Features > Backcountry Adventures
Driving To The Sky
story and photography by Karl Dierenbach
Through my windshield, I see only sky. I see the same view through my side windows. Only by leaning out the driver’s side window can I see the trail I am on and the valley 1,800 feet below. If I could lean out the passenger window and look down, I would see an alpine lake, 1,300 feet below. However, right now I am concentrating on the trail ahead. I lean out the window to see the trail under my tires, and I continue. Gravity pushes me back into my seat. It feels as if I am driving straight up. This is Red Cone, one of the most heart stopping four-wheel drive trails in Colorado. And it is not the “make a wrong move, smash into a rock and break your ride” kind of scary. No, Red Cone is “make a wrong move and tumble a thousand feet” scary. One mistake and they’ll have to find you by following the trail of parts down the mountainside.
The day started innocently enough. I arrived at the Red Cone trailhead just after sunrise. The road starts off of Colorado 285 about four miles west of Grant, Colorado. After cruising for about five miles on a flat dirt road winding along the North Fork of the South Platte River, the four-wheel drive portion of the trip begins in earnest.
I throw my Jeep into four-wheel low and start up. The trail is narrow, even by Jeep standards. To compound the issue the road surface is made up of rocks, from baseball sized pebbles to Christmas turkey sized boulders, occasionally the Jeep will roll off a gobbler and lurch violently to the side. It’s not long before I fold both mirrors close to the body of my JEEP. Several miles into the drive, I get a brief pardon as the road smoothes out as it follows a small stream for a few minutes. However, the rocks quickly return.
Soon the road starts to open up a bit. Distant mountains can occasionally be seen through the trees. And then, in what seems likes an instant, the road changes from forest to alpine tundra, from huge rocks to smooth dirt. Now this is Colorado four-wheeling at its best. The road floats along above 11,500 feet with a deep blue Colorado sky above and snow spotted mountain peaks in every direction. To the southeast, I can see Pikes Peak over 125 miles away.
The author’s Jeep parked atop Red Cone. The descent from Red Cone is so steep that the National Forest Service has declared it a one-way trail.
As I cruise along enjoying the scenery, a little voice in the back of my head keeps repeating what I have heard about Red Cone: for experienced four-wheelers only, do not attempt in an unmodified vehicle. Obviously, they weren’t talking about this part of the trail. Then I crest a ridgeline and Red Cone comes into view, and my jaw drops. Notions of turning back race around my cerebrum. Red Cone’s summit looms over a mile away and several hundred feet above, and the road goes straight up to the peak— no switchbacks — no gentle sideways shelf road. And to top it off, it gets steeper as you approach the summit.
Thinking “you only live once,” I head for the summit. At first it seems easy, the mountain face is wide and the ascent is gradual. But the higher I go, the closer the trail gets to the edge. Still, I’m not worried, the road is smooth and my tires are finding purchase. Confidence quickly changed to trepidation as I approached the final 100 feet of ascent. Imagine driving up the edge of a pyramid. Now imagine the pyramid tops out at 12,801 feet. Finally, throw in several coffee table sized moguls. This is what I faced.
I ease up to the hill, throw a switch to activate my rear axle locker and start up. Immediately, I can see nothing but blue sky. Same out the sides. This feels more like an airplane ride than a Jeep trail. And if it were an airplane, I’d be looking for my chute. I have to lean out my window to see the trail. As I climb to the summit, the Jeep violently lurches from side to side as I climb over and through the moguls.
Mountain Goats peer down from above.
Finally, I arrive at the summit and quickly hit the brakes. The entire summit is about the size of a volleyball court. I stop the Jeep, push on the emergency brake and get out to bask in my triumph. The views are spectacular. I feel great, until I see where the trail goes from here. The downhill section of the Red Cone trail is menacing. It is so steep that the National Forest Service has designated it one way (down). The moguls on this section look large enough to swallow my entire Jeep. Hit one of them wrong, and I may go down the hill end over end (or any other of a long list of ways other than wheels down).
After a satisfying stay on the summit, I head down. The Jeep is in low range and first gear. Both axles are locked. The idea is to use engine braking and coast down the hill as slowly as possible. The axles are locked so that all four wheels are braking. Also, any application of the brakes won’t lock up a single wheel.
On a hill as steep and loose as this one, any wheel lock up would immediately cause the Jeep to slide to one side or the other, possible resulting in a roll over. My descent is fairly smooth, even though I feel like the driver side rear wheel caught air a couple of times, I stay off the brake and keep the Jeep pointed downhill.
The climb up Radical Hill leads to a huge network of alpine trails.
At the bottom of the hill, I have a choice: I can head back onto pavement, through Montezuma Colorado or I can go toward Breckenridge over Radical Hill. I can’t resist a road called Radical Hill, so I start to climb again. This is more of a typical Colorado 4WD road. The trail switchbacks up a shear wall about 1,100 feet high.
As I climb, the road gets narrower until it is one vehicle wide climbing up an extremely steep mountainside. At this point I see a large rock that appears to be blocking the road. Rather than having to back down the ledge of a road, I stop and hike uphill for a look. It turns out the rock is smaller than I thought, I can get around it easily by placing the passenger side tires on the edge of the road.
I don’t usually believe in premonitions or feelings, but I don’t know how else to explain what happened next. As I stood on the trail, I had the strongest feeling that I was being watched. I looked around and saw nothing; no one on the trail; no one in the valley below. Still, the feeling would not go away. Finally, I looked up to see that three mountain goats were watching me, peering over the ledge above. I could see that the trail would eventually wind its way up to where they were, so after taking a few pictures of the goats from below, I got back in the Jeep and continued up the hill.
Middle Fork of the Swan River tumbles toward Breckenridge, Colorado, a ski resort about 60 air miles west of Denver.
When I got to the top, I expected that the goats would be long gone, however, they had not moved. In fact, they seemed totally unfazed by my presence. Sure, they looked at me as I drove up to them, but (if possible for a goat) it was with a laissez faire attitude. I even had to wait for one of them to get off of the road before I could continue. After the goat was gracious enough to move off, I continued along the trail. For the next several miles, the road crossed vast alpine tundra. Originally these roads were created to provide access for mining. Some heavy equipment and planks from former buildings are about all that is left of the mines.
Dark clouds started forming to the west, so I decided to head down. The last place you want to be is above tree line in a Colorado thunderstorm. I choose to head down a trail along the Middle Fork of the Swan River. This is a fairly smooth route, which provides access to the high country from Breckenridge. Just before tree line, I stop to take a picture of the river as it cuts its way through fields and flowers.
After taking a couple of pictures, I head back to the Jeep, only to discover marmots are attacking it. The first marmot, the one standing guard in front of the Jeep, immediately hightails it for the nearest shrubbery. The second fella is up in the engine compartment doing who-knows-what. I can only see his tail, hanging down next to my engine. I charge the Jeep, yelling for him to get out. When I was about six feet away, he jumped down and joined his partner in the bushes.
A herd of mountain goats gathered on Radical Hill. The goats were shedding their winter coats, leaving the area peppered with tufts of goat hair.
I pop the hood, inspecting for damage, and find none. While I am doing this, a friendly couple drives by and asks me if I need any help. I tell them about the marmot attack and they say I’m lucky. They were talking to a chap in a new Land Rover who had just received a grapefruit sized dent from a marmot. Apparently, the critter dislodged a rock that tumbled down the mountainside and into the side of their vehicle. Feeling fortunate to have survived the trip over Red Cone, the drive up Radical Hill, and some devilish marmots, I climb back into my Jeep and head down into Breckenridge just as the clouds let loose.