From: ajs@hpfcdc.HP.COM (Alan Silverstein)
Date: Thu, 22 Sep 88 17:10:43 GMT
Subject: Re: Trip reports: various adventures
Newsgroups: hpnc.general

Saturday, September 3 - Sunday, September 4: Mount Sherman, 14036'

Over Labor Day Weekend I had a fabulous time climbing alone. I spent one night on a Fourteener (prepare for my most poetic attempt to capture the awesome grandeur), and one long day climbing and exploring around a near-miss Fourteener worthy of any peak-bagger (but that's the next report).

At 1500 Saturday I turned onto the Four Mile Creek gravel road just S of Fairplay. A mere 25 minutes and 12.4 miles later I reached a locked gate (12040'). Only the last 1/2 mile of road required high clearance. Ten years ago you could 4WD another 800' up and one mile further to the Hilltop Mine, but no more.

As I remembered, the area is fairly barren, like most of the Mosquito Range, and scarred by human endeavors. I didn't reclimb Sherman because of its appearance or the challenge it offers, but for the view from its summit, which is quite nice. And because it's an easy peak to reach with a heavy pack!

It was a beautiful fall afternoon, mostly clear, windy, and cool. At 1625 I begin trekking W up the road past the gate. As usual I met several people coming down who wondered why the heck I was going the "wrong way". My sleeping bag and large bedroll probably sufficed as explanation.

By following the main road (turning right at one fork), I reached a point about 350' below the Sheridan - Sherman saddle (13150'), found a steep trail straight to the top, and reached it by 1725. From the saddle another steep trail proceeds N up the ridge to the uninspiring high point of Mount Sherman.

So at 1846 (2:21 to gain 2000'), I found myself once more in the odd, disquieting situation of being high on a peak late in the day. This particular autumn day a steady cold wind blew from the E at perhaps 40 knots. Immediately I put on warmer clothing -- lots of it -- and began an hour and a half of bare-rock construction, all the while munching dinner and absorbing a glorious sunset.

When I carry a pack to the top of a mountain, I want to sleep *on the top*, not ten feet away and five feet lower in an existing but cramped little hollow. Most wind shelters on Colorado Fourteeners are built to protect against W and N winds, including that one, so I'd have had to build an E wall anyway. I improved a flat spot right near the summit cairn, built an effective rock wall three feet high to shelter me from the wind, and spread my sleeping bag over a tarp, using more rocks to hold down both.

There were scattered dense clouds that made for an intensely orange sunset, with many rays and curtains. Even as the sun vanished beyond Leadville, corn snow blasted at me briefly from clouds opposite. When it darkened, I realized I could see the lights of Fairplay on one side and Leadville on the other. Famous Mosquito Pass was barely visible some distance N.

It was cold enough that I didn't sleep real well, despite all the clothing. About 2315 I noticed it had become dead calm, and got up for a while. The thermometer read 24 degrees F. The clouds had dissipated. How can I describe the glory of this experience? I'll try...

Overhead, the darkest of skies, but for the infinity of pinpoints and the ghostly arch of the Milky Way. Mars and Jupiter, strong and colorful, unwinking; the Andromeda Galaxy bright enough to stare at directly. Perhaps a hundred miles away to the SW, dim flashes every few seconds from lightning hidden in invisible clouds: no sounds, just white and orange glows. E and SE, more glows, the pearly crescents of luminescence from the mighty cities of Denver and Colorado Springs, about seventy miles away. Down and below to E and W, clusters of lights, mostly orange, from the two nearby towns; islands in a sea of black broken with random pearls, a few moving along roads. The flashing beacon of the Leadville Airport, bouncing off my cubby dimly, every six seconds.

It was too beautiful to return to sleep. I lingered awake and not very cold. Just after midnight, considering whether to sack out again or continue to soak up Creation, a startling event: glancing toward the Denver glow, I saw a burst of orange! I was stunned, breathless, uncertain for a moment what it was. Then I realized -- the tip of the waning crescent moon, unexpected, cut crisply by the black horizon. Even as I gazed transfixed, it rose into sight and quickly turned whiter.

Full to overflowing with the splendor I'd witnessed, I managed to sleep another five fitful hours. I woke again for sunrise to find the wind had returned, now gusty. The temperature was 21 degrees; the skies, still clear. As a result the colors were simpler and more concentrated than at sunset. The highlight was the horizontal shadow of the Earth, blue down into maroon merging sharply with gray, descending and reaching the Sawatch Range. I watched first light strike the 15 high peaks of the range, gold-tipped from Shavano to Holy Cross, at 0632.

The broad shadow of Sherman fell sharply onto the E flank of Mount Massive, a perfect alignment, 17 miles away. For over half an hour the outline was clearly visible as it descended into the Arkansas Valley.

I rested until 0830 hoping it would turn warmer quickly. Finally, I gave up and got up; it was 35 degrees. In the past it had been about 30 at sunrise and 45-50 by the time I packed up. Not this time.

After breakfast and a total of 15:15 on top of the mountain, I started E at 1000, and in 55 minutes traversed almost two miles to the high end of White Ridge, 13684'. Mount, or perhaps more correctly Mound, Sherman was uninspiring behind me, not worth a picture. After ten minutes rebuilding the summit cairn, I dropped down the rocky S face. This led to an unenjoyable, tedious traverse and descent W and SW on loose, rotten rock back to my Jeep at 1214.

Later, catching lunch in Fairplay, I discovered that the teenage girl running the grill had spent two nights on Sherman a week earlier. Perhaps I'm not so strange, after all.