Standing at 12,001 feet in the quiet heart of Rocky Mountain National Park, Mt Craig offers a rare kind of ice climbing adventure—one where solitude, strenuous approaches, and the unexpected define every pitch. For years, the west side of RMNP lurked in the shadows for most ice climbers, largely due to the formidable distance and consistently deep snowpack that guard its flanks. Mt Craig was overlooked too, but that story is changing as more climbers hear about its half-dozen, high-quality lines and the promise of a unique frontier spirit.

Setting foot here means buying into the full experience: a remote playground for the adventurous who appreciate the approach almost as much as the climb. Early season is the prize window, with slimmer snow cover making the trail navigable and reducing the very real avalanche danger present later in winter. Knowing the summer trail is a game-changer—if you’ve hiked here without snow, that memory will serve you well, especially as drifts stack up and the path vanishes under feet of powder.

The approach kicks off at Grand Lake’s East Inlet Trailhead—an easy walk at first, hugging the north edge of the East Inlet. After a brief 15 minutes, you’ll reach a meadow, the rare vantage where you might actually spot routes high on the mountain. From there, expect three miles of gradual trail climbing through towering trees and open meadows, with just enough scenery to distract from the calf burn. Passing a classic viewpoint, the trail “stairsteps” into the basin below before veering north again to approach Mt Craig’s base. It’s about three miles to where you might catch sight of that eye-catching two-pitch swath of yellow-tinged ice—a sign you’re close. As the trail dives and rises, weaving between streams and bridges, keep your eyes peeled for a final cut-off point: a couple hundred yards beyond the second bridge, yet before the trail privy, you’ll leave the path and contour along the mountain’s base for 400 yards. Here, chest-deep snow isn’t uncommon, and the last big open slide path below the climbs can sap even the fittest. Persistence is rewarded, though—further up, after four and a half miles and past ‘the privy,’ four climbs hide just southeast, masked by a steep rock band. You’ll thread along this band and emerge into a boulderfield, where, almost at once, the mountain’s ice unfolds in a private amphitheater.

The reward is more than worth it—a set of multi-pitch staircases, towering vertical smears, and diverse lines that rival the best in the park, all tightly packed within half a mile of one another. A wide, 350-foot north-facing formation near Lone Pine Lake teases as the most accessible option, but don’t be fooled—the ice is varied and can be surprisingly tricky. Across the valley, more lines streak down Andrews Peak, sometimes up to four pitches if the cold has worked its magic, though these ice curtains are fleeting, melting into sun-warmed slabs as soon as the bluebird skies arrive. The area’s classics—such as Caveat Emptor (WI3), Smear and Loathing (WI5), and Tunnel Vision (WI4)—each offer something unique, attracting those seeking frozen steps, delicate smears, or techy, vertical pillars. But even among these, the ice’s quality and character can change overnight, so don’t expect a straightforward ride up.

Shoulder-deep snow and shifting conditions make snowshoes a necessity, and considering the effort required, an overnight at the Gray Jay group site transforms the outing from epic to enjoyable. Permits, available free after November 1 from the Kawuneeche Visitor Center, are essential for fall and winter camping. When the day is done and muscles are fried, the main street of Grand Lake beckons—grab a burger at the Sagebrush or try the flavors at the Rum Kitchen to refuel and relive the day’s effort.

Compared to the busier east side of the park, Mt Craig provides pristine adventure and wild ice in exchange for sweat and solid preparation. The uncertainty of both approach and ice keeps complacency at bay, but the payoff is the chance to move over striking, remote formations in total silence. This is ice climbing stripped down to its core: hard-won, unpredictable, and unforgettable.