RAWAH TRAVERSE
“Marathon + Some”
Sunday August 27th, 2023
Ashley Porter and Kevin Dewlen
Start Time- Cameron Pass Parking Lot- 2:00 a.m.
Finish Time- Jack Dickens Trailhead- 11:45 p.m.
26.98 Miles
Summited
1- South Diamond Peak 11,701’
2- North Diamond Peak 11,852’
3- “Un-Named Peak” 11,588’
4- Mr. Big Peak 11,408’
5- Swallow Peak 11,622’
6- Chickadee Peak 12,170’
7- Grosbeak Peak 12,184’
8- Junco Peak 12,386’
9- Siskin Peak 12,390’
10- Pipet Peak 12,433’
11- Clark Peak 12,951’
12- Lewis Peak 12,654’
13- “Un-Named Peak” 12,380’
14- “Un-Named Peak” 12,220’
15- “Un-Named Peak” 12,460’
16- “Un-Named Peak” 12,522’
17- South Rawah Peak 12,644’
18- North Rawah Peak 12,473’
*Note: The peak names of Mr. Big, Swallow, Chickadee, Grosbeak, Junco, Siskin and Pipet were found on the “Thunderforest Topo” in Topo Maps+.
An iconic range of peaks. Viewed hundreds of times on the return trip from Steamboat. Driving from Walden, approaching Cameron Pass, on Highway 14, the line of these peaks catches your eye, you can’t miss them. The highway cuts between The Crags on the south, and the peak of the South Diamond on the north at Cameron Pass…this would be our starting point.
Saturday August 26th was our day to mobilize. The advanced weather forecast was clear for Sunday the 27th, a very small chance of rain in the late afternoon, a risk we would take after a very wet summer of 2023.
Our first task on Saturday was shuttling the car to the Jack Dickens trailhead, east of Walden about 16 miles. Clouds fluttering overhead on the drive, the dirt road rises and falls, meandering its way back towards the base of the rising peaks. A golden eagle on the edge of the road sits proudly, 2 ½’ tall, hardly moves as we pass, a rare site and a blessing we note for the journey ahead.
We make our way back out to Walden in the van with a light rain falling. As we retrace our path back up to Cameron Pass, a rainbow is illuminated, encasing the peaks we seek to traverse the following day. Good omens continue.
It is quiet in the Cameron Pass parking lot where we plan to catch a few hours of sleep before rising early the next morning. Dinner outside as the sun begins to settle over the Diamond, and a walk along Michigan ditch to help acclimate, provides us dessert of fresh raspberries found along the path. The quietness and darkness settle deeper into the parking lot, and we embrace the chance to get as much sleep as possible.
Sunday the 27th, 1:30 a.m. rise. Cooled coffee, banana, hydration, down the hatch. Clothes on, bags loaded, headlamps on, close the van door. 2:00 a.m. the hike begins. We find the path that rises quickly from the parking lot at Cameron Pass up to the “bench” below the now silhouetted Diamond Peaks. It is quiet, the air is still, the stars fully illuminated in the sky above, eyes of fox and deer spotted as we traverse our way along the “bench” to catch the south ridge of the South Diamond.
2:48 a.m., we are on top of the South Diamond, making good time on the tundra and decent movement with route finding in the dark since we left the trail at the “bench” earlier this morning. As we walk the ridge of the “Diamond” from south to north we are greeted with a sight neither one of us has ever seen. Flitting along the ridge in the light of our headlamps, an owl hunts, weaving and soaring with us as we move. Soon there are multiple owls, we believe three, flying along with us in and out of our headlamps as we move in the otherwise still darkness. We play over the multiple meanings of this spirit animal that is now also along with us for our journey not only today, but also with us in our journey of life.
3:10 a.m., atop the summit of the North Diamond, we are still happy with the time we are making on the open ridge. We veer slightly in our route finding in the dark off the peak but traverse our way back to stay the ridge efficiently, slowing us only momentarily. During our traverse, the entire peak and ridge surrounding us is illuminated, a fireball meteor has just streaked through the sky!!! We stand stunned, for a second, at this additional gift in our journey from the universe. We don’t know, or may never know what these different signs mean, but we feel connected to the world around us like never before; the stars and distant galaxies shining bright and clear, shooting stars, a stillness and quietness like no other aside from a distant rumble of thunder far to the south, and the ground solidly beneath our feet.
It takes us an hour from the top of the North Diamond to reach the saddle of Montgomery Pass at 4:15 a.m., a descent of nearly 800’. Still smooth tundra under our feet and decent route finding in the dark. We summit two small peaks along the way down the ridge, one’s name unknown and the other, Mr. Big. Names of peaks and places are always fascinating, and how Mr. Big got its name, and the peaks ahead named after various birds, are ones that make us smile and curious at the same time.
From the saddle of Montgomery Pass at 11,009’ we begin our climb to the peaks ahead. Swallow peak at 4:50 a.m. is our last peak that we will be on top of, below 12,000’ for nearly 13 hours. When hiking for hours, there are mantras, or songs, that make the steps easier. Be it mantras along the lines of safe passage and journey, or words of Bob Marley, we encourage you to find the ones that work best for you…they do work.
Chickadee peak is summited at 5:30 a.m. after a steep climb up the ridge. The pace has slowed with some of the steeper ascents and descents and the rockier than expected terrain. We are not near our sunrise goal as we begin to see the first light of the day creep upon us, revealing the distant foothills and valleys below, and the sky above.
Looking East. The ridges on the left, our journey ahead. To the right, in the distance, North and South Diamond are just visible.
Shortly before sunrise, around 6:00 a.m., we are atop Grosbeak peak and pause to remove headlamps and adjust gear. The sun peaks over the horizon at 6:22 a.m. as we are still ascending Junco peak. The moments atop these peaks and ridges as the sun crests the horizon fill the soul with awe. In my lifetime, I may never get enough of these moments. The ridge is completely quiet, the universe moving without a sound, every sunrise different in the hues emitted, the colors playing off the clouds, peaks, valleys, illuminating the distance we have traveled, and the journey we have in front of us, just enough to hint at what is forthcoming. We know the work required to fully explore and embrace what it is that we will find on the path that lies ahead, for in these moments, the sheer scale of what surrounds us is humbling and gratifying for the soul.
Quickly we traverse up to Junco peak with the sunrise providing extra energy. From the top of Junco peak, a 500’+ descent takes us down the ridge to the saddle between Junco and Siskin, only to regain our elevation in the ascent to Siskin peak. Steep ascents/descents and navigating our path between the rocks to stay on the tundra as much as possible is the game at this point as we continue to move as fluidly as possible. 7:43, we are on top of Siskin peak, we have been moving for almost 6 hours at this point and are feeling decent.
Looking back at Junco peak from Siskin peak
Our focus at this point is Clark Peak. At 12,951’, it is the highest peak on our traverse route. We quickly move down the ridge to Pipet peak, down the saddle and begin the nearly 800’ ascent up to Clark Peak. Steady movement, knowing a realistic pace is necessary to complete the rest of the hike. We reach the top of Clark Peak at 8:23 a.m., this was our sunrise goal. 2 hours behind what we had anticipated, 2 miles more traveled than what we had forecasted. Our contact on the front range is aware, and we know this day will be a long one after viewing what lies ahead. We did our research to glean what beta we could on this route and trained to know what our average hiking rate is, but there is always a slight discrepancy in expectations and actuality. No duty at all in these situations but to accept what is reality and know that when you dig deep into your reserves, you have the capacity to achieve your goals.
Clark Peak 12,951’. Looking back at where we’ve come from. The North and South Diamond in the distance, left of Ashley.
From Clark Peak looking north at the path ahead. Lewis Peak to the left and the ridge that jogs north from there.
North Rawah Peak can just barely be seen poking out at the very end of the range if you look closely.
700 feet down, 400 feet back up. This is our route to the top of Lewis Peak which we reach around 9:30 a.m. The terrain is a bit rockier now than the smooth tundra interlaced with stones that we have traveled thus far. No complaints, just another reality. The day is still calm, which is amazing for our long duration of being above 12,000’. With very little wind it is quiet. From the top of Lewis Peak we hear some howling from far away in one of the valleys far below. Wolves? Can’t confirm, but we listen and hear them howl a couple more times. Perhaps they have spotted or heard us, but we are blind to spotting them. From Sylvain Tesson, “the garden of humankind is filled with presences. They do not wish us ill, but they keep a close eye on us. Nothing that we do will escape their notice. Animals are the keepers of the garden where man bowls a hoop and thinks himself a king. It was a revelation. And it was not unpleasant. I knew now that I was not alone.”
As we make our way off the peak we listen with each step and our eyes scan the valleys below. No more signs or sounds come to our senses. Spirits are high as temperatures hover in the 50’s and we are still in our continuous state of movement. Picking our route wisely down the ridge we cover more miles. We have been hiking for nearly 9 hours and on top of our 13th peak for the day (name unknown). No other humans in site, nor will there be for our entire journey, just the various animals that have graced our presence.
Looking back to the south at Clark Peak on the left and Lewis Peak in the center of the picture.
We have eyed from a distance the spot we currently stand, many times over, with questions of a feasible route. We studied what beta we had available to us and will continue with our general intent to hug the west side of the ridge as has been the case many times on the trek so far. This crux point sits almost immediately in the middle of our route and is a noticeable drop off/descent from where we stand and forms a very distinct “V” in the ridge outline seen from afar.
Before starting our descent, we make careful note of the ascent back up the other side and the route finding involved to hug the western ridge, avoiding the steeper rock face on the east. There is no guide to this. A trust in your instincts, ability, and everything that you have done up to this point that gives you enough to look at these hurdles and come up with a solution.
Eyeing the ridge ahead and the sheer faces of the east side of the ridge we want to avoid.
Our route down cannot be seen immediately off the left side of the ridge from where we stand.
We dip off the ridge and begin the climb down the west side. The rocks are larger, a few smaller loose ones that are easily avoided, some tundra and grass interlaced amongst both. Weaving throughout, moving around the obstacles, underneath rather than over, working to avoid any major downclimbing. Evaluating each path, conversing with each other, trusting in our practiced skills and equipment that we are familiar with, down 500’ of the 700’ descent. Steepness increasing as we go, water seeping from the rocks now, avoid the wet stone, do not get cliffed out, 150’ to go, no fall zone. Pause. Talk it through. Re-route, too much loose stone and exposure. Move even slower, every move carries potential consequences. Breath. Calm the mind. Trust the body. Downclimb required. Handhold, foothold, handhold, foothold, stretch, touch, pause again, 100’ to go. Evaluate our next move. Up, over, around, easier downclimb, easier chute, water still here, avoid, pick our way. Breath. Calm. Talk. Check in. 3 points of contact, downclimb, check, re-check each hold, 60’ to go. Options, make the best decision, least exposure, shortest downclimb, 10’ down, ok. Over to a different chute, rocks solid, good grips, good feet, 10’ more, ok. Scramble over a few rocks, traverse a little, back the other way now, zigzag, 20’ down. So close, pause again, there’s no help here. Find the route down, the last 20’, slow, steady, don’t think about anything else, climb down, move across, climb down, repeat. Deep breath. Off the face. Bouldering now and regrouping. Part exhaustion, part extreme exertion, sighs of relief, bodies reacting, embrace, love and trust that binds what we do together. The crux was more than we expected to be. Did we interpret the beta wrong? Was the beta accurate? Did we get off route? It doesn’t matter now. That part is behind us, and we safely passed that test. We pause for a moment and evaluate our route ahead; any alternative route out adds miles and hours to the day and ending up in a location with no way out or having to hitchhike back to a vehicle. We don’t linger long on these thoughts and know we must keep to the plan.
Looking back up at the approximate 150’ down climb and scramble.
For reference, the Black Eyed Susans in the foreground are 3’ tall.
We have descended to where the large boulders meet the scree field and traverse through a mixture of loose rock with a few larger rocks that make the route a little easier. Moving on a balance of adrenaline and sheer determination we scramble our way back up to the saddle between the two peaks, the midpoint of our trek. All day we have been watching various sets of rain clouds as they move across North Park. Rabbit Ears visible in the far distance, and these small rainstorms for the most part tracking south-east, moving to the south of us. We can also watch the weather radar to confirm their path. We are now watching a storm that is going to track right over us, and we are fortunate that this is the only storm we will encounter all day with our extended exposure of being above 12,000’. We find a spot to shelter on the east ridge tucked amongst large rocks. The rain lasts 15-20 minutes and we pause for an additional 15 minutes to let the storm move on, before our next ascent, not wanting to risk any exposure to lightning. The short break gives pause to take in the magnitude and awe of where we are, glad at least one person knows we are here.
Looking back at the peak we just descended. Our route took us down the right side off the peak and back up to the ridge.
It’s been almost 11 hours since we started hiking. A renewed motivation has set in, but also a determination to now finish what we have started. The route is slow going as we pick our way up the large boulders along the west ridge and find some intermittent tundra. The rock here is not as loose and small as it is in the Mummy Range, so we are appreciative of that. We reach our 14th peak (name unknown) rather quickly and don’t pause for long as we skirt off it and pick our way along the boulders some more. Hands and feet both working hard on the firm rock as it is a balance of hiking and scrambling along the ridge. We do these hikes with the minimal gear needed, but enough to be prepared; headlamps, jackets, water filter, survival kit, map, compass, first aid kit, food, water, and a mix of hydration options for additional supplementation. Decent loads, but no sleeping gear or excess that would make the trek that much harder over the varied terrain.
Our pace is steady with more tundra under our feet. Beginning to feel a little like mountain goats, though, as our path has been steadily on the west ridge. Our left leg maybe slightly longer than our right, at this point, on the consistent sidehill. Mantra’s steady as we ascend our 15th peak (name unknown), reaching the summit at 3:00 p.m., 13 hours in. Taking in the views, we fuel, and appreciate how fortunate we are to be here.
Clark and Lewis Peak in the distance on the left, Kelly Lake in the upper right. Ashley in the lower right for scale of the grandeur we are graced with.
A view off the east side of the ridge. Island Lake and Carey Lake below.
Short decent, short ascent to the reach the top of the 16th peak (name unknown). Movement is less calibrated and more instinct at this point with the ability to find a decent route. Large rocks on the peaks, scramble off and down, find the tundra, move fluidly. 16 miles covered so far, still almost 11 miles to go. We know we still have a fair amount of rocky terrain to cover in our traverse from South Rawah Peak to North Rawah Peak, but we don’t let that dwell on our minds. It’s at these points in these hikes I feel that you really just have to let go…bodies are tired, but you make sure the mind stays sharp…a reality of a finish time is a dissolved goal, yet you know the end will be reached…endurance perseveres without giving it a name, you are just another piece of the world at large in motion with everything else around you.
South Rawah Peak, just shy of 5:00 p.m. Rinse and repeat. Fuel, hydrate, check in, keep moving. “We’re crazy”, we tell ourselves. “This sure was an ambitious goal, I’m not sure what we were thinking”. Our minds are rationalizing to us what the body is feeling. Why do I mention this? Why not. It’s real. This is a reality that comes to light when mind and body are pushed beyond its limits in any challenge. It’s a test. And for what? To be more prepared for everything and anything else that life throws at us, knowing how to find the calm, and quiet the doubting mind when things get tough. Do hard things…life is simpler when you return.
Looking towards North Rawah Peak. Rawah Lake #4 below to the right. Our car, somewhere down in the distant valley to the left.
Big rocks. Lots of big rocks on the next leg of the journey around the western rim of the couloir encasing the lake below. Large car size rocks, bouldering skills. Medium bench size rocks to small chair size rocks, leaping, hopping, balance skills. Mostly solid as we move…whoa that one is not…a few that rock and roll a little under foot, but for the most part relatively anchored to the earth and wedged amongst their fellow peers. Distance now is only what is under our feet, and we just keep them moving from one rock to the next. Repeatedly, making sure footing is safe, we just want to be done and move fast, but it’s not worth injury now. The sun is getting lower in the afternoon sky as we watch it and the clouds move across North Park, we are truly fortunate that these places are literally in our back yard. More moments of awe.
Taking in the moments to appreciate the Crepuscular rays illuminating the North Park valley below and far to the west.
The rocks mellow out as we find tundra again on our approach to the ascent up North Rawah Peak, and we are thankful. It’s hard to calibrate the time or distance anymore except for the sun getting lower in the sky. Our travel over to North Rawah Peak took us an hour, and it is 6:30 when we complete the ascent to 12,473’. From here it is almost all descent down the distant ridge and down Jack Dickens trail, once we reach it, 4,000’ in total over 8.4 miles. The finish line is just down there. We admire our view from atop the peak before making the descent, but don’t delay too long, we know we have a little over an hour of good daylight left before the headlamps must come back out and be turned on.
Looking back to South Rawah Peak and beyond
We know our fuel rate should be around 200 calories an hour, on average we are maybe around 150 an hour, between our various sources we have ingested during the day. We still have plenty of food and water left at this point and rejoice in that fact, but know we are definitely running calorie deficient on the day, feeling fine we don’t push the subject and continue to get steady intake as it calls to us. No trail still, and route finding that takes us over a mix of tundra, fields of rock, and piles of boulders. We scurry down the ridge overland and eventually dip our way back below 12,000’, something we haven’t seen much of since much earlier this morning. Our goal at this point is to use as much daylight as we can to cover as much ground as possible before our trek in the dark. We soak in the last bits of the day as the sun slowly dips lower and lower over the western horizon and take in the sunset from the ridge that has been home for 17 hours now and will be for a few more.
For the second time today, we secure our headlamps onto our hats, and turn them on, as we lose the light of the day. In our minds, with dark now upon us, we think we are much closer to the Jack Dickens Trail that will guide us off the ridge. Reality tells us we have a distance to go. In the darkness we lose track of the distant landscapes, trees, rocks, and hills that have guided us all day. The dark sucks the perspective out of the path ahead and we are grateful for the GPS track that we have in our hands, as it becomes a constant reference on the varying ridges. Clouds roll in on the ridge creating a dense fog at some point, and we take our headlamps off our hats and hold them down low, like fog lights on a car, to have any visibility at all. Tracking time becomes irrelevant at this point, we eventually move through the cloud, or it moves over us. Things are always kind of a slight dream state at this point in an endurance event. Rocks look cozy to curl up next to and sleep for a few hours, landmarks are mistaken for ones that we have seen before on our scouting trip, yet we are far from. Reference the GPS, we are getting closer to the trail, traverse the ridge though, get back on route, find the smoothest path possible.
Somewhere around 10:00 p.m. we reach the intersection of the ridge and Jack Dickens trail. 3 miles to go and another 2,000’ down in elevation. We are happy to have reached this milestone in the day, we don’t pause for long though as the trail gives us welcome relief from route finding and we are ready to find that finish line. The mind wanders a bit now that we are on the trail, to our feet that are sore, and you think of how bad they might look. (Fortunate that when we did look the next morning, just a few blisters on our toes and balls of our left feet from the consistent side hilling of the day). Legs are tired and noticed most at the small slips, and trips that catch us off guard on the winding downhill trail. Stay sharp, pick up those legs, now becomes the mantra in the last miles of the day.
Filtered cold water has never tasted so good as we pause to refill one of the water bottles from the stream on the trail with the added benefits of salty, watermelon hydration we excitedly have added. At elevation and cooler temps, hydration was out of necessity, now descending to lower elevations and temps warmer, we cannot get enough of the liquid refreshment in our bags. We inch closer to the finish line, step by step, minute by minute. We spook an owl out of the tree not far from the parking lot, taking note again of our incredible fortune we have had today, and the many spirits present with us for the journey. The car shimmers and reflects in our headlamps as we approach, the only car in the lot, again just us here, not a single person have we seen all day. 11:45. We stop tracking our progress, remove our packs into the back of the car, and smile in the light of the moon.
Sitting down feels amazing. We drive slowly out from the trailhead in the quiet stillness of the night. It’s too late to drive back to Fort Collins and have made the plan to get a few hours of sleep back on the top of Cameron Pass in the van. Eyes play tricks in the dark as we drive, and it is in caution that we make this last leg of the journey, traveling much faster than we have all day. The van is a welcome sight when we reach the parking lot, and we laugh to ourselves as we try to get out of the car. Legs fatigued, body craving rest, we carefully “fall” out of the car, leave things for the night as they are and look forward to the sweet dreams ahead.
It’s been 24 hours since we started this incredible day.