| #2: Fast & Ferocious Storm from Hell Trip Report |
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| #2: Fast & Ferocious Storm from Hell   | 
| Page Type: Trip Report Location: Colorado, United States, North America Lat/Lon: 37.81700°N / 107.784°W Date Climbed/Hiked: Jul 1, 1981 | Page By: Aaron Johnson Created/Edited: Aug 7, 2003 / Aug 14, 2008 Object ID: 169021 Hits: 848 Loading... Page Score: 0% - 0 Votes Loading... Vote: Log in to vote |
MA, Ron Hall and I were just about to reach the summit ridge of South Lookout Peak in the San Juans. We had climbed north up a steep tundra slope about 1300 feet from the shores of Clear Lake, nestled in a tight basin surrounded by mountains with only a narrow outlet in the southeast corner, through which the jeep road accessed this beautiful little spot.
It was monsoon season and we had started early knowing the rampaging weather of that summer was scheduled to put on yet another dazzling show. We reached the summit ridge of this appropriately short climb in about 45 minutes. Because the surrounding slopes are so steep and immediately high, we were unable to see the big black cloud waiting to ambush us upon our arrival on the summit ridge.
Just minutes away, the summit would have to wait for another day. There was some airy scrambling involved, which would involve time and care, a luxury we found we did not have within less than a minute.
The cloud was building incredibly fast and was already rumbling. Situated above the Ophir Valley, the thunderhead shot directly upward many miles within minutes. The cloud also expanded in every direction, casting the blackest shadow over the San Juans that I have ever seen.
Having witnessed horrific storms all season, including ones that closed Red Mountain Pass and flooded the city of Ouray, we knew we were in deep shit. We ran down the steep tundra and literally lunged for the jeep. Ron catapulted himself into the back seat. Mark and I jumped in, pulled the doors shut, I turned the ignition switch and WHUMPH!
Rain by the dump truck loads battered the jeep so hard that droplets actually leeched their way through my failing soft top. I had the wipers going full tilt and was putting the jeep in gear when we all peered out the windshield across the lake and the basin. We weren’t sure exactly what we were looking at through the torrents of water gushing from the sky.
At first it was fog, moving very quickly, swirling around the basin as if a water spout was going to form on Clear Lake, a fairly large alpine body of water. But no-the fog grew to tremendous size in seconds. It was a full fledged cloud, mashed by a huge downdraft, charging across the lake right at us. It split in two and almost looked like two gigantic, bony hands reaching out for my little blue jeep.
Thunder boomed out like cannons going off, that reverberated in that tight basin like the interior of a tin drum. MA yelled out at the top of his lungs. “Let’s get the hell out of here!”
I backed up the jeep to turn around and head down the already soaked road. The cloud enveloped us in a swirling frenzy of wind and rain that pelted the vehicle from the side. The volume of water was tremendous, but then we realized the wind was blowing water off of Clear Lake and was dousing us. Water was bashing its way in through the cracks around the passenger door, soaking MA’s right arm.
I started driving down the road around the lake toward the basin’s narrow southeast outlet. I could barely see the road, and I definitely could see nothing else. Lightning cracked all around us in close proximity, and the resulting barrage of thunder was continuous and ear numbing. Another rush of rising clouds angrily charged us from the basin outlet, pelting the jeep with upward waves of rain and hail head-on.
The road is not usually difficult, but today it had been instantly transformed into a greasy mud slide. I had no choice but to descend cautiously. Once down at the Mineral Creek road, we were out of danger, although the storms continued for the rest of the day.
This storm was the fastest, most sudden and most violent storm in my total experience in Colorado’s mountains, until one fateful day. Images
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San Juan Range
