Eine spannender Erlebnisbericht und Tagebucheintrag von Nicholas J. Summerville über eine nächtliche Solo-Tour auf die Gipfel von Belford und Oxford, zwei Viertausendern im Herzen der Rocky Mountains. Da während dieser nächtlichen Tour keine Fotoaufnahmen möglich waren, wurden zur Illustration Bilder verwendet, die ein paar Tage später bei einer ähnlichen Bergtour entstanden.

Drove to Vicksburg in preparation for doing Belford, Oxford.

Packed in to one mile short of Elkhead Pass, arrived at around 4:00PM. The hike up was more difficult than I'd thought it would be, owing to the heavy pack and relative steepness of the trail. Wolfed down half a roast chicken, an orange, some raisons, and about a quart of water.

5:30PM, began my ascent to Belford, timed to meet the rising full moon. Hiked the Elkhead Pass route, which takes you around the mountain for a northeasterly approach, instead of the usual southeasterly approach. This is a longer route, but is less steep. Talked to a couple of campers on the way up, realized I'd be the only one at the top, in the dark.

Arrived at the southerly ridge of Belford at around 7:10PM. The sun was still shining, barely, and the sunset was spectacular. I began to realize that it would have been even better, had it not been for the moderately heavy clouding to the immediate west. To the south and southeast, over Harvard but very close to my location, was another cloud bank. This cloud bank was terrifying. It was black, thick, with cumulous heads rising to who knows what altitude. It was quite clearly pouring down rain over Harvard. The wind at my location was blowing very strongly, to the north-northeast. I was certain the Harvard storm would be over me in ten to twenty minutes.

I scrambled the remaining few hundred yards across the ridge to Belford Peak. It was just me and the pikas. And two very curious bats. Yes, bats. Signed the register at about 7:39PM. The place was deserted.

At this point the sun was completely down. Of course, there was a smidgen of daylight left. Enough dim daylight to see the huge black cloud to the immediate south of me.

I'd decided to forego Oxford, scramble down the valley, and get out of the way of the storm. The wind was ridiculous, and it alone was scaring me almost as much as the clouds. Still no sign of the moon to the east.

I descended about one hundred feet, enough to get behind an outcropping. Out of the wind, I began to re-assess my options. I decided to wait at least ten minutes or so, hoping the southern cloud bank would dissipate with no sun for energy. I hiked back to the ridge, checking for the moon to the east, and to see what the clouds were doing. Then I hiked back down to the outcropping. A few minutes later, I hiked backed to the ridge. The clouds were indeed settling down, and, appeared to be fading out towards the east southeast. Now there was a mist very high in the sky to the east. The wind was still quite strong.

Just seconds after I hiked back to the top of the ridge, I could see a crisp red line, just at the top of the peaks to the distant east southeast. I'd managed to catch the very beginning of the rising full moon. From my vantage point now, I was at an elevation of about 14,150 feet, just at the location where the Belford path heads east to Oxford.

I was in complete awe of the rising moon. I'd never seen a redder, more ominous looking lunar display. The view was spectacular and frightening at the same time. As the moon continued on its ascent, I was mesmerized by the crisp smoothness of the upper half circle of its edge, set against the jagged bottom as defined by the far off eastern peaks.

Within just a few minutes the whole moon, now bloodier looking and more horrifying than before, was above the horizon. I watched as intently as I could. I kept trying to assess the cloud situation to the south and to the west. Neither had completely dissipated, but, they both seemed more or less stationary. With little exception, the high and threatening mushroom aspect of the clouds had softened.
I decided to stay, and chance a full moon jaunt to Oxford.

As the moon rose, I remained transfixed another ten to twenty minutes. Its color faded from its initial crimson to a soft orange blurred somewhat by the grey mist to the high east. The damn thing was huge.

The wind was still howling. I'd brought three tee shirts, long pants, gloves, a long sleeve flannel shirt, and a wind breaker jacket with hood. In the wind, all of this wasn't enough to keep me warm. I began to realize I was shivering rather badly. The moon wasn't yet high enough to provide much light. I had my high intensity scuba flashlight, as well as an eight inch fluorescent tube. The fluorescent light had been arranged around my waist to the front, with a loop thru camping strap that I'd fastened as a belt thru my pants. The tube faced in front of me. Theoretically, if the moon weren't enough I'd turn on the tube, illuminating the area directly in front of me, and I'd use the scuba flashlight for checking farther ahead of me. The tube refused to illuminate completely, a good indication of just how cold the air temperature was. The incandescent scuba light was as bright as ever.

I descended back to the outcropping on the western side of the ridge, trying to stay warm while the moon rose a bit more. With the sun completely gone, and the moon behind the ridge and still relatively low, the area was incredibly dark. Off in the distance I could see two parties with lights. One party was down in the Missouri Gulch, the other had crossed over the Elkhead pass into the basin to the south. Not knowing Morse code, I nevertheless tried to get their attention. Flicking the scuba light on and off, I got immediate responses from both parties. They'd both been watching my motions on the peak, apparently.

The party in the south basin appeared to be sending Morse code, their on-off sequencing definitely had a pattern, I simply had no way to decipher the meaning. I thought they might be saying, 'You must be freezing your ass off, over'. Or, 'Watch out for space aliens and Sasquatch, over and out'.

I stayed in the outcropping cubby hole, not having any definite plan, wondering if and when I should do Oxford. I fiddled with signaling the distant parties below me. I drank a good portion of the water I'd brought. I checked and re-checked my lighting. It began to sink in that no one else was up on this mountain but me, that it was cold and windy, and that it was very dark. I sat staring at the very faint outline of Missouri Mountain to the southwest. The moon, which had seemed so brilliant while looking at it to the low east, was still not providing much light.

I decided to head for Oxford.

Not knowing anything about the path down the saddle, I was apprehensive and exceedingly cautious. I tried out the tube lighting. It helped somewhat, but the scuba light was much better. The moon was up enough over the east so that it provided some lighting, but the angle was wrong and the moon light was creating gnarly and confusing shadows. I reached a point some 50 feet down the saddle. Suddenly, I came to a point that looked liked a drop off. I crouched down, trying to convince myself that it was only an illusion. Panic began to set in. I slowly turned around and headed west back up the saddle to the Belford ridge. The howling of the wind seemed to be mocking my every action.

I descended back over the ridge to the western outcropping. I knew I wanted to do Oxford, knew that it didn't make sense for there to be any great drop off. I couldn't understand why the moon wasn't providing more light. I reasoned that it simply wasn't yet high enough. I sat in the cubbyhole signaling the other two parties in the distance.

After a short while, nature provided me with yet another surrealistic show. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, there appeared across the valley to the west a faint jagged greyness seemingly floating in the sky. At first, I was startled. I looked at the ghostly shapes indirectly, hoping to get a better feel for what it might be. Then, I understood that it was the moonlight, coming over the Belford ridge, shining on to Missouri Mountain and its ridge.

Slowly the grey shapes grew, from the top of the western ridges downward. They became brighter and brighter. I realized I was looking at the Missouri ridge bathed in moonlight, with the shadows of Belford blocking out the bottom of the ridge.

It was now 9:20PM. I decided to bag Oxford, no matter how long it took me.

I ascended back to the top of the Belford ridge. Now, Oxford no longer appeared to be a real mountain. It appeared as a monolithic black slab, set against the moonlight. It's form was ghastly and foreboding.

Slowly I descended the saddle. I reached the point where I'd turned back earlier. Now the lighting was quite different. With the moon higher in the eastern sky, I could see that the 'drop off' had been nothing more than a sharp switchback on the trail. I stopped long enough to have a good laugh, check my lighting, and get my bearings.

The trek across to Oxford in the moonlight was the eeriest hike I've ever done. There wasn't another soul anywhere near me. I tried signaling in many directions, attempting to get someone's attention. No one on Belford, no one on Harvard, no one in the valleys I could see, no one on Oxford.

It occurred to me that a fall, a broken leg, a twisted ankle, anything at all of the sort and I'd probably be in trouble. I kept glancing back at moonlit Belford, and forward to black and daunting Oxford. I continued on.

I finally peaked Oxford at 10:15PM, signed the register, ate a bagel, and just observed. I could see Leadville to the northwest. The wind howled. It was cold. I stayed on Oxford for about twenty minutes.

Heading back, I was amazed at how much warmer I was in the bottom of the saddle. Out of much of the wind, and 700 feet lower than the peaks, my previously inadequate clothing was positively roasting me. Of course, I was generating quite a lot of heat from climbing down then up, then down then up.

I reached the Belford ridge, the moonlight now was brighter than ever. I decided to re-bag Belford, and signed the register at around 11:35PM.

I lingered a bit, but, was now growing sleepy. Trying to signal the two parties once more as I started down, I received no response.

My pace down was relatively quick, the moonlight was very bright. Eventually I passed the one signaling party, a lone camper in little more than a mummy bag stretched along the ground. He was asleep, or a least pretending to be so. Very strange to see something like that on a hike at midnight. I passed another campsite at around 12:30AM, and jumped when one of the party signaled their knowledge of me by a series of faked throat clearings and coughs. People get strange in the wilderness this late at night, when shadowy figures come near their site.

I passed a third and then fourth campsite, finally coming to my own just after 1:00AM.

Success!