Snow still capped the high peaks of the Mount Charleston Wilderness beyond the Strip and sprawl as my flight touched down in Las Vegas with an expected high of 106. Regardless, it felt easier to tolerate than the Midwest's 94 degrees and 70 percent humidity. Thankfully my wait at baggage claim with Hawaiian shirt and straw hat clad retirees was mercifully short. The rental car shuttle driver started right in fishing for a tip, "Are you Air Force? You have that Tom Cruise mystique about you."

I walked into the REI store with a mission to purchase stove fuel, and walked out with that, and a new high-powered flashlight. An inappropriate amount of my paycheck winds up at REI, and while I haven't set foot in one of their stores in at least five years, the place felt so familiar it was eerie. When I return home I'm throwing out the REI catalogs on my bed stand.

Locating the Trail Canyon trailhead for Boundary Peak wasn't half the hassle I feared it would be. The road was mostly well graded, and a critical juncture was signed. When I pulled up, a hiker was just returning from the summit. We chatted briefly and then he took off while I decided to scout the trail. I meet a group of 5 family and friends just up the trail. We discussed the route in some detail, including their recommendation to stay right after passing "the large boomerang-shaped snow field." They said they'd be resting at the trailhead for a bit before taking off, and maybe they'd see me when I returned.

There was still snow on the upper ridges and in protected gullies of the peaks. There had been huge late season snows all over the region, and as a consequence, the valley I walked up was filled with diverse colors of wildflowers and the small creek was flowing. Every picture and trip report I'd seen for this mountain painted a dusty and dry image. Instead my feet brushed past lupines, columbines, lilies, indian paintbrush, phlox and more as I headed west.

The valley forked and opened up, granting me my first close-up view of Boundary Peak. Straight ahead I could see the low pass called Trail Saddle. Most guide books suggested heading straight for this, then following the long ridge toward Boundary. A few sources recommended going up the left of Trail Canyon Saddle climbing via the wide sub-ridge to the main ridge. This second option was sometimes listed as less demanding due to less loose rocks that slide back a half step for every full step taken.

Hours ago I was pondering why I hated Las Vegas so much when others were so attracted by its offerings. But suddenly I was feeling social, and turned around and jogged back down the trail. I found the 5 person group from Kansas sitting around a cooler drinking beers. They promptly offered me one and we discussed highpointing, hiking, mountain climbing and expressed a mutual dislike of Vegas. I was almost sad to be left alone again when they departed.

I was cooking a batch of black bean burritos when a pickup pulled in and asked if I was climbing the peak tomorrow. They were as well, and turned around to setup camp a couple hundred yards down the road to leave me in peace. After cleaning up and packing for tomorrow's early start, I walked down the road to be neighborly. I had another nice conversation with this family, including a discussion on ultra-marathons. The son was preparing for his first 50 miler, and I had just done one in April.

Stretched out on the grass next to the rental SUV I watched the stars overhead. There was so little light pollution that the celestial view recalled my time in Zion National Park, right after the last highpoint I had climbed. Unfortunately, when the wind wasn't blowing down the valley, the bugs gathered around my face, and I spent some time trying to keep the netting of my bivy sack far enough off my face to prevent their biting through.

It's rare to sleep well on your first night at altitude, and I tossed and turned all night. Finally, I figured there was no reason to maintain the charade of sleep any longer. I prepared a cup of coffee, oatmeal and granola at 3 am and hit the trail an hour later. My headlamp's batteries were weak and cast a feeble glow. I pulled out the new flashlight and was quickly amazed at the light it put out. Route finding with this light was not going to be a problem.

I was excited to be out attempting a peak again, and had trouble pacing myself up the trail. I kept pushing myself too hard, and having to stop for breathers instead of slowing down and moving efficiently. The temperature was warm, even with the breeze coming down the valley, so I quickly down to a t-shirt. Following the trail was easy where I scouted it the afternoon before. Beyond that point I followed the footsteps in the soft dust through the braided trails around the low brush.

The trail I was on was heading away from Trail Canyon Saddle and into the south fork of the valley. But instead of cutting up the sub-ridge, the trail kept climbing into the basin following the drainage. With the hint of light provided by the dawn's appearance, I could see the boomerang-shaped snow field and knew I was on the route that the group from Kansas had taken.

The trail started climbing steeper terrain and looser rocks. However, it wasn't nearly as bad as the awful scree I'd heard about on the other routes. Still, I was interested in casting about for better footing. So I left the trail and walked onto the snow field. It proved to be little better, but I stuck with it. There were old footsteps that had melted and iced over, but other parts of the snow were soft enough to kick in decent steps. Unfortunately, I sank through the snow occasionally where the rocks underneath had melted out the snow leaving only a soft crust.

The sun returned above the horizon as I was part way up the boomerang. I wasn't far from the ridge top now, but the snow petered out, and I stayed right based on the advice of the Kansas climbers. Still I was left of the trail, and suddenly wishing I'd stuck with it. The rocks proved very loose and I truly lost a half step for every one forward. After climbing on all fours for better traction for a few hundred feet, the slope leveled off and I traversed back right to meet a dip in the ridge. One last obstacle remained, a melted sheltered patch of snow just below the top. I tried kicking a step into the steep snow slope, and when I transfered my weight to that foot, the snow just collapsed. I practically had to burrow a route through several feet of snow until I could straddle an icier patch and clear the snow altogether. Elegant it was not, but I was rewarded with a view of the snow draped high Sierra peaks to the west.

A compass check confirmed which of the intersecting ridges I was on, and I headed south and upward. The ridge alternated between a worn path, light rock scrambling around large boulders, and the occasional snow field to cross. Some of these patches of snow had two feet deep sun cups pitting the surface.

Mostly I stuck to the top of the ridge line, scrambling over large blocks instead of traversing around the rock outcrops. One overhanging boulder suggested it would be wiser to duck around it, even if finding secure footing in the weak snow was a challenge. However, that proved to be the crux, and I was shortly taking my last steps to the summit.

From the summit I looked further south at Montgomery Peak. Boundary is little more than a bump on the ridge leading to Montgomery, and wouldn't be climbed much except for the state line running between the two peaks, producing the highest point in Nevada. Montgomery was still well covered with snow protected from the sun via this northeast facing side. Given that I had reached Boundary's summit in under 3 and a half hours, I hoped to continue on and bag Montgomery as well.

As I left the rock shelter my right heel popped as my left came forward. Ouch. I stopped and stretched my ankle, rolling it around and tried to proceed downhill again. It quickly popped again. After a few feet I decided to stop and see about fixing this situation. I didn't have an ACE bandage to wrap my heel with, but luckily it didn't appear to be swelling. I popped an ibuprofen and tightened my boots which had become loose. Remembering that I had two more days of climbing and still needed to go a long ways downhill to make it back, I decided to leave Montgomery untried.

Back at Boundary's summit I retraced my steps down the ridge, walking gently on my right foot. I found that sidestepping downhill didn't produce any pain, so I continued that way as much as possible. When I hit the junction with the Trail Canyon Saddle route and my route, I had a decision to make. I was interested in seeing more of the mountain and what the Trail Canyon Saddle route was like, but I also wished to say goodbye to the people I meet last night. I tried to spot any climbers in the basin below to see which route they may have taken.

At first I could only see a single climber headed (more wisely than I) up the path next to the boomerang snow field. When she reached the ridge we chatted a bit and I let her know about the route ahead. I was surprised that she wasn't a highpointer, as I'm not sure what the attraction of climbing Boundary was to one who wasn't interested in its prominence as the highest in the state.

As we talked I noticed two dogs racing around on a snow patch down the basin. Remembering the two dogs the group had last night, I then spotted the five people standing still next to the snow. So down the loose and dusty trail I went. The descent went rapidly, boot skiing down the dust and small stones. None were big enough to knock down on anyone below, and my ankle seemed much better now.

I exchanged a few words with the group and wished them well. Soon I was back on gentle ground and walking back out Trail Canyon. I still marveled at the wildflowers and stopped for several pictures. I passed only one other couple headed in on my walk out. After reaching the trailhead, I cleaned up and headed back out the winding gravel road for the drive to Death Valley.