Peak Experience
08/15/2024 11:10AM ● By Ski Town Media Staff
(Main Photo: Sand Mountain. Courtesy of Chris Selby / Alamy Stock Photo.)
Sand Mountain
Local cowboy Ray Heid shares stories from Sand Mountain in his book, “The Man Behind the Duster.” The mountain is six miles west of his family ranch, Del’s Triangle 3. With a top elevation of 10,847 feet and steep cliffs on all sides, it is notoriously difficult to ascend. In this story, Ray’s daughter, Hillary, brings two of her friends, Dan and Jeff, both Nordic Combined skiers, to Sand Mountain to ski with her father.
“We packed our skis and boots on the horses and left right from the ranch. It was an interesting trip. This was my first trip from the ranch on horseback to Sand Mountain. I was not sure of the way to the avalanche chutes under the cornice.
At one point, we got into a gully where the snow was so deep, the horses had to jump from side to side. Initially, I was concerned with the skiing ability of Hillary’s two friends when she asked to bring them. It never occurred to me they might not be familiar with horses. When she told me they were from Steamboat, I forgot to ask.
I glanced back and one of the guys just sat on his horse.
He said, ‘I’ve never ridden a horse before.’
Thus began our spring skiing on Sand Mountain from horseback, as of now a thirty-three-year family tradition.
It took us five hours of intuitive horseback riding to get up under the steep face and into good snow. We tied up the horses and pulled the saddles off. We started climbing with Hillary and I on skins and the two boys on narrow, waxed, cross-country racing skis with low-top racing boots. It took us almost two hours to get to the top. The boys flew up there. They had just finished skiing with the World Cup team and were in awesome shape. We finally got to the top of the cornice. This year it was roughly a forty-foot cornice meeting up with a forty-five-degree slope that ended in a rock pile.
I said, ‘When I was a ski jumper, we would jump off something like this without even thinking.’ When I turned around, Dan and Jeff were both gone. I looked over the cornice and saw them flying forty feet to land on the slope below. Both of them landed, did a few turns and stopped.
I yelled, ‘I WAS JUST KIDDING!’”
(Mount Werner. Courtesy of Noah Wetzel)
Mount Werner
The Heart of the Town:
Loris Werner shares his thoughts and memories from a lifetime on the mountain that was named after his brother, famed local skier Buddy Werner. – As told to Sophie Dingle.
The early days: In the early days, before there was any development, we would tour across from Rabbit Ears from the highway camp in what is now considered the Hogan Park Trail. We’d go to Fish Hook Lake and hang a sharp north and sometimes we would leave early in the morning at dark thirty – and we always did it in the spring when the snow was crusted and easier to travel on. Some years we would be lazy and would start later in the day, and then we would build a snow cave somewhere, usually around what’s now the Morningside lift area, at the bottom of it. We’d hike up in the mornings and skiing down was the easy part because when you got to the bottom, there was nothing. There was a farmhouse that Mrs. Smith lived in and it was five miles to town, so you put your skis over your shoulder and started hiking, and hopefully you could hitch a ride with some rancher going by in a pickup. The first time I did it, I was 12 years old and I went with my brother, Buddy, and Gordie Wren. I’ve skied from the top of the mountain at least once every year since then, and it’s been 71 years.
On change and development: There’s so many fond memories of designing and laying out trails and just being involved in the development and seeing people really enjoy it. It never grows old. At the beginning, with Jim Temple and John Fetcher involved, money was tight. At one point, John mortgaged his cattle to keep the mountain going. But when LTV came in, it picked up some steam and under the direction of Glen Polk – either as president or general manager – the Sheraton came in and some of the condos and the gondola. It sat in limbo for a bit when a lawsuit was filed; that slowed it down considerably for several years. Then Martin Hart came in with his group and they were very progressive. That’s when we went in and did a lot in Sunshine Bowl, Priest Creek and started really looking at the Morningside area. Then I was out of the management side of it. Now you have the modern day version and the jury is still out. It’s changed Steamboat in a big way.
Life on the mountain: I was on the mountain every day. Originally Buddy was eventually going to be the ski school director, but after his unfortunate accident, I always had it in the back of my mind that I wanted to be involved. So when the opportunity came, I jumped on it and it was the direction that I wanted to go. I moved up from ski school director to the mountain manager, which involved all the daily activities. In 1980, I moved up again to vice president of operations, and pretty much everything on the mountain – except for the food service – was under me.
I retired from management in 1991, and then I worked for a number of years in the ski school as an instructor…having fun. Well, it was all fun. It really was. It was a good group of people. We worked hard and played hard and we respected each other.
On family legacy: It’s quite an honor. It’s one that you live with daily, and you try to respect it and to honor it in the way Buddy would honor it and would expect you to.
(Mount Zirkel Wilderness. Courtesy of Luke Kimmes)
Mount Zirkel Wilderness
By Luke Kimmes - As told by Amelia Davis.
Luke Kimmes was a student at Colorado Mountain College in 2008 when he took a Mountain 101 class, which was an introduction to backpacking. His class went to the Zirkels, specifically to the back side of Little Agnes and Big Agnes. “I’m from Iowa,” Luke says, “so I had never been exposed to any big mountains per se. As we were climbing higher and higher, by day three, we were on the summit of Buck Mountain, just to the north of the backside of the Sawtooth Range. That was my first experience seeing this rawness of big, jagged rocky mountains and from that point on, I was hooked.”
“In 2020, I had this idea of reversing that climb. I wanted to summit Big Agnes, Little Agnes and get out there and see the Zirkels in a different perspective. At the time, I was training to climb the Grand Tetons and I wanted to get some miles under my feet. But there’s not much information on that climb or that traverse, so we were just winging it – I did it with a climbing partner of mine at the time. We packed our bags and brought as little as we could – we figured we were going to be out one night and do it in two days.
We didn’t really know exactly what the climbing or rock quality was going to be like, so we brought a short rope and light harnesses and a gaggle of gear, but not much for protection, just a few cams and then lots of hexes and stoppers and mountaineering stuff like that. We went up Gilpin Trail towards Mount Zirkel, so we sat in between Mount Zirkel and the Sawtooth Range, which encompasses Big Agnes, Little Agnes and Micah Basin. As we were making our way up, it was apparent that the rock was loose and it was very much a knife edge, which was pretty spectacular.
And as we climbed over, there were a lot of different spires, like big rock pillars. And as we climbed up and over those, we started making our way to Big Agnes, and it was quite powerful because on one side is this slope that goes down towards Gilpin Trail, and then on the other side, it’s about 1,000 feet to the ground, which was kind of intense at times. We made it to Big Agnes by lunch, and that was probably a little over halfway, about 7 1/2 miles. We had gained pretty much all of the elevation, so we ended up going back and then got to Little Agnes a few hours later. We made our way back down into the Micah Basin and then to the trailhead.
It was an adventure that I had been looking forward to, and it was everything that I was hoping it would be. At that time, we were all dealing with the pandemic. It seemed as though a lot of folks were getting outside and recreating. It’s always been a drive for me, the love and appreciation for the rawness that is the high outlying country. Some of the attraction to climbing and being out in remote wilderness is that connection to the place, but also the connection to the front country and how a lot of the things that we experience out there translate and can be implemented into daily lives – being resilient, adapting and overcoming certain obstacles. It’s important to move through that environment as consciously as possible and try to have little impact, but really experience it for what it is and how powerful it can be on you as an individual.”
(Sleeping Giant. Courtesy of Noah Wetzel)
Sleeping Giant
Guard of the Yampa Valley
By Wanda Bamberger
The Sleeping Giant rests just beyond our back pasture, with Hahns Peak looming in the background off his feet, and Buffalo Pass even farther to his east. Seasons bring various exchanges of blankets for him; the heavy white winter quilt is shed for lighter-weighted green linen, and eventually burlaps of golds and grays cycle in.
It’s officially named Elk Mountain, but the Ute Indians more aptly referred to this nearly 9,000-foot peak as “The Sleeping Giant.” They believed the mountain quietly kept guard over the Yampa Valley, warding off dangers heading in from the west. Our giant continues to offer tranquil serenity and protection for our bustling little town of Steamboat Springs.
The folklore and legends circling Steamboat are circuitous in definition. The piping hot mineral springs, glacial valley floor, granite peaks and meandering creeks have created a wizard board of mythical tales, Ute lore, avid health anecdotes, and simply put, quaint make-believe fables to entice tourists. From railroad workers to farmers to ski enthusiasts, this valley has provided ample awe, matched with fertile – albeit challenging – land and never-ending entrepreneurial opportunities for settlers.
When my family descended from Rabbit Ears Pass some 45 years ago, to create the next spoke in our wheel of life, Steamboat captured my soul. From that time forward, my subsequent returns to the valley stirred warm and noticeably grounding feelings within me. It surprises me to remember having these feelings from my youth. As young as 8 years old, the return from a vacation was more special than the trip itself.
These days, with deep roots in the Yampa Valley, Steamboat is a place I visit. My parents still wake up every morning with the Giant guarding over them. On my most recent visit, I was driving home, to my parent’s house, from visiting a friend in town. As I crested one of Twenty Mile Road’s hills, there was the Giant. I pulled my car over, into someone’s driveway, and got out. The Sleeping Giant was beckoning me for some one-on-one time. I obliged.
I walked across the road, trampled through a ditch, and stopped to lean against a wooden fence. The brilliantly green fields escorted my vision off into the distance. At the end of the greenscape lay Sleeping Giant. From his stomach down towards his feet and beyond, it was stormy; threatening rain, with gloomy skies and wispy winds. Juxtaposed brilliantly though, up towards his shoulders and head, were pristine white, fluffy clouds with swathes of a calm, blue sky painted in between them.
On this day, it struck me firmly that this was synonymous with life. The paths are sometimes velvety and smooth, other times cold and muddy. If I focus solely on my Sleeping Giant’s feet, all I see is a storm. But if I shift my gaze, a much larger picture is there, right in front of me: blue skies with soft clouds and green pastures. Beauty as far as I can see, and more than I could ever breathe in. I thought the Giant might be trying to teach me something as he lay there, observing all, bothered by none. Just watching; protecting; steadfast and solid with chaos stirring and swirling about him.
I’m certain the Utes were right about our Sleeping Giant. He’s been there for me since I was five, and now, 45 years later, he continues to bring me peace and grounding, again and again.
Sand Mountain
Local cowboy Ray Heid shares stories from Sand Mountain in his book, “The Man Behind the Duster.” The mountain is six miles west of his family ranch, Del’s Triangle 3. With a top elevation of 10,847 feet and steep cliffs on all sides, it is notoriously difficult to ascend. In this story, Ray’s daughter, Hillary, brings two of her friends, Dan and Jeff, both Nordic Combined skiers, to Sand Mountain to ski with her father.
“We packed our skis and boots on the horses and left right from the ranch. It was an interesting trip. This was my first trip from the ranch on horseback to Sand Mountain. I was not sure of the way to the avalanche chutes under the cornice.
At one point, we got into a gully where the snow was so deep, the horses had to jump from side to side. Initially, I was concerned with the skiing ability of Hillary’s two friends when she asked to bring them. It never occurred to me they might not be familiar with horses. When she told me they were from Steamboat, I forgot to ask.
I glanced back and one of the guys just sat on his horse.
He said, ‘I’ve never ridden a horse before.’
Thus began our spring skiing on Sand Mountain from horseback, as of now a thirty-three-year family tradition.
It took us five hours of intuitive horseback riding to get up under the steep face and into good snow. We tied up the horses and pulled the saddles off. We started climbing with Hillary and I on skins and the two boys on narrow, waxed, cross-country racing skis with low-top racing boots. It took us almost two hours to get to the top. The boys flew up there. They had just finished skiing with the World Cup team and were in awesome shape. We finally got to the top of the cornice. This year it was roughly a forty-foot cornice meeting up with a forty-five-degree slope that ended in a rock pile.
I said, ‘When I was a ski jumper, we would jump off something like this without even thinking.’ When I turned around, Dan and Jeff were both gone. I looked over the cornice and saw them flying forty feet to land on the slope below. Both of them landed, did a few turns and stopped.
I yelled, ‘I WAS JUST KIDDING!’”
(Mount Werner. Courtesy of Noah Wetzel)
Mount Werner
The Heart of the Town:
Loris Werner shares his thoughts and memories from a lifetime on the mountain that was named after his brother, famed local skier Buddy Werner. – As told to Sophie Dingle.
The early days: In the early days, before there was any development, we would tour across from Rabbit Ears from the highway camp in what is now considered the Hogan Park Trail. We’d go to Fish Hook Lake and hang a sharp north and sometimes we would leave early in the morning at dark thirty – and we always did it in the spring when the snow was crusted and easier to travel on. Some years we would be lazy and would start later in the day, and then we would build a snow cave somewhere, usually around what’s now the Morningside lift area, at the bottom of it. We’d hike up in the mornings and skiing down was the easy part because when you got to the bottom, there was nothing. There was a farmhouse that Mrs. Smith lived in and it was five miles to town, so you put your skis over your shoulder and started hiking, and hopefully you could hitch a ride with some rancher going by in a pickup. The first time I did it, I was 12 years old and I went with my brother, Buddy, and Gordie Wren. I’ve skied from the top of the mountain at least once every year since then, and it’s been 71 years.
On change and development: There’s so many fond memories of designing and laying out trails and just being involved in the development and seeing people really enjoy it. It never grows old. At the beginning, with Jim Temple and John Fetcher involved, money was tight. At one point, John mortgaged his cattle to keep the mountain going. But when LTV came in, it picked up some steam and under the direction of Glen Polk – either as president or general manager – the Sheraton came in and some of the condos and the gondola. It sat in limbo for a bit when a lawsuit was filed; that slowed it down considerably for several years. Then Martin Hart came in with his group and they were very progressive. That’s when we went in and did a lot in Sunshine Bowl, Priest Creek and started really looking at the Morningside area. Then I was out of the management side of it. Now you have the modern day version and the jury is still out. It’s changed Steamboat in a big way.
Life on the mountain: I was on the mountain every day. Originally Buddy was eventually going to be the ski school director, but after his unfortunate accident, I always had it in the back of my mind that I wanted to be involved. So when the opportunity came, I jumped on it and it was the direction that I wanted to go. I moved up from ski school director to the mountain manager, which involved all the daily activities. In 1980, I moved up again to vice president of operations, and pretty much everything on the mountain – except for the food service – was under me.
I retired from management in 1991, and then I worked for a number of years in the ski school as an instructor…having fun. Well, it was all fun. It really was. It was a good group of people. We worked hard and played hard and we respected each other.
On family legacy: It’s quite an honor. It’s one that you live with daily, and you try to respect it and to honor it in the way Buddy would honor it and would expect you to.
(Mount Zirkel Wilderness. Courtesy of Luke Kimmes)
Mount Zirkel Wilderness
By Luke Kimmes - As told by Amelia Davis.
Luke Kimmes was a student at Colorado Mountain College in 2008 when he took a Mountain 101 class, which was an introduction to backpacking. His class went to the Zirkels, specifically to the back side of Little Agnes and Big Agnes. “I’m from Iowa,” Luke says, “so I had never been exposed to any big mountains per se. As we were climbing higher and higher, by day three, we were on the summit of Buck Mountain, just to the north of the backside of the Sawtooth Range. That was my first experience seeing this rawness of big, jagged rocky mountains and from that point on, I was hooked.”
“In 2020, I had this idea of reversing that climb. I wanted to summit Big Agnes, Little Agnes and get out there and see the Zirkels in a different perspective. At the time, I was training to climb the Grand Tetons and I wanted to get some miles under my feet. But there’s not much information on that climb or that traverse, so we were just winging it – I did it with a climbing partner of mine at the time. We packed our bags and brought as little as we could – we figured we were going to be out one night and do it in two days.
We didn’t really know exactly what the climbing or rock quality was going to be like, so we brought a short rope and light harnesses and a gaggle of gear, but not much for protection, just a few cams and then lots of hexes and stoppers and mountaineering stuff like that. We went up Gilpin Trail towards Mount Zirkel, so we sat in between Mount Zirkel and the Sawtooth Range, which encompasses Big Agnes, Little Agnes and Micah Basin. As we were making our way up, it was apparent that the rock was loose and it was very much a knife edge, which was pretty spectacular.
And as we climbed over, there were a lot of different spires, like big rock pillars. And as we climbed up and over those, we started making our way to Big Agnes, and it was quite powerful because on one side is this slope that goes down towards Gilpin Trail, and then on the other side, it’s about 1,000 feet to the ground, which was kind of intense at times. We made it to Big Agnes by lunch, and that was probably a little over halfway, about 7 1/2 miles. We had gained pretty much all of the elevation, so we ended up going back and then got to Little Agnes a few hours later. We made our way back down into the Micah Basin and then to the trailhead.
It was an adventure that I had been looking forward to, and it was everything that I was hoping it would be. At that time, we were all dealing with the pandemic. It seemed as though a lot of folks were getting outside and recreating. It’s always been a drive for me, the love and appreciation for the rawness that is the high outlying country. Some of the attraction to climbing and being out in remote wilderness is that connection to the place, but also the connection to the front country and how a lot of the things that we experience out there translate and can be implemented into daily lives – being resilient, adapting and overcoming certain obstacles. It’s important to move through that environment as consciously as possible and try to have little impact, but really experience it for what it is and how powerful it can be on you as an individual.”
(Sleeping Giant. Courtesy of Noah Wetzel)
Sleeping Giant
Guard of the Yampa Valley
By Wanda Bamberger
The Sleeping Giant rests just beyond our back pasture, with Hahns Peak looming in the background off his feet, and Buffalo Pass even farther to his east. Seasons bring various exchanges of blankets for him; the heavy white winter quilt is shed for lighter-weighted green linen, and eventually burlaps of golds and grays cycle in.
It’s officially named Elk Mountain, but the Ute Indians more aptly referred to this nearly 9,000-foot peak as “The Sleeping Giant.” They believed the mountain quietly kept guard over the Yampa Valley, warding off dangers heading in from the west. Our giant continues to offer tranquil serenity and protection for our bustling little town of Steamboat Springs.
The folklore and legends circling Steamboat are circuitous in definition. The piping hot mineral springs, glacial valley floor, granite peaks and meandering creeks have created a wizard board of mythical tales, Ute lore, avid health anecdotes, and simply put, quaint make-believe fables to entice tourists. From railroad workers to farmers to ski enthusiasts, this valley has provided ample awe, matched with fertile – albeit challenging – land and never-ending entrepreneurial opportunities for settlers.
When my family descended from Rabbit Ears Pass some 45 years ago, to create the next spoke in our wheel of life, Steamboat captured my soul. From that time forward, my subsequent returns to the valley stirred warm and noticeably grounding feelings within me. It surprises me to remember having these feelings from my youth. As young as 8 years old, the return from a vacation was more special than the trip itself.
These days, with deep roots in the Yampa Valley, Steamboat is a place I visit. My parents still wake up every morning with the Giant guarding over them. On my most recent visit, I was driving home, to my parent’s house, from visiting a friend in town. As I crested one of Twenty Mile Road’s hills, there was the Giant. I pulled my car over, into someone’s driveway, and got out. The Sleeping Giant was beckoning me for some one-on-one time. I obliged.
I walked across the road, trampled through a ditch, and stopped to lean against a wooden fence. The brilliantly green fields escorted my vision off into the distance. At the end of the greenscape lay Sleeping Giant. From his stomach down towards his feet and beyond, it was stormy; threatening rain, with gloomy skies and wispy winds. Juxtaposed brilliantly though, up towards his shoulders and head, were pristine white, fluffy clouds with swathes of a calm, blue sky painted in between them.
On this day, it struck me firmly that this was synonymous with life. The paths are sometimes velvety and smooth, other times cold and muddy. If I focus solely on my Sleeping Giant’s feet, all I see is a storm. But if I shift my gaze, a much larger picture is there, right in front of me: blue skies with soft clouds and green pastures. Beauty as far as I can see, and more than I could ever breathe in. I thought the Giant might be trying to teach me something as he lay there, observing all, bothered by none. Just watching; protecting; steadfast and solid with chaos stirring and swirling about him.
I’m certain the Utes were right about our Sleeping Giant. He’s been there for me since I was five, and now, 45 years later, he continues to bring me peace and grounding, again and again.