Pikes Peak North Face. Y couloir.

I have passed under this massif many times, and always with reverence. "America's mountain" ( yeah, i'm not sure either..) has been a simple pleasure of mine since i was the age of two, when my family moved me from Colorado's western shelf to the town of Woodland Park, on the front range.

The little town rests about seven miles north of Pikes' north face.
I see this face almost everyday of my life. Avalanches and rockfall could be seen through my father's spotting scope from the front porch. As well as the thousands of Elk that migrate over the countless surrounding hills and the pumas that wander that tundra in search of the kids of mountain goats or calves of any kind.
For hours as a boy i would sit and stare at this mountain, fascinated by the clouds being torn in two as they pass the summit, the wind throwing snow off to the east for miles, all the way to the city. The fury of its storms and the lightning stretching over the sky to find rest in the crags of the west buttress.
This was, for me, a place of seemingly untouchable wonder and danger...

Finding the Way

Apparently, one day i made the decision to leave this wonderland of mine alone until i amassed the courage to climb in it in complete solitude, it is in this isolation that not a single hope or or joy would be hushed by the company of another, and risk being returned to normality is gone.

I spent a day at 12,000 feet staring at it and learning about it. The wonder increased, as did the snows.

The first foot lead to the last

The day came, i was up at three am to the dark and snow blown night, i thought through my gear again and again, and left, nervously. I arrived at the crags trailhead on the peaks north-western side to clear skies and a brisk twenty-three degrees. I dressed and threw the 26 pound backpack over my shoulders and set out into the dark, listening closely to every sound uttered as my mind adjusts to wilderness's darkness and the mystery it all creates. Soon enough i was well focused on my own breathing and the fading of the night somewhere around five o' clock. I was half way up the western slope just passing though the granite spires of Devils playground. I chose to stay further north than the standard route because i have climbed the standard route about forty times and there is often soft snow here this time of the year.
The soon rising sun, the rock spires and the massive cornice that drops out north, north-east is a sight you have to contain yourself when seeing. I trudged up this quarter mile piece of snow, gently rounding the west buttress. From the top of the cornice the summit is visible, but several miles of tundra, snow and the bottomless pit still separate me from my goal.
As i follow the old road and then trail for several miles i see the sun rise and a few cloud are burnt off by it's heat, I must admit that i too enjoyed its warmth. I arrive at the base of the summit's western slope at about 13,400' which is also the top the Rumdoodle ridge. As I head down the ridge a clear and close view of the y couloir spins around. The saddle on the ridge offers a great place to try and grasp the size of what is ahead. Half of an hour has passed since i left the summit ridge and i am now at the bottom of the bottomless pit. The Cirque that surrounds here is incredible. The sheer amount of granite and ice is overwhelming.
I sat down at the remains of an old cabin near the frozen creek to rest and have tea. The hawks are starting their ascent in the thermal elevators of wind by this time and i too start my way up the moraine of rock and earth, a few hundred feet from the floor the snow prevails and i manage on my crampons and continue for some time.
The pitch is here is grand and the view is steep.

Hours of foot above foot seem to draw away from the place i am in, occasionally i stop and retake reality in, it is always a joy in such a place.
Somewhere about seven-hundred feet from the summit a climbers get to choose the intended ending to it all, left is easier and right is harder. Unknown to most, in between the two, slightly to the west of center, is a small and narrow steep of snow. This is the one, and getting the conditions just right can be a year long project. I start up it, looking forward with a little hesitation, it gets steeper that i thought and the light refracting up ahead means it is icy. Climbing is slow and admittedly, i look down the three thousand foot face below me with a few questions in my mind, of which i won't go into. It is icy and at its crux is about two hundred feet of seventy-five degree mixed rock and ice. I went slow and took time to enjoy myself and try not to die up here, or rather, down there.
As i came to the last section, i drew a few deep breaths and looked closely at the eighty degree twenty foot step ahead. Mostly ice but a little snow, here is the last push before the summit. The view and everything combined that you have seen and heard up to this point make it an incredible place and time. i ponder this as i worked my way up it, slowly and with great joy.
I was exhilarated beyond reason as i pulled down on both axes pushing the body over last few feet of ice, up and over the final step.

I stood with a beaming smile and stared down the couloir, what a sweet day. I met this wonder-filled place face to face and managed, as i so had hoped, to leave it without loosing wonder but rather having gained knowledge and an experience.
Climb alone.

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