FLETCHER MOUNTAIN
13,951 ft.
December 9, 2002
By Tim Briese
The description of Fletcher in my guidebooks led me to believe that it would be an interesting and relatively easy mountain to climb in the winter, but it turned out to be more difficult than I expected. I drove over Hoosier Pass on a sunny December morning and headed up Summit County Road 850 toward the trailhead. The road was plowed only to a point four-tenths of a mile from the highway, at the Monte Cristo Trailhead for Quandary Peak, so I parked there.
At 9:30 I struck off on foot up the road toward the Blue Lakes Reservoir with my labs Allie and Jorie. This was a later start than I usually get on climbing outings, and I hoped I would have enough time to complete the climb before the sun set at 4:30. The road was covered with snow but it had been packed by snowmobiles so the going was rather easy. The sky was clear and blue but a chilly breeze blew out of the west. In just under an hour I reached the dam at the east end of the reservoir and hiked up around its northern end. The reservoir was virtually empty, and large slabs of ice laying around its shore, some of which were 20 or 30 feet across, suggested that the reservoir had been intentionally drained in recent weeks. This place struck me as being cold and dreary, for a ridge high above to the south appeared to totally shade the reservoir from the sun all day long at this time of year.
I failed to find any trail because much of the terrain was covered with snow, so I resorted to bushwhacking up across rough, rocky slopes to the northwest above the reservoir. The wind was cold and biting and I found it necessary to stop and put warmer clothes on. I picked a path of least resistance, trying to step on rocks and avoid soft snow, and slowly worked my way up to the lower end of a hanging valley that lies south of Quandary and Fletcher. When I gained the crest of a rocky slope I paused to look ahead up the mile-long valley, which holds one of the standard routes to Fletcher. This valley may be an enchanting place in the summer but it looked like a rugged challenge to hike up now. Steep snow slopes and gnarly rock outcroppings made it look tedious and time-consuming. I decided to instead climb a steep slope to the west up out of the valley and follow the gentle ridge above along its western side. This decision probably saved the climb for me, for I would likely have run out of time had I tried to hike up the valley.
It was not easy climbing up the slope to get out of the valley but it turned out to be well worth the effort. I picked my way up rocky slopes and occasionally wallowed through deep snow. The fluffy snow was quite a challenge for the dogs but they made it through. At about 12,800 feet the terrain became much easier and I turned to the northwest and ascended gentle slopes that were mostly scoured free of snow. I had to deal with the brunt of the bitterly cold wind up here, but the pointed summit of Fletcher a mile ahead lured me on. The sun was already dropping into the west so I urgently pressed forward. I hiked over a minor rise and descended about a hundred feet into a nearly flat area directly below Fletcher’s summit pyramid, which was completely covered with snow.
I did not need my snowshoes up to this point but now I stopped to put them on. My goal now lay directly before me, 600 vertical feet above. I expected a grueling climb up this snow-covered slope but it was worse than I expected. It was the most difficult part of the entire climb. The slope was too steep for my snowshoes to get good traction and it was too soft for my ice ax to be of much use either, so I could do nothing more than tediously flounder up through the snow. The final hundred feet was the steepest, and I removed my snowshoes and literally wallowed upward through the snow on my hands and knees. Needless to say this was all very tiring and it was a great relief to finally reach the summit.
I stepped on top at 2:15 and was greeted by spectacular views all around in the crystal clear air. Quandary Peak and its rugged west ridge was most impressive a mile to the southeast. It reminded me of the view of Capitol Peak from K2. The summit register showed that Fletcher is a rather popular summit, as far as 13ers go, with over a hundred visitors since July. No one had signed in lately, though, with the most recent signature recorded on October 19th. The temperature on top was only 13 degrees and a brisk wind blew from the west but I hardly noticed the cold because of the exertion of the ascent.
I would have liked to sit on the summit and enjoy the views longer but I was in a hurry to leave because sunset was only two hours away. Hiking down a trail or road in the dark with a flashlight is one thing, but bushwhacking is another matter. As I put my snowshoes back on I was quite dismayed when a buckle broke on a binding as I tightened it! I was hoping for a fast two hour descent, but that would be impossible without snowshoes! Fortunately I was able to improvise a repair with an extra strap in my pack, then promptly left the top at 2:30.
I began walking down the steep snow slope just below the summit but slipped and fell down and began sliding in the loose snow. I quickly rolled onto my stomach and dug my trekking poles in to arrest my slide. The thought of an avalanche crossed my mind but I thought it very unlikely with the condition and depth of the snow. This could definitely be a dangerous place to be if the snow were unstable, though. The dogs were reluctant to go down through the loose snow on such steep terrain, but gamely plowed down through it. I was careful to avoid slipping again while I gradually descended to the base of the summit pyramid.
The wind kicked up stronger now and blew sheets of swirling snow crystals around me. The dogs whimpered and cowered behind me out of the wind. I could tell that their paws were cold, too, by the way they picked up their feet. When I took a short break Allie rapidly dug a hole for herself in the snow to snuggle into. I began to wonder if the conditions today were too brutal for the dogs.
I decided to go down the valley on the descent, reasoning that I could snowshoe down its snowy slopes more rapidly than I could hike across the barren tundra on the ridge above. I could also avoid the howling wind up on the ridge, too. As I began to drop down into the valley I was immediately faced with the prospect of going down a long, steep slope of hard-packed snow that I had to carefully descend using my ice ax. A quick glissade did not seem wise because of scattered outcroppings of rock that protruded from the snow. After I reached the bottom of this slope the going was generally rapid as I proceeded down the valley, but in a couple of places I had to pick my way down through steep headwall areas. I was certainly glad I had not tried to come up this way.
I stayed on snow in the center of the drainage nearly all the way back down to the reservoir, feeling fortunate that I did not encounter any rugged rocky areas or cliff bands to slow me down. I considered hiking across the smooth floor of the half mile long reservoir back to the dam, in order to avoid rough bushwhacking across the rugged slopes above, but decided that it might be difficult or dangerous to climb up across the sloping slabs of ice that lay on its steep shore to get back out. Instead I tediously worked my way across steep side slopes covered with scree and snow just above the ice and finally made it back to the dam about 4 p.m. I was thoroughly tired out, and I could tell that the dogs were cold and tired, too.
The last rays of sun were shining on the highest peaks above as I hiked down the road back to the trailhead. It was shady and cold in the valley. Dusk was settling in when I reached the trailhead at 4:45. Allie ran right up to my truck and looked back at me expectantly, waiting for me to open it up so she could jump in.
I covered about eight miles and climbed over 3000 feet of elevation gain on this outing, while bushwhacking across snowy terrain much of the way. This climb was a fine winter adventure, but it turned out to be one of the more challenging winter ascents I had done.
