May 17, 2025
Arrival
I zipped along CO-82, just north of Twin Lakes, heading west into the central Sawatch Range. It was 6:30 am, but with the longer days of spring time, sunlight was already spilling over the Mosquito Range behind me. I passed the trailhead for La Plata Peak. Then roughly 1.5 miles later, I reached our designated parking pull-off for today’s adventure on Lackawanna.
My climbing buddy Dylan, and his friend from CMC had already arrived and were gearing up for our ascent. I worked quickly to strap my AT skis onto my backpack, put on my boots, and grab my ski poles. We had a lot of hiking ahead of us!
Our ascent to the summit of Lackawanna would rise roughly 3400 vertical feet in just over 1.5 miles (ignoring switchbacks, which were largely at the climbers’ discretion). The vast majority of the ascent would be on snow, but our day still began ascending roughly 500 vertical feet on rocks/dirt/grass.
Onto Snow
After negotiating faint social trails through the rocks and willows, we made it to the “base” of the snow gulley we’d be ascending. From satellite imagery, I knew the remaining snow formed an incredibly narrow path up its center. Sort of a spring “white ribbon of death” left over from avalanche runs of months past.
Here we transitioned from hiking to snow travel. My friend, Dylan, and I would don crampons. I would keep my skis on my back during the ascent, while Dylan chose to leave them at home. His friend, Aaron, would instead put on skis and skins now, along with ski crampons, perfect for the 30ish+ degree slopes of the ascent.
We began up the gulley, slow and steady, which gave us a chance to assess how it would feel coming down on skis later. Staring at the satellite imagery before arrival, I was nervous the gulley might seem like a narrow, rocky death trap. But it seemed much less formidable in person. Probably fun to descend!
Cetennial 13ers
Dylan and Aaron were in the midst of an intensive “Glacier Travel School” that spring, run by the Colorado Mountain Club (CMC). This outing was one of many formal and informal training climbs as they prepped for an eventual (successful) attempt on Mount Rainier in early summer.
Often these sort of outings would contribute towards nerdy peak bagging goals. A lot of long-time CMC members had already ticked off the famous Colorado 14ers. Fewer had managed to complete the equally formidable list of “Centennial 13ers” … which extended to include the 100 tallest peaks in the state with at least 300 feet of prominence.
“Lackawanna” was one of these ranked Centennial 13ers. It appears in many sources in scare-quotes because apparently it’s not an officially named summit. The peak sits just northwest of 14er La Plata, which was one of the earliest I summited my first spring in Colorado.
I huffed and puffed trying to keep up with these two. While they were in the midst of peak training, I had allowed myself to fall off a bit over the winter. I trained diligently for a climb in Ecuador back in January. But since then I’d pivoted to downhill skiing, shorter hikes, and a much looser diet. Now I was paying the price! And 3400 vertical feet with skis, crampons, and ample water was no joke.
Lackawanna’s Respectable Profile
No single element of the day was particularly novel for me. Lackawanna’s sustained slope angle rarely exceed ~30 degrees. I’d skied notably steeper lines at resorts like Crested Butte and Aspen Highlands. And the 3000ish foot descent on skis was also not novel, either on resort or off. I’ve skied Quandary Peak multiple times, once descending well over 3000 feet from summit to forest service road.
But the day still felt like a step up for me. Our route on the mountain sustained a high slope angle for most of its impressively long 1.5-mile run. This was a steep descent that spanned considerably more vert than the notably long-and-steep Highland Bowl (even including its mellower run-out to Temerity). And in icy spring conditions, with no ski patrol nearby, I was keenly aware of the consequences of a bad fall. I don’t know if it would have resulted in a slide. But I didn’t want to test it out either way.
Feeling It
As we climbed higher, I called out to Dylan, asking if he wouldn’t mind sticking close as we ascended the bowl. With skis on my back, flat light, and thin air, the situation all felt slightly overwhelming. I’ve often noticed this sort of terrain feels scarier without skis on. There’s just something very comforting above those long metal edges, digging into the slope. Luckily he was very patient with me, and we got up through the steepest section.
But soon enough we were out of the bowl and chugging up lower-angle terrain to the summit proper. We regrouped and quickly exchanged some snacks and high fives. Weather was rolling in, and we needed to transition and begin out descent.
The Descent
We began skiing down, with Dylan following, still in crampons. I elected to descend first, taking a somewhat gradual route down the bowl’s western rim, before making some satisfying turns into the bowl itself.
With the cold weather and mid-morning clouds, the upper mountain had not thawed into any sort of soft spring slush. But recent snow and wind and still deposited a helpful layer of chalky (powdery?) snow on select aspects. I tried my best to stick to these softer areas, and avoid the chattery hard pack lurking elsewhere. The flat light made this rather challenging, but overall I was successful. Aaron then followed down, dropping right over the top of the bowl and making things look much easier than I had.
I stopped roughly halfway down the upper bowl, where all three of us would re-group. My nerves now were largely gone. The snow was surprisingly enjoyable/safe to ski. And the steepest pitches were behind us. Lower down, I’d begun to feel softer snow underfoot. The early morning sunshine had worked well enough down here.
Descent into the Gulley
We enjoyed some nice spring turns down the middle third of the descent, as the remaining snow grew softer but also narrower in extent. Dylan kept up surprisingly well, making use of ample glissading. I didn’t mind the periodic breaks, since it was a pretty long, relentless descent.
The lower, narrow gulley was surprisingly fun to descend as well. At one point I had to descend a steep, narrow curve of remnant snow that skirted around an exposed waterfall. The maneuver was half long-arcing turn, half side-slip. Almost like doing a rail in a terrain park. Then came a lot of rock dodging. Fortunately, no core shots were had that day. I was putting my New England skiing skillset to excellent use that day.
We reached the bottom of the gulley, syncing up with some hikers who had partially ascended the same gulley a bit later than us. After getting our skis off and onto our packs, we all made our way down through the rocks and willows to the roadway. I was surprised how comfortable my feet felt. Ascending 3400 vertical feet in ski boots, and then descending 500 feet on dirt and rocks is hardly a recipe for happy feet. But luckily my boots were “comfort-sized” and I was used to lots of skinning that winter. The end result: not a single blister! Definitely a successful outing.
