Ok, so this happened last year but this is a new blog, I need content and this is as relevant as anything that passes as relevant here so consider it back story.

Growing up in CO I was aware of the 14ers.  They served as the backdrop for many family outings but that’s all they were to me and my family, a backdrop.  Pretty scenery to enhance whatever activity my mom and dad had planned for us.  The Colorado I grew up in was one of hunting, fishing and the occasional 4WD adventure in the backseat of dad’s Scout.  As a kid I frequently saw the 14ers and even knew the names of a few of them but that was about it.  Climbing them, if I even thought about it, seemed dumb.  It wasn’t something my family did and besides, what’s the point?  It’s not like you’ll be the first.  When you get to the top you just have to turn around and come back down.  It seemed like a waste of time to the kid me.

Then I climbed one.  Back in 2011, looking for something different to do on a summer trip Ms. Seeking and I decided to climb Mt. Shavano.  Shavano is the closest peak to our favorite new town, Salida, and it’s easy as 14er climbs go so we decided to give it a go.  And then I got it.  In fact I became somewhat obsessed about it.  I bought Gerry Roach’s book and proceeded to geek out on all the 14ers, the routes and descriptions of the climbs.

Couliors and talus and cairns, oh my!

I read that book cover to cover, twice.  I’m currently on my third reading and feel like I’m at the starting gate waiting for someone to say go.  Since that climb in 2011, life got in the way and even though we got the chance to do some hiking in CO, the stars never fully aligned to allow for another assault on one of CO’s big peaks.  In the summer of 2019 during the building of our new house we had time to attempt another one and we chose Mt. Yale.

Why Yale?  A girl on the trail asked me that during a stop to catch our breath.   Well, it’s in the neighborhood, it’s similar in profile and length to Shavano so we knew it was within our novice skill level and basically every picture I’ve ever seen of it, it’s absolutely gorgeous.  So there we were.  A couple of days earlier, we were in Boulder visiting one of Ms. Seeking’s nephews who had moved to CO a few years earlier.    When we mentioned we were thinking of doing Yale his eyes lit up and said he’d like to join us.  So plans were made, provisions were bought and a few days later we were meeting Nephew at the cushy Yale trailhead at 6:00 a.m. sharp.   Paved parking lot!  Chemical toilets!

How do you get to the top of Mt. Yale?  Up the rocky hill, cross the creek, take a right…

Oh yeah, then cross another creek.

Then climb.  A lot.

The mid-July the wildflowers were in full display.

And there were trees with purple pine cones!

The views on the way up were spectacular.

We climbed up to the summit ridge where the real fun begins.

Nephew led the way.

After several monkey-boy moves on the rocks we reached the summit.   14,196 ft., thank you very much!

The day was gloriously sunny, warm and remarkably, without wind.  On days like that it’s nice to just sit on a rock, eat some lunch and soak in the summit views.

Check it out.  I’ve got three bars!

Now I’ve seen plenty of marmots in the mountains but nothing like the ones on Yale.  There were dozens of them, old and young, families and individuals.  Shortly after breaking above timberline we came across a colony of them in the rocks.  There were probably a half dozen youngsters chasing over and under the rocks while the adults sat on the high points and kept watch.  All would stop for a few seconds, then dart down into the rocks faster than my amateur camera skills could capture.

And they were bold.   In my experience, a marmot will give you about 20 feet, any closer and they give a sharp whistle and disappear into the rocks.  The Yale marmots would let you get much closer.  One in particular allowed us within five feet of him as he rooted around for lunch.  We first spotted him sunning on a rock and we spent several minutes just hanging out observing him.  He had no fear of us.  He was the marmot king of Mt. Yale, surveying his Rocky Mountain realm.