Cragging Report - Boulder Canyon, The Boulderado

Location: The Boulderado Crag, Boulder Canyon

Date of Climbs: July 21^st, 2011

Group Members: Tyler, Jake

Map to Boulderado Crag

            It has been a rainy summer in Boulder. For weeks it has been raining hard every afternoon, making it difficult for climbers to get out later in the day. Jake and I decided to plan on climbing in the morning on Thursday, in order to avoid any fickle weather. Our eyes were set on the Boulderado Crag. This geological playground is located within Boulder Canyon, along with dozens of other crags just a short drive from town. Notable for its moderate traditional route selection, the Boulderado is a good location for practicing your trad or setting top ropes. These routes are just off of the road, making it easy to bail out if nature threatens.

Route A: Idle Hands 5.6
Route B: Mons 5.7
Route C: Q's 5.9+

            We planned to climb a few routes, as we both had the day off and were long on time and short on fun. We arrived at the location at around ten o’clock in the morning. The creek was raging its course, swollen with record snowmelt and runoff. The sky was cloudy, and it seemed that the rain may thwart our plans after all. Unabashed, we set out on the short hike to the rock. After gearing up at the base of the cliff and flaking kinks and coils out of our rope, Jake and I began to feel a slow sprinkle. We decided to wait it out since it was light, and soon, it mercifully drizzled itself out. After the rain, the clouds cleared up and the sun began to shine down upon us and the smooth rock.

The Boulderado features both sport routes and traditional, or trad routes. Sport and trad vary in that sport routes follow a series of bolts driven into the rock, while in trad, one must place protection into the rock for safety, such as cams or stoppers. Although opinions vary, sport routes are generally considered to be more easily proteted, since the route is bolted with hardware laboriously drilled into the rock by some intrepid route setter some time before. Traditional climbing, on the other hand, requires the climber to analyze the features of the rock and place temporary protection within cracks or constrictions in the rock, so that he may make his ascent in safety.

Metolius Master Cam #3 in action!

The plan was for Jake to belay me up a route called “Idle Hands,” a 5.6. Upon reaching to bolt anchors, I would clip in and set up an anchor using locking carabineers and slings so that we could set up a top-rope. Jake and I would then climb up one or two more times before pulling the rope and moving on. We made it through two trad routes, “Idle Hands,” “Mons” a 5.4, and a spicy sport route called “Q’s,” after the famous restaurant rated at 5.9+. Idle Hands and Mons ascended the left side of the cliff, following cracks and jugs up the rock at about 70°. These routes topped out at a shared bolt anchor about 80 feet from the belay. Q’s was further down the wall on an 85° southwest face, and proved more stout. It worked its way left and right up through cracks and tiny ledges to the bolt anchors some 70 feet above.

We decided to pack up after these routes. All in all, it was yet another great day in Boulder Canyon. 

Jake and I post cragging

Me leading up Idle Hands

View of Q's from below

Jake, headed for the crux on Q's, toproped

Me rappelling back down to earth on Q's =)

Mummy Range Fairchild Loop Trip Report

This post is coming a little late, but it is quite comprehensive.

Trip Dates: June 7^th, 8^th, 9^th 2011

Team Members: Tyler Hislop, Tobin C, Dusty B

            For a while now, I had an itch that needed scratching. Despite all the ice climbing and skiing of the past winter, I had yet to make it out for a good multi-day trip in solid backcountry conditions. Now that the weather was warming up, it was time to get out and explore some of the delicious terrain nearby. Rocky Mountain National Park had been calling my name.

 Tobin and I had explored some of this terrain in advance of the trip. We had both tromped around the Park, but were eager to see something new. We settled on the Mummy Range in the northwestern reaches of the Park. With record snow fall remaining from the past winter, conditions promised to be snowy and wet. Our plan was to take three days. On day one, we would begin hiking at the Lawn Lake trailhead and head north along Roaring River, and up into Black Canyon to the Lawn Lake campground. Beneath Mummy Mountain to the north, this is where we would make our first camp. On day two, we would ascend to “The Saddle,” between Fairchild Mountain and Hagues peak, at which point, we would ascend the south-eastern aspect of Fairchild’s snowy upper slopes and make for the summit. From the top, we would consider snow conditions, and seek a clear route to descent Fairchild by glissading down its north facing slopes. Our descent would take us to the Fay Lakes, beneath Ypsilon Mountain. From here, we would bushwhack southward, seeking Ypsilon, and Chipmunk Lakes. This is where our second camp would be located. On our final day, we would pick up the trail near Chipmunk Lake, and descend from the high mountains and snows back to Roaring River, where we could make our way back south to Lawn Lake Trailhead.

We began our trip on Tuesday, June 7^th. The team left Boulder at about 6:30 am, so that we would be able to reach to RMNP backcountry office right after it opened to get our backcountry permit. A favorable weather report showed sunny skies with slim chances of thunder storms. After travel and preparation, we were ready to leave Lawn Lake Trailhead at about 8:30. Not a perfect alpine start, but with only about six miles to travel, we would arrive at our first camp on solid snow with daylight to spare. The weather forecast proved accurate, and we were blessed with clear skies and warm weather. We set out along the switchbacks leading into the canyon where Roaring River flows. Invigorated by thoughts of the journey to come, we made quick time despite our heavy packs. As our trail ascended the canyon, dry trail gave way to patchy snow. Although we hiked ice axe in hand, we carried on without donning our snowshoes for some time, favoring the quick pace of our boot-pack. 

Some ways up the trail, we met a fellow hiker named Matt, who was travelling to the Park from Virginia. We passed each other a couple times, until we decided to travel together, since we were headed to the same camp. The higher we went, the more snow there was. We also saw raging creeks of snowmelt rushing through the thick frozen snow crust. Despite the record snowpack, the summer heat had set the high alpine into full melt. The decision was finally made to put on our snowshoes at about 10,000 feet, when the snow became too deep to travel by boot alone.  Under the shining sun, we continued on over radiant snow to near tree line near the mouth of the canyon. Although our map showed a ranger patrol cabin, we didn’t see any sign of one. It was either gone, or buried deep in snow. Lawn Lake was still shrouded in ice when we arrived, and despite the warming weather, the campsites remained in winter conditions. Together with Matt, we found a shady clearing in the pines, and set to work building our camp. We had all decided that simple bivouac sacs were sufficient for the trip, but Tobin had also brought an ultralight sil-nylon tarp so that we could set up some shelter from sun or rain. Winter gear was heavy, and a bivy sac was just the thing to lighten the load.

Tobin, setting the tarp for our snow shelter

 Taking turns, we dug in a few feet with a single shovel which we brought for the group, and guyed the tarp between a few trees to pitch our modest shelter. With camp dug out, we set to melting snow for drinking water and eating lunch by the scenic lake below our camp. Matt joined us too. He was planning on doing some fly fishing in a fissure in the lake’s ice.

On the slopes of Mummy Mountain, above Lawn Lake - Photo Credit: Tobin C

Later, we practiced glissading and self-arresting on the slopes below Mummy Mountain to hone our skills for the snow climb to come. 

The discovery was made that space blankets were quite hydrophobic and make exceptional one-time-use sleds! We returned to camp exhausted from our day’s exertion, and melted more snow for dinner: Indian food with flatbread. Park regulations mandate that backpackers must pack all their food along in a heavy and awkward bear keg, but the weight seemed well worth it when we sat down to eat. 

With the sun dipping below the surrounding peaks, we decided to zip up in our sleeping bags and turn in early. The night was clear and cold, promising hard snow for tomorrow’s ascent. The longest hike of the trip was behind us, and tomorrow, we would have to trek upward. 

Dusty and I high on Fairchild's slopes
Photo Credit: Tobin C

The camp awoke before dawn, at five on our second day. Our goals were to break camp, eat a quick breakfast, and get moving before the sun reached the snow, so that we would be able to move swiftly over the hardened snow. Our group began to feel the ill effects of altitude as we climbed the slopes below the saddle. With each movement, our pace slowed a touch, and our packs felt slightly heavier. Snowshoes would remain on our packs for the rest of the climb, heavy but necessary for later. For now, we attached our crampons and prepared ourselves for the ascent, axes in hand.  The pace was quick to the saddle, and we now had to make for Fairchild’s snow-clad north-east facing slopes. Two snowfields extended above us to the summit: a lower pitch of about 400 feet, and an extended steep upper pitch which stretched beyond a dry rock band to the summit 1000 feet above. The weather was clear in all directions as we ascended the slopes to the summit. Slowly gaining altitutde, we kept steady without complaint. Soon the zenith of our trip would be reached, the Fairchild summit at 13,502 feet.

We reached the rocky summit about three hours after leaving camp where a small rockwall was built at the highest point as a windbreak for mountain climbers. Small clouds could be seen swelling in the distance, a byproduct of daytime heating. As the terrain warms throughout the day, snow begins to melt and water evaporates into the atmosphere creating ever larger clouds until storms break loose. These are Colorado’s famous afternoon thunderstorms. A droll brown cloud could also be seen resting in the plains, a byproduct of summer fires raging in Arizona. A bracing wind howled from the south, so we layered up and found shelter behind  the wind-block of rock. We dropped our packs and set out along Fairchild’s ridge, which extended to the south-east, to determine the safest path for our decent. Fairchild’s lower cirque dropped sharply below us to give way to more snow more than a thousand feet below. Cornices from winter’s snow curled imposing above the cirque’s couloirs, waiting to drop like icy bombs upon unwary climbers. A few photos were snapped at the summit, one of me hoisting the bear keg above my head triumphantly. In the interest of expedience, we packed up and began to descend down a shallow gully on Fairchild’s south-facing aspect. The snow was a little too soft to glissade the whole way, but we got in a few good slides before plotting our course further from the valley floor. Like the playgrounds of giants, mountains make wonderful slides, if you are willing to climb up.

The base of the gully dipped back below tree line, and we would have to bushwhack to find our next camp near Chipmunk Lake, which was called “Upper Chipmunk”. We again strapped on our snowshoes and broke trail along a stream. We thought it would lead us to Ypsilon Lake and eventually to our campsite, but were mistaken and descended too far. The map needed to be referenced when we reached a confluence of streams at about 10,000 feet. This area was too low for our camp, which was at about 10,700 feet, and too wet and steep to set up an alternate camp. A group decision was made to hike back up through the forest and attempt to find the lakes above. The snow was now softening considerably, and travel was slow-going.

Mighty Ypsilon Mountain

We trekked for another hour through the pines and streams until we finally found Ypsilon Lake, which was just below our camp. The lake, was fed by runoff draining from Mt. Ypsilon’s alpine slopes to the west and rested below a steep granite face to the north. Ypsilon’s craggy peak could be seen looming above the cirque, with clouds gathering and greying upon its slopes. The lake’s waters flowed despite the early season, narrowing into the rushing streams below us. One more slope to climb, and we could again make camp and dinner. Another, smaller body of water lay within the trees above, which fed into Ypsilon. As we wandered through the trees, the only sign of camp we saw was a red arrowhead nailed to a tree right above the snow. There was no trail to be found, but we had found our spot for the night. Tobin and Dusty dug a camp between trees again, and I decided to try and dig a basic bivy shelter in the snow, which I would top with a space blanket. 

I had seen this shelter, called a “doghouse” in a mountaineering book, and was eager to put it to the test. It was composed of a four foot trench with a hole dug into the end where one could place their feet: basic, but good enough. 

Tobin lounging after the day's hike

Again we made our dinner of Indian food and attempted to dry our gear in the dying light. Clouds had blanketed the sky since our decent and hung ominous. After eating, we relaxed in the snow upon our sleeping pads, and watched the sunset light the mountains and clouds with brilliant colors. As the sun crested behind Ypsilon, its rays stretched through the gathering clouds. The clouds writhed like dervishes bathed in pink and golden light, a sight seen by only us. Exhausted, we soon we turned in for the night. A thunderstorm passed over us, and I was forced to zip up my bivy sac against the ensuing rain and hail. Despite the weather, we all managed to stay dry through the night. Still, we knew that night time cloud cover meant that snow would be soft the next day for our descent back to the trailhead. The bulk of our journey was complete, and it was all downhill from here.

On day three, dawn broke free from the cloudy night, and the mountains were bathed in golden morning sunshine. We decided to break camp and try to dry some of our gear in the sun before setting out to blaze trail once again. Our plan was to descend southeast down the Ypsilon Lake trail. Before packing away, we used our remaining fuel to boil some water for tea and oatmeal. With our bellies warm and our spirits light, we set out. The snowshoes went on straight out of camp this time, to stay afloat on the soft snow. Our path followed a ridge which led further into the valley to the south east, back down to Roaring River. Since no trail was visible beneath the snow, we again had to make use of our route finding skills. Taking turns in the lead, we followed our ridge through the snowy pines for about two miles before the snow began to recede. Our pace was swift despite the sloppy snow. Although we had been in the mountains for days and camped in winter conditions, our packs were now lighter and the team was strong. Once we were below 10,000 feet, the trail was seen at last. The snowline was above us, and our route finding had proved more successful than yesterday’s. We happily removed our snowshoes and gaiters a final time to make our final descent.

 A warm breeze and clear air greeted us as we made our way back down into the canyon to the river. We crossed a wooden bridge to some rocks so that we could wash the journey’s grime from our faces in the river. Rapid snowmelt meant that waters were flowing high and frigid. We took a moment to eat a quick lunch and reapply some sunscreen for the final hike out. Although we had lost altitude, we were still in the high mountains and susceptible to sun burn. As we made our way down the dry trail, a couple passed us on their way to Ypsilon Lake. They asked us about conditions. We exchanged glances at each other, and at their footwear. We recounted our experience of snowy, trailless conditions, but were careful to mention the serene beauty of the high alpine lake, if they were determined to make it. But, we knew that with their light summer footwear, they would be miserable long before they reached Ypsilon’s placid shores.

The team traversed the final switchbacks out of the hills and into the parking lot, making plans to allay our appetites at Oskar Blues in Lyons for a burger and beer. Upon reaching the car, we saw that Matt had left us a canister of fuel on the tailgate as gesture of good will. Packs were dropped gratefully into the car. We couldn’t help but be overcome with feelings of fulfillment and accomplishment from our journey. We were happy to head home, as the car sped along the park’s roads, but we knew that we knew that soon we would be called back to the high alpine for yet another adventure, where we could put Matt’s fuel can to use.

Some final photos:

Tobin, doing some grooming after the hike

Dusty and I - Photo Credit: Tobin C

View of Fairchild and Ypsilon from the road