My Traveling Ice Axe

Maroon Bells-Snowmass Wilderness, CO – 1975

I had set up camp at Capitol Lake with my Tennessee friends Lisa Pate and Missy Rogers. It was the beginning of my ten day backpack patrol of the Maroon Bells-Snowmass Wilderness Area. Our camp overlooked the lake and straight at the 14,130 foot granite massive of Capitol Peak. Capitol is one of the most notable of Colorado fourteeners to climb. From the lake one goes up onto Daly Pass overlooking Moon Lake. From there one continues onward until reaching the infamous knife ridge. Traversing this ridge requires one to move along on hands and feet (or knees or butt) for about one hundred thirty feet with a 1500 foot drop off on one side and 1000 foot drop off on the other. Not for the faint of heart.

The next morning was a fairly leisurely hike to Capitol Pass and then down, via a not so leisurely shortcut, to Avalanche Lake. When we arrived on top the pass I stopped so all could rest.  A man was sitting by himself so I went over, sat down, and talked with him. He was traveling solo and was a minister from Pennsylvania.  As he shared some of his M&M’s with me he asked about a knapsack route over Siberian Pass that took off from Avalanche Lake.

“I thought it might be  a quicker route to Geneva Lake. Is it?” he asked.

“It can be,” I replied, “however, unless you have an ice axe I would not attempt that route.” I told him he would be on boulders and steep snow fields. Not a place for a solo hiker nor one without an ice axe. He thanked me and said he’d be spending another night at Capitol Lake to acclimate.

We hiked on and spent the night at Avalanche Lake.  I was kept busy in my wilderness ranger role striving to educate a group of Boy Scouts in wilderness etiquette. After speaking to some about not washing their dishes in the lake, and not breaking limbs off trees, I spoke to their leaders. I invited myself to talk to their group at their camp about low-impact camping. I answered their questions and left feeling maybe I got through to some of them.

That morning we had an early breakfast, packed, and were ready to start up a trail I’d never hiked. Silver Creek Pass. It wasn’t even on some maps and received very low use. According to the topographic map, we would climb up onto a broad ridge and then the majority of trail would contour around at treeline before reaching Silver Creek Pass.

The trail up the ridge first had to be conquered. The trail was narrow as we kept climbing upwards. We’d make it up a switchback or two then take a brief “wind break” to get our breathing back. Truthfully, I’d been hiking all summer long and at altitude so this hike didn’t really bother me. I could tell it was hard on the two Tennessee girls. Then we reached the ridge top and were rewarded with an incredible wide open view of the wilderness.

Lisa and Missy took off their packs and sat down upon the ground. I took off mine, dropped it gently to the ground, and started to prop it upright with my ice axe.

What ice axe?

I momentarily panicked. I did not have my ice axe. Then I remembered. Back at Avalanche Lake I had stuck it into the dirt and stood it upright while I helped the two women shoulder their packs. I could picture it in my mind and could imagine it with the tip jammed into the ground.

I took off Smokii’s dogpack and told them I’d be back.

“You’re going to hike all that way back down?” asked Lisa. I knew she couldn’t even imagine going down and then having to climb back up again.

“Enjoy your lunch and the view,” I said. “I’ll be back as quick as I can.”

I fast hiked down that trail in record time. I headed straight for our last night’s campsite and had a sinking feeling as soon as I reached it. My panic became disappointment.

No ice axe. Gone! Just a tiny hole in the ground where I had placed it.

My first thought was of the group of Boy Scouts. They were headed out to exit via the Alalanche Creek Trailhead down valley. I knew I would never see my ice axe again. My ice axe had been my companion as both a walking stick and then “third leg” to allow my backpack to stand upright when no trees were around.

Smokii and I turned around and climbed back up the trail to Lisa and Missy. I told them I had not found it and it was probably now in the hands of a Boy Scout.

I couldn’t mourn long the loss of my axe as the countryside we now hiked was so spectacular. Although August, the tundra was still lush and green. Wildflowers were scattered all along the trail. We were at treeline so the subalpine firs were stunted yet healthy. Small ponds dotted the landscape. The large glaciated valley was hemmed in by twelve and thirteen thousand foot mountains. And since we left Avalanche Lake we had not seen one other person.

After a well deserved rest, next morning we started our ascent above treeline over Silver Creek Pass. We had an energetic day before us as we descended on our way to Geneva Lake. Before reaching the lake, the barely discernible trail took us through a “once in a lifetime” meadow. Everywhere were Indian paintbrushes. I was used to seeing this wildflower in the typical reds and oranges. But now I saw yellows, whites and purples and various shades in between. I lay on my back and turned my head sideways taking in all the colors. It was one of those cherished moments. I would probably never witness this explosion of colors again, and although it was but a brief moment in my life, it would forever be embedded in my memory.

We ate lunch then reluctantly left the wildflowers and headed for Geneva Lake. We picked up the main trail which leads one over Trail Rider Pass or into Fravert Basin; our destination. As we hiked past a tent set up on the edge of the lake I saw something.

It was just a quick glimpse and it was at a distance. But somehow I knew. There was my ice axe!

I must have said it out loud for the tent’s flap opened and out came the minister from Pennsylvania. He saw me then smiled and waved. We walked up to him he told his story:

“I woke up that morning at Capitol Lake and hiked towards Avalanche Lake. The whole time I was trying to decide if I should take the Siberian shortcut or not. And then I felt as if I received a sign from God. Stuck in the ground, in a campsite with no one around, was an ice axe.

“At that moment I made up my mind and decided to traverse Siberian Pass. I thanked God again. I really don’t think I would have made it safely to Geneva Lake without your ice axe on those snow slopes.”

He then picked up the ice axe and put it into my hand and said, “Thank you”.

We said our goodbyes as we still had several miles to hike to reach our camp on the North Fork of the Crystal River. Near dusk we crossed the sparkling clear waters of this perfectly named river. And as I took off my backpack I happily propped it upright using my ice axe as it’s third leg.

This story is almost over, but not quite. In the summer of 1981, I backpacked on an overnight trip to Capitol Lake. Along with me were Smokii; my longtime friend Nancy Bosshard, who first encouraged me to come to Aspen; and Missy Rogers, whom I married in 1979.

The next day on our way down the trail I stopped to take some photographs of bleached-white, dead trees from a long ago fire. They were gnarled and interestingly shaped.

Below us on the downhill side of the trail next to Capitol Creek was a backpacker tent. As I was making photographs a man and two women came out of the tent. The inquisitive man walked up to me and asked, “What are you photographing?”

“The trees,” I answered. “I’ve always loved these white snags and their shapes. I haven’t been back here for six years so I just stopped to look at them again.”

The man said, “It’s been six years since I was here too.”

“I know,” I said smiling. He stared at me a moment then I continued, “You were the one who found my ice axe.”