Prelude
Potosi Peak is one of Colorado's greatest mountains, and the subject of a 26 year quest that has finally come to an end.
Please be sure to read the entertaining “prequel” to this report before delving into this lengthy tome. You’ll be glad you did! See 3rd Time's NOT the Charm! Get comfortable with a beverage and a snack and enjoy!
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There I was once again. How many times had I been in Yankee Boy basin, looking up at the mighty Potosi Peak? I have no idea. Maybe close to a hundred. It’s safe to say on a number of those countless visits, I took time to stare down the mountain, looking for a route possibility, or at least to reminisce about my 4 failed attempts, one of which I never even got close to the mountain. I’m sure the mountain was staring back at me as well, saying: ”Come on!”
I had returned to Yankee Boy with a specific purpose. Not to climb anything, not to photograph the legendary wildflowers, not to do some four wheeling or to even show Ellen around. I had parked our Pathfinder off the road, and with binoculars in hand, I was scouring Potosi Peak with my old, empowered eyes. Tomorrow was going to be the day, damn it! The time had come. I had to get this mountain climbed and move on, for Pete’s sake. Ellen was all for it, being the devoted climber that she is. She had agreed a trip to Yankee Boy for the sole purpose of looking the mountain over was a great way to spend our day off from climbing.
We knew the monsoon weather was just around the bend. It was Thursday. We were scheduled to climb the mountain on Monday. Weather was rolling in from the northwest daily, which is not a monsoonal pattern for the San Juan, but it was raining daily. Wet conditions on Potosi were not desirable and could be disastrous, but so far the storms were isolated and we could still have a chance. But as early as the next week, the monsoon could arrive. Satellite data on the internet clearly showed monsoon moisture forming in Mexico, and two innocent low pressure systems hanging around the western U.S., not doing anything. But I didn’t like it.
We decided if we could climb Potosi Friday (the next day), it would be great. We could beat the weather that was bound to be a factor next week. If we stuck to the plan, our climb of Potosi could once again be dashed. This change of plans meant we needed to do all we could to contact our fellow SP member and friend, Kane, who was on his way to the San Juans to meet us. Kane wanted to climb Potosi, but our initial schedule had ruled that out. We were climbing it on Monday as far as he knew, and by then he would be headed for home. But a phone call from Yankee Boy Basin? Ha! It would at least have to wait until we were in Ouray where a connection might be made. Hopefully we could reach him before it was too late and he was on his way over Red Mountain Pass to set camp somewhere near Silverton.
With a very light rain falling from an overcast sky, there I stood under the open hatch door of the Pathfinder with my binoculars studying Potosi’s complex features. I rarely used binoculars for anything, but on this day, they proved invaluable. Thanks, Dad! As I studied the mountain, Ellen stood by patiently, admiring the view as well, allowing me some silent pondering. I would occasionally mumble a thought or two, none of which I can directly recall my exact words.
I was studying what is widely referred to as the standard route for Potosi, since my more “innovative” previous route attempts proved to be fruitless. What I had read assured me the mountain would be enough of a challenge without any more wild route ideas. Even so, hints of worn areas on the mountain were not apparent through the binoculars, so I could only guess as to the likely location of the route. The most frustrating thing was the starting point, in which all descriptions I had read were quite nebulous about, or at the most seemed not quite specific enough to make them sound misguided.
Okay, so we start from the Yankee Boy Road. Duh! But just after the bend? Right when the road levels out? It didn’t make sense to me. From that spot I knew the wading through Yankee Boy’s gorgeous flowers would be an unneeded nuisance and pointlessly hard on the flowers. Thrashing around in this terrain in the dark for an alpine start didn’t make sense, either. It was also pointless when it seemed to make more sense to start a bit higher up the road, since the route actually climbs Coffee Pot, a “minor sub peak” between Potosi and Teakettle (and let me assure you, there’s nothing at all “minor” about Coffee Pot).
I had contacted SP member Ryan Schilling about this matter, because I knew he and his party had climbed Teakettle, which uses the same approach. Ryan had been kind enough to send me an annotated photo of the ascent/descent route that his party had used. This proved exceedingly helpful, since most of the published guide books are vague about the approach and the starting point. Through this photograph and my knowledge of the basin, I was able to quickly determine the starting point, which we were now parked at.
I had figured out the route up Coffee Pot, following tundra as high as possible, then onto the notorious loose talus the Sneffels range was known for, probably heading up the shallowest of three couloirs on Coffee Pot’s south slopes. Once on the ridge, we would turn southeast and drop six hundred feet to the saddle and there our long awaited climb of Potosi would begin.
Why not attack Potosi directly? As in my previous telling, finding a way up or down the mountain is a daunting and dangerous undertaking. Few mountains in Colorado are so well guarded by countless obstacles. Grottos filled with old ice, steep and deep rubble filled gullies, cliffs, spires and unstable talus slopes practically guard the mountain’s every inch. The summit is surrounded by a wall of cliffs up to three hundred feet high, with the only possible access to the top on the southeast side via a series of gullies well documented in printed media. Save for a “rumored” climb of the southwest ridge (vaguely documented in some guide books), and along with my previous attempts being considered, climbing Coffee Pot was the most sensible and safe way to get on Potosi’s tenuous slopes.
Once on the mountain, the route was obvious even though I could not see traces of it in the binoculars. So the next question was how to get OFF the mountain. Our plan was to return the same route, back over Coffee Pot. It was only a 4 mile day, so re-climbing Coffee Pot would not be a big deal. But I wanted to leave my options open. Colorado’s premiere guide book author for the Rockies is Gerry Roach, and in his 13ers guide, he describes fairly well an optional descent route down Potosi’s western slopes. Accounts I had read told horrific tales of getting lost and cliffed out while attempting Roach’s descent route. Well, I’ll be damned if I was going to allow the mountain to screw me in that fashion! So I studied the west face carefully while referring to his route description.
The route descends from the saddle connecting to Coffee Pot down loose talus. I could see that such an undertaking would be a huge mess, but what else should we expect? Potosi IS a mess. We would expect nothing less, otherwise, we should climb somewhere else. The description says not to drop all the way to the tundra, but to contour south and cross gullies between patches of tundra to a descent point that leads to an orange mound of scree. Orange mound of scree? Hmm. There’s plenty of that crap all over the mountain. Mister Roach goes on to say that this scree pile deposits you at the bend in Yankee Boy road, a quarter mile from the starting point.
Hmmm. I looked down the road to the previous bend and there it was: A very tall scree pile. Ah ha! I connected the dots with the binoculars. The descent from the saddle would be messy, perhaps hazardous, but the traverse didn’t look too bad, providing we could find reasonable places to cross the gullies. Even with binoculars, I had to guess at the likelihood that the gullies could be crossed despite unseen terrain and lingering patches of snow. Once above the scree pile, we would descend on tundra to a gray scree slope beside a frightening looking grotto, then enter a shallow gray gully, which led through another presumed gully I could not see, which then led to the scree pile, paralleling that nasty looking grotto all the way down the slope.
Yep. It would be messy, but I thought it was doable. I explained my conclusions to Ellen, who concurred. If she had any doubts about my judgment, she hid them well. With that, we were off for Ouray. Ellen and I knew Kane was on his way to the San Juans and we wanted to do all we could to let him know our plans had changed before he started over Red Mountain Pass. His plan was to get a camp set up and maybe climb a mountain near Silverton on Friday. He would then meet us for the Colorado SP Summer Gathering being held for the first time in the San Juans and “hosted” (organized) by yours truly.
We had tried leaving messages (which he would later say he never received), so upon entering Ouray, Ellen tried dialing his number again and sure enough, he answered his phone. When she asked as to his whereabouts, he said he was just driving into Ouray! He was at the north end of town, we were at the south end of town! We pulled onto a side street, Ellen gave me the phone and I directed him to our location. Could this uncanny lucky have been a good omen?
Kane was fired up about having a chance at climbing Potosi and he readily agreed to make camp near Ouray. Our only concern was the weather. The late afternoon build up and rain showers were once again casting a dark shadow on my hopes for success. Kane went to find a camp site while we looked at the weather on the laptop (a valuable tool I did not have back in the 80s). The first of two low pressure systems was right over the San Juans, but at least it was from the northwest. A monsoon deluge would build sooner and last longer, but it was rain nonetheless. We could only hope our window tomorrow would be long enough to let us climb the mountain.
At dinner, Kane said he would meet us at the Weehawken trailhead, and we agreed to a time of 5:00 AM. I predicted we’d be hiking by 6:00 AM and be off the mountain by 1:00 PM. It was a good plan, and with that, we were off to bed.The Climb
Kane prepares to descend from Coffee Pot to Potosi Peak's NW saddle
The alarm went off, loud and unruly, both beeping and the radio blaring music mixed with a barrage of static. Ellen and I both were sleeping pretty good, and the bombast had us springing blindly out of bed into the darkness. Ellen fumbled with the alarm, finally managing to get it shut off. By then, I was on my feet, and my first concern was the weather. It had rained steadily during the evening hours over most of the San Juan peaks we could see from our hotel room. I stepped out on the balcony and looked up. No moon, and not one stinking star anywhere!
I was livid. There were clouds galore above us, and the air felt fairly damp. Was the weather going to screw me yet again? I put the ugly notion out of my mind and we prepared, getting dressed, eating a quick breakfast and loading up on water. The drive to Ouray had us spotting a few stars, but the sky was ominously dark. We met Kane and loaded him aboard. He informed us that it rained most of the night, but there were no downpours. Just steady rain, which finally ceased around 4:00 AM. But he was not exactly hopeful, and he knew I was pretty peeved about the whole situation. 
First light over Yankee Boy & Governor Basins
We arrived at the starting point, got our hiking boots on, stretched, donned our packs and noted the sky. The clouds were high and thin, and seemed to be burning off. The gray twilight of early morning crept in on Yankee Boy Basin, and as we started hiking, we could at least see where to put our feet. We marched through the renowned Yankee Boy flowers, doing our best not to trample any blooms and within minutes were on steep tundra that quickly delivered us far above the basin floor. To our right was Potosi Peak, a great silhouette of a flat topped triangle against a rising sun, still shrouded in mystery. 
Potosi Peak's details become evident with more morning light
The steep tundra gained our altitude quickly. We angled to the east to stay on it and position ourselves beneath the easternmost couloir on Coffee Pot’s south face. Upon stepping onto the loose talus, it became apparent to Kane we might do better on more solid strata to the right. We also put on our helmets at this point. A rib of rock ran up the slope along the couloir. Ellen and I were glad to have Kane lead and this route choice was a wise one. The climbing was steep Class 3 but it avoided the mess most folks would usually decide to put up with. Above the rock, more talus greeted us and careful foot placements avoided any shifting incidents or close calls. 
Class 3 climbing up Coffee Pot's south slopes
Once on the ridge top, a fine, sandy surface greeted us. The sun was just coming up and the clouds were slowly burning off. Reserved elation was the feeling I had as I beheld Coffee Pot’s interesting summit block being bathed in the morning light, as well as Teakettle behind it. I turned around to view the mighty Potosi, looking majestic beyond comprehension in the morning glow. The view defied adequate description. More notably though was…I had never been this close to the summit until now. Was I going to make it after all? Ellen was certainly excited. “You’re going to climb Potosi!” We snapped a few pictures before descending down the obvious climber’s trail so thoughtfully provided for us by previous folks. 
Negotiating notoriously loose rock enroute to Potosi Peak
I’m here to tell ya that THIS CLIMBER’S TRAIL WAS A NIGHTMARE. The further down the ridge we went, the more loose it became and soon it was very treacherous. As we descended down a shallow gully between two ribs of rock, I grabbed a hand hold, a flake four inches thick and at least two feet square. The entire thing just about came off the face of the cliff! I let it go, reset it in place and gingerly made my way around and beneath it, warning Ellen about it as I danced my way out of the area, as she would certainly send rocks down my way just as I had done. It was inevitable, as climbing on these mountains causes rock fall. I took a photo of Ellen descending this horrible stretch once I was closer to the saddle, where Kane was pausing. We were both thinking the same thing. Do we really want to climb back up that mess? 
Descending the horrendously loose talus on Coffee Pot
It was hard to believe that I was now back on Potosi, over twenty years later. It appeared Ellen was once again right in her never ending enthusiasm. I was finally going to climb this mountain. I knew I didn’t have to pinch myself when I turned around to see Ellen standing in good ol’ unstable Potosi talus and see the entire area around her shift with the crackle that sounded all too much like shards of glass. Yep! We’re on Potosi alright! 
Traversing Potosi's mighty west face
I reminded Ellen and Kane to “step light” on such terrain and not to stay on it very long. Both took the advice to heart and we continued our pace across the great west face of the mountain. Our route presently carried us across a brown (almost purple) band of fine, sandy scree. We found a scant climber’s trail, probably recently used more by animals than man, and dashed quickly across this great slope with Potosi’s towering summit cliffs rising above us and casting a dark shadow.
We rounded a corner and started up slope. Kane was surprised at how quickly we had arrived at the couloir. Problem was, I had the route pretty much memorized, and when I asked Kane where he was going, he thought he was going up the couloir to the top. I assured him and Ellen that the couloir was on the other side of the mountain. This couloir does indeed go to the top, but a guidebook on the San Juans said it was loose and dangerous. Kane deferred to my acquired knowledge and we dropped back down to the route and continued over to the mountain’s southwest ridge. From there we ascended the ridge directly for about one hundred feet worth of gain, then continued our contour across the impressive southeast face of the mountain amongst boulders and more soft scree. During this time we noticed a great band of stratified clouds rolling in over Utah out west. The next wave of moisture from the next low pressure system was on its way. 
Ascending the southeast couloir
The traverse of the southeast face went quickly, and within ten minutes from the southwest ridge, we were at the base of the correct couloir and Kane was pleased with its appearance after looking up the previous one on the west face. We wasted no time, for we knew the summit was not far off, as well as the end of a twenty-plus year saga for this old climber. 
Ellen ascends the western couloir on the southeast side of the summit tower
Kane turned to me and said, “I want you to lead, Aaron. This is your mountain.” I thanked him and pressed on, scrambling up to a short section of Class 3 rock, then angling over to a wider western gully filled with sandy scree. I knew from what I had read that ascending to the top of the couloir was not the way to go. I crossed the gully and climbed up on solid, rounded, rubble covered rock via a foot wide crack. The terrain was reminiscent of the South Ridge of Sneffels. I pressed onward and Ellen and Kane were close behind.
I thought these final moments would have me overwhelmed with excitement. As I scrambled up the Class 2 rock and came to a ledge above the couloir, just steps from the top, it wasn’t as much excitement as it was relief. Perhaps so many years had passed that being that excited about anything just really wasn’t in my capacity to endure anymore. I scrambled up the last ledges and stepped onto the sandy scree of Potosi’s summit. Yep. It was a quiet sense of relief, as if I was finally able to close this small but nagging chapter in my life of mountain climbing. I was indeed very happy and glad to be standing on Potosi’s ironically spacious summit, undoubtedly the safest place on the mountain. But it was a quiet happiness, which allowed me to really enjoy the summit and soak in the total experience of being there.
We took pictures and nibbled a bit, wandering around on top to take in the staggering views. Ellen signed the summit register. I was going to, but didn’t. I was fine enough knowing I had climbed the mountain. Actually, for all three of us, the real elation would be our safe return to Yankee Boy Basin. It was then that we would be very happy. 
Three happy folks on the summit
From the summit we could see the weather marching further south, avoiding the San Juans for the present, but a few puffy clouds were building over the range. The sooner we were off the mountain, the better. Without much fanfare, we departed the summit and made our way quickly back around the summit tower, for we knew we were now running on borrowed time. 
Aaron & Kane prepare to descend Potosi Peak
The DescentWe were just shy of the saddle. An obvious climber’s trail led down a horrible looking unstable talus slope to intersect with another route descending from the saddle. Both routes looked horrendously loose and perhaps even dangerous. On our way to this point we had discussed using Gerry Roach’s descent route, knowing full well that others had not negotiated it with much success.
But we didn’t want to re-climb the dangerously loose talus back up to Coffee Pot, either. So it was a matter of choosing the lesser of two evils. I was no stranger to Potosi’s horribly loose rock. It was part of being on the mountain. I know Kane and Ellen were both experienced on loose rock, but this was Potosi, the loosest of them all. We discussed the matter and decided to try the descent route and put my memory and route finding skills to the test. I think Ellen was a bit unsure of the situation, but felt good that we had studied the mountain the prior day and had a knowledge base to work from. Kane had faith that if I thought the descent route might go, that it probably would indeed “go.”
So go we went! Kane descended first, then me, then Ellen. This big talus was just awful and everything moved beneath our footsteps and around us well. Several spots required our exiting the worn trail because it was so hazardous, but being off route wasn’t much better. It was a light mountain dance of tip-toeing and four pointing to get down this stuff. The talus wasn’t small, either. We’re talking good sized rocks that would be boulders in people’s front yards. We crossed a bouldered slope that I could hear shifting beneath my feet. One rock falling on our feet would be a potentially serious injury. It’s a wonder more calamities do not happen on this mountain.
We descended along a rock tower down loose terrain as far as fifty feet from one another, regrouping in the talus slope below once out of the dangerous terrain. We made a hard left and started contouring along the west slopes of the mountain. We came to a gully and crossed it, and with a touch of relief, stepped onto tundra. I had Kane back in the lead and asked that he forge ahead but to stay high. I let Ellen catch up and we proceeded to follow in Kane’s experienced footsteps. I figured all that climbing in the Elks he did was going to pay off for us now. The real test was on me. Would I remember the route correctly? Or would I blow it and steer us into a retreating situation? Would we have to climb back up to the saddle through that hazardous loose crap? Yikes! Perish that thought! This route was gong to work, damn it!
Flowers galore on Potosi's west slopes-A VERY nice reward
As we contoured along the steep, grassy slopes, flashes of color began dotting the landscape. After another gully crossing, we came over a rise and stood in a spectacular explosion of wildflowers! We were impressed and overwhelmed, amazed and certainly blessed. What a great reward for our trouble! Out came the cameras and our pace slowed despite the darkening clouds. There was no organization and my experienced judgment informed me that the weather was not yet a factor in our day, so we snapped away. 
Beautiful ORANGE Kings Crown on Potosi's west tundra slopes
Our pauses would be brief, but the flowers kept coming. It was a stunning array of color that rivaled anything in Yankee Boy Basin, and we were the only ones seeing it! There was even a patch of orange Kings Crown, which is normally red. This is something I had never seen before! It was a beautiful display, poised high above the basin, and it was difficult to move on, for it would have been nice to linger. If the sky did decide to sprinkle, that wetness could make our descent quite treacherous, so we moved on. 
Cautious descent down the tundra
After a fourth gully crossing, we descended the tundra carefully. We were in line with the Yankee Boy road, directly east of the bend Gerry Roach mentions. We could not see the orange scree pile at the bottom though, since the slope was steeper below us. I was certain we were positioned correctly, for we had that nasty looking grotto to our right. The tundra gave way to hard packed scree. I descended first to a rocky perch to see if I could determine if we were indeed in the correct position. I carefully sauntered down the rib of rock and peeked down between more ribs below me. To my left was the gray gully, and below I could see the gully emptied into an orange gully that I had not seen from the road. I couldn’t make out the details, but it looked doable. The scree pile was then below that, which was encouraging. I could only hope that my old eyes did not deceive me and I had missed something. 
Ellen carefully descends hardpacked scree to the gray gully
I shouted back to Kane and Ellen that the route would go, although it would be messy. I climbed back up to a good spot to enter the gray gully at as they made their way down to me. Kane volunteered to go first into the wide gray gully. I supposed the worst that could happen would be a forced retreat, but climbing out of the gully would be a real challenge. It was hard pan covered in loose scree, like ball bearings on a 45 degree slope. Kane would check it out and instruct us on the best way to navigate down this messy obstacle. 
Kane carefully descends the wide gray gully
Entering the gully took a bit of care, for a fall would send one rolling down the thing, and holds were not the greatest. Kane did the Class 3 move with a touch of finesse and then inched out across the hard pan to what he hoped was deeper scree near the center of the drainage. It wasn’t as deep as he would have liked, but it enabled him to inch down the mountain with small “scree skiing” moves. He reached a point where he would be out of view and thus decided to wait there. I sent Ellen in next, who followed Kane’s lead. Once she was out of the fall line, I followed.
About half way down this steep gully, the rubble beneath me rolled and next thing I knew, my feet were out from underneath me. Once on my side, I did not stop. I started sliding down the mountain! The scree beneath me was rolling along on top of that hard rock, and it was literally taking me down the mountain with it! Below, the hard pan got steeper. My slide would terminate in more loose rubble, but I would be substantially beat up when I arrived there with a thud. I instinctively grabbed out at the mountain, but there was nothing to grab! My hands were scraping at the mountain like the coyote in the Warner Brothers cartoons just before a cataclysmic fall. Only my hands didn’t leave scrape marks in the rock.
Finally, good ol’ reliable friction slowed me down and I ground to a halt. I tried to move and reposition myself and I slid again. Meanwhile, Ellen is off to the side of the gully, watching helplessly, probably terrified. Kane was below, probably not sure what to do, as if there was anything he could do. Once again physics came into play and I was able to stop and scoot my way off of the hazardous surface into deeper scree and talus. Other than some scrapes on my palms, I was uninjured, but certainly humbled as I peered up at the summit tower, now several thousand feet above us (that should tell you how steep the mountain is). I realized Potosi wasn’t going to let me have the victory so easily, that I had to be humbled just a bit, to let me and everyone else know who the boss really is. I supposed that’s fair enough and we continued on. 
Scree mound skiing to the basin floor
Kane advised that we make a hard right onto deeper, unstable talus and scree rather than follow the gray gully’s exit into the orange gully. Upon arrival at the spot, I agreed, for the pour-off into the orange gully looked treacherously loose. We contoured across the orange scree and talus, not exactly a pretty affair either, and then descended into the narrow orange gully and carefully followed this much sandier draw to a white stained water course, I could hear Kane’s elated shouts as he was descending the orange scree heap below, so I knew we were close to our day’s end. 
Descending the orange scree pile below the orange gully
Ellen was wanting to follow the water course, which I knew was slick and had a very steep terminus. I urged her to the left over a pile of fine, sandy orange scree, which she was unsure of at first. Once over the hump, we found ourselves on the crest of a giant mound of orange sand, and from there, it was an easy scree ski to the Yankee Boy road. 
Finished descent at the bottom of the mountain-we can still see the summit!
Epilogue
Reflecting back to a sunny moment on Coffee Pot
As we left Yankee Boy Basin, it started to sprinkle. We had done it. We had finally climbed Potosi Peak. My twenty-plus year ordeal was over. Ellen was obviously happy for me, and happy that she could be there to share in the experience. I’m sure Kane felt the same way, in addition to wanting to climb the mountain for his own reasons. The descent route had worked. My route finding experience had stood the test, despite the potentially hazardous nature of the route, and my close brush with possible injury in a sliding fall. We were safely back in the car and we now had legitimate cause to celebrate.
From Ouray we were off to Silverton to get settled in and meet some SP members for the next day’s event: The First Colorado SP Gathering in the San Juans, and a climb of Golden Horn. The Potosi epic was behind us, a pleasant and exciting memory we would never forget, and certainly a chapter closed in my mountain climbing life.
We arrived in Silverton in pouring rain and the chances of tomorrow’s climb being a success looked pretty grim. We may have climbed Potosi just under the wire. The weather map wasn’t encouraging and the NOAA report had been changed from okay to downright grim. At the worst, we could enjoy the flowers of Lower Ice Lake Basin.
It turned out the next day that all went well. The San Juan weather once again granted a reprieve. The northwest flow continued, the cloud cover kept the day nice and cool and there was no subsequent build up, and it only rained late in the evening. The climb and the entire SP Gathering event was a big success. Interestingly enough, on Sunday, after finishing our climb of Engineer Mountain, the winds shifted, and by that afternoon, the monsoon had arrived in the San Juans. A downpour in Ouray had mud pouring onto the highway north of town as we headed toward our Ridgway hotel.
Had we stuck to our plan, the monsoon would have caught us on Potosi Peak, a real nightmare indeed. So it would seem it was my fate after all to climb the mountain. 
Kane and Aaron take in the magnificent view from Potosi's spacious summit
My eternal thanks go out to Kane and Ellen for sharing this magnificent experience with me. 
Ms. Ellen shares in the wonderful feeling of climbing Potosi Peak 26 years after my first attempt on the mountain
A Week LaterThere are no mountains out there currently calling my name as Potosi, Peak C and Capitol Peak have done. There are no mountains I have been turned away from out there nagging me for another try. It’s a good feeling. I have spent much of my vacation week at home adding my collected material to SP and simply enjoying myself. The plan was to attempt South Maroon and Pyramid during the course of the week, but Ellen had to go back to Connecticut on family business, and I was not in the mood to go to work.
So, I wrote this report, among other things.
Just before I went to bed last night, I began thinking about the other “rumored” route up Potosi. I had heard about how complex it was. Route finding was a challenge, but one guy on SP had managed to do it. His entry is in the climber’s logs on the Potosi Peak page. Hmmm. I know the route descriptions in the books suck, so I don’t bother to read them again. Instead, I dig out my “Spirit of the San Juans” coffee table book and open it to a picture of the Governor Mine in Governor Basin. Directly across the valley in a stunning backdrop is Potosi Peak.
The route supposedly climbs directly from the town site of Sneffles in close proximity to the southwest ridge of the mountain, mostly on tundra, but the route also negotiates lots of obstacles as well. Unfortunately, that area of the photo is also in the crease of the book and it’s hard to really make out the details. From that photo, and one of mine of the mountain from Hayden Peak (on the Potosi Peak page), it appears that the route might really go. It would be yet another new challenge to beckon me. Of course that means yet another trip up to Yankee Boy, and good results are far from certain at best. But wouldn’t it be cool to climb that route and have it submitted to SP as well?
I shake my head….nahhhh!
I close the book and go to bed.
All photography in this report by Aaron Johnson & Ellen Ritt
Be sure to read the captions of the photos displayed HERE and HERE for more information. Images
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Sneffels Range, Colorado > Potosi Peak > 5th Time IS The Charm
