Locals’ rite of passage: The fleeting ascent of Aspen’s high country

The time is 4:17 a.m. on Friday, Aug. 2. 

Four headlamps illuminate a small, flat landing above Moon Lake, and the flame from a tiny stove turns the bottom of a titanium pot bright red. There’s nothing but the sound of rustling tent flaps. The goal for the morning: summit Mount Daly, elevation 13,300 feet.

While the elevation might be dwarfed by the neighboring Capitol Peak, elevation 14,131 feet, Daly’s iconic white stripe and position above Snowmass Village create a calling for the children who grew up here. The technical climb — clocking in around class 3 — and remote location make it a challenging enterprise. That’s not to mention the lack of trail into our chosen campsite (and to the summit of Daly itself), the notoriously bad rock quality, and the heatwave we chose to undertake this adventure in.

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Preparation

Our group consists of three of my closest friends and myself. My childhood best friend Nicolai Trainor, my longtime Aspen High School classmate and friend Elsa Tullar, and one of my longtime adventure buddies and climbing partners Sydney Leach. 

All of us have grown up in Snowmass, looking longingly at the iconic white stripe and flat summit. All of us routinely recreate in the Colorado mountains. Our identities are shaped by the snow and rock that has surrounded us for as long as we can remember. The environment has been centerfold in all of our minds. 

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We are all also about to part ways, heading across the globe and country for college and to experience the next stages of our life. It was now or never, in more ways than one. 2024 was going to be our year, and we put together a crew and plan for a three-day and two-night trip. 

This trip was set to happen Aug. 1-3, coinciding with a sweltering heatwave and suppressive wildfire smoke from record-breaking fires raging in Canada. There was zero hope of getting a permit to camp at Capitol Lake, which has been so inundated with people that the U.S. Forest Service has had to limit the amount of overnight traffic. Our backup was Moon Lake, a remote and difficult-to-access lake on the other side of the pass from Capitol Lake. Moon Lake is seldom visited due to its remoteness and lack of established trail.

Approach to Moon Lake

The route we took started at the Maroon-Snowmass Trailhead, and shortly after departing the established trail, we were feeling the effects of the heat and difficult terrain. The hidden deadfall and disorienting, dense forest harkened back to the warning I had received while doing research on the route:

“You are 100% guaranteed to get lost if you approach from the Snowmass side.”

Following the seven-hour approach to cover just over six miles, we found a secluded and beautiful campsite in the boulder field above Moon Lake. Thankfully, enough snow was still hiding in the shade at camp that we were able to filter water from a small well without having to scramble the half mile to the next nearest water source. Our group was the only one at Moon Lake.

Hands down, Moon Lake is one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever visited. It rivals the deep interior of Wind River Range in Wyoming and even parts of the Dolomites in Italy. These wild places are home to amazing wildlife, including the mama bear with her three cubs we saw on our approach, and the marmot that chewed through my water-filter line. But these animals are incredibly threatened. 

According to the Nasa Earth Observatory, since 1880 and the Industrial Revolution, the planet has warmed by an average of around 2 degrees Fahrenheit. According to the Center for Biological Diversity, high alpine pikas, a staple of the landscape with their familiar high-pitched squeaks, need cool environments to survive. Climate change is shrinking the amount of time they are able to gather food as well as killing the plants they eat to survive; more directly, the heat may cause them to die from overheating. Pikas are a protected species and can be a strong point made towards climate action.

Increased human presence and climate change are also increasingly affecting black bear populations. A study by Sciencedirect.com in Durango, Colorado, noted a 57% decrease in female black bear populations following natural food shortages and human-caused bear mortality. I’ve experienced this firsthand after finding a decapitated bear head haphazardly tossed into a hole in a boulder field in the Wind River Range. 

The impacts on wildlife are horrifying, but they’re only the start.

Summit push

After a 4 a.m. alarm to beat the heat and weather on Friday morning, we start our ascent. Despite the early morning, the heat is still oppressive on the ridgeline. Loose, technical terrain slows our ascent to a crawl as we pick our way along the ridge. 

Despite holding onto loose rocks above several-hundred feet of lethal exposure below me, I’m happy. My life, as with the lives of my groupmates, is founded on outdoor recreation.

I’ve seen firsthand the slow shortening of ski seasons and snowfall. I’ve felt the oppressive heat while climbing above 12,000 feet. I’ve breathed the wildfire smoke and drank from heavy-metal polluted streams tainted by mining operations. I’ve seen world-class historical sites and climbing meccas, like Bear’s Ears National Monument, be dissolved for fossil-fuel development. I see my classmates and friends ignore the beauty of the wild I recreate in and opt to stay inside, staring at phone screens or lying in bed. 

American naturalist and poet Henry David Thoreau said in a speech in 1851, “In wilderness is the preservation of the world.” Access to the wilderness is vital for future generations. The 1964 Wilderness Act defines wilderness as, “An area where the Earth and its community of life are untrammeled by man, where man himself is a visitor who does not remain.” 

Climate change threatens wilderness worldwide.

Summiting Daly was a sendoff for our group. It marked the transition from a childhood in the Roaring Fork Valley into adult life. From the summit, we reflected on Daly as a collective childhood dream. We grew up united under the same peak. We’ve all lived under the same shadow of both Mount Daly and the shadow of the impending future devastated by climate change.

Back at camp, we spend the afternoon chatting, tanning, and fishing at Moon Lake. Our hike out also facilitated an early wake-up to try and beat the heat and make it out by early afternoon. For the moment, we could relax and rest. Mountain time moves differently, there’s no rush to go anywhere or do anything. Anxiety seems to dissipate with the clouds.