Pike's Peak

Pike's Peak

Date Climbed: 11/21-22/14

Climbing Partner: Solo

Range: Front

Elevation: 14, 114 Feet

*This story is out of order, and I have skipped a few 14ers in order to write this one fresh from memory. I will include my first attempt at Pike's Peak at a later date.

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Daniel Weiss

The alarm went off early Friday morning. It was 1 AM and it was time to get ready for the specter that was the Barr Trail. Having already attempted this trail once before (of which I will write in a later post), I knew the long journey I was in for. The afternoon before, I had packed all of the equipment I knew would be essential to my quest. Having just received a new backpack and sleeping bag, I was prepared for the cold night that lay ahead. Unlike last time, I was prepared to bring my snowshoes all the way up. After reaching Barr Camp on my last escapade, I found that there was two feet of snow, and no discernable trail between myself and the top, forcing me to turn around as I had left my snowshoes in the car. I hit the road at 1:30, right on schedule. As there was no traffic, I made it to the trailhead just before 3 AM. This would be the earliest start I had ever gotten on a trail. Knowing this would not be the last time I would get an early start, I took a moment wipe away the knowledge that there would be days I would have to be on the trail long before 3 AM. As I hefted my backpack, full of camping gear including a 20 below sleeping bag, tent, and snowshoes, I buckled my waist belt and hit the trail. There would be no stopping for pictures and breathtaking scenery this time. I knew the trail almost to timberline, and so knew what to expect.

My journey would take me over the infamous Incline (or parallel to it), through what I called the Dead Forest (better known as the Experimental Forest), along the Long Traverse into Barr Camp, past the three miles to the timberline A-frame shelter, and the final three mile sprint (or in my case slog) to the summit. It was a challenge I both dreaded and loved. Having been defeated once already by the sheer length of the trail, only to return to “I told you so’s,” and “have you learned your lesson’s,” I was ready to put this mountain in its place. The sad thing is, I was probably less prepared this time than I had been last time, for two reasons. One: last time, I had anticipated deep snow and had come prepared, yet made the mistake of leaving my snowshoes behind based on the conditions of the trailhead, whereas this time I was prepared for deep snow, although the real danger would be the slick snow and ice. Two: Pikes Peak had been two weeks of preparation last time, whereas this was a mere two days. There was one crucial difference though: I was more determined than ever to reach this peak, even if it meant hiking all day and night.

            Unlike last time, I was also planning on camping at the A-frame, knowing that it would make a 3 mile, 2500 foot difference in my journey the following morning. I began at an incredible pace, feeling refreshed by the brisk air and excited to use my new backpack. I was also confident that I would be able to stay warm in my sleeping bag, as I had already tested it in the backcountry in a snowstorm the weekend before. Within an hour and a half, I was at the top of the incline, and was just beginning the walk into the belly of the beast. The city was becoming harder and harder to see, as it began to fade behind the first mountain. I began to feel very uneasy at this point. As a child, I had heard of the mountain lion attacks in Colorado, and had even encountered one once while on a backpacking trip in eighth grade. I knew they enjoyed hunting in the early pre-dawn hours, and a lone man walking down a trail with a backpack full of food was a fairly easy target. Even more worryingly, there were no cars in the parking lot, an unexpected sight as I knew that many who traveled the Barr Trail were often at the trailhead by 1 in the morning. This meant that I would be doing this journey alone, and could only expect to see people at Barr Camp, if that. Every few minutes I would click to sticks together and have a short conversation with myself, more to comfort me than anything else, although I had heard that loud sudden noises would scare off mountain lions.

            Thankfully, I never encountered any wildlife, and the trip to Barr Camp was uneventful. Almost too uneventful. As I saw the familiar wooden fence leading to the camp, I knew that safety and company were not far ahead. It is hard to describe the feeling of finally making it to a destination where the comfort of food, people, and shelter can elate a lonely wanderer. However, I had a real problem. The evening before, I had taken a sleeping pill knowing that I would have trouble without it in anticipation of Pikes Peak. Although I did get a good rest, it was too short, and the drowsiness brought on by the pill was still in my system as I walked the trail. Although I had made it to the camp in under 3 hours (a good pace), I was literally beginning to fall asleep on my feet. Too tired to be frustrated with myself, I sat on the iced over bench along the stream in order to decide what the next step was. Should I continue up to the A-frame and set up camp their? Or should I pitch a tent here as I did last time. I knew that if I pitched a tent at Barr Camp, my shot at the summit could be in jeopardy, as it was even longer from here to the summit than it was back to the trailhead, and it was at a higher altitude. I also knew that I would face much fiercer winds, no company, and a longer hike with a heavy backpack if I continued. I also knew that if I kept going, I could hurt myself, as I was so tired I was beginning to trip over small rocks on the trail.

All things considered, I opted to take my chances with pitching a tent at Barr Camp. My plan of attack had changed. I was not going to take a day to recover for a summit attempt. I was going to take a short nap and hit the trail when I was awake enough to concentrate. I knew that if I wasted a whole day at Barr Camp, it would be unlikely that I would want to continue up the trail as laziness would set in. I also knew that it would be very tough to have two long days on the trail with my wife waiting my return in Manitou Springs. It was all a mental game, and the only way to beat it was to go hard and fast. I quickly set up the tent, unfurled the sleeping bag, and fell asleep almost immediately.

I awoke to broad daylight and the sound of birds perched on top of the tent. I checked my watch and was surprised to discover that it was 9 AM. I had slept a full two hours, but felt as refreshed as if I had slept for eight. I quickly did a quick test on my stove (checking to see that it would work in this cold altitude, as I had just bought it and was hoping to test it again at 14,000 feet), and hit the trail. Snowshoes slung over my shoulder and fanny pack around my waist, my going was quick at first. It soon became apparent that I had made a huge mistake. My layover at Barr Camp had not only cost me time, but also energy. Because I had taken just enough time to get a quick nap, my body no longer had the energy it had had earlier that morning. Whereas before I had hardly broke a sweat over six miles, the first mile was arduous, and my breathing was labored. I had no energy, and only one energy bar with me. I decided to save it for the A-frame. It took almost two hours to reach the A-frame, a distance of only three miles. Although it was average to travel 1000 vertical feet an hour (mounaineer’s pace), I knew I could average 1500 an hour below timberline. I knew I was in for a battle to make it to the top. At the A-frame, it became glaringly apparent that I had come prepared for the wrong conditions. It was no longer deep snow in my path, but slick ice and rock hard snow. I did not bring my crampons and had frustratingly lugged snowshoes up 5000+ vertical feet for nothing. I hid my snowshoes under some rocks off to the side of the trail, along with my ski poles, and began my ascent.

In view was the great mountain, the summit of Pikes Peak. This mountain was my arch nemesis, and I intended to crawl to the top if I had to. At the pace I was going, it was very likely that I would have to. Every step above timberline was arduous work. What’s worse, I began walking straight uphill, following a false path. It was not until I had completely lost the trail and traveled several hundred feet up, that I realized my mistake, and retraced my steps back to the A-frame. I quickly found the trail again, finished off my snack, and began the walk up again. The first mile was relatively quick and easy. It was hard work, but compared with the difficulties I would face in the last two miles, it was nothing. Immediately after the first mile, and beginning the long traverse across the face of the mountain, I ran into the first patches of rock hard snow. After the snowstorm, which had dumped four feet of snow in just two days at our winter camp near Herman Lake, the winds came cold and strong. With temperatures in Denver well into the negatives, the snow stuck and did not disappear. The same was true for Pikes, except for the last two days just before my climb. Any snow exposed to direct sunlight for too long melted and quickly froze in the bitter winds that ended the week. Every step on the rock hard snow was rewarded with a slip, and occasionally a fall. At times, I would step gingerly onto a pack of snow, expecting to slip, and my foot would sink a foot into the soft snow. At other times, I would take a heavy step, expecting to break through soft snow, only to be met a surface as solid as a rock and as slick as ice.

I had absolutely no traction. Every slip would cost me precious energy, which would increase my breathing, and it would take me several long breaths before I could continue walking. My pace had slowed to what must have been only 700 feet in just over an hour. At the next sign, stating that there was a mere mile to the summit, I looked up and saw the roof of the summit house that promised food and people. I still had not met a single soul on the trail, and was very surprised. The conditions were warm and sunny, with only a light breeze and occasional gust. Tomorrow was promising winds of at least 25 mph, a day which I was glad to have escaped. I had expected at least a couple of people to be close on my heels for the last bit of the journey, but this late in the day it was obvious that would not be the case. I was on my own, and the last mile was a mix of the same rock hard snow and ice, only this time the snow was almost knee deep in some place, and the Sixteen Golden Stairs lay before me. Having read in a report on the trail, I expected the stairs to be easy, as they were something “I would never forget.” More importantly, I had also read that the last mile was little more than a “walk up.” I was severely disappointed to find that this was not the case. Having had such a long break from high-altitude, along with cold, a 12 mile hike in snow and ice, and the weight of a backpack for half of it, I was physically exhausted, and still had another agonizing mile left to go, over a very steep slope with tougher conditions than I had experienced thus far.

What’s more, the slope was much more exposed than I had expected it to be. On normal summer days, the last mile would be a trifle to walk across to the finish. But in the onset of winter, with higher winds and slippery slopes, that promised to carry you 500 feet or more if you slipped, I was nervous for the first time at the prospect of a climb. Knowing I had no traction, I cautiously began to walk across the last long switchback just before the 16 Golden Stairs. The extra effort it took to concentrate on each step was draining me, and I would feel my balance fading. Midway across I slipped on a hard patch of snow, and began sliding downhill. I quickly jammed both fists into the snow to stop my descent. Luckily, I was over some soft snow and was able to stop. I quickly climbed back to the trail, heart racing and breathing heavily. I looked up to the lip of the summit, knowing I had less that 400 feet to go. I shook my head, ready to turn around and admit defeat. Countless times on these last 3 miles, I had looked up, anticipating to see the summit closer than ever, and each time I was disappointed. Every time, it seemed as though there was no progress being made, and the summit would look even farther away than it had before. I knew much of this was due to my lack of exercise and climbing in the last month and a half. Whereas before summits seemed to be conquered in minutes, this trip felt like days, and still the summit was just out of reach.

I had no more physical strength left, and just to stand was to cause my head to swim. I was dehydrated and hungry. The sun was now behind the summit and I was in the shadow of the mountain. I had nothing left to give. I fell to my hands and knees and prayed to God for strength. I knew I could only conquer this mountain with His help. Nothing seemed to happen; I felt no stronger, and no magical voice told me to go on. But my resolve hardened, and I gritted my teeth, ready to finish this mountain on hands and knees if need be. I quickly assaulted the 16 Golden Stairs (which I will never forget, though for quite different reasons than what the article suggested). The stairs were almost gone, hidden by snow so deep, I was climbing on hands and knees. After what I imagined to be 24 stairs, I heard voices ahead. I could not yet see the summit, but I could hear the train and the people talking. Elated, I rushed through the snow, beyond exhaustion, wanting nothing more than to see people and eat food.

I must have left the trail at some point, for as the ground leveled out, I was standing on rocks, staring at the train platform with the tracks between myself and the finish. Although the ground was nearly flat (relatively speaking), I could go no more than twenty steps before I had to catch my breath. Before me were some tourists, taking pictures of the beautiful views. They soon noticed me and began taking pictures as I walked the last 50 feet to the platform. When I finally reached it, was so happy, I began to tear up. I had finally conquered this beast of a mountain, and better yet there was a train ready to take me back down. “Did you just hike up here?” Asked a middle aged woman, looking incredulous. I tried to resond, but couldn’t, placing my hands on my knees trying to catch my breath. “Take your time, honey,” another woman said gently, smiling at me. When I could finally speak again, I simply replied with a “Yes.” I turned and took a picture of my view, and a picture of the sign. And began planning for the next steps of the journey.

“Do you mind if we take a picture of you?” The first woman asked, holding up her camera.

“Sure,” I smiled. She snapped a few photos and asked if I wanted some as well. I greatfully accepted and handed her my phone to take the pictures. After handing the phone back, she asked if I was taking the train back down. I hesitated. I had not planned on doing this, and so had no tickets. What’s more, my gear was back at Barr Camp and the A-frame. I also knew that to travel back down, exhausted as I was and with sunset quickly approaching, would be very dangerous. I decided it would be better to play it safe and come back down the slope the following day. I told the nice woman that I did want to take the train down, but I had no ticket. Thankfully, the conductor was nice enough to allow me passage. Wearily, I took a seat on the nearest bench and just sat there, too excited to sleep, but too tired to do anything else. The conductor was also a very nice lady and asked about my hike. I assumed she had met a lot of people like me, who would hike the trail in the morning and take the train down in the afternoon. She smiled and gave me instructions on how to pay once I reached the bottom. I thanked her for allowing me to hop on board and relaxed knowing that the worst was behind me.

It took an hour or so to reach the bottom (fast compared to my eight hour hike, not including the two hours at Barr Camp). After paying for my ticket, I began to walk back to my truck. The plan was to check into a local hotel where my wife and I would stay and hop back on the train in the morning and descend the Barr Trail to pick up my equipment. Unfortunately, I realized I had left my keys in the tent at camp, and now had to walk a ten-minute drive to the hotel. “Would you like a ride somewhere, Daniel?” Shouted the lady who had taken my picture earlier. I gratefully accepted, and hopped in the car with the couple.

Unfortunately I do not remember their names, but they were very kind folks from Pennsylvania on vacation. I am still very thankful for their kindness, and they are among those who I will always remember from these journeys, along with the countless others who showed me kindness in my quest to conquer the Colorado 14ers. After dropping me off and wishing me blessings, I got our room and awaited my wife. When she and our sister-in-law arrived, we went out to dinner and I explained all that had happened on the mountain and what my plan was for tomorrow. “Please hurry down.” She said. She wanted to spend the day with me, and I wanted the same.

After dinner and a hot shower, I lay in bed, deciding on the next course of action. Reports were now saying that the winds were going to be a sustained 40 mph, and having been in high winds at altitude in the winter before, I did not dare face that unless I had to. After the experience on Democrat and the other 14ers I had dealt with only a month or so before, I knew that “a sustained wind at 40 mph” on the internet actually meant double that. Thankfully, I discovered the train could drop hikers off at the Mountain View trailhead, a mere 1.5 miles from Barr Camp (looking back, I wish I had known that sooner). I knew I could get my tent and other supplies easily enough. I now had a difficult choice to make: risk the windy and icy conditions of a summit decent, or leave the ski poles and snowshoes behind. I felt I had little choice in the matter. Tired and sore as I was, and knowing a descent is much more dangerous than an ascent, I opted to leave behind the snowshoes, and hope that I could get them at a later date.

The next morning, I called the train, hoping to get a later ticket so I could get more sleep. There was no availability, and so I was on the train at 9:20 AM, headed for the Mountain View trailhead. The conductor was the same one as the day before, and so we had a nice conversation as to why I was back on the train. If you have not experienced the Cog railway up Pikes, I suggest it, if for no other reason than the cheesy jokes. At the trail, I made quick work of the 1.5 mile hike, running into another hiker, Amy, on her way to the station to get a ride down. Having learned that I could also get a ride down, I ran to the camp. Once there, I found my tent (which had flipped over and rolled downhill in the night) and put everything away. I considered hiking up to the A-frame, surprised at how quickly my legs had recovered. But I knew that would add on several miles and hours to my trip, and now that I had an easy way down by the railroad, I decided not to miss the opportunity. I informed the attendants at the camp that I had left my snowshoes, and hoped someone would be kind enough to return them someday.

I quickly made it back to the station, and waited for the train to return. While waiting, I asked Amy where she had just come from. Apparently she had ran to the top. Astonished, I asked for the details. To have made it in one day from the bottom to the top and then back to just past Barr Camp before 11 was incredible. I had only just made it to the top by 1 PM the day before. I wanted to know how she had done it so fast. She quickly began to tell me of her other hikes on all the other 14ers. She had already conquered them all, and had done Pikes Peak a staggering 14 times. She had done Pikes Peak more than all of my 14ers combined to that point. I envied her. She began to tell of all the other sports she had done, including Ice and snow and rock climbing, mountain biking, and kayaking. She was a true mountaineer, and the first one I had met on the trail with a passion much like my own. I was impressed. We were greeted (the third time for me) by the conductor, who allowed me free passage back down. On the way back down, we swapped stories, and she gave advice as to what 14ers to do and when, and what days were best to backpack where. I soon told her of my experience up Pikes, and she graciously offered to look for my snowshoes on her way up Pikes the following Thursday. I was astonished, knowing it was bad enough to carry my own load up a mountain, much less someone else’s.

I accepted, and told Amy I would find a way to repay her if she was able to find them. Once at the bottom, we exchanged numbers, and I wished her luck on her hike. As I got into my truck, I gave my wife a call and we met for lunch at a local Mexican restaurant. This all occurred very recently, and I am still awaiting Thursday, hoping that Amy will find the snowshoes and return them. I will complete this story when I hear back from her (hopefully in the positive). As a side note, however, I would encourage anyone who climbs mountains to be gracious to those they meet. I have met some very kind people, all willing to sacrifice for my mistakes, and I hope to return the favor when I meet others in need. It just goes to show you that in the backcountry, things often taken for granted here in the city are never forgotten when real need is upon us. A simple gesture in a time of need is better than a thousand dollars given in the comfort of your own home.