Mike and I have been up Herman Gulch so many times
I've lost track. We've day hiked it in the
summer, snow shoed it in the winter, and done both winter
and summer camping trips to Herman Lake. It's
convenient to get to, being just an hour (if you drive
fast :-) up I-70 from Denver, with the trailhead at the
last exit before Eisenhower Tunnel. You can still hear
the highway for the first half mile of trail, but then
once you've reached the hanging valley and begun the
long walk towards Herman Lake it gets quiet and feels
like it could be miles from anywhere. Of course this is
belied in the winter when we've heard them shelling
the nearby hills with howitzers to trigger and clear
avalanches before they threaten either the tunnel or
Berthoud or Loveland passes, all of which are relatively
close. It is a strange feeling to be camped in one valley
and hear shells landing in the next valley over!
The following is extracted from a trip report for the
weekend of July 21-23, 2000, when I summited both
Pettingell and Citadel Peaks. Photos
follow.
Mike and I left town at 1:00PM on Fri. and
headed up to Herman Gulch. We hit the trailhead
(10,300' - last exit before the Eisenhower Tunnel
on I-70) a little before 2:00PM. We then pounded out
the three plus miles to Herman Lake (12,000') in
a little over an hour and a half, and had camp set up
in a sheltered bit of krummholz 100 yards S of the
lake by 4:00. Mike's feet were hurting from his
new mountaineering boots, so he hung around in camp
while I said, "I'm going to go up on that
shelf over behind the lake." I quickly made the
12,300' shelf W of the lake, and then looked up
at Pettingell Pk. (13,553') rising NE above it,
one of my goals for the weekend.
My mind then went into this weird mode of
playfulness I get into some times - "I will just
see how far I can go by 5:00" (it was about 4:15
at the time - in the back of my mind was summiting,
but in that mode of thinking, I never admit it to
myself :-). I started up the steep scree slopes,
which were quite loose, most of the rock lying right
at the angle of repose, and sliding out as I
scrambled up. By 5:00, I had made the 13,300' col
between Pettingell and Pt. 13418 to the S. Since
Pettingell's summit was only another 200'
feet in gain, I quickly summited it, reaching the top
at 5:10. What a great feeling, to pull off something
a day early, on a lark.
I then went a little ways E along the summit
ridge, and then descended another scree slope, even
steeper than the one I went up, but with the benefit
of deep loose scree on a 45 degree angle slope, I was
able to "rock glissade" quickly down
600', then worked my way through some minor cliff
bands down to the back side of the lake, and then
back around to the campsite.
There were two or three other tents up in the
area Fri. night, and while we were cooking dinner,
our closet neighbor came over to use our stove - his
had broken after successfully cooking his
girlfriend's dinner, but before he could get his
done. We talked with him for a while - nice guy named
Michael. They were out for 10 days from Virginia, and
were going to do a snow couloir up Citadel Pk
(13,294'), a rugged looking peak with an
impressive summit block to the SW of the lake that
dominates the valley. My plan for Sat. was to climb
it, because Mike and I had been up on its side quite
a ways on snow shoes a few winters ago, before snow
conditions turned us back, but I didn't like the
looks of that couloir at all - going up through 80+
degree cliffs, it was at least a 55-60 degree slope
most of the way, and since it was E-facing, and given
the crumbly look of the surrounding rock, looked like
a good place for rockfall as well. They had the
appropriate gear (ice axes, crampons), but we did
not. So we decided to go up to the pass to the S of
the peak, and then work up from the S ridge.
In the morning, we got a decent start off at
6:00AM, about five minutes behind Michael and his
girlfriend. We traversed around the valley head
towards the bottom of the pass. On the way, we passed
an area that had the most columbine blooming in one
place I have ever seen. This has actually been a good
summer for wildflowers (which is strange, considering
how dry it's been), and all sorts were blooming
in profusion in the high reaches of the valley. After
crossing the upper reaches of the creek, we were at
the game trail leading up the last 200' to the
12,400' pass. Mike told me his feet were really
bothering him, and if I saw him turn back (he is
usually slower and somewhat behind me on these things
anyway - bad knees), that I should just keep going,
and this is what ended up transpiring - he ended up
only making about another 200' from the pass
before returning to camp. My master plan was to try
and do a full ridge traverse around the head of the
valley, but that depended on finding a way completely
over the rough ridges of Citadel Pk.
I started ascending the S ridge of Citadel,
and when I reached the foot of the main summit block,
was confronted by three steep gullies going through
100-150' of cliffs. I tried the rightmost (E)
gully first, but reached a place within that was
overhanging - I am sure John and Sally could have
made short work of it but it was a little too much
for me, considering the exposure, so I descended. The
middle gully didn't look appetizing at all, so
then I tried the leftmost (w) gully. It went OK,
mostly a series of ramps going up at about 50-55
degree angles, but about halfway up, there was an
iffy part where I had to decide to really commit to
it - the rock was somewhat rotten, the holds a little
tenuous (for me), and I knew once I had made it past
that part, I would not be able to downclimb back down
it. I made it through OK, but with a few places where
I did not linger because the holds were not in a
shape to do any more but kinda crumble, move, and
fall away as I passed over them. I then was moving
over rocky but OK ground, with excellent views of the
Williams Fork Mountains directly below me to the W,
with the Gore Range rising rocky and majestic beyond
them. Holy Cross was clearly visible in the distance
as well.
I was now on the S block of Citadel. I
downclimbed a small gap in the cliff to the col
separating it from the higher N block (this was
fairly short, but hairy for me, especially since it
required me to actually downclimb facing into the
cliff - I am still not very good at that sort of
thing, where I can't see far and can only see to
the next foothold). This col is the top of the snow
couloir Michael and his girlfriend were going to try.
I noted that I could escape off the W side here, if I
needed to, but it would be down a heinous 50+ degree
scree gully, and I would end up having to lose
1,000' in elevation, and then traverse over and
re-climb that same 1,000' to regain the pass and
pass back over into Herman Gulch. But since I was
still feeling OK (a little nervous - after coming
back and reading the guide book, it notes there is
some "tricky scrambling" at the top of
Citadel, which really was more full hands and feet
climbing, IMHO), I decided to keep going on my
original plan.
I made it up the other side of the col, and
quickly reached the main summit of Citadel at
approximately 7:15AM. I stopped for a food and water
break, and then kept moving along the rocky ridge,
encountering cliff bands constantly, but always being
able to work around to one side or another, and find
some small shelf to get by on. Of course, the
exposure and the fairly poor condition of the rock
(which made these shelves, some only a foot or so
wide, consist of lots of loose rock and dirt) were a
little nerve-wracking to my amateur mind. But I
always try to remember John's little dictum of
"Don't decide to turn back, make the
mountain make you turn back,"
and so I kept going, because there hadn't been
anything too bad yet, although there
were places (the gully ascent, the descent to the
col), that had definitely had my adrenaline
going.
But I finally reached a point, about 1/4 mi.
along the ridge heading N, where I reached a real
cliff - I would estimate it at 100-150'. I tried
both sides. To the E was a small and very precarious
looking ledge that seemed to terminate in thin air
before getting past the cliff band. I didn't like
the looks of it at all. I then went around to the W,
and descended a ways along a series of rubbly ledges,
until I was faced with the choice of descending at
least 500' down yet another 55 degree scree
gully, with no clear hope that I'd be able to
work my way back up to any place to regain the ridge
farther on, since the ridge was curving to the right
(NE), and I couldn't see clearly beyond the rib
forming the far side of the gully. I didn't want
to count on being able to regain the ridge, since the
N side of the Divide at this point is the rockier,
steeper side. I finally had to admit I was beaten. If
John were along, he could have found a route and
coaxed me through it, I'm sure, but with the rock
being in the condition it was, the exposure being
high, and being by myself, I decided "He who
runs away lives to climb another day."
I headed back S along the ridge line, and then
started heading along a series of ledges through the
E cliffs towards the snow couloir. From the top, the
couloir didn't look so bad, so I thought I'd
try and climb down the side of it, instead of heading
down the W side losing all that elevation, and
regaining it back to the pass and crossing back over
to the E side there. Big mistake.
Big mistake. After a few touch and
go places where I almost slid and fell on the loose
rock I was descending (and feeling like the mountain
goat I saw above me to the N was laughing at my
amateurish efforts), I finally made it to the couloir
about 200' below the col, 600' from the
bottom. Right when I hit it, Michael and his
girlfriend were passing by. We had a nice chat, with
me bravely hiding my concern about my descent choice.
I had the presence of mind to ask if there were any
people below us, because I knew I could be letting
rocks loose in my descent down the rubbly side of the
couloir, but there were not. I wasn't as worried
about them being above me, since they were sticking
to the snow, although there was one good sized rock
that came by me on my way down, but whether it was
released by them, or just the warming sun, I
don't know. The snow slopes at the bottom were
covered with little trails leading from above, each
ending in a rock, so rockfall was common here, as I
had thought it would be.
After they had passed, I then started down.
The snow itself was in no condition for me to be on
it in just boots - soft on top for an inch or two,
but quickly hardening underneath, and STEEP, with no
good safe run out at the bottom hundreds of feet
below. If I started sliding on it, I would be
seriously hurt or dead by the time I reached the
rocky bottom. So I stayed to the L side of it, edging
along the cliffs, sometimes passing above the snow on
a ledge, sometimes squeezing through the crack
between the ice and the cliffs, sometimes
"crabwalking" down, one foot on a
protrusion on the rock, the other on a step I'd
kicked in the snow, or on the edge of the ice. There
were multiple places where I was brought up short by
lack of good options, but knew I had
to get down, and I knew I did not
want to get hurt, so I would calm down, consider
which option sucked the least, and get through it
somehow.
I finally made it to a rock outcropping in the
middle of the ice, where, when seen from the bottom,
the snow looked like it made a "Y" around
it - I could not keep going down the L side, since I
did not like the looks of the cliffs at all, and the
snow steepened in the same place. There was a little
place to cross over to the R side, but it involved
traversing over about 15' of really steep snow to
gain some rock that then became a steep talus slope
heading all the way down to the bottom. At this point
shifting, rolling, ankle-grabbing, steep talus looked
like a warm comfortable bed at home to me in
comparison, so I knew I had to make
it across that narrow branch of snow.
I took a sharp rock in my hand, imitating what
I had seen John do a few weeks ago (and also knowing
it would be futile to stop me if I slipped - most
likely it would simply be something I'd let go of
in my slide, only to deliver the crowning blow to my
head whenever my slide would stop), and started to
slowly, slowly kick steps across the
snow slope. I would estimate it was at least a 45-50
degree slope where I was crossing, steepening to a 60
degree slope right below me. I had no room for error.
I took my time, and that 15' probably only took
two minutes to cross, but it seemed like 15. I was
completely there in a meditative
sense - totally focused. I finally stepped onto the
wet rock on the other side, and quickly scrambled up
onto the talus slope. I would normally have been
elated, but this time I knew what I had accomplished
at a deeper level, and was simply grateful, and
somewhat shaky.
I then began to quickly descend the talus
slope. With the right boots on, and in the right,
"mindful" state of mind (which I maintained
- I did not want to crown safely descending the
couloir with breaking a leg or ankle in the last few
hundred feet of descent because of lack of focus), it
was short work to reach the headwaters of the creek,
and then begin the traverse along the S slopes of the
ridge. I was back to camp by 10:00AM. Not a bad four
hours of work!
So, with two 13ers on the Continental Divide
under my belt in less than 14 hours, and with living
through the second one, I had enough of a sense of
accomplishment for my mind and ego for one weekend,
and since Mike's feet were bleeding, blistered
toast (but only for going uphill, not for descents),
we decided to break camp a day early and head out. I
ate first, because I was completely bonked after my
descent, and then we headed out at 11:00, reaching
the trailhead by noon.
