by Dick Walker

“Holy cow—the original register!” Drawing scraps from a glass bottle atop Hayden Spire, my brother, Dave, continues: “‘First party, 1938; fifth party, 1961—Stan Patenaude, ‘the climbing Frenchman’, and Dick Walker of the Rock and Piton Club of Camp San Malo, on our ‘Great Arc’, climbing all the peaks from Mummy to Longs’. It’s still here!” And here we are, 41 years later, on the Great Arc! In about ten seconds, I decide I must share this treasure with Stan, even though borrowing the register to photocopy will require my re-climbing this isolated summit after our trip to return it to the glass bottle. We estimate from the newer CMC register that the spire has still had only about fifty ascents.

Coined by Stan prior to our 1961 trip, “The Great Arc” refers to the high peaks bordering the drainage in which Estes Park lies. The Arc consists of the Mummy Range, the portion of the Continental Divide from south of Milner Pass to Chiefs Head Peak, and the spur running eastward from Chiefs Head to Longs Peak. Peak elevations are 13,000 feet along most of the Mummy Range and from Taylor Peak (southwest of Bear Lake) to Pagoda Mountain (next to Longs). Spectacular glacial cirques rimmed by 12,000-foot peaks characterize the portion of the Divide west of famous Trail Ridge Road. Longs Peak (14,255´), being Colorado’s northernmost fourteener, is the centerpiece of Rocky Mountain National Park. Besides the eighteen peaks on the crest, several others jutting off from the main ridge are too nice to pass up.

In 1961, Dave had been one year old and I thirteen. Now the privilege of taking my “little” brother on my most formative early adventure feels wild and special. If all goes well, we’ll be the first to do all the peaks on the ridge (plus a few more) in one continuous trip. The first time around, Stan and I had been thwarted by bad weather only a day and a half from the end, and we had to finish the Great Arc later.

This trip is different, of course. Not only do similar dreams create new experiences, but Dave is an accomplished mountaineer—in contrast to my eager but less-experienced state when I was thirteen. Logistically, the trip is harder nowadays: Whereas Stan and I usually camped just below the ridge, Park regulations now require camping in established “camps” or “cross-country zones,” typically below timberline. Hence, we are committed to more altitude gain and loss;  we also have to reach each campsite on our permit each day, regardless of weather. But the ecological considerations, favorable locations of the “zones,” relatively “cushy” campsites, and more modern backpacks seem a good trade-off. We hope that our selection of campsites will distribute the difficulty fairly evenly over our 6-day time slot.

Highlights

Each day is special. On Day 1, we pack to Lawn Lake then climb Mummy Mountain and Hagues Peak. Hagues is exciting: we time our summit dash between storms and scoot straight down the south face so as not to be caught on a ridge in the next one. This turns out to be the easiest day.

Day 2 begins with our biggest backpack “hump”—2500 feet up Mt. Fairchild from Lawn Lake, followed by another 800 feet up to the north slope of Mt. Ypsilon. Across flowering tundra, we continue on to the Chapin Pass area, climbing Ypsilon, Chiquita, and Chapin on the way. Although the next day’s peaks along the Continental Divide look a long way off, we feel increasingly assured that our campsite-selection strategy will work.

On Day 3 we arrive at the Fall River Pass visitor center too early; no ­hotcakes or burgers, but a bag of “midgie” candy bars for snacks and desserts seems a good investment. After a long, increasingly windy trek to Mt. Ida, we revive as we continue around the cirque above the exquisite Inkwell Lakes. Highest Lake still has blue ice and snow over its whole ­surface.

I’d forgotten how delicious the Cracktop­Mt. Julian ridge is, with fine scrambling along its south side and top, and with two hard, steep steps. By the time we get all the way out to Terra Tomah Mountain and back, we end up climbing it both ways!

Day 4, the hardest on our bodies, begins with the cold wind already howling as we scramble around gendarmes out to Hayden Spire. Midway up the summit block, we break out the rope for an exposed traverse under an overhang that, in 1961, had been frightening. A short pitch leads to the top, where we discover that ancient register. Shunning some tattered rappel slings, we choose to downclimb the route as well.

The ridge from Sprague Mountain out to Stones Peak and back sails by, much faster than yesterday’s excursion to Julian and Terra Tomah. Now comes the painful part: not quite tearing across the Bighorn Flats, I kid Dave about this 4-¹?₂ mile summit dash to Hallett Peak, on which I’m struggling to keep up. Descending the Flattop trail to “July” camp after we climb Mt. Otis, our aching feet remind us how climbing rocks, boulders, and steep slopes might be harder, but going flat-out on trails can hurt more. Ironically, the only time we ever really need our ice axes is to cross a snow bank still covering this trail.

Day 5 will be crucial. Beginning with a 2,500-feet trek up Taylor Peak, we’ll then need to take our packs over Mount Powell (easy), McHenrys Peak (technically hard), and Chiefs Head Peak (big). With no way around Chiefs Head, we need reasonable weather. But the big question, since before Day 1, is “Will McHenry’s Notch be free of snow and ice?” If not, this day could be an epic, involving a nasty descent to Lake Powell, from which McHenrys and Chiefs Head would be huge.

“Looks great!” Atop Powell, our fears evaporate. The notch is clear. Descending the steep gully off Powell’s southwest side, we find the traverse into the notch. Carefully climbing the other side, we take the easiest route up three hard sections, never having to remove our backpacks or get out the rope. Another 200 feet of easier but spectacular scrambling brings us to the top. (We both agree later that McHenrys is the most enjoyable climb of the trip, perhaps in part because we wound up pulling off this crucial and most doubtful part so nicely).

Dark clouds billow over Glacier Gorge as we start our ascent of Chiefs Head from the basin south of McHenrys. Racing the storm to the summit, we crank out 1,500 feet in about forty minutes (we win). Though Pagoda Mountain appears captivating as ever, we’re happy that we won’t be climbing it from this side on this trip.

Descending past Keplinger Lake and around the end of Pagoda’s south ridge into the Hunter’s Creek drainage, we are reminded of how big Chiefs Head is, from any side.

Day 6 begins early. After a somewhat anxious night, with one thunderstorm after another, we begin slogging in fog by 5:30 a.m.  Our vision for this day has been to pack to the Longs-Pagoda saddle, climb Pagoda and Longs, and then continue to Storm Peak. Following its north ridge over Half Mountain, we would finish the Great Arc only after running out of ridge. Today, nearing this saddle we can’t even see, we’re wondering if we’ll be lucky to climb Pagoda and Longs without packs, then return to the saddle, to pack down Glacier Gorge. I already feel sad, imagining the Great Arc completed, but with a real touch of elegance missing from the last day.

Halfway up Pagoda, we emerge into sparkling sunlight as rocky islands erupt from the swirling mist. We’re gonna make it! With lightened hearts, we find the ascent to the Narrows easier than we’d remembered (we’re even happy to be carrying our backpacks!). At 9:30 or so, we have the sun-lit summit of Longs to ourselves, above a sea of clouds stretching as far as we can see. Preparing our register entry, I feel joy at sharing this moment and this dream of a trip with my brother. Then he fills it in, saying “You have to see this.” What he has added brings tears of joy to my eyes, as I suddenly realize that doing the Great Arc as one continuous trip has been my dream too, for 41 years (how could I have forgotten?) I have to pay attention descending the homestretch with sometimes watery eyes.

The huge boulders of Storm Peak remind us of how much harder it is from the Keyhole than it looks (every time), but by then, it hardly matters. As we descend northward into the ocean of clouds, the sea parts, eventually revealing lowly but noble Half Mountain at the end of one of the least climbed, but most graceful ridges in the Park. The spectacle from its top, with most of the Great Arc rising out of the mist, reflects our joy and thanks at having done this trip together.

Dick Walker teaches mathematics at Ft. Lewis State College in Durango. He is a member of the San Juan Group of the Colorado Mountain Club.