From my blog: https://notidealbutfine.wordpress.com/

Quest to 100 - Part 8: Wems and Whams - #91 - #100

Welcome back to the eighth and final episode in the Quest to 100, my journal of climbing Colorado's 100 highest peaks. After finishing up the Front Range Centennials with Longs and Meeker in late July, all that remained were the 10 Centennials in the northern Weminche Wilderness. There's a wide variety of options you can formulate for linking these 10 peaks and with an entire summer week off of work to spend in the San Juans, I was excited to dig into the best logistics for hitting these peaks not only with efficiency, but also selectively trying to pick out some excellent nonstandard routes where I could. After much planning and replanning, the logistics finally came together to simply tackle the remaining peaks in two separate pushes. While a single push would be more efficient, I knew the end was within sight and there was plenty of summer to still go around, even in light of the incoming Super El Nino this winter. The plan was to bask in the glory of these final 10 peaks and take some time to soak in the experience as a whole by spending a lot of quiet, meditative time in the woods. Even though the upcoming plans were relatively big, it felt like I was finally hitting the brakes and beginning to coast to the finish line. Even with Jagged and the Wham Ridge still to come, two routes I've had a lot of pause about, the end felt realistic if I just stayed focused and didn't try to pull any ridiculous days back to back and injure myself. For the first time, I was trading the overly ambitious, high mileage logistics for those that would leave me feeling rested and ready to continue the following day in the backcountry. While good for single day pushes, pushing yourself to the point of exhaustion while on a multiday trip is often a detrimental choice, so instead I opted for an extra day during my first trip to the Chicago Basin just for climbing Eolus and North Eolus which would come to be my 14er finishers.

Part 8 begins with backpacking 6 days in the Weminuche through the Chicago, No Name and Ruby Basins, finishing the 14ers on Eolus, climbing the much anticipated Jagged Peak, and finishes out with my final trip of the Centennials to the Grenadiers for the even more anticipated, Wham Ridge. Even though the logistics were in place, the plan was sound and seemingly everything was figured out for the final 10, no amount of preparation could have had me ready for what the end to the Quest had in store. Hell, I may walk away with more campfire stories from these final two pushes than any other mountains among the 100. As it always goes, the factors that tend to get you are the ones you neglect to plan for and that can certainly be said about my adventures through the Weminuche. Between some unforgettable encounters with the local wildlife, suffering through sleepless nights on a ruined sleeping pad, and choking down cold soaked slop for six days on end, to my surprise, the most flooring variable I came to encounter was the realization that the Quest will unfortunately come to an end, and with it a complex, emptying stew of feelings and emotions I was never really prepared for dealing with. And with that, thanks for being here if you've made it this far with me and I hope you enjoy part 8 of the Quest to 100: Wems and Whams!

My CalTopo Map: https://caltopo.com/m/KS1MKP5

8/4/26
Chicago Basin Approach via Purgatory - Class 1
17.26 miles / 3,999' gain / 7 hours, 13 minutes

8/5/26
Jupiter Mountain (13,838') - San Juan - Southwest Slopes II - Class 2+, #90 Ranked, #91 Personal
Windom Peak (14,042') - San Juan - West Ridge II - Class 2+, #32 Ranked, #92 Personal
Sunlight Peak (14,061') - San Juan - South Face II - Class 4, #38 Ranked, #93 Personal
9.12 miles / 5,007' gain / 8 hours, 19 minutes / ★★★
Solo

"A Fine Tour of the Chicago Basin Cirque"

Remember that feeling from your childhood of the first few moments of summer break, busting out of the school's front doors in a rampant excitation, the air filled with endless possibilities of dropping all your responsibilities to spend some time away and just play? The preparation for the Chicago Basin in the days before brought back this feeling of freedom and possibility. One week off, 7 Centennials to climb, nice weather and a whole heck of a lot of backcountry to cover was getting me beyond stoked for the longest stretch of time I'd spend backpacking since I was on the Colorado Trail in 2023. My gear was packed, food sorted out, and the finalized plan eventually came together after much rethinking. Instead of taking the narrow gauge train into Needleton, thus eliminating 10.5 miles of the approach from Purgatory, I opted to add another two days to my trip for the additional approach and descent, mostly due to the ridiculous train ticket prices. Additionally, I generally prefer to be on my own schedule and not surrounded by tourists on my adventures into the backcountry, so beyond the extra effort to get in and out of the Weminuche, packing it in the hard way seemed more my style anyway, if not a rite of passage for finishing the 14ers. So after a weekend of sorting out maps, routes, food and gear, I drove myself out to Line Creek Road, just north of Purgatory, and tucked in for a nice car camp Monday night to get started the next morning at 5:00AM.

The Purgatory approach went down pretty much as expected, hiking a few miles downhill to the bottom of the canyon where the Animas flows, then following a wooded trail that parallels the river and train tracks to the first stop where most hikers typically exit the train to begin their Chicago Basin adventures. Just as I was about to cross the train tracks, my progress was stopped by a fully grown female moose taking a dip in one of the beaver ponds, wading up to her neck in the crystal pool. Because my schedule was more relaxed, I decided to take a seat (a well and safe distance away, mind you), slow down and observe this majestic beast in all her glory. I've had some short encounters with moose during the 100, but, as she still wasn't aware of my presence, never this extended or close up as now. We sat in the sun for about a half hour watching each other before she ultimately decided that she had enough bath time and moved on, clearing a safe path for me to move forward and continue to Needlton. Beyond the treat that is spending some time with a moose, the approach was generally quick and uneventful. By just after noon, I had made it to the junction with the Needle Johnson Trail and began working my way up to the Chicago Basin, where I'd plan to hike in as far as possible to set myself up for an ideal camp before Jupiter, Windom and Sunlight. Even on a Monday during peak season, the campsites in the lower Chicago Basin were mostly taken by other, more proactive hikers so I continued on for a total of 17 miles that day and stopped for the night around 3:30PM at a small, private site just below the turnoff to Twin Lakes. I had the site to myself, the weather was looking beautiful and the vibe was feeling hopeful and positive upon my arrival for an additional 5 days out in this beautiful wilderness.

Once settled into camp, I began unpacking my backpack, setting up my tarp, and collecting water in preparation for the night and the ensuing adventure tomorrow. By 5:00PM, everything was falling into place for a perfect first night to the trip and I was beginning to grow hungry. Naturally, I unpacked my freeze dried meal and accompanying accoutrements, and plopped myself down on the ground to boil some water. Silly me, you need a stove to boil water. I wiggled over to my backpack and started fishing out items one after the next, each proceeding piece of gear filling me with more and more dread as the pack grew emptier and emptier. By the time I had desperately emptied my entire backpack on the ground in what could be best described as a "maniacal, total junk show", dread turned to panic as the stark realization finally dawned on me: I forgot my fucking stove. Surely not! I spent an entire weekend packing and prepping for this week, even with all the extensive packing lists I'd made there's no way I could forget something so basic. Panic turned to denial as I desperately searched every last pocket and possibility for my forgotten stove, but alas the truth of the situation gazed upon me like a jarring slap to the face: unless I wanted to pack 17 miles back to the trailhead, pop over to Durango to buy a stove, then pack it another 17 miles back in, I was going to be spending the next five days in the backcountry choking down cold slop and shitty, icy instant coffee in the morning. I just sat there dumbfounded in silence for a while before my mind started racing to other futile possibilities that might aid the trip. Maybe I could combine a couple of days and get out of here faster? Maybe I could climb the Chicago Basin peaks tomorrow and come back for the rest another time? Maybe I just suffer and get through the next five days regardless? Defeated and now even more hungry, I finally gathered the gumption to fill my freeze dried meal of Cuban rice and beans with freshly collected icy creek water and sat in wait for the much anticipated disappointment that would be trying to suck down the crunchy beans and sloppy, sweet banana chips. As it takes a lot longer to soak food with cold water, I was left with a lot of downtime before my meal so I decided to lay down on my pad and write in my journal to help pass the time and anxiety before choking down my cold slop. To add insult to injury, almost as if a cruel joke from the gods themselves, when I laid down upon my sleeping pad, it was obvious it had sprung a leak and was losing air rapidly. After using up my three and only adhesive repair patches, the pad was still losing air in five different spots and with it, the confidence of having any amount of substantial sleep during the next five days out here completely eroded away. Okay, cold slop for dinners and shitty sleep on a deflating pad, at least I could relax and pass the time this evening by writing in my journal and reflecting upon my day. After getting through about a quarter of a page, the cruel, cosmic joke seemingly continued as my one and only pen ran out of ink, rendering any efforts at journaling for the rest of the trip therein, totally useless.

Backpacking, much like climbing, is equally as much a mental skillset as it is a physical one. Yes, having a good baseline of fitness is crucial to some amount of success and fun while backpacking, but it hasn't been since hiking the CT that I've gotten to work these mental muscles I like to call "overwhelm management". When things start to pile up like this, it can really make you want to quit. Every little thing that goes wrong feels personal, like there's a mysterious force urging you to throw in the towel. Now that I was back in it, I remember this feeling vividly. Especially when traveling solo, it's easy to get into negative thought spirals and talk yourself out of things due to the mental stress. Unless I turned around tomorrow, the truth is that this trip was going to be a difficult five days filled with restless sleeps, shitty food and general boredom at camp. The urge to call it off was enticing and taking the easy way out seemed like it would be the most sane way of reevaluating my course of action. However, if there's anything I've learned from the CT and the past 15 months of climbing the Centennials, it's that the mind's ability to adapt is unparalleled. Just as your mind can adapt to taking the easy bail option and calling it for the week, just as easily your mind can adapt to gear failure induced sleep deprivation and shoving your pie hole full of downright unappetizing cold freeze dried meals. Shit, I mean some folks choose to only cold soak as a weight saving option, surely I could get through 5 days of adapting to it! Spoiler alert: I never got used to it and will certainly, certainly never forget my stove on another adventure again, but alas, for better or for worse, I came to the decision to press on with the adventure and work those mental muscles to adapt and overcome the suck. And yes, the rice and beans were dreadful.

As I drift into a light sleep under the blanket of the majestic Milky Way, I feel I'm finally coming to terms with what the next few days are going to be like. They'll suck, but it'll be possible if I stay open and let go of any preconceived notions of how things "should" be. Later that night, as I'm laying in my deflating bivy, swirling in pre-sleep alpha waves, I'm lightly awoken by a the somewhat nearby sound of what can be best described as incessant scraping. Scrape, scrape, scrape, right near my feet, I'm still somewhat unable to discern the sound due to my half awake, post-sleep state of consciousness. Immersed in my restless nighttime torpor, I involuntarily fell back asleep before being abruptly awoken once again to the same scraping sound, this time just inches above my head. Scrape, scrape, scrape the sound crept on in an unsettling, unpredictable rhythm. Until I thought, wait... that wasn't scraping...

It was gnawing.

Teeth gnawing against aluminum metal; its cadence mindlessly uneasy, its timbre; nails on a chalkboard. Even in my half asleep state, I was immediately brought to attention, mostly because this sound was coming from WAY too close for comfort to my head. As I poked my head out of the bivy to get a better idea of what was going on, the dim moonlight barely illuminated the night, making it difficult to discern where the sound was coming from even though it was only inches from me. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I focused in on a silhouette left in the moon's wake. It was wiggling, gnawing and left an image of hundreds of small needle like points shaking towards the sky. I sobered up quickly.

That silhouette was a porcupine's ass. Eight inches from my face. Mindlessly gnawing away at the sweat covered trekking pole handle used to hold my tarp up. It was difficult not to panic upon the realization that my camp was currently being raided by a mineral-deprived, oversized, tree dwelling rodent equipped with one of the animal kingdom's best natural self defense systems: the quills. Trying to not disturb the current feeding frenzy, I slowly squirmed my bivy out the footbox of my tarp and wiggled at least a few feet happily from the scene of the crime. There I stood on the outskirts of my camp, dazed from the entire experience and through it all, Mr. Porcupine never diverted his attention from those oh so tasty trekking pole handles. Like an automaton, he continued to gnaw, even as I shone my headlamp directly on him and yelled a few profanities. Eventually, I grabbed a long stick, in a futile attempt to scare away Mr. Porcupine by smacking said stick repeatedly on the ground near him. Not even a budge. This thing wanted salt and it was going to take a whole lot more to get him out of here. Racing for options, in true, primal, ape-like fashion, I gathered a few small rocks and began engaging in primitive ranged combat with the encampment raider. Full disclosure, I'm a long time vegetarian and am completely against harm to animals in any way possible, so bare in mind these throws were merely meant to scare this critter away, not incapacitate it. After a few throws, the ancestral instincts came flowing back in as I traded swear words for an animalistic, cat-like hissing, which, to my surprise, was the best technique for scaring this little guy out of my camp. The more I hissed, the more he moved on until he eventually, slowly trundled out of my camp into the nearby meadow, seemingly with a bad attitude resembling that of a stubborn child that just had his favorite candy taken away. After a brief respite to celebrate my victory against the natural world, I quickly, almost without thought, packed up my tarp and trekking poles for the night and stowed them high in a tree branch, where I eventually tried to get back to sleep, deflated sleeping pad and all. To be honest, falling back asleep on the ground was pretty tough, but after about an hour of anxiously replaying the alternate scenario of getting quilled in the face by a porcupine's ass in my sleep, I was able to drift away once again. Later that night, almost like clockwork, Mr. Porcupine returned to my camp for another quick perusal, but was luckily much easier to scare off this time around.

It was unfortunately obvious at this point that Mr. Porcupine was heavily conditioned to this area and my campsite specifically, probably due to the fact that this is a such a popular area with backpackers and climbers. I'd imagine this is not the first camp he's raided and he has gotten used to the fact that there will be food or salt in this area on a daily basis. I pride myself on having good camp hygiene especially when it comes to bears, but honestly the trekking pole handles just didn't cross my mind on this trip, despite the number of times my poles have been eaten by marmots on day hikes in the alpine. All things considered, things could have turned out much worse and since this incident my camping hygiene game has gotten even better! Much like the pain of forgetting my stove, I can assure you, I most certainly won't be making the mistake of holding up my tarp with those sweat covered, or at least what's left of them, aluminum trekking poles ever again.

By the time everything had settled down it was already around 3:00AM, so I decided to just get my day started now since going back to sleep at this point would probably be totally futile. By 4:00AM, I began following the Needle Johnson trail for a short while before bushwhacking up the southwest slopes of Jupiter. My pre-dawn ascent up Jupiter was generally unremarkable, especially compared to the shenanigans of the night before, mostly because of how dark it was. Generally, the terrain stayed class 2 and was overall straight forward to follow in the dark. By sunrise I was taking in the summit views on Jupiter, finally fully immersed in the sea of peaks that is the heart of the San Juans. Following an old GPX track I found online, I descended northeast into a high basin, then up the saddle between Peak 18 and Windom on surprisingly decent scree. You never know with these random tracks you find sometimes... From the saddle, I followed the standard (recently reranked) class 3 route up Windom's west ridge. Atop Windom I realized, today was seeming to be one of those days where the views just keep getting better and better as I could finally get a great view of upcoming Sunlight and Eolus. Moving quickly, I made my way down to the intersection between Sunlight and Windom for the beginning of the roughly 1000 feet of crappy, loose scree climbing up the south face. With quite a few climbers on route, I wasn't looking forward to the rock shower that lie ahead so I scooted quickly up the right side of the route, hopefully out of the fall line of others above. Though the scree hill up Sunlight was decently heinous, the final few hundred feet of scrambling to the top was top notch class 4 and extremely solid. Personally, I didn't think much of the infamous summit block move, but that's coming from someone who is quite comfortable with the delicate art of, what I like to call, slabbing around. From Sunlight, I took in my final summit views of the day in total solitude before making the final descent back to the Twin Lakes basin, then another mile to camp. Overall my day on the first few Chicago Basin 14ers was nice, but generally overshadowed by the crazy events of the night prior. The excellent views of Eolus today had me dreaming of my 14er finisher tomorrow as I dozed off for a surprisingly quiet night with no signs of any porcupine raids whatsoever. Things were looking up.

8/6/26
Mount Eolus (14,087') - San Juan - Northeast Ridge II - Class 3, #33 Ranked, #94 Personal
10.35 miles / 3,691' gain / 7 hours, 46 minutes / ★★★
Solo
Additional Summits: North Eolus

"A Surprisingly Emotional End to My 14er Journey"

Good God, cold instant coffee is absolutely dreadful. After a couple of evenings of cold soaking, I finally got keen to the trick of holding onto a little bit of water before I finished my hike. This was so I could leave that water in the sun for a bit to warm even further before emptying it into the freeze dried bag, making for a surprisingly edible, room temperature "cold soak" meal. It finally felt like I was getting the hang of this. However after barely gagging down my cold instant coffee this morning, I finally learned the lesson to leave a water bottle in the sleeping bag overnight, thus resulting in slightly less crappy, room temperature instant coffee the morning after. Perhaps a wiser soul might just abandon the notion of caffeine altogether at this point, but I'm not some kind of barbarian: down the hatch!

Today was looking easier with just two close peaks then a short backpack to the No Name Basin to set myself up for Jagged the following day. The climb up to Twin Lakes in the dark was luckily familiar from the previous day, though really steep and slow on the way up with the full pack. After the first mile, I dropped my pack, buried it in some stones in a talus field to deter any curious critters, then made my way up the soft lower face of Eolus in the orange morning light. As expected on a 14er route, the trail up to the saddle was excellent and well maintained, making for a really pleasant morning romp alongside multiple groups of mountain goats. At the saddle, I headed south to Eolus first since the route is longer and more involving than North Eolus. The beginning section straddled a beautiful catwalk to the nose of Eolus, where you traverse around the face and follow multiple cairns on the standard route up obvious ledges. The scrambling near the top, much like Sunlight, was especially good as were the views from the summit. As I was expecting, much of the success of today was overshadowed by the looming objective of Jagged tomorrow, most especially as its dark and perverted profile came into view once atop Eolus. After a nice long summit break to myself, I descended back to the saddle and began the short scramble up North Eolus. North Eolus technically isn't a Centennial nor a ranked 14er, but is most often included in the common modern list of 58. Not to mention, its barely a 5 minute scramble on excellent, grippy rock to the top, so in my opinion, it's absolutely worth the detour.

As I slowly took the final steps to the summit of North Eolus, I surprisingly found myself tearing up as I took in those epic views upon my final 14er. The summit vibes had me feeling accomplished, surprisingly emotional, and, most of all, nostalgic; nostalgic from my first 14er trip in high school when I suffered my way up Grays in Vans slip ons and a cotton tee short to all the other trips that took me through the 58 on this crazy journey. Additionally, it really had me thinking about my first times in middle school of hearing about the 14ers and mountaineering in general and if I could ever do it. After some deep memory searching, nostalgia turned to an odd emotion I have a hard time putting words to. Bittersweet might be the best way to describe that feeling of the end being the worst part, the finish line being the disappointment. Even though finishing this major milestone first started with joy and accomplishment, the overall feeling that stuck with me was that there would never be new Colorado 14er and that, indeed, the reward is the effort. I've noticed this feeling creeping in for quite some time during the Quest, but my finisher on North Eolus really cemented the integral lesson that would come to define not only the remaining effort on the final six peaks but also the entire saga itself: the journey itself, is, indeed, the destination.

After some introspective time in solitude, I descended back to Twin Lakes, ate lunch with a pack of very curious mountain goats, then made my final ascent of the day up the narrow Twin Thumbs Pass. While not overly bad on the way up, the choss and bushwhacking to my camp just below South No Name Lake was tiring and slow as I followed the waterway until the canyon walls grew too steep. Atop the high canyon walls above No Name Creek, I laid out my bivy on a decently flat rock for a cozy night dreaming of tomorrow's adventure on Jagged. Even though finishing the 14ers was never my primary goal of the Quest, today will go down as unforgettable alongside the other 57 that are each unique and carry with them a breadth of vivid memories. Cheers, 14ers! May we meet again!

8/7/26
Jagged Mountain - San Juan - North Face II - Class 5.2, #93 Ranked, #95 Personal
12.04 miles / 5,039' gain / 9 hours, 10 minutes / ★★★★
Solo

"A Magnificent Mountain Climber's Puzzle Box"

Jagged had loomed large in my head for some time. Known as the most difficult standard route in the Centennials, Jagged has a reputation for being difficult, confusing, and extremely remote. While I had climbed routes much harder in difficulty, I knew today would require a lot of focus and attention on both the route and my climbing. From my camp high on the canyon cliffs above No Name Creek, I descended to the basin around 5:00AM, mostly on the creek proper since the water flow was quite low. The descent was a bit tricky in the dark, but definitely the best way down this remote basin. From the bottom of the basin, I found my way through the maze of creeks and deadfall until the misery finally let up around tree line, where I found a "trail" that took me more or less to Jagged Pass proper. The morning was slow and filled with anticipation, but before long I was atop the saddle looking upon the famous north face in awe. Upon first glance I was feeling stoked and ready, so after a quick sanity check, I traversed to the cliffs near the base of the first crux and started looking around. After a brief search, I decided to climb a slabby corner that went about 5.5, which in hindsight was too far to the climber's left of the traditional first crux. From the top of the first pitch I climbed upward paralleling the snow couloir to my left, definitely off route at this point. But as it always goes, after a few hundred feet of slabbing around, I found some cairns and met up with the standard route just before it traverses right to the second crux.

For the second crux, most climbers surmount a large chockstone in a chimney by climbing around it, resulting in one of the routes 5.2 moves. After eyeing the section for a couple of minutes, I opted to take my backpack off and squirm my way under the chockstone, therein bypassing the second crux entirely. Oh the joys of being short and skinny coming in handy once again! From the top of the second crux, the route climbs upward before traversing around to the dark side of the mountain. The traverse didn't feel overly exposed for me, but the final chimney crux just below the summit gave me some pause. The final crux, a wide, 30 foot chimney section, was luckily guarded by a big ledge that really took the exposure off, but the climbing itself was steep and physical with little holds. After some time struggling with the steep chockstone at the top of the crux, I decided to switch techniques and climb this feature like it was intended. Stemming was the first thing that came to mind, but the trad climber in me told me to climb it like the chimney it is and climb it with your back. Once perched in the wide chimney with my feet kicking one side, back squished upon the other, the moves to surmount the final chockstone fell right into place. As it usually goes when you pull a hard move like this when you are soloing, my first thought upon looking down that thing went something like this: boy, that's gonna be hard to downclimb...

Luckily, the final few hundred feet to the top of Jagged were much easier than the rest of the route making for a nice cruise above the final chimney. Epic views of the Grenadiers made for a nice, gratifying way to finish off the summit at a nice and relaxed pace. As per usual, my mind was generally wrapped up in how I was going to downclimb the ensuing cruxes since I had opted to get on Jagged without a rope or a partner, so I moved quickly off the summit so I could get on with having a moment to relax. As I looked down the initial chimney, I surprisingly felt relaxed and ready, my body almost automatically putting itself in the position to lower in and press my back upon the wall. Apparently instincts took over because I remember the downclimb off that chimney being much easier than the way up, which is not often the way it goes in climbing. Satisfied with my effort, I moved down the squeeze crux then followed cairns down the standard route to the top of the first pitch where I encountered a group of three climbers in a roped party moving their way up. After some quick chatting I had asked if I could use their rope to jug down the first pitch and they said it was left there. As I stare at that brightly colored yellow rope, and can't help but to think of how astoundingly blind I can be sometimes when I'm too focused. Eager to climb the first pitch, I must have missed the obvious yellow hand line the lie over the section that previous parties had left in the past. There's a lesson in there somewhere, I'm sure of it, but alas... After testing the anchor, I worked my way down the first crux easily with the help of the rope before heading back to the saddle. With one final glance back at the north face of Jagged, I turned away in satisfaction of my effort before embarking on the hot and slow afternoon trek back to camp. Once back at camp, I rested for an hour before heading out to the Ruby Basin to set myself up for Turret and Pigeon tomorrow. Overall, Jagged had loomed large in my head since the start, but generally it felt very doable, not only due to conditions and weather, but mostly because of the experience that I'd gained along the Quest. If it weren't for some of those crazy traverses in the Elks and beyond, it would have felt pretty full on, but perspective goes a long way and it's ultimately satisfying to have a challenging opportunity to put your skills to the test and really execute. Thanks for all the memories, Jagged!

8/8/26
Turret Peak (13,837') - San Juan - Northwest Slopes II - Class 2+, #91 Ranked, #96 Personal
Pigeon Peak (13,977') - San Juan - South Face II - Class 4, #57 Ranked, #97 Personal
11.78 miles / 4,147' gain / 9 hours, 57 minutes / ★★
Solo

8/9/26
Purgatory Descent - Class 1
10.26 miles / 1,634' gain / 4 hours, 27 minutes

"Absolutely Heinous Kitty Litter Scree"

Finding water was the tough issue in the Ruby Basin, but after descending the pass, I noticed the cliff band separating the upper and lower basins had a small trickle, so I set up shop above tree line near the final flowing water. Normally, I'd choose not to camp above tree line, but if I descended any further it would not only put me further from water, but also to my access point for Turret Peak. So as it would be, after a cold and shivery night in the alpine, blinded by stubbornness, I got started around 5:00AM again and slogged the steep, monotonous grassy slopes between Turret and Pigeon in the pre-dawn twilight. To say the talus near the saddle is bad would be a ridiculous understatement as I was sinking to my ankles in loose crap. From the loose saddle, the class 2 hike up Turret was fast and easy with some of the best rock so far today (not saying much) and nice sunrise views of Pigeon's ridiculously steep and sheer face. From the top of Turret, I had realized that I had no beta on either of the peaks I was climbing today, all I knew was that they were easier than Jagged. In a bout of wisdom, I downloaded some beta for upcoming Pigeon while atop Turret, noting that it goes at class 4 and is quite loose. The other takeaway was how infamous the wraparound from Turret to Pigeon was noting that it's some of the worst rock in the Centennials. On one hand, how bad could it be? It can't get any worse than Vermillion, Wilsons, or really any of the Elks. On the other hand, the scree on the way up today was some of the most frustrating and demotivating I'd encountered and wasn't sure I was completely ready for the amount of crap that would ensue to the base of Pigeon... And thus: the Turret/Pigeon wraparound.

Some scree is bad. The Turret Pigeon wraparound is "Cry to Your Mommy" bad. When every step literally has you laughing out loud at how awful, crumbling and loose the way forward is, you know you've hit another level of bad. Like maniacal bad. The best way I can describe this section would be like filling your shoes with sharp kitty litter up to your ankles every time you take a step while you send showers of rock down the hillside below. Luckily the section is relatively short, but it certainly lives up to the negative hype and, hands down, takes the cake in my book for the worst scree in all the Centennials. Not sorry, Pigeon.

After some time of furiously cleaning out my shoes, I began my way up the steep grassy slopes on Pigeon's northwest face. While the climb was covered in loose kitty litter scree, it was luckily nowhere nearly as bad as the approach to the base of the climb, as it mostly follows grass for the first half. Along the way I ran into three other Centennial climbers from Salida and we decided to finish out the rest of the route together to avoid rockfall. As we moved higher and the rock quality grew worse, I opted to lead us off route, climber's right to better rock and a more direct approach. After traversing some loose cliffs, we met back up with the cairns on the standard route for the final few hundred feet of the route. Much like many of its neighbors in the area, the final scramble to the top of Pigeon was solid and fun class 4, even though the rest of the north face of that mountain was a bit of a death gutter. Once atop Pigeon, I celebrated among good company, a rare occasion for me, before setting off onto the descent. Overall the climb and descent up Pigeon was tricky and slow mostly due to the loose rock, taking about three hours in total. Once back at the base, I parted ways with my new friends and made my way down the No Name Basin, down a heinous, steep deadfall gulley before finding a "trail" back to the Animas. Awful rock and trail conditions were certainly the theme for the day. Once back at Needle Creek, I stopped for the night then packed out the final 10 miles of the trip the following morning for a pleasant outro to my trip to the Weminuche.

Between the deflating sleeping pad, cold soaked meals, a dead phone for the final day, no journal, hot afternoon summer backpacking, and midnight porcupine raids, the mountain climbing on this Weminuche trip actually seemed to be the easiest part! It just goes to show you, it's often not the adversities you plan for that are the ones that get you and that certainly held true on this six days in the wilderness. Overall, the trip had me feeling reflective, nostalgic, strong, accomplished, and wholesome; an opportunity I used to look inward and ponder the greater lessons of my time in the woods going into the final adventure of the 100: the great Grenadiers! Between the endless campfire stories I'll take with my from this trip, my own quiet celebration of finishing the 14ers, and finally getting to take on the much anticipated Jagged Peak, the Weminuche has provided me with some wholesome and unforgettable moments and I couldn't ask for a better physical and mental environment for finishing out the final peaks of the Quest. See you soon, Weminuche!

9/4/26
Grenadiers Approach via Molas Pass - Class 1
10.51 miles / 3,058' gain / 5 hours, 8 minutes

9/5/26
Vestal Peak (13,867') - San Juan - Wham Ridge II - Class 5.4, #77 Ranked, #98 Personal
Arrow Peak (13,817') - San Juan - Upper Ramp II - Class 3, #99 Ranked, #98 Personal
7.37 miles / 4,114' gain / 7 hours, 59 minutes / ★★★★★
Solo

"Unbeatable, Unforgettable and One of a Kind; The Grenadiers are a Gift"

After a weekend off due to illness, most likely due to overexertion and lack of sleep during my previous Weminuche trip, then an additional two weeks off due to rain delays, the time has finally come to get out to the Grenadiers for the final three. Honestly, both the sickness and the rain delays were pretty excruciating mostly due to the anxiety of the clock slowly ticking down to the first snow of the season, making most of the north facing routes in the Grenadiers significantly more difficult. Finally after two weeks of watching the weather like a hawk, a small window on Labor Day weekend opened up, shining a small glimmer of hope on my plans to finish in style this summer season. Normally, I'd stay away from busy spots like the Vestal Basin on a holiday weekend, but this truly felt like one of those special moments when preparation meets opportunity: it would be unwise to not proceed. And so it would be, almost in Pavlovian fashion after 97 of these Centennials, I packed my bags (and definitely didn't forget the stove this time), assembled the beta and maps and departed for Molas Pass for a two to three night backpacking trip in the Weminuche: the final frontier in the Quest to 100.

With a weather window lasting two days, that meant I could split the three peaks into two groups, so I opted for a plan to hike in Friday, climb Vestal and Arrow Saturday, the Trinity Traverse Sunday, then backpack out or stay another night for the remaining descent if I was too tired. Forgetting about how long it takes to drive to Molas Pass, I didn't get started on trail until about 2:30PM, making for a much later day than I generally like to have in the mountains, especially when it's 10 miles to camp. Other than leaving too late, the approach on the Colorado Trail was quick and uneventful up to the beaver ponds where I had camped for the Grenadiers the previous year. From the ponds, I followed the steep climber's trail up to the Vestal Basin meadow where I had hoped to find a campsite. Silly me, it's Labor Day weekend! By the time I had arrived to the meadow around 7:30PM I had counted 13 tents and about 2 dozen climbers. Honestly, meadows are cold at night and I'm happy being an antisocial hermit, so I made a private camp in the woods above the meadow near some seasonally flowing water. As I collected water in the dim glow of my headlamp, I couldn't shake the notion that I should be feeling a lot more nerves than I am right now. Normally, getting to bed this late before a big alpine day gives me pre-climb anxiety, not the mention the actual objective itself, the Wham Ridge, which had hovered over my consciousness even long before I began climbing the Centennials, like I have some kind of history with this mystical place I've never actually stepped foot in. Something about my headspace was feeling... Like everything was just as it should be. Like I was exactly where I needed to be at this very moment. Like total equanimity without even realizing it. I was being told everything was going to be alright and my simple mind was just now beginning to catch up. Tucked under the shimmering blanket of the Milky Way, I drifted to sleep around 9:30PM for a cold but tranquil night in anticipation of taking on my white whale of the Centennials tomorrow.

I awoke in an unexpected stillness equal to last night, studiously got my morning chores finished up, then quietly departed for the Wham Ridge around 4:00AM that morning. Even though the sun wouldn't rise until 6:00AM, I wanted to be the first one on the ridge today, mostly because I didn't want to have to pass roped parties that were already up there. Not to mention, the standard route/descent off Vestal is known for being awfully loose so I was extra motivated to get down that gulley before anyone else had arrived this busy holiday weekend. After working my way up the main ledge that cuts the bottom section of the Wham Face, I sat below the first pitch of the climb for 45 minutes until the twilight allowed me enough light to begin the climb without a headlamp. As I sit in silence in wait of the Wham, I couldn't help but to wonder: where are the nerves? I couldn't quite explain it, but as I looked up to that towering ridge, everything felt like it was falling into perfect serendipity; a simple surrender to providence. And there I be, standing before it's decrepit gates without really knowing why...

As most of these climbs tend to go when you're super locked in, the route seemed to fly by with ease. Perhaps its the nature of the climb itself, but I never felt insecure, overly exposed or faced with anything that was more difficult than I was expecting. If anything the ridge felt a lot less spicy than I was anticipating, perhaps due to my positive state of mind, perhaps due to the bombproof rock quality and easy route finding, most likely a combination of the two. The first third of the route felt like easy class 3 cruising near or on the ridge crest before encountering the first crux: a right facing dihedral that goes at 5.4 over a pretty spooky exposed ledge just below the ridge crest. Approach shoes nailed it today. The second section mostly followed the ridge at class 4/low 5th before moving onto the face away from the ridge for the final portion of the climb. The top third of Wham kicks back in angle significantly from lower down on the ridge but it felt like one of those climbs I can describe no better than a "jug haul", meaning steep climbing on huge, bomber holds. Near the top I remember another volumey crux up a steep slab with some good friction climbing, about 5.4 or 5.5, but beyond that the Wham went down in a smooth 90 minutes. As I took in the sunrise on the summit of Vestal Peak, I contemplated my cool and collected effort on the ridge. The climb felt fun, flowy, intuitive, solid, focused, almost effortless in some ways, and went by in a flash. If you've read my previous reports, let's just say it felt a lot different than the Snowmass/Hagerman traverse, i.e. no pants pooping!

As per normal fashion, I set my contemplation on hold and got moving down quickly in response to the anxiety of getting splattered by other climber's rockfall down the standard gulley. Luckily, I was able to beat the first folks moving up the standard route by about 30 minutes so the descent, while incredibly loose and riddled with much cursing, went by without issue as I descended to the col between Arrow and Vestal. I've heard a lot of people call this the "dues collector col" because of its infamous loose rock and by golly it certainly lives up to the name. It's a steep descent down a mix of incredibly crappy scree and loose dirt, resulting in additional swearing and semi-controlled falling down the slope. After traversing the sea of talus ala Pyramid Peak, I followed the cairns to the base of the ramp that leads up Arrow, happy to be in position for the second climb of the day, mostly due to finally getting off the scree. Beyond the slightly tricky transition of getting onto the upper ramp, the route is fairly straight forward as it follows a huge class 3/4 slab up to some steeper scrambling just below the summit. Much like Jagged, the trickiest part was the amount of friction climbing with little loose pebbles all over the slabs, making for slow footwork. My two biggest takeaways from my time on Arrow were the truly out-of-this-world close up views of the Wham Ridge right next door, as well as a party of climbers above me who were knocking rocks down the route like crazy, resulting in a lot of semi-off route climbing on my part. Regardless, by the time I was atop Arrow I couldn't have been happier with how the day had went, especially as I look upon the, now very crowded, Wham Ridge with its multiple roped parties moving up. It's difficult to describe how jarring it is to see Vestal from the basin, almost like a real world colossus on steroids, much less from the summit of Arrow. My suggestion to you, dear reader, would be to get out there yourself and experience the absolute grandeur of the Grenadiers firsthand, regardless if you have any desire to climb them or not. I'm coming to learn this small but incredibly unique mountain range is an absolute gem among the sea of San Juans and I can say for certain that I will most definitely be back for more in the future. The remainder of my descent on Arrow went forward swimmingly as I got back to camp around 1:00PM for a long rest under those thundering giants in wait for the much anticipated #100 tomorrow: the Trinity Traverse.

9/6/26
Trinity Peak (13,815') - San Juan - Trinity Traverse II - Class 4, #100 Ranked, #100 Personal
18.65 miles / 5,522' gain / 13 hours, 14 minutes / ★★★★
Solo
Additional Summits: West Trinity, East Trinity

"A Finisher's Dream: Classic Rockies Ridge Traversing in True, Pure Form"

After a good day on Vestal and Arrow I got to bed early around 7:00PM but wasn't able to sleep much past 1:00AM mostly due to having a quilt that wasn't warm enough for the nighttime high elevation temperatures. So after a slow morning with a lot of coffee and oatmeal, I got started around 3:00AM because I didn't want to sit still at camp and be cold any longer. After leaving camp, I bumbled around in the dark, looking for the trail for an excessively long amount of time. Without the moonlight I was having a difficult time orienting myself, but after some more aimless bumbling and willow thrashing, I traversed south across the slabs guarding the talus slopes between Vestal and West Trinity. From the top of the slabs, I followed the maze of talus to the base of the col, where I stopped for a break for it to hopefully get light soon. Today was feeling cold, different and not nearly as positive as yesterday in an eerily empty kind of way. As I snacked upon my animal crackers in the dark silence of early morning, I checked my watch and decided it'd be too long to wait for twilight since I was getting cold just sitting around. A familiar sense of urgency pressed its weight upon me once again.

Even though the Trinity Traverse seems to get climbed a lot, there isn't a lot of beta online about it so I wasn't exactly sure what I was getting into for this pre-dawn climb, beyond that it tops out at class 4. Surprisingly, the col and more so the ridge to the top of West Trinity were very solid and a pleasure to climb in the dark. Atop West Trinity I was greeted with one of the most memorable, wide, burning sunrises I've ever had the pleasure of witnessing atop a mountain. For the first time in a while, I took a really long break on top to truly absorb the feeling of this moment as I prepared for #100, Trinity Peak. West Trinity wasn't a Centennial, but would it feel any different when I was over there standing on that one over there? That familiar, nagging urgency pushed me forward as I descended the slopes to the low point between West Trinity and Trinity. Luckily the route was heavily cairned making for surprisingly easy route finding through the complex network of steep ledges. Before long, I looked out onto another spookily exposed cliff before turning around to find the crux chimney right above me with a cairn at the base. The chimney, about 40 feet tall, supposedly goes at class 4, but looked quite steep and was giving me significantly more pause than the Wham yesterday, most likely a reflection of my less than average, introspective mental state. The climbing itself felt steep and more difficult than its rated, but I managed to mantle my way over the top, heart beating rapidly, for a really exciting and satisfying way to begin the final few hundred feet to the top of Trinity. As I scrambled up to the final summit ridge, blinded by my own stubborn urgency, I was met with the most abominable moment of the entire Quest: the end.

An unexpected emptiness began to creep in as it dawned upon me that the end was literally within sight and the tremendous amount of effort I had put forward the past 17 months will finally come to a halt. I'd known it for a while, but nothing changes when you stand on that final peak. You don't become someone different or walk away from the mountains with magical powers. Nobody is going to think of you differently nor do most people even really care that you ticked 100 boxes on an arbitrary list that means nothing to them. The effort is what you make of it and that was a cold reality I was facing just before standing atop that final peak. The end was, in a lot of ways, quite disappointing actually, knowing deep down that the finish line was never actually the reward. That reward was, indeed, the opportunity to throw myself into a goal I didn't 100% know was personally achievable for me. An opportunity to go balls to the wall, full ham, hog wild, whatever suits your fancy, into the abyss of the unknown. Now that the 100 was coming to a close, I was feeling quite empty to finish because it corresponded with an end to the real, hidden prize: the journey itself.

Sure, I can climb mountains anytime I want now that I have finished the 100, but as I look back and reflect upon my effort through the past 17 months, I realize I find so much of the satisfaction that comes from a project like this is wrapped up in the effort itself. The 100 gave me a sense of purpose, helped get me through those demotivating weeks at work, and mustered the stoke in me to, say, wake up at 10:30PM for Longs or drive five hours to a trailhead after a 12 hour shift only to freeze my ass off in the car before a big day up Pikes. Before the Quest, I loved climbing mountains but never have I jammed so many into such a small period of my life, a result of the devotion to the project by pretty much dropping everything in my life and getting out every single opportunity that was available to me. It certainly didn't come without sacrifices, but I'm happy to say that I still love climbing mountains to this day, perhaps even more than I ever have. But without that dream to work towards, that voluntary plunge into the uncomfortable unknown, I'm left with the abominable feeling that I'm once again seeking another opportunity to throw myself into. Deja vu. I've been here before and I know it from a deeper wisdom. As it turns out, that place is back at the starting line. Without really knowing it at the time, the main reason for embarking on the Quest in the first was place an opportunity to immerse myself deeply into an effort, mostly in hopes to help escape the rhythms of an automatic, sometimes mindless daily life and larger arc. And here I stand, atop peak number 100, I find myself exactly where I started, fully grasping that it was not the end that I was seeking, but truly in every sense of the word, a Quest. And so it will be, I now realize after this whole time of all these wild trips to the mountains and the crazy adventures of the past year and half, the name "Quest to 100" is unfitting as it implies the goal is getting to something or arriving somewhere. Rather, I dub thee the "Quest of 100" in celebration of the experiences, lessons, wisdom, friends, and stories I've acquired along this magnificent and one of a kind chapter of my life. Thank you Centennials for this once in a lifetime opportunity to concentrate on what really matters, live my life to the fullest, push the boundaries of what I thought was truly possible, and act and think by my word as genuinely and compassionately as I can. Cheers, Centennials! To many more!

Thanks for reading if you've made it this far with me through the Quest! My original plan for this journal was for it to be completely personal, but I've grown great joy from the opportunity to share my beta and unlikely story through the mountains with my small audience. It's been a whirlwind of an effort and I'm still digesting the fact that it's finally all over, mostly struggling with the unease that comes with seeking a new outlet to hurl my energy into. One of the biggest lessons I've come to understand from the 100 is that I'm a person who lives to dive head first into what I do. Half assing leads to an unhealthy way to live, particularly when it comes to making meaning and purpose out of a confusing, modern life. The 100 has really helped me discover that I thrive when I'm able to fully commit to a project, it provides motivation, direction, calm, simplicity and a reason to get up every day. Additionally, I'm thankful to have this outlet to write and record my journals of the past 17 months. Never before have I had the devotion to document my life in such detail from week to week and from it I have gained an amount of personal insight equal to or more than my adventures in the mountains themselves. The opportunity to share my growth, lessons and odd tales is an outlet in and of itself that I'm incredibly grateful for and look forward to diving in with sharing more juicy adventures and suffer fests in the future. And on that note, thanks again for reading, I hope these words have inspired you to seek your own adventure, hike your own hike, live your life to the fullest and frankly, get the heck out there and crush! Cheers!

Quest of 100: The Stats (for my 89 Remaining Centennials)

Dates, Days and Times:

• Start Date: 3/24/25
• End Date: 9/6/26
• Total Days Hiking (Including Backpacking): 70
• Days Solo: 58
• Days with Partner: 12
• Nights Camped (Including Backpacking and Car Camping): 54
• Total Time Hiking: 480 Hours
• Longest Timed Trip: 13 hours, 14 minutes (Trinity - 9/6/26)
• Shortest Timed Trip: 3 hours, 19 minutes (Wetterhorn - 9/8/25)
• Earliest Start: 12:04AM (Longs/Meeker)
• Latest Start: 8:25AM (Buckskin)

Miles, Gain, Calories, Heart Rate:

• Total Miles Hiked: 776.66
• Longest Mileage Day: 22.13 (Rio Grande Pyramid - 6/6/26)
• Shortest Mileage Day: 5.2 (Edwards - 4/12/26)
• Total Feet of Elevation Gain: 292,986
• Highest Gain Day: 8,307 (Little Bear, Blanca, Ellingwood - 11/9/25)
• Lowest Gain Day: 2,402 (Edwards - 4/12/26)
• Calories Burned: 115,789
• Highest Calorie Burn Day: 2,865 (Rio Grande Pyramid - 6/6/26)
• Lowest Calorie Burn Day: 753 (Lackawanna - 5/11/26)
• Highest Average Heart Rate: 133BPM (Wetterhorn - 9/8/26)
• Lowest Average Heart Rate: 84BPM (Lackawanna - 5/11/26)

Route Stats:

• Class 1 Routes: 3
• Class 2 Routes: 55
• Class 3 Routes: 17
• Class 4 Routes: 8
• Class 5 Routes: 7
• ★ Routes: 1
• ★★ Routes: 6
• ★★★ Routes: 39
• ★★★★ Routes: 14
• ★★★★★ Routes: 6
• 14er Great Traverses: 3 of 4 (No Maroon Bells Traverse)
• Most Technical Route: 5.6 (Snowmass/Hagerman Traverse)
• Calendar Spring Centennials: 34
• Calendar Summer Centennials: 40
• Calendar Winter Centennials: 2
• Calendar Fall Centennials: 13
• Total Peaks Summited (Including Unranked): 130
• Most Peaks in One Day: 9 (Torreys From Guanella Pass)
• 14er Finisher: Eolus (or North Eolus)
• Centennial Finisher: Trinity
• Number of Attempts Without Summit: 3
• Climbs with Rope: 0

Skiing:

• Total Days on Skis: 11
• Ski Descents Directly from the Summit: 7
• Best Ski Descent: Silverheels, Runner Up: Elbert
• Worst Ski Descent: Yale, Runner Up: Clinton
• Sketchiest Ski Descent: Fletcher, Runner Up: Lackawanna

Personal Opinions:

• Favorite 14er: Little Bear, Runner Up: Longs
• Favorite 13er: Rio Grande Pyramid, Runner Up: Vestal
• Least Favorite 14er: Princeton, Runner Up: Yale
• Least Favorite 13er: Cathedral, Runner Up: Edwards
• Favorite Route: West Ridge Direct + Traverse (Little Bear/Blanca), Runner Up: Wham Ridge (Vestal)
• Least Favorite Route: Standard Couloir (Cathedral), Runner Up: Southeast Ridge (Sneffels)
• Sketchiest Traverse: Snowmass/Hagerman, Runner Up: Thunder Pyramid/Pyramid
• Sketchiest Ascent: Northeast Ridge (North Maroon), Runner Up: East Slopes (Handies)
• Sketchiest Descent: North Slopes (Mount Wilson), Runner Up: Cables (Longs)
• Worst Choss: Pigeon, Runner Up: Vermillion
• Best Rock Quality: Wham Ridge (Vestal), Runner Up: West Ridge Direct (Little Bear)
• Favorite Range: Sangre, Runner Up: Elk
• Least Favorite Range: Sawatch, Runner Up: Front
• Most Unexpectedly Rewarding Summit: Pikes, Runner Up: Longs
• Most Unexpectedly Disappointing Summit: Sneffels, Runner Up: Massive
• Best Views: Rio Grande Pyramid, Runner Up: Holy Cross
• Worst Views: Meeker, Runner Up: Oklahoma
• Favorite Piece of Gear: Altra Lone Peak 9+, Runner Up: BXG Beeko Cheeko
• Number of YGDs (Yer Gonna Dies): 7