TEAKETTLE NORTH FACE

"Teakettle Mt. (13,725 ft.) has by far the finest summit of any of the San Juan peaks that we have visited; it is small, solid, and well isolated and one can pleasantly perch on its flat surface with a fine sense of segregation from the rest of the world."

Dwight G. Lavender and T. Melvin Griffiths
Climbing in the Mount Sneffels Region, Colorado, 1933

While the distinctive summit ridge of Teakettle Mountain can be easily identified from many places in and around the northern San Juans, unlike the sweeping northern aspects of most Sneffels Range peaks the full extent of its 1,200-foot north face is tucked into the back of a high basin and overshadowed there by the sheer cliffs of Cirque Mountain.

Thus the allure of this face did not strike me until one sunny October afternoon Kylie and I hiked up nearby Reconnoiter Peak, itself a worthy destination, which lies to the northwest of Mount Ridgway and is easily mistaken for one or other of its higher neighbors. From this vantage point the north face of Teakettle features prominently to the south, and fresh snow highlighted possible routes sneaking up through bands of several kinds of volcanic refuse, each uniquely unfit to be the stuff of mountains.

For some time John has been steadily approaching his goal to complete Colorado's highest 100 peaks. We had discussed Teakettle off and on for years but failed to execute for a variety of the usual reasons: priorities, injuries, weather, scheduling. By this spring only Teakettle and Mount Meeker remained on John's list and he was itching to tackle his final San Juan centennial. I convinced him we should attempt the north face, and the pieces fell into place, with Ryan and Kevin joining to make a party of five.

Our original plan was to approach from Blaine Basin and camp just below the tongue of the rock glacier, and after Teakettle continue on to Coffeepot and Potosi Peak. Ryan pointed out that we could avoid the complications of traversing back into Blaine by approaching from Yankee Boy over the Cirque-Teakettle saddle. This turned out to be a wise modification; Ryan and I spent Saturday out in the rain and wind.

By degrees we assembled and eventually convoyed on Saturday afternoon to Yankee Boy Basin under now-cloudless skies promising a flash freeze of the snow overnight. At 3:30 AM we trudged up steep tundra slopes as low clouds briskly raked Sneffels to the west. To the south, the skies were clear and the waxing moon shone so brightly that headlamps became unnecessary.

Upon reaching the Cirque-Teakettle saddle, we found it occupied by a junky spire offering only a sharp notch on either side for passage into the basin to the north. Though both options looked feasible, the left one appeared less involved. We set up a hand line to assist the 4th class step down to a snowfield that dropped steeply into the basin below. I was glad to leave behind the wind ripping through the notch as the sun's welcome first rays graced our party's descent.

We descended firm snow for around 500 feet and then contoured east to the apron beneath the broad north couloir. Except for a promising sunrise, the skies had remained locally overcast, and as we huddled shivering on the margins of the apron preparing to climb, the unrelenting wind loosed a volley of softball- to basketball-sized blocks from high in a tributary gully to our left, which hurtled by alarmingly close to our shelter.

At this shot across the bow, we scurried up a hundred feet to distance ourselves from the garbage chute and began the climb in earnest, aiming slightly right for a prominent outcrop that might divert any further debris. The snow was in near-perfect condition, and thus without any material impediment to upward progress we battled only our own fitness. After a break on a shallow snow ledge nestled against the outcrop we continued up, staying to the right side of the couloir, towards a gap in the cliff band guarding the upper north face.

From a spacious platform below the gap, we proceeded up, moving through a steep curve to access the upper snowfield, which spans the length of the summit ridge and presents several options to top out. The far left side terminates in a ledge that appears to exit the north face by rounding the east end of the summit ridge; and directly above the gap are several notches and a finger of snow leading up. We bet on the obvious exit and punched our way up the final steep snowfield and chute, which deposited us in a notch on the ridge where the wind greeted us furiously.

An easy slope led down to mellow terrain south of the ridge and a five minute walk to the summit tower, where we hustled to set up a toprope. We likely established a record time for a party of five to ascend the pinnacle, rotating climbers onto the summit with a quickness motivated by the icy wind nipping at our heels. All perched on the summit, though perhaps none pleasantly. John's 99th centennial summit was well-climbed, and though he claims he would not have been disappointed to summit by a much easier route, we hope he enjoyed the route as much as we enjoyed his company.

We descended east, passing through the black gully, where we decided to forego Coffeepot and instead surfed directly down the mud and scree below.

All photos Ryan unless otherwise noted.