Climbing Redcloud Peak With Dogs

What the heck was I thinking? Why was climbing Redcloud Peak, one of Colorado’s 14ers, so important to me?

For some inexplicable reason, I wanted to summit a 14,000-foot mountain that I hadn’t previously hiked. And I wanted to do so with my husband, Dave, and our two Labrador Retrievers, Layla and Ranger.

I knew we’d be pushing eleven-year-old Layla, so she and I hiked throughout the summer, gradually increasing the length of the hikes and altitude. We’d also walked two to three miles on non-hiking days and swam. The boys had done that and so much more: Dave climbed fifteen 14ers and Ranger, five in the same time period.

Cinching my hiking boots’ laces in 32-degree weather, I knew this mid-September day was our opportunity to climb Redcloud. What felt like a conspiracy of events and iffy weather had thwarted even an attempt to summit for weeks.

The day’s forecast was perfect: sunny and no wind. And it probably presented the final opportunity for the four of us to climb together this peak nestled deep in the San Juan Mountains in southwestern Colorado.

So I applied a goo called Mushers Secret to Layla’s paws to protect them from some rocky terrain. Then Dave and I strapped our heavier than usual packs to our backs before setting out. Dave carried four liters of water to my one. We’d divvied up bagels, cheese, mojo bars, an apple and a quart-sized bag stuffed with dog biscuits, plus extra clothing for the anticipated cold summit.

As we hiked on a soft dirt trail through stands of aspen trees and tall spruce, I refused to think about what lay ahead: an elevation gain of 3,634 feet over nearly four miles to Redcloud’s 14,034-foot summit.

Instead, I mulled over a recent letter from a longtime family friend and editor of some of my dad’s books. She’d opined about my narrative nonfiction’s potential market, causing me to consider revising my query letter. I hiked along in silence, conjuring up language for the edit.

The trail gradually but steadily gained altitude, alternating between dirt and small rock slabs. Breaking out from the heavily treed forest, I realized that Dave had fallen behind. But why? Turning around, I saw him taking photographs. That’s when my focus switched to our incredibly beautiful and peaceful surroundings. My favorite 14er, Handies Peak, lay across the valley under cloudless, deep blue skies, with shimmering golden aspen leaves in the foreground.

“It’s a day to savor,” Dave reminded me as he caught up to us. I dug out my camera from my pack and began clicking. We hiked on, stopping frequently to take more photos as the dogs splashed in the icy Silver Creek which followed the trail up the drainage.

Farther up, the trail broke away from the creek and veered southeast across tundra in a wide valley.  We stopped for snacks and water near a clean-looking pond which instantly turned into a mud hole once the dogs jumped in to cool off from the unseasonably warm temperatures. Dave and I shed more clothing layers in the now fifty-plus degree weather. I reapplied Mushers Secret to Layla’s paws knowing we’d reach talus once the trail turned into a Class 2 route.

As the trail wound towards the 13,000-foot saddle, we met a couple in their twenties and a young Rhodesian Ridgeback-Great Dane mix named Luke. They smiled upon learning that Luke wasn’t the only canine that considered marmot poop a delicacy. They’d taken him to their vet three times after summer hikes, suspecting that his indiscretion was the cause of his ailments. Their vet had disagreed. We suggested asking their vet for a supply of metronidazole which eased our dogs’ indiscretions. Ranger was slated for a tablet that evening.

Farther up the trail, a lone hiker stopped to chat. We joked about the three of us being the old-timers on the mountain, a very common experience these days.

“Thanks for making me feel young!” our fifty-nine-year-old new friend shouted as we hiked on in opposite directions. Really? Dave and I are only several years older than him.

The saddle brought an unexpected gift: to the east, the mountains displayed their green evergreens and brilliant gold aspen leaves against the brilliant blue sky. To the north, we stared at Uncompahgre Peak, with its distinctive “sinking ship profile”, which Dave and I had climbed two decades prior.

Dave pointed towards Redcloud Peak. I inhaled, scrutinizing the very steep and rocky Class 2 route. Ranger, Dave and Layla darted ahead. I followed. About midway up the rocky slope, we met two twenty-something women and Poncho, an exuberant Golden Retriever with a cut paw. We offered up our Mushers Secret jar. His owner had forgotten her supply and thanked us profusely as she applied the goo to Poncho’s feet.

Ranger took the lead and I brought up the rear, again, enjoying the slow-paced climb and the views. The experience contrasted sharply with our Mt. Sherman climb ten days prior when we’d nearly been blown over by gale-force-like winds on that 14er’s ridge. With the final ascent in sight, Dave hurried ahead on the now, mostly dirt trail. He planned to document us girls reaching the summit together. But Layla foiled his plans, summiting on his heels.

Then I hiked onto the summit named after its red dirt and rock. Redcloud was my thirtieth different 14er that I’d bagged! And Layla’s eighth and Ranger’s tenth! The year before, Dave had completed his quest to climb all of Colorado’s 58 named 14ers.

We took in the 360 degree views without another creature in sight. Golden aspens blanketed some of the 14ers that Dave and I had climbed: Sneffels with its distinctive chiseled summit, Handies and Uncompahgre.

My patient husband identified a distinctive spiral mountain as Wetterhorn, and pointed out the distant Needles and Sawatch mountain ranges. We all ate, drank and basked in nature’s breathtaking beauty for nearly an hour. I didn’t want to leave.

Descending at a leisurely pace, we stopped along the upper reaches to take more photos. The dogs treated themselves to another muddy bath in the small pond and dips in the creek as we continued down. I reflected how the day had been a very special one as we hiked along the final stretch of the trail through stands of golden-colored aspens.

Our peaceful, blissful day ended abruptly by the sound of an engine’s roar. An ATV sped past the trailhead along a dirt road at least a quarter of a mile away. Layla galloped past us, barking at the intrusion. Then she abruptly sat down in the grass as if to guard us from the ferocious beast. Ranger just looked confused over his auntie’s antics. Dave and I laughed. We knew the old girl still had energy! Nine miles from the start, we reached the trailhead.

We’d taken about 400 hundred photographs while enjoying the quiet amid the natural beauty of the area. The climb left me with a sense of not only accomplishment but also of peace and joy of having spent a perfect day with my husband and Labradors. I’ll treasure the memory.

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