Hardrock Training on Lizard Head Peak

 

 

 

Lizard Head Peak

HARDROCK TRAINING

 

  ”Lizard Head … is the most difficult of Colorado summits to reach. In fact the rottenness of its 400′ tower makes safety too much a matter of luck for comfort. Returning visitors have formed the opinion that the peak has become noticeably rottener and more dangerous. Our advice … when you reach the base, take [a] picture and go home.”  Robert Ormes, Guide to the Colorado Mountains,  Seventh Edition, 1979.

    ”Lizard Head is widely regarded as Colorado’s most difficult and dangerous mountain to climb. Unlike Longs Peak’s lengthy climbing record full of tragedy and triumph, Lizard Head’s colorful history is brief because of the immediate and inherent danger. This danger has kept attempts on Lizard Head at the minimum.”  From summitpost.org.

    Despite the dire warnings above, with a little caution, it is possible to climb this peak quite safely and comfortably.  The peak has probably been ascended several hundred times since the first ascent, and much of the potential hazard has already been swept clean.  The biggest risk of rockfall is when there are climbers above you, so by avoiding other climbers, wearing a helmet, and always staying right near the base of the rock, especially where it overhangs, you can avoid almost any falling rocks.

   The first afternoon, I packed my camping and climbing gear and skinned up to treeline.  The forecast called for pleasant weather, but it actually snowed six inches on me and  that  night.  To top it off, my MSR stove was missing a tiny washer and so I was unable to melt any snow to drink.  Nevertheless, the next morning I skinned to the base of lizard head,  took off my skis and hiked up the ridge to the base of the rock with my climbing pack.  Having just arrived from Tucson and not being used to the altitude, this was a brutal hike.  At an altitude of almost 13,000 feet, I had to stop frequently.  When I finally reached the base, the wind was coming in so strong (a steady 40, gusting to 60) that it was just too cold and miserable to put on climbing shoes, and I decided to wait for another day.   Thanks to the fresh snow, I was actually able to make a few big turns on the way down, even with a heavy backpack on.

Looking West toward Wilsons

   The next day I just skinned up with my climbing pack and hiked to the base.  I could tell I was already starting to acclimate becasue on this day I only had to stop about half as often as the day before when ascending the final cinder cone to the base.  The weather was still bad, so I stashed my pack high in a crevice (hopefully safely away from any marmots who will eat just about anything) and descended.  The snow was pretty lousy, about an inch of sun crust which I would invariably, but unpredictably break through, and I was forced to snow plow the entire way down, but at least I kept the face plants to a minimum.

   The third day dawned bright and clear and was forecast to be great weather, plus my climbing pack was still up there so I knew I was going to have to put the skis on again and start heading up.  Overnight the temps had dipped down to zero, and so I dawdled around waiting for my ski boots to warm up and didn’t start skinning until 10:00 a.m.  Hardly an alpine start!  I felt a little rushed for time due to the unpredictability of San Juan weather, and went as quickly as I could without overheating.  This time, the final approach up the cinder cone went much more easily, especially without a pack.   I reached the base and scurried up against the wall to be protected from rockfall.  To avoid  giving myself any time for second guessing or self-doubts,   I immediately started setting up my anchor and stacking the rope and getting ready to climb.  Donning my harness and shoes, I tied in to my trusy Silent Partner and was on my way up the rock.  The Silent Partner is an ingenious device which provides a solid self belay.  It is essentially a drum the rope spins around, but when the drum spins too fast (as in a fall), small, intenal pins come out and stop the movement of the drum.

Lizard Head?

   The first pitch ascends a chimney for about 50 feet and then traverses out onto the face and up to the first belay.  The standard route ascents just around the corner on the left side of the photo, and then in between the slightly different colored rock faces on the upper left.  Although there is lots of fragile rock,  it can be safely climbed with a little delicacy and light-stepping.  Sounds dicey perhaps, but there are plenty of big holds and footsteps and many places where the rock is comfortably solid.  I slowly made my way up the rock, pausing to put in gear where it looked solid.

  With a little hunting and a little creativity, there are  ample places to place good gear for protection, but it is necessary to bring a few long  slings or webbing to avoid problematic rope drag.  I made it to the top of the chimney, stepped left onto the face, and clipped an old piton.  Continuing up, I clipped an old ring piton and backed it up with a small nut.  Up, up a little bit more, a little traverse to the left, and I arrived at the first belay.

   I tied the rope off and quickly rappeled to the base to get my pack and climb back up, cleaning the gear out of the rock.  This part went fast since I was essentially on top rope at this point and felt very comfortable.  The summit was wreathed in misty clouds and dappled patches patches of warm sun and cold shade as the clouds scudded by close overhead.  My mood seemed to darken and brighten in tandem with the sun and the shade,  the shade bringing a little fear, trepidation and foreboding, quickly banished by the hope, joy and courage provided by the sun.   I felt like one of the small furry mammals hiding in the rocks below.

   In between the first and the second pitch, a steep scree field has to be negotiated and it is very difficult to avoid dislodging some of the scree which readily tumbles down the steep slope.  It is possible to travel between the first and second pitches without dropping a single rock, but I have only managed this once out of six times climbing this peak.  Anyway, on this day I was solo and not too concerned about the shifting scree.

   I got to the base of the second and final pitch and there was a substantial amount of snow built up at the base, so I bouldered up a few feet, put in some good pieces of gear and stepped down and hooked in.  The start of this pitch is, in my estimation, the crux of the climb.  It is only rated about 5.8, but does require the use of a few fist jams.  I had failed to bring a large enough cam to protect this part, but there is an old piton here (probably from the first ascent) and it seems solid, so I had no problem relying on it.  The bottom of this pitch was in the shade which made it much, much colder, but I wormed my way up and was soon on the summit.  It was beautiful up there and I took a few pictures, but my mind was still on the descent.  

Me on summit

                                                  

                                     “Most accidents occur on the descent.”

I kept this climber’s aphorism in mind as  I set up the rappel from the top.  This anchor was solid, so I leaned back and enjoyed the ride down, pausing frequently to enjoy the exposure and the views.  I reached the top of the scree field and carefully positioned myself to pull the rope.  Not only do you have to be careful not to pull rocks loose, but  even worse is getting your rope stuck, which is far easier than might be imagined, for example, where part of the rope gets stuck in a bottleneck crack as it is falling.   Getting the rope stuck is very often time consuming and difficult to remedy.  However, having dealt with this issue before, I successfully retrieved the rope and carefully hiked down the scree to the next rappel anchor.  This anchor consists of about ten hunks of assorted old bits of rope and webbing tied around a spit of rock.  None of it looked very good, but the sheer quantity of material was comforting and so I leaned back and slid halfway down the bottom face where you have to hook into an even mankier rappel.  Yanking hard on this old webbing, I assured myself it was solid for at least one more rappel and was quickly back at the base.  All in all, it only took me about 2 and a half hours to climb both pitches twice and descend, so the late start worked out ok.

 I will characterize this as  “training” for the Hardrock 100 this summer because a lot of climbing and descending at high altitude was involved.  It is also in the San Juans and the approach has some sections which are similar to the steepest sections of the HRH.  Due to poor weather, I skied up three different times to attempt the climb.   Unfortunately, I’m sure I will lose all the acclimation I gained, but maybe I will acclimate more quickly next time.   In all, over three days, I climbed about 14,000 feet and skinned about 22 miles.  Almost all of this was with skis on and a pack which weighed, variously 45 to 70 pounds, depending on whether I just had climbing gear, or was also carrying camping gear. 

Here is a photo from the summit of Lizard Head looking NW toward Mendota Peak and Virginius pass, part of the HR 100 course.

Looking NW from summit of Lizard Head