July 11, 2003

A Ford Escape isn't a bad SUV. I was surprised, but after the trip it made into the McCullough Gulch trailhead, I can't complain. It all started with me not being able to find the correct turnoff from route 9. The roads were unmarked coming down from Loveland Pass. We made a couple trips back and forth, trying to determine which road to take. We thought we had it, and we asked a local for confirmation, which he did. I guess he got a good chuckle. We actually were one road north of where we should have been, and the track wasn't fit for any sort of wheeled vehicle. We drove about a mile in about 30 minutes. I should have turned around, though I don't know where I might. We eventually came to a "tee" and a group of girls sitting on the side road waiting for something. Actually, they were waiting for a van to pick them up. Fortunately for us, they knew where McCullough gulch was, and one of them gave us directions that got us to where we wanted to be in about 5 minutes. The trailhead was crowded, but since we had already climbed that morning, all we were doing is hiking in to a camp site on the north side of Quandary. The hike in was as pleasant as it could be, considering the condition my toes were in, and we arrived at the unnamed lake at 12,000 feet on the north side of Quandary in due course. The site was ideal! I just wish I was a better photographer so I could share it. We camped adjacent to the lake and had a fine view of the whole north side of Quandary. Unfortunately, the couloir we planned to climb didn't appear to be in the best of conditions. There was a long slog up a talus slope to the route and another talus field at the top. The biggest concern was a rock step in between. We didn't know if this break was 20 feet or 200 feet, and I didn't have the ambition to find out. It was becoming pretty obvious that I was more interested in sitting around rather than climbing on this trip. Shame on me. Anyway, I convinced Matt that we ought to move on and look at Atlantis couloir on "Atlantic" peak. Atlantic isn't a named peak, though it does fall into Roache's list of "centennial" peaks and it appears to just have the requisite 300' of elevation gain between adjacent peaks. By the way, it's located just west of Quandary and sits on the ridge that connects Pacific Peak with Fletcher Mountain. With that said, we had a relaxing evening admiring the views and were in no rush to start off the next morning.

But start we did... eventually. We followed the trail that came in from McCullough gulch as long as we could, but this quickly petered out and we ended up bushwacking through the thickets and across streams, looking for the path of least resistence that would take us over to Atlantic. As we climbed a little higher, the vegetation soon left us and we found ourselves in an austere landscape of rock and more rock. The feeling was quite alpine and the remoteness was really appreciated. We stopped for a break and just enjoyed the views of the surrounding ridge line and the absolute silence, only broken occasionally by some falling rock. The map showed a few ponds below the east face of Atlantic, but the topography was such that neither of us could locate them from our vantage. Matt and I took off in different directions checking to see what was behind the next ridge. We eventually came back together and decided that the only reasonable place to camp was on the snow at the base of the climb. There was a small pond about a 1/4 mile behind us so we knew we had water even if we had to walk back to it. We hiked up to the base of the climb and found a reasonably flat spot just on the edge of the snow. A little bit of stamping and voi'la, we had a camp site! After setting up the tent, I started off towards the pond with our water bottles. Starting down the slope, I heard water running under the snow and found a spot where I could dig down and dam up the water so I could fill the bottles. Boy, am I lazy or what?

After baking in the sun for an hour or so, I decided to hike up the snow slope a little bit. The snow was perfect for kicking nice, easy steps and before I knew it, I was up the slope to where Atlantis couloir splits off to the right. The couloir can't be seen while you are approaching Atlantic. It is hidden by a buttress and can only be seen once you have hiked up the slope at the base of the face. Anyway, Atlantis looked very promising and I was halfway tempted to continue right up it. I didn't though. Instead I glissaded back down to the tent, them Matt hiked up and we both practiced our glissading, usually with Matt on his feet and me on my bum. In retrospect, why we didn't climb Atlantic that afternoon, I'll never know. There wasn't a cloud in the sky. We could have climbed Atlantis, then had a wack at Fletcher the next day. Fletcher had some very promising couloirs running up it's east face also. Matt and I had a hard enough time deciding which couloir to climb on Atlantic. As can be seen from the picture above, there were at least 2 alternate routes, one of which would have been a snow climb all the way to the top. Though these other routes looked very interesting, I was set on Atlantis because of Roach's description. The sun finally dropped behind the ridge and it wasn't much longer until we had eaten, packed for the morrow, and climbed in the tent.

We were up the next day at 5:00 and on our way within 45 minutes. The snow was very firm and we had a staircase to the base of Atlantis, built the previous afternoon by our exploring. The climb passed quickly and once in the couloir itself, it was a joy to behold. The snow was perfectly smooth and firm, taking crampon points with ease. The angle was moderate and the couloir was wide, making for easy climbing with long, sweeping traverses that ate up the distance with ease. This would be the perfect couloir for someone wanting a nice, easy climb in an absolutely gorgeous setting. The only disappointment was the traverse across the talus at the top of the couloir, but we quickly got back onto the snow and managed to limit the time spent hopping boulders. After some time at the summit we headed off towards the saddle separating Atlantic from Pacific. The walk over took us through an alpine meadow with wildflowers growing everywhere. Matt and I both stopped innumerable times to snap photos of the prettier specimens. When we finally got to the saddle we decided to glissade down and get a picture of each other while glissading. I started and told Matt I would stop at the small ridge beyond which the angle steepened. You've heard the saying, "what's the last 5 words out of a rednecks mouth? Hey y'all watch this!' That pretty much sums it up. I started down the slope and there was no stopping me. I was like the luge from hell, just managing to stay upright and in "control." Why I didn't attempt to arrest, I'll never know, but I didn't. Maybe because I could see the run out, maybe because I was paralyzed in the position I was in. Regardless of the reason, I felt like a runaway train and slid on my butt (with the exception of the couple of times I was launched into the air) all the way to the bottom, finally stopping about 20 feet from a boulder field. Matt, when he finally recognized there was nothing he could do, just started laughing his ass off. Well, at least I got to the bottom pretty fast. Checking the map afterwards, I glissaded about 650 feet in something like 10 seconds, if that long. Matt came down after me, but with a tad more control than I exhibited. All that said and done, what was left was a traverse back to our camp, then pack and hike out.