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The 4th of July. Mid week this year, so no long weekend. I need a nice full day trip. You know, I haven’t done the “Couloir Crossover Route” on Crestone Needle since 1979. That would be fun and I can add other peaks as time, weather, and inclination permit. Done deal.
Wednesday morning. I leave the Cottonwood Creek trailhead at first light, just after 5:00. The trail is a cruise for a long ways, then I start running into a bunch of recent deadfall, still showing green and more than a nuisance. The slabs are an improvement. At treeline, the Columbine are thriving, takes care not to crush a few. Considering the cars at the trailhead, I expected tents at Cottonwood Lake; it’s deserted. I follow the trail to Broken Hand Pass on a warm and sunny day. A snow bank is open for business; water bottle slushies hit the spot.
I head for The Needle and finally see a few folks starting up the couloir. After caching axe and poles under heavy rocks to discourage chewing, I follow suit. The crossover point is easy to locate and I’m soon in the narrower western gully. I’d forgotten how much mountain is left after the couloir ends, but I pop out on the summit about 10:45. Bare feet make for enjoyable lounging and this Payday is salty enough to satisfy a gourmet. I’m joined after awhile by the couple I’d talked to earlier, the only folks I’ll see all day. Where are those 4th of July crowds?
Building clouds suggest that it’s time to be off. By the time I exit the couloirs, it’s spitting rain. Pole handles intact, I stroll down to Broken Hand Pass and consider the future direction of my life. The first real storm is moving through, but I think the bulk is going to pass to the south. I do an ascending traverse across the face of Broken Hand Peak while the weather makes up its mind. Hunkering down on the Southwest Ridge, I wait until mountain god blessings are bestowed. OK, looks good. I boogie up as the sun returns. Nice viewpoint; it’s been awhile.
I drop to the UN 13270 (aka Crestolita) saddle and begin to search in earnest. The wildflowers are primo, but uncooperative. Given the day, I’m trying to come up with a red, white, and blue photo. There’s plenty of red in Paintbrush and Moss Campion, white in Phlox, Sandwort, Candytuft, and Bistort, and blue in Alpine Forget-me-not and Bluebells. Depending on the hue, Sky Pilot might contribute. Just can’t find the right mix. Oh well.
I traverse west across the face and eventually have to do a bit of a spooky climb to get into the central couloir. Hallelujah, I finally get to use this axe I’ve been toting all day. Yep, for all of 3 minutes. I scramble to the summit, remove those pesky boots, and chow down on a Chunky. In the register, a thoughtful visitor has given Ryan and Erin something to think about. Alright, what’s next? Do you suppose I can descend this to the southwest? Let’s find out. Actually, it goes with no stress and deposits me in the meadows at about 12,200’.
Hmmm, I believe it’s too late to even consider a blitzkrieg trip up Crestone Peak. I can still do arithmetic and don’t want to be messing with that “trail” in the dark. Besides, the weather is looking funky again and there’s that squishy snow still filling the Red Couloir. Good enough. My knees breathe an audible sigh of relief.
I make it down well below treeline before the heavens open. Thunder ricochets off the valley walls and hail begins to pile up and dam the trail into pater noster lakes. It’s almost enough to make a guy think about a jacket. Yes, I’m rather pleased not to be high on Crestone Peak. The trailhead arrives at 6:30.
The San Luis Valley is being pounded, feels dark as night. As I drive north, Electric Peak emerges from a storm with a fresh white coat. Looks deep. Hey, you know, that day was quite wonderful; I should do this more often. |
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