A Legend Passes

I'd planned on a couple of trip reports being my next blog posts, but the events of the past 24 hours take precedence.

Steve Gladbach, a preeminent Colorado mountaineer and by all accounts one of the finest human beings on the planet, was killed in a climbing accident on "Thunder Pyramid" near Aspen. The details are still emerging, and I won't speculate on the cause except to say "Thunder Pyramid" is regarded as one of the most difficult Centennial 13ers. It's infamous for its steepness, loose rock and routefinding challenges. Steve had summited the mountain at least once before, and I believe he'd done it twice or even several times.

Steve Gladbach (courtesy Facebook.com)

Steve, 52, was the quintessential role model for 14ers.com. If the website had a Mt. Rushmore, he'd be on it. He mentored wave after wave of novice climbers, and did so in such a way that everyone who had the privilege of meeting him felt a special bond.

His accolades as a mountaineer are staggering. He became only the fourth person in history to climb all 59 Fourteeners in winter, a quest he completed in 2011. He finished four laps around the 14ers and was only 12 peaks away from meeting his goal of climbing all the ranked, named AND unranked 13ers in Colorado. That's more than 750 peaks. Only one other person in history is known to have accomplished this feat. Steve was also trying to become the first person to summit the state's 100 highest peaks, called the Centennials, in winter. He put up several first and second ascents in pursuit of this dream.

Yet, his climbing accomplishments pale in comparison to his quality as a human being. His capacity to give was unmatched, and despite having earned several lifetimes worth of bragging rights, he was one of the most humble people on earth. That's a rare trait in high-level mountaineers. I can't even imagine how many messages he received on 14ers.com asking for advice or route information, and yet he took the time to reply to all of them in detail.

I first met Steve, who was already a rockstar in my mind, at the Winter Gathering he organized in 2011. It was my first snow-camping trip and only my third attempt on a winter 14er. Battling up the ridge of Mt. Columbia in winds exceeding 40 or 50 miles per hour, I considered turning around like most of my partners already had. Then I encountered Steve, who was on his way down with several others. He yelled over the blowing gale to provide much-needed support and encouragement. Steeled against the elements, I successfully made the top. I've always held the belief I couldn't have done it without him.

On our way to Mt. Lindsey in the spring of 2012, Rob Jansen, Greg Fischer and I stopped at Steve's home in West Pueblo. Fish was a school teacher, like Steve, and needed equipment for his fledgling high school mountaineering club. Steve was generously donating box after box after box of old gear. Once Fish had everything he needed, Steve offered to let each us take anything we wanted, as well. Greg ended up with a Grivel pack we immediately labeled "The Gladpach," which entitled the wearer to superhuman powers in the mountains. That's how we viewed Steve. He was our hero.

Steve was also a dedicated family man. He leaves behind two girls, who were absolutely the center of his universe. I was on Mt. Belford in spring 2011 when he was hiking the same mountain with his pre-teen, Alise. The first thing I noticed was how proud he was and how much he obviously cared for her. His facial expressions showed everything. When the pair glissaded away down the mountain, it was with unbridled joy. I'll always remember Steve as I saw him that day.

Rest in peace, Steve. Thank for your all your contributions to the Colorado climbing community. I wouldn't be anywhere near where I am without you. There are hundreds of others who would say the same.

The Training Is Over

I can't blame my 27-year-old knees for feeling double their age. Almost every hike I've done since the beginning of spring has been with a 40-pound pack, or heavier. The repeated strain, understandably, resulted in a touch of bursitis. This week will consist of nothing more than me sitting on my ass and resting. I did want to get some altitude one more time before Liberty Ridge, however, so last weekend Darrin and I chose a route that would keep us above 13,000' for a few hours without much strain: the Decalibron. Kate, Tyler and Kate's pup Remy decided to come along, and John was planning to join before getting back too late from a business trip Friday night.

Ecstatic to be carrying stupid-light packs loaded with only water, food and an extra layer or two, we more-or-less skipped up the trail beginning at 7:45 a.m. Saturday. The road was impassable about 1-1.5 miles from the summer trailhead at Kite Lake because of a snow drift. It was dry and 2WD-accessible to that point.

We encountered lots of the white stuff down low, but the cold weather of the night before and a stiff breeze resulted in a firm walking surface. No snowshoes were necessary, which was awesome, because we were lazy and didn't bring them.

Kate at Kite Lake.

The elevation gain passed rather quickly. We shared the majority of the ascent up Mt. Democrat with a guy visiting from London and what I assume was his daughter, a Los Angeles resident. We stopped often to chat and enjoy the splendid weather. The summit of Democrat was occupied by a pair of skiers, one of whom was 14ers.com member BAUMGARA.

Getting up Democrat and later Mt. Cameron was, as expected, the route's crux. It's the most strenuous part of the loop and held a lot of snow. Once on the summit of Cameron the ridge was mostly blown dry, and the subsequent climbs up Mt. Lincoln and Mt. Bross were lofty summer-trail jaunts with only a combined elevation gain of 600' or so. We made it from the top of Cameron to the top of Lincoln in a mere 14 minutes.

On the summit of Mt. Cameron, Remy keeps an eye out for Kate.

The S-Gully on Bross was one of the most fun 14er descents I've had the pleasure of experiencing. We glissaded nearly the whole thing, which has enough twists and turns to make it feel like a waterslide. We dropped nearly 1,500' in 10 minutes. The resulting walk out was equally pleasurable, plunge-stepping on perfect snow all the way back to the road.

My knees were thankful.

Mt. Lincoln.

The Decalibron was exactly what the doctor ordered. The round-trip was approximately eight hours at a leisurely pace. We spent half a day above 13,000', and my knees actually felt better on Sunday, the day after the hike. I'm not sure how that's possible, but I'll take it. Now if you'll excuse me, I have lots of being lazy to do. Only five days until we're hitting the trail at White River! Speaking of which, the long-range forecast suggests we might get the weather window we've been anxiously hoping for:

.SUNDAY...SUNNY. FREEZING LEVEL NEAR 14500 FEET.
.SUNDAY NIGHT...MOSTLY CLEAR. FREEZING LEVEL NEAR 14000 FEET.
.MONDAY...MOSTLY SUNNY. FREEZING LEVEL NEAR 13000 FEET.

If that's accurate and the forecast holds into Tuesday, we couldn't ask for much better for June in the Pacific Northwest.

Climbing for Rob

Robert A. Jansen, Memorial Day 2012.

The Colorado 14ers are comparable to freshman year of college. Deciding to pursue them typically leads to a shocking change in lifestyle, a whole new circle of friends, newfound freedoms that weren't previously known to exist, penny-pinching for gas money and a fanatical infatuation with canned beer. The main difference is most 14er addicts prefer a good IPA to Natty Light.

Completing the 14er List is like becoming an upperclassman. You've completed the prerequisite courses with your horde of peers, and now you have to choose a major. Individuals who have climbed all the 14ers scatter into all sorts of specializations: ice climbing, trail running, trad climbing, hiking, family raising, thru-hiking, ultrarunning, ski mountaineering -- ad infinitum. It's surprising and somewhat baffling that few 14er finishers choose to continue progressing as mountaineers, chasing progressively higher and more difficult summits. Even those that do remain in the School of Alpinism rarely have similar goals. So many mountains, so many routes, so many countries, so little time.

That's what made my partnership with Robert Jansen special. It wasn't uncommon for me to mention a mountain, only to have him blurt out he'd been researching the same route earlier that day. When I queried a bevy of my regular climbing partners to ask about putting together a big trip for 2013, Rob was the first -- and as it turns out, the only -- person to respond seriously. As usual, we were on the same page. It didn't take long to settle on Liberty Ridge, with a warm-up trip to El Pico de Orizaba the preceding winter.

Shortly before he died in a rockslide in August 2012, Rob summed up his climbing ambitions in one poignant sentence.

"I just want to see how high I can go."

I couldn't agree more, bud.

Liberty Ridge will be an odd bookend on the shelf of my life; it will be the last climb I'd planned with my good friend. Nearly every major accomplishment I've achieved since Rob's death was something we were supposed to have shared: finishing the 14ers on Mt. Sneffels, the winter summits, Orizaba. I'm sure I'll remember and honor Rob for the rest of my days, but once Liberty Ridge is done, I can't shake the feeling that I'll be out there on my own, rudderless, instead of with him alongside me. It's an emotion difficult to put into words.

The climbers and friends who were close to Rob have memorialized him in myriad ways. Personally, I've carried a can of his favorite beer, Dale's Pale Ale, to several significant summits, and I hope to do so again on Liberty Ridge -- as long as I can squeeze it into my pack. Worst case scenario, it'll be the first beer I have once we're off the mountain.

Summit of El Pico de Orizaba, Dale's Pale Ale in hand.

Soon after Rob's death, his father encouraged us climbers to keep pursuing our passion, to "carry the torch" for his son. Those words have rang in my head ever since. I'm not a very spiritual person, but on several occasions I've felt Rob's presence as I worked my way up a peak, typically ones on which we shared a special memory. I have no doubt he'll be there on Liberty Ridge. Knowing he'll be by my side is an inexpressible comfort, and an honor of which I hardly feel worthy.

Climb on, Rob.

Rob on the summit of Mt. Massive, Feb. 2012.