We busted on Huron Peak!

As described in my previous blog, the Mount Harvard climb went well. The next morning we awoke before dawn to gale winds but decided to go for Mt. Columbia anyway. Wind was better than lightning any day. Steve and Ed were tired and decided to relax in camp while three of us did the climb. Rick, Jen, and I headed out at dawn. I, of course, took photos as we went.

Within a quarter mile, the "trail" headed straight up the mountain in loose scree above timberline.

Foot by foot, we scrambled higher, puffing in the thin air. Mt. Harvard loomed above us to the north. Just because the air was thin, however, didn't mean that the wind didn't flail away at us.

We finally reached the crest of the south summit ridge at roughly 13,500 feet. The trail improved and the grade lessened as we headed north toward the summit. Soon we were there, at the top of 14,073-foot Mt. Columbia.

As always, the view was spectacular, making the hard climb worthwhile. We took pictures and huddled up behind some rocks out of the wind to wolf down some snacks and water. We quickly got chilled, so down we went, slipping and sliding our way back to base camp.

Once at camp, we tore down our tents, packed up our gear, and hiked out to the trailhead, all downhill blessedly. In Buena Vista we rewarded ourselves with beer and pizza. Jen, Rick, and Ed headed back to Colorado Springs, while Steve and I drove partway up to the Huron Peak trailhead to camp for the night along Clear Creek. We'd had two successful ascents in two days. What could go wrong with a third?

That evening Steve and I photographed the ghost town of Winfield in beautiful golden light. During the night it rained off and on, raising questions about the next morning's climb. We slept in a bit later than normal because of the rain. We ate breakfast as golden light burned through the clouds, raising our spirits. Soon enough we drove the short way up the bad 4WD road to the trailhead and started hiking. Dark clouds were already starting to form again, putting a damper on our enthusiasm. Regardless, onward we went, trudging up the trail as it switchbacked higher and higher through the spruce and fir trees. The sun tried to come out once, but slowly faded in the steel-gray skies.

The wind started to rise as the clouds darkened to the west. At about 12,500 feet, well above timberline, Steve and I huddled up behind a boulder to try to get out of the wind. The sky was rapidly becoming gloomier and the temperature was falling, so Steve decided to bail out and head down. I, being the crazy one, continued higher, hiking with a couple that had caught up with us. Soon the first bits of sleet began to pelt down, bouncing off our jackets. Surely it wouldn't last long and at least there wasn't any lightning, we told each other.

We were completely exposed to the gale on the steep tundra slopes. Soon the sleet turned into a full-fledged snow storm. "Should we keep going?" we kept asking each other. Even with Gore-tex, we were getting pretty wet and cold from the windblown snow. Visibility was down to a few hundred yards. We were lost in a gray world of tundra and snow. Finally we decided to turn around, although the decision was frustrating so close to the summit. But it was the right one. Minutes later the first lightning bolt hit. Lightning in a blizzard in August. How fun. Our already rapid pace accelerated. We were hunched over, unable to even look in the direction we were walking. The wind-driven snow and sleet stung our faces, making it painful to look up.

Finally we reached timberline and relaxed a little, with a little more protection from the lightning. As we descended, the air warmed enough that the falling snow turned to rain. We sloshed our way down the mountain, getting to the bottom just as the sun burned through. The clouds lifted off the snow-covered peaks above and a beautiful day began.

And we were back at the bottom of the mountain. Well, the mountain would be there next year. Steve and I packed up and headed back to northern New Mexico for the night and then home the next day. The score? Steve and Laurence: 2, Mountains: 1.

Mt. Harvard or bust!

I just got home a few days ago from a long trip to West Texas and Colorado. My ultimate goal was to climb Mt. Harvard, Mt. Columbia, and Huron Peak, all 14,000-foot peaks, with some friends. However, to justify my little climbing adventure I had to take a few photos along the way. I started in the Davis Mountains of West Texas by shooting a large ranch up in the mountains and another smaller ranch with an incredible house down in the Marfa grasslands. The area has had a wet summer, so the mountains looked more like Ireland than West Texas. Shooting the two ranches was a pleasure, even if I hadn't been getting paid for it. I had beautiful country, dramatic skies, and great light, key ingredients for any good photo.

On the second morning at the ranch in the mountains, I got up well before dawn and stepped out of the guest house expecting clear skies, typical on summer mornings. I was greeted with a flash of lightning and rumble of thunder. Could be interesting, I thought. I head out in the predawn gloom on the dirt ranch road that I had scouted the day before with the foreman. I parked at the base of a ridge and started scrambling up onto the ridge top, hoping I wouldn't step on a rattlesnake. I'd already seen two the previous two days. The grass was so tall that I couldn't see where I was putting my feet. However, I made it to the top unscathed as a little pink light was hitting the storm to my west. The storm was moving my way, but fortunately was losing strength. I didn't want to be chased off by lightning. I quickly started shooting. With 360-degree views, the view was tremendous. The clouds were lighting up and soon the first rays of golden light struck my ridge and the tall grass. I couldn't move around fast enough, shooting in every direction. The summit was covered with boulders and tall grass, so I had to be careful as I ran around. Breaking an ankle would not have been a good thing. As with many places I photograph, cell service was nonexistent.

Eventually the sun climbed up into some clouds and the light faded, so I packed everything up, picked my way down the treacherous slope back to my truck, and called it a morning. I loaded my gear at the guest house and headed back into Fort Davis. That evening and the next morning I photographed an incredible house lost on a lonely hilltop in the grasslands surrounding Marfa. It was incredible enough that two people were there scouting the house for a party scene for a movie. Unfortunately the light and weather weren't as cooperative this time, with clouds and rain. I did get some good interior shots, however, and some dramatic shots at sunset and with the house lights on at dusk.

The next morning, I tried to shoot the house again at sunrise, but clouds blocked me out again. The photo biz is like farming. The weather makes or breaks you. I headed back to Fort Davis to my friend Steve Kennedy's house, tossed my stuff into Steve's truck, and off we went to Colorado. We made it as far as the mountains above Taos that night, stopping along the way for lunch in my old hometown, Carlsbad, with some friends there. That evening we stopped and shot an old adobe church in La Cueva just before sunset. The sky was a little bland for photos, but the light was good, and the handsome church, isolated all by itself in a meadow, made a good subject.

The next day we headed up to Great Sand Dunes National Park. We snagged a campsite and then relaxed a bit as we waited to see if there would be sunset light. It wasn't looking hopeful, with storms to the west over the San Juans. We weren't itching to drag our heavy camera packs all the way up to the top of the 700-foot dunes if we weren't going to have any light. Finally, about an hour and a half before sunset, it looked like we might get a few breaks in the clouds to the west, so we gritted our teeth, donned our packs, and headed across Medano Creek and up the dunes. One step up, 3/4 step back. What a slog, especially at close to 9000 feet elevation with heavy packs. Puffing and panting, we made it to the top of one of the highest dunes right as the light started breaking through. I started shooting, dripping sweat all over my camera and breathing hard. Storms hovered over the Sangre de Cristo Mountains above while golden light slanted across the dunes, highlighting every ripple. Then a thunderstorm started to build overhead. The wind start blowing hard, pelting me and my camera with sand. Now I really had some grit in my teeth. When the rain piled on, I stuffed my camera in the pack, and stood there squinting into the blowing sand and rain, hoping that lightning wouldn't be following. Here I was, on top of one of the highest dunes with a nice electrically conductive tripod.

Eventually the wind calmed a bit and I started shooting again. We went until the last color faded from the sky. We hustled back down, hoping we could find our truck in the dark. We managed, emptying sand out of our boots several times along the way.

The next morning was boring for photos--blank blue sky--so we packed up and headed for Buena Vista. We drove to the N. Cottonwood Trailhead, loaded our backpacks, and hit the trail into the Collegiate Peaks Wilderness. Up we went into the thin air, camping gear, food, clothes, and cameras strapped to our backs. Three and a half sweaty miles later, we reached our 11,300-foot campsite in the Horn Fork Basin at the base of Mt. Harvard and Mt. Columbia. Later that evening, just as it was getting dark, three of our friends from Colorado Springs arrived at camp, tired from hustling up the trail as it was getting dark.

None of us slept well that night and the chilly morning came early. We dragged out of our tents before dawn, forced some food down, and headed up the trail to Mt. Harvard, at 14,420', the third highest peak in Colorado. We puffed and panted our way upwards as the rising sun tipped the peaks around with color. I took photos as we went, driving my hiking buddies crazy. I was reminded once again that living in Texas at low elevation is not conducive to climbing high peaks.

The last part of the climb involved some scrambling up ledges and low cliffs, but by a little after 10AM we were there. There was nowhere higher to climb. I took photos, we ate some snacks huddled up out of the cold wind, and observed the building clouds.

It was time to leave. We headed down, breathing a little less hard than we had on the way up. Rain that afternoon and evening trapped us in our tents quite a bit, but we all slept a little better that night in preparation for climbing Mt. Columbia the next morning.

Don't forget about the GIVEAWAY!

Just a reminder...

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Texas Parks & Wildlife: Big Bend Ranch State Park

Texas Parks & Wildlife decided to do an interview with my good friend Joe Nick Patoski and I concerning Big Bend Ranch State Park. You can click on the picture of Big Bend Ranch to see the full video interview. Enjoy!

THINK interview with Krys Boyd KERA Dallas Public Radio

If you missed yesterday's talk with THINK host Krys Boyd on KERA Dallas Public Radio, you can listen to the full interview down below, or check out KERA's website. Enjoy!