MT. HERMAN
9,063 ft.
October 22, 1998
By Tim Briese
Mt. Herman lies on the eastern flank of the Front Range just west of Monument, and is the highest point in the range for several miles around. Millions of motorists speed past it on I-25 each year, and undoubtedly some of them notice its distinctive double-humped summit that towers 2000 feet above the valley below. It is a familiar landmark to locals, many of whom have climbed to its summit to enjoy the fine views that it affords.
I am fortunate enough to live just twenty minutes away from the base of this fine mountain. Over the years I have climbed it dozens of times, and it has served as my personal training ground, as it were, where I have honed my climbing and routefinding skills. I have climbed it in every season of the year, in widely varying weather conditions. Many times I have hiked up the standard trail that climbs the southwest slopes of the mountain from the Mt. Herman Road. This easy route involves 900 feet of elevation gain and about two and a half miles of roundtrip hiking. At other times when I desire more of a workout I park at the eastern base of the mountain and bushwhack up its northeast ridge, by one of several variant routes. This more strenuous alternative requires 1700 feet of elevation gain. I have also bushwhacked up the south ridge, approached from the west out of Limbaugh Canyon, and made direct ascents up its rugged east face. One thing that Mt. Herman has taught me is that a mountain is more massive and complex than it appears from a distance.
One fine day in late October I climbed Mt. Herman by going up the rugged gully that splits the east face between the two humps of the summit. The gully looks almost vertical from a distance but it is actually quite climbable by a persevering mountaineer. I parked along the Mt. Herman Road east of the mountain and began pushing my way uphill through the scrub oaks that choke the lower slopes. Numerous granite boulders were parked here that had rolled down from the slopes above in distant times past. I hoped this was not the day for the next one to come down. When the terrain steepened I worked my way into the lower part of the gully and began to slog up steep slopes of scree and loose dirt. My lab Allie who accompanied me today nimbly trotted up the loose slopes with an ease that would make a mountain goat envious.
The terrain became rockier as I climbed higher and I inadvertently knocked a few rocks loose that plummeted down the gully below. This could be a dangerous route if anyone were above. After climbing nearly a thousand feet above the road I reached the crux of the route, a steep rocky area that requires some class three scrambling for a hundred feet or so. This section reminded me of my climb up the south couloir of the Crestone Needle the year before, although this was merely a small taste of that classic scramble. I carefully negotiated my way up through this interesting stretch and then climbed the last few hundred feet up on steep dirt and gravel to the notch on the ridge between the two summits. Here I joined the standard trail that comes up from the other side of the mountain and followed it a quarter of a mile along the crest of the gentle wooded ridge to the higher northern summit.
The summit consists of a flat area about thirty yards across which is largely devoid of trees, so that grand panoramic views are afforded to the visitor. To the east one can gaze down at Monument and the Tri-Lakes area spread out in map-like fashion below. Vehicles that speed up and down the busy freeway a few miles away look like tiny ants scurrying to their destinations from this lofty perspective. Stretching off to the south are the Air Force Academy and Colorado Springs, and to the north, on a clear day, the tall buildings of downtown Denver are visible. To the southwest Pikes Peak towers majestically over the Pike National Forest. Around to the west are miles of wilderness and mountains, with the Tarryall Range on the horizon, and Grays and Torreys Peaks, as well as Mt. Bierstadt and Mt. Evans, continuing on around to Longs Peak far to the northwest.
On the summit of Herman one can gaze at the pristine wilderness to the west or turn 180 degrees and look at bustling civilization to the east, however one is inclined. The peaceful rejuvenating wilds contrast directly with the consuming affairs of the world, by being located on opposite points of the compass. I have sat on Herman and contemplated each of these diverse outlooks before, sometimes one and sometimes the other. In some sense the view to the east represents the past to me, as I reflect on memories of two decades of my life spent living and working down on the roads and in the buildings that I see spread out below, while the grand view to the west presents the unknown timelessness of the future. I have found Mt. Herman a wonderful place to visit to help put things in perspective.
From the summit of Herman I have watched the smoke plumes of distant forest fires, the formation of thunderstorms, and I have looked down upon a soft white carpet of fog blanketing the plains below. I have stood there with many a family member or friend, and have often stood there alone as well. I have watched a couple stand arm in arm looking down at the place they had lived their lives spread out below, as they grieved the loss of their son. I have watched, too, the euphoric triumph of many a guest, young and old, whom I have taken there to climb their first mountain. My daughter Nicole was four years old when she first climbed Mt. Herman with me.
After lounging about on the summit for a while Allie and I began our descent on this beautiful October day. I chose to try a new route down I had never taken before, down a steep slope on the east face a short distance to the north of the gully I had come up. It turned out to be a rather adventurous descent, as I went down a thousand feet on treacherously steep slopes of loose dirt and scree. I frequently maintained my balance by grabbing the blackened limbs or trunks of pine trees that had been burned in the Mt. Herman forest fire nearly ten years before. I was surprised that they still made my hands black after so many years of weathering. Eventually the steep grades eased somewhat but I encountered dense stands of scrub oaks and aspens that confounded my progress as I shoved my way through their gnarly masses. The road was a welcome sight when I finally reached it, and I quickly walked a few hundred yards back to my truck, concluding another memorable adventure on Mt. Herman.
--- “The whole universe is but the footprint of the divine goodness.” --- Dante
