The Pinky

TL;DR!

The east face of South Lookout has intrigued me for years, its craggy skyline intruding on the space above Ophir Pass if one chances to look that way from the highway north of Silverton. I had all but given up on it as a snow climb, because the direct lines are ephemeral and the most aesthetic couloir leads to a notch which must require unaesthetic shenanigans to negotiate.

On the heels of our latest, generous winter, dust and a sunny spell in April kickstarted the isothermic setup, but unsettled weather and new snow in early May put a damper on it, and conditions were a mixed bag by the time Amy and Steve rolled into town with a shortlist of Silverton-area objectives. Regardless, Kylie and I had a blast joining them for a couple preseason stairmaster sessions. So it was I found myself on V5 overlooking Paradise Basin, tracing with fresh enthusiasm unforeseen possibilities on South Lookout's east face.

Over the following week the team assembled. The criteria for inclusion: Must Wake Up This Early.

Amy and Kevin are the only takers. We rendezvous in Ridgway at three o'clock and haul over Red Mountain, up the Ophir Pass road to a switchback below the summit. In the summer a trail departs from here and follows the 11,400' contour south into Paradise Basin. Though we figure it will be snowed under, we hope to roughly track it in order to stay out of the trees.

Snow conditions are inspiring, so we install crampons for the dark, mile-long sidehill, which affords the unexpected opportunity to dial in crampon fitment. Surgery is performed; the prognosis is terminal. Nevertheless we press on, round the hill into Paradise Basin at first light, and keeping north of the drainage, contour up to the bench at 12,000' where the thawing tarn is still buried under feet of snow.

With the mountain in full view and shade draining from the parallel couloirs of its east face, it's encouraging to see no trace of rockfall at the bottom despite several days in full sun the week prior. The most direct line I saw from V5 has melted out at the summit, leaving a sad pile of choss exposed. We quickly decide to take the right branch to the top of the long dividing buttress and there cross to the leftmost finger (which we dub the "Pinky") of the left arm, aiming for a snowfield that should meet the ridge just south of the main summit.

On fantastic snow we cruise up the apron and get into the business of the steepening couloir, bisected by a mostly shallow runnel, and after 400 feet we arrive at the comfortable apex of the cleaver to our left. The finger directly above appears to connect to the higher snowfield but--not liking the transition--we traverse over to scope the Pinky, hidden from our vantage point by a slanting rock fin. Wonderfully exposed to the couloir yawning beneath us, this narrow strip of warming snow leads to a reasonable-looking mixed transition to easier terrain. Sixty feet of pleasing steepness and a couple frozen fairy dust sticks yield to a snow arete on the right margin of the upper snowfield and relenting slopes to the ridge beyond.

We stand on an island of snow encircled by cliffs, and it is at this moment I realize I have no specific recollection of our route up this peak many summers ago. The foreign-looking summit block lies to the north. Opposite, tall broken cliffs block passage to the mellow terrain of the south ridge. We first poke around to the south and east, searching for our escape, finding only marginal ledges I assume to be the weakness we used before.

On to the slabby, outward-sloping dihedral to reach the summit. As is often the case it appears much easier up close. Regardless, the consequences of bungling this section are apparent: Fall onto snow, rocket off mountain, terminal velocity pancake. Amy and I enjoy scrambling what is perhaps the only 20 feet of solid rock within a mile, while Kevin naps in the sun. With a sense of urgency we steal glances at the rugged scenery, especially of the abrupt and probably temporal north summit, then return carefully below to work out the descent.

Without deliberation we downclimb the south edge of the snowfield and traverse onto the adjacent ledge, shallow and choked with the kind of rubble that feels so desperate under cramponed boots. It's not optimal. Later, Kevin says he "saw the other side." Scooting on our butts to the lip, we scrape our way down a bodylength of wobbly blocks and side-step gingerly to the sweet security of snow once more. By comparison the remaining 800-foot downclimb and glissade of the still-firm main east couloir is downright blithe.

We retrace our steps to the road, contemplating the marmot problem, music that old people listen to, and how South Lookout deserves its own name. We like Pico Cortada, if loosely synonymous with "broken" (a vast understatement), mainly because you're going to want some espresso.

Thanks team for a great outing!

Groundhog Day

TL;DR!

On the way out from South Lookout I noticed a couloir on the south face of its "big brother" across the gap and decided to check it out on my day off. Considering southern aspects will be shaded a bit later, I sleep an extra hour and leave Montrose at 3:15. Sometimes I think it's worth getting up at this hour just to have 550 to myself. With mothlike tenacity I follow the beam through the darkness and in a blink I'm there once again.

Avoiding the wet, muddy road, I wander up an unplowed road bed through the trees and cross the Ophir Pass road at an armor-clad utility pole 400 feet higher. I continue on firm snow up the undulating slopes of rock glaciers beneath the crumbling ridge that feeds them, startling a fox headed the same direction under dawning skies.

Soon I'm below my intended route and glad as before at the lack of rockfall evident in the debris from when this face shed the storm snow. I put on my crampons and start up the apron, veering right around an outcrop and then directly up towards the slot which breaks the cliffs here to offer smooth passage. A 12-inch crown below the gap indicates the snow from early May still lingers above this point, and it turns to a weak-freeze slurry. Now I'm booting. Still, I can't hope for better conditions (or any conditions, really) on a south face this time of year.

Up through a patch of junky snow and ice in the next constriction I climb towards a wall, knowing I'll turn right soon to access a higher snowfield, wondering if the rock section will be spicy. It isn't, but the snow turns to complete garbage before those few screeching steps through a jumble of boulders perched on the gravelly spur.

Beyond is a snowfield that should extend down from a prow on the ridge and at its apex, surprisingly, a blind corner guarded by a narrow chunk of ice. Brittle and bulging from a paper-thin, delaminated slab, the ice is mostly unusable but offers an awkward respite from rhythmic plunging. Now the blind crest is only a few meters up, and mounting concern that I am overhanging the east ridge fades as I pop up into a roomy pocket with a scenic window to the north. To my left a diagonal, snow-choked gap between two boulders promises an exit, and I duck through to sunshine on the ridge and a short walk to the summit.

I spend some time looking out and text Kylie my plan to descend the standard route. Though my recollection of the route we took years ago is nonexistent, this is a bicentennial and it's cairned as if there were more than one logical path down the south ridge. Thus filled with artificial confidence I pick my way down, trying to stay in the snow since I had decided to put my crampons back on.

400 feet below the summit, off the ridge to the left I notice a stout ramp leading back to the south bowl and opt to quit the ridge, facing in at first, then switchbacking broadly to save my burning quads. A handful of seat-scorching glissades on bulletproof snow lead back to the road and my truck, where I doze off wondering if I'll wake up here again tomorrow.

Thanks for reading.

Route notes:

• South Lookout's east face is a fun climb with a short approach. Steep snow, maybe a couple moves of M1, and class 3 or 4 to the summit. Probably difficult to catch in decent shape for climbing. I would guess this or some variations have been skied. Probably the only way to ski continuously off the summit is by the line we originally intended to climb. The skinny couloir to the notch also seems eye-catching enough to have been plucked by now.
• Lookout's south face is an engaging climb on mostly moderate snow and probably rarely any ice. The approach can be made extremely short once Ophir Pass is plowed (east side only), however the route may not exist by this point most years. It seems like it would ski decently in winter.