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 Mt. Meeker is not one of Colorado's "fourteeners." It
only rises to 13,911 ft. But the Meeker Ridge route, from the
southeast, is 12 miles roundtrip and over 5,000 ft. elevation gain.
Roach's guidebook points out that the ridge between the lesser east
summit and the main west summit is extremely exposed, so one would do
well to make that traverse before the afternoon thunderstorms roil
up.
I pulled into the Copeland Lake trailhead at 3:30 a.m.
and walked up the Sandbeach Lake trail. A gibbous moon and a sky full
of stars was bright enough to cast shadows. The pines were black
against a silvery ground. Down below, the North St. Vrain Creek made a
low rushing roar. The air moved with a cool, nighttime caress. I had
walked this trail before, but during the night it felt close, even
claustrophobic, with trunks, branches, and the dark pressing in.
I climbed higher and passed to the north of a rise. The
sound of the creek faded to quiet. There was not a breath or squeak. If
it weren't for my tinnitus, I would have been absolutely alone.
By 5 a.m., the sky began to lighten and birds began to
sing and call. Something big flapped loosely across the trail in front
of me—an owl, perhaps. I reached the Campers Creek crossing and turned
north, away from the trail and though thick fir and pine and among many
downed trunks and branches. I bushwhacked up on compass bearing and
listened to woodpeckers hammering and squirrels complaining.
I climbed steadily. Through the trees, I could see a
ridgeline with blue sky above, but soon I came over a rise and more
forest stretched out above me and another ridgeline appeared, with blue
sky above that. I passed false ridge after false ridge until the trees
became scattered and stunted and I finally moved out onto open tundra.
At 7 a.m., I stopped for breakfast—a banana, granola, and lots of
water.
I turned to the northwest and climbed straight up Meeker
Ridge. Many different wildflowers were scattered over the tundra, and
the rocks were covered with lichens. I love lichen—so simple,
foreign-looking, and unassuming, hardly alive, but colorful and diverse
and scattered everywhere. I moved into bigger rocks and boulders. As I
climbed, the twin peaks of Meeker rose above the horizon, sharp,
rugged, and tumbled. A pika squeaked its alarm.
I didn't feel a particular urge to climb the lesser
summit and so skirted around to the right, thinking I'd hit the
knife-edge between the summits without going up and over. I scrambled
among the boulders without looking at my compass and maybe without
thinking too clearly. The air was thin. The guidebook had said that
there was a "keyhole" on the ridge between the summits and that the
better route passed to the right of that rock formation. Sure enough, I
saw a striking square keyhole and so climbed down and around that. This
route led to an edge and I found myself not on the summit ridge but on
Meeker's NE ridge looking down on Chasm Lake, nestled between Longs and
Mt. Lady Washington. Now, I had to climb back to the SW and onto
Meeker's lesser peak, after all.
I did it. The view of Longs Peak and its flat, vertical
East Face was frighteningly imposing. I looked down on the Ships Prow.
This is a towering wedge of rock that looks just like the bow of a
great gray battleship surging toward the northeast around Chasm Lake. I
remembered the time my Dad had been glissading down that very snow bank
to the south of Ships Prow, and he lost control, slammed into the talus
at the base of the snow bank, and broke his hip. He didn't break the
hip joint but only pulled a plate of bone out of the ileum, but he did
need help. A helicopter landed in Chasm Meadows and carried him to
Boulder's Memorial Hospital.
I'd been up that gulch, too, back in 1993. I had skirted
the snow and climbed up into cliffs and ledges when a storm blew in
with wind, rain, sleet, and lightening. I had begun the hike too late.
I had to retreat. Today, the sky was still blue and the clouds white
and puffy. It was only noon. I thought I'd make it today.
I climbed to the lesser summit and continued out onto
the connecting ridge. Dark clouds were forming now. Often, I seem to
get to these altitudes, where it would be so panoramic to settle down,
leisurely eat some lunch, and revel in the huge views. But I couldn't
stop. It was clearly raining off to the west, though there had been no
thunder. I scrambled along. At the top, I found an old plastic canister
that had once held a hiker's register, but it was empty now. I took a
quick photo and continued on.
I always like to make a circle out of any hike that I
can. The climb up might have been grueling, and I really don't want to
have to do it again, in reverse. Some other way down might be better—or
at least different. So I went over the top of Meeker and on down its
south ridge. I pulled out my peanut butter and raisin sandwich, nibbled
as I stayed on the ridge past a big snowfield, lying on the eastern
slope, then I dropped off to the east and descended toward a tributary
of Hunters Creek. In the meantime, dark clouds had gathered, rain and
hail had begun to fall. I put on more clothes and moved very slowly.
Now the rocks were wet, the lichen was slippery, and the ground that
held those rocks was loose. Carefully, carefully, step by step.
I wandered back and forth, crossing rivulets, and
casting about for the best route down this basin of rock, snow and
water, tundra, and then stunted trees. I followed the water flow and
finally picked up an old trail, not even included on my 1961
topographic map, but still being used—it's certainly not being
maintained, though. I followed Hunters Creek. It flowed full. There
were tumbling falls.
Finally, I came to the Sandbeach Lake Trail again, about
a mile farther west than I had left it early that morning. It was
suppertime, but I was pretty much out of the mood to linger, and I
strode on back to the car. From 3:30 a.m. to 8:00 p.m. with almost no
stops. That was enough. I popped three Advil, finished my water, and
drove home. Meredith served me some pot roast and potatoes and helped
me soak my feet in ice water. She told me that our dancing was on that
night, after all, but we decided to let it go.
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At the treeline.
On Meeker Ridge, Meeker's two peaks on the skyline.
Negotiating the talus below Meeker's lesser east summit,
an interesting "keyhole" on the skyline.
A look to the east, back down the ridge.
Across toward Longs Peak.
A look down to the Ship's Prow and Chasm Lake.
West along the knife edge toward Meeker's main peak.
On top.
Longs Peak, from Meeker's top.
Down Meeker's south ridge. I descended to the snow field
and then turned left.
After the storm passed, I looked back.
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