Leatherman Peak

Leatherman Peak.

Dun dun dun.

I decided I'd take a fast and hard day hike, starting at 5am and hiking as long as necessary to bag Leatherman Peak, one of Idaho's 9 peaks over 12,000 feet.  It turned out being one of the scariest experiences of my life.

My pathetically urban car wasn't suited for the 4WD dirt road, so I parked off of 93 and hiked in the 4 miles to the trailhead (surprising steep for a dirt road).  I made great time until I reached the saddle, at which point I was unsure about the proper trail.  I quoted Robert Frost's The Road Not Taken in my head (you just need to have this one memorized for any hiking adventure), and set off on the most palatable option.  After two hours of climbing, not hiking, I knew I wasn't making any headway, nor was I going to summit.   I was in a predicament unsurpassed at any of my hiking sprees.

It was at this point that I began to get quite a bit nervous about my lone self out in the lone wilderness, ten miles and 2,500 feet above the nearest living soul, and completely out of earshot of any source of help (even my little handy whistle was futile at these heights). To compound my problem, the skies were turning violent is a quick manner, and I knew I'd be stuck in the rain, on a 60 degree bed of talus and scree.

I was up a chimney chute with crumbling hand holds, and decided the fastest way off the peak would be a bit of glisading down a snow field thirty feet below my location.  I scrambled down, only to find the snow sheet was actually an ice sheet, and I had lodged myself right in the clutches of the steepest possible descent, with no way out.  So, I bolstered my courage, spat in the rain, and started the precarious journey down.

Several slips and 3-foot falls later, and after having stopped mid-climb for ten minutes to cry my heart out, and scream quite a bit (actually a lot), I re-attempted the climb up the face to regain my original, safer position.  No avail.  Down again, slipping, falling, and losing my pant britches to teeth of the pointed, dislodged rocks.  I continued in this manner, until I was safely (relatively speaking, of course), to a flat surface.  At which point I completely prostrated myself and cried for another five minutes, offering up prayers of gratitude and incoherent blubberings of thankfulness.  I'm afraid my solo climbing efforts on first ascents are now a day in the past.  I've learned my lesson, and the mountains I'll yet conquer will have to be conquered with a companion.  Hands down.  No more dangerous solo climbs.  Thanks for the lesson, Leatherman.

Mount Breidenbach in the distance.

Leatherman saddle, with the west side ascent on the top right of the picture.

Off the trail, trying to make my own way.  Bad idea.

Hike up the west face of Leatherman.  Talus and scree galore.

Smiling before the rainstorm and the scary and nearly tragic descent.

I descended via the rock face on the left side of the above photo.

Post rain-storm, post-slipping, post-rock-smashing-up-my-legs, post-major-crying-on-the-slopes!

I loved the juxtaposition of the dark and light rock- for some reason I was reminded of a temple.