When I'm Done: Climbing the Arrowhead Arete

I had been to Glacier Gorge several times before, but I had never seen it from this view. The way that the backside of Long’s Peak echoed the massive and open space below was breathtaking. Just another reminder of the absolute majesty that one can find within the remote confines of Rocky Mountain National Park if you’re willing to work hard enough.

Hours before we had just started our ascent of one of the Gorge’s central features, The Arrowhead Arete. Rising in stark comparison to Long’s Peak and the Keyboard of the Winds before it, and with the Spearhead (another central feature of the gorge) to it’s side, the Arrowhead Arete rises on the ridge that runs between the entrance to Glacier Gorge itself and McHenrys Peak. As with most peaks along the Continental Divide, the summit and the ridges leading up to them are quite steep and violent, but if one has enough daylight, good weather, and adequate wayfinding skills, the summit of McHenrys can be reached from the top of the Arrowhead Arete without much technical skill.

The route that we had chosen for this given day was “V-Free” (5.7 III). It began near the center of the face and made it’s way meandering up through the various dihedrals that formed in the splintering and shearing of rock over time. From the nature of the face, this would be a climb with plenty of crack and flakey features. Matt didn’t have to do much convincing on the route to have me sold. We began our approach at a normal time for us over the summer, leaving the trailhead sometime close to 3:30 or 4:00AM. Both of us were quiet for the first few miles, trying to use the asphyxic overload from the steep trail we were on to shake off the sleepiness from the night before.

I dimmed my headlamp a bit in the growing dawn and looked on to Glacier Gorge to where we entered it below. Even in the low light of the early dawn, I could sense the massive expanse of space before me. We came up the trail a little farther, and then began our scramble over the dominating boulders that comprised the upper floor of the gorge. As with any approach, this was one of my favorite parts on the way up, and one of my least favorite on the way down. The near purely-physical nature of the way that one has to move from boulder to boulder, using both hands and feet, appealed to me. It made me use all of my senses. Occasionally, and quite frequently to be honest, when one of us would hit a rock that wasn’t quite as solid as we had planned, we’d let out a quiet curse or a slight “whoop.” It brought a near childish nature to the approach and cut off a little bit of the seriousness that always sits in the back of one’s mind before a climb.

We crested over the top of the first rise that comprised the end of the first field of boulders and came to the base of a sloping, large slab that would take us to the beginning of the first pitch. I looked to Matt and silently shrugged. He smiled, “up and up I suppose.” I nodded again in agreement. We each made our moves carefully over the expanding slab of rock. We weren’t on anything too technical, but a fall off of something like this would certainly suck. I was glad that both of us were confident enough to just go for it and get it over with. As we moved up higher, the full view of the Arrowhead came into view. I could feel my blood pumping now. I full of excitement and ready.

Matt and I stepped off of the slab that we had been on moments before, and traversed across the grassy slope in front of us. Both of us scanned the face intently, looking for the markers in the route description from which where we would start our ascent. We repeatedly looked at the route description saved on Matt’s phone, but could not find a dihedral as exactly the same as that which was described in the directions to the start of the route. We settled for something that just had to be it, set down our packs and went to work organizing and readying our rack and harnesses for the climb. I turned and looked to the rising sun on the edge of the Glacier Gorge Cirque behind me. Soon the light chill in the air would burn off to the normal amount of warm dryness that the Rockies have in the later part of the summer season.

As I settled into the little belay ledge and nook that encompassed it, I could hear Matt slightly above me getting more and more excited. As soon as he had gotten on his second shoe, it all bubbled over. “Are you ready to do what we were born to do?” His face beamed from the grassy ledge he sat on above me. “Of course, brother,” I smiled, “Now let’s get this done.”

Matt began the climb, gingerly testing each rock and hold. This area of the park is famous for it’s alpine climbs, but was rarely attempted no more than three or four times each year due to how remote it was. Matt and I were infamous for our long approaches, and anything on the Arrowhead Arete definitely fit the bill. A few moves into the lead, Matt was certain we were not on the original route that we had planned. It would go regardless, and it ended at the same spot, so we continued on. By the top of the first pitch, I could hear Matt grunt above me. So much for warming up I suppose. As soon as the anchor was set, I was off for the follow.

I began with a few short and easy moves to get above the grassy ledges to where I had just set up the lower anchor. Past that, there was a system of large intersecting blocks that formed mossy and rough offwidth cracks until you came to a slightly overhung roof. At that point, and thank God for the gear that Matt had placed, you would traverse left to a spot between two of the large rocks, where you would squeeze through, and then continue again upwards. The first pitch of this mystery climb was challenging, captivating, and admittedly, a little bit unnerving. If this is how the entire route was to be, it would be a very long day.

Cresting over the last few moves, I peeked up to Matt and quickly smiled, “Friggin cruiser, huh?” Matt smirked back, “yeah, a little saucy, I know.” We both agreed that couldn’t have possibly been the right start to the route, but we were still on track. Getting over the last edge and onto where Matt had made the anchor, I looked upon a huge dirt and rock ledge spread across one side of the front face of the Arrowhead. It was all captivating in the reddish-golden light of the morning sun rising over the ridges behind us.

We both pulled up the rope, cleaned the anchor, and collected our gear as best we could for the short jaunt across the open expanse of the huge ledge. Approaching the dominating wall in front of us, we searched for the next marker of where the route would continue. After a short disagreement, Matt found a v-shaped dihedral to the corner of a few slopy-cracks protruding from one side of the craggy wall.

Looking up into the depths of the second pitch, I could tell there would be a few tricky sections. From the beginning of the pitch there was a wide flake that ran up the left side until it transitioned into a thin sort of ledge from which one could slightly stem to the opposite side. At that point there was a large sloped offwidth that ran until the last few steps of the pitch. From there it would be cruiser. I just really hoped we brought enough larger gear.

Matt racked up once more at the base while I flaked out the rope. We had only a short walk across the ledge to this pitch, but I figured due to it’s technical difficulty, it would be better to be safe than sorry with the rope feed. We fistbumped, and Matt was off. The first few moves off of the ground went smooth as butter, as expected, but past that, I could tell Matt was really appreciating his height advantage. The moves were reachy and required a more than moderate amount of smearing on things that didn’t really even seem to be there. It was captivating and unnerving at the same time, as per the theme of the first pitch. I hate to admit it, but I grabbed the #3 cam we placed in one of the cracks more than once, as I almost slipped a few times sliding out of the slopey-edges I tried so desperately to jam myself into.

As I crested over the top of the second pitch and finished the last few moves with an exhaustive gusto, I looked up to Matt, and then to Glacier Gorge before us. All of it was captivating. My heart rate slowed as I relaxed myself on a large slab of rock to sit there and take it all in. Looking back at the moment, even now, months later, I consider myself extremely blessed to call this place home. Above the gorge and beyond the shimmering, dark waters of Black Lake at the bottom, we had a clear view of the cirque that surrounded us. To our right, the Sharkstooth rose sharply in contrast to the Petit Grepon poking out slightly behind it. On a sharp ridge beyond us to which I would soon be in full view of at the summit, McHenry’s Peak rose above us to our far right. My eyes drew back into the Gorge, and I followed the cirque up again until I made out the backside of Long’s Peak. It was in full view there, with the Keyboard of the Winds extending beyond from it. I smiled warmly at the peaks around me to which I knew well. I was home.

Both Matt and I took a majority of the gear off of our harnesses, flaked and coiled the rope, ate a little bit, and went on to the short scramble up to the last pitch. The last pitch honestly shouldn’t be described as such. It’s only a few semi-technical low-grade (5.5/5.4) moves above a few large boulders until one finds themselves at the summit. Once we were there, we took off our harnesses and packed everything up for good. Excluding our helmets-there would be a need for such in order to scramble back down. Following the violent ridge that rose up from us to the summit of McHenry’s Peak beyond, I felt small. It was both a joyful and humbling experience to climb something so massive, only to come to something bigger behind and beyond it. I was happy.

Following the cairns that led from the summit down the backside of the Arete, Matt and I followed the section of the route that day which would resolve to become exhausting. We scrambled down Class 4 terrain that became more and more loose as we tried to find an easier way. Sit-down after sit-down, our quads burned in the midday heat. Whenever I venture farther than a few miles into the backcountry, unless I am running, I wear pants. I was thankful for their protection, but I was not very happy with how hot I was. The little things I guess.

By the time we reached the bottom of the draw that would lead us back to the approach trail, both Matt and I were nearly delirious with exhaustion. It’s always hard for me to manage the amount that I eat and drink whenever we go on a long alpine climb. On this day, I considerably under-ate, and at the same time peed and sweat a lot. That causes some problems when you’re exhausted.

We finished our scramble/down climb and reached a point where we could continue to bushwack back to the trail without worrying about falling off of a cliff. This side of the Arrowhead I had never been to before, so Matt was leading the way. Shelf Lake came into view over the next rise as we continued on. The clarity of glacial lakes has always captivated me. The way that they stay continually cold the entire year round, and the startling clarity to which they hold everytime that you approach their banks. Usually, there would be some sort of buildup of logs on it’s shore. Shelf lake (and Solitude below it) were sheltered enough from the strong winds that cause blowdowns. This gave Shelf and Solitude Lake the ability to remain relatively clear, and even more so than what they already were.

The water of both of the lakes was enchanting to watch in my exhausted state. The shimmer of the afternoon sun off of the deep blue of the water did everything short of pull me in. We had to make it back before sundown though. There was plenty more distance to cover and we were running out of time. We passed beyond the rock slab shelf that both lakes lay on, and descended further into the forested canyon below. Following the creek, we were able to bushwack a little longer before linking back onto the trail. By this point, Matt and I seemed to be hitting the limits of energy that we had mustered for the day. I don’t think it was anything wrong with either of our fitness, but rather, just a bad plan on nutrition for the day.

Matt and I sat down at the end of the bushwack and we both tried to choke down some food. My stomach was turning, and none of the bars or gels that I had brought with me seemed very enthralling. Matt produced a honeycrisp apple from the top of his pack and shared it with me. It was one of the best apples that I had ever had. Hands down, it probably provided me with the energy that it took to get back on the trail from there. To this day, I don’t think I’ve ever had a better apple. At the level of exhaustion I was at, I could’ve almost cried sitting there eating it.

We finished the last bit of the return approach on the trail, and limped into the parking lot at the trailhead. Smiles, a hug, and another day done. When I’m done doing things like this I may rest awhile. Or I just may never be done.