TR- Blanca Peak Attempt — High Mountains Drifter

Blanca Peak Attempt

February, 2024

Little Bear Peak

Without question, one of the hardest things about summiting mountains in the winter is being able to have regular and consistent partners. The amount of physical work needed to lay a track through untrammeled snow can sometimes be absolutely brutal. And with a myriad of other factors that sap one’s motivation (12+ hours of sub 32° temperatures, pre-dawn starts, weather, not being able to fall asleep at 7:00 pm etc.), the solo part of trekking into the wilderness can usually be enough to turn one around.

I haven’t had regular partners in probably over a decade. So regardless if the peak I’m after is above 14,ooo’ or a lowly 10er, finding the motivation to deal with the aforementioned has been a VERY hard sell.

My long-term goal is to summit all Colorado’s 14ers in winter. For one, I’ve only got three months to get in as many peaks as I can. Recognized winter starts on December 22nd, the winter solstice, and lasts until the spring equinox on March 21st. (specific times vary year to year). So, there is that. Then, one has to deal with weather which may not cooperate or see things your way just because it’s your day off. In addition, one must pay attention to the snowpack stability & consistency and make educated decisions whether or not it’s safe to continue. And of course, wrapping all these factors up into a nice, tight little sushi roll, is risk. And as objectively defined as risk is for the masses, we all approach it subjectively. So needless to say, obtaining winter summits entails many elements aligning.

I also have the added dilemma that I’m not getting any younger. I’m 50 years old. I don’t have the stamina or endurance I used to have. And for someone who’s used to going for 18 hours and pushing 20 miles in a day, this development doesn’t sit well. But either way, acknowledgement doesn’t take away the sting of not having the endurance or stoicism of youth.

But here’s an upside to failure. Imagine not having loved ones back home: spouses, friends, family, pets to go back to. Without this network of love, how many more questionable decisions would we make in the mountains? How much greater would our acceptance of risk be and the limits at which we would voluntarily push it to our own peril; all in the name of checking off a damnable list? Rosseau romanticized the mountains in much the same Victorian way one would fain over a woman. Dickens found this risky mountainous pursuit folly and braggadocio and was not above letting anyone know his opinion. So, my thinking is, maybe age and risk can be correlated to who we would leave behind (barring catastrophe) or selfishly put in duress? I don’t know. These are just musings, but they make sense to me.

Take for instance my most recent attempt at a 14er. I failed at Blanca Peak not because it was a 10-hour day or that I put in 12 miles, I failed because I didn’t have a partner and that I just didn’t have any ‘gas left in the tank’.

I met my old friends Colin and Prakash at a small diner called Mrs. Rios in the town of San Luis (Colorado’s oldest town by the way). I hadn’t seen Colin in almost two years, and it was pushing a decade with Prakash. I can honestly say, it was the best part of the weekend for me. We lingered by the wood stove enjoying the warmth, enjoying each other’s’ company & bringing old times into the light of day. Before long, we headed out and back to the B&B that Prakash had secured, an old priests & nun’s quarters called El Convento. Since the three of us had a big day planned for the ‘morrow, we didn’t stay up. Prakash and Colin were gunning for Culebra Peak; myself of course, Blanca Peak. We settled into the dark embrace of sleep under the watchful, plaster eye of the Mary Magdeline and a contingent of crosses.

I arrived at the bottom of Lake Como Road and drove up the exceedingly rock road as far as the Crosstrek could handle. Since the car had snow tires, I didn’t want to push it. I pulled off onto a flat section near some sage and parked at 8,160’. Boots on, pack attached, I started walking at 5:15 am, much later than I intended. I popped in my ear buds, hit play on my Tool playlist and ambled my way up the road. It was 16° outside and dark as dusk can get. The half-moon had already retreated to its slumber beyond the Styx. But I knew I’d warm up quickly once the legs started working.

After 30 minutes, give or take, patches of snow started to show up like acremonium mold. It wasn’t until I reached the pinnacle of the road, where it started to dive down into Chokecherry Canyon that snow became continuous. The rocky causeway peaks at 10,183’ (3104m) before it descends to Holbrook Creek.

I drifted through the sugar snow (about shin deep) like a catamaran skimming the surface. As I approached the creek, the snow became denser & deeper. This is when I decided to stop and put on snowshoes. Granted, they weren’t absolutely critical to have (not yet), but they did help.

I was looking forward to the road crossing over to the north side of the canyon meaning, the southern exposure would hold less snow…or so I thought. I plodded over the ice-bound creek and followed the frozen, serpentine road deeper into the canvas of white. So much for less snow. I was hoping to lose my snowshoes and quicken my pace up the exposed and embedded rock. Granted, sections held more snow than others, especially in the tree-sheltered areas, but it wasn’t worth it to take the snowshoes off, not for the odd section of exposed road. However, I will say one thing, listening to one’s heavy breathing and the broken-crust sound of snow in a wilderness of silence is rather enjoyable. Not to mention, the beauty of the forest under a gown of white can be ravishing!

As an aside, the cabins just past the creek crossing and before Jaws 1, is part of the old Camp Commodore. As history has it, in 1899, gold was discovered here in a thicket of raspberries. This spot was used as a launching point for a few other mines located above Lake Como including the legendary White Pigeon Mine (near the base of Blanca Peak). The actual mine was never rediscovered, but in the late 1950’s, Bob Hollenback did discover a tunnel, an old shack with playing cards and two skeletons. The Commodore Camp only lasted a few years but as many of us have seen, some of the wooden skeletal remains are still there marking the spot.

I already knew what to expect at the lake as this was probably my 8th time up here in either winter or early spring. The snow depth at Lake Como (11,730’) and the old site of the cabin (anyone remember ‘Camp Sexual Chocolate?’ LOL) was thigh to hip deep. Most of the snow was unconsolidated and fluctuated between large sugar-crystal and oddly, powder. The snowpack was cold. I dog legged to the north side of the lake and followed the road around and took a break at the bottom of some small cliffs. I remembered camping in this exact spot back in 2006 on my first foray up here for Blanca, EP and Little Bear. That was an awesome trip as I was the only person in the entire basin, and I learned first-hand how much easier ropes made everything.

I packed up my food and started to dig a small pit. Between plowing through the snow in the trees semi-following the standard trail, and weaving up the small cliffs behind me, I opted for the technically harder option. The first (top) layer was about 6” deep. Large, hexagonal and thick plated crystals were present. I didn’t have a snow kit with me, so I couldn’t measure diameter. Below this, the bottom layers were weak and unsupportive. Some of the recesses and holes akin to the rocks where I was sitting held hoar. I’d switchback up to the rock and scramble along the exposed crests as best I could.

I scrambled up the low cliffs in snowshoes grinding my cleats into the rock as best I could. It’s hard and awkward work doing this, but for only five moves, I could manage. At the top, the snow reappeared on the plateau. I trotted over to the actual gully and descended about six feet cutting in a horizontal trench expecting the gully to slide, it never did. The underlying porphyry must be supporting the snow better than I thought. Good. I could descend that way instead of the tricky downclimb.

I’d actually been to this location once before, also in winter with a partner but the weather was borderline horrendous. I remember everything, literally everything was covered in rime ice and obscured by cloud. We turned around on that attempt. At least now, I could see clearly under blue skies. If I go back this season to attempt Blanca again, it’ll be by this line or across the lake to the access gully (trees) and then strafe the talus below Little Bear’s West Face.

It was fairly flat going and I was expecting to cut a slightly diagonal line down to Blue Lakes thus, avoiding the powder swamp of snow in the trees where the standard trail was. Honestly, with a good partner or two, this line would work well. The snow depth wasn’t too bad, but I wasn’t expecting willows. Every other step was a 3’-4’ snowy pitfall. I swear, I’ll never understand how a thicket of crisscrossing branches can create hollowed pockets without eventually falling in under the weight of new snow. Even with snowshoes, it’s miserable work and I can’t imagine being on skis would be any better.

I diagonally traversed up a small ramp to the top of a mellow rock rib. I threw my pack down, eye-balled Blue Lakes, the left-handed slope, Blanca and decided to call it. I was spent. Blanca didn’t look too bad from what I could see, but Ellingwood Point was plastered (that south-facing slope usually is).

I sat in silence enjoying the warmth of the sun, enjoying the warmth of my peppermint schnapps and attempted to validate away my disappointment. I told myself, ‘Why be so disappointed? Look around and appreciate where you are. All the miles to get here is worth it because all this frore beauty is yours and yours alone for as long as need be.’ Plus, I was also reminded of a similar incident I had in Ice Lakes Basin one spring. I drove up from Santa Fe, NM (where I was then living) to camp and do some peaks only to find the epic winter of 2018/19 still had Ice Lakes Basin FIRMLY in its grasp. I reminded myself, that lists are not why I’m doing this; lists are nothing more than collateral reasons. I took a last swig, packed everything up and reluctantly smiled and beat a retreat while I still had energy and daylight.

At the small cliff band, I switch backed down the gully linking exposed rocks just in case I hit a large section of weakness. I connected with my track from earlier and followed it back to the lake where I met another guy who was attempting Ellingwood Point. The fact that he made it as far as he did without any form of flotation was kind of impressive. Mitch (from Colorado Springs) and I talked the whole way down back to our vehicles. Again, I don’t usually have partners, so the company was nice as our conversation sped up the descent.

I’ll keep getting out there as much as I can (fight the good fight, right?), but at this point, I harbor no illusions I’ll ever finish the 14ers in winter. But at this stage in life, lists are more of a shadowy incentive vs. found enlightenment.

Jessen, Kenneth Ghost Towns Colorado Style, Volume 3, 1st Ed. Loveland, Colorado: J.V Publications, 2001 Print. Wolle, Muriel, Timberline Tailings Athens, Ohio: Swallow Press, 1977. Print.