Christian, Cabe, and I slung our packs into an open boxcar and climbed aboard the Durango & Silverton Narrow Gauge Railroad, glued to the windows as the whistle sounded and the train departed not a second behind schedule. Many of the passengers looked like we did—far too clean for the clothes we had on, and clearly on some backcountry mission or another. The rest were train people, most of them wearing train t-shirts and/or train hats, and every one of them fumbling for their cameras each time we crossed an old bridge and were treated to unobstructed views of the winding Animas below. On board, we reviewed some USGS maps with the hot dog man and planned our attack, targeting a grand slam-style linkup of Colorado’s four most remote 14ers in one day. Once the whistle blew at Needleton, we were committed—the only way out was up.

We had read about prime real estate being hard to come by in Chicago Basin (especially with backpacking tickets on our train fully booked), and decided we wouldn’t waste any time on the approach. We shouldered our packs and started up the trail, stopping only briefly to filter water and reaching the near side of the basin in around two hours, right as the sky darkened and snow started to fall. Jagged peaks revealed themselves in turn through the fog—first Pigeon and Turret, next Monitor and Glacier Point, then Jupiter, and finally Windom and Sunlight themselves. 

With some time to kill before the crowds arrived, the three of us explored the lower basin for a bit until the snow turned to hail and sent us scrambling for cover. After combing through options on either side of the trail, we eventually settled on camping in a forested area on the other side of Needle Creek, hoping that the icy water crossing would deter potential neighbors. Local critters had a reputation for chewing through tents, bags, and clothes, so we took extra care to hang proper bear bags and keep anything sweaty high off the ground. The mountain goats and giant porcupines never revealed themselves, but we met a couple inquisitive deer and a swarm of hungry Canada Jays almost immediately.

I was wide awake when my alarm went off at 4:30am the next morning, slightly nervous about an ambitious day in the mountains coinciding with my recent sleepless stretch. Cabe rustled awake and we triple-checked our summit packs for snacks and emergency layers while Christian boiled a quick pot of coffee. We took our time rehanging the bear bags and repairing a tear in my ultralight tent from the previous night’s hailstorm, and finally started up toward Twin Lakes just after 5:30am. 

First on the docket was Sunlight Peak—known for its exposed summit block, rumored to be the most difficult of any Colorado 14er standard route. We stopped at the upper lake to filter water once more, surrounded by a layer of glistening frost that blanketed peaks in all directions. The microspikes we left in Durango weren’t much help as we climbed the gully toward Sunlight Spire, moving slowly and steadily through 4-5” of fresh snow from the night before. My boots in particular were especially worn out, meaning each step required full concentration as we reached Class 3-4 terrain and buckled our helmets on.

The following series of technical scrambling and problem-solving would have been super fun and playful in dry conditions, before a sneaky missed turn resulted in a brief reroute down a near-vertical slab. Negotiating the final few hundred feet to the summit required crossing from one side of the ridge to another through a tight window in the rocks, which we agreed was the highlight of the route. We paused to catch our breath as the sun crested Windom to the east, and found ourselves staring up at the notorious leap of faith right around 8:30am.

Cabe topped out first and didn’t hesitate on his way up the final boulder problem, reaching the true summit before I had time to psych myself out deliberating. I snapped a couple photos and followed his lead, taking extra care on a particularly reachy move that was still coated in a thin layer of ice. The jump back down felt far less scary than advertised online, and we retraced our snowy footprints back toward Windom to set our sights on the next objective.

We stayed high on the traverse over to Windom, rock-hopping across the basin until we rejoined the standard route. Robb, a solo hiker we’d met on Sunlight, kept us company for the round-trip. Snow here was deeper than on Sunlight, and though the ridge scramble felt monotonous in comparison, the weather was perfect and the views wide open.

Windom’s summit turned out to be small and blocky, more technical than expected and a nice surprise after the long plod. I found some respite from the wind in a narrow crack near the top, and celebrated with an Icelandic candy bar while Cabe and Christian took in the views. The way down from Windom was steady and uneventful until I managed to dislodge a small boulder, smashing my knee while trying to keep it from tumbling toward the group.

Already behind schedule, we reached Twin Lakes again unsure whether we had enough juice left for the Eoluses. We decided we’d marinate on it over a hot meal and coffee, and hopped out to an island in the middle of the upper lake to bask in the sun and rejuvenate. We watched for two full hours as plate tectonics pulled the Eolus group further away, and eventually decided we’d honor whatever gods had rewarded us with a perfectly bluebird afternoon and give the two remaining peaks a shot.

Stomachs full and legs already tired, we began the grind up toward the Eolus saddle in silence, thankful to have stashed our heavy packs at camp and taken only the essentials. In my case that meant a four-pound camera setup, which took the place of some much-needed extra hydration. The snow had softened a good bit throughout the morning, and the traction underfoot felt much more solid as we crested the saddle and turned left. I found the infamous catwalk in better shape than some sidewalks in my neighborhood, save for a few careful scrambles on either side of the ridge, and of course the thousands of feet of immediate exposure that threatened to port and starboard.

The three of us made quick work of the crossing and had found good spirits as we reached the east wall of Mount Eolus, only to be stopped in our tracks by a labyrinthine series of (quartzite?) ledges directly above us. We tried line after line and dead-ended, each time retreating back to the catwalk when a move felt too loose or committing. Three laps later, with torn beta from the Gerry Roach bible in hand, we finally realized we needed to traverse farther across the base of the east face (climber’s left) before starting the scramble. Joking about the team-building exercise we had completed, we zigged and zagged our way up the final few hundred feet and enjoyed a few minutes to ourselves on another unbelievable San Juan summit—this one even more rewarding given our routefinding difficulties and fatigue.

We downclimbed after a short break and made our way back across the catwalk toward North Eolus, climbing the short distance to the unclassified summit in what felt like five minutes. The (mostly) dry rock was tacky and fun, not to mention well-deserved after the slog of a morning we’d had. A small crew had converged on the final peak, and we recognized most of the faces from the previous day’s train ride. A strange camaraderie could be felt here, isolated many miles from civilization—there might be 30 people in the basin on a given day, but most of them came and went at the exact same time. The group of us stood and chatted for a bit, swapping snacks and photos and delaying the return to camp as long as was responsibly possible.

Similar fitness levels and some good banter made for a great rhythm between the three of us. We moved at the same pace, trusted each other’s decision-making, and managed to keep things light-hearted through consequential terrain. Christian and I had planned the trip almost a year ago, and Cabe and I had shared a half-dozen 14er summits since then. All of us had been looking forward to the Chicago Basin mission for a long time, and were super excited to cross off four memorable peaks on our respective bucket lists. Total stats were unclear based on some missing segments and GPX discrepancies, but we believed the round trip from Needleton would end somewhere in the ballpark of 23 miles and 10,000 feet.

My banged-up knees and broken toes didn't love the descent back down to Twin Lakes, and I found myself lagging behind the boys, taking every opportunity I could to stop and snap some photos of the unbelievable pastels painted on the surrounding peaks. I resisted digging for my headlamp even after the sun set completely, working hard to stay on the meandering trail while replaying the day’s events in my head. No breath was wasted on the descent from North Eolus, our group opting to test Newton’s first law for ourselves as we autopiloted between the lakes, down the switchbacks, through the forest, and finally back across Needle Creek to camp.

We took advantage of a lazy morning in the basin the next day, and spent the quick jaunt back down to Needleton trying to wrap our heads around Anton’s near-impossible FKT from Purgatory. A sweaty crowd had gathered by the time we reached the Animas around 3:00pm, welcoming incoming parties with a cheer from a patch of shade beside the train tracks. We shed our packs and boots near the group and climbed down toward the river to review photos from the weekend, and could’ve sat there all day if we hadn’t been startled back to reality by a steam whistle from around the bend.