Mount Sneffels (Peak #8)

Lower Blue Lake is one of the most picturesque places I have ever been. Sitting at 11,000 feet, it is surrounded by stunning snow-capped mountains, colorful alpine plants, and even a tall cascade that tumbles from the upper shelf of the mountain into the far side of the lake. The lake mesmerizes the eye with its turquoise water. We couldn't help but to look at the lake in disbelief, as if it didn't really exist. Undoubtedly, it was a surreal world we had just entered. 

Lower Blue Lake.

Another angle of Lower Blue Lake.

Waterfall cascading toward the lake.

Tomorrow we would attempt to summit Mount Sneffels, a Colorado fourteener that has eluded us in the past. Two years ago we had this trip all planned out, then, within a week of our departure, Dave unexpectedly got called to a high ecclesiastical position that compelled him to stay home. Suddenly, all our plans were squashed. 

Now we were at it again, this time with two of Dave's sons and wife, Laurie. We set up camp on the northwest shore, with a beautiful view of Lower Blue Lake. That night the wind roared voraciously. One of our tents had the pegs yanked from the ground. None of us slept well. 

Lower Blue Lake is one of the most beautiful lakes I've ever seen.

At 11,000 feet, the lake is not only beautiful, but also cold.

One of many waterfalls along the trail.

After a restless night, the first streak of dawn peered over the eastern ridge. The wind hadn't relented as we each ate a bite for breakfast. It was cold enough that I wore my coat and gloves, with a beanie over my ears. Laurie stayed behind while the four men began their ascent along the trail. 

Our plan was to ascend the Southwest Ridge, a more technical route that included some class-3 climbing and a section near the top with significant exposure. I will admit that with the strong wind, I was now becoming hesitant to hike the ridge. I've been on mountain summits in the past that have had gusts strong enough to blow a grown man over the edge. 

Majestic view of Upper Blue Lake and Middle Blue Lake.

The uphill pitch was relentless and soon we were well above Lower Blue Lake. The next mile of trail continued to climb and took us past Middle Blue Lake and Upper Blue Lake. By now we were above the treeline, which created a beautiful setting, but also allowed the wind to speed through unobstructed. 

Beyond Upper Blue Lake the trail follows a series of sixteen switchbacks, gaining 1,200 feet to Blue Lake Pass. This section is long and tedious, involving sections with very loose small rock. Here I was worried about losing my footing, as it would have been an ugly downward slide. 

Hiking along the switchbacks.

We made it to Blue Lake Pass, a major crossroads on our hike this day. It is here where the hiker catches his first glimpse of Yankee Boy Basin, which is where the majority of the hikers who ascend Mount Sneffels begin their journey. With a good four-wheel drive you can access a road that will bring you within a couple miles of the peak. 

But it was also here where I knew we would have to make a decision: Do we hike up the Southwest Ridge to the summit, or do we take the standard route, which involves dropping a few hundred feet before climbing a very difficult talus-filled slope? The wind was the major factor as I turned the situation over in my mind. I didn't want to climb all the way up, within 200 feet of the summit, and find that the wind was blowing at hurricane force on the steep exposed section. Maybe I'm just a chicken, but I made the executive decision to take the standard route. 

At Blue Lakes Pass, looking at the Southwest Ridge.

Long view of the Southwest Ridge.

After our decent on the east side of Blue Lake Pass, we came to a wooden sign that pointed north. We had only .8 miles to Mount Sneffels. Making it difficult, however, was the fact that we would be climbing 1,500 feet with little or no trail, over slopes of talus and scree. Anxious to reach our destination, we let the journey begin. 

It didn't take long before the steep ascent began to wear on our endurance. Every stride was a conscious effort to step on a stable rock. That didn't always happen. Often the scree would wobble or come sliding down, adding to the difficulty. Even with stable footing, our stamina was tested. I felt I had an advantage since I had already climbed several peaks over the course of the summer. 

As usual, I would set my eye on a rock ahead, then attempt to keep moving until I reached that goal. Then I would take a short breather. This tactic usually worked. I noticed as I advanced higher up the slope that Dave was struggling and lagged further behind. For someone his age he is far more active than most, but age takes its toll. 

Our hike took us up this steep slope to the gap between the two craggy peaks.

Looking down from the steep climb up.

At 13,560 feet is Lavender Col, which is a saddle between Mount Sneffels to the north and other unnamed craggy peaks to the south. Here we waited for Dave. Devin had arrived just before me and Derek was down closer to Dave. The two of us removed our packs and rested against the rocks. 

From this point forward we were to head up a chute or gully, which would be even steeper than what we had already climbed. From where we rested, the rocks appeared much bigger, but stable. I worried about Dave being able to tackle this steeper section. 

At Lavender Col, looking up at the gully.

Finally Dave and Derek arrived. Immediately Dave took off his pack, laid flat on his back and closed his eyes. He didn't look good. “I don't think I can make it,” he said. “I am really light-headed.” We gave him words of encouragement, but knew that for now it was best to let him rest. At least the skies were blue and there was no threat of storms anywhere. 

Although this was the “standard route,” it was by no means a walk in the park. Even as we rested, we encountered some, who upon seeing the next phase in this already arduous hike, decided to turn around. All of us were exhausted. It was hard to tell if Dave's issues resulted from exhaustion, dehydration or altitude sickness. 

“You go on without me,” Dave said. “I'll wait for you down here.” We knew that in his right mind he didn't want that. We traveled over seven hours solely to hike this peak! This would be his very first fourteener and we didn't want to leave him behind. 

“You rest as long as you need to,” I said. “We're not going without you.” So we waited. 

This gave me time to scan to landscape. It was rugged as hell. Craggy pinnacles arose from the far side of the col and the slope to the other side was so precipitous that I didn't care to look down. As far as the eye could see were more mountains, all appearing just as jagged as the one upon which we now sat. 

At last Dave showed a little encouragement. I gave him a couple ibuprofen for his throbbing headache. After a little more rest he stated, “I think I can do it if I take it slowly. But let me rest a little longer. You guys can get going.” 

With that, Devin and I started moving again. If I remember correctly, Derek stayed down with his dad.

Although this next phase through the gully was a bit steeper, I enjoyed it much more. The boulders were big and everything was solid. Nothing shifted under our feet. I stayed close to the right-side wall and slowly made my way up. 

Looking down the gully.

I glanced down toward the bottom and saw that Dave was on his feet and trekking upward. This made me happy. I wasn't exactly sure what to do in this situation, whether to wait or go on. I continued to the very top of the gulley and there Devin and I waited while we assessed our next move. 

At this point was the infamous “V-notch” in the rock. It was necessary to climb up through this notch (a class-3 move) to gain the summit. I had studied this move on YouTube and felt confident I could do it. But what I didn't realize was that there was a significant drop-off on the left side. If for some reason your hands slipped from the rock, you'd have a pretty nasty fall that probably wouldn't kill you, but would certainly break bones. 

This "V" notch near the hiker's head is a little more difficult than it appears.

Dave was making progress slowly, but surely. I worried that he would be so tired that it would be difficult to climb through the notch. 

When Derek made it to the top, Devin and I decided it would be best to climb through the notch so we could help the others up. The climb wasn't too bad. All the grips were secure and as long as you knew where to put your hands and feet, and didn't look down, you were fine. 

I will admit that after I climbed through the notch and learned that we still had another steep climb to go, I was a little discouraged. There was another lady that climbed through the notch just before us and when she saw the final climb, she opted to turn around. I didn't understand why she would get so close to the top just to turn around. 

Finally Dave made it. He had no problem climbing through the notch. I knew he could do it. He is an animal and in his prime was a far better athlete than I ever was. 

Now the four of us were together again. From this point it required a little route-finding and climbing up rocks. My goal was to stay away from the ledge as the exposure was significant. 

At last we made it to the top of Mount Sneffels, elevation 14,158 feet! 

The view from the top was magnificent! We could see all the Blue Lakes, as well as a lake in Yankee Boy Basin. Further down the basin we could see the buildings of Camp Bird Mine. On the other side of the ridge we could see the upper slopes of ski runs in Telluride. 

Beautiful view from the summit, looking toward the Blue Lakes.

Yankee Boy Basin.

I am always amazed at how many mountains you can see in Colorado. Standing atop Sneffels the land was covered with mountains as far as the eye could see in almost every direction. Up close we could see the thirteeners of Dallas and Gilpin Peaks. Further out I spotted the Wilson group, which includes the fourteeners of Wilson Peak, Mount Wilson and El Diente. To the west of them is the cluster of Dolores Peak, Dunn Peak and Middle Peak. Even further west, and with some isolation, rose the Lone Cone, the first peak I ever climbed in Colorado. To the east was Uncompahgre Peak, the only other peak in the area to rise higher than Sneffels. And if you looked close enough, the spectacular Wetterhorn Peak stood directly in front, the two nearly blending together. 

We spent a mere ten minutes on the summit. We had it all to ourselves with the exception of a lone hiker who climbed the Southwest Ridge. He agreed to take our picture. I was happy that it included the four of us. 

We had reached our goal, but the day was far from over. We still had a long journey back to the truck. Of this I will only give brief details. 

Peaks seen from the summit of Mount Sneffels.

Uncompahgre is the highest peak in the San Juan's.

Mount Sneffels, elevation 14,158 feet.

We left the peak at 2:04. As is usually the case, the walk down a steep mountain hill is nearly as painful. Derek struggled the most on this section because of the lack of traction on his tennis shoes. Once we made it to the pass we sent Devin ahead so he could arrive at camp and inform Laurie not to worry about us (we were much later than our anticipated time). 

The Blue Lakes were just as beautiful on the way down. Now the sun had traveled to the west side, creating new lighting and casting long shadows. The wind still picked up from time to time. 

Upper Blue Lake on the way down.

Looking back at Upper Blue Lake.

It was 5:35 when we arrived at camp. We had an hour and a half to pick up camp before the sun set. By 7 pm we were once again on the trail, now with heavy packs on our shoulders. The mileage to the truck was 3.3 miles, all downhill. Our plan was to hustle. 

Back at camp.

The sun was now making its way to the other side of the world. The alpenglow radiated on the mountainside. A long waterfall tumbled down the canyon. And as if we hadn't seen enough beauty already, a half-moon slowly rose above the snow-dusted peaks. This was truly paradise! 

It was dark by the time we made it to the truck. Our flashlights came in very handy. Devin and I made it first and waited for half an hour. Dallas Creek rushed in the distance. The silhouette of pine trees against a backdrop of stars made for a perfect night. The brisk air had a feel of fall to it. We sat and waited, and for a while, the basin belonged to us. ♠

Half moon rising over the mountain.

Mount Sneffels
 

Miles from truck (one way): 6.9 miles
 

Elevation gain: 4,808 feet
 

Final elevation: 14,158 feet

 

View of Mount Sneffels on the drive in.

Five happy souls, ready to tackle the mountain. (Picture taken before the hike.)