Crestone Needle - 14,196' (east gully direct route)

The title is a bit misleading. This is only about one needle and not so much about haystacks. Actually, there are exactly zero haystacks in this story, sorry.

Stats!

Total mileage: 15.77
Total elevation gain: 5,587'

Starting From the 2WD TH

Do we get extra credit of some kind? Asking for a friend. (It's me. I'm the friend.)

The day prior to the Needle, I started at Quandary Peak doing some volunteer work for CFI. Once done there, I took my sweet time driving down to Westcliffe. Sometimes, I enjoy the drive as much as I enjoy the peak: windows down, sunshine, wind in the hair, great music. This day was no exception! It was a bluebirdy day, the drive was absolutely glorious, and as I approached the Sangres, I couldn’t stop smiling. I’ve wanted to climb more in the Sangres for a very long time. My peak-seeking journey didn’t make it back to this range until now, and boy, was I excited! I had done some photography here back in May, and I remember thinking how ready I was to finally experience the Crestones up close.

I arrived to the 2WD TH late afternoon, and one by one vehicles of backpackers started arriving. Some headed up on foot, some got rides. I don’t shy away from extra mileage, but this was one endeavor where I wouldn’t have minded a ride, I admit. When Geo first invited me along, I knew neither of our vehicles could get to the 4WD TH, so our day would potentially be 18 miles RT. That wasn't an attractive prospect whatsoever, so of course I agreed to it.

Geo arrived, and we watched vehicle after vehicle try to get to the 4WD TH ... but not make it very far (Subis included). A local waiting around for other members of their party to arrive had already been up the road and said it was far more eroded than it was last year.

I couldn’t argue with the views from the 2WD TH. As dusk settled in, my rural-loving heart took in a deep breath comprising the sunset, the soft breeze, and the scents and sounds of cattle land.

Wake-up was to be 1:30 a.m. for a 2 a.m. start. My sleep was good, but my body woke me up at 1 a.m. WHY?! Oh well. I distinctly remember being only 25% awake when I opened my eyes. I saw the darkness outside my car with dots of light on the landscape. The 75% of me that wasn’t awake thought, “That’s so cool that they put headlamps on the cows.”

The Trek

We started our trek at 2 a.m. on the dot. The road isn’t hard, just long. And filled with spiderwebs. For whatever reason, Geo was completely unscathed. Me? I hit every damn one, and to compound matters, the No Doubt song “Spiderwebs” popped into my brain and wouldn’t leave for a LONG time. (I never even liked that song!) So for any hikers that came up after us, YOU’RE WELCOME.

Eventually, we got to the 4WD TH. Most vehicles were of the “legit ground clearance” variety, and some spots of the road vouched for the need. Thus began our next three miles of road walking.

Pause: one of the signs at THE original TH has to be one of the coolest signs I’ve ever seen! I love the story about Eleanor Davis, and I especially loved the quote by Albert Ellingwood: “Difficulty has a charm that is irresistible to many. The enthusiastic alpinist is completely happy only if his skill is severely taxed.” That made me smile and really resonated with me in how excited I was to thoughtfully push my limits – to enhance my growth in this “sport” through challenging myself to apply my skills, knowledge, and capabilities in bigger or different ways.

Now back to our regularly scheduled hiking... we arrived to the basin, and my jaw dropped. I have no words. Sunrise was upon us, and it was absolutely glorious. We stopped to refuel and to revel in the glow, then proceeded to make our way up to Broken Hand Pass. I could barely take my eyes off the Needle; every five seconds, the color changed! From soft rose to fiery orange, the rock face was a veritable canvas for the sun.

Then I started taking notice of all the unique rocks, all the conglomerate rock, and this rock that looks like bacon. Gosh, hot breakfast sounded great.

Funky thistles glowed. I don’t know why these plants make me smile, but they do. I think I just like how unique they are.

I’d always heard less-than-favorable reviews about Broken Hand Pass (BHP). Was I just in a good mood? Did my breakfast pizza have magical powers? Whatever the case, I didn’t mind the climb up to BHP one bit. Loose, steep, a little annoying, but ultimately I found it to be reasonable.

I loved the change of views that came with it, for sure! Humboldt started looking more domineering, and the lakes below glistened. Is this the rock feature that gives Broken Hand Pass its name, I wondered? Looks like it’s giving Humboldt the middle finger. I have to say, Broken Hand Pass isn't a very appealing name, but Middle Finger Pass is worse.

Trail was super pleasant from top of BHP to the bottom of the east gully, and boy what a spectacular-looking peak that Crestolita is!

We arrived to the base of the east gully, and I admit when I initially looked up, I thought, "Am I about to get in over my head?” No. Just a brief moment of nerves, quickly replaced by sheer excitement. Honestly, I was more nervous about the route-finding than anything else. As much as I love the good folks of Custer County SAR, I prefer visiting them at the barn rather than on a cliff as they hoist me into a chopper.

Geo and I had discussed preferred route well in advance. We opted for east gully direct instead of the old crossover variation into the west gully. No regrets with this choice! (Well, one of us regretted being on class 3 at all, and the other one was obnoxiously joyous about it. Haha!)

I found the rock to be delightful, though I sort of dreaded what it would be like to descend because a few sections seemed a bit more...consequential...than others. Still, it was just a matter of picking good lines and testing all holds (more on that below). I also looked back a lot to take pictures of the terrain and familiarize with what it would look like on descent. (Looking back was hardly a chore as it afforded some of the most incredible views I’ve ever seen in Colorado.)

Geo and I were sometimes on the same lines, sometimes not. Choosing our own adventures was part of the magic, and we had the gully relatively to ourselves for almost the entire ascent.

Testing holds: I always heard Crestone rock is as solid as it gets. "Solid” and “fool-proof” aren’t the same thing, of course. On two occasions, holds that I tested came loose immediately. The first one would have been a non-issue if I hadn’t tested it. On the other hand, the second one (pictured) likely would have caused me to fall, and the result reasonably could have been broken bones. So, it’s an important practice.

Notable Route-Finding Exceptions

I don’t know if I’m erroneous in this thinking (feel free to comment), but I feel when you get to class 3/4, route descriptions are a tool, not a crutch. I like that skill, experience, and preferences can also inform route decisions. That said, in my opinion, I don’t think there’s a right or wrong way up the east gully if you know what you’re doing; there may simply be “better” or “worse”, and differences between those may be negligible. At any rate, I didn’t follow the route description to the letter.

1. I feel the section referred to as the class 4 is avoidable by going to the right of it. That said, it's not a bad section at all. It's just I thought down-climbing it would be unpleasant, so while we went straight through it on ascent, we went just to the [mountain] left of it on descent.
2. The route description refers to a platform and dropping into the left-side narrow slot of the gully. (I kept calling it the ravine.) We didn’t do this. The scrambling in the center of the gully was working out great, so we stuck with that. Much higher up, we crossed into the ravine and followed it the rest of the way to the ridge. Maybe it’s difficult class 2 vs. class 3? It feels more “contained”, and it might be safer, to a degree, but it was filled with a LOT of loose rock which made it rather unpleasant. I wondered if conditions in the ravine changed with the freeze/thaw cycles of the longer-than-average winter/spring. I.e., more rocks showered into it? Just a guess. Obviously, it goes just fine, it just felt arduous.
3. We tried the ravine again for descent thinking maybe it would be better on the downhill, but we were immediately turned off by the shifting rocks. So, we got out of it the first opening there was and hopped back into the center of the gully. Makes for a longer class 3 downclimb, but the solidity seemed worth it.
4. You’ll see a smattering of cairns throughout. I hold strict anti-cairnage views, I admit. You may find them useful, you may not. Me, personally, I think your best bet is to simply proceed the way that feels comfortable to you.

Back to Our Trek...

We finally got to the summit, and it was glorious. THE VIEWS!! What a spectacular area! What a spectacular peak. It was so cool to look over and see Crestone Peak, and behind it the unmistakable Kit Carson. I teared up just a tad as I messaged my brother and devoted safety contact to let him know I was on the summit. Each harder endeavor I do means something to me and reinforces how much more blessed I am than I probably deserve. That’s just my take on these kinds of days, what can I say.

As for my dear friend, Geo, celebrating 14er #57??? HOW COOL IS THAT??!! So cool, that’s what! Way to go, my friend! I know this wasn’t your favorite peak, but you did it, and I know you were happy about it for at least 47.3 seconds, minimum, because I have pictures of you smiling!!!!

We spent some time enjoying the summit on what was proving to be a stunning weather day. We had camaraderie with a gentleman who, like us, was rocking the fantastic orange helmet (a.k.a. the best color of helmet). He referred to us as “the orange friends”. (If you’re reading this, you were awesome!) I was doing a solid job polishing off more snacks and pizza and guzzling some Gatorade. Felt great!

Now, the very tired climber might leave the summit and look right and see a really nice-looking trail. If you’re intending to descend the east gully, you’d better not take that really nice-looking trail. You’d better keep following that curve off the summit and look for the cairn that marks the top of the east gully!

As stated earlier, we decided to see if the ravine on now-[mountain]-right was better for descent, and immediately we slid around a bunch. We agreed to get back into the main part of the gully at the next opening in the wall. Just then, as well, we heard a voice coming from the other side of the wall, “Hey, orange friends! It’s so solid over here!” First chance we got, we moved back over. It was smooth sailing from there – SORT OF...

“Because maybe … you’re gonna be the one that saves me … and after all, you’re my rockfall…”

To our chagrin, there were three extremely helmetless climbers below us in the gully and often in our fall lines. When we started realizing rockfall was going to be an issue, no matter what, their unprepared presence made me very nervous. Yells of “ROCK!!!!” echoed through the gully, and my sincere hope is that between the rockfall and the yelling, they feel inspired to rethink their choices before their next class 3/4. They got further away from us down gully, but there were at least two bigger rocks that ricocheted so impressively as to gain intense momentum and yeet themselves down what sounded like hundreds of feet. THAT was unnerving. The climbers above us were super great, so along with them, we just all tried really hard to be super conscientious of rockfall protocol.

The cool thing about the east gully is I feel like you can’t get lost unless you try really hard. I think the first risk is simply as you’re leaving the summit and if you accidentally take the west gully down. But assuming you entered the east gully, even if you leave it early by accident, for example, hopefully you’d realize that quickly, be a bit confused, and just backtrack. I have a hard time imagining how the east gully direct route can go wrong, directionally speaking, unlike the pitfalls of the west gully route. That said, don't be complacent. It was VERY helpful to descent that I had looked back so much on ascent. Heck, I barely recognized the class 4 section when we got to it! And when we were at the bottom of the gully, I was surprised when Geo not-so-subtly (and suspiciously joyfully) proclaimed, “WE’RE OUT OF THE GULLY!!!!” Surely, there’s still some more fun scrambling, no? No? Anyone? Bueller? Rats.

We made the journey back. We marveled at the chonky marmots. We descended BHP. Ok, I will admit the descent of BHP was tedious and got real tiring, so I was happy to be off the scree and on the more ankle-twisting stuff. (I know. I’m weird.)

Back at the lake, I felt oddly victorious about having eaten a whole pizza on this trek. Weird flex, as the kids say. After more snacks and fluids, we made our way back to the road for the long, hot descent and continued our spirited discussion about Star Trek because, you know, that's just what we do. We couldn't help but notice a distinct lack of other people descending, so the idea was settling in that we may have to hike all the way back to the 2WD TH, after all. We were never banking on having a ride, but boy, it would be nice!

We eventually passed three guys heading down. Out of earshot, we said, “We HAVE to beat them back to the trailhead so we can ask for a ride!!” Back at the 4WD TH, there were no signs of anyone else getting ready to leave. The guys came along, and of course I got crippling shyness despite my legs begging me to be an extrovert. AGH! They walked past us. We resigned to our fate. But as we were about to pass them, my brain went, “THEY’RE IN A GIANT SEQUOIA; THERE'S SO MUCH ROOM!!” So in my nicest possible voice, I asked if we could hitch a ride, and they obliged. HOORAY!! But the story doesn't end here.

The driver warned us, “It’s a real bumpy road.” What he should have said was, “I will drive this road as if I’m not afraid of breaking both axles.”

There were two dogs: a big one and a little one. With the first major bump, I had to keep a firm grip on the little dog or she’d have an out-of-doggie-body experience. Then things got worse, so I held her real close and tight, probably just as much for her sake as for mine. Then she sprang to the very front of the truck on an apparent suicide mission, but thankfully the passenger grabbed her. As appreciative as I was for the ride, HOLEY CRAP! The son sitting in the third row behind us hit his head on the ceiling decently hard at one point. "Hey, Dad, remember when we were little and we'd just bounce around like popcorn???" There was at least one moment where I was pretty sure we might end the day sideways on broken glass. But again, super appreciative of the ride down! But also glad to step foot onto solid ground again. HA! Memorable ending to the day, that’s for sure! (And in all seriousness, off-roading style aside, these folks were super nice people.)

Back at our cars, it was the sweet, sweet relief of changing into shorts, t-shirt, and sandals. Then I went to my cooler and grabbed us a couple of cold ones. Ice cold chocolate milk is THE best.

Final Thoughts

This mountain did not disappoint me. At all. In fact, as much as the additional road hiking is a bit annoying, I can’t say I disagree with the closure of the original trailhead if the accessibility was destroying the area. It’s such a phenomenally beautiful basin among such pristine mountains; it’s nice that it's a bit shielded from the damage of over-crowding.

I really appreciated the privilege of being there, and I felt like this was a really nice step up for me in terms of experiential difficulty. When I think of where I started and the fact I can do stuff like this, I smile and think again of that magnificent quote by Albert Ellingwood. This enthusiastic alpinist did, indeed, find herself to be completely happy.