Tourists meandering to Boulder Falls beyond us seemed to move with a distinct lack of purpose. Sarah yelling for slack cut me away from the dull overwhelming lull of noise emanating from Boulder Creek below. For a second I was almost relaxed enough to nap, even despite the slight hanging position I was sitting in at the second belay on our way up Tonnere Tower in Boulder Canyon. We had considered climbing this jutting formation within BoCan many times before, as each time we’d whizz by on our way to Nip and Tuck, Sports Park, anywhere else, the dominating position it took above the hustle and bustle of the Boulder Falls lot cut through the normality of stopping your car simply to gander at water falling down. Each time we’d considered it though, as if guided by fate, weather moved in, or there was someone on the route we’d wished to do already. This time was different. The summit was clear. The sky was a nice hue of deep blue in the mid-May sun. It was a Monday. There was no spec...
I could feel the heat of the late-day sun, its rays giving a light burn to the tops of both of my arms. Below me fell away the rest of Wild Ridge for about 1000 feet with New York Peak beyond. Nary a cloud in the sky, the air was warm interspersed with the light breeze from the west. I couldn’t hear any of the cars below on highway 82. Some lady in Aspen was probably buying a martini for $35 about now. I couldn’t have been happier. For as much of the Indy Pass obsessive that I was, it had never occurred to me to give Amos Whiting’s long route “El Diablo de Oro” (5.8 III) on Wild Ridge a look. Having been established in about 2014 or 2015 or so, the route certainly wasn’t grand-spanking new, but it was definitely modern compared to the Harvey Carter classics that surrounded it. I was a fan of Mr. Whiting’s work, many of his newer additions to “The Pass” were near-perfect, with great bolt placements when needed and fantastic movement for whatever grade they went at. Sarah and I h...
I swilled the beer at the bottom of my can while watching the clouds form into a large mass in the sky outside the hotel room window. Sarah and I had spent the past four days puttering around Moab, and the forecast for the following day was to be entirely rain. The climbing we’d done the days before was fantastic, but I wasn’t terribly interested in spending the last day of our trip sightseeing. The end of winter was on the horizon, but the uncomfortably cold and icy grip it had on the Central Colorado Rockies hadn’t yet loosened. We made a judgment call. There was a period of bluebird days forecasted for home and we weren’t going to waste them. I had a couple ideas for what to do with a free day but one just wouldn’t stop coming up in the back of my mind. I’d never been to the top of North Star Mountain before. Another tick off of the list for the “Summit 62” project wouldn’t hurt either. An undisputed Tenmile-Mosquito Range classic, the East Ridge (3rd II) of North Star mountai...