Matt and I planned to make our climb of Holy Cross over two
days, so we weren't in any rush getting away from Boulder on a Sunday morning.
We finally got to the Half Moon trailhead at about 2:00 in the afternoon, as
opposed to 2:00 a.m. for the hardcore. One advantage to later in the day is
convenient parking, since the spots held by the first arrivals are being vacated.
As we approached the trailhead, I noted the cars parked along the side of the
road for the better part of a mile. Once again I was thankful for planning our
trip to avoid the more popular mountains on the weekends. A disadvantage to
starting late is the potential drenching from afternoon thundershowers. We had
been spoiled by a week of cloudless skies, and I was sure our luck had run out,
as we hiked up towards Half Moon pass under threatening conditions. 
The
hike up to the pass was quite enjoyable and the threatening weather never did
more than threaten. We took a break at the pass, and I looked out at what I
thought was Mount of the Holy Cross in front of us. The couloir where I pictured
Angelica looked quite straight forward with plenty of snow in it. Of course
what I was staring at wasn't Mount of the Holy Cross at all, but rather Mount
Jackson, about twice as far away. I discovered this error shortly, when
we started down the trail and Holy Cross came into view to the southwest. At
least it was closer. We continued down the trail eventually crossing East Cross
creek, where we broke off to the south on the trail leading to Lake Patricia
and the Bowl of Tears. I understand why Roach wrote, "persevere through
the camp sites" as we backtracked a couple of times trying to find the
trail where it continues south. We eventually persevered and made our way down
the trail and in time came into view of the approach to Angelica. At this stage
we probably should have headed off with a line of sight approach, but we didn't.
We continued south, lost the trail and found ourselves thrashing around a little
bit trying to get our bearings. In due time we came up on the shoulder of Holy
Cross, but we were too far south and needed to cut northwest across a couple
of small ridges to get back into the basin that ran out of Angelica. Crossing
these ridges was a dusty scramble on very loose ground. Eventually we found
ourselves on the snow slope at the bottom of Angelica, which is where we decided
to camp. I was somewhat tentative about this site because of 
all
the rock fall scattered about on the snow. Wanting to rationalize not the best
choice of sites, I told myself that most of the rocks are pretty small, and
there really aren't that many considering the time they've had to accumulate.
What are the odds? It was getting late, I was tired, this looked like a great
spot!! We set up our tent and staked it out on the snow with the rocks that
had conveniently fallen down around us. While I got out the stove for dinner.
Matt went off in search of water to avoid having to melt snow. He found a small
rivulet coming off the hillside where he created a little sink to catch the
flow. We were golden! After dinner Matt and I debated how we would return to
the campsite the next day after our climb. Matt, being bolder, wanted to drop
back down the couloir just north of Angelica, which was pretty much devoid of
snow. I, being meeker, wanted to follow the northeast ridge back a little further
until the angle relented. We decided to decide tomorrow, then headed to bed.
The thought of a rock sailing through the air, aimed for my head only passed
through my mind briefly before I fell asleep.
Up at five ( In retrospect, I am starting to recognize that
I opt for hiking closer to the start of a climb so I can sleep later in the
morning and still have plenty of time to make the climb before noon. Maybe I'm
not the morning person I've always imagined?) We started up the snow slope towards
the entrance to Angelica about 5:45. The climb up Angelica was a hoot. The snow
was very good for the most part, but there were 
places
where the cover was thin, mixed and quite interesting. About a third of the
way up, I heard some crashing above and looked up to see some ice coming over
the lip above, back dropped by the skyline. I yelled "ice" to warn
Matt when the next second a very large boulder came over the edge chasing the
ice ahead of it. My warning of "ice" quickly changed to me screaming
"rock" repeatedly as this chunk of stone, the size of a TV that would
make a couch potato proud, came bouncing down the couloir. It passed about 15
feet to my right, which was a relief. What's the expression? A miss is as good
as a mile? Matt quietly chuckled at my screams of rock. When I pointed out that
I only wanted to warn him, he reminded me that he was only about 10 feet behind
me and could hear me quite well thank you. Needless to say, stupid me then climbs
right up the track the rock took, being the path of least resistance. Matt,
having boatloads more commonsense, elected to stay left about 15 feet where
the climbing was a little more difficult but undoubtedly safer. We made it to
the top without anymore "excitement" but 
still
found ourselves with a scramble up loose rock where the couloir was melted out.
We jumped on the normal route and quickly ran into a fellow heading down who
had hiked the Halo ridge route to the top overnight. It was a full moon the
night before. We reached the summit in short order and proceeded to snoop around.
We took a look down Holy Cross couloir from the top and it looked quite similar
to Angelica, but one never knows until one is on the route. After a while we
headed back down the normal route until we got on the ridge line where Matt
convinced me we could scoot down the couloir adjacent to Angelica. It didn't
look too bad so I agreed and off we went, Matt much quicker than me. Wherever
I could, I opted for snow while Matt chose to stay on the rock. Matt beat me
down by a mile and was waiting in camp for me to finally arrive, as usual. When
we talked about our differing comfort levels, he couldn't help but comment,
" I looked back once and saw you facing into the snow and figured you would
never get down." So much for my self-image of mountaineer extraordinaire.
We broke camp and headed down the drainage, once again with Matt in the lead
and me lagging. The climb down the talus made me wonder if our slight detour
the previous
day as we approached wasn't the better route. At least we didn't have to climb
up these boulders with a full pack! Near the bottom, I stumbled and took a header.
Matt was already down watching me. I couldn't get up! My pack was thrown up
over my head and the weight of it was too much. Matt watched me laying there,
not moving, then took off his pack to start back up and help me. I managed to
get up on my own though, so Matt didn't have to climb back up, just chuckle
a little at my clumsiness. When I got to him, he suggested not unkindly, "Dad,
let's get you out of here before you kill yourself," which we did.
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