This trip was planned a little over a week in advance. I had been putting off the Chicago Basin 14ers until I could plan a nice long trip, maybe 4 or 5 days, to allow enough time for bad weather and to thoroughly enjoy the basin. With the Fourth of July weekend approaching, I was pondering climbing trips, and had narrowed it down to something in the San Juans. I was thinking a Sneffels climb of the Southwest Ridge from Blue Lakes would be fun, but I really wanted to see something completely new.
I suddenly had a flash that I could pull off a Chicago Basin trip on a 3 day weekend, if I drove down Friday after work to catch the train Saturday morning. I had done trips to the Wilsons in 2 days, so why not? I logged on to the Durango & Silverton Narrow Gauge Railroad website and put in a reservation for a train ticket. I would find out within 48 hours if I would get the reservation or not. In retrospect I should have just waited until the next day and called them, it would have saved some trouble, but if I gave myself enough time I might talk myself out of it, so I went with the impulse decision. On Friday I got an email saying I was confirmed for the Saturday 08:15 train, which was the train that stopped in Needleton on the way to Silverton, according to the website. It turns out the website is wrong, the 09:00 train is the Needleton train - my advice is to call them when making reservations to ensure you have the current information. I happened to call to get more information on when to pick up my ticket, and I asked if I had the correct train for Needleton, and they switched my reservation to 09:00.
My plan was to drive to Durango Friday after work, hopefully leaving as early as noon if I could finish up what I had to do in time. I would camp at a campground north of town, or just find a spot in the forest, or sleep in the car if nothing else. Saturday morning I would get my ticket and take the train to Needleton, backpack to about 11,000' in Chicago Basin, find a campsite, and if the weather and my condition allowed, climb Eolus that afternoon. Get up early and climb Windom and Sunlight, and climb Eolus if I didn't get it Saturday. Break up camp and pack out to catch the train Sunday if I managed to climb all the 14ers in time, or stay Sunday night and climb whatever was left Monday morning, then pack out, catch the train, drive home and go back to work Tuesday. With this tight schedule I would be motivated to leave Chicago Basin Sunday afternoon, or suffer a long drive late into the night and an even longer day at work Tuesday.
Friday, July 2
I could hardly concentrate at work most of the week, and finally Friday was here. I had packed and repacked and had all my gear with me in the car, and when noon rolled around, I asked my manager if I could leave early. I got the okay and happily drove west, stopping at home for a cooler for a 4 pack of Guinness. 6 hours after leaving home I arrived in Durango, stopped at the train station to pick up my ticket, located the parking lot, and drove north of town to locate a campground. When the nice lady at the train ticket office found out that I was backpacking, she tried to push "backpacker's insurance" on me, "God forbid in case anything happens to you out there". I realized she was talking about the CORSAR card, which contributes to funds that help reimburse search and rescue organizations for expenses. Not a bad thing, but to call it "insurance" is misleading. I pulled into the United Campground, a nice place to stay, with showers and plush green grass on which to set up a tent. A little noisy and crowded until after dark, but it was the holiday weekend, I could hardly expect solitude.
Saturday, July 3
I woke up around dawn, way too early to catch the 09:00 train but I could
not sleep any longer, so I packed camp and headed to town. After finding
some breakfast I pulled into the train parking lot and paid the man $14 for
2, maybe 3 days. Not a bad deal considering the convenient location near
the train depot. I left the pack in the car and watched passengers board
the 08:15 train and depart. I really felt a rush of excitement watching
that steam locomotive pull out into the street and back up to join the string
of cars.
What could be better than riding a coal-fired steam locomotive to a remote trailhead and getting dropped off to climb 14ers? Nothing, of course! After the 08:15 departed, the engine for the 09:00 jockeyed into position while I retrieved my backpack and donned my mountaineering boots. I loaded my pack onto the boxcar and boarded the train. Al Harper, the owner of the railroad, stopped in each car to chat with the passengers and thank us for making the railroad possible with our patronage. Several other backpackers joined me in the open sided gondola, and at 09:00 the engineer blew the whistle and we headed north through town. I felt like a kid again.
The first hour of the trip meanders through the outskirts of Durango, past residential areas and golf courses, before entering the Animas River Gorge. The scenery was stunning as the train made its way high above the river swirling below, chugging along at a maximum speed of 18 mph. Looking out the open window of the gondola, I felt specks of soot hit my skin and cool water spray on my face. The puffing rhythm of the engine left me entranced.
After two and a half hours, the conductor called for those getting off at Needleton to move toward the front of the train. The train stopped, all 15 or so backpackers shuffled off the train and went to the boxcar to collect our packs. The train workers unloading the train do so in a hurry, not being particularly delicate with our expensive gear; perhaps they had careers as "throwers" for an airline, loading and unloading baggage. I could pick up a scent of disdain for the dirty backpacking ilk from the train workers, which is a little silly considering we pay the same money for a ticket as everyone else and don't even take advantage of the whole train ride.
I got my pack ready for the long haul up the trail while the train chugged off. The whistle blew its lonesome cry, echoing the private sentiments of some who found themselves in the middle of nowhere with nothing but the packs on their back to support their existence for several days. There would be no running back to the car for forgotten items at this trailhead. Several hikers got a head start and crossed the river on a sturdy suspension bridge, then turned south to hike alongside the Animas River for .8 miles before joining the Needle Creek trail. At the trail junction I stashed the two cans of Guinness I had brought along under a couple rocks in Needle Creek, to provide motivation for the hike out. I pushed along with my 40 lbs of gear on my pack, eventually settling into a mindless, plodding rhythm. To my surprise I began to pass several parties who had stopped to rest, and they didn't catch up again. I may not be all that fast but I keep the rest stops to a minimum; I don't think I removed my pack once after the beer stop at Needle Creek.
Gradually the trail climbs up into Chicago Basin, from about 8200' at
Needleton to about 11,000'. The hike was hot for the first couple miles then
cooled as the afternoon clouds covered the sky, but it never did rain. Higher
in the basin the trail flattens out and meanders through lush meadows and
clusters of trees, the views expanding along the way. After about 7 miles
total the trail passes through some nice campsites, and I selected one above
the trail at about 15:00 just as my legs were cramping from fatigue. The
clouds were
still hanging around, and with the uncertain weather and my tired condition
I decided to bag on climbing Eolus that afternoon. After I set up camp,
pumped some water and made dinner, the sky cleared and I felt rested, and
I wished I had attempted Eolus that afternoon.
Chicago Basin is a spectacular setting, ringed by rugged peaks and
surrounded by waterfalls. The imposing southwest face of Peak 18 stands
sentinel over the basin and shields reclusive Sunlight Peak from view.
Wildlife abounds in Chicago Basin, and the hordes of marmots and goats
have earned notoriety with their aggressive behavior. I came to the basin
expecting marmots to seek and destroy any gear left unattended.
I hung all my gear from a tree leaving only my tent on the ground,
the door unzipped to prevent them from chewing their way inside.
I expected mountain goats to follow me around on my bathroom breaks, waiting
for the chance to lick up salt from my urine. None of the nightmare stories
happened to me, but I did enjoy the close company of marmots, deer, and goats
in my camp. The marmots seemed content to scurry about chasing one another,
perhaps with some curiosity directed to me, but they left my camp alone. A
mother goat and two adorable baby goats walked right through my camp several
times, watchful but not fearful. Several times that evening a large
mule deer buck with velvet antlers grazed just fifty feet away, one eye on
me and another searching out the succulent greens.
The light fading, I retired to my tent and read a while from Touching the Void. This trip was the maiden voyage for several new gear items: Princeton Tec Yukon HL LED headlamp, Katadyn Guide water filter, and Marmot DriClime Windshirt. All met or exceeded my expectations; in particular, the water filter is a major improvement over my old MSR Miniworks filter. I set my alarm, a loud digital kitchen timer, as my Suunto Vector watch has failed to rouse me from dreamland too many times. Around 01:00 I was disturbed by a loud rumbling and the sound of snapping branches, and in my sleep-addled mind I thought a boulder was rolling down the south ridge of Mt Eolus toward me. Adrenaline surged through my bloodstream but I could only lay there with held breath, listening and hoping nothing would impact my tent. As I came to my senses I realized that a deer or goat was probably romping around through the forest above camp, and that the mountain wasn't about to come down on me. Eventually I drifted off to sleep again until the alarm...
Sunday, July 4
04:00 is early, and a clear night makes for a cold morning. I put on my hat, gloves and boots, emerged from the tent and heated up some water. I made a cup of tea and some oatmeal, shoved the contents of my tent into my backpack and hoisted it up a tree, then hit the trail at 04:20. With a nearly full moon, I only used my headlamp in the wooded areas or when I was unsure of the trail. Not far from camp the trail climbs steeply to pass the basin's headwall, then leads to Twin Lakes. Stream crossings were sometimes perilous as rocks at the water level were coated with a thin shell of ice. I could see no lights ahead or behind me, so I must have been the first hiker out of the basin. I had planned to climb Eolus first, but I wasn't clear on how to find the trail leading to the basin below Eolus' southeast face, and I thought the early morning light would suit me better on Windom and Sunlight. I made the decision to head for Windom first, to allow me and the morning air to warm up before tackling the more difficult Sunlight Peak.
At Twin Lakes I crossed a small snowfield and followed the trail toward
Windom's west ridge. Soon I was on snow again until I reached the saddle
between Windom and Peak 18, but the slope was gentle and good steps were left
by other climbers. I carried an ice axe but did not feel the need to use it
on this snow. I reached the west ridge, and the route turned into a talus
hop. Near the summit the ridge was more interesting, with large squarish
blocks jumbled together. I reached the summit at 06:45, stood atop the
detached spire pictured below (not the summit), and called Donna. My cellphone
(Verizon) had a surprisingly strong digital signal on all the summits;
originally I wasn't going to take it along. Shortly after the customary "I'm
still alive" phone call, a goat approached from below, checked me out then
wandered off to another side of the summit. I started my descent at 07:00,
and soon realized that the goat was following me. It would go ahead for a
while, then hang back as I passed, then follow me some more. At the saddle
the goat walked toward Peak 18 while I got out my ice axe for the descent of
the snow slope into the Sunlight/Windom basin. I could see someone hiking
up the snow toward Sunlight's Red Couloir, and I knew I would not be the first
to summit Sunlight that day.
I chose a line up what appeared to be a steep snow slope toward Sunlight's Red Couloir. As I neared, I downgraded the slope to moderate, and once above the snow I pushed up on loose dirt and scree. Occasional granite slabs topped with a coating of ice from the previous day's melt kept me alert as I continued upward. My goat friend had caught up with me again, and followed along as I ascended. If I stopped to rest the goat would pass me then turn around and look at me from 10' away until I started climbing again. I reached the saddle between Sunlight and Sunlight Spire - the details of the route escape me, but I remember seeing the first climber east of the summit rockpile getting into some more difficult terrain. I glanced to my left and saw a cairned route that led south of the summit and chose to check that out. The route circled clockwise around the south part of the summit then climbed up through a "keyhole" to reach the upper summit area, but still below the famed Sunlight summit blocks. When I popped through the keyhole and could look down to the east, I seemed to have surprised the climber I had seen earlier. He asked how I got up there and I told him, and he said he got off-route into some terrain that was higher than 4th class. I called Donna at 08:30 with another progress report.
This summit reminded me of the rounded granite blocks found in the South Platte. I saw the summit blocks and walked up the ramp, hopped across to the first isolated rock then did a hop and pull to the highest block. I made sure of my balance and slowly stood, then crouched back down. The rock surface is excellent and I felt absolutely sure of my footing, but the drop down the north face is long and this is no place to screw up. I hopped back down to the middle block then crept to the downward-sloping edge before launching myself to the lower block. I had completed the infamous Sunlight summit, rumored to be the most difficult single move of the easiest routes on all the 14ers. I almost laughed aloud at how easy it felt, and all anxiety about Sunlight Peak faded away. As I was moving off the ramp I saw the climber below nearly back to the ridge where he could follow the cairned route, and he asked if I had made the highest point. Then he asked if I was John Maki - I asked him if he was John Kirk. I laughed - John and I frequent Steve Hoffmeyer's 14erworld forum and had talked about our Chicago Basin plans, but we had never met before. While waiting for John to reach the summit I ran back up to the top for fun.
John reached the summit area, we exchanged greetings and I immediately
handed him my camera and asked him to take a shot of me on the summit while
I went up a third time. I could hardly believe all the hype about
the final summit moves, it really is a piece of cake if you have confidence
in the traction of your boot soles and aren't freaked out by exposure. I
think a lot of people make it much more difficult by not taking the
short jumps needed to get up and down - the landings are all excellent if
the rock is dry. My last time down from the intermediate block I skipped
the step of creeping along the downsloping edge and just jumped - it was
much easier that way. My advice to anyone planning to climb Sunlight is to
clear your mind of anxiety, don't spend too much time thinking about it,
forget about creeping, crawling, stretching - and just jump. You'll be fine.
John handed me his camera and made his summit run. I tried to get a few shots of the moves required for the summit - you can see them on John Kirk's trip report. After a short time John and I left the summit and started back down to the Red Couloir. Eolus looked very far away and I needed to keep moving if I was to stay on my tight schedule. We exchanged some conversation on the way down to Twin Lakes then parted ways as I headed for Eolus and John went back to tag camp before climbing Windom. It was about 10:00 at this point and I was feeling the effort of the last two days. As I climbed higher I began to doubt whether I would be able to climb Eolus and make the train, or for that matter, whether I would even be able to climb Eolus. I took an inventory of myself and my surroundings: I was definitely slowing down after 2 14ers, my food supply was running low, I had to be running low on water, clouds were moving in, and Eolus was still a long way away. I considered the possibilities while I slowly moved up the mountain. Going back to camp and down to the train without climbing Eolus was not an option. If I bailed now and went back to rest, I could climb Eolus that afternoon or the next morning. But then I'd have to make the climb from camp to Twin Lakes again, and I'd be forced to drive home from about 7pm-1am Monday night to be at work at 8am Tuesday. Ugh. The clouds didn't look threatening - yet - but only time could tell how the weather would turn out.
I decided to push as far as I could, and continue to evaluate the weather.
I climbed, rested, and climbed some more, and the cloud conditions seemed to
improve. As I neared the snowfield in the upper basin I began to feel
I had a real chance of making it. I got out my axe and continued up, bypassing
the first steep ramp to the right as indicated in the guidebook, and climbed
up the second ramp. The snow slope led me to a large flat saddle, and I saw a route
that led to the saddle between Eolus and North Eolus - some climbers were up
there on the ridge. I climbed up on class 3 ledges - some quite exposed, with
no cairns in sight - and joined the other climbers on the ridge. I had a
funny feeling that I took a shortcut from the standard route, and the guys
on the ridge confirmed that. I had reached the Catwalk just south of a bump
on the ridge, when I should have crossed the flats to a spot north of the
bump, then followed the ridge. I told the guys of my plans to summit then make
the train that afternoon, and they wished me luck, sincerely feeling that I
would need it. I bade them goodbye and crossed the Catwalk toward Eolus'
summit.
The Catwalk has another nickname: "Cakewalk". The ridge narrows to a couple feet with exposure on both sides, but if it didn't have a cool name I wouldn't have given it much thought. The routefinding to Eolus' summit was tougher than I'd anticipated. I knew I couldn't climb the ridge directly to the summit from the Catwalk, but I didn't know the best point to head up to the ridge after traversing a while. I hit the ridge too early a couple times and had to backtrack. The general rule of thumb is that if you're getting into 4th class, you're off route. If you have time to kill and want to play around on the summit, go ahead and explore the different routes, but if you're in a hurry and want the most expedient way to the summit, it's best to stay on the lowest cairned route and avoid climbing up until you're more or less below the summit. My descent path followed that plan and was much quicker and easier than the ascent.
I topped out on Eolus at about 11:30, the weather was still in good shape,
and I was pleased to have summited before noon. I had just used the last of
my water, and I only had half a Clif Bar and a tiny amount of beef jerky.
I touched base with Donna then headed back down. I looked up at North Eolus
but decided that time was of the essence and I'd better concentrate on
getting down to camp. Once across the Catwalk I shifted mental gears from
getting down safely to getting down quickly. I saw that the
group ahead of me had glissaded from the flats down the lower ramp, so I
followed. A few short glissades, and after climbing 40' back upslope to
retrieve my hat, I was in the lower Eolus basin. I overtook the group just
before Twin Lakes, and trotted down the trail as quickly as I could. I was
feeling the middle toe on my right foot impact the boot on the steeper
descents, but I didn't pay it much attention - I knew I would be in for some
pain on the backpack out.
After pounding down the trail, some sections being steeper than I'd remembered from that morning, I reached camp at 13:05. The timetable I had set for myself involved reaching camp, or maybe leaving camp, by 13:00, then 2 to 2-1/2 hours for the hike to Needleton in time to catch the train at 15:45. This would be close. I packed camp quickly and left at 13:25, stopping at the first stream crossing to filter 3 quarts of water, then I continued down the trail. Shortly after my water stop I encountered a herd of goats (or is it flock of goats? drove of goats? tribe of goats?) , at least 50, hanging around one of the campsites - not sure if the camp was occupied. The going was mostly easy, but I never really knew if I would have enough time to make the train, since I was never exactly sure where I was and how far I had to go. I didn't have time to pull out the map and estimate how far along I was, I just pushed at full steam and didn't stop.
Eventually I noticed changes in the plant life. I encountered groups of people plodding up the trail, let off the 09:00 train from Durango I surmised. My feet were hurting, my legs were tiring, but I kept moving quickly. I pulled on the the Camelback bite valve for water as often as I could, knowing that some damage had been done during the dry descent from Eolus to camp. I passed some familiar landmarks and knew I was making progress, but how much progress? Would it be enough? I crossed the bridge at New York Creek and paused for a moment, just a moment, before moving on. The trail seemed interminable, but reaching Needleton in time seemed to be within the realm of possibility. At last I reached the trailhead register where the Needle Creek trail begins, and I dropped my pack to retrieve those 2 cold cans of Guinness where I left them under a rock in the creek. But I didn't even have time to enjoy a cold beer, it was 15:20 and I might need every minute to make that train. I pulled on my pack and hiked along the Animas River. The trail lost its steady downhill grade, rolling up and down toward the bridge. It's somewhere between .5 and .8 miles from the Needle Creek trail to the bridge, depending on who you believe. I was slowing down significantly now that gravity wasn't helping me along, and I felt my pace drop from 3-4 mph to about 2 mph. I could not push any harder. I started to worry again about making the train, even as my Bataan Death March neared its conclusion.
At long last, I spied the suspension bridge across the Animas. I hobbled across the bridge, dropped my pack, and checked my watch. 15:35. The train stops at 15:45. I made it! About 10 other backpackers were waiting for the train. My thoughts turned toward those cans of Guinness but I got my affairs in order first, stowing my trekking poles and fishing out my train ticket and some money. I popped open a can and let the smooth brew fall down my throat - ahhh! Life is good again - but I still have some pain to go through. I stood up and moved around, and I felt my legs stiffening already. My feet felt blistered and rough, banged up toes, I didn't want to look. 15:45 and no train. I squashed the empty can and stuck it in my pack. 15:52 and here comes the train. Conductor gets off and we line up. I think how ironic it would be if he only had enough room for those with tickets for today's train (my ticket was for Monday as a fallback), but everyone made it aboard after loading the packs in the boxcar. I found a gondola with a few empty seats, grabbed a seat and sat.
I didn't move for at least an hour. I just stared out the window at the passing scenery and marvelled at the fast and easy 18 mph pace of the train. I finally got up and moved to the concession car and bought a bottle of beer, found my seat again and sat. It was starting to hit me that my trip was a complete success: I summited all 3 14ers, the weather was perfect, and I'd be able to get home before the wee hours of Tuesday morning. I only have one more 14er left to climb - Capitol Peak. The pain and weariness made it difficult to enjoy the moment, but I knew I would enjoy the moment soon enough.
At 18:15 the train pulled into Durango. When I stepped off the train I felt a bit crippled, and I limped to the boxcar to get my pack, then dodged the tourists as I made my way back to the parking lot and to my car. I had decided earlier, at Donna's suggestion, to find a motel in Durango and stay there for the night. Get a shower and some real food, sit in a hot tub - it sounded wonderful. I found a room at the Comfort Inn - the clerk apologetically explained that they only had one single room left, a smoking room, and I told her that would be wonderful. Bed, shower, hot tub, food - that was all I needed. I cranked up the AC, ordered a pizza, drank a couple beers then hobbled to the hot tubs to soak for a while. My legs were really stiffening up now that I no longer needed them for survival. It was the 4th of July and fireworks boomed and sparkled in the distance while I sat in the tub. After a nice night's sleep I drove back home, arriving at about 15:00.
Aftermath
I sported matching quarter-sized blisters under the ball of each foot, but
they didn't burst and they settled into callous after a couple days. Both
middle toes have nails colored a delicate purple, the right toe has a purple
blister on the tip. The purple toes don't hurt, but they feel a little funny.
All muscles of my legs were stiff and walking was slow and painful. The next
day I went to work, then had a massage, the appointment having been made a
month earlier. Perfect timing! It's now Friday and I almost feel ready to hike
again...