Pyramid Peak (the One that Broke Me)

-Maroon Bells- Snowmass Wilderness, CO-

This was it. This was the 14er that almost made me quit my pursuit of mountain climbing. This was Pyramid Peak.

Before I was ever willing to even step foot on the slopes of Capitol Peak, I knew I needed more Class 4 experience. While I had some scrambling experience under my belt two months into my 2018 summer, I had not yet experienced the infamously loose rock and technical scrambling of the Elk Range in the Rocky Mountains of Colorado. Pyramid Peak seemed like a good candidate. All my research seemed to indicate it would be a challenging, intimidating, but very doable climb.

Along with coworkers and friends, Stephen and Zoe, I planned the trip. We would make the four hour drive from Grand Lake to Aspen, backpack a couple of miles into the forest, and then summit Pyramid Peak early the next morning. After stocking up on Cliff bars and fuel for our water boiler, we hit the road in Stephen’s cramped red pickup truck.

The Maroon Bells-Snowmass Wilderness in which we were hiking was lush and green compared to the brown dead forests in Grand Lake. The beauty of the forest was striking, punctuated by stunning glimpses of Pyramid Peak and the Maroon Bells as well as their reflection in the lake. Pyramid especially had an intimidating presence. It seemed jagged and untamed: a true mountain and not a high-altitude hill for tourists. Pyramid seemed angry, hostile, and unaccommodating. At the time, I described it as being grumpy. Still, I was confident we could summit.

This was our first time backpacking at high altitude and found ourselves quickly tiring under the weight. We passed by several other backpackers, hoping they wouldn’t be competing for the limited campsites further down the trail. Fortunately, they were headed in the other direction. Pyramid Peak was a bit more than they were willing to try.

As the sun began to set, we settled in at a small campsite we found off the trail, nestled between the grand faces of Maroon Peak and Pyramid Peak. Unlike the experience we would have several weeks later in the shadow of Capitol Peak, this campsite felt peaceful. This was a beautiful place to rest and catch a few hours of sleep before our early morning ascent. I felt so relaxed here that I actually decided to sleep in my hammock beneath the stars. With the startling exception of a deer running through the site well after midnight, I slept undisturbed until our alarms went off. After a breakfast of hot oatmeal, it was time to begin.

The trail began steep but still on a solid, well-defined trail. As we wound up and around the mountain we began to keep our eyes peeled for the first major landmark of our ascent: the Amphitheater. The best way I can describe the Amphitheater is a massive rounded valley above tree-line with Pyramid Peak looming at the far end. The trail disappeared and was replaced by the occasional cairn leading us across large and incredibly loose stones. The Amphitheater was lit only by our small headlamps and the moon shining from behind Pyramid’s ridgeline.

As we pressed on, constantly concerned about not twisting our ankles, the sun began to rise behind us illuminating one the most impressive mountain range silhouette I’ve ever seen. We stopped to take in the view, knowing the most unpleasant part of our ascent lay waiting for us at the end of the Amphitheater. This stretch does not have an official name, but I’ll refer to it here as Hell.

Pyramid Peak with Hell off to the left

Hell is a 0.2 mile stretch up a slope that is too steep to call a hike but too lacking in things to hold onto to call it a climb. In those 0.2 miles, we would gain 1,000 feet of elevation. Once we made it to the top of Hell, we would finally be ready to start scrambling on Class 4 terrain. Once we reached the base of Hell, it looked so uninviting that we were at first unable to differentiate it from other equally unpleasant looking gullies up to the ridgeline. We slogged up one ridge for fifteen to twenty minutes before we retraced our steps and grumpily began again.

Hell sucked.

The sun had fully risen and beat down on us as we struggled to climb up the slope. All the while, a mountain goat and her kid stared down from the top of the ridge to assess our progress. I was very concerned we’d be too exhausted to press on once we made it out of Hell.

At last, we made it to the ridge and sat on a large flat rock, taking in the view and a few snacks. The path forward looked treacherous, but much more fun than what had come before. We knew that between us and the summit we would have to cross the Ledges, take the Leap of Faith, and climb the Green Wall.

The Ledges are pretty much what they sound like. There was a narrow trail of sorts that wound around and over rocks that left us feeling very exposed to the cliff face below. The Ledges are not particularly challenging, but we always had to be paying attention to where we were putting our feet.

Around this time, we noticed that the family of goats were following us. They would keep their distance behind us and then rush forward on an alternate route to stand on top of a boulder and watch us push forward. We’d catch up and the process would begin again. I appreciated their companionship at this stage of our journey. This seemed to be a pretty lonely mountain.

After thirty minutes or so we made it to the Leap of Faith. This spot requires a leap over a five or six foot wide gap along the Ledges. It is an easy jump to make, but seeing in person and realizing the consequences of not landing the jump was enough to have my heart pounding in my chest. I had fully anticipated being the one to boldly leap first and show Stephen and Zoe that it really is a piece of cake. Instead, I found a way to climb around it. It was pretty pathetic, I’m not going to lie. Stephen and Zoe both leaped and made it look pitifully easy.

As we made our way to the base of the Green Wall, several other mountain goats joined the caravan. They were no longer content to just sit back and watch us, though. They kicked rocks down at us. One of them moved aggressively in our direction. I was not overly concerned, but they were definitely becoming a nuisance.

We made it to the entrance to the Green Wall, a steep scrambling section up green-tinted rock that stood out next to the red rock everywhere else on the peak. We could see the summit above us. I was feeling great and the weather was cooperating; we were going to summit! All that lay between us was the most technical scrambling of the whole day. This was what we came here to do.

The Green Wall and the scrambling beyond were not nearly as difficult or scary as I had anticipated. Yes, we were very exposed and yes, the rock was not as solid as I would have preferred, but as long as we tested our holds before committing the challenge never became too much to handle. The biggest challenge was finding the right route up. We had no trail to follow but kept our eyes peeled for stone cairns as we climbed up the jagged face of the mountain. There were so many cairns left by past climbers and leading in different directions that it became difficult to stay on track.

In addition to navigation issues, the goats had become even more of an issue. The same goats that had been following us for hours had become even more aggressive and bold. As I was navigating a particularly tricky section of the rock I heard Stephen yell, "Look out behind you!"

I turned just in time to see a goat with its horns down charging at me. Somehow it had silently snuck down the rocks behind me. As I turned, I startled it and it suddenly diverted its path and ran off down the slope, missing me only by a foot or two. Heart racing, I pressed on until at last we made it to the summit.

Capitol Peak can be seen in the distance

The summit of Pyramid Peak offers its own psychological challenge for those who choose to seek it out: the Diving Board. A portion of the summit's rock juts out from the edge with enough space to stand or sit on it. Those like me whose stomachs churn when exposed to such a dramatic drop off will find the Diving Board to be the most terrifying part of the entire Pyramid Peak experience, but it does make for a great photo opportunity. I stood just long enough for a picture before a strong gust of wind convinced me to drop to my knees and crawl back to safety.

At this point, you might be wondering why I describe Pyramid Peak as the "one that broke me." Hell was exhausting and the goats were obnoxious, but everything had gone pretty smoothly up until this point. The problems began to arise on our descent.

Down-climbing, for some, is far more difficult and mentally taxing than climbing up the mountain. Stephen and Zoe were especially intimidated by the stretch between the summit and the bottom of the Green Wall. During this stretch coming down, we had several close calls with large rocks dislodging and whizzing past our heads. The now openly hostile goats added to the stress as well. We longed for solid ground.

Fortunately, my research came in handy with the goats. As it so happens, goats love salt, and they really love fresh urine. Without getting into graphic details, one of us lingered behind to leave a gift so the rest of us could move forward safely. Within seconds, half a dozen goats descended on that one rock, kicking and licking at it for at least ten to fifteen minutes. This diversion provided us with the opportunity to reach the top of Hell. It was time to replace loose rock with loose dirt.

Hiking down this loose slope was almost as bad as hiking up and by the time we made it back to the Amphitheater we were exhausted and ready to be done. Unfortunately, this was where we would encounter the height of our misadventure. Stephen and I strongly disagreed about the right path to navigate the Amphitheater. The choice that was made ended up costing us several hours in the sun scrambling up and down the Amphitheater's seemingly endless hills of loose boulders. I thought it would never end. Every step was misery.

At last, we could see the large cairns marking the end of the Amphitheater... but we could also now see that we had definitely come the wrong way. Between us and the exit lay a slope composed of dangerously loose rock. Our options included backtracking and trying again which would undoubtably take an hour or two, or try to descend. We foolishly chose to descend.

As I took the lead, anxious to be finished with it all, every move I made sent rocks tumbling down. Several times I rode a small rockslide down, convinced I was going to break my ankle or worse. Slowly but surely, I made it down to the bottom where I waited for Zoe and Stephen to join me.

As I waited, I muttered to myself angrily. If only we had gone the way I had been sure was the right way to go. If only I could be back and soaking in a hot tub with a cold beer. I swore I would never climb another 14er again. The past few hours had been some of the most miserable of my life. They had completely erased the fun adventure of the Ledges and final push to the summit. Even Capitol Peak, my ultimate goal, seemed unappealing.

Hours later, piled back into Stephen's truck, I sat there exhausted and broken. No more mountains for me. I just wasn't cut out for that level of adventure.

As the days and weeks passed, these feelings began to fade, replaced by important take-aways from my time on Pyramid. I realized that overall Pyramid Peak was a challenging, but rewarding peak. If we had not gotten lost, our experience would have been much different. If and when I return, I will have learned from my past mistakes. Mistakes happen when climbing, and fortunately ours did not leave us seriously injured or killed. Researching a route before a climb is vital. Every person in a group should do the research to reduce the risk of dangerous disagreements.

Pyramid Peak was a rewarding peak to climb. It served its purpose well of preparing me for Capitol Peak. It may have temporarily broken my will to continue, but it now serves as a reminder of the hard work that goes into accomplishing one's goals. That mountain-top experience is hard to beat.