Ironman Des Moines 2022 Race Report

This was my first Ironman. My first triathlon since 2009. And I qualified for Kona. As a vegetarian, of course I could not pass on the opportunity to compete at the Certified Piedmontese Beef Ironman North American Championship in Des Moines. 

 

Background

Back during the worst of Covid, I decided I wanted to make an attempt at qualifying for Kona. I was 39 then so I figured I would aim for doing one when I was 40. I live in Breckenridge, Colorado where ski mountaineering and MUT running are more of a focus than open water swimming and pavement travel. 

Fast forward to autumn of 2021. I began doing some background research on qualifying and realized I needed to pick a race that would accentuate my strengths and minimize my weaknesses. So I chose to signup for the inaugural Ironman Alaska in Juneau. 1) Wetsuit swim in calm waters. I swam in HS and I was a beach lifeguard, but I had not done any swimming since 2009. 2) Hilly bike. I prefer periodic breaks from the aero position. Most of what little biking I do is MTB or gravel. 3) A mountainous run. I love mountain running. More elevation change the better. 4) Alaska should be cooler than a lot of the races in the continental US... similar to the mountain climate I live in.

I started training that fall. This mostly entailed skimo, running on packed snow, periodic trainer rides in a frigid garage and pool swimming with a masters group. My fitness was steadily improving. I used running and skiing for low intensity volume while most of my bike sessions and swim sessions incorporated intensity. "Reverse periodization" of sorts for biking and swimming. By April, on a day when it snowed 6", I realized I needed a warmup event before AK to dial in transitions, nutrition and just IM race tactics in general. That's when I committed to IMDSM - as a "practice" race for IMAK.

Prerace

Even as a practice race, I still wanted to do well... just no pressure to do so. In the two weeks ahead of IMDSM, I cut volume, maintained intensity, entered a road running 10 miler but really did not know what to expect with the ironman. I started consulting a number of friends who were either coaches or had done ironmans. They enlightened me on a number of nuances and details that come with racing an ironman. I reserved race tires with RaceDayWheels. I mounted a torpedo bottle on the aero bars of my 2006 Cervelo Dual entry level tri bike. I practiced wetsuit swimming for all of 20 minutes in 50 deg water that took my breath away. And I changed 3 flats on my bike during this time but no matter, I had carbon deep dish wheels waiting for me. By go-time I was feeling moderately confident. 

Instead of flying, I drove the 10 hours from Breckenridge to Des Moines with my old tri bike in tow arriving Friday afternoon. When I arrived at the race expo, I walked my bike over to the RaceDayWheels tent to have the Zipp 808s swapped onto my frame. To my shock and horror, Marc informed me that my vintage Cervelo lacked the clearance to accommodate modern race wheels. Balls. A feeling of panic rushed over me. There was no way my old tires would make it 112 miles. Then I asked Marc if he had any bikes I could rent. "Maybe. I do have a 56cm used 2018 Canyon here for sale..." I took it for a spin around the block. Good enough! The hasty decision to buy a $3500 bike on the spot without a fitting left me a little uneasy and anxious. I laid there on the lumpy mattress of my cheap EconoLodge room second guessing myself. So I took it for a spin up the street. There was no denying it was a little small but it was going to have to do so I came to terms with that before nodding off to sleep that night.

Raceday Eve

The following morning was the practice swim. Having had hardly any time in my wetsuit I showed up promptly at 0800 like an earnest schoolboy ready for his first lesson. As I lined up to hop in, I noticed a few people being turned away. And then I was turned away as well. I had forgotten to wear my prison anklet. Dammit. I stripped out of my wetsuit dejected. But while I was moping back toward my car, I noticed some of the other rejects swimming on the public beach. Hallelujah. I climbed right back into that snug wetsuit and dove in like I was receiving an adult baptism. The swim went... swimmingly. I hadn't realized how much a wetsuit puts you on top of the water instead of in the water. What a confidence-inspiring feeling.

I wrapped up the swim, went back to the hotel and squeezed in another shakeout on the bike and a short run for a systems check - felt dialed. I collected my gear for the race into each transition bag and took photos of each so I could ensure I hadn't forgotten anything later. I passed on using the run and bike special needs bags. I came to the conclusion that they're a waste of time and just complicate things. I loaded everything up for delivery to the transition area and came to feel mildly inadequate by what I encountered at the bike rack: dozens of shiny $10000+ machines all around. Then I concluded that most of those bike owners are just compensating. Somehow I managed to relax and pass out early that night before the 0545 start.

The Swim (1:00:36 - 4th AG); T1 (11:17)

When I arrived at the start around 0500 it looked like Santa's toy factory. People tinkering with bikes. Tinkering with bags. Tinkering with wetsuits. Tinkling in urinals. So I just took their lead and did all that too. The 11th hour double checks helped settle my nerves. Instead of a mass start, all of us age groupers self-sorted by anticipated swim time. I hopped in with the 1:00 group. We lined up in groups of 2 for a staggered start. It was somewhat anticlimactic compared to the chaos I had pictured. We just hopped in the lake and went. 

I repeated the mantra "smooth is fast" during the first lap of the swim and patiently stroked on the heels of a few guys who had gone out ahead of me. But the second lap converged with the later starters creating a churning cesspool. It was an obstacle course of flying limbs. I calmly navigated the chaos and exited the water in just over an hour. The "strippers" caught me off guard when they yelled "GET ON THE GROUND!" as I was running toward T1. I obeyed as they efficiently ripped my wetsuit from my legs. I carried the momentum into the changing tent... where everything ground to a halt. I had trouble finding one of my socks after toweling off then wasted too much time applying sunscreen and squirrelnut butter. By the time I finally started the bike, 11 minutes had ticked by. I still have some work to do on transitions.

The Bike (5:05:28 - 8th AG); T2 (7:24)

A couple friends advised not to go out too hard at the start of the bike. I took that to heart, awkwardly downing a PB&J over the course of the winding first mile. Soon after I was settling into aero position (felt better than feared) and monitoring my 1-min wattage, normalized power and intensity factor as I peddled out of town. It would be easy to over-push the bike without the aid of a bike computer. 70-75% of FTP felt effortless. I knew the heat was coming and had no desire to suffer through the entirety of the run. Steady was the name of the game. Before this race, my longest ride had been 90 miles on a frickin' trainer. I maintained about 350 cal/hr on the bike consisting of 24oz. gatorade and 2 maurten gels. Some people desire solid food but I just prefer to keep it simple and my stomach can handle that regiment. 

This bike course was beautiful, far exceeding Iowa expectations. It was a single loop full of rolling hills and wide open farm country. A gentle rain came through about 50 miles into the bike and the subsequent light show from the clouds was mesmerizing - easy to enjoy the scenery when you're relaxed on the bike. I noticed a lot of riders around me pushing the hills. I let my own wattage climb into the 250s (FTP 310) but never more. Many of the guys pushing early dropped off in the latter half of the bike as the humidity and temperature started climbing. The wind was swirling for much of the bike leg but mercifully the last 20 miles had a pronounced tail wind to push us into T2.

I offloaded my bike, grabbed my T2 bag and rushed into the changing tent - not because I was laser focused on making up for my sloppy T1 but because I had a code brown. I sprinted out of the tent and landed in a 110 deg portajohn where I wrestled with the top half of my trisuit. I left at least 4 minutes of that transition in the toilet.

The Run (3:19:43 - 1st AG)

One of the perks of a transitional intestinal offloading was the run feeling relaxed but strong from the outset. Before deciding to do this race, I had been a MUT runner for the last 15 years so this discipline is my jam. My race strategy was smooth on the swim, steady on the bike, then throw down on the run and start reeling in the field. But I could feel the mercury rising with the high sun. Eventually the heat index hit 100F for the day. Heat was a wildcard for me having no acclimation to it whatsoever. It had snowed 2 ft at my house less than a month before race day. The high in Breckenridge last summer was all of 83F. At a friend's urging, I had packed salt tabs along for the run. Although I could stomach gatorade on the bike, the same wasn't true on the run. I rotated in water with salt tabs to try to keep my electrolytes balanced. I managed to hit the halfway mark in 1:35 but I was fading. The heat was taking a toll. However I seemed to be holding up better than most of the field. I witnessed one of the pro women walk off the run course and lay down under a tree about halfway into the run. I continued to liberally dump water on my head, throw ice into my tri suit and just embraced that unmistakable sensation of discomfort. Even with a slowing pace, I passed several of my competitors in the second half of the run - coming in at 13th OA on the run.

At the finish line, I had no idea how I had finished. I asked another competitor in his early 30s who I had been beside for much of the bike and the run if we had gotten into Kona. He shot me the 'are you effing kidding?' look before replying, "You just broke 9:45... what do you think?" After removing my shoes to discover the horror that was my feet, a race volunteer kindly looked up my result and let me know I got 2nd in the 40-44 AG and 30th OA. The result had exceeded all expectations, I had qualified for Kona in my first Ironman.

 

Rockinghorse Ridge

Access: Pitkin Creek TH
Start: 0649, 10/6/2019
Partner: Corey Dobson
Climb Rating: 4
Duration: 1:01 to Pitkin Lake
                2:05 to Peak U (W. Partner)
                2:57 to Rockinghorse
                3:45 to Peak P
                4:35 to East Booth Pass
                5:33 to Booth Falls TH
                5:41 back to Pitkin Creek TH
Total Distance: 14.25 mi
Vertical: 7000'
Summit: West Partner (U) 13,041' ; Rockinghorse 12,680'; P 12,965'
Weather: 25-60F/bluebird
Nearest Town: Vail, CO

I'm a bit of a Gore Range n0oB. Backpacking takes too long; hiking takes too long; so it took me awhile to realize that going light, running the access trails, and power hiking the steep slopes to access the interesting stuff is totally reasonable. I only really started visiting Gore summits from the Vail side in the fall of last year (Ripsaw) and their mysterious draw has only grown in that time. I've been fortunate to befriend a group of Eagle runners that share the same running to scramble MO so this summer has been open season.

With warm high pressure extending into October, one last push deep and high into the Gore felt obligatory this autumn. Corey wanted to make a hard effort up to Pitkin Lake and West Partner while I'd been wanting to tackle Rockinghorse Ridge for awhile. So we decided to hammer the run up to Pitkin Lake then tap whatever's left in the tank for a push over to P from West Partner via Rockinghorse, concluded with a reverse traverse below Rockinghorse Ridge above the Upper Piney drainage back south to East Booth Pass and run back out to Booth Falls TH. Brandon Chalk gave great beta on this route. I thought the ridge could use a little more insight from the perspective of a rapid strike as opposed to climbing each and every spire in the course of a long day.

After originally planning on an 0530 start, we realized it's October. And Dark. And Cold. We pushed our start time back to 0630, even though... Still dark. Still cold (25F). I have no photos of the approach along Pitkin trail because I was mouth breathing through the entirety of it. Shockingly, a few flurries flew shortly before our arrival at Pitkin Lake before the skies completely cleared. The warm inviting alpenglow on the Partners hung only a couple hundred feet overhead. It taunted us while I warded off frostbite filling my bottles in a stream.

East Partner and the Partner Traverse from West Partner's south approach

Pitkin Lake with Outpost Peak and Holy Cross in the distance from the approach to West Partner

We ascended the grassy slopes south of West Partner mercifully meeting the sun halfway. After gaining the false summit visible from Pitkin Lake, the scrambling commenced. It was mostly a 3rd class blocky ridge run. Most of the exposure to the east was avoidable to the west typical of the range. I decided to have a go at a down sloping knife edge on the ridge proper. It abruptly ended in a cleft with a tricky down climb required to get off. Corey easily skirted it on a ledge west.

Navigating the knife edge leading to West Partner

Corey climbing West Partner's summit block

From West Partner, the descent onto Rockinghorse ridge started as an innocuous walk off. Before long, the terrain steepened drawing us back toward the ridge proper. Most difficulties could still be bypassed to the west.

Corey riding the ridge, Peak P in the distance

Standing on the ridge with West Partner behind

We bypassed all the towers besides Rockinghorse. From below the ridge proper, it was a direct climb from the west up to Rockinghorse. Corey gained it with some class 3-4 ledges on the west. I climbed it from the south with an awkward arm jam into an offwidth and some smearing. Felt like low 5th class without much exposure - 15 foot climb from a ledge.

A precarious tower we skirted to the left; Peak P in the background

The Rockinghorse

Atop Rockinghorse

The Spider and Fly looking down into Upper Piney from Rockinghorse

We had assumed we were past the difficulties of the ridge after summiting Rockinghorse until we walked upon the edge of a 40 foot cliff guarding a gully. I assumed I could skirt it with a short scramble down off ridge, but the cliff extended around to the west and south forming a peninsula around us. Barring backtracking and down climbing a couple hundred feet, it seemingly severed further access north.  Corey discovered a single crack in the face of the cliff that we were able to down climb at 4th-5th class. The exposure was a bit unnerving. This was near the low point of the ridge.

Down climbing to the P saddle after Rockinghorse

Down climbing the cliff bands; I'm in the center of the photo

The start of the climb from the the saddle onto the P ridge had another shorter, though equally tricky, down climb into a notch before a 2nd class ascent to P's summit. The summit of P offered impressive views of Q, L, Ripsaw, the Partners and the Spider. It's the deepest I've felt in the Gore thus far- only about 3.5 hours from the trailhead.

Corey climbing the ridge; Peak P behind

Pink Quartz

Looking down Slate Creek from P's summit; Q right; L left

We backtracked along P's ridge and started descending west from the ridge before the the last notch we had previously down climbed. From there it was traversing on grass and talus blocks above Upper Pitkin Lake over to East Booth Pass. East Booth Pass had a beautiful view into the Booth drainage and the upper tarn. From here, it was an easy descent on grass to the tarn followed by a steep grassy gully down to the lower lake and main trail where we were able to quickly descend to the golden valley below in under 6 hours roundtrip car to car.

Booth's Upper Tarn looking down from East Booth Pass

Running down along Booth

The Punch Buggy Traverse (Peak V/East Partner to W)

Access: Pitkin Creek TH
Start: 0540, 9/15/2019
Partners: Jon Harrison, Corey Dobson, Dan MacArthur
Climb Rating: 4
Duration: 1:20 to Pitkin Lake
                2:20 to Peak V (E. Partner)
                3:20 to Peak W
                4:53 back to TH
Total Distance: 12 mi
Vertical: 5200'
Summit: V 13,057'; W 12,775'
Weather: 40-65F/bluebird
Nearest Town: Vail, CO

After plan A, Peak A (Eagles Nest) fell through for the second time this summer, I was lucky enough to receive an invite for an audible up to the Pitkin Lake cirque for the VW traverse ("Punch Buggy"  copyright Jon Harrison 2019) from an Eagle crew that is more familiar with the Gore approaches from the west. I drove over late the night before and crashed in the back of my truck at the Pitkin Creek trailhead. After being lulled to sleep by the semis screaming down I-70, I was jolted back to the land of the living by my alarm at 0450.

Lackadaisically cooking breakfast like a mindless zombie was a mistake. I assumed the guys would be a little late to the trailhead since it seems like most everyone's on mountain time in Summit. However, this was a group of dads. Doting fathers who wish to keep pursuing Gore summits without upsetting familial harmony are punctual and efficient. And we were a group of 4 of them.

My oatmeal and coffee went down like light beer, and we were running upward and onward toward Pitkin Lake by 0540. We all discussed the prospects of the Partner Traverse but were leery of it without rope so we settled on a plan to traverse to W from V with basically no knowledge of the route beyond topos. Rope be dammed.

New slide path along Pitkin Creek

Alpenglow on W. Partner above Pitkin Lake 

IN THE SPIRIT OF THE GORE, I'm going to be intentionally vague and blah blah blah... I won't go into the details of E. Partner just because there's already plenty of beta out there. From the lake, use steep grass to gain the saddle, and then pick your way along the a system of ridges and gullies to gain the summit block. The south ridge to E. Partner was solid 3rd class without too much exposure beyond one slabby loose gully.

Accessing E. Partner's S. Ridge

Ascending E. Partner's S. Ridge

Climbing the crux of E. Partner

E. Partner summit shot

Dan contemplating life and "W"

Having made good time up to E. Partner and still feeling fresh, we agreed on making the plunge into the unknown with the traverse to W. Cursory searches for beta on it turned up nothing on summitpost and 14ers. We descended a couple hundred feet to a saddle with an unnamed subpeak. It was fairly guarded by airy slabs off the backside so we located a ledge to the left/NW around it. This ended at the base of a slabby wall. We thought we were going to have to descend a steep loose gully to bypass it but then found that the left arete of the slabs would go. 

NW passage

Somewhere on the ridge

The arete

Climbing the arete led to the ridge proper. It was a blocky, solid traverse that finally terminated in a cliff. Down climbing to the right/south we located a grassy ledge that paralleled the ridge. The ledge led to a steep unpassable gouge in the ledge. Luckily, some 3rd class scrambling regained the ridge, leading to an airy but solid catwalk that ended the difficulties of the traverse.

Corey having regained the ridge

Running the catwalk

W's summit was a short hike on grass and large blocks from this point.

The Eagle squad

Summiting

We descended directly off the summit on grass down to the Usable Pass drainage and rejoined Pitkin Creek trail. Pleasant, remarkably seamless Gore outing.

Pilot Mountain to Hanging Rock (PM2HR) 50K

 
Location: Danbury, NC; Pilot Mountain SP to Hanging Rock SP via the Sauratown Trail
Date Run: 10/15/2016, 0730 start
Duration: 4:21:21
Place: 1 out of 126
Average Pace: 8:24
Elevation: 750' to 2050'
Weather: 50-70F, clear
Race Website: http://pm2hrultras.com/

About a two hour drive north of Charlotte, 12 miles south of the border with Virginia roughly halfway between nowhere and someplace is a little town called Danbury. It would be unremarkable were it not in the shadow of two impressive state parks - Hanging Rock and Pilot Mountain. Both have rapids on the Dan River, multipitch sport and trad climbing, and an impressive trail network connected between the parks by the Sauratown Trail.

I stumbled upon the race website while perusing runningintheusa.com. It had a couple main draws. 

Of the dozens of race formats I've done, my preferences go:

1. Point to point (Imogene Pass Run in CO)
2. Loop (Breck Crest in CO)
3. Out and back (Cloudsplitter in KY)
4. Repeating sections (I avoid these)

PM2HR is a point to point between state parks and it looked scenic based on the cherry picked photos from the website. In person it equally really impressed. Pilot Mountain rises slowly from the valley like most other Appalachia humps but the top is capped by an almost perfectly cylindrical shear rock wall. Hanging Rock has beautiful waterfalls in the valley floor of the park, while 1500 feet above and a 2 mi hike away are shear cliffs with unobstructed views of the surrounding countryside.

I met my college friend Aaron in Danbury the night before the race. We stayed at a cozy 2 bedroom called the Wren Roost in the Whippoorwill Inn. There was no front desk, didn't see the owners once the entire weekend; but there was key underneath the doormat and the place was clean. The town really had limited dining options. I was thrilled to find hot cheetos and takis at the corner market but would have preferred a banana. The River Rock Cafe on the outskirts of town had a decent pasta dish adequate for a pre-race meal.

The race was a point to point from ::drumroll:: Pilot Mountain to Hanging Rock, so for $10 a bus shuttled runners from the finish to the start. Within five minutes of departing HR at 0630, our bus was pulled over. Turns out the driver, in addition to not signaling, was also going the wrong way so the officer kindly escorted us to the start. Despite it being 0715, dawn had yet to arrive. There were only two urinals available for the 135 50k runners. Usually I try to take care of business before arriving at the start but the coffee failed me so I was resigned to waiting in the dark line for half an hour. The rising sun moved in sync with the line illuminating Pilot Mountain in the distance. 

After a brief pre-race meeting lamenting the closure of portions of the Sauratown Trail and reroutes on pavement, the gun went off at 0745. The 50k started in Pilot Mountain, but only the 50 milers actually ran in the park. The 50k just skirted the edge of the park quickly jumping on the Sauratown on a fast descent leading out of PM. Four of us charged down the wide trail going sub 7:00 for the first mile. Once the trail flattened so did the pace. The pack dispersed and after the first four miles I was alone in the front where I remained through the finish.

Sauratown Trail was primarily rolling technical single track with one significant climb starting at mile 10. The trail had a lot of flow to it but also had infrequent road crossings and portions that ran along the road. It was less than optimal but unavoidable because of trail closures. Mile 17 through mile 20 just before entering HR Park consisted of a long climb along the road. The pavement was warm and draining.

There was an aid station before leaving the road and entering the HR trail system but I didn't take in enough electrolytes. After the 1000' climb from the road to the race's highest point in HR, I was left with an electrolyte imbalance. On the rapid technical descent from Moore's Wall, I took a digger on the technical downhill and both of my hamstrings locked. One of the race organizers marking the trail climbed toward me from the opposite direction but hadn't seen me go down. After telling me I was crushing it from a distance he broke mid sentence asking "Uhhh... doing okay?" Guess I looked off balance and shaken - the blood dripping down my leg might've been a clue too. He quickly rifled through his pack leaving me with pretzels and a bottle of water on the fly. 

His gesture really saved my race. There wasn't another aid station for 3 more miles of steep quad crushing downhill that transitioned from single track to crowded concrete walkway. My handheld was drained and I was running on fumes by the time I rolled into the aid station at the parking lot of the HR visitor center. I had a PB&J, drank half a liter of water, and for the first time in my life, I downed a salt tablet. It actually worked and the intermittent cramping in my hamstrings eased. The aid station volunteers informed me I was out front by 20 mins. I relaxed my pace some as I descended further through HR. 

The trail from the visitor center gave way to steep stairs that navigated through beautiful waterfalls near the floor of the park. In light of my lead, I decided I wanted a picture taken in front of the falls. I failed to bring my phone so I asked a random park visitor for assistance. The man hesitantly admitted to having a phone. After I explained I was running a race and didn't want to miss the chance to take a picture in front of the falls he quickly acquiesced. I passed off my phone number on the fly and continued down the stairs to the base of the falls.

Knowing I was about 26 miles in, I conserved energy through the flats to avoid a late race bonk. An abundance of stream crossings peppered with picturesque fallen autumn leaves kept my pace in check. When the course finally emerged from the underbrush of Hanging Rock onto a gravel road, my GPS put me at 29 mi. The course ended rather abruptly a half mile later 1.5mi short of 31. I crossed the line in 4:21, first overall. The next finisher came through in 4:55 so I was alone with the volunteers for awhile. I grabbed the free finisher beer and hobbled down to the Dan River adjacent to the finish line. There was a raft put-in providing a convenient spot to hop in and soak my legs. As more runners finished, the riverside bar at the finish line provided the perfect spot to unwind and hang out. My buddy Aaron finished in the front end of the pack in around 6 hours. Wasting no time, we grabbed more beers and got back in the river making a perfect end to a great race.

Ratings

Race Organization (5=phenomenal, 1=atrocious): 4/5
The good: Well marked, plenty of food at aid stations, diverse beautiful course with a great finisher area.
The bad: Did I mention the shuttle driver was pulled over on the way to the start?

Course Difficulty (5=Pikes Peak Ascent, 1=a flat dirt road): 3/5
I took a digger. I never take diggers. The technical downhill sections were fast requiring focus. Though the road sections - not so much. The climbing was moderately challenging but not demoralizing.

Course Scenery (5=engagement proposal backdrop, 1=concrete walls): 4/5
A point to point in the fall with plenty of elevation changes and a diversity of terrain I rarely see in the east.

Schwag (5=a tech T, embroidered towel & warmup pants, 1=a cotton shirt): 4/5
Unique finisher medal, framed plaque for winning, free finisher beer, and a sweatshirt

Overall: 5/5

The brief road sections and bathroom line at the start were the only drawbacks of this race. Even getting pulled over provided quality conversation fodder. Courses like this are why I love trail running.

The Crestone Traverse (Peak to Needle)

Access: South Colony Lakes
Start: 0700, 7/9/2016
Climb Rating: 4+
Duration: 4:30 Crestone Peak from SCL
                3:30 Peak to Needle Traverse
                6:00 Needle Descent (wrong couloir with retrace)
Total Distance: ~6 mi R/T
Vertical: ~3500' (not including the 600' regained from the wrong descent)
Summit: Peak 14,294', Needle 14,197'
Weather: 50-70F/bluebird
Nearest Town: Westcliffe, CO

Dawn on Broken Hand Pass and Crestone Needle from South Colony

Jutting out from the rest of Colorado's mountain ranges like a severed appendage dangling is the Sangre de Cristo Range. Fitting, as "Sangre de Cristos" is Blood of Christ in Spanish. The narrow 75 mile long range rises 6000+ feet above the San Luis Valley on the west and the Arkansas River watershed to the east.

The Needle and Peak from Humboldt

Near the northern terminus of the range is the Crestone Group of peaks lying in the Sangre de Cristo Wilderness that include in addition to the Needle and Peak - Humboldt, Kit Carson and Challenger. In the last few years the South Colony trailhead on the eastern side of the peaks was moved a couple miles further down valley requiring a more serious commitment for access to two of the more imposing 14ers. Four of us - Splinter, Birddog, Stryker and myself - set out to behold these majestic peaks for ourselves. After a long hike into the South Colony Lakes campground with 50 lb packs, we were greeted by the most human habituated big horn sheep I've ever encountered. They used our latrine location 50 ft from camp as a salt lick.

Having made camp by 1600, we decided to knock out Humboldt as an acclimation hike. Despite making short work of the walk-up 14er we were passed near the summit by a swift solo hiker. As he passed I commented, "warmup for the Crestones?" and he just ignored me so I immediately prejudged him as a pompous jackwagon. Upon summiting I came to realize the bat out of hell was deaf. I was the asshole. After communicating via notepad on the iphone, we became acquainted with Kevin and agreed he'd join us for the traverse the following day.

THE CLIMB TO BROKEN HAND PASS

Setting off at 0630 the following morning as the sun was just splashing the top of the Needle, the five of us made a dark approach to Broken Hand Pass and encountered significant (though low angle and soft) snow crossings less than a mile into the climb. This made the steep approach to Broken hand more technical than expected. There was a tricky move required to climb off the snowfield onto the steep hanging scree garden beneath the pass. A slip here could have been consequential and we had yet to even start up either of the peaks.

CRESTONE PEAK VIA SOUTHEAST/RED GULLY

We decided to do the traverse Peak to Needle to enjoy the airy headwall scramble up the Needle and to further avoid any planned rappels. The descent from the pass down to Cottonwood Lake was quick and dirty on a loose trail. From Cottonwood Lake, the start of the Peak ascent is fairly obvious, winding around the base of the Needle along an established trail and up the lookers right flank of the Peak. However, the trail terminated at heavy spring runoff requiring some route finding around the wet rock and into the red (SE) gully. Despite a warm early summer and a SE exposure, the red gully still had a lot of snow.

Splinter, Birddog and Stryker climbing the Red Gully

Our party had 2 switchovers between crampons/ice axes and scrambling. It wasn't until we reached the top of the red gully that we could remove the crampons. I'd estimate there was at least 1500' vert of snow climbing up the red gully. We received reports that several parties were confident they could summit without crampons and ice axes, only to be turned around halfway up the gully. THIS CLIMB SHOULD NOT BE ATTEMPTED WITHOUT HELMETS, ICE AXES & CRAMPONS in early-mid July. Although the transitions to crampons added considerable time, we had little concern of potential rockfall. If you're comfortable, I'd recommend this climb with snow. The climb offered stunning views of Great Sand Dunes National Park in the distance.

After exiting the red gully, the climb up to the summit is a steep class 3 scramble over large blocks. Careful route finding got us there in about 15 minutes.

Crestone Peak Summit

 THE TRAVERSE TO CRESTONE NEEDLE

Here the climb became interpretive and sporty. After summiting with the standard route and starting the descent the same way, the exit from the gully to start the traverse is around 350' down the red gully. It was relatively well marked with a giant cairn, but when focused on a steep snow climb it is easy to miss. Luckily, Kevin -great addition to our team- was more observant than the rest of us and spotted the cairn during the ascent. All of us were surprised by just HOW FAR we had descended prior to arriving at the established start point. If started too high there is a strong likelihood one will be turned around, cliffed out or otherwise screwed.

Descending the red gully to the start of the traverse

The start of the traverse landed us on a large flat slab. It's not obvious if the route trends up, down, or straight across. Careful observation spotted the occasional cairn guiding the route but they were sporadic and largely absent when we needed them most. I strongly suggest printing out the 14ers.com guide to the traverse - in large, vivid photos that you can leaf through unless you want to take an ipad. Repeatedly we found ourselves making blind route finding decisions.

The first half of the traverse is generally class 2+ terrain losing elevation through the course of a few descents and ascents. We had to keep a disciplined eye out for the cairns as it was tempting to traverse too high. Eventually, after we didn't think we could possibly be on the correct route despite the cairns because we had lost so much elevation, we found ourselves on a distinct rock rib regaining elevation. We traced the rib following cairns upwards about 100' of elevation until we reached a prominent red gully that looked more inviting than a hammock. Two of our group gained about 200' in the gully only to realize the correct route was up a steeper less demarcated chute that lied across and down from the more obvious looking red gully. A hard look at the route directions from 14ers.com corrected the error.

Navigating one of the ribs

The faint chute leads to the top of the right flank of the red gully. We did not encounter any cairns leading up to or within this faint gully - though we built some of our own. From the top of the chute on the rib, there is another, steeper, gully flanked climbers right by some slabs. That gully led us upward to the top of another rib. A gentle climb down cleared the rib and we could first put eyes on the black gendarme.

The approach to the black gendarme

There are two standard routes from here to gain the headwall. One traverses straight out onto the exposed class 3+ slab lying below the headwall. The other follows a talus ramp below and around the base of the black gendarme. We opted for the latter route. A straightforward and unexposed walk on ramps leads to the right side of the black gendarme to a narrow gully entrance. The entrance is obstructed by a set of large boulders jammed between the walls of the gully. This is the only class 5 move but it's completely unexposed. In prior trip reports, a fixed rope was shown anchored at the move for assistance if desired. We saw no sign of the rope. With a stem between the gully walls, we all navigated the move with minimal effort - having some height helped.

Beyond the jam, the steep narrow gully led us to the ridge proper. Upper South Colony Lake could be seen a couple thousand feet below. The exposure was dizzying. A solid, short rock fin cutback from the top of the gully. The fin had a 25' drop on the climbers right side, and a 2500' drop on the climbers left side. We carefully straddled the fin and bridged the 10' gap to gain the grassy ledge above.

The Fin - upper South Colony Lake below

The "Z-ledges" brought somewhat difficult route finding. At the top of the first, we cutback left toward the ridge proper climbing to a dead end with nothing but a sheer drop below and a sheer wall above.  Backtracking, we realized the correct route was around the gully we had climbed in error and up an adjacent gully. The Z-ledges were a series of steep gullies that abruptly terminated at an open balcony at the base of the headwall.

Kevin cresting the headwall

The headwall is imposing. The climbing difficulty decreased from climbers right to left, but the exposure also increased considerably. The leftmost option was on the spine of the ridge with 2500' of nothing below. We all opted for the easier climbing, more exposed option, realizing a fall anywhere on the headwall would be catastrophic.

Needle Headwall

 I had packed a 30m, 8mm rope, a light rack and climbing shoes in case the climb was beyond our comfort level. We all felt the provisions unnecessary and meticulously tackled the airy wall unroped in our boots. It's a short 100' section of class 4 with mostly solid knobs. Double checking every hold was a must as I encountered loose rocks twice. The slope angle mellowed out in the last 20' just before we passed a bolted rappel station and topped out on the Needle.

NEEDLE DESCENT VIA STANDARD ROUTE (EAST/WEST GULLY)

We found ourselves alone on the summit until our descent. A climbing party of two arriving just as we were leaving had come up the east gully having missed the crossover to the west gully. They advised us to follow the west gully down. We had all read beta on the Needle's standard route; this feedback reinforcing what we already knew. Our successful completion of the traverse left us complacent. We foolishly assumed there were only two obvious gullies off the summit, the east one we observed the party coming up, and the west one next to the east gully.

With a bit of overconfidence, we started down the wide open gully before us. Despite not encountering a cairn or any sign of other climbers, we continued on. At one point about 600' down the gully, we noticed there was no clear crossover and the terrain in the gully had grown too steep to continue on without a rappel. We finally questioned the accuracy of our descent route. But above us, the climbing party we had encountered on the summit was following us in lockstep. They were completely confident we were in the "west gully".

Stryker and Splinter forged ahead along the perimeter of the gully searching for the crossover to the west gully. They landed atop an exposed 60' high rib with a difficult climb. A downclimb was impossible, and I was carrying the rope needed for a rappel. At this point, the three of us remaining in the gully behind and beneath the rib decided to turn around. It was a difficult decision to willfully split up, but none of us felt comfortable climbing up to the top of the rib without knowing where it would lead.

Observing our difficulties from above, the other party had already turned around as we slowly followed. The day was growing long and our energy stores were completely sapped. Regaining the 600' left us drained. By the time we had emerged from the gully to just below the summit the other party ahead of us had resummited and we all remained completely vexed on the correct route down. We encountered another party of two who had just summited from the technical Ellingwood Arete route. They were also unfamiliar with the descent so they heeded our cautionary tale. We all carefully studied a topo and the large, glossy photos of the route the technical climbers had printed out. It became apparent the gully we had mistakenly descended was one of several gullies that fanned out from the initial descent off the summit. The west gully closely traced the east gully on a parallel SSE fall line. We had descended a SSW facing gully that bottomed out above some cliffs and Cottonwood Lake.

Our three parties made our way down the standard route together with few difficulties. The crossover from the west to east gullies was well marked. The down climbing was steep but manageable. The only snow we encountered lie in the deep drainage channel between the right and left sides of the gully. Crossing over the thin unsupportive snow bridge required some tricky moves. From there, the gully mellowed out on dry solid rock. Relieved that we had made it off the summit safely, we shifted focus. Descending in silence - dehydrated, hungry and awash with guilt at having abandoned our friends - we finally reached the bottom of the gully and the trail leading to Broken Hand Pass. Here we caught a glimpse of a union jack bandanna slung about a rock. We realized beyond a doubt that Stryker -a Brit- had left that bandanna as a sign they'd made it out.

Stryker's Union Jack Bandanna

The sun was setting behind the surrounding peaks and we still needed to navigate down Broken Hand pass. Fortunately we made it down the difficult section in daylight. We plodded slowly down the scree field beneath Broken Hand Pass in the dark finally arriving back at camp around 2100 greeted by a raging fire, hot food, and the rest of our party.

UPDATE

The day after we did the traverse, a climber lost his life in a fall descending the wrong gully after summiting the Needle. A tradition of erroneous route finding on the descent of the Needle has resulted in many serious accidents over the years. Prior to making the climb ourselves and subsequently descending the wrong gully, we never imagined we could fall victim to the same mistake.

While I support preservation of the mountain's natural environment and personal responsibility, I also am not opposed to non-intrusive intervention to prevent further loss of life in this manner. Risk is accepted with mountaineering and accidents occur with some regularity in the endeavor. I do not wish for roads, or ::gulp:: trams, to ever tarnish the environment, but I wonder if an inconspicuous sign steering climbers away from making the same error so many others have made would be wrong. It is noted that an existing sign shown in a photo above warns climbers on the summit of the Needle to avoid one particular descent route. Would another hurt? It could help. The debate will continue for eternity.

Birddog clearing the class 5 section