Rhoda
The moment I turned into Spencer Basin earlier that morning, my eyes had set sight on a beautiful peak. Although, this one was shaped less like a peak and more like a wide tabletop.
Leading up to it was one hell of a ridgeline, with the long runway leading up to the peak – made up of a sheer rock layer – standing out among the grassy hillsides.
Part of me was excited that this one could be where I was headed, but another look at that ridgeline and I knew the summit – at least from there – would be impossible for a single individual in trail running gear with a need to get back to camp 100% intact.
Still, though, the peak – whatever it was – looked majestic. I could hardly imagine the views from all the way up there.
–
Now, at this point on the day’s journey, I didn’t know where I was going exactly. I knew the trail would split and eventually lead up to two different ridgelines. I knew I would take the trail that forked left and head up to Sugarloaf Peak.
My first thought was that this tabletop peak in front of me would be Sugarloaf. That was concerning, as the ridge leading up to it looked rather intense.
But shortly after this peak came into view, the trail veered left and sent me hiking up a different hillside. After walking a little bit further and getting a bit more oriented, my eyes set sight on a grassy peak in front of me. This one was much shorter than the one to the right. I bet that was Sugarloaf.
Getting close to the ridge. Perhaps that peak to the left was Sugarloaf?
But as I came near the ridgeline I realized I was now far above the peak to the left. In fact, it hardly looked like a peak at all from where I stood! Just a mound of Earth sitting next to me.
It all made sense very shortly as I neared the ridgeline, for forming right in front of me was clearly a loaf of sugar.
That is, what I found was a large pile of little white pieces of rock, unlike any of the surrounding landscape.
White, grainy rock. The ascent looked absolutely horrible.
The trail description read simply that from here you have a couple of options: you can attempt to summit Sugarloaf or you can continue forward. If you continue forward the trail drops down into the basin below Mount Rhoda. Then it read something along the lines of, “But I would caution anyone to continue further from there as the trail disappears, and if one wants to loop around to Mary Lakes it requires some pathfinding, bushwhacking, and good orientation skills.”
That sounded a bit iffy, as I was out on my own and did not have a compass. So, since there was this nice peak next to me, I decided to give it a try.
We already know how that went.
Sugarloaf bested me. But I let it happen because something within me kept ringing along the lines of “not worth it.”
I didn’t need to risk injury out here, alone, especially when there was that second option.
The second option – to continue forward.
So I did, and I was instantly elated to find a short and steep ascent that brought me to yet another ridge – this one, now looking down on a small, sugary loaf of a peak.
Short ascent up a steep gully 
Looking back, down onto a wee little sugarloaf.
As it turns out, there was no need to battle my way up Sugarloaf.
Instead, all I needed to do was take a step back, walk around it, and take a few strenuous yet safe steps up to look back down on my earlier obstacle.
I let that view soak in for a moment, and then turned my attention to what was next.
What next?
Well, I knew there was Rhoda Peak around here, and it was becoming clear that the large peak with the flat top – and insane ridgeline leading up to it – would be her.
And, I knew that if I continued forward, beautiful grassy hillsides and valleys could be crossed.
One more thing: I knew that off in the distance across those valleys, was something that I had been intently searching for.
So, from here, the answer was clear: I could take off across the valley below me. Maybe that would lead to the next piece of my grand adventure.
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A grand adventure
I’ve been on a fun little journey of my own creation for a few years now. Each year I come up here, to the San Juan’s, and each trip I fill in a bit more of the map: more trails, more ridgelines, and more peaks.
A few of my favorites:
Engineer
Needles
Grenadiers
And, of course, any 14ers
Engineer is always easy to spot, and as far as peaks around here go, is one of the easier to summit. By this point, I had three summits on just htis one peaks over the past years.
The Needles were also easy to spot, but less easy to summit. My closest trip was this one from a few weeks back.
The Grenadiers, though…
The Grenadiers and The Needles are a story worth telling.
It started several years ago when, towards the end of a 100-mile trek along the CDT, I came across the first sightings of these mighty peaks.
The first peaks showed up in front of me. Followed by more.
Then more.
How could there be so many?
The Grenadiers line up next to The Needles, and combined they form a vast expanse of countless peaks (okay, well you can count them, but as for naming them, maps today still just show many of them numbered… peak 15, peak 16… peak 21, peak 22; it appears that there are just too many to properly name).
Combined, they steal my attention – but always off in the distance.
The Grenadiers are towering giants – just shy of the 14er mark. Steep, sheer walls that rise high above the valleys cut far beneath them.
Tall, steep, sheer, towering giants.
For a while now, I had been on a mission to get any view of them that I could manage. Any time I could sneak a peek, I was elated.
But by now, I was getting a bit greedy. I wanted the best.
And, I knew where that view would be. Not precisely a point on the map, but I knew the direction I would have to come from.
North – from the Highland Mary Lakes area.
–
Back to Rhoda
After being shut down by Sugarloaf, I decided I would take my chances with the second option: cut across the valley below me.
Dropping down on the far side of a ridgeline into a valley that is completely above treeline – entirely exposed – it is always risky during monsoon season.
But with a cloudless sky, I felt confident that I could make it back to safety in time if clouds rolled in.
I wasn’t exactly sure where it would lead, but being up here, I knew I was in for a treat.
But, before descending down into the valley, I knew I had to at least give this ridgeline up to what I was now confident was Rhoda a try. I knew my odds were poor, but I’d take a few steps and see what happened.
The ridgeline to Rhoda 
A cliff blocks the path, and I decide no soloing for me today
I was, indeed, quickly shut down by the cliff I had seen from the valley below. It’s one that in theory I could have climbed, but I decided there was no need to risk my life today.
I had other options.
At this point it was time – I abandoned the ridgeline and dropped hundreds of feet into the valley below, a path forward becoming clear in my mind as the object of my heart’s attention formed before my eyes.
They were up here, as I knew they would be.
And here, now, I saw a clear path to reach them.
The Grenadiers beginning to form on the far side of the bowl. With Rhoda up above me and a smaller peak in front of me, I knew I would at minimum be able to gain this ridge and have fantastic views of the Grenadiers
The Grenadiers – they were starting to peek out from the other side of this large bowl.
A bowl that contained a nice, grassy slope that could take me to the ridgeline on the far side of Rhoda.
A ridgeline that continued all the way up – a nice grassy slope – to the summit.
At this point, I knew where my path lay. And, without a cloud in the sky, I had a good feeling that I would have time to do it all.
–
The climb up the hill that formed the south edge of the bowl was one that I will never forget.
The grassy hillside – dotted with wildflowers and swimming with butterflies, would’ve been enough to keep my heart happy.
But what made it truly magnificent was that, with every step, The Grenadiers formed more fully before my eyes.
By the time I got to the top, I was bursting with energy. This is the view I had been searching for.
They were right here – just across from me – in full sight.
The views from here were magical. Combined with the views from the summit of Rhoda – after all, from here it was just a grassy ridgeline away – made my heart soar.
The summit of what I will call the “hill” – from my perspective, although by most means, it is indeed its own peak.
Regardless of what you call it, the views left me bursting with bright energy
Ridgeline – a clear path – up to the summit of Rhoda 
Looking back from Rhoda’s summit
To add to the magic of the moment, I had 360 views of The San Juans, so I sat for a little while and played my favorite game: name the peaks.
Engineer, Jura Knob, Twin Sisters, and the rest of the group forming the Southwest edge of The San Juan’s.
Kendall – which I’d be running the following day – with an expanse of peaks behind her – General Sherman at the top of Ice Lakes Basin, the peaks surrounding Telluride, and was the even Mt. Sneffels in the distance?!
And, off to the North, Stony Pass and the Northwest expanse – the one one I have seen the littlest of – in the distance. So many 14ers off in that direction…
1 
2 
3 
4
Finally, Highland Mary Lakes far down below me. I had hiked up there the previous night around sunset and it was truly magical. Perhaps I could make a large loop back into the basin?
At this point, I had made my way up through Spencer Basin, been bested by Sugarloaf, but made my way across the valley and up to summit Rhoda for some of the most incredible 360 views of The San Juan’s.
By this point, my heart was overflowing.
And, at this point, this other idea was tugging at my mind: a point across the way. Another journey across more grassy hillsides.
Off in the distance, I could see another point: one that, from where I stood, looked like it might place me directly across from The Grenadiers. Closer proximity, and no obstructions.
If I continued onward, I could perhaps find even better views of The Grrenadiers and loop back into Highland Mary Lakes.
That sounded magical to me!
So, I journeyed onward to Part 2 of the day…
