Ever since Eric and I started climbing together, The Sharkstooth had been on our radar. It was one of those climbs we always talked about but hadn’t gotten around to. I was still pretty new to climbing and usually down for whatever Eric threw out there. This one was no exception, even though I was basically coming off the couch and knew my nerves were a little out of practice from a lead accident the prior season.

We knew it’d be a big day, so we planned to hit the trailhead a couple hours before sunrise to beat the crowds and any bad weather that may creep in during the afternoon. Spoiler: We were not the only ones with that idea.

The Sharkstooth is one of the Cathedral Spires in Rocky Mountain National Park, with its peak sitting proudly at 12,630 feet. It’s about 1,500 feet east of the Continental Divide, and it looks stunning—jagged, dramatic, just a truly rad alpine tower. There are a few different ways up it, but we picked the Northeast Ridge: five pitches of trad climbing rated 5.6.

We had agreed to leave Fort Collins at 1:30 a.m. That meant setting my alarm for 12:30 a.m. and trying to sleep around 8 p.m.—but it was July, so it was still light out, and I was too stoked to sleep. I may have caught an hour or two before dragging myself out of bed, making a thermos of strong coffee (and I mean STRONG), and heading to grab Eric.

We got to the Glacier Gorge Trailhead around 2:30 a.m.—and snagged the last parking spot. So yeah, apparently half of the Front Range had the same idea.

We threw on our packs, cracked open some canned cold brew, switched on our headlamps, and started the 5-mile hike in. I love hiking by headlamp. Everything outside your beam just disappears, and the world gets quiet. Plus, it makes the miles go by faster.

We hit Loch Lake just before sunrise, took a quick snack break, and I managed to grab a decent photo or two before we pushed on.

Not long after sunrise, we reached the base of The Gash—a long stretch of talus and snow that leads to the base of Sharkstooth (yes, it’s as fun as it sounds). What we thought would be a chill scramble turned into an hour-and-a-half suffer fest across loose boulders and snow fields that were desperately holding on through the summer. Eric cruised along (or at least pretended to), while I huffed and puffed, questioning my life choices.

By the time we reached the base of the climb, we were totally gassed. We both agreed we’d be totally fine never doing that approach again. (Though, now years later, part of me kind of wants to go back… maybe in winter… with skis.)

We waited at the base of the wall while a few parties ahead of us got started, and I could feel the nerves creeping in. At that point, I hadn’t done much multi-pitch climbing—just one other climb in the park at Lumpy Ridge and Lone Eagle Peak (I wrote about that climb in another blog last year), along with a few other 2 or 3-pitch routes. And as I alluded to earlier, I was still a bit shaken from a 30-foot lead fall I’d taken the year before in Vedauwoo that ended with a broken foot and some super gnarly rope burn.

But the weather was perfect, not a single cloud in the sky and virtually no wind—which helped ease my brain a bit. We tossed snacks and water into our smaller climbing packs, geared up, and got ready to start up the first pitch.

Pitch 1 was mellow: low-angle slab with some grassy ledges, rated around 5.4–5.6. Not much gear, but nothing too sketchy. We moved through it quickly.

The second pitch was labeled the crux pitch on Mountain Project thanks to a short layback move on a big flake towards the top of the pitch. Basically, you smear your feet on the rock and pull on the underside of the flake to work your way up. I was a bit nervous as I climbed closer to it but breathed a sigh of relief as soon as I pulled into the first move on the flake. It felt a little exposed, but quite secure and the movement was pretty fun.

The next pitch ( Pitch 3), which we called the Money Pitch—was hands-down the best climbing on the route. Sustained 5.6 moves up a vertical dihedral and with some nice face holds. We were leapfrogging with another party at that point, and everyone agreed that the pitch was a total blast. I could actually feel myself smiling the whole way up it.

After hanging at the next belay with Eric while the other party kept moving, we started up pitch 4, which was short and sweet—more “5 easy” terrain that brought us to the base of the final pitch. Here, there was a massive ledge where we could both sit and fully stretch out, so we chilled for a bit and flaked the rope, still reeling over pitch 3.

The last pitch started with a wide crack shooting up a slowly narrowing face as we were nearing the summit. Towards the top, it traverses right onto a narrow ridge, and then you make a couple of rather exposed moves around a giant boulder (arms almost fully stretched out around the boulder) before an easy scramble over some scree for about 30 feet to the summit.

We didn’t hang out long at the top—just enough to enjoy the views and have a quick snack and some water. We took some selfies and shared our favorite parts of the day so far and enjoyed some short-lived relief as we still had to rappel down, hike out, and survive the talus field again.

Getting down was… an adventure. A few rappels, some sketchy downclimbing, and a whole lot of slipping and sliding in some spots. I had kept my climbing shoes on all day (too scared to take them off at belays for fear of dropping one or both), which came back to bite me in the rear end big time. By the time we hit our stashed packs, I was limping with a cracked toenail and raw fingers. Eric even had to untie my shoes for me because my fingertips were too wrecked—true friendship.

We bumped into some of the other climbers we’d seen earlier, and they looked just as destroyed as we felt, which I admit made me feel a bit better. We followed them back down the Gash, which was slightly easier going down vs. up, but still not my favorite part of the day.

At the bottom of the Gash, we found a big snowfield and decided to glissade. We grabbed sharp-edged chunks of granite for makeshift ice axes and took turns sliding down the snowfield, laughing and yipping like little kids. That was definitely a highlight.

Once down, we filtered some icy runoff water, filled our bottles, and began the long hike out. Usually, the hike back to the car flies by… but not this time. Every step felt like a mile.

We finally got back to the car around 8 p.m.  - a solid 19 hours after we started. We drove into Estes Park, texted our partners to let them know we were alive (oops), and then hit Culver’s for burgers and beers at Eric’s place. We sat there, staring into space, not saying much, just soaking it all in.

Looking back, that climb was everything I love about big days in the mountains. It was hard, exhausting, and kind of dumb given my fitness level… but it was also beautiful, challenging, and unforgettable. This climb was truly pivotal for me. Rock climbing is inherently risky, and I have always known that but it wasn’t until I experienced the big fall in the Voo that I really understood the reality of taking risks outside to do things that make me feel alive. I experienced some moments of real fear throughout the day but I was able to stop, breathe, and talk myself through it. I walked away from the Sharkstooth with a new sense of confidence in myself and the knowledge that I can overcome fear and adversity whenever it comes my way.

Would I do it again? Definitely. But next time, I’m bringing sunscreen—and maybe some Advil.