Late autumn of 1975 Mike Dean and I left school a couple of days early to climb the North Face of Capital Peak before it started snowing in the high country. We almost succeeded (in beating the snow). It had been a busy school year and we had done nothing to physically prepare for such a long climb so we thought we would just “get in shape on the approach”. To that end we packed heavy, carrying 22 oz. cans of Fosters lager because “out here in the west you can’t be too careful”. We drove the 200 miles from campus to the trial head, humped our loads the 8 or 11 or whatever it was miles in to the base of the north face, pitched camp, and went to bed too tired to consume our “provisions”. We actually got up early enough to be on the rock by first light. We packed a rope and rack, water and munchies, extra clothing, and “provisions” in our rucksacks because, well, you can’t be too careful out here in the west and who knows what might happen up there. For those of you seeking some sort of route description or insight, please remember that this climb occurred back when dinosaurs roamed the earth and insight had yet to be invented. As I recall we roped up for the first three full-length pitches on good solid rock of mostly 5.7 & 5.8 climbing, which felt sporting enough in the mountaineering boots of the time. Above that was slightly lower angle but much looser rock and discontinuous snow-filled couloirs that we mostly simul-climbed with a running belay in order to save time. And then the snow came. The storm arrived incredibly quickly, accompanied by wind and a ridiculous amount of swirling snow that stuck to everything. The climbing slowed down, the footing became quit treacherous, and the pro almost nonexistent. Nothing like the threat of a terrifying fall with fatal consequences to focus the mind, and focus we did. Fortunately the technical difficulties were rather low even if the objective hazards were pretty high. As we neared the summit after what seemed like interminable hours spent on loose and slippery rock the storm broke and the sun shown through the narrow gap between the base of the clouds and the distant horizon. We had about 20 minutes of glorious horizontal sunlight to summit Capital Peak and navigate our way down towards the snow-covered knife-edge ridge that Capital Peak is so famous for. Whilst standing on the summit we could see our shadows against the backdrop of swirling clouds just opposite us from the setting sun. Our shadows were encircled by concentric red and green rainbows commonly referred to as a “glory”. To us optical mineralogy students they looked exactly like the first- and second-order interference colors you get with crossed nicols and the condensing lens in.

The descent down the snow-covered ridge was agonizingly slow, but we still got to the knife-edge ridge section before “official night”. It was pretty dark as the moon had not come up yet, although the storm clouds had mostly dissipated by then. That being said, the real puckerfest occurred when we had to climb around two gendarmes on the ridge and cross the top of a very steep couloir that dropped off thousands of feet on the north side. As the moon still was not up this entailed third-class climbing by braille on steep, snow-covered rock with no possibility of getting in any pro. We decided that one climber falling was better than two climbers falling roped together. Fortunately no body fell. Further along the ridge we found a less steep, snow-filled couloir that descended the south side of the ridge, likely part of the standard route on Capital Peak. With the moon now up we giddily romped down this couloir, deliriously happy to be off that ridge in the dark. By and by we found the saddle in the ridge that gave us access to our camp on the north side of the peak. We got to the tent well after midnight completely knackered and went to bed without consuming our “provisions”. The next day we humped our loads, complete with “full provisions” back down the trail and drove back to Gunnison. That evening our well-travelled provisions tasted might good.
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Postscript: This was one of the last major mountaineering adventures for Mike Dean because in a year or two he would grievously injure his back, which put an end to all of his climbing. After many painful years Mike got several vertebrae fused, which gave him a measure of relatively pain-free movement. Prior to this injury Mike was one of many partners I tortured in my Quixotic quest at a winter ascent of the north face of Blanca Peak. Mike was such a gifted athlete and an immensely strong young man, always manifesting a tremendously positive attitude regardless of what the world was throwing at him. After his injury he married a lovely young woman and went on to have a beautiful family and a successful career. Be well, my friend, we certainly had some good times.