Imagine standing atop a mountain, the wind biting your cheeks, knowing you're the first to accurately measure its height. That's the thrill I live for. But what if the peaks we've long revered as the tallest aren't actually the champions they seem?
In the frigid darkness of an October 2025 night, my two companions and I embarked on a mission in Colorado's Sangre de Cristo mountains. Armed with specialized surveying equipment, we aimed to settle a quiet debate: which of the twin peaks, Crestone or East Crestone, truly deserved the title of a '14er' – a mountain exceeding 14,000 feet in elevation. This wasn't just about bragging rights; it was about challenging assumptions and uncovering the truth hidden beneath layers of snow and tradition.
Here's where it gets controversial: Colorado boasts 58 peaks considered 14ers, a coveted list for mountaineers. But what if our measurements, trusted for generations, are flawed? As someone who's climbed 147 of the world's highest points, including technical giants like K2 without supplemental oxygen, I've learned that accuracy in elevation data is often surprisingly elusive. Many countries lack precise surveys, leaving their true high points shrouded in uncertainty.
My journey has led me to discover new high points in seven countries, from Colombia's Pico Simón Bolívar to Botswana's Monalanong Hill. I've surveyed over 60 peaks in the U.S. and Canada, uncovering surprises like Michigan's Mount Curwood and Nova Scotia's Western Barren, both previously unknown as their respective state and provincial high points. Even in my home state of Washington, I've mapped the 100 highest peaks and studied the alarming effects of climate change on ice-capped summits, witnessing the melting of Mount Rainier's Columbia Crest.
And this is the part most people miss: Surveying mountains is an art as much as a science. It demands ingenuity, specialized gear, and a willingness to adapt. Traditional methods like theodolites, while precise, are cumbersome and prone to error when used from a distance. That's why I rely on a combination of tools: Abney levels for relative angle measurements, survey-grade GPS for absolute elevation, and even LiDAR, which uses laser pulses from aircraft to map terrain. Each tool has its strengths and limitations, and understanding these is crucial for accurate results.
In the case of Crestone and East Crestone, LiDAR data hinted at a discrepancy. While it showed the peaks nearly equal in height, a suspicious spike on Crestone's summit and the sharp, potentially overlooked boulder on East Crestone raised red flags. After a meticulous two-hour data collection process on both summits, battling wind and precarious terrain, the results were clear: East Crestone stood 0.3 feet taller, a statistically significant difference.
This revelation sparks a debate: should Colorado's 14ers list expand to 59, including both peaks, or should East Crestone replace Crestone, maintaining the traditional count? What do you think? Does the pursuit of accuracy justify altering long-held beliefs, or should we preserve the status quo?
For me, the quest continues. This winter, I'm heading to Africa to survey country high points, including the still-uncertain peak of Benin. It's a journey fueled by curiosity, a passion for precision, and the belief that even the most familiar landscapes hold secrets waiting to be uncovered.
