MT. EVANS
(14,264 ft.)MT. SPALDING
(13,842 ft.)May 31, 1997
By Tim Briese
(Note: For another trip report on a climb I have done of Mt. Evans, describing the Sawtooth Ridge route, see the More Climbs page.)
Mt. Evans is visible from my house on clear days, standing tall 60 miles away on the northwestern horizon. I like to study it with my binoculars to obtain a general idea of snow cover and weather conditions I may encounter on outings into the mountains. During the weeks before the climb I watched the snow cover on Evan’s lofty slopes gradually melt away as the days grew longer, and by the end of May it appeared that this monarch of the Front Range was ready for an attempt.
I left home early on a Saturday morning with my friend Hal and drove to the Guanella Pass trailhead. Little did we know that this apparently straightforward climb would turn out to be an adventure of epic proportions. At 7:10 we left the trailhead under a clear sky and began hiking through dense stands of willowy bushes that lie in a broad valley that holds the headwaters of Scott Gomer Creek. We had brought snowshoes along, but elected to leave them behind in my truck because the fields of snow awaiting us on the high slopes across the valley did not appear very extensive from a distance. The valley turned out to be quite a challenge to cross, since it was essentially a big marshy bog over a mile wide, with water standing all around from snowmelt that was rapidly occurring at this time of year. There was no clear trail to follow, either, so we largely resorted to picking our own way across the bog, pushing our way through the willows and trying to stay out of the water. Somewhere along the way Hal’s sunglasses fell out of his pocket, and after a brief search we gave up on them and pressed on. We were concerned about this, though, for we knew we would likely be hiking across bright snow in the sun later on.
There were still banks of snow lying here and there amidst the willows, but they were still frozen hard in the early morning chill and easy to walk across. Eventually we reached the far side of the valley and skirted around a beautiful beaver pond by walking across a narrow dam on its lower end. We marveled that beavers lived at this high elevation, which was right at timberline. Beyond the beaver pond we began to ascend a steep rocky area and used our ice axes to ascend an icy slope of snow.
Once above that obstacle we began following a drainage toward the east on slopes of tundra that were mostly covered with snow. We did not see the tracks of any previous climbers anywhere. The snow was beginning to soften as the day warmed up and we began to posthole through it up to our knees or higher, which made for very strenuous hiking. We began to wish we had brought our snowshoes along now, for there certainly was a lot more snow on these slopes than it had appeared from two miles away!
A beautiful view of the mountains off to the west appeared as we climbed higher, with the pointed summits of Grays and Torreys Peaks on the horizon. A few clouds obscured the sun from time to time, but when it shone on the snow it was very bright, so I paused to put on my sunglasses and some sunscreen. I offered some to Hal, but he politely declined.
After we vigorously hiked a half mile or so up the drainage through the snow, I studied my topo map more carefully and discovered in disgust that we had hiked in a direction too far to the left, and that now Mt. Spalding lay between us and Mt. Evans. I ruefully noted that I had to pay closer attention to my maps, especially on bushwhacks like this. It was a valuable lesson that I have heeded ever since. There was no better choice now than to turn to the right and climb up over the top of Spalding to get to Evans! It was a grueling 800 foot climb up through the soft, deep snow on Spalding’s north slope, but we eventually made it, and plopped down on the summit to rest. I didn’t realize it at the time, but we were sitting atop one of Colorado’s high 13er summits. From this vantage point there was an awesome view of Evan’s rugged west ridge that lay before us. The summit of Evans was on the far end of the ridge, and seemed surprisingly far away and difficult to reach. We were nearly spent, but we were grittily determined to reach our goal.
After resting a bit we descended about 300 feet to the saddle between Spalding and Evans and then climbed up onto Evan’s west ridge. It was a fun and airy scramble along the top of the ridge, as we worked our way past rock towers and blocks, with incredible exposure below to the north. The ridge was quite enjoyable on a nice day like this, but it could be scary and a bit dangerous in poor weather. We went up over three false summits and were above 14,000 feet for over a half mile before we finally reached the true summit at about 1:30 p.m.
It was warm and pleasant as we sat and rested on top. The sky had cleared as a high pressure ridge moved in, which provided us with incredibly clear visibility. I was able to pick out many far off summits with my binoculars. There were several other people lounging about with us on the summit, most of whom had driven up the Mt. Evans road. We were the only ones who were adventurous enough, or perhaps crazy enough, to hike up the long, snowy route from Guanella Pass that day. Hal’s feet were soaked from hiking through the snow, and he changed his socks as we sat in the warm sunshine.
At about 2 p.m. we left the top and began our descent, this time skirting along the south side of the summit ridge to avoid the rock scrambling along its crest. In about an hour we reached the far end of the ridge and began a gradual descent to the northwest back down across the snowy tundra. Mt. Bierstadt was an impressive sight a mile to the southwest, standing arete-like, with its pointed summit thrust into the sky. This was the finest day we had been blessed with in several weeks, for the air was crystal clear, and the snow laden mountains all around were a magnificent sight. It was one of those perfect days with incredible clarity and sharpness in the air, with the entire landscape virtually glistening in the golden sunshine.
We contoured around Spalding’s west side and descended a long, gradual slope, hiking in some snow most of the way. Then we descended a steep slope and entered the drainage we had gone up in the morning. We broke through deep snow in some places and fell down several times, which was extremely tiring. As we took a break Hal changed his socks again, since his feet were again soaked and becoming numb. At the bottom of the drainage we crossed a little gully and continued downhill on the other side. We tried to stay on open ground as best we could, but inevitably had to hike through snow in many places. The snow was so soft and deep that we postholed through it everywhere now. How dearly we wished we had our snowshoes! It became so bad that Hal found it difficult to continue, and resorted to crawling across the snow on all fours to spread out his weight and maintain what buoyancy he could on it. I admired his unwavering toughness and tenacity. Water was flowing in little rivulets around us everywhere, as the snow rapidly melted in the bright sunshine.
When we reached the edge of the final rocky slope above the valley, we paused to look across the great challenge that remained before us. The truck was a mile and a half away, and in between lay the vast, marshy, willow-choked bog that we would have to navigate through, in our state of near exhaustion. The hike across the valley was difficult enough in the morning, but would be even tougher now, with more water standing in the bogs that drained in during the day, and patches of snow that were now softened by the warm sun. This route may be less difficult during other seasons, but this was about the worst possible time of year to attempt it.
We descended the rocky slope on a slightly different route than we had come up, and passed by another beaver pond below. I paused a moment to admire the exquisite afternoon light on the smooth surface of the beautiful pond, with snowcapped mountains beyond in the distance. We selected a route across the valley to the north of where we had come in the morning, in the hopes of finding better going on higher terrain, but it was actually worse. With great difficulty we pushed our way across the formidable landscape, bushwhacking through dense forests and endless stands of willows, skirting around soft banks of snow and shimmering ponds, and crossing rivulets and streams.
Exhaustion was closing its grip on us, and Hal’s feet were giving him great grief, so I began to wonder if we could make it back without assistance. We pushed doggedly on, though, through one obstacle after another, and eventually made it back to the truck at about 6:30. We were extremely relieved to conclude our grueling eleven and a half hour hike! It was an incredible mountaineering adventure into some very challenging but beautiful backcountry. We pushed our personal limits that day in bushwhacking through rough terrain in very difficult conditions, but I have no doubt that we returned as better men for it. It was an accomplishment I will never forget.
As we drove home Hal noticed his vision fading, and by the time we got home he was nearly blind, as a result of overexposure to the brilliant light of the sun reflecting off of the snow. His face, too, became dark red, puffy, and swollen from severe sunburn. He spent several days thereafter under medical care, but fortunately staged a full recovery. We learned that sunglasses, sunscreen, and snowshoes can be priceless. We had conquered the mountain, but the mountain taught us some valuable lessons along the way.
