THE CHALLENGE

My husband, David Olmstead, recently (August 2015) completed climbing all of Colorado’s 58 named 14,000 foot plus mountains. In 2012, he and his buddy Phil Hildenbrand climbed the state’s reputed most difficult 14er, Capitol Peak. Unlike the peaks named in my first blog post, Capitol is not a 14er for dogs. Only humans in very good physical condition and able to cope with sheer drop offs should consider this climb. I gladly sat this one out and only wanted to know the details of the climb after the fact. Sit back and enjoy the climb with him from your armchair!  Dave’s story which follows won first place in the nonfiction category and second place overall in a writing contest in 2013.

A stately, northern red oak stood in the yard of one of my childhood friends in my native Connecticut. When I was eleven years old, I was finally big enough to jump up, grab the lowest limb and pull myself into the tree. From there, it seemed like a simple hand over hand climb to reach the top perhaps 150 feet up. Reaching that perch, I enjoyed the overview of rooftops and the green canopy of all the lesser trees. But I was late for supper and my mother was out looking for me. Spying my pals, she asked where I was. They pointed me out. I can still hear her shriek.

Fifty years later, I am on another precarious perch. My mind is focused, my body tense. Adrenalin courses through me. The air is thin and the rock is cold. What made me think being perched atop a sharp edged, impossibly narrow wall of pale gray granite at 13,500 feet might be fun? To my right is a 2,000 foot cliff, to my left a mere 800 foot cliff. They intersect in a sharp, glacier sculpted, inverted V. It doesn’t matter; tunnel vision prevents me from seeing the bottom. My arthritic fingers grasp the crest as best they can while my boots search for elusive grip on either side. This is the notorious “knife edge” on 14,130 foot Capitol Peak, Colorado’s toughest 14er.

The one hundred foot long, horizontal section on Capitol’s northeast ridge has thrilled and terrified climbers since Percy Hagerman and Harold Clark made the first ascent in 1909. Only a tightrope would be more exposed. So what made me think tackling this peak at the tender age of sixty-one would be a good idea?

Shortly after moving from Connecticut to Colorado in 1983 at age thirty-two, I bought a copy of A Climbing Guide To Colorado’s Fourteeners by Walter Borneman and Lyndon Lampert. Of the fifty-four peaks described, none captured my imagination like Capitol. The black and white photo of the summit prism was inspiring enough but the route description, especially the section called the “knife edge,” made my palms sweaty. Life intervened and I never seriously contemplated climbing it, but Capitol haunted my mind ever since.

Buried deep in the Maroon-Snowmass wilderness, Capitol Peak anchors the north end of the Elk Range west of Aspen. The reclusive peak is not visible from roads or towns but my stalwart climbing partner, Phil, and I often spotted distinctive Capitol from other summits where it always appeared distant and formidable. I was falling under its spell and drawn like a moth to a flame. I faced many challenges in my life. Some, such as the death of both parents before I was twenty, were thrust upon me. But most, such as starting a business at twenty-three with just a dream and a couple of grand, were my choosing. Having successfully met those challenges and more, I find myself taking on more physical challenges as I enter my so-called “golden years.” Capitol Peak threw down the gauntlet and I picked it up. We made a date: August 26, 2012.

Capitol, with some clouds building over it, is visible eight miles to the south when Phil and I arrive at the Capitol Creek trailhead at 9,420 feet to begin our six and a half mile backpack to Capitol Lake. Capitol pops into view at regular intervals appearing increasingly daunting as we climb the beautiful trail. Situated spectacularly at the base of the peak’s sheer northwest face, reflecting the peak’s image on the calm surface, Capitol Lake is startling beautiful in the late afternoon sun. From our dining spot, we watch the last of the sun’s rays illuminate Capitol’s face turning it from whitish gray to pink and finally a cold gray graced by a half moon that appeared over the ridge.

A hint of light shows in the east when we rise. The Milky Way stretches from horizon to horizon against the blackness of the universe displaying its billions of stars. I feel energetic but nervous as we begin the official Capitol Peak Trail at 6:20AM. I had always been confident about climbs, even the difficult ones, but doubts creep into my mind. Is this really wise for a person over sixty? Will I wimp out at the knife edge? Will I slip and fall 2000 feet to my death? The route begins innocently enough, climbing 900 feet on a good trail to the 12,500 foot saddle between Mt. Daly and Capitol on the northeast ridge. From there, we cross to the south side of the ridge and descend a steep, loose gully for perhaps 200 feet where we are greeted by a valley filled with talus, rubble and large, unstable blocks. We skip and hop our way northwest up the seemingly endless valley as it climbs 1,200 feet over roughly a mile back to the ridge at about 13,500 feet just east of a point dubbed “K2” where we chance upon an older couple resting. “Going up or down?” I inquire. “Down” the man answers “We stopped at the knife edge. I climbed it in the 1980s but my joints just can’t take it anymore. Once I turned sixty, it was like going over a cliff.” I don’t enjoy the last comment. “How old are you?” I ask. “Sixty-five.” “I’m sixty-one.” His wife interjects “He could have done it when he was sixty-one.” The man’s disappointment tinged with a little anger was palpable. We move on but the conversation weighs on my mind.

We soon get off route trying to get around K2 which results in a difficult, exposed downclimb. I think if the whole mountain is like this, I’m not sure I’m up to the task. Back on route, our confidence is restored somewhat. We move carefully along the narrowing, airy ridge, anticipating our first glimpse of the infamous knife edge. It does not disappoint. Many argue it is not the most difficult part of the climb but no one disputes the drama. I ask Phil, always the reticent one, if he wants to go first. “No!” he responds emphatically. Some people straddle it like a horse which can be hard on your pants. I choose a compromise method by grasping the pointed crest while walking my feet under me. My concentration is broken when a pika appears out of nowhere and scurries along the north side. Must have sticky feet I think. Phil soon follows. We survive the knife edge but we are far from done.

The remaining 600 vertical feet traverses the very steep, somewhat loose, exposed south face. Good route finding is critical on this mountain and taxes the mind as well as the body. We string together traverses and steep rock pitches. A fall anywhere would likely be fatal. Near the end, I ascend the steep south ridge to a false summit and continue on a route above Phil. We soon meet at the coveted summit. The ascent was arduous and challenging, but thrilling.

Once settled on the summit, a female peregrine falcon treats us with a close flyby. In typical falcon fashion, she vanishes in an instant—another reminder we are out of our element. Capitol’s summit is a dramatic place with sheer faces in every direction and expansive views. The entire Elk Range extends south. Open expanses spread to the north and west. Capitol Lake looks close enough to dive into. Knowing we still face a difficult, dangerous descent and long hike out, I find it hard to relax. More adventure awaits us.

We paid close attention to our ascent route in order to descend the same way, a lesson previously learned the hard way. We descend slowly and carefully and soon face the knife edge once again. I’m feeling confident for my second traverse; Phil, not so much. I start across when Phil chooses a very narrow ledge below the crest on the south side. It looks terrifying to me, but Phil insists. The ledge is only a few inches wide. Phil can lean against the cliff face but there aren’t any handholds. As I resume my own traverse, I hear his boots slipping against rock. My heart stops for a moment. “Are you OK?” He is. I spot for him while concentrating on my own traverse. My mind is already rehearsing the speech I will give to his wife and daughters about his demise. At the end of the knife edge, I advise Phil to climb a diagonal weakness in the cliff using a shallow dihedral. It’s tricky but Phil tackles it quickly. What a relief to be beyond this point! The remaining narrow ridge is soon behind us and we face the valley of rubble again. Gravity will not kill us this day.

The talus slope, so tedious and annoying on our ascent, is a welcome relief. As the adrenaline wears off, my mind is free to wander. I climbed my first 14er in 1983. Capitol is my 42^nd. Why did I finally accept this challenge in my sixties? How did my restless life journey lead me 2,000 miles to this place and time? I think of my contemporaries at home on their couches. I could be home on my Lazy-Boy with a TV remote and a beer instead of risking my neck up here. But I experienced an extraordinary, memorable day on an absolutely magnificent mountain. What memories did my sedentary friends make? What challenges did they face? I conclude I still need challenges and want to make more memories. I will run out of days long before I run out of mountains to climb. Tearing up, I enjoy an overwhelming sense of accomplishment and relief.

Too tired to speak much, my mind relives the day while hiking out. We often glance back at Capitol, spectacular as ever, in the fading light. Weary and beleaguered, Phil and I reach the trailhead in near darkness. After a long, tough day, one of life’s greatest, simple pleasures is dropping a heavy pack for the last time. Even more pleasurable is a toast with ice cold beer. Capitol haunts me no more. What’s next?

© 2015 David Olmstead

Dave and Cary will be away on their next adventure in early September and won’t be able to respond to your comments until the middle of the month. Thanks for  reading and your patience!