TR- Blanca Peak — High Mountains Drifter

Blanca Peak

March 1st, 2025

We all have that nemesis that for whatever reason, constantly avoids us. And it honestly doesn’t really matter what the objective is. Be it weather, mountain conditions, time, partners canceling or too many IPA’s at Outer Range Brewing, the result is always the same…failure. Does it feel good? Of course not. Are there lessons to be learned from it? Absolutely.

I’ve been chasing the ‘Frozen Fourteeners’ for a long time, and I do mean a LONG time. At this point in my life, I’m done entertaining the thought that I’ll ever finish. I don’t have the stamina I used to; I’ve never had regular partners and while I have zero problems going it solo, there’s that whole stamina issue again. Though, if I’m being fair, I should probably lay off the breweries & beer (inconceivable!). However, as I have found, that an old friend of mine, Aaron Johnson once said as we were having dinner at La Hacienda in Lakewood one evening about 15 years ago, “Kiefer, I just don’t enjoy the cold or early mornings anymore.” Now, I can completely appreciate his sentiment in ways I didn’t understand then.

But c’mon. Of course there’s still plenty I do enjoy about the journey; and the objective is no longer the reason why I roll out of bed at 2:00 am anyway. There’s the slow build of excitement of passage into the wilderness, getting lost in the hallways of my own thoughts at 3:00 am nursing a coffee to death, as I’m driving to the trailhead (while trying to NOT get startled by a deer or elk who identifies as a hood ornament), the rhythmic, almost Zen-like sound of my breathing against a canvas of silence and being swaddled by the cold isolation can actually be straight-forwardly comforting.

Wistfully, and perhaps with a pinch of gladness, I’ve come to realize the summit is no longer the reason. To paraphrase Robert MacFarland, “I’m half in love with mountain tops, and half in love with the ethereal & arcane.”

The idea of possibly doing Crestone Needle was bandied about like waving around a picture of Sports Illustrated’s July’s swimsuit model. However, considering that would have entailed: a 15-hour day, Alec working into the martini hours Friday night and that Colin needed to get back to the Front Range at a respectable hour, we all agreed that Cracker Barrel’s February spread looked better. So, we decided to meet at the bottom of Lake Como Road and have a go at the Sierra Blanca Massif.

Ellingwood Point (14,057') as viewed from the summit of Blanca Peak.

I left Cochetopa Pass around 2:30 am and arrived at the bottom of the Lake Como Road around 4:00 am. Colin pulled up shortly thereafter as I was rearranging the yard sale in my passenger seat. Around 4:30 am, Alec showed up and we all inch-wormed our way up the delightfully rocky road to 8,900’. We could have driven farther, but at least there was enough room for three trucks.

PSA

We’ve all heard of vehicle break-in’s at trailheads. Easily accessible trailheads along the Front Range are getting notorious for smash & grabs. Recently, some vehicles along the lower stretches of Lake Como Road are even getting vandalized.

One of the tactics I’ve resorted to, is leaving a pair of socks and underwear in full view on the front dash. If I’m in a known high-risk area (Mt. Morrison, Green Mountain), I’ll even add a little water and dirt to the money spots on my under garments. Has it worked? I really don’t know. But I’ve never had my vehicle broken into! I imagine, seeing the ‘soiled’ underwear on the dash, baking in the sun is going to work its brown magic as to what kind of death-inducing, nauseating, bouquet-fragrance is in store for whomever is dumb enough to break my windows.

The road was absolutely dry. Walking on dirt and rock in mountaineering boots while not the hardest thing in the world to do, does leave onlookers wondering if said people are drunk. I was wishing I had brought regular hiking boots or trail runners for the road. The three of us were chatting away like sorority girls which, as funny as that is on the outset, just means the building of solid relationships that can carry us further into the years. All the while, I was thinking, if I’m successful today, then I’ll only have to walk this damnable road one more time for Regina when she’s ready to tackle Little Bear. But then, it’ll be by a new route for me (West Ridge Direct or Black Hand). I think I’ve visited Lake Como at least a couple dozen times over the years.

Of all those times, the memories of building a small fire & sleeping on the ground in late April in only a bag & ground tarp (Camp ‘Sexual Chocolate’ was full--the old cabin that the Forest Service ingloriously removed) and attempting Little Bear with Shawn Keil (sdkeil), Caroline (USAKeller) and Jordan White are among my favorites.

At the Rubicon to Chokecherry Canyon, the snow became continuous. But that’s usually the case in winter since the southern sun is no match for the road’s apex. We followed the trench like the edge of a nicked blade through the sheltering forest. In the morning, flotation wasn’t necessary. In fact, the trench continued clear up to 12,200’ above Lake Como. Although, due to the lower basin hording colder temperatures like dryer lint (I’m looking at YOU, Gunnison!), we limited our stay on the frozen shore to 15 minutes before kicking on.

We passed by a small, buried battleship of rock I stopped at the month prior when I was solo. I had tweaked my knee pretty good while post-holing in a tangle of roots. The weather was good that day, but I was way past my turn-around time. And with a bum knee sending off a constant barrage of signal flares, I turned around. Watching it recede in my rear view mirror on this trip, made me smile. I also let loose an impromptu snide and barely audible humpf. This time, the summit was the reason. To hell with the periphery.

Colin had stopped at a half-buried spine of rocky vertebrae. Alec and I were dragging in comparison. But then again, we also weren’t coming back from nearly 23,000’ of acclimation. Colin had just summited Aconcagua down in Argentina. We abandoned our snowshoes, strapped on our crampons and this is where we separated. Alec and Colin started to veer left towards Ellingwood Point and I of course, headed towards Blanca Peak.

It was at this point, as the sky was slowly losing ground, I knew this was going to happen. I gratefully abdicated my frustration from previous attempts (four to be exact), and accepted Blanca’s willingness to finally grant me passage. The snow wasn’t bad. The open sea of snow was better than weaving through the chocolate-chip rocks, but I didn’t have my beacon (I had forgotten it back in the truck). So, I endured the occasional post-hole in lieu of triggering a potential slide.

I didn’t feel I was making good time. The altitude was actually having an effect on me (it had been a while since I’ve been this high). So, I threw on a playlist of old Ministry, Fear Factory, Painbastard & Behemoth to urge me on. I don’t know if it helped, but I liked it!

I was hoping to liberate my boots from their pointy enclosures once I reached the ridge, but alas, it wasn’t meant to be. The snow along the rocky redoubt was as hard as concrete, I had to leave them on. And honestly, I didn’t really mind. Scrambling on rock in crampons is actually one of my favorite things to do. It’s like trying to read braille with a toothpick.

The ridge did take a while, but finally, FINALLY the summit was only a few minutes away! The snowy apogee was right there! And the coolest thing about summiting was that Colin and I had summited our respectful peaks at literally the same time! I saw him wave as I returned the motion.

It’s been a long time since I’ve shaken hands with Blanca, May of 2006 to be exact. It felt like visiting an old friend whom I barely remembered. The summit was almost forlorn, lonely even, like a forgotten station in some old myth at the tail end of one’s journey. When I sat down, I was unceremoniously reminded of how selfish and thoughtless people are by those who feel memories aren’t enough that they have to leave their unfortunate names scarred on the rock.

I stayed for perhaps 20 minutes before I decided to take my leave. I felt pretty good about it. It felt good to be back in crampons and it felt good to be back at altitude. It felt good to get this monkey off my back and it felt good having friends to share the trail with.

Because the snow had warmed up so much, I had to leave crampons on for the descent all the way back to Blue Lakes. A couple of the smaller headwalls without crampons could have involved some rather unpleasant slides. Alec continued on and also tagged Blanca Peak. We briefly communicated in primal grunts and yells as he traversed higher along the ridge like some distant plane and I, descending the Lindt slope. And he did all that without sleep! I can honestly say, it was the best day I had all winter.

A zoomed-in shot of Alec ascending Ellingwood Point

Speed Racer Colin kicking steps up the slope