Challenger Point Trip Report 05/11/2014

Peak(s):	Challenger Point - 14,086 feet
Date Posted:	05/11/2014
Date Climbed:	04/26/2014
Author:	moneymike

Mentally Challenged on Challenger
Saturday morning, April 26, I drove down to Crestone to ski Challenger point. I was pretty excited about this one. I've been skiing Sangre de Cristo 14ers all spring, and after doing bushwhacks like the Spanish Creek trail, Cottonwood Creek trail, and long approaches like the South Colony trail, I was really excited to be hiking a real trail with a moderate distance and elevation gain. When I arrived at the dirt road going up to the Willow Lake trail head I was pleasantly surprised when I saw that last year's improvements had turned a sandy 4wd road into a gravel covered 2wd road. After driving up the Lake Como road four times this season, a speedy 2wd approach was also a welcomed surprise. The trail head even has a toilet now! Which is fantastic, because I usually have to take a monster $#!% by the time I arrive at the trail head. The day was starting off great and I geared up and hit the trail at 7:05 a.m. Thrilled to be on a real trail, I stared at the ground in front of me and charged up the trail in my comfy hiking boots. After gaining a little over 1,300' in elevation, I came to a patch of snow that had foot prints leading only a short distance into the snow. The hiker must have turned around. "Where the #@%! is the trail," I wondered. I got out my map (for the first time) and realized I was on the wrong side of the creek. "What the bloody #@%! is going on," I shouted out loud! I back tracked down the trail to a clearing in the trees and took a look around but couldn't recognize any of the nearby peaks. A moment later, I concluded that I had gone up the wrong drainage, up a trail that my outdated map doesn't show exists. MOTHER F****ER!!!!!!!!! 7:05 a.m. is, by no means, an early start, especially when a storm is forecasted for the afternoon. Even if I can find the correct trail, I will be at least two hours behind, I thought to myself. I ran down the trail, with my skis and boots on my back, as fast as I could. I made it back to the trail head at 8:50 a.m. and noticed a very obvious sign showing that the correct trail was to the right (I took the South Crestone creek trail, which continues straight up the trail). Needless to say, I felt pretty stupid at this point. Just because you have a very obvious trail to follow, it doesn't mean that you should turn your brain off and charge up the trail. I felt like those dimwits you hear about who mindlessly follow their car gps directions into a river. I don't know how I could have missed such an obvious sign! Usually, I'm quite observant of road signs and such. I even notice the more superfluous road signs that you really don't need to take note of. For instance, around Colorado Springs, underneath our crosswalk signs is a little arrow that points down and into the street, which just seems completely superfluous to me. Where the $#%! else would the crosswalk be!? Or around Manitou, there are signs that say "in case of flood, climb to safety." Again, this seems superfluous to me. Are there people who need signs to explain this logic to them? Are there people who would try to burrow to safety in a flood? Anyway, I seem to have gone off on a tangent. Let's get back to the story. I decided that if I hurry, I could still probably get a successful summit and get off the mountain before the storm arrived. I just needed to stay positive. As my (blonde) girlfriend once said, "I don't like to say that I'm bad at following directions, I like to say that I'm good at getting lost." That's the spirit I needed! And so I took off (on the correct trail this time) and charged upwards and onwards! Trying to make up for lost time, I walked at a pretty quick pace and gained the first 1000' elevation in a half hour. Feeling the effects of my two hour run before getting on the correct trail, I slowed the pace a little bit and climbed the next 1000' in a little under an hour. Around 11,000', I reached continuous snow and ditched my hiking boots and switched to skins. By this time, the winds had picked up and clouds were forming around the mountain tops. The air temperature dropped very rapidly with elevation. The air temperature must have been at least 50 degrees at the trail head (9,000'), and below freezing by 11,000'. I made my way up the drainage, through the forest on frozen snow. I could see remnants of ski tracks in the snow and followed them up to the lake. I passed the headwall above the lake on the left (north). The south facing hillside above the lake was devoid of snow, but once above the headwall, I was back to skinning. I made a, more or less, bee line towards Kirk couloir, which heads up to the saddle between Kit Carson peak and Challenger peak. By tree line, the winds were blowing like a mother #@%!, nearly knocking me off my feet! There was sunshine above the San Luis valley to the West, but complete cloud cover over the mountains. At this point, the clouds were high enough that visibility wasn't an issue and I felt that I could deal with the winds and make the summit. Before reaching the narrow couloir, the slope steepened to the point where skinning was no longer wise, but low enough in angle that I could zig zag crampon my way upwards. The snow was wind blown and mostly supportable. When I came to sections where I punched through, I would just traverse a short distance until I came to supportable crust. As I approached the couloir, I saw a climber making a speedy down climb towards me. When we met, we took a short brake and chatted for a bit. He was a self described nomad named Mike. Mike had climbed a couloir to the west of the summit and then descended Kirk couloir. He told me that I was in for 70 mph winds on the summit, but the couloir itself was fairly sheltered from the wind. Mike was right, the couloir was for the most part sheltered from the wind. On the other hand, the couloir was a funnel for all the snow being blown around above. Every few minutes, a river of fine snow would come streaming down the couloir and flow over my hands and boots. I don't know if "river" is the correct terminology for snow falling down the mountain, but "avalanche" sounds a little too dramatic for what it was. Out of the couloir and onto the broad north face, I continued up towards the saddle on mostly firm snow. The north face remained sheltered from the worst of the WSW winds that could be heard howling above KC's summit. Near the saddle I came to this little wooden sign (I'm proud of myself for noticing it). The sign seems pretty blunt, but I suppose it serves a purpose. I suppose I wouldn't want a lack of scary signs to allow me to become complacent and walk (or ski) over a cliff. However, just like the arrow under the crosswalk signs, the second sign beneath the one shown above just seemed unnecessary in my opinion. I followed the ridge, in punchy snow, to the summit. Approaching summit I made it to the summit at 3:50 p.m., just in time to enjoy strengthening winds and decreasing visibility. The very first thing I did when I reached the summit, was put on my down puffy. It was soooo cold! I geared up as quickly as possible and didn't spend too much time taking pics. In fact, all I got was this one. Summit I didn't even want to hang around long enough to take the usual summit self portrait. I hope you will accept this artist's rendition instead. Artist's rendition of me on summit I hastily skied my way onto the north face (still in my puffy), where I found some reprieve from the wind. The visibility was too low for any decent photos, but here's one I took from KC, showing my line down the north face. Challenger N. face line Although it looks rocky, the snow was supportable and I hit no rocks on the way down. The only problem was patches of super smooth, firm wind crust that I just could not hold an edge on. Do you see the dark patch in the previous photo near the first big bend in my line? That's the $#!@ I'm talking about. When I hit that $#!@, I just slid sideways until I hit the more textured wind crust. Looking down the couloir Most of the snow was a firm wind crust with enough texture to hold a decent edge. Although, I always had the fear that I would hit more of that non edgeable snow. The visibility was too low to see what kind of snow I was skiing. The couloir was steep. I didn't measure, but I estimated it to be above 45 degrees. Below the couloir, the angle decreases dramatically, and I assumed that a fall in the couloir would probably not have high consequences, but I did not want to test this theory by hitting some of this non edgeable snow. I knew that the non edgeable snow existed in the couloir and I also knew that really nice edgeable snow existed as well. So, I skied down the couloir with the plan that if I hit snow that I couldn't edge, I would just ski down and sideways until I hit textured snow. Fortunately, I didn't hit any of the non edgeable crap. It was really nice, supportable, edgeable snow. The ski down was relatively quick, in spite of the fact that I couldn't really see what I was skiing. Even when I descended below the clouds, the light was extremely flat. I had to remove my skis for a brief moment to get around the headwall above the lake, but I was able to ski frozen snow down to my boots at 11,000'. Switching to my hiking boots, I slowly made my way down the trail through the forest in a light snowfall. As I hiked down the trail, I came to a bird (I think it was some sort of grouse). When I looked at him, he flew into a tree and did a strange dance for me. He fanned out his tail feathers and puffed up his neck, exposing white and red feathers on both sides of his neck. He bobbed his head around as he danced in the tree. I didn't see any females nearby, and he seemed to change his dance when I made sudden movements or noises, so I assumed the dance was for my sake. I'm not an expert at interpreting bird dances, but I think he might have been hitting on me. His feathers and movements were very flamboyant. I politely declined his advances, and tried to explain to him the difficulties that could arise in a homosexual bird/human relationship. I feel like people (and perhaps animals) are less offended when I make it seem like my refusal is more a matter of circumstance than of personal preference. Anyway, I seem to have gone off on a tangent again. After bidding farewell to the confused bird, I made my way back down the trail and made it to my car at 7:50 p.m. Thanks for reading. I didn't bother to take my go pro to video this descent. Perhaps you would enjoy watching my Mt. Lindsey video? Here's the link https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6j_dIJhq3vI Thumbnails for uploaded photos (click to open slideshow):

Mentally Challenged on Challenger

Saturday morning, April 26, I drove down to Crestone to ski Challenger point. I was pretty excited about this one. I've been skiing Sangre de Cristo 14ers all spring, and after doing bushwhacks like the Spanish Creek trail, Cottonwood Creek trail, and long approaches like the South Colony trail, I was really excited to be hiking a real trail with a moderate distance and elevation gain.

When I arrived at the dirt road going up to the Willow Lake trail head I was pleasantly surprised when I saw that last year's improvements had turned a sandy 4wd road into a gravel covered 2wd road. After driving up the Lake Como road four times this season, a speedy 2wd approach was also a welcomed surprise. The trail head even has a toilet now! Which is fantastic, because I usually have to take a monster $#!% by the time I arrive at the trail head.

The day was starting off great and I geared up and hit the trail at 7:05 a.m. Thrilled to be on a real trail, I stared at the ground in front of me and charged up the trail in my comfy hiking boots. After gaining a little over 1,300' in elevation, I came to a patch of snow that had foot prints leading only a short distance into the snow. The hiker must have turned around. "Where the #@%! is the trail," I wondered. I got out my map (for the first time) and realized I was on the wrong side of the creek. "What the bloody #@%! is going on," I shouted out loud! I back tracked down the trail to a clearing in the trees and took a look around but couldn't recognize any of the nearby peaks. A moment later, I concluded that I had gone up the wrong drainage, up a trail that my outdated map doesn't show exists. MOTHER F****ER!!!!!!!!!

7:05 a.m. is, by no means, an early start, especially when a storm is forecasted for the afternoon. Even if I can find the correct trail, I will be at least two hours behind, I thought to myself. I ran down the trail, with my skis and boots on my back, as fast as I could. I made it back to the trail head at 8:50 a.m. and noticed a very obvious sign showing that the correct trail was to the right (I took the South Crestone creek trail, which continues straight up the trail).

Needless to say, I felt pretty stupid at this point. Just because you have a very obvious trail to follow, it doesn't mean that you should turn your brain off and charge up the trail. I felt like those dimwits you hear about who mindlessly follow their car gps directions into a river.

I don't know how I could have missed such an obvious sign! Usually, I'm quite observant of road signs and such. I even notice the more superfluous road signs that you really don't need to take note of. For instance, around Colorado Springs, underneath our crosswalk signs is a little arrow that points down and into the street, which just seems completely superfluous to me. Where the $#%! else would the crosswalk be!? Or around Manitou, there are signs that say "in case of flood, climb to safety." Again, this seems superfluous to me. Are there people who need signs to explain this logic to them? Are there people who would try to burrow to safety in a flood? Anyway, I seem to have gone off on a tangent. Let's get back to the story.

I decided that if I hurry, I could still probably get a successful summit and get off the mountain before the storm arrived. I just needed to stay positive. As my (blonde) girlfriend once said, "I don't like to say that I'm bad at following directions, I like to say that I'm good at getting lost." That's the spirit I needed! And so I took off (on the correct trail this time) and charged upwards and onwards!

Trying to make up for lost time, I walked at a pretty quick pace and gained the first 1000' elevation in a half hour. Feeling the effects of my two hour run before getting on the correct trail, I slowed the pace a little bit and climbed the next 1000' in a little under an hour. Around 11,000', I reached continuous snow and ditched my hiking boots and switched to skins. By this time, the winds had picked up and clouds were forming around the mountain tops. The air temperature dropped very rapidly with elevation. The air temperature must have been at least 50 degrees at the trail head (9,000'), and below freezing by 11,000'.

I made my way up the drainage, through the forest on frozen snow. I could see remnants of ski tracks in the snow and followed them up to the lake. I passed the headwall above the lake on the left (north). The south facing hillside above the lake was devoid of snow, but once above the headwall, I was back to skinning. I made a, more or less, bee line towards Kirk couloir, which heads up to the saddle between Kit Carson peak and Challenger peak.

By tree line, the winds were blowing like a mother #@%!, nearly knocking me off my feet! There was sunshine above the San Luis valley to the West, but complete cloud cover over the mountains. At this point, the clouds were high enough that visibility wasn't an issue and I felt that I could deal with the winds and make the summit.

Before reaching the narrow couloir, the slope steepened to the point where skinning was no longer wise, but low enough in angle that I could zig zag crampon my way upwards. The snow was wind blown and mostly supportable. When I came to sections where I punched through, I would just traverse a short distance until I came to supportable crust.

As I approached the couloir, I saw a climber making a speedy down climb towards me. When we met, we took a short brake and chatted for a bit. He was a self described nomad named Mike. Mike had climbed a couloir to the west of the summit and then descended Kirk couloir. He told me that I was in for 70 mph winds on the summit, but the couloir itself was fairly sheltered from the wind.

Mike was right, the couloir was for the most part sheltered from the wind. On the other hand, the couloir was a funnel for all the snow being blown around above. Every few minutes, a river of fine snow would come streaming down the couloir and flow over my hands and boots. I don't know if "river" is the correct terminology for snow falling down the mountain, but "avalanche" sounds a little too dramatic for what it was.

Out of the couloir and onto the broad north face, I continued up towards the saddle on mostly firm snow. The north face remained sheltered from the worst of the WSW winds that could be heard howling above KC's summit. Near the saddle I came to this little wooden sign (I'm proud of myself for noticing it).

The sign seems pretty blunt, but I suppose it serves a purpose. I suppose I wouldn't want a lack of scary signs to allow me to become complacent and walk (or ski) over a cliff. However, just like the arrow under the crosswalk signs, the second sign beneath the one shown above just seemed unnecessary in my opinion.

I followed the ridge, in punchy snow, to the summit.

I made it to the summit at 3:50 p.m., just in time to enjoy strengthening winds and decreasing visibility. The very first thing I did when I reached the summit, was put on my down puffy. It was soooo cold! I geared up as quickly as possible and didn't spend too much time taking pics. In fact, all I got was this one.

I didn't even want to hang around long enough to take the usual summit self portrait. I hope you will accept this artist's rendition instead.

I hastily skied my way onto the north face (still in my puffy), where I found some reprieve from the wind. The visibility was too low for any decent photos, but here's one I took from KC, showing my line down the north face.

Although it looks rocky, the snow was supportable and I hit no rocks on the way down. The only problem was patches of super smooth, firm wind crust that I just could not hold an edge on. Do you see the dark patch in the previous photo near the first big bend in my line? That's the $#!@ I'm talking about. When I hit that $#!@, I just slid sideways until I hit the more textured wind crust.

Most of the snow was a firm wind crust with enough texture to hold a decent edge. Although, I always had the fear that I would hit more of that non edgeable snow. The visibility was too low to see what kind of snow I was skiing.

The couloir was steep. I didn't measure, but I estimated it to be above 45 degrees. Below the couloir, the angle decreases dramatically, and I assumed that a fall in the couloir would probably not have high consequences, but I did not want to test this theory by hitting some of this non edgeable snow. I knew that the non edgeable snow existed in the couloir and I also knew that really nice edgeable snow existed as well. So, I skied down the couloir with the plan that if I hit snow that I couldn't edge, I would just ski down and sideways until I hit textured snow. Fortunately, I didn't hit any of the non edgeable crap. It was really nice, supportable, edgeable snow.

The ski down was relatively quick, in spite of the fact that I couldn't really see what I was skiing. Even when I descended below the clouds, the light was extremely flat.

I had to remove my skis for a brief moment to get around the headwall above the lake, but I was able to ski frozen snow down to my boots at 11,000'. Switching to my hiking boots, I slowly made my way down the trail through the forest in a light snowfall.

As I hiked down the trail, I came to a bird (I think it was some sort of grouse). When I looked at him, he flew into a tree and did a strange dance for me. He fanned out his tail feathers and puffed up his neck, exposing white and red feathers on both sides of his neck.

He bobbed his head around as he danced in the tree. I didn't see any females nearby, and he seemed to change his dance when I made sudden movements or noises, so I assumed the dance was for my sake. I'm not an expert at interpreting bird dances, but I think he might have been hitting on me. His feathers and movements were very flamboyant. I politely declined his advances, and tried to explain to him the difficulties that could arise in a homosexual bird/human relationship. I feel like people (and perhaps animals) are less offended when I make it seem like my refusal is more a matter of circumstance than of personal preference. Anyway, I seem to have gone off on a tangent again. After bidding farewell to the confused bird, I made my way back down the trail and made it to my car at 7:50 p.m.

Thanks for reading. I didn't bother to take my go pro to video this descent. Perhaps you would enjoy watching my Mt. Lindsey video? Here's the link
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6j_dIJhq3vI

Thumbnails for uploaded photos (click to open slideshow):

Comments or Questions

dillonsarnelli	Crestone Lake 5/12/2014 1:12am Mike, I missed that turn 10 ft out of the parking lot last summer at 3 AM and trekked all the way up to Crestone Lake, 3,000 ft. and many miles. haha. Nice recovery, we went home. Keep up the good work!
PaliKona	Another good read 5/12/2014 2:51am Good job getting down in that storm.
moneymike	Thanks guys. 5/12/2014 7:50pm Ha ha ha, Dillon! I feel much better now, knowing I'm not the only one who misses obvious signs. I'm reminded of the classic ”Midvale School for the Gifted” Far Side cartoon.
jgradygroove	haha 5/17/2014 8:04pm haha...”Push.” I'll be attempting Blanca soon. Hopefully, I don't have any problems. Good read! Thx.

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