Grays Peak

Grays Peak
Date Climbed: 7/23/14
Climbing Partners: Salix (dog)
Range: Front
Elevation: 14, 270 feet

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Daniel Weiss

We arrived sometime around noon in the middle of July. This time I had brought along Salix, my black lab, and had brought along my walking stick, more water, and (barely) warmer clothes. It was a cloudy, stormy day up in the mountains. As we exited I70, and began the dirt road up, I got a little nervous. All I had to help prepare for what lay ahead was a 14ers book I had bout at the local Barnes and Noble. It told me essentially where to go, what the trail looked like, how long the trail was, and a simple picture of the 14ers I would be attempting. I was slightly nervous for three reasons: first, I was in my wife car as opposed to my truck. The potholes were growing rather large and I was worried about bottoming out, and so I knew I might have to hike most of the dirt road, which would add several miles to my already late start. The second reason was the time and weather. It was forecast to thunderstorm that afternoon, and I was barely getting to the dirt road up at 11:30. The third was that I was about to attempt two 14ers on only my second outing, and didn't know what to expect, especially with a late start. But I pressed on.

It came to a point where I could no longer drive the car up, and so decided to pull over and walk. we passed a number of cars on the hike up, hinting that I should probably turn around. After a mile I began to wonder I would even make it before the sun fell, as I had yet to reach the trailhead and had no idea how long it would take to do these 14ers. These were going to be tougher than Beirstadt, and I new it. I heard the thunder and could see rain on either side of the gulch I was in, though I had little trouble since I was still well below timberline. After about 45 minutes, we reached the trailhead. We polished on through, knowing that any time wasted here would push our summit even further back. I was very nervous now that we were out in the open, and I could distinctly hear the rumble of thunder off in the distance. The problem was, I didn't know if it was coming our way, or if it had missed us. Yet, without much experience with lightening in the mountains, I decided to move ahead. As I passed a large group of hikers about half way to the Kelso Ridge, two young ladies stopped as our dogs greeted each other in the usual fashion. They asked if we were going up. I said yes. "You picked the right time." One of them said with a smile. "You just missed a pretty bad storm that we all got stuck in." Relieved, I laughed wished them well, pulled my dog away and we continued up.

It was still overcast, although it did not rain all the way up. I could tell that there was a fierce wind at the top, since there was a good breeze down at the base. I had little trouble reaching the Kelso Ridge, and I began to think I was in great shape and that we would make it up in no time. I still had yet to learn that depth perception is very skewed when one looks at the vast 14ers. What looks like an hour up could easily turn into three. We began the steep slope up Grays to the South of the Kelso Ridge (in other words, we were taking the standard route up Grays Trail). Not knowing how to pace myself, since I had gone at my wife's pace up Beirstadt, I quickly found how out of shape I really was.

By the second sub summit, I was freezing from the wind, and starving as I had not eaten breakfast or lunch yet. I took Salix and we huddled behind a large rock for some protection, and I pulled out my sandwich and Salix's water. We rested for a few minutes, and then I packed up and we began up again. I was growing even more tired as I was continually having to shout to Salix to stop chasing the varmints that were scurrying around the slopes. At one point, just below the final push to the summit, Salix spotted a mountain goat precariously standing on the edge of a steep cliff. She took off full speed, intending to catch it. I yelled at the top of my longs, commanding her to stop. It was a feeble attempt, as I was breathless and the wind was so strong I could barely hear myself shout. She did come to a dead stop though when I called, and I was thankful we had trained her well; it had saved her life. As I walked over to her, I saw just how close she had come to running full speed off a 500 or so foot drop off. We turned around and continued up the switchback, and I began to pray that I could get this dog up the mountain alive.

After what felt like an eternity, we finally staggered to the top of Grays. I quickly found shelter behind the walls that had been built and pulled out our water. Just as I sat down, I saw another, much older man, reach the summit a few feet away from us. He looked over the edge, stood there for about a minute, and turned back around and left us. At this point in my career, I had no idea there were little papers we could sign at the top of these 14ers, as proof of our accomplishments, and so the odd tube I found in the shelter was left untouched. I figured it was a flare that had been left in case of emergency.

After Salix finished the last of her water, I pulled out my own. To my horror, I had a little over a gulp left, and realized I had again brought too little water. Frustrated, I sat there, back to the wall as Salix explored the summit. It was very windy, and cold, and I was thankful for the shelters that had been built by previous climbers. It would be a few 14ers later that I would come to really appreciate it's safety when I faced the bitter winds of early winter. I realized now just how much energy I had spent getting there, and how much farther I had to go if I was to climb Torreys. I knew it was a good 500 or so feet elevation drop and regain in the saddle between the two mountains. I also knew I had no water, I would have no protection from the wind, I was exhausted, it was getting late, and Torreys was still covered in snow. I had not expected to encounter as much snow as I saw on Torreys. Worse yet, the ridge up Torreys looked treacherous for Salix, especially in the snow. I decided we had had enough for the day, and vowed to return to Torreys, although next time I would take the famous Kelso Ridge. We started back down at break neck speed. I had no idea how quickly we could make it down the mountain until I looked back and I had already covered what had taken me an hour in about 15 minutes. I decided to take a shortcut and save even more time.

We crossed the plateau of the sub summit we had eaten lunch at earlier and went along the ridge that snaked just over the trail we had taken up. Finally, at one point I opted to head down the side to get back on the trail. right as we were about to reach the path, I slipped and caught myself. I only got a minor scrape on my hand, although I realized that a rolled ankle here would push our little adventure passed dark, and we still had miles to go, and cold weather to beat. We managed to get down the slope and into the valley without a hitch (although there were a few moments I was worried for Salix since she could not climb down). Little did I know that one day I would live to regret taking my dog off trail just for a little "short cut". Once the path flattened out, our pace slowed, and we began the long trek across the valley back to the car. We were the last ones off the mountain that day, and I was somewhat glad we were. It was a satisfying experience to be at the top of the world (in my mind) alone to enjoy God's creation. Over the adventures, though, I would begin to crave some company on these long trips, especially when I first attempted Pikes Peak.

After a few hours, we made it back to the car, and we went on our way home. That day I learned two lessons: always bring more water than you'll need, and get there early. Salix and I were glad we had made it through our little adventure together, and as I drove back to Denver, Salix, the little ball of energy that never so much as sits in the car, fell sound asleep. I had two down now, and I felt the hunger for more. I decided it was time to commit; all the 14ers Colorado had to offer, and I was prepared to go through the harshest weather Colorado offered to accomplish it.