Nick Smith and Colette McInerney sought safe haven from a reasonable afternoon mist by way of putting in beneath a large, arching limestone dugout.
Within reach, crystal-clear water rolled gently downstream in East Rifle Creek. Their van, changed into dwelling quarters, used to be one of the such cars at Rifle Mountain Park that day.
After meticulously locking themselves into carabiners and roping supposed for fall coverage, McInerney started her ascension. Smith, providing verbal steering known as “spewing,” belayed for McInerney.