Traverse of the Continental Divide from Wild Basin to Isabelle Glacier
I did this 3rd/4th class scramble over 2 days in July of ’97 to get a good look at what the Indian Peaks has to offer.
I had only an approximate idea on my estimated time required to cover some 20/30miles of wilderness, (most of it off trail), and very little info on the technical nature of the terrain, other than the established 5.6 ridge of Mt Toll. It was suggested I do the whole trek from N to S, so as to get the good “up” climbs along the ridge. My plan was to carry on over N & S Arapahoe Peaks as well.
I brought a bag & bivi sack, 3 days food, 2 quarts water, no stove. Steve Pomerance suggested July was good because I could use iodine and collect melt water. I wore Robbins boots & carried a 65cm aluminum ax and expected primarily 4th class terrain if I stuck strictly to the ridge. In lieu of a short length of rope, a few pieces, or a helmet, I of course wore my cowboy hat.
Here’s the start & part of my first day's travel:
(Note Long's Peak, home of The Diamond, to the right):
Here’s the end of day one and the second day, with bivi at the break mark:
Below is a view to the west looking into Wild Basin, my point of entry, along with the skyline of the Continental Divide seen from the highway in early spring. I started at 7am, reaching the crest at 11am. At the center of the photo is Tanima Peak and to the right is Mount Alice. I picked up the trail here and departed the path a few miles into Wild Basin, heading toward the divide to the left of these peaks.
This map details the cross-country line of ascent coming out of Wild Basin, leading past Pipit Lake and up onto the divide south of Isolation Peak.
Once on the trail I moved swiftly, sometimes jogging, yet when I departed the regular hiking route, I welcomed a keenly sharpened natural sense which arises when negotiating uneven terrain. Stomping up steep gullies, threading bushes, skirting glacial tarns, ankling through slanting scree, and kicking steps into firm snow, this is where one comes alive in the mountains. A view looking into the drainage leading past Pipit Lake & up to the divide: 
As I approached the cirque which guards the crest, light snow flakes began to fall and I steadfastly kicked into the old snow of the headwall. I had to stop part way up, stuff my ax into the neve and place foot warmers into my Robbins boots; at times one questions gear selection, and I was wondering if I'd needed a more substantial mountain boot.
The Continental Divide, right where I gained it, at roughly 11+ or 12,000’:
I was pleased to find it very grassy & easy going during the initial few miles encountered along the ridge:
But clouds were gathering and lightning struck to the north, so I felt OK as my heading was south, away from the concentration of weather cells. This was my view to the south, heading over some easy summits above the St Vrain Glacier:
The Peaks in the background are L to R, Mt Audubon, Paiute Peak (center), & Mt Toll; as it turned out, I bivied just before a long technical ridge leading to Paiute:
The map below depicts the preceding two photos and the three to follow. This section of the ridge goes pretty quickly, only a touch of 3rd class scrambling:
Looking back towards Meeker & Longs as the clouds were getting gnarly:
So I kept up my pace, feeling somewhat chased, while quickly and carefully divining unknown terrain. It is this peculiar sense of urgency which I seek while traveling alone in the mountains. Later, another view to the north, I think that's Elk Tooth in clouds:
Then I encountered these cool roller coaster sections and the clouds hung low, but were tame:
Things were starting to grow in significance all about me: big sky, big space. I was likewise beginning to feel rather small. This honest proportion of things focuses the climber into a freshness of experience, an exacting footfall, and a necessary certitude which somehow feeds the soul.
At one point, the ridge drops through Buchanan pass and a trail is crossed; yet it still felt pretty darned remote.
This is what this section looks like at sunrise, early springtime, from a road on the east side, with Sawtooth in the center and my bivi on Algonquin Peak, along the ridge to the left:
And again Sawtooth in early spring:
Looking back north on the rolleys: 
Looking west in the vicinity of Buchanan Pass:
Sawtooth Peak:
Most of the photos are pretty bleached and rough; they were sort of dark and I had to extract what I could.
OK, so the weather was clearing. Up ahead along the grassy rise I started to view some more challenging terrain, maybe I’d be in it the following day. It was like a gift; after all, the fell walking was cool, but I wanted some rock. It also looked and felt like the perfect climber's trap, alluring, perhaps something like the sweet bait at the core of a spider's web.
So this is Paiute's seldom viewed NW face coming into my sight, also, in the far right corner, that little blob of snow against the sky is Algonquin. This is the spot where Lisa & I were to be married 3 years hence, but that's another story.
Then, 12 hours into it, I summited Algonquin at 12 thousand sumthin' feeties. I was at the end of the easy stuff, sitting atop a high mountain peak, and in all directions the silent terrain sank downward and away from my perch. I snapped this pic looking toward Audubon, laid out a black trash bag to melt water in the snow and went to sleep.
The prior day was a good one.
I'd left the car at 7am and hoofed it pretty good to get a lot of beautiful, grassy, cross country ridge top scenery underfoot, arriving on top of Algonquin Peak at 7pm, right at the crown of the easy terrain.
The sky dawned clear, with a good view to the west:
And to the southeast my morning’s work in plain view;
A couple hours worth of 4th class ridge work leading up into Paiute Peak’s NW face:
In the far background are, left to right, Navajo & Apache, with the prominent sunny snow saddle between (actually Navajo Glacier's upper lip); they are connected to the ridge in the foreground by the continuous and well defined crest of the Continental Divide.
Panning south I could see Cascade Creek drainage, where the Crater Lake Cirque, home to the popular Stettner Route on Lone Eagle Peak is bounded by a rocky and glaciated east west ridge now in plain view.
From left to right are Navajo Peak, Navajo Glacier, Apache Peak, Apache Glacier (broad shaded snow gully), Limbo or Iroquois (The prominent sunlit tower dead center), Lone Eagle's sun-scraped summit straight below, Peck Glacier (shade), & Hopi Glacier (Hopi in full sun):
I had just a rough idea how far I could make it this day, but I really wanted to get up on that cool snow saddle between Apache & Navajo. First I had to navigate the long technical ridge to Paiute, get up a reasonable break in Paiute’s NW Face, then discover Mt Toll’s North Ridge. 
As you can see by the red line above, er, I didn’t quite get to continue on to Apache & Navajo; more about that in a bit…
From mid way along the dragon's back ridge leading up to Paiute,
Looking back along my path past the bivi on Algonquin, towards Wild Basin, Meeker & Longs in the far background:
The rock ridge was varied; mostly 4th class. I jammed a 70' 5.7 crack to regain the ridge when I mistakenly followed a grassy ramp too far around a corner. At one point I down climbed a short overhang and then hanging from jams, let go to free drop down onto the path below. Just past that, getting around a tower, I needed to downclimb a 5.6 OW.
One of the towers along the way: 
Paiute's lower NW face was split by a nice 3rd class cleft which went very straight forward; then to top out I opted for an icy chimney, which required a section of fingerlocks mixed with a spicy mantel right at the extraction point. When I topped out, I sucked in some sharp air, looked over the edge back down toward the ridge and viewed a perfect 3rd class v-slot which I would rather have used...
The top of Paiute offered an excellent view of my next challenge, which would be the N Ridge of Mt Toll. The question was, which of 3 prominent lines? The scenario ahead presented an alpine flavor:
Given that I was shod in comfy "Blue Meany" Robbins boots and burdened with a 30 lb pack, I needed to savor the cruise factor, going wherever possible up the most direct and easiest path.
So I chose the middle of the 3 lines on Mt Toll, between the 2 sunlit buttresses, just right of the continuous snow gulley, where I could tip toe up the perfectly flat 5th class granite. 
I now know the standard 5.6 N Ridge route to be the Buttress on the right, but at the time I figured it was the choppier looking buttress on the left.
Once over the 5th class on Mt. Toll, I hit my stride back on the routine 4th class terrain and stopped to take a shot down my path, onto the St Vrain Glacier: 
This 2 day section on the divide was lush, lonesome, and compelling; I never saw any tracks or traces. When I was forced to leave by the weather, I felt torn away from my place and I just wanted to stay up there on that fertile edge: moving quickly, making choices, being careful… 
This next photo shows what is perhaps the top of Shoshoni’s large West Face, climbed by Jeff & George Lowe. I had scant opportunity to know what lurked beneath; after summiting Mt Toll, then romping over Pawnee Peak, the weather was gathering again and my swiftness was urged, but at times when I passed above features like this I would peer around the edges and sense the uplift of air speeding up the vertical rise from way below:
Well, it was around 11 am when I roamed up over towards the easy shoulder of Shoshoni to view the prize of Apache & Navajo. From miles away I imagined myself, ax in hand, carefully stemming the spine of snow between these two peaks, sucking in the freedom of the hills: 
I stood out along the parapet of Shoshoni and gandered down a dizzying sequence of steps leading down from the summit, out toward Apache via a long connecting ridge graced with towers and sinewy edges, trying to see where I might descend: 
I decided this time to scout a few options, because I didn’t favor the crumbled staircase leading straight out and down.
First then, I ventured down a gulley to the east, hoping to find a traversing ledge to skirt the difficulties. I scooted down to the brink of an edge where the gulley spit out into sky & clouds, with the plains roaring away beneath my feet. My pack was scraping against the wall behind, pushing my torso uneasily outwards above the yawn. I saw my path go ‘round the corner, but the wall above the narrow foot ledge was steep enough to topple me and there was a large coffin lid flake occupying the sweet spot.
Just then I swallowed, decided to turn back. As I turned around my hip brushed against ancient peg with some weathered tat on it. So I went back up to the summit: from there I surveyed the western side and found my way, happily down jamming an easy 5th class crack, stuffing feet, wedging hands, feeling the weight of my pack pulling me into the crack.
Quickly I touched down, stepped into the col and without hesitation set out along an ascending 4th class traverse toward Apache's N Ridge, using wide reaches of the arms and making time underneath darkening skies. So I was traversing beneath the east side of what is known as the Chessman, a set of pinnacles that proudly separate Shoshoni and Apache over what must span a quarter mile. You can see them quite well from Lake Granby on the west side of things. I was seeing them pretty well, because I was traversing their mid sections on really fun 4th class rock, grappling upwards via an auspicious set of diagonal feldspar dikes.
Problem was, it was getting very dark overhead and not the kind of darkness brought on by nightfall you know; certainly not the stuff you feel comfortable with when clinging to a high ridge. I blasted back down part of the route to reach a gap in the ridge in order to afford a better look at the weather on the west side. With what I saw I became a little conflicted. So I merrily snatched the holds and went all the way back up and finally saddled onto one of the last of these towers, looking down into a deep set notch that separated me from the good cruising on Apache’s north ridge. When I topped out it became apparent that some down climbing and intricate route finding needed to be entertained.
It was time to go. I returned once more across the angled terrain, descending towards a place where I could smartly step onto Isabelle glacier without any tricks. So back down I traveled and the holds felt good and the movement exhilarating. Soon, upon reaching the proper transition to snow, I pulled off my pack, put on some gloves, gripped my ax, turned around facing the slope and began kicking deep steps downward into the slope.
Instead of a sense of defeat and although I was saddened to abandon that living thing so strongly engaged while ambling around up there on the edge, I felt just the same sense of meaning in executing my descent as I had at many points during the jolly excursion; it was just another perfunctory task of rhythmic movement which mountaineers perform, because at some point they make good decisions and begin to do the type of climbing that allows them to get off of things and go home.
It took a deep breath, stumbled out onto Isabel Glacier and quickly snapped a series of photos stitched into the following panorama: 
My view down-valley, a farewell gate to adventure, past Shoshoni’s south face toward Boulder, out onto the plains of eastern Colorado, into Kansas and beyond:
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