Crestone Peak Trip Report 06/15/2014

Peak(s):	Crestone Peak - 14,299 feet
Date Posted:	06/15/2014
Modified:	11/13/2014
Date Climbed:	03/31/2014
Author:	moneymike

The Worst Ski Descent of My Life
I thought I'd share with you a story about the worst ski descent of my life. It's been about two and a half months since I skied this peak. It has taken me this long to regain a sense of humor and begin to talk about it. It's not that I had a traumatizing near death experience or anything, I'm just a little bit "butt hurt," as they say, about the super shitty snow conditions (and the miserable hike out). Most of you are probably assuming I got this peak in low snow conditions. Actually, it's quite the contrary. Challenger, Kit Carson, Crestone Peak, Crestone Needle (from left to right) seen from Blanca There certainly was plenty of snow. In fact, I was able to ski the entire couloir, top to bottom (something that is rarely done). The snow was just super super shitty to ski. Like any of us who ski the 14ers, I've skied some shitty snow, but this snow was just the shittiest ever. I'll explain more about this when the time comes, but let us start from the beginning. Like I said, it's been about two and a half months since I did this trip, so my memory is a little foggy, but I will try my best to recall as many of the details as possible. I must have left my house in Manitou around 3:00 a.m. and arrived at the Cottonwood Creek trail head (8,420' elevation) about three and half hours later. If memory serves me, I began the hike around 7:00 a.m. The faint trail was fairly simple to navigate in the daylight and below snow line. However, above snow line it was more difficult to follow the trail. Fortunately I was able to follow some snow shoe tracks that appeared to be from a hiker who made two failed attempts to climb Crestone Peak (I'm inferring this from what I read on the trail register and from his tracks). The trail is very primitive and hard to follow, but if you take the path of least resistance, you will probably more-or-less stay on the trail, or at least come back to it if you wander off. After skinning through dense snowy forest for some time, I came to a snowless rocky open area with talus and small cliffs (I don't remember the elevation). There were a few cairns to help guide me through the rocks, I wandered off trail and then decided to head right (south) towards the snow covered creek bed. Once back on the snow, I was able to make a quick skin up the drainage, through less dense timber. Around 11,100' you must veer northeast out of the main drainage towards Cottonwood lake. The creek in this drainage is not large and is snow covered at this time of year, so care must be taken to correctly identify this drainage. Fortunately, the timber is somewhat easy to see through, and I was able find my way. Sticking to the left (north) side of the creek, I followed an easy path up a ridge that paralleled the creek. After a short hike up this drainage, you will come to a cliff band that seems to cut off access to the drainage. Following the base of the cliff band up and to the right, I came to a steep, grassy hillside that ramps up to the top of the cliff band. As I was skinning up the firm wind blown snow on this steep ramp, my skins suddenly lost grip and I began to slide backwards. My ski poles became lodged between rocks. One of the poles worked free, but the other broke just above the basket. Shit. Watching a man ski or skin with a basketless pole is a ridiculous sight to behold. It's amazing how vital a little pole basket can be. I decided I really needed to get the basket off the broken end and attach it to my pole. Removing the basket was surprisingly difficult. I tried to solve that problem in the same way I solve most of my problems in life...by bashing it! Using my ice axe, I bashed the plastic around the basket with all my might, but could not break it (if only the aluminum was that durable). I soon lost patience and continued onward, assuming a solution would eventually come to me in a flash of inspiration. Above the cliff band, I was close to tree line and was traveling on supportable frozen corn snow, which is the ideal surface for people with a basketless pole. Looking down valley Crestone Peak comes into view Within five hours of hitting the trailhead, I made it to the base of Crestone Peak's south couloir, around 12,000' elevation, and began booting up. Looking up at the line The snow was wind and sun affected and the climb alternated from easy to horrible with every five steps or so. One minute I would be on a diamond hard, featureless wind slab that I could only get my two front points in. The next minute, I would be breaking through the crust and sinking up to my nuts in sugar. The small cliff band that blocks the couloir about half way up, held enough ice for a short, roughly 15' high, ice climb. Continuing up, the quality of the snow did not improve at all. I knew I was going to have a hell of a descent. Approaching the false summit About five hours later I reached the false summit (yes, it took me five f*ing hours to climb 2,000'). It turns out that the "summit" I had been staring at for the last five hours, or so, was not really the summit. You see, even though I'm clearly a contributing 14ers.com member, I very rarely research my peaks before climbing them. I read my Dawson's guide and make a photo copy of the topo and try to figure things out as I go along. This gives me a good idea of where to go, but leaves a lot of surprises. The actual summit is not much higher than the false summit, just further along a ledgy and airy ridge. On the summit, looking south Kit Carson and Challenger seen from the summit Since it was 5:00 p.m. when I finally made the summit, and since the sun sets at 7:00 p.m., I decided it would be wise to drop in as soon as possible. I knew the ski descent was going to be difficult, so fixing my pole seemed to be my first priority. I set the broken piece on a rock and began to bash it with my ice axe, as I did before. And just as before, I had no luck getting the basket off. My next course of action was to yell obsenities, which also did not yield the results I had hoped for. Finally, a light bulb went off above my head! Billiant! Not wasting any time, I geared up, clicked in, and began my ski across the ridge to the face. I use the word "ski," but more accurately it's stepping across snow covered ledges followed by a 2' hop, followed by lowering myself down a 6' ledge, followed by a balancing act on a sharp snow edge with a certain death drop on each side, followed by some billy goating down some rocks onto the south face, where the real skiing begins. First ledge hop The balancing act A few more rocks to deal with Now, I don't want any of you to get the wrong impression. I know this sounds like genuine "Davenporting" (i.e. "skiing" across rocks and engaging in other antics that are not really skiing in order to get a "true summit ski descent"), but I assure you that I do not subscribe to this fad (No offense to the main man...it was super cool when he became the first person to do it...I just think it's getting a bit old, and I would rather prioritize a graceful ski of an aesthetic line over an ungraceful summit rock crawl on skis. After all, you don't see the "Davenporting" in his videos...nobody cares to watch that). So, in my defense, I just want to say that it was purely for fun, and because I did not want to click in on the face itself. Ok, fine, I might be guilty of Davenporting. Sue me! Once on the face, the nightmare began. The couloir wasn't overly steep (probably no more than 45 degrees) or narrow or anything, the snow was just shit (if the entire Earth's human population took a shit on Crestone Peak, it would still probably be less shitty than the shit I dealt with). Like I said earlier, the snow went from diamond hard, featureless crust that was nearly impossible to edge, to breakable crusty shit, without any indication of what to expect with each turn. A few times, I even got a combination of the two, I would break loose a slab, and then surf it down the diamond-hard crust. This was extremely exhausting to ski! Here are a few go pro stills. punching through Trying to edge on diamond-hard crust Looking up the line When I came to the ice fall, I traversed a short distance across some rocks to some skiable snow (I traversed the rocks with my skis still on. Does that qualify as more Davenporting?), and the shit skiing continued. About two thirds of the way down, most skiers exit the couloir via some snowfields to skiers left. The couloir is usually unskiable lower down, but with the exceptional amount of snow the Sangres received this year, I was able to ski the couloir its full course. The horrible ski down took me two fing hours (yes, two f**ing hours to ski 2,000')! My go pro has a battery life of two hours and 13 minutes, but the battery died before I made it out of the couloir. The sun set soon after I exited the couloir. That was ok, I thought since the hike down should be easy (I always carry a head lamp with me, even when I'm sure that I will be down before dark. That was a hard earned lesson I learned many years ago). The hike down to the talus/bolder field was uneventful. I didn't want to cross the rocks in the dark, even by headlamp, and skied the creek bed instead. There wasn't anything too difficult about this alternate route, but regaining the trail in the dark proved to be extremely difficult. I wallowed in unsupportable snow (slop) in dense timber with many fallen logs and ups and downs. I floundered for hours. Eventually I found my skin tracks and repeatedly thanked deities I don't believe in. The tracks were extremely faint, since I skinned in on frozen supportable snow. It wasn't long before I lost my trail again and found myself floundering as I descended and ascended various creek side ravines. This was misery. Inevitably, I found my way back to the trail once again, thanked the invisible men in the sky, and made my way down. I got back to the car around 12:30 a.m. (yes, it took me just as long to descend the trail as it took me to ascend it). Fortunately, I had forgotten to tell my contact buddy what peak I was skiing and, thus, avoided a search and rescue false alarm. Remember kids, when you go into the backcountry, never tell anyone where you're going. That last line was just a joke, please don't write me angry letters. Thumbnails for uploaded photos (click to open slideshow):

The Worst Ski Descent of My Life

I thought I'd share with you a story about the worst ski descent of my life. It's been about two and a half months since I skied this peak. It has taken me this long to regain a sense of humor and begin to talk about it. It's not that I had a traumatizing near death experience or anything, I'm just a little bit "butt hurt," as they say, about the super shitty snow conditions (and the miserable hike out).

Most of you are probably assuming I got this peak in low snow conditions. Actually, it's quite the contrary.

Challenger, Kit Carson, Crestone Peak, Crestone Needle (from left to right) seen from Blanca

There certainly was plenty of snow. In fact, I was able to ski the entire couloir, top to bottom (something that is rarely done). The snow was just super super shitty to ski. Like any of us who ski the 14ers, I've skied some shitty snow, but this snow was just the shittiest ever. I'll explain more about this when the time comes, but let us start from the beginning.

Like I said, it's been about two and a half months since I did this trip, so my memory is a little foggy, but I will try my best to recall as many of the details as possible. I must have left my house in Manitou around 3:00 a.m. and arrived at the Cottonwood Creek trail head (8,420' elevation) about three and half hours later. If memory serves me, I began the hike around 7:00 a.m.

The faint trail was fairly simple to navigate in the daylight and below snow line. However, above snow line it was more difficult to follow the trail. Fortunately I was able to follow some snow shoe tracks that appeared to be from a hiker who made two failed attempts to climb Crestone Peak (I'm inferring this from what I read on the trail register and from his tracks). The trail is very primitive and hard to follow, but if you take the path of least resistance, you will probably more-or-less stay on the trail, or at least come back to it if you wander off.

After skinning through dense snowy forest for some time, I came to a snowless rocky open area with talus and small cliffs (I don't remember the elevation). There were a few cairns to help guide me through the rocks, I wandered off trail and then decided to head right (south) towards the snow covered creek bed. Once back on the snow, I was able to make a quick skin up the drainage, through less dense timber.

Around 11,100' you must veer northeast out of the main drainage towards Cottonwood lake. The creek in this drainage is not large and is snow covered at this time of year, so care must be taken to correctly identify this drainage. Fortunately, the timber is somewhat easy to see through, and I was able find my way. Sticking to the left (north) side of the creek, I followed an easy path up a ridge that paralleled the creek.

After a short hike up this drainage, you will come to a cliff band that seems to cut off access to the drainage. Following the base of the cliff band up and to the right, I came to a steep, grassy hillside that ramps up to the top of the cliff band.

As I was skinning up the firm wind blown snow on this steep ramp, my skins suddenly lost grip and I began to slide backwards. My ski poles became lodged between rocks. One of the poles worked free, but the other broke just above the basket. Shit.

Watching a man ski or skin with a basketless pole is a ridiculous sight to behold. It's amazing how vital a little pole basket can be. I decided I really needed to get the basket off the broken end and attach it to my pole. Removing the basket was surprisingly difficult. I tried to solve that problem in the same way I solve most of my problems in life...by bashing it! Using my ice axe, I bashed the plastic around the basket with all my might, but could not break it (if only the aluminum was that durable). I soon lost patience and continued onward, assuming a solution would eventually come to me in a flash of inspiration.

Above the cliff band, I was close to tree line and was traveling on supportable frozen corn snow, which is the ideal surface for people with a basketless pole.

Within five hours of hitting the trailhead, I made it to the base of Crestone Peak's south couloir, around 12,000' elevation, and began booting up.

The snow was wind and sun affected and the climb alternated from easy to horrible with every five steps or so. One minute I would be on a diamond hard, featureless wind slab that I could only get my two front points in. The next minute, I would be breaking through the crust and sinking up to my nuts in sugar.

The small cliff band that blocks the couloir about half way up, held enough ice for a short, roughly 15' high, ice climb. Continuing up, the quality of the snow did not improve at all. I knew I was going to have a hell of a descent.

About five hours later I reached the false summit (yes, it took me five f***ing hours to climb 2,000'). It turns out that the "summit" I had been staring at for the last five hours, or so, was not really the summit. You see, even though I'm clearly a contributing 14ers.com member, I very rarely research my peaks before climbing them. I read my Dawson's guide and make a photo copy of the topo and try to figure things out as I go along. This gives me a good idea of where to go, but leaves a lot of surprises. The actual summit is not much higher than the false summit, just further along a ledgy and airy ridge.

Kit Carson and Challenger seen from the summit

Since it was 5:00 p.m. when I finally made the summit, and since the sun sets at 7:00 p.m., I decided it would be wise to drop in as soon as possible. I knew the ski descent was going to be difficult, so fixing my pole seemed to be my first priority. I set the broken piece on a rock and began to bash it with my ice axe, as I did before. And just as before, I had no luck getting the basket off. My next course of action was to yell obsenities, which also did not yield the results I had hoped for. Finally, a light bulb went off above my head!

Not wasting any time, I geared up, clicked in, and began my ski across the ridge to the face. I use the word "ski," but more accurately it's stepping across snow covered ledges followed by a 2' hop, followed by lowering myself down a 6' ledge, followed by a balancing act on a sharp snow edge with a certain death drop on each side, followed by some billy goating down some rocks onto the south face, where the real skiing begins.

Now, I don't want any of you to get the wrong impression. I know this sounds like genuine "Davenporting" (i.e. "skiing" across rocks and engaging in other antics that are not really skiing in order to get a "true summit ski descent"), but I assure you that I do not subscribe to this fad (No offense to the main man...it was super cool when he became the first person to do it...I just think it's getting a bit old, and I would rather prioritize a graceful ski of an aesthetic line over an ungraceful summit rock crawl on skis. After all, you don't see the "Davenporting" in his videos...nobody cares to watch that). So, in my defense, I just want to say that it was purely for fun, and because I did not want to click in on the face itself. Ok, fine, I might be guilty of Davenporting. Sue me!

Once on the face, the nightmare began. The couloir wasn't overly steep (probably no more than 45 degrees) or narrow or anything, the snow was just shit (if the entire Earth's human population took a shit on Crestone Peak, it would still probably be less shitty than the shit I dealt with). Like I said earlier, the snow went from diamond hard, featureless crust that was nearly impossible to edge, to breakable crusty shit, without any indication of what to expect with each turn. A few times, I even got a combination of the two, I would break loose a slab, and then surf it down the diamond-hard crust. This was extremely exhausting to ski!

Here are a few go pro stills.

When I came to the ice fall, I traversed a short distance across some rocks to some skiable snow (I traversed the rocks with my skis still on. Does that qualify as more Davenporting?), and the shit skiing continued.

About two thirds of the way down, most skiers exit the couloir via some snowfields to skiers left. The couloir is usually unskiable lower down, but with the exceptional amount of snow the Sangres received this year, I was able to ski the couloir its full course. The horrible ski down took me two f***ing hours (yes, two f***ing hours to ski 2,000')! My go pro has a battery life of two hours and 13 minutes, but the battery died before I made it out of the couloir.

The sun set soon after I exited the couloir. That was ok, I thought since the hike down should be easy (I always carry a head lamp with me, even when I'm sure that I will be down before dark. That was a hard earned lesson I learned many years ago).
The hike down to the talus/bolder field was uneventful. I didn't want to cross the rocks in the dark, even by headlamp, and skied the creek bed instead. There wasn't anything too difficult about this alternate route, but regaining the trail in the dark proved to be extremely difficult. I wallowed in unsupportable snow (slop) in dense timber with many fallen logs and ups and downs. I floundered for hours. Eventually I found my skin tracks and repeatedly thanked deities I don't believe in. The tracks were extremely faint, since I skinned in on frozen supportable snow. It wasn't long before I lost my trail again and found myself floundering as I descended and ascended various creek side ravines. This was misery.

Inevitably, I found my way back to the trail once again, thanked the invisible men in the sky, and made my way down. I got back to the car around 12:30 a.m. (yes, it took me just as long to descend the trail as it took me to ascend it). Fortunately, I had forgotten to tell my contact buddy what peak I was skiing and, thus, avoided a search and rescue false alarm. Remember kids, when you go into the backcountry, never tell anyone where you're going.

That last line was just a joke, please don't write me angry letters.

Thumbnails for uploaded photos (click to open slideshow):

Comments or Questions

wildlobo71	But it's dry now, right? 6/16/2014 1:52am Thanks for this less than inspiring, but deserving of a ”way to get through the shit and come out clean on the other side”, report. Does this still beat the desk job?
pioletski	Way to persevere, Mike! 6/16/2014 2:37pm Glad you made it home safely. I often say... the worst day skiing, still beats the best day working.
benners	Vintage Sangres 6/16/2014 7:43pm We had horrendous conditions in the Red Gully as well (a mixture of breakable crust and rock hard ice) in addition to a patchy and brain damaging sled approach up the Colon(y) Road. Seems like this is just another example of vintage Sangres skiing. They just don't give the skier a whole lot to work with most of the time. There might be a bunch of people who jump on my comment and attempt to defend the Sangres with tales of superb ski descents they had in the range, but I will quite simply refuse to listen . Sangres are sweet for summer/fall peak bagging ridge runs though. Oh and nice job on the ski!
bergsteigen	Shhhh the non-skiers can't know... 6/16/2014 8:07pm That sometimes it sucks! It's all always super happy fun time! Quite the humorous read (who's the writer now?). We can all be butt hurt at Nate, who got it in blower pow.
Dave B	Good stuff 6/16/2014 8:46pm Your trip reports are always good times to read. Your ability to make misery amusing helps a bit as well. Well done.
moneymike	Thanks for the comments, everyone. 6/17/2014 4:30pm If you want to get a pov perspective of the shit show, here's the link https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QknYoIAC6tk The video is really long, you probably won't want to sit through the whole thing. At 13:34 you can see a successful slab surf, and an unsuccessful surf at 20:21. For some more real amateur skiing, check out 17:24, 18:01, ad 19:15. nkan02: I suppose it would be unethical of me to not post a pyramid tr. Until then, check this out, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bYraV5dl7jM Edit: if the links don't work, you can just copy and paste the address
Money Mari	Love 6/22/2014 3:33am Hey Mike! Its so great to read about your experiences! I cannot wait to see you againMaybe someday you can take me up with you! That would be just great Hope to hear from you Love always
moneymike	Nurse Mari!!!!!!! 6/22/2014 3:46pm Ha ha ha, that comment just made my day! I love your username, and your avatar, and your broken english punctuated with smiley faces. I can totally hear your accent when you write! I'll see you in California!
SnowAlien	Man 4/2/2015 7:45pm that looks scary. Cottonwood creek approach on skis is rough, I am amazed that you made it work - I had to use a whippet to get up those slabs/boulders there. Red gully ski...glad you got down in one piece. Way to persevere. Hope the rest of your spring season was much, much more pleasant! Looking forward to some other reports. Landry line, perhaps? ;)
SnowAlien	Landry line 4/2/2015 7:45pm OMG, looks like you got it in prime conditions. Yes, not to post a TR on Pyramid would be highly, highly unethical. Looking forward to it!
powsmashing	Nailed it. 4/13/2019 8:58am Well done bud. Someone has to do it in the shittiest conditions possible so the rest of ourselves can pat ourselves on the back even more when we luck out skiing big shit in pow! I have never laughed so hard at a trip report. Loved it.

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