Mount Silverheels

                                                 Mount Silverheels, 13,829 ft (DIFFICULT)

Named for Silverheels, the dancehall girl and nurse

Riley on the side of Silverheels, Quandary in the distance

Getting to the trailhead: This is the first point of disagreement about Silverheels: where to begin? It is possible to hike from the Hoosier Pass parking lot, from Highway 9 up Scott Gulch, or -- if you are lucky enough to own a good 4WD vehicle or have a friend who does -- you can drive up the nine miles on rough jeep trail north from Alma, park by the mine, hop across the creek, and start up. This is how I’ll hike this mountain next time!

Roundtrip distance to the summit from the trailhead:This is the next point of disagreement, as it depends on where you begin. From Hoosier Pass, it will be 8.5 miles round trip; through Scott Gulch, 7.6 miles round trip. From the place you can drive a 4WD vehicle to: it will be barely 4 miles round trip.

Elevation gain: Again, this depends on where you begin. From Hoosier Pass or Scott Gulch, you will gain (and lose!) and gain: 2,949 feet. From the 4WD parking: 1,821 feet.

Me and Riley coming down from Silverheels

Map: [to be included]

How to hike to the summit of Mount Silverheels: 

There is no trail to the summit of Mount Silverheels. This is part of the reason 13ers are wilder and more challenging than the famed fourteeners in Colorado. It is also the reason I saw no other hikers on my journey to the summit. All of that said, there are, as I noted in “Getting to the Trailhead,” three common approaches. The easiest, by far, is the 4WD option. I’ll describe the one I did, though. 

1)  From Hoosier Pass, cross the road (to the east) and hike up the very obvious gravel road. This gravel road travels only briefly through forest before it emerges onto tundra and reveals the very daunting view of Mount Silverheels to the southeast (and Hoosier Ridge to the east). The climb up the green slopes of Silverheels looks interminable from here, and many choose to just do Hoosier Ridge, instead.

2) The temptation is to traverse the steep and cushiony tundra and head straight for the saddle in front of Silverheels. However, this is difficult hiking, and requires navigating several talus fields. It is easier hiking (though somewhat more difficult psychology) to continue on the trail toward Hoosier Pass until an obvious false summit at about 12,800, then turn southeast down the alpine ridge toward the saddle. Yes, you lose 800 feet of elevation to reach the 4WD road.

3) As you descend toward the 4WD road, you will likely see a jeep or two parked serenely by a colorful tent, and you will wonder why you did not choose this approach, as you have already hiked a mountain (a twelver, you could say). However, the emerald green dome of Silverheels in the morning is gorgeous, and you will have a far better view than those campers down in the valley.

4) Walk across the 4WD road, then down to the burbling creek (Beaver Creek, near the eponymous iron mine). Then start ascending (only 1,821 feet to go). It is a steep climb, but a spongy one, and the flowers are incredible in the summer.

5) Keep ascending the green slope past a trail that zigs down to a smaller summit, then turn east for the final rocky ridge hike to the summit. Enjoy the views, and be sure to consider the long crowded march of people ascending Quandary to the northwest. 

Note: It likely goes without saying, but if you chose the 4WD option, you only need to hike down to your vehicle and then drive to Alma. If you chose my route, you must ascend your unnamed twelver again, then descend to Hoosier Pass.

Forget-me-nots on Silverheels

On the search for Silverheels:

Silverheels is a famous Colorado legend, so I knew about her even before I began work on this project. The story, told with only slight variations in articles and plays and historical fiction, is that a woman nicknamed Silverheels was a famously beautiful dancer in the mining town of Buckskin Joe, located between today’s towns of Fairplay and Alma. Some sources say she was nicknamed “Silverheels” because of her talent at dancing, but others weave the story that a miner crafted dance shoes for her that were inlaid with silver. Regardless, all sources agree that, when an epidemic of smallpox -- brought to the town by two sheepherders in 1861 -- afflicted the town and the surrounding area, the women and children were evacuated, a plea for nurses from Denver went unheeded, and Silverheels stayed behind to care for the miners and nurse them back to health. Inevitably, she contracted smallpox herself, disappearing into her small cabin on the edge of town. When the outbreak abated, the surviving miners, wishing to thank her, collected money (sources agree that this was the impressive sum of $5,000, which, in 1861, would be the equivalent of $150,000 today) and brought it to her cabin door to give to her. However, she was gone. Some sources say she was so disfigured by the disease that she fled. Others say she died, and that she still haunts the area. All sources agree that the miners returned the money and decided to pay tribute to their angelic savior by naming the beautiful dome of the mountain to the north for her. “Silverheels” started appearing on maps in the mid-1860s.

Of course, I wanted to know more than what the legend offers, so I dug. In the work of one researcher and historical fiction writer, I discovered more elaboration on the well-known legend. On his website, Adam James Jones tells that Silverheels arrived in Buckskin Joe dressed all in black, and that she hid her face behind a heavy veil. When she revealed her face, all were astonished at her beauty. Jones admits, too, that Silverheels was more than just a dancer, as all the unmarried women struggling to make their living in those rough camps had to sell far more than their dancing talent. The commonly told legend tends to omit that fact.

In a compilation of legend versions by Western romance writer Lyn Horner, I discovered that some legends tell that Silverheels arrived in Buckskin Joe wearing a blue and white mask. Others insist that she disappeared after contracting smallpox because she could not bear to let anyone see her ugliness. And finally, some say that she could be glimpsed for years after near the miners’ graves, heavily veiled, weeping.

None of this legend satisfies the historian’s curiosity in me. What was her real name? What about her life drove her to become a dancehall girl and prostitute in a tiny Colorado mining camp? What did she actually think about and love? She’s idealized in all of these legends, an angel, a Florence Nightingale, a selfless martyr. What did she fear? What did she want for her life? Why would she sacrifice everything for miners who viewed her as a luxurious purchase for their bedrooms? 

Writers have tried to fill in the answers, as writers do. Breckenridge’s own novelist Helen Rich (see Mount Helen/Belle and Helen Peak) wrote a novel about Silverheels, though the New York publishing house that had published her first two novels (1947, 1950) rejected it. In 1954, Denver University produced the opera Silverheels, and Central City put on a play about Silverheels called . ..And Perhaps Happiness. Several novels have been written in recent years about the legendary Silverheels, too.

However, the legends and fictions have become a thick screen, like we are trying to peer at Silverheels through the silk fabric of a dancegirl’s dress. It is lovely, all that purple color, but we can see only the figure of a woman: now she is dancing; now she is ministering to the sick and dying miners; now she herself is ill. Now she is gone. Who she really was is forever veiled. Maybe all that is certain is that, on many clear mornings in Buckskin Joe, she emerged from her cabin to sip coffee from a tin cup and to admire the great rounded high peak to the north.