Bloody ball-bustin’ Baldwin: Mountain Goat and Draft Horse summit a stinker.

Mountain Goat flitted fitfully back into town in her usual flighty fashion. “Draft Horse, we must explore once more for I am weary of the woods of Tenny-see and pine for my precious pointy peaks and alpine air! But this time, our adventure must be bolder and braver! It must beat our brows and bash our butts! ” Draft Horse had heard whispered in the underworld of wizened and wily wayfarers tall and terrible tales of a terrifically High and Mighty Mountain, a legendary and lurking pointy peak concealed a diabolical distance up a contorted canyon, a soaring summit with an infamy so frightful that she feared uttering its name.

“Bdwin” she barely breathed.

“I beg your pardon? My ears were not adequate for interpreting your accent. Could you please amplify the information? ” Mountain Goat requested.

Draft Horse, inhaling apprehensively and focusing on her feet, repeated the alarming appellation: “Baldwin”.

Mountain Goat gasped then rasped, “Baldwin??!! Are you batty? Are you barmy?”  

Draft Horse looked up slowly and met Mountain Goat’s gaze. There was a pregnant pause.

“Let’s do it!” They both blurted, bravely and boldly, not realizing that the feeling would be ephemeral.

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Dawn dawned as chipper Mountain Goat, skipped and Draft Horse stolidly strode along the stunning shores of Wit-Sa-Nap which gleamed and glinted, reflecting the early sun under the sentinel stares of the proud pair, Laurie and Morrie.

“I do believe these usually unnoticeable undulations will undo us on our return, Mountain Goat,” warned Draft Horse.

“Tish tosh, what undulations? This footpath is fundamentally flat”, dismissed Mountain Goat, leading the way with a spring in her step.  

Wendy starting off around Convict Lake on one of those pesky undulations. Laurel Mountain behind

“Where in the world IS this High and Mighty Mountain, anyway?” queried Mountain Goat, gazing and gaping up at Laurie and Morrie. (You may remember that Mountain Goat was not a master of maps; in this duty, Draft Horse dominated.)

“I believe Baldwin is beyond Laurie and Morrie. We must move on.” replied Draft Horse.

Mount Morrison

Laurel Mountain

Soon enough, they reached the end of the lake and began a steady ascent up the contorted canyon. Multihued rock layers of ancient seabed writhed in ridiculous ways in the Canyon Cliffs. At its base, a Crashing Creek clattered and splattered down a tumble of black boulders. Draft Horse and Mountain Goat zigged and they zagged. They crossed vast fields of fallen rubble from the crumbling crags. They traversed groves of glorious aspens approaching autumn.

“Where in the world IS this High and Mighty Mountain?” enquired Mountain Goat, gazing and gaping at the Crashing Creek and the Canyon Cliffs.

“I believe Baldwin is beyond the Crashing Creek and the Canyon Cliffs. We must move on.” replied Draft Horse.

Geologically ancient walls of Convict Canyon

First bit of colour in the aspens in Convict Canyon

One of many rockfalls to cross up Convict Canyon

Finally, they reached the river which required crossing. But it was passable only over slippery stepping stones above the splashing of the icy stream. Of course, Mountain Goat pranced and danced her way over with great grace. And of course, Draft Horse decided to deploy quadruped poles and plodded her way over ponderously. Beyond, the path narrowed and snaked upwards, perched precariously on a Steep Slope of Sharp Scree. A fumble or a stumble would surely result in a careening tumble to the Crashing Creek now far below.

“Where in the world IS this High and Mighty Mountain?” demanded Mountain Goat, gazing and gaping at the Steep Slope of Sharp Scree.

“I believe Baldwin is beyond the Steep Slope of Sharp Scree. We must move on.” responded Draft Horse.

Convict Creek crossing - always spicy!

Narrow trail on the scree slope above the creek crossing.

Eventually, they escaped the Steep Slope of Sharp Scree and, with lagging legs and hurting hooves, crested a ridge. There they saw a spectacular sight. A Languid Lake, Millie by name, lapped along a Lengthy Gentle Valley. Beyond Millie’s mild millpond, a sinuous stream disappeared towards a Striking Striped Summit at the head of the Lengthy Gentle Valley.

“Surely THAT must be the High and Mighty Mountain!” exclaimed Mountain Goat, gazing and gaping at the Striking Striped Summit beyond the Languid Lake and the Lengthy Gentle Valley.

“Sorry to disappoint you but sadly it is not,” countered Draft Horse. “I believe Baldwin is beyond the Languid Lake, hiding behind the Lengthy Gentle Valley. We must move on”.

Lake Mildred and the distinctive Red Slate Mountain. This is usually a day hike in itself.

So they started off along the sinuous stream that meandered through muddy meadows along the Lengthy Gentle Valley, stopping at Snack Stop A by a slow and shallow shoal. As they rounded a sloping shoulder behind which a Trickling Tributary spilled, they stopped suddenly, stunned. For fearfully far above towered a terrifically tall Soaring Summit, looming loftily. It looked hopelessly high.

“I believe Baldwin is that High and Mighty Mountain,” said Draft Horse, gazing and gaping at the Soaring Summit.

Mountain Goat gulped. “But Draft Horse, we have already done a diabolical distance! We have wound around Wit Sa Nap, climbed the contorted canyon beneath the Canyon Cliffs, crossed the Crashing Creek, scrambled up the Steep Slope of Sharp Scree, and ambled along the Lengthy Gentle Valley. How much more time must we spend ascending? My legs are lapsing and my hooves are hurting!”

“Me too, Mountain Goat,” Draft Horse concurred. “But we must be brave and bold for this is surely where shit gets real”. She was eyeing the Trickling Tributary, the reported requisite rocky route to reach the High and Mighty Mountain. The track trailed off rapidly in the tricky terrain. “We must move on. The High and Mighty Mountain is still fearfully far.”

[AUTHOR"S NOTE: No photo exists of this intimidating sight, so overwhelmed were the pair by the prospect of the coming ascent. They were not even halfway]

And so the fast friends started up the trickling tributary, slow legs plodding. Even Mountain Goat, famous for skipping and tripping, began to lurch and lumber. They crossed a broad, barren plateau (“Are we on the moon?” wondered Draft Horse), then climbed a constricted canyon. Mountain Goat, not renowned for her route finding, led Draft Horse up a rocky ridge. Two other intrepid adventurers, unaware of her reputation, faithfully followed. Regrettably, it was the Wrong Rocky Ridge.

“Oops,” said Mountain Goat.

“Whoops,“ said Draft Horse.

Contrasting rock colours up a narrow canyon

But they spied the Right Rocky Ridge, and, mumbling an apology to the other intrepid adventurers, directly descended and corrected their route to the Right Rocky Ridge. Up, up, up they toiled alone along the Right Rocky Ridge (the other intrepid adventurers, doubtlessly discouraged by Mountain Goat’s regrettable route finding, having retreated) until they spied Snack Stop B, an airy aerie indeed. There, they munched momentarily, admiring the monstrous mountain which STILL seemed fearfully far.

Wendy working her way up the northwest ridge of Mount Baldwin. Lake Dorothy behind.

“How much further is it?” whined Draft Horse, feeling fearsome fatigue.

“Draft Horse, I do believe you are suffering from the first signs of HAWS” intoned Mountain Goat gravely.

Draft Horse was particularly perplexed. “Horse? Well, I AM a Draft Horse, so what do you expect?” (Draft Horse, originating in the Antipodes, remained unaccustomed at times to-American accents)

“No, HAWS. High Altitude Whining Syndrome.”

“Oh no! Is it contagious?” gasped Draft Horse.

“It can be. We must be very vigilant. It can be terminal.”

“Terminal? How?”

“If you suffer from HAWS, you are at a high risk of mortality from, ahem, mishaps in the presence of your precious partner. Draft Horse, we have to hem in HAWS!”.

“And how do we hem in HAWS?”

“We confine the whine! Remember that we must be brave and bold on Baldwin!”

And so confine the whine, they did, bravely and boldly. Mountain Goat mounted the exposed escarpment with exquisite elegance while Draft Horse scratched and scrabbled along behind. As they scrambled across the steep face of that soaring summit, past a mysterious mine of clear crystals, and grunted up the gobs of ghastly gravel to the tippy top, neither Draft Horse nor Mountain Goat expressed the slightest dissatisfaction. Uncomplainingly, they compliantly confined the whine although the whole of them hurt horrendously. Instead, between labored breaths, they joked and jibed and teased and talked, boosting and buoying each other until they tread on the tippy top.

Dallas working her way up the northwest face of Mount Baldwin. Bright Dot Lake behind.

Wendy climbing up the face.

Calcite crystals at the old Bausch and Lomb mine at about 12,000ft
.

The awful sandy slog up the final ridge to the summit. Bright Dot Lake and Convict Canyon to the left rear and the ridgeline to Mount Morrison to the right rear.

“It is now fine to whine for a time”, declared Mountain Goat.

“That was a gut-buster!” moaned Draft Horse. “I am now knackered!”

“That was an ass-kicker!” groaned Mountain Goat. “I am definitely done like a dog’s dinner!”

And so the whining was confined to a time at the tippy top of that Soaring Summit and HAWS was hemmed in.

The pooped pair lolled and lollygagged and lunched on that legendary and lurking pointy peak, delaying the descent. 

View down McGee Creek from the summit. Mount Baldwin dominates the view from there.

Looking east along the ridgeline from the summit to White Fang and Mount Morrison

But eventually, down they dawdled (you know the route now), lurching and lumbering, stumbling and fumbling, slipping and sliding (sadly into the stream!). Mountain Goat cooled off with a plunge in the no longer languid Lake Millie, turning blue in biting breeze. They paused periodically for a confined whine. Along the stunning shores of Wit-Sa-Nap, the pair appeared near dead, their heads dreadfully drooping. Mountain Goat moaned about the usually unnoticeable undulations and Draft Horse groaned, too. But they were not undone… quite.

Approaching Convict Lake on the descent as the sun goes down

As the sun set behind the sentinels of Laurie and Morrie, Draft Horse and Mountain Goat staggered to the extreme end where they slumped on a sturdy stone, devouring delicious delights.

Draft Horse, demolished and near demented, lamented, “Well, bloody Baldwin beat our brows and bashed our butts even though we were brave and bold.“

Mountain Goat assented, sapped and spent. “Bloody Baldwin was a ball buster!”

Draft Horse winked. “It was certainly a stinker, my friend. But at least we don’t have balls!”

A pooped but particularly pleased pair!