The three of them approached cautiously: their chestnut-brown eyes assessing me, gauging if I were a threat. With quizzical expressions on their wooly faces, the mountain goats passed within reaching distance of me, now disregarding my presence.

I moved slowly as not to frighten them. They grazed on the alpine grasses beneath their hooves, and after they passed by, I stood up once more.

I had left my car less than an hour before, when alpenglow had started to bedeck the peaks high overhead in magenta light.

Now, brilliant tones of gold adorned the landscape. I continued my uphill slog.

Just to the east, in the shadow of Quandary Peak—one of Colorado’s most popular 14ers—hid the east ridge of Pacific Peak. This impressive ridge resembles an antique serrated saw, with jagged precipices and rocky outcrops carving out a slice of the heavens above.

 

Reaching the ridge crest, I found fantastic views of both the McCullough Gulch, where I had started, and the valley to the north harboring the Mohawk lakes.

This was not my first time here: before my travels to Europe, I had tried to summit this elusive 13er, only to be rebuffed by Colorado’s capricious weather. At the crest, Pacific Peak’s summit came into view, a dramatic climax to the ridge ahead.

As I pushed forward, the terrain soon required me to don my climbing helmet. I began to traverse the gnarly teeth of the saw.

I had read that this route was “easy class 3”, and maybe I had gone off-route, but I was forced to perform rather precarious climbing moves while following the ridge crest. The crest lead to a catwalk with considerable exposure on either side.

Looking down at the valley floors thousands of feet below, I was grateful for the experience I had negotiating similar situations. Cautiously crossing the catwalk, I climbed to the top of another crag and came to the crux of the climb: the down-climb to a rugged notch that would then lead to gentler terrain before the summit push. Trial and error found me a passage down, though it required a spicy and treacherous climbing move.

Bypassing another point on the ridge, I reached the level ground below the remaining five hundred feet of ascent.

Here at 13,420′, nestled in this haven of level ground, resides Pacific Tarn: the highest named (recognized by the United States Board of on Geographic Names) lake in the United States.

I passed by its waters from afar, knowing I would take a closer look on my way down. The summit bid was a blur. In the scheme of the day, five hundred feet wouldn’t amount to much, but my unacclimated lungs and sleep-deprived body slowed my progress.

 

I sucked in a relieved but oxygen-sparse breath of air as I topped out. Pacific Tarn, in the foreground of the nearby Quandary Peak’s display, glimmered in the sunlight.

Looking back, the ridge betrayed little of the difficulty I had encountered along its spine.

Ready to return to reality, I decided to try to speed my descent by climbing down the mountain’s southeast slopes, supposedly one of the easier routes. This let me stop to dip my feet in Pacific Tarn, and my paws appreciated the soak.

Returning to the slopes, a headwall guarded the floor of the basin I would return through. On the headwall, a chaotic disarray of scree and talus made for a perilous descent.

This is the “easy” route? I thought. In the maze of loose nonsense, I often found it easier to sit and slide down on the rocks rather than trying to walk. My posterior was…less than appreciative of this.

Eventually reaching the basin floor, I moseyed past an unnamed lake and unsuccessfully attempted to locate the trail that would take me back down the gulch.

Instead, I ended up following the basin on its northern side, a thousand of feet below the ridge I had been on hours earlier.

The mountain goats gathered here in the seldom-traveled area of the basin, likely plotting something devious.

Bushwhacking through willows and crossing streams, the sight of another hiker to the south revealed the elusive trail. The wear of the day taxed my pace and enthusiasm the further I descended. It was worth it in the end, I decided, as I barreled toward the nearest Safeway in my Subaru to stock up on junk food and water.

Until next time, my friends, stay adventurous!