Robbing the Nest

Our line on the West Face of Eagles Nest Peak (13,419 ft), Gore Range.

It wound up to be sort of a lean year for me on the spring ski objective front. A combination of life, work schedule, weather and snowpack made it so. But one of the half-dozen days I was able to get out and ski a new peak was certainly one to write about.

In late-April Dave Bourassa and I realized a dream ski of ours after talking about it for years but never getting around to pulling the trigger until this year. Namely, a ski descent of the northernmost peak in the Gore Range, Eagles Nest A. We ended up picking a perfect day with everything falling into place, allowing us to ski two different lines off opposite sides of the peak.

Starting things off just after sunrise.

In terms of skiing, Eagles Nest is about as obscure of a descent as they come in a range that’s already known for obscure descents. There’s not much that’s been previously written about this one, and neither of us know anyone else who has skied it either. That’s not to say it’s never been done, this is Colorado after all. But regardless we knew we were in for an adventure into the relative unknown.

As they say, the early bird gets the worm.

As far as the approach goes, I’m not giving up any secrets on that (sorry Internet). But one glance at a map would tell you in order to approach the west face of the peak you’d have to first find yourself in upper-Cataract Creek…

Dave in upper-Cataract with the Corner peaks in back.

We approached the peak with no defined plan, trying to catch different angles of the west face as we slowly rounded the corner. At first there didn’t seem to be much doing, but then a possible continuous line came into view (the opening photo of this TR) and after studying it a bit, we decided to go for it.

Dave kicking steps up the lower-west face.

After winding up through a few corridors, the route steepened.
Photo by Dave.

The west face of Eagle’s Nest rises roughly 2,600 ft above the valley floor, and it felt like a long climb indeed. We finished up one set of chutes, then popped over a wind lip and traversed south before heading up another chute that ended in cliffs down the fall-line. So it became obvious that retracing the route correctly on the way back down would be important.

A traverse to the south with the Corners across the valley and Holy Cross way in back.

Eventually we hit the summit ridge, but not before a bit of rock scrambling we knew we’d have to downclimb on descent.

Views south from the summit ridge. That’s Mt. Powell on the right.

Eagles Nest summit, looking north.

Our summit mugs.

We were pretty elated to have topped out after climbing a line we had no idea existed when we set out in the morning. It’s such a cool feeling when things like this fall into place. There’s not a ton of true exploration to be done in this state anymore seemingly but this day felt like it probably qualified. It was Dave’s first time on top of Eagle’s Nest, and my second having hiked it in summer 14 years ago.

With the weather holding fine and the southeast face of the peak corning up nicely, we made the decision to drop off the side of the peak opposite the one we climbed…

Dave took firsts down the southeast face.

My turn. Photo by Dave.

Dave again.

Heading down into the elusive northern fork of upper-Black Creek. Photo by Dave.

The southeast line we skied off the tippy top. Photo taken from Mt. Powell in 2019.

After skiing about 1,200 ft it was time to slap skins on and turn it around. We made decent time back up to the summit ridge, with the snow and rocks around us rapidly heating up us as we neared the top. Our timing was more or less perfect though, and we were able to take a long break on the ridge as the sun continued to swing around to the west side of the peak. Eventually we decided to drop in and ski as we had a feeling the lower half of the west line was softening up.

Heading down the west face. Conditions started out variable as expected, but got better the lower we skied.

Looking down the maze of cliffs and rocks. No wrong turns through here.

Corn time lower down.

After navigating our way off the face we got some GS corn turns down the apron, and skinned/skied back to the trucks.

I could try to put into words how cool this one was to get done, but there’s no way I could do it better than Dave so I’ll just end with his take on things:

“This One Was Special”

Some ski objectives take more than just fitness and gear. They demand time, research, patience, and a little bit (okay, a lot) of luck. This peak was one of those. For years, it sat high on my list—taunting me. After multiple failed attempts, this time, everything finally clicked.

It wasn’t for lack of trying. My first attempt taught me quickly that the long approach was the least of the challenges. The line itself—steep, complex, elusive—required a season’s worth of the right weather patterns, just the right prevailing winds, and perfectly placed spring storms to fill in every nook and cranny.

This line doesn’t give up its secrets easily. There’s no reliable beta—just a choice: hike in blind or charter a plane for a flyover. Most of my attempts were of the former kind. It’s no wonder finding partners became harder over time. After all, who wants to wake up at an ungodly hour, slog for hours, only to turn around when the face isn’t in?

But I managed to convince Ben to join me, even without current intel on the line. He wasn’t stoked about the odds, but he signed on anyway.

As we wrapped around the base, we studied the spiderweb of lines etched across the face. Most ended in cliffs or dead ends. But one caught our eye. From what we could see, it looked just barely feasible. Some upper sections remained hidden, but we rolled the dice.

From that point forward, everything clicked. The weather. The snow. The decision-making. The line—a dream for so long—was in. We skied the direct SE face off the summit and then dropped into the tangled W-NW face. Somehow, despite a below-average snowpack this year, both lines went. We linked 4,000 vertical feet of fantastic skiing.

As we hit the apron of the second line, the weight of the moment sank in. Relief. Joy. Gratitude. After all those years of trying, guessing, failing, studying, and returning, the mountain gave us a window. This one was different. This one was special.

Couldn’t agree more Dave.

A parting shot of Dave with Mt. Powell in back. Cheers to the Gore.