Converse traverse
Reliving a spur-of-the-moment college adventure could have gone (but did not) terribly wrong

With its two summit blocks, it looks like a dragon, mouth open waiting to catch neolithic insects. The spine and tail are a sheer 1,500-foot rocky drop to Blaine Basin below. Through the arch of my legs, I see the gnarly Uncompaghre pinnacles 3,000 feet below. I’m above 13,000 feet on 45 to 60 degree boiler-plate ice. Thunk, thunk, thunk is the sound of me chopping footholds with an ice axe. I’m doing this for the college kid in white Converse tennis shoes with no ice axe or crampons. A Converse traverse. Crazy!  

It’s June 10, 1991, and we’re climbing Dallas Peak in San Miguel County, rated one of the hardest climbs in Colorado. For us, it requires a long, 13-mile roundtrip hike and daredevil climb. There is at least 5,000 feet of elevation gain, including roping up for a chasm crossing that drops 1,500 feet straight down. At the base of the summit is a class 5.4 climb up 180 feet of sheer rock, and then the finale, a 100-foot rappel down the northeast face.  

The interesting thing is we all don’t know each other or each other’s ability. In college, you do spur-of-the-moment adventures, and this is quite the death-defying one. We unfortunately have two leaders: Bear, 24, is a self-taught climber who is working on climbing all 741 of the highest peaks in Colorado. I have climbed some intense peaks with him. Seth is a NOLS instructor with whom I’ve climbed several hard San Juan mountains.  Justin has been climbing with Bear his whole life. And the other two dudes, whom I just met that morning, are neophytes and in way in over their heads. 

As we ascend the intense and unforgiving east ridge route, I know I have pushed my limits well beyond my comfort zone. I am completely exhausted from chopping steps in the concrete ice. I didn’t want to see “Converse Dude” slide to his death.

Wisdom teeth-shaped clouds are swirling all around the summit and the chance of lightning is becoming very real. The route starts up the south side of the mountain and hooks up to the east ridge. You then have to gear up for safety across the north-facing couloir. Seth stops to pull gear out of his backpack: ropes, hardware and a helmet. I stay back with the two neophytes as the others start their slow, methodical crossing of the snowy couloir to the base of the summit block. I am reassured to know that Seth has the knowledge and gear to help guide and lead the team safely across the chasm and up the massive block.   

Seth summits first to experience a round of applause from a dark, looming cloud over Gilpin Peak. Our laissez faire start is causing problems. Seth feels the hair on his arms stand up; Justin sees golden sparks emanate from his figure 8. With St Elmo’s glow, it is pure terror. There is no time for awe and wonder or photos. 

Bear watches his glove float down into the abyss and can’t find the anchor needed to rappel off with. He uses his other gloved hand to rake the snow where the anchor should be. A good guess on his part reveals the ring that ensures escape. Two more lightning strikes!

Sequentially, all three rappel down the lichen-blazed block. It is a slow process of hauling gear up and down, adding to the intensity of the situation. Once down, they are adrenally charged and rush past us, stepping at first and then glissading on their bums to get down as fast as possible, away from the lightning. We follow but much slower, as we never saw or heard the lightning or thunder. 

When we catch up to them, an eagle spreads its wings across our field of vision, almost as a calming omen.  We’re lucky to be alive!

Many mistakes were made on this trip: a late start, the battle between two very different leadership styles. Seth being very safety-oriented and Bear with his fast-and-light approach. Expensive gear was left behind in the couloir crossing. The loss of Bear’s glove almost caused frostbite to his hand. And to top it off, Justin left his backpack below the summit and has to go up to retrieve it. After a deep posthole up, he comes down around the corner of the rock we are protected by, and an avalanche crashes close by. 

Instead of going home, we camp out another night on a cold, snowy ledge and climb more of the Telluride numbered peaks. We are young, naive, cocky and seemingly invincible.

Thirty years-plus later, after interviewing the core party of the expedition, no one knows the names of the two neophytes. One theory is they were either guardian angels or grim reapers. ?