Date climbed: 6/28/14
Partners: Alysa Weiss
Range: Front
Elevation: 14,060 feet
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Daniel Weiss
This was my wife and I's first 14er we'd ever climbed. Although she had driven to the top of Pikes Peak a number of years ago, neither of us new what to expect from a climb up this extremely popular 14er. We arrived sometime in the late morning, and by that point, most people were on their way down. It was a fairly warm day, although it was very windy. All I had on were khaki pants, thin running shoes, nike socks, a thermal shirt, light weight fleece, and a rain jacket to act as a wind breaker. My wife wasn't prepared well either. However, coming from Texas, I had never heard of the 14ers, and they seemed unimpressive to me, and thus I had not even attempted one in the three years I had lived in Colorado up to that point. One day, though, my wife and I decided we wanted to go on a hike in the mountains, and so we agreed to try Beirstadt after consulting some of our friends.
Having little knowledge of what it was like at that altitude, and thus under preparing, we set off into the late morning. We must have passed over 100 people on the way up. We made good time over the dreaded willows and boardwalk. So far, I was unimpressed, considering all the hullabaloo I'd heard about the challenge of the 14ers. I wouldn't realize until my second 14er just how wrong I was. After a number of breaks up the first bit of the slope, I decided to go ahead of Alysa, figuring she would be alright, what with the 100's of people hiking up and down the trail. I quickly reached the first plateau and got a great view of the summit, as well as the valley below. If you have never been up to Guanella Pass, I highly recommend a trip up there. It's very easy to explore, considering how flat it is, and very open as it is just below timberline.
I found a nice rock to sit on and wait while Alysa caught up. It was at this point that I began to realize we might be underprepared, as the gusts were fairly strong, though nothing worse that what I had experienced before. After sitting, hydrating, and taking some pictures, I began to grow a little worried. It had been more than ten minutes, and there was still no sign of Alysa, despite all the people that were passing along the trail. I put my backpack back on and stood up, ready to go back down the trail when suddenly I saw my wife, slowly making her way up to me. I was relieved.
However, I could tell from her facial expression that something was wrong. I quickly walked over to her, and noticed she had tears running down her face. "I couldn't breath back there!" She gasped as she reached earshot. "What?!" I exclaimed as she finally made it up to me. She was breathing hard and could barely speak. Finally, she was able to catch her breath and told me that she had suddenly stopped breathing on the way up and couldn't figure out what was going on. She began to cry, and I comforted her as best I could. I asked if she wanted to turn around, and she said no. So we began again, though this time we took it slower, and I kept a better eye on her.
Soon we had all of our clothing on, trying to stay warm in the cold gusts that would rise up over and down from the summit. We reached the first sub-summit (after many breaks) when Alysa suddenly stopped and sat down. Worried she was having trouble again, I rushed over to her. She was crying, but still breathing. "It's too hard. I can't breath up here." She said, tears running down her cheeks. I told her that we didn't have far to go; less than half an hour and we'd be at the summit. Of course, having little experience at that altitude, I did not realize that we were over 1000 feet from the summit, and thus about an hour from it, if not more at our pace. She said she was going to turn around and go back to the car, but I refused to let her go, telling her I wanted her to make it up with me, even if we had to rest after every step, and I wanted her to experience this with me. After a while, she agreed, so we continued up. About a minute later she stopped again. It took us numerous stops to get to the final sub summit, before the final push. By this point, we were among the last on the mountain, and it must have been around 2 or 3 in the afternoon.
At this point, a man walked by and gave us some encouragement, "Don't give up! You've got less that 300 feet to go!" and then continued on his way. I turned to Alysa and told her we had to do it. When she didn't move, I walked over to her and told her to hop on my back. She did, and I made it about 100 feet up before I had to let her off so I could rest. We then continued up and began to climb. The last 100 feet or so was covered in snow, although a deep path had been treat through the three feet deep snow, so that we were still climbing up rock. After about 15 minutes, we had made it to the summit. We sat and enjoyed the view, taking a few pictures, and resting. After a few minutes had passed, I decided it was time to head down so we could beat the sun, and before the temperature could drop. I was freezing, although it was a cloudless day, so the sun warmed us up a little. In order to save time, I suggested we slide down on the giant snow patches, using our rain jackets as sleds. My wife agreed, and we began to slide. On our second snowfield, I turned around to wait for Alysa to catch up. We had kept sinking in the deep snow, although I though nothing of it.
Alysa was about 150 feet above me when suddenly she stopped. She started crying out for help, saying she was stuck. I quickly ran up the through the snow, sinking as I did so. When I reached her, I realized what had happened: she had dug her feet into the snow to stop herself, but had slid in up to her hip in the freezing snow. Neither of us had gloves, nor did she have on good pants, and even worse she had worn light socks and shoes, which were quickly freezing. I began to dig with my hands, hearing her cries of pain and saying she was losing the feeling in her feet. Since she had slipped in at an awkward angle, she could not free herself, and so could not get the leverage to get free. After a minute of digging, I had to stuff my hands under my armpits in order to warm them back up. Once the pain had stopped, I began to dig again, and finally freed her, although she lost her shoe in the process. I dug some more and freed that as well. She put it back on, tear streaks running down her face saying "I'll never do this again!" I was sad to hear it, but I understood why.
Our hike down was uneventful, and we were the last ones off the mountain that day. By the time we had reached the car, the sun was setting and my hands had just began to thaw enough that I could move them. It wasn't until the day after that I could use them fully, and even then, my hands still felt as though they were being stabbed by needles. Although the adventure had taken a lot of the spirit out of Alysa, and although we were exhausted and hungry, I felt that the trip was a success: we had reached the summit, and I had enjoyed the feeling of triumph from that. I decided that I would try again soon, although I would be better prepared this time. We stopped by Beaujos on the way back to Denver, and I began to plan my next adventure.
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