MOUNT WILSON
14,246 ft.
September 8, 2000
By Tim Briese
I left home on Thursday afternoon and set out across the mountains to Ridgway, where I arrived early in the evening. This was the weekend I hoped to climb Mount Wilson and El Diente, the 14ers that are furthest from my home. I was quite excited about this adventure. If all worked out I hoped to climb Sunshine Peak on my way home as well, which would leave me just one summit short of completing all the 14ers. That evening at the motel I eagerly prepared my pack, checked the weather forecast, and looked over my maps and the trail descriptions one last time. My focus was completely on mountain climbing.
I rose at 3:30 a.m. and headed down the highway toward the Silver Pick trailhead near Telluride. I was delighted to see stars twinkling in the clear sky above. As I neared the Dallas Divide I was startled by a flash of light in the sky. Was it a meteorite, or was it from lightning? A few minutes later I saw another flash and pulled off to the side of the road to watch the sky. My heart sank as more flashes confirmed my worst fear. It was indeed lightning coming from a thunderstorm approaching from the southwest. Lightning in the early morning sky is a rare occurrence in the mountains of Colorado, and when it happens it is an ominous sign of very unstable weather. But why on this day, of all days?
As I continued down the hill southwest of the divide, two elk with gigantic racks bounded across the highway in front of me. A few miles later a couple of deer did the same. When I turned off the highway and headed up the Silver Pick road, the lightning flashes were very close, and thunder rumbled loudly. It rained hard for a few minutes as I doggedly drove on. I couldn’t believe it! This was not the kind of weather I needed for climbing a difficult peak like Mount Wilson!
I arrived at the trailhead just after 5 a.m. The storm had passed and the stars were shining again. At least it had just been a fast moving squall, and perhaps poor weather today might be intermittent, I reasoned, trying to be optimistic. I stepped out into the windy darkness to assess the weather, and determined that the frequent lightning flashes in the sky were coming from the storm which had just passed over, and not from another one approaching.
It was pitch black at the trailhead, and not a single other soul or vehicle was there. I am usually very comfortable alone out in the wilds of Nature, even in the dark, but I found this situation scary. The wind roaring through the woods was unnerving, and the lightning flashes added to the eeriness. After a few minutes I decided I might as well head up the trail to see what might unfold, and summoned the courage to shoulder my pack and hit the trail at 5:20 a.m. As I walked up the trail with my flashlight I avoided looking around with it very much, lest I see the eyes of some large furry animal looking at me. At one point I was startled when my flashlight reflected off a pool of water on the trail and cast a light onto the trees above, but I trekked gamely on.
It was just starting to get light as I reached timberline and passed the Silver Pick mine around 6 a.m. It was quite windy, but fairly mild at about 40 degrees. The sky was partially clear, with some clouds scooting in from the west. I took a short break by the upper mine at 12,100 feet before scrambling up a steep scree slope nearby to get on the trail above. As I hiked toward the Rock of Ages Saddle a brief shower of sleet blew in around me. I watched wispy clouds swirling around the summit of Wilson Peak to the east and noted that winds up there were likely close to gale force. Things were certainly not looking good!
I reached the saddle at 7:30, and encountered fierce westerly winds that were howling up Navajo Basin and gusting over the saddle. I paused a moment to admire the grand view of Mount Wilson and El Diente across the basin. There were two backpackers camped just below the saddle by the Rock of Ages mine, and I stopped to visit with them. They were contemplating a climb of El Diente but were waiting to evaluate the weather. The dark cloud of another squall was approaching from the west as I began the 700 foot descent into Navajo Basin. My right knee, which had been bothering me on downhill grades in recent months, began hurting as I descended, with a sharp pain frequently shooting through it.
As I reached the basin and began climbing up Mount Wilson’s broad northeast shoulder, I looked over at the route up El Diente’s steep north couloir. It appeared that rockfall danger would be a serious concern on that route. That reinforced my plan to attempt El Diente from the southern approach up Kilpacker Basin the following day.
The approaching squall was bearing down on me as I reached about 12,800 feet on Mount Wilson. Thunder rumbled faintly in the distance. I searched for a place to wait out the storm and found a low spot below a big ridge of rocks. I lay my metal ice ax aside, and sat down on a large flat rock. I made a small shelter for myself and my pack under my poncho and waited for the storm to arrive. Fortunately I heard no more thunder, but soon it began raining, followed by sleet, and then snow swirled around me in the gusty wind. Low clouds moved in and I lost sight of everything in the fog.
A successful climb of Mount Wilson seemed extremely unlikely at this point, and I considered turning back. Remembering though, that I had no other plans for the day, I decided I might as well stay to enjoy Nature’s display of power unfolding around me. There was always the outside chance, too, that the weather might improve as the day wore on. It was enjoyable just being out there in that magnificent place, sitting under my poncho, watching the wild fury of the storm around me. Nature has a grandeur that is awesome to observe in any conditions.
The precipitation finally stopped after an hour and the clouds lifted a little. The cloud ceiling was about 500 feet above me, with the surrounding summits still obscured in the clouds. I was beginning to get cold from lack of movement, and decided to begin hiking upward again to get warmed up. I still considered a successful climb to the summit quite unlikely. I proceeded very slowly and carefully, for the rocks were now wet with small patches of snow on them. I resolved to do nothing that would compromise my safety.
As I slowly climbed upward I observed the clouds carefully. I saw some cumulus clouds building into another storm far off to the northwest, but they weren’t coming my direction. I decided that a layer of stratus clouds high above the area where I was would probably slow down thunderstorm development in my vicinity for a while. The broken lower clouds continued to lift and soon the summits were back in view. The wind was still fairly strong but at least had lessened somewhat. After noting these favorable developments I proceeded upward.
I hiked past a couple of glaciers on my left as I followed the cairned route. The rock seemed solid enough, for which I was grateful. There was a little more snow on the rocks as I went higher. The recent squall had left a half inch or so of the white stuff. It was already melting on some of the rocks, but not on others, so I had to be cautious.
Near the summit ridge the trail crossed a steep couloir filled with an icy glacier. I carefully scrambled higher to cross the couloir above the ice, having no desire to practice my ice ax skills that day. As it turned out, I didn’t need my ice ax on the entire route. I suspect that was an unusual situation, though, resulting from the dry year we had had. In most years climbing across steep snow would likely be unavoidable in some places on this north facing route, making an ice ax almost mandatory.
When I reached the notch in the ridge near the summit I paused to admire the impressive view down into Kilpacker Basin and the awesome ridge across to El Diente. At this point I had little more than a hundred feet left to the summit. I started to scramble up onto the final summit ridge and quickly saw the incredible exposure on that knifelike ridge that I had heard about. I paused for a moment to study the situation and didn’t like what I saw. There was snow on some of the rocks, the wind was blowing from the west at about 25 miles per hour, and a couple of the rocks that I checked for holds were loose. It was an easy decision not to climb on top of that ridge. I saw a ledgy route below on the east that looked much safer so I backtracked down to it and made a sharp scramble up to the summit on exposed, class 4 ledges. That route has good holds, and is quite safe and doable provided the rocks on the ledges and cliffs above stay put.
The summit consisted of a tiny ridge about six feet wide with sharp dropoffs on either side. The views were incredible, but within two minutes after I reached the summit clouds rolled in and the views vanished. As I signed the register in the chilly 32 degree air, I noticed that one climber had been up the day before and two others a few days before that. I was certain I would be the only one to summit today.
I reached the summit at 11:10, and left by 11:15, for one of my shortest stays on the summit of any 14er. I was thrilled to be blessed with attaining this summit, but I was very eager to stay ahead of the weather and get back down. I very carefully climbed back down through the ledges, with the small patches of snow on the rocks being my greatest concern. I was thankful for the good holds on the rocks. It took about seven minutes to get back down to the notch below the summit ridge, and I was glad to be there.
Although Mount Wilson requires a challenging hike, it is not a difficult mountain to climb except for that last hundred feet. There are no long stretches of hand and foot rock scrambling as on Pyramid Peak or the Crestone Needle. It is mostly a class 2 walkup all the way to the summit ridge, although the terrain gets increasingly steep on the higher portions of the route. A greater snowpack might increase the difficulty of the climb, however.
I proceeded back across the steep couloir, entering at its top, sliding down on scree, and exiting before I got to the ice. I noticed as I got lower that many of the rocks had dried off, courtesy of the wind. Looking back up I could see snow remaining on the rocks higher up, though. The cloud ceiling was now at about 13,800 feet. My knee was very painful on the slow descent back down into Navajo Basin, where I arrived at 12:45. In planning this trip I had considered the possibility of climbing El Diente on the same day as Mount Wilson, but that seemed ridiculous now.
I noticed a thunderstorm building off to the northwest as I began the grind back up to the Rock of Ages Saddle. I stopped to visit a moment with the two backpackers who were cozily sitting in the old mine shed near their tent, reading and cooking. They had decided not to attempt El Diente that day, and seemed relieved that I had returned safely.
I went on up over the saddle and down the trail, finding that my knee felt a little better when I walked a bit sideways. Just as I got off the scree slope and reached the old mine road at 12,100 feet it began to rain. I hiked quickly down the road and soon thunder began booming around me every few minutes. I stopped and crouched down a couple of times to assess the proximity of the lightning and didn’t like how close it was. I took a shortcut across the rocks at a point where the road makes a long switchback, and was startled by a lightning flash whose glare reflected off the wet rocks in front of me. It was fortunate that I didn’t slip and stumble as I hurried over those wet rocks.
The lightning ended as I got down into the trees, but it rained hard all the way back to the trailhead. It was actually quite a grand and majestic experience walking down the trail listening to the aspen trees roaring in the wind and rain, with my feet splashing in the little streams of water running down the trail.
I reached the trailhead at 2:50, and within minutes the rain stopped and the sun came out, but the wind still howled through the trees. The higher elevations where I had just been were now coated with a fresh white mantle of snow from the storm. My lower legs and feet were wet, and I was chilled and exhausted as I drove back to Ridgway. I could hardly believe that I had climbed Mount Wilson, on this most improbable of days.
