Helen was feeling a little better and wanted to try getting out. However, we didn’t want to go very far from a road in case she had more breathing issues due to the allergy attack she’d been suffering with. I picked out one of Summit County’s taller mountains, but not one of the over-popular 14′ers. Fletcher Mountain was 49 feet shy of the magic 14,000 feet that guarantee’s overuse in Colorado.
I’d already scouted the Blue Lakes road and knew that we could get close to the summer trailhead at the dam on Monte Cristo Creek, but not quite all the way there. A few wide spots in the road just prior to snow cover were already busy with cars and skiers – all who seemed to be headed for Quandary Peak’s Cristo Couloir (Quandary is one of those magic 14′ers). The Cristo Couloir is deservedly popular this time of year – excellent skiing and very close to a road.
After hiking to the dam and then under the couloir, we continued traversing along the south side of Quandary’s slopes to the west. A rubble slope of loose rocks took some time to cross with our skis balanced on our shoulders, but we found snow on the other side and clicked in to start climbing up. However, the snow was still frozen and steep enough that I soon slipped when my skins lost traction. I stopped myself easily enough with the ski poles, then got out of my skis and went back to kicking steps in the snow while shouldering the planks.
Helen and I reached a patch of rocks sticking out of the snow and she decided she wasn’t feeling well enough to continue on. Her balance was off and she was feeling very low on energy. We decided that she’d take Torrey back to the car and nap there and wait for me to summit Fletcher and return. Helen took off her skins and prepared to ski back down while I held Torrey to keep her away from Helen’s edges. Once she’d reached more level ground I released the hound and Torrey took off like a rocket down the slope.
I turned around and continued to kick steps until the snow slope angle eased off. Then it was back to skinning. Shortly, I found another steep slope and gingerly headed upwards until I slipped back again. I measured the angle at 37 degrees then proceeded to tire myself out by shouldering my skis once again and kicking steps up the slope.
The ridge eased off into a broad, semi-level slope with lots of bare rocks around 12,800 feet. I decided to leave the skis behind here and continued up with my ice axe. Walking across the rocks I spotted a ptarmigan just a few feet from me. It was mostly white with a few brown spots – turning from its all-white winter coat to a summer camouflage. If it hadn’t moved, I’d probably walked right by it.
The weather was holding well, lots of sun but a few strong wind gusts would remind me I was in alpine terrain. I stopped at the base of the final 600 foot climb up Fletcher and took a quick rest and snack break. It was 10am when I walked across a low spot to attain Fletcher’s southeast ridge. Luckily, the snow in this low spot wasn’t so deep that I post holed more than a couple inches. Above that the snow was pretty solid and nearly perfect for step kicking and I moved quickly upwards. I spotted some old boot tracks in the snow – partly wind eroded, but their presence reassured me and I felt a little less lonely. Later, I wished there had been no tracks so the experience of being out there and alone would have been stronger.
A rock band stretched across the slope below the summit, and I had to gingerly work my way through the loose and partly-frozen in rocks and the weak snow warmed by the rocks underneath. Above the rocks the slope steepened and the snow was harder. I suddenly wished for crampons as I found myself traversing above the rocks and knew that if I slipped there was a chance I couldn’t self-arrest quick enough to avoid hitting the rocks. It certainly wouldn’t kill me, but it could easily twist an ankle or worse. Being alone, I told myself to slow down and take it easy, kicking each step multiple times to enlarge a platform for my foot.
By 10:35 I found myself on top with an amazing view in all directions. The sun was still out, but a few clouds were starting to build up. I prepared myself for the downclimb and was a little nervous, but reminded myself to take it slowly and safely. Facing in to the slope, I would kick toe holds into the snow after securely planting my ice axe to immediately arrest any slip. Once past the rocks I could breathe freely again and glissaded a short stretch of snow. The snow here was perfect for plunge stepping and I was quickly back to the low point and then slowing down as I climbed upward back onto the rocky and partly snow-free area.
Less than an hour after leaving the summit I was back to my skis and nervous again. I’m a poor skier and the slopes below me were the equivalent of black diamond runs in the resorts, except the snow was un-groomed. I side stepped a little lower, then finally committed to some turns and got in a quick rhythm and started to somewhat enjoy myself. I’d still probably be more comfortable on snowshoes, or just in my boots, but I soon found myself back down where Helen had turned back and followed her tracks back to the dam.
After the climb up to the dam I started walking the road back to the car. Some of the road was snow covered enough that I could have skied, but I ended up continuing to walk with the skis on my shoulder. Ahead I saw someone throwing a stick for a dog and realized it was Helen. As I walked up, she said “I knew it was you, since you were walking and not skiing”.
Like that last sentence.