Mount Oso Massif from Hunchback Mountain, looking south
Photo by Aaron Johnson

1 Best Laid Plans

A trek up the Vallecito drainage, and around the Mt. Oso massif was perhaps the most ambitious idea I had ever considered, but never seriously. Finding partners that were interested, and had enough time to devote to such an undertaking, was unlikely. I had briefly considered a solo excursion, but I never hike alone. Backpacking in all the needed supplies could be done, but I felt I’d be too exhausted to do anything else once I got to where I wanted to go. I mentioned these considerations to my friend Dan, who replied in a matter-of-fact tone that he would like to go with me on this adventure.

We realized that carrying all the food and gear was going to be a challenge that would eventually catch up with us. Then Dan suggested we rent llamas and use them to carry the gear and supplies. After further deliberation, Dan and I were convinced this was the way to go. If we were going to execute the trip at the beginning of July, we’d have to reserve the llamas very soon.

The proposed plan was to spend seven days in the San Juans, hiking a total of almost 45 miles. Most of the mileage would be on the Vallecito Creek trail, running northward through the heart of the San Juans in the middle of the vast Weminuche, Colorado’s largest wilderness area. We would then break off onto the Rock Creek trail due southeast, gaining altitude, camping near timberline almost twenty miles from our starting point. From there, we would explore the immediate area, among the most remote of locales in Colorado. We would attempt an ascent of Mt. Oso, an isolated and rugged thirteen thousand foot peak during our days of deep wilderness camping. We’d return via the same route. Another three days were added for travel time to and from Durango, and a required orientation class...llama school!

But, while we’re off running around, who’s minding the store? Who’s watching the llamas back at camp? It boiled down to a coworker with as much vacation time as we had, and another avid hunter. His name was Tom. I had worked with Tom quite a bit. He had an outrageous sense of humor, and a no-bullshit take on life I found refreshing and priceless. Hunting was Tom’s number one passion.

With Tom in place, I felt we had the ultimate San Juan trekking team. Two very experienced hunters, backed by untold annals of experience in the wilderness. My experience as a climber, knowledge of the San Juans, and my design of our course rounded out the compliment very well. This was a very strong and capable group. The plans were meticulously made, all contingencies were considered and options in response to any changes were already predetermined. Not before or since, have I participated in such an extensively planned excursion. It only made sense to coin it as the San Juan Expedition.


2 Lazur & Kirburt

We drove down to Durango on a Thursday afternoon, buying last minute supplies and settling in to a cabin we rented by Vallecito reservoir for the first of two nights. Our morning was spent going through the gear, checking off the supplies and getting things organized. Right after lunch it was off to llama school.

Our directions led us to a subdivision west of Durango, to a house that was surrounded by corrals occupied by about ten llamas. Our instructors were friendly, and everything they said was consistent with what we had learned in our research.

We were introduced to Lazur and Kirburt. Their fur was indeed as soft as we had heard, and upon meeting us, both were gentle and immediately well adjusted to our presence. Kirburt was younger but larger. With his neck extended upward, his chin was a good foot above my head. Lazur was smaller and had a very peaceful aura surrounding him. Looking into his black orbed eyes was like looking into a restful pool of bliss. Nothing could phase this delightful animal.

The class focused on strapping the panyards onto the animals, leading them, securing them for the night, eating and drinking requirements, pooping and peeing protocol and applying and removing the head harness. Each of us would still carry about twenty pounds in our backpacks, consisting mostly of critical and delicate gear we weren’t willing to place on a llama’s or anyone else’s back.

The animals were well versed in being led and having their harness and panyard removed and put back on. Kirburt seemed a bit awkward at times. We were taught a few commands, which they responded to. We learned early on that simply talking to them in a polite tone was sufficient to get them to do anything. Corn meal would be provided for treats, but llamas were happy just eating the grass along the trail. Just getting out and walking around and resting at the end of the day was enough to make any llama happy and content. If they put the brakes on, it was only to poop or pee. The idea was to get them away from a water source before allowing them to do their business. Beyond these basics, we were assured our experience with Lazur and Kirburt would be quite pleasant.

HOWEVER-a favor was asked of us. Kirburt was fairly new at this and needed more experience. Could we volunteer ourselves as trainers? According to his owners, he had been out only once before. Tom and I were immediately concerned, but our doubts were put to rest after further practice and assurances from the owners.

Hiking up the Vallecito Trail
Photo by Aaron Johnson

3 Vallecito to Johnson Creek

Lazur and Kirburt arrived riding in the back of an old and battered blue Ford pickup truck. The bed was adapted with one inch angle iron railing so they could stand up and take in the view as they whizzed down the highway. The routine was familiar to them, and they went through the motions as calm and predictable as in yesterday’s class. We loaded our gear into the panyards and were on our way within the hour.

I volunteered to shoot pictures of Tom and Dan leading our new friends up the first few miles of this epic excursion. I was usually in front, not only for pictures, but to intercept any horses coming down the trail. We learned that horses and llamas don’t get along, and it’s best to get the llamas off the trail long before the horses arrive.

In the first miles the wide trail was heavily populated with tourists as well as hikers and large groups with outfitters on horseback. The Vallecito was a very busy place. The trail started out on the west side of the creek, climbing gradually, skirting along narrows, gorgeous waterfalls and deep, roiling pools. We crossed the stream several times on heavy duty bridges, another clue to this trail’s extensive use.

Mount Irving was the first high peak we saw, on the east side of the drainage. The mountain comprises the south end of the Mount Oso massif. Not far beyond, a total of about six miles from the trailhead was our first camp. We planned the trip to gain about six or seven miles a day at the most so we didn’t fatigue ourselves. We wanted to explore this great country, but we wanted to get plenty of relaxation as well.

Our first camp was set in the mid afternoon at the confluence of Johnson and Vallecito creeks. A nearby trail going up the Johnson Creek drainage went over Columbine Pass to Chicago Basin and three of Colorado’s fourteeners: Windom, Eolus and Sunlight peaks.

Impressive horn of Buffalo Peak from Rock Creek
Photo by Aaron Johnson

4 Rock Creek

We covered seven miles the following day. We continued further up the narrowing but still heavily used Vallecito trail to Rock Creek. Crossing the low creek was not an issue and we proceeded up the Rock Creek trail back toward the southeast. Our morning had been spent walking northward along the western flank of the Mount Oso massif. Still at a comparatively low altitude, we saw nothing of it through the trees, but we did see the spectacular Needle mountains to the west.

The Guardian from Rock Creek
Photo by Aaron Johnson

As we gained altitude on the Rock Creek trail, we could look back behind us and see some incredible vistas opening up. The Guardian was immediately noticed. This great, rugged domed peak seemed to just roar out of the earth to 13, 617 feet. The eastern end of a sub-range in the Needles called the Grenadiers, the imposing Guardian did indeed watch over the valley.

Buffalo Peak
Photo by Aaron Johnson

As we climbed further up through the trees, the Oso Massif was now to our west. The trail leveled and entered a long valley running up the east side of the Oso mountain group. My first striking pictures of the trip were taken here. A steep pinnacle of a mountain was immediately imposing to us at the far end of the valley. The trail was easy through this stretch, and the mountain scenery was spectacular. This was truly wild and remote country, exactly the same as it was long before the arrival of mankind! What a feeling to be alive in this exciting and beautiful place!

Camp was set in a patch of evergreen trees right at 11,000 feet, with a nice stream nearby. This would be our home for the next three days. We relaxed, had ourselves a big healthy dinner, sat back and soaked in the wilderness.

Mount Oso
Photo by Aaron Johnson

5 Mount Oso

Dan and I got up early the next day and struck out on our attempt to climb Mount Oso. Surrounded by rugged peaks, Mount Oso is one of Colorado’s most rugged, isolated peaks. Oso means “bear” in the Ute Native American language. Legend has it the men of the Hayden Survey, among the first white men to explore the San Juans, encountered a large grizzly bear atop this mountain. The bear wanted nothing to do with them and charged down the mountain right past the men, which probably prompted a change of underwear upon returning to camp. So the mountain was appropriately named.

Moon Lakes, looking south from the pass
Photo by Aaron Johnson

Our proposed route continued south up into the basin just above camp, circling around the east side of Rock Lake, over a blunt ridge and dropping into another unnamed basin further southwest. From there we ascended to Oso’s south ridge, from where we would climb back north to the summit.

Rock Lake is large as alpine lakes go. The hike above the lake and over into the next basin was easy, but the views continued to get more dramatic. The Oso massif occupied the entire western view. To the north, a sea of high mountain peaks stretched to the horizon. To the east, the towering cone of the Rio Grande Pyramid presided over the eastern San Juan. I climbed this stately mountain eleven years earlier, another outstanding wilderness experience in my many years of mountain climbing. Majestic and solitary, the Rio Grande Pyramid is the highest of the eastern San Juan range and rules over everything around it in dignified fashion.

Peters Peak and a host of rugged peaks surround Mount Oso
Photo by Aaron Johnson

We were surrounded by mountains, sentinels presiding over the deep wilderness; a country so rugged and remote it defies man made change of any kind. Knowing this place would not be impacted as other areas in Colorado have been was a relief to me.

Lots of talus to cross to reach the saddle
Photo by Aaron Johnson

The day was uncommonly hot for twelve thousand feet above sea level. The further and higher we went, the more we had the impression that few people, if any, ever ventured to this part of the wilderness. A persistent snow bank clung to a steep slope just below the saddle on the south ridge of Oso. We crossed a great talus slope, which showed no clues of regular travel by man or any other migratory creatures. Some instability was evident, suggesting rock fall in the area was recent. On the snowfield, we initially climbed on the snow itself. The slope was steeper than anticipated, and since we did not expect snow in this drought year, we didn’t bring our ice axes. We got off the snow and climbed the moat on the right side to the ridge top. Emerging onto the ridge, we were greeted with a staggering view to the west, but something else greeted us we were not expecting.

View from the saddlePhoto by Aaron Johnson

The wind was howling. It roared ferociously, nor did it ebb. We could barely stand up! We hunkered down for shelter among the rocks and looked north up Oso’s very rugged ridge. This was a jagged, rocky wasteland that saw more traffic from animals than it ever did from man. The terrain was steep and loose, which is typical of the San Juans. But the wind was unusual, and such a strong summer wind is very rare. There was no doubt the wind was going to be a serious impediment to our progress. We still had a long way to go, and from past experiences, I knew battling gale force winds in such conditions would batter and fatigue us. Given the difficult climb ahead, I suggested that we abandon the climb.

We discussed options and possibilities over lunch. We could only figure the wind was either reinforcing or a breaking down the ridge of high pressure that had persisted over Colorado during the past week. The weather was making our trip successful trip. On the other hand, it was prolonging and worsening the drought by exacerbating the dry conditions. Above twelve thousand feet, the wind that was keeping the state warm was making it next to impossible to climb Mount Oso.

We decided to return to camp. On the way back, I shot some spectacular pictures as the sun sank lower in the summer sky. The Moon Lakes were beautiful, as were Peters Peak and the Needles peeking at us through gaps in the Oso massif. Once back in the south basin below Mt. Oso, the air was calm and exceedingly warm. Passing by the scant few fishermen at Rock Lake, I found it ironic these folks had no idea that the wind was roaring over head 800 feet above them.

Camp was a peaceful haven, a retreat from the madness of civilization. The llamas lounged and enjoyed eating the grasses. We took turns taking them to the stream for a drink. Tom was surprised to hear about the wind, and was glad we had chosen to return. He did go up to the lake and did a little fishing, but caught nothing.

Dan and I decided we would try hiking up to the Continental Divide the next day. From that perch, we figured the views would be very impressive.

Jagged Mountain from the Continental Divide
Photo by Aaron Johnson

6 The Continental Divide

On the opposite side of the valley from Mount Oso was the ridge of the Continental Divide. This particular section of the nation’s most famous ridge line snaked northward deep through the heart of the San Juans, but unlike the surrounding peaks, this was a rounded and indistinct ridge rather than a line of spectacular peaks. But the perch was high enough to get some great pictures.

The top of the ridge was not far from camp, so we relaxed and ate a late breakfast, and started our hike just before 9:00. We climbed up the gradual slope, covered in willow and other tundra brush and arrived at timberline in about forty five minutes, seeing a large bull elk below us along the way.

The complex Oso Massif from the Divide
Photo by Aaron Johnson

Once on top, we enjoyed a panoramic view of pristine wilderness at its best. To the east and south were the Rio Grande Pyramid and the south San Juans, to the southwest was the incredible and complex Oso Massif. West and northwest were the rugged Needle and Grenadier mountains, and generally north were countless peaks of the rest of the San Juan range.

Rock Lake from the Divide
Photo by Aaron Johnson

It was a gorgeous day, the kind that climbers yearn for when climbing their most important mountains. The wind would have been right above us several hundred feet, but we were not aware if it was in fact there. Later in the day, cumulus clouds formed and made for a glorious sky, but the high pressure prevented them from building into storms. I always hoped for great weather in the San Juans, having battled so many storms there in the past. But I found myself missing the storms. We were prepared for rain, and looking back now, I wish the rains would have come. But they never did.

Unusually warm but very still, this is what a normal summer’s day in these mountains was really like. Day in and day out, days to weeks, weeks to months, the summer would march by in silence. Other than a passing storm or the clomping hooves of one of the locals, silence ruled this place. Hundreds of miles away, progress brought change to the noisy lives of civilization. Like great bastions against the very concept of progress, the mighty San Juans continued to reign in silence, unchanged for millions of years past and yet to come.


7 Adventures in Llama Management

We had a little excitement at camp that evening. I missed out on the excitement, because I slept through it. Dan had to fill me in the next day. It turns out the llamas were startled by four or five elk passing through our camp. The llamas stirred and made noises, startling the elk. As Dan emerged from his tent to investigate, he reportedly watched a fleeing elk jump over my tent and vanish into the night. He was amazed that I slept through it, given that I was such a light sleeper.

I wish I could write that the rest of the trip went off without a hitch, but that is not the case. We would have preferred it, but then again, I wouldn’t have an interesting story to tell to you.

Friday morning, we folded up camp and prepared Lazur and Kirburt for the hike down to the lower camp at Johnson Creek. This would not be a strenuous day, hiking down Rock Creek back to the Vallecito, and the weather was once again uncommonly flawless. We had just started hiking down out of the valley, descending toward the Vallecito when the very exciting part of our trip commenced.

I had gone ahead scouting for horseback groups. The trail was getting slightly steeper as it dropped in altitude, when I heard some type of commotion that I cannot describe, other than maybe hearing a whistle and shouting. I looked up the trail behind me and saw a haze of dust, and through it, I could see Tom’s arm’s flailing. A blur of white in my far left field of view caught my attention, and I focused on a llama running helter-skelter down the trail right at me.

My instinctive reaction was to put my arms out and try to corral the creature, as we had been taught in llama class, and to remain calm doing so. It didn’t work. Kirburt charged around me through trees and thick brush effortlessly and galloped on down the trail. I instinctively charged after him, now calling on my physical prowess, acquired from months of mountain climbing, in the pursuit of a rampaging llama. I remember seeing the panyard, full of food, tents and other important gear, flopping madly about. I expected to see contents littered on the trail as I charged down the steep route. Luckily, the panyard barely managed to stay in place, and it was drooping to one side when I saw Kirburt again about five hundred yards further down the trail.

Kirburt had gone off below the trail, and was standing on a slope covered in willows and other assorted mountain flora, a lush meadow surrounded by evergreen trees. I stood on the trail and spoke his name gently, hoping not to startle him again and send him off into the trees, where he would be next to impossible to corral. He looked up at me with a gaze that read something like “am I as stupid as I really look?”

Dan and Tom arrived with Lazur. Lazur was more experienced, and we were told Kirburt would watch what Lazur does and act accordingly. Lazur, clearly the smarter of the two, stood beside us calmly as Kirburt looked up at us, looking dumber by the minute. Tom and I decided to try and stay wide of Kirburt, drop below him and corral him back toward Dan. Dan secured Lazur and the three of us became cowpokes, or should I say “llama pokes.”

Kirburt looked back down the hill, as if he was ready to lunge. I dropped down slope as quickly as I could, without making much noise. Lighter and more agile than Tom, I took it upon myself to drop further down and try to work back up behind Kirburt. Tom dropped about half the distance and approached the loony llama from the side. Kirburt began to lunge once to my left, but I leapt upslope to block his path and remained there as Tom approached with a calming voice, focused on the rope hanging from Kirburt’s harness. A few more steps and Tom had the rope in his grasp and was leading the nervous beast back up to the trail. I paused to bend over, regain my breath, thank God and whoever else was interested, and then trudged back up the slope, knowing an explanation was forthcoming.

As I recall Tom’s account, coming through a tight spot on the trail, as they emerged from between two trees, Tom stayed on the trail. Kirburt did not. He walked on what he must have thought was the trail. The next thing Tom knew, his arm was up in the air holding on to the rope, with Kirburt substantially above him, perhaps flustered or confused and not knowing what to do. The animal just seemed to explode and took off. We wrapped the ropes once around our wrists when leading the llamas, so the unexpected force could have pulled Tom’s arm right out of its socket. He had no time to react and just let go, as if he really had a choice. We also figured that after the elk incident, the inexperienced Kirburt was probably still edgy, and in fact may have been spooked by an animal nearby. This was something we would never know, but we no longer cared. Keeping an eye on this loony llama was all that occupied our minds all the way down to the Vallecito confluence, where we took a break to review the incident once again.

On the next stretch, I spelled Tom on llama leading, and I wasn’t about to take any shit off of Kirburt. I was gentle but very stern with him, and I led with determined pressure on the rope as we continued down the Vallecito. I figured one way to get the jitters out of Kirburt was to wear him out, so I proceeded to hike ahead of the others and run his ass right down the trail and into the ground if necessary. For a while, it suited Kirburt just fine. He seemed to be in a hurry to get out of the area, so maybe there was something to the spooking theory. Even so, I wasn’t about to give him another chance to be an idiot and make fools of us. I grabbed that rope and led him down the trail without much pause. A couple times he wanted to stop and wait for the others and I simply pressed onward. The rope would become taught and Kirburt would follow without much resistance. I think he knew he was on our shit list.

By the time Tom caught up to us, he and I were calling Kirburt every name in the book but his own. Since his name was reminiscent of the Kirby vacuum cleaner, we called him Kirby and Hoover, for starters. We digressed to more predictable fare: Dingbat, Dopey, Bonehead, Boner, Numbnuts, Numbskull, Shit for Brains, Retard, Clem Kadiddle-Hopper, Goofball and others I won’t include here. One of my fondest memories of this trip is listening to Tom scold Kirburt and threaten to grind him up into horsemeat with the spectacular panorama of the Needles fourteeners in the background. I luckily caught this precious moment on film between chuckles.

After a break in a lovely meadow, Dan and Lazur proceeded at a moderate pace with Tom not far behind. I took Kirburt and ran his ass into the ground all the way to Johnson creek. Once there, I barely managed to get the panyard off before Kirburt dropped like a rock from exhaustion. He didn’t move for the rest of the day. At least we wouldn’t see any more trouble from him.

The following day’s hike was short, half of the distance of the first day’s hike. We found a shady camp along the Vallecito, now more a river than a stream. No further llama incidents occurred. Kirburt, out of necessity, decided to be a well behaved llama, lest Tom grind him into dog biscuits.


8 The San Juan Expedition

The last day was the easiest and the longest. We were back at the trailhead with much time to spare and relax. The owners arrived in the afternoon to pick up the llamas and get the behavioral study report. They were surprised at Kirburt’s conduct, but assured us we did everything correctly. It was likely due to Kirtburt’s inexperience that the lunging llama incident took place, and not through any negligence on our part. We were thinking, “well, if that’s the case, why did you send Kirburt out with us in the first place?” Oh well. No harm done.

With that, the llamas were loaded up and we said our farewells. We followed them down the road, our two soft, wooly friends, riding in the back of an old pick up, bound for home. And so were we.

Thus the San Juan Expedition ended, on a rather mute note with little fanfare. The impact of the trip didn’t hit us until later in the week. Reviewing what we had done, where we had been and what happened, and despite that, how well the whole thing worked, we realized what a phenomenal achievement it was.

Personally, it was certainly that. That year had been full of life defining moments for me. Other than my successful ascent of Capitol Peak, considered among many to be Colorado’s hardest fourteener, the San Juan Expedition stands in my total experience as the epitome of a supreme mountain adventure, an event I’ll never forget. I was blessed and very fortunate to have the opportunity to execute it, and I have Dan and Tom to thank for it. To them, I will always be grateful.

The San Juan Expedition (Excerpts)
Copyright 2002 by Aaron Johnson/AJP
All rights reserved.

Telephoto view of rugged Mount Oso from the Northwest (Mount Silex)
Photo by attm

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