Mountain Hiking

Mt. Columbia 

Mt. Columbia is one of Colorado's fourteeners (barely, at 14,073), but it is not at all the lowest of them. Columbia ranks 36 out of the 54 fourteeners in the state. We have mountains at 14,005, 14,003, and even 14,001 (Don't take any rocks from the peak as souvenirs.) 

I drove into the North Cottonwood Trailhead, at an altitude of 9,880, at 5:30 a.m. Driving during the small hours, into the mountains of Pike and then San Isabel National Forests, I passed a fox and then a small bear foraging along the road—they and the darkness helped to set a mood of solitude and escape into the wilderness. 

From the trailhead, I walked west into a pre-dawn, woodsy valley. Dusky gloom reached among dark firs and spruce back to the music of tumbling Cottonwood Creek. Overhead, there were bright stars, then gray, and then gray-blue in the growing daylight. A crescent moon lingered up high. 

Mt. Harvard, massive and a bit to the right of center. (click any thumbnail for larger image) (close-up)

I had climbed Mt. Harvard back in 2000. I remember a cloudy, foggy day on this very trail. I had climbed high into the valley, onto a ridge, up and up the ridge. I remember wondering at the total lack of a trail and the absence of fellow hikers. I had climbed about 20 other 14ers over the previous 20 years, and I knew these mountains were popular. There should be social trails. There should be other hikers. I reached the top, found no cairns, no communally constructed windbreaks, no peak register to sign. Finally, the clouds lifted and I could look to the north. There it was—a higher peak and with people on it. I'd climbed the wrong mountain. I scrambled down to the saddle and up to where I should have been, but I had used up my time. I would not be able to cross to Mt. Columbia's north ridge and so collect the two peaks in one day. 

A look up to Columbia's south ridge.

So, here I was again. I turned off the North Cottonwood Trail, wandered among clearings and campsites, around a great spine of rock, and began to climb to Columbia's south ridge. This was tedious. The slope was about as steep as it could be and still remain in place—loose dirt, pebbles, and rocks. I stepped up a foot and slid down a half. I stepped on some surfaces that slid under me in a sheet. I stepped off that conveyer belt and onto the next. A boulder as big as an easy chair sloughed off and slid down, fortunately beside me, not on top of me. We need some switchbacks here. The whole experience made me appreciate trail builders. Well, the trip back down would be quicker—sort of like alpine skiing. I was glad I had my trekking/ski poles.

On top of the ridge, I found gentle slopes and colorful wildflowers and lichens. There were a few false summits before the true peak appeared, but the views were wide and open. Isolated rainstorms were forming in adjacent valleys, but the air was soft and easy. 

On the south ridge, looking west toward the peak.

On the same ridge, looking back east.

On top, I found the register and signed in. I studied Mt. Harvard to the north and tried to remember more of that hike of eight years ago. Thunder started to sound around me. My guidebook had made it clear that "the slopes directly below the summit are steep and unpleasant," so I couldn't drop out of harm's way immediately. I looked down the long exposed ridge I had come up and decided there was no time for a leisurely lunch or long, admiring views of the world. I retreated from the peak and hustled back down.

On Mt. Columbia, looking west toward Mt. Harvard.