Mount Elbert

Mt. Elbert
Date Climbed: 11/12/15
Climbing Partners: None
Elevation: 14,433    

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            drweiss2
            Daniel Weiss

      Second winter climb of the season. Although the snows stayed late last year, and summer did not seem to last long enough, I was ready and rearing for some snow climbing and skiing. It seemed as though nature wanted to reconcile the late snow last season, and thus the warmer temperatures than usual lately have led to more rain than snow so far. Although precipitation has been above average, the warmer temperatures have prevented significant snowfall until this moment. Just two days prior to my climb, a massive snowstorm blew through, adding over a foot of snow and changing the avalanche danger to moderate.
     Having failed to climb Yale two weeks before this climb, I was determined to make up for it and summit Yale. With the new snowfall, however, I was forced to take a more stable route, and thus decided upon Mount Elbert. This way I could shorten up the hike and elevation gain, as well as knock off the Colorado high point off my bucket list all at once. So with a 4 AM alarm and a new jacket to test out, I set off into the heart of Colorado.
     The sun rose just as I hit the trailhead. Unfortunately, my lack of 4-wheel drive and a low snowline forced me to walk up the 4WD rode, and so added a few miles to my journey. The road went by quickly and soon I had to put on my microspikes. Connecting with the Colorado Trail, I made a quick half mile hike over to the South Elbert intersection and began the steep trudge up the slope, which the Swatch range is so famous for.
     The trail was easy to follow at first, as someone in snowshoes had obviously broken trail shortly after the storm. Not having snowshoes myself, I was worried that I had come underprepared (a mistake I often remedy by over-preparing). Although the snow coverage was no more than 4", I was sure that the snow above timberline would be a tough challenge. As the miles and elevation went by, the views became more and more spectacular. The dense forest was slowly replaced by open sky and a vast valley. Ahead lay rugged snow-capped peaks and (to my trepidation) enormous snow plumes, indicating a high winds and low temperatures. Just hours before my truck's thermometer had read -3 degrees. Although it was bright and sunny, the forecast called for temperatures reaching -22 degrees at the summit. Knowing this would be common come midwinter, I had made some purchases during the summer to deal with these extremes.
     Among them were gloves designed for Alaskan peaks and a belay jacket designed for comfort somewhere in the -10 range. I even wore three layers of pants, which I only did when the forecast called for blizzard conditions. Thus, i was prepared for the worst it could throw at me.
     As treelike came closer and closer, the wind began to pick up, and I knew that the cold would not be my only enemy. Just over a year before, I had battled 60+ mph winds on Democrat and the surrounding 14ers. The winds not only chilled me to the bone, but had forced me to slow down and even lay down when the gusts became too strong. If I had to do the same on Elbert in knee deep snow, I would be lucky to summit before dark, and there would be no backup on this trip. My only consolation was that I would have cell phone service almost every step of the way, so that I could call for help in an emergency.
     By 9 AM I had reached timberline and decided to layer up and eat in preparation for the battle with the wind ahead. If it was as bad as it looked, I would not be able to sit down and enjoy lunch as I had planned, but would have to make a mad dash to the summit and back in a hope of reaching treeline before nightfall. What's more, the snow had steadily grown deeper and deeper. So much so, that the previous hiker had obviously given up a mile back, forcing me to blaze my own trail to the top. Although it may sound as though I had plenty of time until dark, it will become very clear just how slow one moves above timberline when winter comes. Just to give you an idea of just how tough it is, on a typical winter hike, expect it to take three times longer to reach a destination than in the summer in non-technical terrain. Although progress had been great (averaging 2 mph up to this point), things were about to screech to a halt.
     As I set out from my shelter of trees full of a delicious Twix and water breakfast, a snow tornado came roaring down the slope. I turned away just in time protect most of my face from the stinging cold of the snow. Imagine, for a second, videos of Mount Everest where the snow is blown for miles from it's enormous summit. The sound of the steady roar of the jetstream and the majestic waves blown from it's pyramid. I had a very similar sight as I left the trees and the southeast bowl was laid bare before me, with just the smallest view of the summit miles away. Granted, Elbert is not nearly as intimidating, and the winds are much more tame, and the temperatures much warmer, but the beauty and challenge is still there.
     Up I went, making good progress at first until I came to the first wind-loaded slope that led to the first false summit. Soon I was huffing and puffing my way up a small slope, making on step every breath or two, sinking in to my knees. If the rest of the ridge was like this, I wouldn't make the summit until nightfall if I was lucky. But since the weather was supposed to be good and there were very few objective dangers on Elbert, I was determined to make the summit, no matter how long it took. After half an hour, I had only made a few hundred feet of progress. I pulled out my ice axe for balance and began to push harder, hoping that the high winds had exposed the rock on the windward side of the ridge.
     As I approached the top of this "small bump" on the ridge, I finally reached an island of rocks, allowing me to make quick progress over the hill. Although the summit seemed no nearer, I saw my saving grace: exposed rock on the north (right) side of the ridge. I counted 4 more false summits, put my head down and moved on. Every time I would reach the top of a false summit, I would set my sites on the next and remind myself that I only had a handful more. The second one went by quickly, and the wind began to diminish. The sun appeared to be chasing away the winds, and I could no longer see the long spindrift I had seen on my approach.
     On the third false summit, I could see the faint outline of the summer trail switchbacking its way up the steep slope. This would be the real test. If I could make it to the top of this, all I had left was the summit slope. But this would also be the longest and steepest part of the hike. Although the trail was very easy to follow and I flew up the first half, the trail soon disappeared and as the slope began to level out, the snow became deeper and deeper. Whereas the snow was no more than a few inches deep on the lower half, I was now forced to find the path of least resistance and pray that the snow was supportive... which was not often the case. As I ran out of steam, I looked back over the ridge and the valley below me. Off in the distance was the small town of Leadville, Colorado's highest city. To my right was the gigantic southwest bowl and a frozen lake, and to the left were the treacherous Box Couloirs of Elbert. Directly below me was one particularly steep shoot, which I hoped would slide so that I could see a live avalanche. Sure I had read about and watched videos of avalanches, but I had never seen one in person, and hoped that the warm temperatures and heavy snowfall would release one just to add some excitement to the journey.
     Surprisingly, the temperatures were much warmer than predicted (although they were still well below freezing), and I was forced to shed my jacket. After a few more minutes of wading through the snow, I leaned into the slope and sat down. I needed water and some food for energy. Taking in the beautiful scenery before me, I pulled on my jacket again and felt thankful that I did not have to race to the top as I would during the summer. No thunder in winter! Suddenly I saw movement in my peripheral view, and turned to stare directly at it. A tiny black dot was making quick progress up my trail. I was not alone. I had enjoyed the solitude earlier that morning, but was relieved to know that someone else would be nearby to help if I were to twist an ankle or something. Being so close to the summit, I took a longer break than needed, waiting for my companion to join me and hoping that he or she would be just as glad to share the days first summit together.
     After a while of waiting, I decided that this person was moving so quickly that I would be better off just breaking trail most of the way as they were obviously moving faster than I. just as I made the push to the 4th and last false summit, my heart sank. Away in the distance ahead and a little higher, there seemed to be even more false summits. I had already been at it for 5 hours and still had to get down. But it would be a waste to stop this close, and so on I went. The route-finding was awful and progress was slow, but the summit came steadily closer and closer. Just a few hundred feet of the top, my companion caught up with me. Looking back, we made eye contact and nodded to each other. We were both exhausted and agreed that we could talk on the summit if there was any shelter to be found.
     I dawned an extra jacket, gloves, and my baclava anticipating a blast of icy wind upon summiting. Lo and behold, my efforts were not in vain. As my partner broke trail the rest of the way, I came up close behind and was greeted 1) with a spectacular view of the Swatch and Aspen ranges and 2) a blast of arctic wind that instantly froze any water that was exposed. My nose instantly began to run and then froze, and my water bottle quickly turned into a chunk of ice frozen shut. We made unbalanced progress the last dozen steps to the top and made our congratulations. My eyes watered from the cold and I quickly regretted not equipping my ski goggles before the summit. I took some quick pictures and a shot of myself on the summit as evidence, and asked my friend where he was from.
     I instantly realized why he had caught up so quickly. Not only was he from Leadville (living at twice the altitude of Denver), but he was quite obviously a trail runner. Fast and light is a trail runners motto, and I could tell he was freezing in the icy wind, with nothing but a shell jacket and thermal pants on over breathable shoes. Good thing is he could make it up pretty quickly. Bad thing is if something went wrong and he was forced to spend any amount of time in the dark, there would be no chance of his making it through the night. It is the polar opposite to the style of climbing I do; slow and steady. Safety and preparation for every scenario. After a quick exchange, we began the descent. Not wanting to blow out a knee or ankle, I did not event try to keep up. I was already losing feeling in some of the toes on my right foot, and had no intention of spending a night out because I rushed and hurt myself. Far below we could see another hiker making slow progress up the slope.
     Half an hour later, a miserable looking young man carrying an unnecessarily large pack stood before me. It had taken him 6 hours just to reach this point, and he still had another hour to go (if not more). It was already close to 2 PM and the sun would set at 4:30. This meant he would be lucky to make it back to timberline by 4:30. Although it was warm right now, the minute the sun disappeared, the temperatures would drop rapidly and things would get dangerously cold. He told me he had come from San Diego just yesterday. I asked how he felt. Dizzy and exhausted; classic Mountain Sickness, which can have life threatening consequences. Although we were not really that high, the altitude difference and energy required to move at this elevation could cause over-exertion and could cause and edema. That being said, he did not appear to be in that bad of condition, and was probably just tired. He asked how much longer, and did not appear happy with my response. He then asked if I thought he should go on. I explained that the only thing stopping him was his condition. The weather would be good, even after dark and asked him if he had plenty of water, food, and a light. Yes to all three, so I wished him luck and told him just to carefully follow our trail on the way back down. He decided to continue up and we went our separate ways. Going down went much quicker than going up, although my knees were throbbing when I finally made it to the upper trailhead. A quick dash back down the road and I was in my tuck and on my way home.
     Another 14er down and still a lot to go. But I felt confident that I could handle whatever they could dish out and a 4th class 14er with snow wasn't sounding too crazy after all. Elbert was nothing more than a long walk. It was the technical demands of climbs like Wetterhorn and Dead Dog that peaked my interest now. For a real mountain, a high camp, some technical axes and crampons, a rope, and luck would be all I needed for success. So what was next? Sangre De Cristos and their infamous Crestones or a long committing journey to the deadly Elk Range, with no safe climbs but all the adventure a mountaineer could want.

Wetterhorn Peak & An Unexpected Journey

Wetterhorn Peak
Date Climbed: August 12-13, 2015
Climbing Partners: none
Elevation: 14,015

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            drweiss2
            Daniel Weiss   

     Having spent all day letting my heels recover from the blisters I had recently acquired from my ruined boots, I thought my best option would be to rent a cabin, wait out the coming storm, and clean my sores. It wasn't until 7 or 8 PM that I finally found a place cheap enough for my budget. Recommended by a local shop owner, I walked in to the "front office," sure that there would be no rooms available. As I walked in, I was greeted by two men, both talking about the Bible and drinking some whiskey with a roaring fire next to them. The scene is difficult to picture unless you saw it, but the "front office" was really just a small room connected to a cabin where the owners stayed when the hotel was open in the summer season. The men invited me in and asked if I wanted some cookies and whiskey (it was a very awkward but funny way to check into a hotel).
     The owner was very kind and said that he had been expecting me, after talking with the shop owner who had recommended me, who happened to be his wife. Apparently, my predicament was not uncommon. Many people would have the same problems when coming through on their way to complete the Colorado Trail, and would often stop by to drop off trash and restock on food. He generously gave me a discount (something like 50% off) and gave me an entire cabin to myself. He had done the 14ers in the area and was impressed that I had traveled so far alone and had camped up in the basins alone as well. In his words, "that's real adventuring."
     As I moved my stuff into my cabin, I looked up at the night sky. With a flash and a loud rumble, I could see where the storm was hitting furiously against Wetterhorn. I was glad I would not have to stay a night up at altitude while everything got soaked and having to deal with a thunderstorm alone at night. I got into my cabin just as the rain began to pour down. The shower was almost as interesting as the check-in; having no soap provided, I had to use the hand soap dispenser next to the sink. Although, this was much better than having no shower at all for the whole week as I had planned. Having cleaned my heel properly, I finally got to bed with the sound of rain roaring down and thunder in the distance, and was out before I knew it.
     I was up early the next morning, running around town to get some supplies to protect my heels as well as a good lunch before I backpacked into Matterhorn Basin. Around noon, I arrived at my four wheeler, thankfully right where I had left it the day before. Although a bit wet, it worked just fine and after a quick but bumpy ride over to the Wetterhorn trailhead, I was on my way up to my campsite. I had hoped to camp right at the base of Wetterhorn and Matterhorn, but the forecast told me that there was a good chance of thunderstorms tonight, so I would have to stay around timberline. It took around an hour to get from the trailhead to the intended campsite. Unfortunately, there was another tent pitched there, and the only other suitable site that was close enough to water would be a good distance back down the trail. Approaching the tent cautiously, I called out, hoping that the hiker(s) would be ok with me setting up nearby. After hearing no response, I assumed that they were on their way back from a hike.
     After a bit of deliberation, I figured I'd rather take my chances with having some upset campers and figured that even if they were angry at me, there would be safety in numbers. Although I enjoy backpacking alone, it's always nice to know there is someone nearby who can help if something goes wrong. With this in mind, I set up camp just far enough away that the campers would not see me. After a short nap, I heard the campers return. After a quick chat with them, I found that they intended to head back down, so I would be camping alone that night. As pretty as this location was, I would enjoy the solitude. After a few hours, I are bored and decided to have some dinner and check out the basin a little more. I had a clear view of Matterhorn from my tent, but could not yet see Wetterhorn, which was up and to the left around another mountain from the front door of my tent. After a quick stroll further up the basin, I returned and warmed up some Ramen.
     It was almost dark by this time and I could see the clouds rolling in. I quickly cleaned my cookware and ran to the stream to fill up the bottles. Just as I began to filter the first liter, I heard a rumble off in the distance. My heart began to beat faster. I couldn't stop now, I needed this water if I was going to have enough for tonight and tomorrow. After a minute or two, I heard another rumble, this time much closer. I could tell now where the storm was rolling in from, and knew it could be on me in minutes. I quickly filtered my second liter and ran back to my tent, hoping tonight would not be like the last. As I huddled in my tent and stripped down for sleep, I could hear the rain begin to fall. It was not much, but I was anticipating a full blown storm again. Somehow, the storm I was anticipating, though, never materialized, and I slept fairly well that night.
     The one complaint I had was my water. Every time I took a sip, I got the irony taste of what I thought was blood. Assuming I had just cut my lip, I continued to drink, and waited for my alarm to signal my ascent.
     4:30 AM came quickly and I had all my gear on in less that 15 minutes. It was pitch black outside, and I could not see any stars. I assumed this meant that there were thick clouds and so took a 30 minute nap to see if the weather would change. By 5:30, I could finally see stars and looked up the basin to find that some climbers were already well ahead of me. I jumped out of my tent, brushed my teeth, and set off after them. In all honesty, the biggest reason I had stayed in my tent was because of my fear of mountain lions. If I have a partner, I don't worry too much as they almost never attack people in groups. But alone in the dark, and being the first one up the trail that day did not sound like too much fun, and I didn't like the risks. Especially since this was a Wednesday, which is one of the least crowded days on 14ers. But having seen other headlamps, I was encouraged and set off. The other hikers were over an hour ahead of me at an average pace, and so I made it my goal to beat them to the top, just to avoid any chance of running into any thunderstorms.
     As I began my steady hike up the trail, I still tasted the iron in my water. I looked at the bottle with my light shining through it and saw no indication of blood. I wiped my lips with my finger and found no cut. That meant that there was something in the water that my filter had failed to catch. I suddenly remembered that the rock I had filter next to was a clay colored rock and came to the conclusion that I must have filtered my water right next to an iron deposit. I knew nothing about minerals and assumed that it could be harmful, so I would only drink the water when it was absolutely necessary, hoping that this was normal to have a lingering taste even after filtering.
     I made quick progress into the upper basin and got my first glimpse of Wetterhorn Peak in the early morning alpenglow. It looked very close, but it also looked very challenging. The only official class 3 climbing I had ever down was on Dead Dog, and that was in snow. The real worry for me, though, was the exposure. Out of all the 14ers, Wetterhorn's standard route has one of the highest exposures. Well, I was about to find out, and I pushed even harder, hoping to be a the sun to the ridge. I had saved every picture available of the path ahead on my phone, just so as not to get off trail and to avoid getting stuck on any class 5 rock which was lurking close by. I could now make out the individual climbers ahead of me, and they seemed to be having some trouble route finding.
     With my phone in hand, I made quick progress through some of the trickier sections and was soon within earshot of the hikers. I came to the first crux of the climb and found the climbers around a corner about 100 feet above me. They shouted down that they were lost and asked if they were going the right way. Looking around I found a cairn off to their left and told them to make their way over to that. As I began to ascend , I soon found that I had gone off trail, and made a quick move over a large bolder over to where I had last seen the hikers. I was actually having fun, and I found that this class 3 stuff made the climb a lot more fun than walking! I quickly climbed my way up to the "decision point," where I could either take the ridge or traverse below it. I opted to take the more difficult, but safer route and traversed. After some scrambling I was in an unexpected level areas just a few hundred feet below the summit. I found the V-notch I was looking for and climbed through.
     At last, here it was. The 200 foot "staircase." The reports were right, it was hand-over-foot, but the holds were sold. It was like climbing up a ladder made of rocks. Looking to my left, I saw the drop that the reports had mentioned, but I realized that I had had much worse exposure on Mount Evans and Missouri Mountain. Everything looked ok, and it would be an easy climb to the top! The only worries I had left were that the other hikers might be just out of site and accidentally kick a rock down on top of me. I waited a few minutes sitting in the notch, and waiting to make sure that they had reached the top. After I was sure there were no rocks coming down, I dropped the 10 feet or so to the stairs, landing slightly unbalanced, but safely. I quickly began to move up the face, making sure that every hold was solid. In less than 10 minutes, I made the last move and was standing on top of a rather large plateau. I smiled at the couple who were sitting there eating their breakfast and taking in the views of Matterhorn and Uncompahgre.
     Congratulations were in order and we took the mandatory summit pictures. There was not a cloud in the sky, and I knew we would be able to take our time on the way down. The couple were a bit nervous about the first part of the descent, since we would be climbing down ledges rather than up, and I understood their concerns. Most accidents occur on the way down. But I took the rope out of my bag and brandished it before them. "If we get in a bad spot, no worries. I've got a harness and some rope." They smiled and we all relaxed a bit. After agreeing to get down the difficult part together, we started down. Thankfully, we never felt uncomfortable enough to justify the rope, and so made quick progress past the stairs, and back up through the V-notch.
     We decided to take the ridge rather that traverse on the way down, as it would be slightly easier. Once past the decision spot, all we had to do was follow the trail down the ridge and down into the basin. On the way down, we passed a few climbers on their way up, wishing them each luck. I told them to turn earlier than they thought so that they would avoid the same mistake I had made.
     Once past the groups on their way up, our group began to talk about some of the climbs we had done. Both had done numerous 14ers, although the woman had done a few snow climbs. I immediately began to convey my love for snow climbs and my intent to climb Aconcagua. Both were very interested, so I told them of what I had planned so far. Both did not have the time to join, but wished me luck on my expedition. AS we entered the upper basin, our conversations began to wind down and soon we were hiking in silence, each lost in our own world of thought. After almost no time at all, we reached my high camp and we went our separate ways.
     It took an hour to pack up, and I set off down the trail, eager to reach my 4wheeler and get some food. By 11 AM I was back in town, trying to decide if I had time to reach make a high camp for Sunshine and Redcloud. By 2 PM, I had communicated with my family that I had made it and told them of my intended destination. I set out, four-wheeler loaded, and began the journey south. Just before 3 PM, I had my four-wheeler unloaded and began the long ride up to the trailheads for Sunshine, Redcloud, and Handies. This road was much rougher than the one leading to Engineer Pass. It was a long drive, crossing many avalanche paths that had torn the road apart and exposed many rocks. When I finally reached the trailhead for Sunshine and Redcloud, I decided it was too late. It would be dark before I had reached my intended campsite, and so decided to take my chances with an attempt on Handies.
     I set off up the road, which became even worse. By the time I reached the half-mile turnoff for American Basin, the road was nothing but loose rock and a little dirt (which is a nightmare to drive on). I made slow progress, and could tell that I would not be able to outrun the storm clouds that were closing in. By this point, the road was well above timberline, and it was very exposed to the weather. I decided not to chance it and would figure out something back at the truck. I made a tricky U-turn and began down the road a bit too fast. Just as a Jeep came into view, I hit a large rock which threw my handle to the left, and right into another rock. I was thrown from my ATV and, which kept on going, right off the edge of the road. I yelled out in horror, hoping against hope that my $4000 ATV had not gone off a cliff. I got up and ran to the edge of the road, just in time to see it run headfirst into some willows, where it came to a stop. I breathed a sigh of relief. Now all I had to do was find a way to get it out.
     The jeep driver got out of her vehicle and came running, asking if I was alright. Frustrated, but alright. Although I had almost broken my ankle when the ATV began to flip, it had been saved when I was thrown from the ATV. We ran down to try and pull it out, but the slope was too steep, and I could not drive it out. I went around the willows to see if I could drive it through to the bottom where there was an old road, but just below I could see a 20 foot cliff that would surely destroy my ATV and me if I went with it. The only option left was to winch it up, and even then I would need another ATV as the road was too narrow to allow a jeep to park sideways.
     Thankfully, the two ladies who were in the jeep offered me a ride back to my truck and I gratefully accepted. This was not the first time I was in debt to some passers by. On our way down, we stopped every ATV we came by, asking if they had a winch. Since it was so late in the day, we had very few to choose from and none of them had one. After two hours of rough driving, we were finally back at my truck. I tried to offer the ladies some money, but they refused and wished me luck. I unloaded, and drove through north again. 
     This call would take too long to text, and since I had no service in Lake City, I would have to drive north until I could get service. It took me an hour just to get to a location where I finally had a signal. I immediately pulled off to the side of the road and called my parents, who were the only ones close enough that would have some kind of winch and an ATV.
     The call was brief, but a decision was made. It would take too long to reach Lake City from their location. So I had to drive another 3 hours around the mountains all the way to Ouray where I would spend the night, and then continue on to Silverton and meet up with them. From there, we would take the ATV's over Cinnamon Pass and winch out my ATV. Tired and frustrated, it was already close to sunset and I had to drive another 3 hours before I could get food sleep. Thankfully, my parents said I could get a room if I could find a hotel rather than having to backpack into a place in the area so I could camp for the night. My plans were ruined. Instead of the seven 14ers I had planned on getting this trip, I would be lucky just to get three. It's obvious now that God was teaching me patience and humility. Especially since I had come into this journey "prepared for anything". I had enough gear to deal with snow, rock climbing, rain storms, below freezing temperatures, bad roads, and even a gun for protection from wildlife. But I did not prepare for losing my ATV. Even after all these precautions, I still had to learn to trust in the help of others. So I got back on the road and began the long trip to my favorite town in Colorado; Ouray.

Uncompahgre Peak

Uncompahgre Peak

Date Climbed: August 10-11, 2015

Climbing Partners: none

Elevation: 14,309

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            drweiss2
            Daniel Weiss

    I pulled off my helmet and checked the sky. The weather was turning sour and I still had five and a half miles to go to my campsite. At least I had a week of nothing but backpacking and climbing ahead of me, so this little setback wouldn't do much to my trip. After a grueling couple of weeks putting together a VBS and a Youth Retreat back to back, I was ready for this vacation.

    The trailhead I had just stopped at was for San Luis Peak, one of the most remote and most beautiful 14er trails in Colorado. It would be an 11 mile round trip over multiple passes and across several smaller peaks; all of it above timberline. With the weather turning bad and thunderstorms on the way, I knew I had no hope of making it to my campsite before the storms came. After the terrible lightening storm on Bierstadt, I had no wish to take my chances with lightning. So I reluctantly put my helmet back on and drove my four-wheeler back down the rough road.

    I had already driven four hours from Denver to Creede and it was the early afternoon. After a quick trip back to the truck, I loaded the four-wheeler, packed up my gear and set off for my backup plan: Uncompahgre Peak. It took an hour to reach Lake City, a small town similar to Ouray before it became such a tourist trap. After stopping in the local sports shop for directions to the trailhead, I was on the dirt road leading out of town. It took 15 minutes before the turnoff came up and I was forced to unload the four-wheeler. Once I was unloaded, in came the rain and wind. I had known for some time that this would be a very rainy week, but my schedule did not allow for a different week. So I threw on my rain jacket and rain pants, covered up my backpack, and went up the road.

    It was a rough three and a half miles to the trailhead. The rain quickly moved on, and by the time I had parked my four-wheeler and geared up, it was a warm sunny afternoon. I signed in on the register  and hiked in. After 30 short minutes, I had reached timberline and had a clear view of Uncompahgre. Because of the storms in the area, I had to stay below timberline, so I set up camp, cooked dinner and enjoyed the nice weather until it was time for bed.

    5 AM the next morning, my alarm went off and I was wide awake. The forecast called for an early lightning storm, so it was now or never. I could hear the rain as it continued to pour down on the tent. I set my alarm for thirty more minutes and decided to wait for the weather to clear (if it ever would). After two hours of waking up and reseting the alarm, the weather cleared and I could hear voices coming from the trail. I quickly threw on my boots, put on my rain jacket and set out for Uncompahgre.

    After spending a night alone at a high camp, it was reassuring to know I would not be alone climbing the peak today. Even though I knew there would be nothing anyone could do if a storm did move in, for some reason there is a feeling of comfort that won't have to go through an ordeal like that alone. Once on the trail, I saw that there were eight other people on the trail, most of them a mile or so ahead. I set my eyes on the farthest one up the trail and made it my goal to beat them to the top. The quicker I got off the summit, the less chance I had of getting stuck in the storm.

    The clouds were eerily low. It looked more like a hike through the rolling hills of scotland than the high country of Colorado. There were clouds in every direction, and the occasional sprinkle of rain, but none of the clouds look threatening.

    Uncompahgre is one of Colorado's most beautiful looking 14ers. it is a giant block of rock on top of a mountain. Almost like a mountain on a mountain. From my vantage point, I saw no way up that would not require a vertical climb, but from the reports I knew there was an "easy" way up. The approach was one of the most beautiful scenes I had ever enjoyed on a 14er. Problem was, I was so worried about storms that I was not able to stop and take in the beauty.

    In no time at all I had passed everyone but the lone hiker at the front. A few switchbacks later and we were close enough to talk to each other. Just as we began the scramble up the summit block, he went out of sight around a corner and I stopped to give him a chance to get ahead so I didn't have to dodge any rocks he might kick loose. From my vantage point, I had a perfect view of the Matterhorn and behind it, an obscured view of Wetterhorn Peak, my next 14er. The clouds were getting thicker and I was slowly losing sight of the valley far below. I knew we would have to be quick, as the weather seemed like it could go either way.

    A few minutes later, I had surmounted the loose rock guarding the summit block and was trekking across some relatively flat ground. I couldn't see more than a hundred feet at this point because of the thick fog covering the mountain. Ahead I could see the silhouette of the lone hiker ahead of me. He had stopped and was standing next to the cliff at the edge of the summit. When I reached him, we congratulated each other and I checked my watch. I had gone from my high camp to the summit in just an hour and forty minutes. It was a great time, unfortunately, I had paid for it. My heels were bleeding and every step felt like my heels were being stabbed with a knife. After some quick pictures through the gaps in the clouds, quickly descended.

    After a few quick chats with hikers on their way up, I was out of the clouds and in the Nellie Creek drainage on my way down to my high camp. The weather looked a little better than it had earlier so I was able to take my time on the way down. It wasn't even close to noon and since I was so close to Lake City, I could stop for some lunch. Unfortunately, my heels were in terrible shape and with a week of backpacking ahead of me, I needed to find a way to clean and dress them. I quickly packed up camp, and made it back into town just after noon. Since there was no reception in town, I had to find the shops that had wifi so I could contact my family and let them know I had made it out.

    Later that night I was standing in front of a cabin I had managed to get for the night. just over the mountains I could see the flashes of light and the loud booms of the thunder off in the distance over Wetterhorn Peak. There had been a flash flood warning issued for the night along with a severe thunderstorm warning. With my heels in such bad shape, I had opted to spend the night in a place I could take care of my heels and rest them, rather than go through the misery of unpacking in a storm and packing up soaking wet gear. From what I could see, I had made the right decision on taking a day to rest. Early the next morning I would be preparing for Wetterhorn Peak and that evening I would be at my high camp in one of the prettiest basins in Colorado. But for now, I was just glad to have a bed and good food.

Torrey's Peak

Torrey's Peak
Date Climbed: 7/3/15
Climbing Partner: James
Elevation: 14,267

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            drweiss2
            Daniel Weiss

     For almost a year now, Torrey's Peak has alluded my attempts to summit it. Once due to unpreparedness and inexperience, and twice because of deep snow. Out of all the 14ers, Torrey's Peak has captured my imagination the longest, mostly because my second 14er was Gray's Peak. When I first hiked Gray's, I felt a sense of awe at the sheer size, steepness, and ruggedness of Torrey's. Although the standard trail is nothing overly difficult, the one time I did summit Gray's, the saddle was covered in snow, and my inexperience led me to believe that it was like that year round.
     A year later, with multiple 14ers under my belt and a number of winter ascents, I know that a little snow on the saddle is nothing to worry about. But there was one route up Torrey's that was famed for it's danger and technicality. Known as Dead Dog Couloir, this route is a class three (compared with the class one route up Grays) in difficulty, but is infamous for its avalanche and rockfall hazard. Just a few weeks before, a friend of mine had witnessed an avalanche come down the route. In fact, a man had died in 2011 from an avalanche on this route. Although I would not compare this to any of the Himalayan, Andes, or Alaskan peaks, it is a demanding route with quite a bit of danger. And for this reason, I knew it would be a challenge.
     One of my favorite things about 14ers are the amazing views you receive as you slowly make progress up to the peak. This would prove to be no exception. However, the main draw of this route was its challenge. It would require speed, endurance, and technical knowledge. It would probably be the most difficult route I'd taken so far, and that thrilled me.
     But for such a demanding route, I would need an experienced partner whom I could trust with my life in case of an emergency. My partner also needed to be self-reliant as I would be too busy trying to take care of myself to coach someone up this mountain. That is where James comes in. James is a pastor at a church in Lakewood, with a love for both God and mountaineering, much like myself. He also had some good experience on other technical routes and we had attended church together for a number of years until recently.
     We arrived at the trailhead at 9 PM in the midst of the 4th of July traffic. Unfortunately, the trailhead was not spared from the crowd; we arrived to an almost full parking lot, and tents everywhere. Thankfully, we did find a spot and were able to set up our tents without too much searching. By the time I had brewed my hot chocolate and we had set up camp, it was approaching 10 PM. The plan was to depart at 3 AM and be on the couloir by 4 AM. On most days, the latest one wants to be on a steep climb like this is 7 AM, otherwise the sunrise warms the snow and the risk of avalanche and rockfall increases greatly. By my estimates, we would be topping out by 6 AM, an hour before the cutoff. I set the alarm and fell fast asleep.
     "Hey Daniel." Came James' voice. "What?" I replied in a groggy voice. "It's 3:30." I was immediately wide awake and jumped out of my sleeping bag. How had I missed my alarm? I took my phone out of my pocket to make sure it had gone off. It had, but the sleeping bag had muffled the noise, and I was so exhausted from the hike up Bierstadt the morning before that I had slept right through it. Thankfully, we had only lost an hour, and still had a chance to make it.
     We were on the trail by 4. I was able to move extremely well considering how tired I had felt the day before from my last climb. Moreover, I felt nothing from the altitude, since I had been up in the mountains so much this month. My body was well acclimatized. I only wish I had eaten and drank some water before I left, as I could feel the slight gnawing at my stomach from hunger.
     Unfortunately, James had not had the luxury of acclimatization like I had. His job had kept him very busy the past few months, along with his recent marriage. This meant we could not make the couloir in 45 minutes as I had hoped. Instead, we reached the base of the couloir around 5:20. We would not get on the snow until 5:50, more than an hour and a half behind schedule, and right at sunrise. It would be a race to the top before the snow became too soft to support us. This slow pace also meant that we would take even longer to climb the route. No matter, we'd come this far, and the snow had a solid freeze the night before.
     We strapped our crampons on, put on our harnesses and helmets for safety, and began our movement up the couloir. At first, progress was slow as the snow was fairly soft and shallow. We had to navigate some boulders in order to reach the steep bit of the couloir. Once we were on the ascent and the slope began to steepen, my progress sped up. In just 30 minutes, we had completed almost one-third of the couloir!
     Suddenly, a loud scream and shouting came from across the valley. We both stopped and looked to see what was going on. Along the standard route up Gray's, almost directly opposite us, we could see a large group had stopped and there was quite a commotion going on. We looked at each other and tried to listen to what was going on. It appeared that some woman was screaming another person's name, but it wasn't obvious what was happening. At first I thought someone had fallen off the cliff on the opposite side that was around that location, just as Salix had almost done after chasing a mountain goat. However, as some other groups began to pass them and continue on, and as the group began to descend, we decided that it must have just been an argument. The shouting continued as the group moved down, and now others from within the group were yelling too, but this time it was obvious that hey were yelling at each other. From what I could gather, the group was arguing about whether or not to continue up, and had ultimately decided to turn around. It did ruin the tranquility of the valley a bit, but at least we were sure no one was seriously hurt.
     We continued on our way, and I began to see why there was so much talk about the rockfall on this route. Boulders the size of my chest and bigger littered the snow, and many had fallen recently, their paths clearly marked in the snow. If one even the size of my fist were to hit us, we could be in danger of falling down the couloir (a fatal slide) or even in danger of internal trauma damage. Rescue from this kind of spot would not be easy either, and without cell reception, it would be a long time until help arrived. Just a few days later, another climber was air lifted from Snowmass with internal bleeding from a rock that had hit him in the chest.
     Airing on the side of caution, I decided to cross over to the left side of the couloir, even though it meant a steeper climb, softer snow, and crossing a five foot deep rut (an awkward movement on such a steep slope). The rut took me about 5 minutes to cross, which is quite a bit of time for such a short distance. I also had to climb up some rock once I had crossed the rut, which was very difficult in crampons. In all I had gained only a few feet and had wasted a lot of time and energy. The momentum I had built up had been lost and now I began to feel as though I was running on empty.
     Just as frustration began to take its grip, I looked over my shoulder and saw Stephen's Gulch laid before me, bathed in the early morning sun, with just the shadows of the mountains protecting the bottom of the valley. It was a beautiful sight, and my frustration vanished as I soaked it in. I took a large gulp of water and continued my climb. I was just below the halfway point now, and we were about an hour in. On schedule in terms of our speed, but far behind with how soft the snow would be on top.
     James was a ways below me, struggling with the altitude. I decided I would be able to help him better if I worked on kicking in some good steps and creating a clear path. I also knew that if I could get to where I could see the couloir exit, it would give him a boost of energy. So I began the hard work of front pointing straight up the slope. For those who are unfamiliar with snow climbing, front-pointing is also called the German technique. It is where a climber kicks the front two points of their crampons into the snow in order to get the points to bite. It allows a climber to ascend very steep routes more quickly, and also climb routes that are too steep for other techniques. The drawback is that it is hard work as it forces the climber to go straight up the slope as opposed to switchbacks., and it is a lot of work on the calf muscle.
     With this technique I made great time and was almost two-thirds of the way up the couloir in a matter of 15 minutes. I Stopped and looked back over the view. I could just make out the ant line of people starting their hike up Gray's Peak. It would be a busy day, but maybe a few of them would catch some pictures of us! I turned and could see that I would have to make a choice: aim right or left at the fork. Since I had not studied that route as much as I should have, I did not know the proper way. I only knew that one would lead to extremely steep and unsafe terrain and the other would lead to the exit. I yelled back down to James asking his opinion. He said that we needed to turn left, otherwise we would end up on the knife edge along the Kelso Ridge, another classic route. I disagreed though. That morning on our approach, we had seen three other climbers heading up Dead Dog. As we watched the other climbers' headlamps make progress up the couloir, it appeared that two of them went left and began to slow down. This, we assumed, was the dangerous terrain. Yet now James and I were at the same spot and could not decide which way would be the safest. I followed my gut and went right, kicking in steps and navigating a narrow part of the couloir. James was still at least 30 minutes behind me, and I knew that we might be facing a dangerous exit with the soft snow.
     By this point, the sun had already been burning at the snow at the top for an hour and a half. I had to top out quickly in order to beat the snow, and hopefully be in position to set up a safe belay for James should he need it. I raced to the top, front-pointing every step in order to make progress. Just as I began to take the right fork, the snow became softer and softer. Soon, my crampons required to kicks in order to bite into solid snow, otherwise they simply slid down the soft snow and I was forced to use my ice axe to stop myself from sliding down. I looked up and could see other climbers as the passed over the knife edge. Every once in a while they would offer words of encouragement and told me I was on the right track. I bowed my head down and pushed through the last few hundred feet to the finish. The top was soft and steep, but it made a great finish to a climb. The ridge I ended up on was no more than 4 feet wide, so I sat on the edge of the couloir to allow the Kelso Ridge climbers to pass, beaming with pride. I had just completed a very dangerous and classic route up Torrey's Peak, a summit which had eluded me for almost a year. I still had just about 200 feet to go, but that would be a simple walk to the finish, and I wanted to complete it with James next to me.
     I pulled off my backpack and got my rope ready and checked my harness, ready to provide James with a belay if it started to get too dangerous. After about 20 minutes with no sign of James, I began to worry that something had happened. Just as I began to think I might have to down climb the couloir, I saw his head pop around the corner of the rock. I yelled down to him, encouraging him on and telling him that I was at on the exit so he didn't have far to go. He fist pumped the air and started toward me in earnest.
     With just the last 20 feet to go, he told me to take a picture for his wife and then searched for a safe way up. The snow was now very soft and I asked if he wanted a belay. He told me he was ok, and he slogged through the last bit to the finish. It was an impressive feat to do such a climb without any real exercise or preparation, and I couldn't believe he was able to finish it. It was a very long climb, with about 1500 feet of elevation gain. We had done it, and now all we had was a walk to the finish.
     Clumsily, we stumbled through snow, ice, and dirt to the finish, telling others that we would not take off our crampons until we summited because they "looked cool," and I wanted a picture on the summit in them. After a few pictures, some food, and laughs, we took in the scene on top and then hiked back down the standard route. Every once in a while people would ask if we were the ones who had climbed Dead Dog, and they asked about the snow and climb and what it had been like. It was pretty cool to achieve something like that and have witnesses. The hike back was long and uneventful, and by the end we were ready to get home.
     With Dead Dog under my belt, I was ready for more challenges. I knew I had the technical ability to summit the famed Long's Peak in the winter, and I knew I had the ability to get through the snow on the Grand Teton. It was just a matter of dealing with the technical rock climbing now. And for that, it was time to start preparing for the Elk mountains and the Crestones, both of which would require class 4 and up rock climbing. The adventures thus far had tested my nerves and some of my technical skills. But now I was entering into the true mountaineering world and there were greater adventures that lied ahead. I could only pray that I was up to the task and that God would guide me through it.

Mt. Lincoln

Mt. Lincoln
Date Climbed: 6/22/15
Climbing Partners: Katie and Charlie
Elevation: 14,286

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            drweiss2
            Daniel Weiss

     Just as winter began to set in here in Colorado, I attempted the DeCaLiBro. This is four 14ers in one day; Democrat, Cameron, Lincoln, and Bross. Unfortunately, I was ill prepared that day, and only got Democrat, Cameron, and Bross. With frozen water, no traction (crampons or micro spikes) for the snow, and winds around 60+ mph and no gloves, I doubt I would have made all four without injury. And for this reason, I returned to Kite Lake to finish off this part of the Mosquito Range.
     We had a late snow this year, which delayed my attempt until I could drive all the way to Kite Lake. Finally, after watching the conditions reports daily, the report came in that the road was clear. I arrived just below the trailhead around 7 AM with clear skies and a great forecast. It would be clear and warm weather with only a light wind. This was a nice change from the bitter cold of winter and lightening storms I'd encountered on Bierstadt. All the same, I prepared for freezing temperatures and brought along all the gear I might need. I wasn't going to be turned around this time because of lack of preparation.
     I hit the trail and made great time. Kite Lake was still frozen but flooding around its edges with all the rain and snowmelt. What had been a simple hop across the creek just months before was now a river crossing, hopping from one rock to the next to avoid getting my feet soaked. One of the major differences between winter and summer is the speed you can travel. In winter, it could take anywhere up to 7 hours or so to travel a distance of 3 miles. In summer, it would only take 2. Summer was finally here and I was glad to have a lighter load.
     Although the trail was mostly dry, there were a few snowfields I had to cross, and even took out my ice axe to be on the safe side. On my way up, I passed two girls whom I noticed did not have an ice axe. Although they had walking poles, it might be hard to stop yourself if you were to slip even with poles. So I decided to slow down a bit and make sure they didn't slip or anything. I was surprised to see that they were keeping up with me even on the slick snow. Once in a while they would stop and look around, probably to evaluate the snow and look for the best way up. At the time I didn't realize it, but they had on micro spikes, which allowed them to get good traction along the snowfields, whereas my boots would slip every so often. Either way, I decided to hang back just to make sure nothing happened. As I made my way out of the lower basin around Kite Lake and into the Upper Basin, I decided to sit down and take a break since there was no need to rush on such a nice day.
     Shortly after I had sat down, the girls caught up to me. I asked which 14er they were aiming for today, assuming they were going to hit Democrat like everyone else. They were, however, going for Cameron and Lincoln, just as I was. With DeCaLiBro, there is a trail junction where everyone going to Democrat must turn left and all of the other 14ers are off to the right. This means that if you are going for all four, you have to go up democrat, come all the way back down and go back up to Cameron in order to reach the other 14ers. For us, however, we only had to go over Cameron and take a short walk over to Lincoln. In other words, we were going the same direction. Since it was a nice day so there was no hurry and since we were going the same way, I asked if I could join up with them.
     They agreed, and off we went. I was just glad to have some company. As we marched up the slope, we introduced ourselves. Katie had recently moved to Colorado and had already completed a number of 14ers, while Charlie had only completed a few. It was obvious that Katie knew quite a bit about mountaineering so I asked about some of the mountains she had climbed. To my amazement, she had been to South America and climbed a high peak down there, as well as some mountains in California, Alaksa, and elsewhere. She also turned out to be a descent rock climber. At first I had thought they were only some young ladies enjoying a nice hike. It was obvious now that Katie had much more experience than I did and I began to ask question after question about her adventures and where she'd been and what she'd done. I had watched all kinds of movies about mountaineering overseas, but it was pretty cool getting to talk to someone who had actually done it.
     Hearing about her adventures made me slightly jealous as I have always dreamed about climbing in the Andes and doing some snow climbs in Alaska. As much as I have dreamed of it though, she had already done it. Although I have a few expeditions I am currently planning for next winter, none of them are like an expedition to the Andes or Alaska. It was exciting to meet someone else who had the same interests in climbing big mountains.
     Time seemed to fly by and we were soon approaching the summit of Cameron. Up until that point, the wind had been calm (unusual given my last experience here). Soon, however, the wind began to pick up and push us slightly off balance as we walked on toward the summit. Although it was nowhere near as bad as last time, it was still annoying and a little chilly. Just as we summited, the wind became constant and strong. We had to yell to hear each other even though we were only feet away. Neither of the girls had gloves, so I knew we couldn't spend a long time in the wind (I had done the same thing and had lost feeling in my hands for a good couple of hours last time). I noticed we were standing on a snow bank and gestured to the other side. I crossed over to the other side and sat down behind the cover of the snow. The others followed and we began to add some layers. Katie said that her hands we ok, but I could tell Charlie was cold, so I handed her the inner linings of my gloves. After we had warmed up, we pulled out some food for energy and discussed moving further.
     I already had my mind set; even if the others decided to turn back, I was going to get Lincoln in. I had prepared properly for the wind this time, and I wasn't letting anything stop me this time. It looked a long way off, but we wouldn't have to gain too much elevation now, which was great news. Katie was up for it, but Charlie was very tired. After a moment, she said that she was ready to go for Lincoln. We packed up and set off at a quick pace, hoping to get through the wind as quickly as possible. As we began to descend to the saddle, I was expecting the wind to pick up even further. Surprisingly, it became very calm, and I almost began to sweat with the added layers. I took off my gloves and unzipped my jacket vents. In just over 20 minutes, we summited Lincoln, and I had finished my 14th 14er!
     After taking the obligatory summit photos and another quick snack, we began the long walk down. Unfortunately, we would have to gain a little elevation on the return, and after such a long time of rest, it was much harder to start another uphill slog. I felt much slower this time, but still not terrible. On our way down, we saw a man moving up the Democrat slope. He was making extremely slow progress. It was so slow at one point that I almost wanted to go up there and make sure he was doing alright. However, we decided he was still moving and there were others descending past him, and so moved on. We passed a few other groups on the way down, and were quickly back at our cars. Relieved to be done, we said our goodbyes and began the long drive back to Denver.
     It was a relief to have DeCaLiBro done, and it was obvious it was time to take my climbs up a notch. So as I drew closer to Denver, I began to set my eyes on Torrey's Peak and it's classic Dead Dog couloir. I also began to plan a few expeditions to Long's Peak and the Grand Teton. It was time to try some more challenging peaks and hope that success there would give me the confidence I would need to one day take on a peak like Aconcagua and Denali. The 14ers are still my goal, but I am beginning to think I may have a shot at some of the Seven Summits. Only time will tell, but if God opens the door, I hope one day to achieve some of these summits, and maybe even Everest! But for now, Dead Dog was my goal, and it was time to start preparing.

La Plata Peak

La Plata Peak
Date Climbed: 6/24/15
Climbing Partner: Nicole
Elevation: 14,336

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            drweiss2
            Daniel Weiss

    Running off of an hour and a half of sleep in the last 30 hours or so, plus a 3 AM wake up time and a 14er just two days before, I knew this was going to be a hard day. Luckily, I didn't have to do this climb alone. Just the day before, a friend of mine, Nicole, asked if I was interested in climbing a 14er. The answer is almost always yes. So we set our sites on Huron Peak and planned to meet at her house at 3 AM. I pulled up to my her house just a few minutes late, half asleep and wanting nothing more than to just go back to bed.

    We quickly packed up and began our two and a half hour drive. Nicole agreed to drive for the first bit of the drive while I slept (I was being a true gentleman as you can tell). About an hour into the drive, we began to discuss our plan. There were some concerns about a flooded river we would have to cross on the drive up, so we decided to have a backup plan if it looked too deep. La Plata and Mount Sherman were our two options. There was a problem, however. Because of the forecasted thunderstorms in the afternoon, we would only have one shot at picking the right 14er. My experience on Bierdstadt just a few weeks earlier had taught me to be very conservative when dealing with lightening. Thus, we would have to arrive at the trailhead as soon as possible in order to summit well before the predicted storms. So we discussed our options. On the one hand, if we chose Huron and the river was too high, we wouldn't have enough time to get over to La Plata's standard route, and so we would have to settle for Sherman on the way home as it was a much shorter hike. Yet, Sherman didn't excite us as it wasn't as spectacularly beautiful as Huron. However, if we went for La Plata's standard route, we might not have enough time to summit as it was 3 miles longer than Huron's route. 

    Since I've had my share of failed attempts, I didn't want to waste all the energy just to get within a few hundred feet and turn around. So I voted for the conservative decision in order to guarantee a 14er summit. Nicole said we should just go for La Plata as it was a beautiful climb and we still had a shot of summiting because we were early and could keep a good pace. I decided to see if there was an alternative and checked out 14ers.com to see if there was a compromise. Surprisingly, there was! La Plata had a Southwestern ridge that could be climbed and it was shorter than the standard route and had less elevation gain. We decided to attempt Huron and go to La Plata if we couldn't make he trailhead.

    At around 6, we pulled up to Winfield (an old ghost town) and took the fork in the road that led to Huron's trailhead. Shortly after we began up the rough 4-wheel drive road and our progress slowed. About a mile up the road we saw what we thought was the creek crossing that had stopped so many cars. However, it was little more than a trickle and we easily made it across. Excited, thinking we were going to have the opportunity to climb Huron, we moved on. However, just as we came around a corner, we noticed a large truck pulled off to one side. It was odd as the road had not grown any rougher and it was still a good distance to the trailhead. Just then I noticed something blocking the road: a fallen tree. We stopped and I walked up to it and attempted to move it, but there was no way. It was a very large tree and we had no chainsaw to move it with. So I got back in the car and we quickly retreated back down the road, hoping to get to La Plata's trailhead soon as we were now very late.

    Arriving at the washed out road around 7, we quickly put on our gear and began our hike. In order to cross the river that now flowed across the washed out road, we had to balance on a few trees that had been set next to each other across the gap. Not trusting the makeshift bridge, Nicole crawled across on all fours and I had a great time laughing at her slow progress. Karma quickly caught up with me, though, as I had to stop a few times to retie my brand new boots because of some excruciating blisters I had received from my climb of Mount Lincoln. Finally, we were on our way and made good time to timberline.

    Once there, we saw one of the most beautiful vistas I had ever been to. On all sides of the gulch we steep mountains, covered in wildflowers. Off in the distance were the taller peaks, summits just barely layered with snow. Off to the southwest were the famed "Three Apostles" and their stunning views. To the Southeast was Huron Peak. To the Northwest was the tip of Sayers, and to the northeast were some stunning cliffs with some interesting looking snow climbs. We continued up the gulch and marched through the muddy willows. Thankfully, the progress was much faster than it would have been with snow on the ground, so I had no issues with the mud. after half an hour of trudging through the mud, we reached the base of a very steep colouir. It took us about 45 minutes or so to reach the top of this, and the sight that greeted us at the top stopped my heart.

    Immediately to my left (west) was a knife edge with thousands of feet on either side that lead to a very small peak. To the right (east) was a smaller looking gentler mountain slope. When Nicole reached the top, I pointed at the peak to our left and she laughed (sarcastically). It was hopeless. We had no gear with us that could deal with the kind of challenges we would have to face if we attempted the peak. I need to explain that this trail is not well marked as it is not used very often. It took us half an hour just to find the trailhead. My map also cut off about half of the trail, so I had nothing to refer to. The only way we knew we were headed the right direction was by the faint trail. However, the trail ended at the top of the color and we had no idea which mountain was the right one. Based upon my impressions of La Plata, I thought La Plata had a western ridge that looked much like the mountain to the west of us. However, the one time I read the route description for this trail, it had said it was nothing more than a class two hike and that there was a gentle slope after the willows. The hike before us was a class four hike (meaning scrambling and some technical rock climbing moves). I just assumed the website was wrong on the difficulty of the hike, just as it had been with Mount Evans.

    The mountain to the east fit the description, but the location of the mountain to our west fit the location better. What's more, there was a trail we could see back down in the valley that seemed to be a route that would lead to the top of the peak. It also looked much taller than the other mountain. We both groaned; we had taken the wrong trail and it would take at least an hour and a half to get to the top of the other trail. Since I saw what I thought was Huron, and it looked like the mountain to our left was the only one west of Huron (just like La Plata is) I assumed the difficult mountain was La Plata. We began moving across the ridge, intending to go as far as we could. After some very slow progress I stopped and tried to assess our situation. Even if we could make the top, we wouldn't be able to get down fast enough to avoid the thunderstorms at noon. It would also be very risky to attempt this peak which had so much snow at the top mixed with steep rock. This climb required an ice axe and crampons. I only had an ice axe and boots. Nicole had neither, and I had no rope to belay her up the rock hard snow that would certainly be at the top. Our only shot would be for me to chop steps into the snow and hope that would be good enough to make it up the steep slopes once we made it across the ridge. However, the ridge itself was difficult enough since there were sections where we would have to down climb and the climb back up a hundred feet or so of 5.9+ rock (a very difficult climb even with rope).

    I knew there was no way if we went straight across, so I looked back toward the other trail. We could traverse along the edge of the slope of the mountain and eventually meet up with the trail, but even that would be very difficult because of how steep the angle was. I turned to Nicole and asked what she thought. Neither of us were interested in a 13er (which is what we thought the peak to the east was), but neither of us wanted to go back empty handed. Since we were uncertain about which peak was La Plata, we decided to just try and climb the mountain to our east and hope it was La Plata. We back tracked and began our now hurried ascent. Just as I began to lose hope that this peak was La Plata, I saw two small figures coming down the slope. I yelled back to Nicole, excited that we could ask someone if we were going the right way.

    It took much longer to reach them than I thought it would, but eventually we met up. I asked if we were headed the right way to La Plata and they responded with a yes. I felt reenergized and almost shouted for joy now that we still had hope. They told us that the clouds from the top were starting to look threatening and that we probably wouldn't reach the top before the storms came. I was disappointed to hear this, but I wasn't ready to give up yet. We thanked them and redoubled our efforts to reach the top. We had a lot of time to make up for, but at least the summit was now in sight. Although the slope looked like a very gentle one from a distance, it turned out to be much steeper and rockier than it looked, and it took an hour of tough going to reach the summit. However, just as I came of the lip of the mountain, ready to yell in victory, I was stopped short.

    About a half mile in the distance and another 700 feet up I saw the true summit. We were already as high as the first peak we'd attempted and this next peak was much higher. It was undoubtedly a fourteener as it dominated the skyline and I could see people standing on it's summit. It just reminded my just how tall these 14ers really are. You always think you're almost there, but then there's always that last half mile or thousand feet left above you when you see the true summit. There were two more false summits standing between me and the peak. We had come too far to turn around now, and my resolve hardened to finish now matter what. I waited a little for Nicole to join me on the false summit and I could tell that she too was disappointed at the sight (beautiful though it was).

    We began the long walk onward, willing one foot in front of the other. I began to think in small increments, just setting small goals for myself. I focused on just one small false summit and then the two big ones, telling myself it was just this one more false summit and then I'd be there. finally we met up with the standard route and in no time we made the short hike from the last false summit over to the true summit. I stood there, looking out over the magnificent view of the Sawatch Range. To the West I could just make out the famed Maroon Bells and to the North were the true giants: Massive and Elbert. Nicole soon joined me and we celebrated with high five and congratulations. I knew we couldn't really celebrate yet, however, as the threat of storms were all around us. None had appeared yet, but that could change in a moments notice with the clouds to both the South and East. Nicole had a quick bite to eat, and even offered me a bite of her sandwich as I had forgotten mine. This is one of the things I love about 14ers. One of my former teachers describes it in this way; "it creates a temporary community. It creates a small group where people can simply be themselves without the pressure of everyday life." It allows us to be more open and creates greater friendships through the struggles a team has to overcome.

    After a quick chat with the other groups on the summit, we began the long hike back. I knew it was going to be just as long coming down as it was going up because of how steep and rocky the slopes were. The later it got, the more threatening the clouds looked and I began to have flashbacks to the storm on Bierstadt. When we made it back to the bottom of the saddle between the jagged peak (which I later learned was called Sayers) and the first false summit, we ran into a group of two men and three kids. They seemed to be going very slow and they had another hard two hours ahead of them. The man asked some info on the route ahead. I described the route but warned him that the storms were on their way. He encouraged his group to go faster, hoping to push them to the summit. I wanted to tell him to turn his group around since he had kids, but I knew it was up to his judgement. Shortly after consulting the other adult they decided to turn around. One of the children began to cry. I felt very bad since I had been somewhat negative in my assessment of their chances, but I had to be as it was not easy and they were already very slow and it was too close of a call to continue on with kids. However, the ultimate decision was theirs and they made the right choice I think. They began their descent and we moved on ahead of them.

    After a long grind down to the bottom of the colouir we took a break to rest our knees and get some water. We were somewhat safer in the gulch protected by the steep cliffs and with timberline so close at hand. With this in mind, and the fact that I wanted to wait to make sure the group with the kids got down safe, I dropped my pack and sat next to a rock and took in the views. Nicole sat down as well and we discussed our trip so far and other 14ers we wanted to do. It was nice to finally be able to sit down and relax on a hike rather than face the harsh winter conditions and hazards I had dealt with so much in my recent climbs. Whiteouts, avalanches, frostbite, severe wind, and lightening turned these mountains from strenuous hikes into mountaineering feats. But the true joy from climbing a 14er was from hikes like this: an nice pace with no real obstacles and some time to enjoy the scenery.

    I was half tempted to take a nap when a low rumble made me stand upright in an instant. I grabbed my pack and told Nicole we had to get down fast. I was afraid I had made the same mistake I had last time: we were too high for too long. We wouldn't get down fast enough, and as drops of rain began to fall, the lightening would be on top of us in five minutes. I rushed ahead, ripping through bogs and willows without even noticing them. I could feel the rush of adrenaline as I began to have flashbacks of Bierstadt. It was almost as though I could feel the static building up on my body again and hear the scratching on my backpack from the lightening strikes. But there was no lightening. Thankfully, we did not have the same experience as I had on Bierstadt, but we had made it back to treeline just in time. Once we were below the trees, I felt more relieved and we continued back to the car without incident. We congratulated each other and began to talk about other 14ers we wanted to do. Nicole had done very well as she hadn't done a 14er since last season. She was almost beating me up the mountain several times!

    Overall, this is one of my favorite hikes and probably the best way to hike La Plata.One day I hope to go back and backpack into that gulch and maybe even take a picture from Crystal Lake. Not only had I gotten in a CCU 14er (one of the 14ers the CCU dorms are named after), but I had accomplished 14 peaks and had done one of the classic 14ers. Ahead of me was the famed climb "Dead Dog Colouir" up Torrey's Peak. I had no idea what it would be like, but I knew it would take everything I had learned from other snow climbs to reach that summit.

Trouble on Bierstadt

Mt. Bierstadt
Date climbed: 5/27/15
Climbing Partner: Zachary (brother)
Elevation: Only reached 13,600

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            drweiss2
            Daniel Weiss

      One of the many impressive sites I have seen on these climbs is that of the Sawtooth. Large and imposing, yet beautiful in its own respect. Although I had already climbed Bierstadt (indeed it was my first climb), I needed something I felt was safe and easy and easy to access as this was my brothers first 14er. Not only that, it would essentially be a winter ascent with as much snow as has lingered up there this year. We decided to take on a late start (still haven't decided if this was a mistake or if it saved our lives?), and hit the trail at 7 AM.
      Unlike the last few 14er attempts I had tried, it was a nice, warm, and sunny day; there were a few low hanging clouds which obscured our view of the summit, but not enough to give us much worry as they were not threatening. We started right behind another group of snowshoers and quickly overtook them on our way across the Willows. as the sun had just come out, the Willows were very supportive and there were few issues with postholing. After an hour long hike, we had passed about eight people, two of which had no snowshoes and who were from out of town. Thankfully they had the right clothing, but they were unprepared for the deep snow that we faced, and in my opinion, woefully unprepared for an emergency.
      At this point, we were at the top of the first hill crest. From this point, you can see the rest of the trail, except for the last hundred feet or so. The skies had cleared slightly, so you could see blue and the top of the mountain. As we continued up, we passed some more people, including a pair of nuns. It was a funny site to see them walking in snowshoes up a mountain in their traditional clothing. Thankfully they did have warm clothing over it as well. It reminded me that I had seen two nuns hiking Bierstadt on my first climb as well and wondered if these were the same ladies. I never asked, but we did say hello.
      Soon after the skiers began to pass us, making their way up to the top at a blazing speed compared to ours. As Zachary is from Texas, going to 14,000 feet in a matter of a day or two is extremely tough. We made good time until the slope steepened, and by that point we were moving in such a way that I could count to three in my head before I took the next step (in order to not get ahead of my brother should something happen). It wasn't his fault, even had he been in shape, a snow ascent is never easy, especially without acclimatization.
      Off in the distance, I could hear the occasional thunder, but decided that since others were still going up and since the forecast had stated that bad weather wouldn't come in until 1 PM, we were fine. Two very poor choices on my part, even though I knew much better from experience. We continued up, and soon someone said we were only thirty minutes from the top. I had hardly broken a sweat and it was only 10:30; we would summit before noon and it would be an easy day and Zachary would (I hope enjoy it). But it was not to be. Right after that the snow came, in large quantity. Since we only had 2wd, I began to have my doubts. Finally, after Zachary seemed worn out and as the storm began to grow worse (by this point, I could no longer see the Willows below us), I decided to turn us around. Right after that, more thunder and I knew I had made a mistake; the lightening was heading North toward us and it was moving fast. I told Zachary to continue down, and I ran up the hill to get the one guy still ahead of us who was still going for the summit. I knew he'd never make it, and his partner had left him, and he had no snowshoes. He didn't seem to know very much about mountains, but he did have one heck of a drive to get that far that fast without snowshoes. I yelled at him to turn around because of the lightening, and he just kept ignoring me. Finally, I decided I couldn't force him too, and since the lightening wasn't immediately on top of us, I had no real proof we were in danger. So I began down.
      Less than 3 minutes later, the storm came. In a matter of seconds, we were in a whiteout, and we couldn't see anyone else who had been on the trail (about 15 in all not including skiers who had already descended).  I immediately felt my hair stand up on end and with horror realized what was about to happen. Just as I yelled at Zachary (who was below me) to run, with a loud earsplitting boom, the whole sky turned white as the lightening flew through the clouds dead even with us. I have been in many whiteouts before, and I knew the trail well enough to know how to get down safely and back to the car. However, I had never been this high in a whiteout, on the same level as a thunderstorm. I knew I had made a mistake; I hadn't turned around soon enough and we were going to die.
      The adrenaline began to flow and we were running for our lives. I hoped that the other guy had turned back around, but even if he had, he was going to have a tough time. At this point, we had taken off our snowshoes as we hoped it would speed up our descent. Zachary soon slowed down to a fast walk and fell behind. We couldn't get down fast enough because of the snow, as we were postholing to our waist, and we were over 13,500 feet, far from any sort of shelter or timberline. We weren't going to make it, and I knew it. It's one thing to be low in a valley or a slope and be in a thunderstorm. It's a whole other thing to be on the top of a mountain at the same level as the thunderclouds. We could see each thunderstrike zoom through the clouds.
      The strikes were so close we could feel the heat from them and could hear the static building up on our bodies, warning us that we were being targeted by it. I had never really understood the warnings I had read in the books, stating that if your hair stands up, run. I always thought that just meant that you were afraid and your hair was bristling  I now knew exactly what they meant; the static would build up on your body as the lightening looked for a place to release its energy, and you were the target.
      Time flew by differently now. I had no idea how long it was taking, all I knew was that we had to go down as fast as possible. Soon, a group of three came into view. All the while I was shouting at Zachary as loud as I could to keep moving, no matter how tired he got. I could barely see his sillouhette, but I knew if I stopped, I would die (lightening likes to target objects that are still). So I kept moving, checking over my shoulder to see Zachary. When I caught up with the group, they too were moving as fast as they could downhill.
      I yelled at them (it was very windy hence the yelling) to separate by 100 feet so that they would be a smaller target. They did so, and soon I was leading a small group down the mountain. Every minute or so our static would grow very loud just before another clap of thunder erupted all arounds us. I was scared, but I knew I had to get everyone down if I could, as I was responsible at the very least for my brother and for the others who did not seem to know much about the area. 
      It was impossible to know which direction was what and what was up or down. I heard a yell behind me, and turned to see my brother sitting in the snow. I yelled at him to get up and keep moving. I could barely hear his response. Finally I understood that his backpack was too heavy for him. I panicked; we needed the backpack because it had the snowshoes and we would need them to get through the willows fast. But if Zachary didn't keep moving, the Willows wouldn't matter. So I told him to ditch the backpack and run. I immediately tossed my ice axe as far as I could, since I knew metal would make me a target too. Just as I said that, another clap of thunder came and I could feel the boom in my chest and felt very hot. Thankfully, I was not struck, but it was close. Since snow is just frozen water, I knew we didn't have great chances; we were still very high and the snow could just as easily transfer the energy to our bodies as a direct hit. We kept moving. By this point, the trail was gone, covered by the snow. I knew the car was west of us, and that a slope to our left wasn't too bad and that it would allow us to descend quicker. I yelled at the others to follow and began descending. I just hoped that we were at where I thought we were. The slope wasn't as steep as I had hoped, but it was downhill. I knew we would end up slogging through willows at the bottom, but that was better than being on a ridge line.
      Soon, the one guy in the group we had connected with and I were alone and the others were somewhere out of site. Once in a while he would collapse and sit in the snow, but I picked him up by the arm and told him to keep moving. The snow had thickened at the point, and we couldn't see more than ten feet, so we had no choice but to stay near each other until to keep from getting lost. After 10 minutes without seeing Zachary, I grew worried and yelled for him. No response. Again and again I would yell, but nothing came back. I stopped. Did I need to go back up and try and find him? No, I had to trust that he could find his way down. I would just become a burden if I got lost up there or got injured, and decided to wait. The thunder had slowed down to one strike every four or five minutes, but we could still feel and hear the static building up on our bodies. After a few minutes of waiting and route finding, Zachary and the two girls appeared over the lip of the slope above us and we kept moving. As we navigated our way through the whiteout, I began to hear other shouts. Every once in a while a thunder clap would build up and I would yell run. I believe another group heard my yells and so they were trying to find us.
      After more time, I could see sillouhettes on a slope off to our right, and I yelled and moved toward them. It was the nuns and about six others I had not seen yet. We met up, made sure everyone had their partners and that there were no injuries and I led the way down with another experienced mountaineer at the back. And so the long slog through the Willows began. We were well off trail, and the snow was very soft despite the whiteout. I yelled at everyone to follow my footprints and began to stomp down a path through the Willows, hoping to make it easier for those without snowshoes.
      I could see trees off to my right, which mean that we were somewhere directly East of the parking lot. I pushed through trying to navigate the Willows as best I could. Every step was a posthole, and I was beginning to wear out. Thankfully, the whiteout had lessened just a bit and the thunder seemed to have moved out, though we could hear it in the distance. My mind began to race; the thunder had passed but if the forecast was right, there was a good chance we would have a bigger storm arriving in about two hours. Plenty of time on a nice day, but not so much time in a whiteout with bushwhacking over a mile. The first guy we had met up with yelled out that we should descend into the trees. I said no. Trees that are so spread out act as lightening rods, they are only safe when they are clumped together, and that would still be a long way down. Secondly, I knew that there was avalanche terrain on the way to the road if we descended into the valley. The last thing I needed was avalanche danger on top of whiteout, hypothermic weather, and a thunderstorm. I kept moving, but kept the trees on my right.
      Soon, I heard more voices off to my left. Just as I came over a small hill, I could see a group of four on the other side of the valley. I couldn't see the parking lot yet, but I could see where the slop began to rise. I yelled over to them, asking if they were on the trail. Their response was yes, but after trying to navigate through the Willows toward them, someone behind me said that they heard the group of four yell that they didn't know where they were at. Although I had not heard it, I decided the best course of action was to stick with the trees since I knew where those would lead. 
      Shortly after, I saw a few poles sticking up out of the ground all in a straight line heading west. We decided to follow them. I knew that this wasn't the trail; I don't recall seeing any poles so evenly spaced out. But I also knew they were manmade and would inevitably lead to the road. I finally became too tired to lead and let one of the nuns take the lead (they were obviously in great shape and had prior experience). I stayed back a bit, making sure everyone was keeping up and no one was left behind. My brother and some of the others without snowshoes were in the back, crawling on hands and knees trying to move across the snow without postholing. Satisfied, I continued walking and finally we came around a hill and I saw the outline of the outhouse. I had never been so glad to see a toilet in my life. I yelled to the others, pointing at the parking lot and telling them to go in that direction. Single file, we slowly moved the last bit of the track to the cars. With about a quarter mile left, I gave Zachary my snowshoes to help him get through the last bit (I had not done so before as I knew I would have to be the one to run for help if someone had been struck).
      As we finally made it to the parking lot, we began to exchange stories, some of us laughing, others stone silent. We were all in shock from the experience. I checked around, making sure no one had gotten frostbite from the sudden temperature drop and making sure everyone's group was accounted for. I learned that one of the groups had actually been on the summit when the lightening struck. They had seen the flashes of lightening below their feet and had apparently followed my voice as I had been calling out to Zachary. Another group said that one of the teens who was on descent had puked once everyone met up at the Willows. They were carrying ski poles and one of the teens' poles had electricity shooting between them. They said the static was arcing between the two poles at one point. I laughed and told them to ditch them the next time they were in that situation. 
      I was half tempted to buy everyone a pint of beer just as a celebration that everyone had made it alive. One of the guys I talked to was very experienced in the backcountry. Apparently he had soloed up and guided the teens back down the mountain when the thunder came. He was the first up the mountain, and said that there was a female whom he had seen take a different route down and hadn't seen since. One of the cars in the parking lot was unaccounted for. So we called 911 (on our way down) and told them to check on the car after everyone left. I never heard what happened after that, so I am assuming that the owner did make it back to the car, and since it was just our speculation that the car had belonged to someone else on the mountain. For all we knew, it could have been someone else in our convoy who hadn't spoken up when we asked. All in all, it was a great chance to test my outdoor leadership skills, but I would gladly not have gone through it in the first place.
      On our way down, my brother and I stopped by Beaujos and sat in silence trying to pull ourselves back together. He told me he had been burned by the lightening, and I still felt my hair standing on end. I too must have gotten a small shock at some point on the way down. Thanking God for His protection, we left the restaurant and Zachary had finally attempted his first 14er. No words can express how close to death we were that day, only those who have been in a similar situation or who were there really understand just how close that lightening was. It was a wakeup call, and I knew I would have to plan ahead better next time.