14,197 ft.

October 22, 1999

By Tim Briese

I have long enjoyed the stately view of Mt. Princeton towering above the Arkansas River Valley whenever I have visited there. When I first climbed the mountain in 1996 I drove up the Mt. Princeton Road and four-wheeled almost all the way to timberline, which left me with a relatively easy climb to the summit. Later on the notion occurred to me to go back and reclimb this majestic mountain all the way from the base to the summit, and over the next couple of years this evolved into a personal challenge for me.

The sun was just beginning to shine on Princeton’s splendid summit as I drove down Highway 285 into the Arkansas River Valley. About 8 a.m. I reached the trailhead at the Frontier Ranch Young Life Camp at the base of the mountain at 8900 feet. A few minutes later I headed up the steep, narrow Mt. Princeton Road on foot with my lab Allie. I wore my snowboots today because I could see snow high above on the upper slopes of the mountain, even though the lower portions were still dry. I was looking forward to a long hike in the mountains today because I felt stressed out from matters at home and sought refreshment and direction.

It was an incredibly beautiful day, clear and calm, without a cloud in the sky. I quickly clipped up the road, occasionally stopping to throw a stick for Allie to retrieve. In just over an hour I reached the radio tower site high on a ridge on the east side of the mountain. I had come about three miles and climbed 1900 feet of elevation gain so far. After a short break I continued up the road. There was snow on the road now and it became deeper the higher I went, making me glad I had my snowboots on. At the first major switchback I passed a Subaru with New Mexico license plates. The road was closed by snow above this point. After a quarter of a mile I overtook an older man who was hiking up from the Subaru, and he asked me if this was the way to Mt. Princeton, and I assured him that it was.  I never saw him again, and I wondered later if he made it to the summit.  He was the only other climber I saw all day.

At 10 a.m. I reached 11,800 feet and left the old road and climbed steeply uphill to the right on the foot trail that leads toward Princeton. I soon reached a grassy knoll in the tundra that afforded a grand view down into the valley far below. This is one of my favorite places along the route. I followed the trail as it contoured to the west across a long slope, with the summit now visible about a mile away. This north-facing slope had nearly a foot of snow lying on it in some places, just enough to complicate the climb a bit. After following the trail for a while I left it and bushwhacked steeply uphill to the left and climbed several hundred feet to the ridge above. This part of the climb was rather tedious because I had to be careful to avoid slipping on the snow that partly covered the rocks. Once on the ridge I turned to the west and followed it toward the summit, finding the snow conditions much friendlier now, since the sun had melted most of it away on the sunny ridge.

I was rapidly tiring as I climbed the final 600 feet up the slopes to the summit, having already come over six miles from the trailhead. It was quite a relief to step on top, where I arrived at ten minutes after noon. Food and water revived me, and I remained on the summit for nearly an hour enjoying this grand place. My thermometer said the temperature was only 27 degrees but it felt pleasant and warm in the bright sunshine. The visibility was remarkably clear. I could see a hundred miles away as clearly as I could see my hand in front of my face. I could easily see the Elk Range, the San Juans, and the Sangre de Cristos, and I identified at least 30 other 14ers. There was a slight hint of a moisture-laden haze far to the south over the San Luis Valley, but in every other direction the visibility was crystal clear.

As I sat on the summit gazing about I was struck by the fact that the air was absolutely calm, allowing for a complete and total silence that was almost otherworldly. There was not the slightest sound of a bird or a car or anything at all up here at 14,000 feet. There was just total, awesome silence. The complete lack of sound stood out by its very absence. It felt incredible to experience this.

While I gazed at Mt. Antero beyond the gaping depths of the Chalk Creek Valley to the south, I pondered the upcoming millennium that was just a few weeks away. The media had been filled with stories about this event for many months and I was trying to attain an understanding of the meaning and significance of this event. I wondered what these mountains looked like a thousand years ago and realized that they have probably changed little over that span of time. A thousand years may be a long time to a human, but not to Nature or its Creator. A millennium is really little more than a moment in our system of keeping time, much like the odometer turning over on a car, yet it also affords a magnificent opportunity to look back at the past and forward to the future.

It was good to be here atop this mountain today. I felt in tune with my Creator and with myself up here. I have always liked to go to the tops of hills or mountains to find insight and refreshment. As a boy I often went to the top of a hill on our family farm in the Midwest, and now I went to the tops of mountains in the Colorado Rockies.

At about 1 p.m. I began my descent. It was a bit tedious picking my way down across the rocks that were partially covered with snow, but it was certainly easier than it had been coming up. I chose to stay on the east ridge all the way back down to the four wheel drive road in order to avoid the snow on the north-facing slope I had dealt with on the ascent. I also looked forward to a new route for a change of scenery. This route turned out to be a little more difficult than I expected, though, for I had to climb up over “Tigger Peak” (13,300') and then descend 1500 feet down a steep, boulder-covered slope to the northeast back down to the road.

The haze that I saw from the summit down in the San Luis Valley was now creeping northward up the Arkansas River Valley, borne on the slightest of breezes, as a moist air mass infiltrated the state from the south. It was interesting to observe this phenomenon. So many things can be seen from the top of a mountain that are not apparent from below, both beyond ourselves and within!

When I reached the old road I briskly clipped down its friendly grades. At about 11,000 feet I passed by two girls who were setting up a backpack camp in the woods nearby. I hoped they were prepared for a very cold night. When I reached the radio tower facility I stopped for a few minutes to look around at it before I continued on down the road.

I tramped back down to my truck at 4:40, thoroughly tired out after hiking some 13 miles and climbing 5500 feet of elevation gain. I looked back up through the trees at Princeton’s summit slopes several miles away, and could hardly believe I had been way up there. In spite of the physical challenge, I thoroughly enjoy the satisfaction I feel after a long, grueling hike. I stopped in Buena Vista for a Subway sandwich and decided to reward Allie with one, too. It was a beautiful drive home as the late afternoon sun shone on the peaks and valleys, while a big round moon later rose and graced the eastern sky.

When I drove back into Colorado Springs the bustle of civilization seemed like quite a contrast to the peace of the wilderness I experienced that day. People were scurrying about going to restaurants and malls after work on this Friday evening. I had heard the beat of a different drummer today, it seemed, as I had sat alone on a mountaintop out in the grandeur of Nature on this magnificent day. I went to the mountains today to rejuvenate and to find myself, and I was successful, for I returned with a peaceful glow inside and a renewed clarity of mind.

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