Daniel

Daniel
Mt. Sneffles

Friday, April 10, 2015

Mt. Antero

Mt. Antero
Date Climbed: 9/12/14
Climbing Partners: Brad (dad), Rene (mom), Alysa, and Salix
Elevation: 14,269

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            Daniel Weiss




      Mt. Antero. Not a particularly beautiful or difficult mountain, but it was on the list. Late Thursday evening, my wife, Salix (our dog), and I drove up to the beautiful and famous Mt. Princeton Hot Springs Resort to meet my parents. It was not the first time I would have climbing partners on a fourteener, but it was the first time I had climbed with my parents. Although I had more recent experience on a fourteener than my parents and had climbed more than they had, they had lived in Colorado long before I was born and had summited Wilson Peak when I was little. In other words, they had climbed a fourteener tougher than any mountain I had yet climbed. So although I am obviously younger than they are, they have much more experience, and so I knew they would be excellent partners.
      We arrived at our cabin at 10 PM, grabbed some dinner with my parents at the resort's bar, and went to bed. On most fourteeners an early start is necessary. Antero, however, has a 4x4 road pretty much to the top (save the last 400 feet or so). Hoping Dad's Avalanche truck would have a tough enough chassis, we slept in and hit the road at 8 AM. The minute we left the 2-wheel drive dirt road, the path became rocky and very slow going. there were a few tight spots where we had to pull over as far as possible in order to let some jeeps pass. Every once in a while I would have to jump out and guide the truck around large boulders.
      It was definitely not the roughest road we had been on, but things go much slower in a truck compared to ATVs (our preferred mode of transportation in the mountains). I got so impatient I got out of the truck at one point and walked right alongside it just to stretch my legs. I kept up just fine and realized I could have hiked to the top faster than the truck was moving. However, I knew it would be faster to continue in the truck for the group as a whole, as we still were many miles from the summit and driving conserves energy for the hike above timberline.
      After about an hour and a half or so of driving, the truck was just beginning to emerge from the trees and the slope began to grow steep. Suddenly, the tires lost traction and the Avalanche was just kicking up small rocks. This was as far as we could go in the truck. We all got out, watered up, leashed up my parents dog, Hunter (who was 12 or so at the time. Too old for any kind of hike), and began to hike up the road. Twenty minutes later, a few people passed us on ATVs and I sighed in frustration, wishing we had brought ours. The whole trip would have taken an hour from the Resort to the top had we done so. But I kept on pushing, knowing that it would be all the more rewarding to reach the top on my own two feet. After forty minutes of hiking Alysa decided to turn around and took Salix with her. The altitude had not been kind to her, so I told her to look after Hunter when she got back and jogged ahead to catch up to my parents.
      Mt. Antero is not particularly beautiful in and of itself, but the views from it are spectacular. From the road I could see Baldwin Gulch sprawling out beneath us. All I could think about was how much I would love to come back in the winter and backpack in to camp near the beautiful lakes that were there. As we continued on, we finally reached the road junction on the ridge leading up to Antero. We stopped for a minute to rehydrate and look at the map to make sure we followed the right trail. Just as we began our hike again, we ran into a group of hikers descending the road, who told us that we were headed in the right direction. We still had a little ways to go, and the road would only get tougher from here. Thankfully, I was in good shape from my hike up Oxford and Belford. Compared to that, this was just a walk in the park.
      As the road began to get even steeper, my dad had to take a few more breaks as the altitude began to take its toll. My mom, a Colorado native, was doing just fine. In fact, I almost had to try to keep up with her! We reached the end of the road about twenty minutes later. Here was where the real challenge began. The last half mile of Antero is no joke. It is a tough scramble over very loose rock, and I definitely recommend bringing a helmet if you attempt it. The first part of the scramble is a quarter mile journey straight across the ridge to the base of the summit pyramid. From there it is very steep loose rock. The ridge went by very quickly, but the last bit to the summit was slow going, as we had to be very careful with each step and we lost the "trail" multiple times. My mom told us that she was nervous about this and that she was going to turn around, but my dad and I told her that was crazy when we were so close to the top.
      Thankfully, I started climbing straight up the pyramid out of sheer frustration and stumbled upon the "trail" (when I say trail, I mean a very narrow line where foot traffic has worn down the stones enough to give the hiker an idea of the easiest line to follow). This was enough encouragement to keep my mom going, and so we began to follow it until I realized it would take us in a long, round about loop up to the top. Having plenty of energy and tired of waiting, I scrambled straight up the last bit up to the top and waited for my parents.
      Unfortunately, we could not find the register so I just took a few photos as evidence and we took some ten minutes taking in the views. My dad pointed out several different fourteeners and other mountain ranges that could be seen on this clear, calm day. At one point he said he didn't realize just how much you could see from the top of a fourteener and he was glad he had come along. Satisfied that my parents had enjoyed the climb and had gotten their fill of the summit, we started back down, taking a more direct route down to the ridge. The hike back was uneventful, although I did suggest we take the trail down the West slopes rather than the road, but my parents declined. It took us an hour or so to get back to the truck, and apparently none too soon. Hunter had run out of water, so we gave him some of ours and started the long slow journey back down to the resort.
      That night we ate a good dinner and enjoyed the hot springs. While we were at dinner, I told my parents that I planned on climbing Mt. Sneffels in a week and asked if they wanted to go. They said they would think about it. A few days later, my mom called me, saying that they wanted to get in a few of the fourteeners in too now that they had had a taste of it. We quickly booked a room in one of the last vacant hotels in Ouray, and our plans were set for our climb of Sneffels. And this time, we would bring our ATVs. I was excited, and ready to get in my last fourteener before the snows hit.

Wednesday, April 8, 2015

Mt. Belford & Oxford

Mt. Belford & Mt. Oxford
Date Climbed: 9/7/14
Climbing Partner: Salix (my dog)
Elevation: 14,197 and 14, 14,153 respectively


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            Daniel Weiss



*Let me begin by saying it's been a very long time since I did this climb, so unfortunately some details may be missed (such as times and other small details). However, this was one of my more exciting climbs (due to unforeseen circumstances) and so it is very much etched in my memory. Although I wish I had put my climbs in order so as to build upon them more cohesively, I am not paid to do this, so it takes a back seat to my daily life. Anyway, please enjoy!
      
      I had gotten no sleep the night before. I knew better, as I had learned on past climbs that a good nights sleep is key, especially if you plan on climbing three difficult fourteeners in one day. But it was like the day before you go to Disney World as a kid; you're too excited to sleep! That and I am an imsoniac, so I go to bed very late as it is, along with a 2 AM wake up time. Whatever the case, I was up, and the drive was one of the spookiest scenes I had ever scene. On the way from Denver to Leadville, one goes over a very high pass on CO 91, and passes a mining camp or electric grid of some kind. On this particular morning, the clouds were very low, adding and eerie fog to everything I passed. With steep drops on either side and no one else on the road, I was scared of either falling off the edge of a cliff or hitting a deer. As I passed the mining camp, the spotlights were on, but they were covered in a heavy fog, so it made the camp look abandoned, almost like something you would see in a horror film. Other than that, the drive passed without incident. The sky was just turning a deep blue when I finally pulled up to the trailhead about 10 miles down the washboard dirt road. that leads deep into the heart of the Collegiate Peaks. I was not the only one; there were numerous cars already there, and a group already starting up the trail, and more pulling up. I got Salix out of the truck, loaded on her pack and mine, and we began up the trail at a brisk pace to stay ahead of the "crowds" (probably no more than 20 people if that the whole day).
      It was around 5 AM when we started. I had been warned in my research that these 14ers were considered difficult and had a very steep incline for the first 2000 feet, also known as the Death March by some. Keep in mind, a good mountaineers pace is 1000 feet an hour, and thus it would take us two hours just to reach the beautiful Missouri Gulch. With Salix for encouragement ahead of me and the crowds behind, however, we made it to timberline in just over one hour. At least I had good energy and speed this time around. It was very difficult, however, and is not something to be taken lightly, especially with three fourteeners and very steep inclines on the agenda.
      The reward, however, was well worth it. Missouri Gulch is still one of the most beautiful vistas I have yet seen. It is so beautiful, in fact, that I intend to bring my own youth group on a hike up the trail just to see this picturesque valley. Once I got into the gulch, directly ahead lay Missouri Mountain, an intimidating site with its jagged slopes and to the left are were the slopes  of Pecks Peak (Although at the time I thought it was the slopes of Oxford. This was a huge mistake on my part that I would later regret). After taking a few pictures, I talked to a friendly group of young adults who told me they were headed for Missouri Mountain. I told them I intended to climb it as well, but I would do it after I had done Oxford and Belford. In retrospect, I probably should have joined them for safety reasons, but I'm an adventurer at heart, and I love to face challenges solo, just to test myself. We exchanged names and went our separate ways, wishing luck. I began the ascent up Belford, imagining I would be at the top in quick order. I thought I could see the summit already, and so thought it would not take very long.
      Oh, how wrong I was. About a third of the way up, I had to stop and eat breakfast, so I sat down and munched on a granola bar and gave Salix some water and a bite of my food for energy. We sat for about twenty minutes, recovering our strength from the slog up the first part of the trail. Since I had hit the trail so early, and with a straightforward climb ahead of me, I figured I would take my time and save energy for Missouri Mountain, which I knew would be much more difficult than these two, especially as I would have to lose almost 3000 feet and regain it on the trip between Belford and Missouri.
      After our break, we began our relentless march up the slopes once again. It was tough going. The slope was much steeper than had been described, and so the going was much slower than I anticipated, but it was not much longer before we reached the top. It was just at that moment that the sun was just coming up over the mountain to shine on my face. Up to that point, it was very cold, and the only things keeping me warm were my exertions and light fleece jacket. The minute I got into the rays of the sun, however, I was comfortable. It was a fairly windy day, though not excessively, so I took off my fleece jacket and kept my rain jacket on for a wind shell.
      Just as we came up over the bend in the slop, I saw another hill to climb, and realized that I had reached a false summit. The anticipation of reaching the summit along with the disappointment of realizing your goal is nothing more than a false summit is a huge blow to your moral when you are hiking. It is enough to sap your strength and make you want to turn around. However, it was still early in the day, so I wasn't too bothered, and I kept moving on, although I was a little slower because of my disappointment. After twenty or thirty minutes, Salix and I reached what looked like a massive boulder, so we climbed up it to get a sense of where we were at. By this point, I was confused, as it did not seem like there was any real summit, just a large plateau. As we walked across the boulder, I noticed a small metal seal that had some official looking words on it, and concluded that this must be the summit. It was the highest point on the mountain and I could see Oxford across the way. Concluding that I had unwittingly summited a fourteener, I laughed and threw my arms up in victory. I looked around for the register to write my name as proof that I had been there, but could not find it. I just shrugged and Salix and I departed, dreading the climb up Oxford.
      The saddle between Belford and Oxford is a long and tedious one, as you lose 700 feet each way. Moreover, Oxford's saddle is a class two scramble up/down and Belford's is an endless series of false summits. On the way over, I passed a few people who encouraged me with the usual "You're getting close!" speech. One was honest, however, and told me the false summits are frustrating, but it won't take more than forty minutes. "Crap!" I thought to myself. Forty minutes just to get up this, and then the same to get back? It was going to be a long excursion. I began in my hike in ernest, trying to get up and down as quickly as possible. Unlike my past fourteeners, however, these were not "easy" climbs. These were fairly remote peaks, and they were longer and steeper than anything I had yet done. What is more, I had not reached my peak shape yet, so I was still struggling with the altitude and fatigue (unlike Mt. Sneffels where I would learn the value of acclimatization and regular exercise). Every few steps I had to stop and rest to catch my breath, having spent a lot of my energy on the initial 2000 feet and the climb up Belford. I had already gained more altitude than I had ever done in one day, and I still had half a fourteener to go (and another if I intended to do Missouri). 
      I gritted my teeth and decided to push through to the top and take a long break there. When I finally made it, I was by myself, and what a sight it was. Surrounded by fourteeners and the beautiful Collegiate/Sawatch mountains, it was a sight worth seeing. I set down my pack, took Salix's off and took in the views while she wandered around. A few minutes later, a young man joined me, followed by two others (all individual climbers). They began to discuss how many fourteeners they had climbed (one said twelve which made me feel jealous as I had a measly four), and then began to take picture for each other. I asked one of them if they would take a picture of my dog and I with Belford in the background as proof, and he readily agreed. After everyone had taken the obligatory pictures and done what they needed to do, they stood around and started swapping stories. I, on the other hand, took out my sandwich and Salix's food, and we ate. I was exhausted from the early start, so I decided I would leave the summit at noon (twenty minutes from then). I put my headphones in, my sunglasses on, rested my head on my backpack, and started to snooze.
      At some point, I think one of them told me I should head down soon, but in my half sleep I didn't understand what he was saying. They left at some point during my nap. A smart thing as the clear blue skies were beginning to turn grey as clouds rolled in from the north. I paid no attention to them, however, as I was fast asleep and had checked to make sure there were no thunderstorms forecasted for that day. There was a loud rumble and the sun suddenly disappeared, startling me awake. The beautiful day I had fallen asleep to had become a windy, rainy, thunderstorm, and I was caught at the highest point in the area; a perfect lightening rod. I yelled at Salix to get up, and hurriedly put on our gear and began to run as fast as we could down the ridge.
      The clouds were getting darker and the rain was getting heavier just as we reached the lowest point in the saddle. On my way down I passed an older woman and her two young sons (probably in middle school and high school), saying that they were going to try and get Oxford in and run down the opposite side to avoid the storm. I told her I wouldn't risk it in the lightning, but she knew as much as I did about the area. I'm not sure what ever happened to that family, but if they were going down the slope I think they planned on doing, the weren't going to reach a trail anytime soon, and would be bushwalking form many miles and would easily become lost. Granted, I say this because they were obviously completely unprepared, with nothing but hoodies on and no packs, but they could have easily had more knowledge of the area than I did. I pray that that family made it down all right.
      Part way up the Belford saddle, I heard and felt a deep rumble and knew I had to make a choice: bushwhack down Belford Gulch or risk lightning. I chose to bushwhack, thinking that Belford Gulch drained into Missouri Gulch, almost like a T-shape. I expected to have to bush back through some trees and then hit the trail if I kept going straight. In other words, I thought that Missouri Gulch ran North-South and Belford Gulch ran East-West, and that the slopes I had seen earlier just as I came out above timberline were the slopes of Oxford, when in reality they were Peck's Peak. Long story short, I was going into a trap.
      I called Salix to me and pointed down the slope and we rock surfed down the first 1000 feet. At this point, I had two worries: One was the lightning and hail, and two was mountain lions. The latter may seem ridiculous to most readers, but I had already encountered one up in the Colorado Rockies when I was in 8th grade on a family vacation, and this terrain was exactly what they would be in. Moreover, I knew that mountain lions were beginning to prey on dogs, and Salix would be a prime target. The loud thunder and rain didn't help either, as anything that made a noise made me jump and look around for any wild animals.
      The mountain lion never materialized, however, and we made it to timberline without incident. Of course, at that moment the skies began to turn lighter again and the thunder moved on. However, we were stuck in the gulch and so we had to keep going downhill as I was almost out of energy. We moved into the forest, climbing through bushes and over fallen trees (and there were a ton due to rock slides/avalanches). Multiple times we crossed over rock slide debris, and so this became a worry too. After half an hour of slow going, we ran into a collapsed cabin and some old mining equipment and trash. At least I knew that others had been here before! And I hoped that this was a place that people would visit since there were historical sights, so I began to search for a trail. I soon found one and Salix and I followed it. It quickly became apparent, however, that this trail had fallen into disuse as we were constantly crossing rock slides, debris and fallen trees. It wasn't long before we lost the trail completely and I grew frustrated.
      I began to realize that I was lost and that it would take hours to get out at the pace we were going. I sat down and began to think of a way to get us out. In the silence, I heard running water and grinned. If there was water, then this would lead downhill, and it would inevitably drain into the stream in Missouri Gulch! Foregoing any hope of climbing Missouri Mountain, I focused all my attention on getting off this mountain and back to my truck.
      We must have been at 11,000 feet by this point as we followed the stream downhill. It was still incredibly hard work, climbing over trees and helping Salix through the bushes and such. We finally reached a clearing and I saw an abandoned cabin with a trail next to it and cheered. We had finally reached Missouri Gulch! This is the same half collapsed cabin I had seen earlier just as we reached timberline on the way up this morning! "Hello?!" I yelled, hoping for a return call.
      None came. This cabin had been camped in earlier by some backpackers, and so I had hoped they would still be nearby. I walked up to the cabin and realized that his was not the same cabin. It was just one of many that dotted these mountains. The cabin was in as good of shape as my emotions were. I was lost, tired, hungry, out of water, and had just had my hopes dashed again. Tears came to my eyes, and I quickly wiped them away. I knew that if I headed in a straight line, I would reach Missouri Gulch at some point.
      We kept pushing for two more hours, following the abandoned trail through debris. I soon realized why this trail had fallen into disrepair; it was extremely steep and the whole slope was prone to slide. At one point I grabbed a tree to stop myself from sliding down the slope, and it came free and walked Salix in the face. Keep in mind, this wasn't a small tree, it was a very large adult Aspen tree that came clean out of the ground, roots and all. I stopped and hugged Salix to let her know I was sorry, and checked to make sure she was alright. Once I determined she was fine we began moving again, carefully avoiding the trees as much as possible. I soon heard the roar of a large river ahead and realized we were not headed toward Missouri Gulch, but that we had somehow reached Clear Creek. Clear Creek was the river that passed Vicksburg (the ghost town I had parked at and the trailhead). This mean I was still East of my parking spot, but I was delighted to finally have a reference point.
      I followed the trail, anticipating that it would somehow connect to my original trailhead, but soon lost it. Frustrated I walked to the edge of the large river and saw my predicament. I could see the dirt road I had come in on, but between it and I was a very deep and strong river (one that I could not cross with Salix) and a cliff on the opposite side which I could not scale. I yelled in frustration and realized I had to keep going West. I started that way and was soon confronted by a very large cliff. As I made my way up it, already exhausted from the climb and bushwack, Salix began to wine behind me. I turned around and realized that should would not be able to make it over this. However, I realized that we had to keep going, so I picked her up and carried her a few steps at a time over the cliff. Once we reached the other side, I looked across the river to get a reference point.
      I could not see the road anymore, and began to worry we were already West of the trailhead, and just heading deeper into the mountains beyond the end of the road. In my desparation, I looked for some familiar scenery in the mountains above the road to, but saw none. I had driven up in the dark, so I never got a chance to see what the other side looked like. I had no reference point and was lost, in part, due to my frustration. If I had simply kept calm, I would have realized that Belford Gulch must exit East of the trailhead because of where it had drained out at, and thus I would inevitably hit the trail if I continued West. However, exhaustion and dehydration kept me from realizing this, and my frustration was compounded. I took out my phone in hopes that I would get enough signal for the GPS to locate me, but to no avail. I sat and wept a little, and Salix sat next to me offering her stoic support. I finally pulled myself together enough to start thinking again.
      If I didn't hurry, I would have to be finding my way around out here in the dark with no chance of running across any help. So I began to yell for help and continued West, over cliffs that were the roots of the mountain. Finally, I decided to take a look across the river in hopes of seeing a vehicle to indicate that the road was there. After a minute of waiting, I prayed silently to God, begging that He would give me a sign of some kind for help. Lo and behold, just as I was about to turn around I saw the unmistakable top of a car as it zoomed down the dirt road. Since I had no idea where I was and no idea where the road would end, I decided I had no choice but to cross the river and make it to the road.
      I took Salix next to me, put on her leash so that I could tug her along when the river became too deep for her to walk and we began to cross the powerful river. Thankfully, the river was only just above Salix's shoulders, so she did have to swim, but I was still tall enough to provide her with help to stay upstream. Using the technique I had learned in Outdoor Leadership class, I braced myself against the current by facing upstream with my feet wide apart and a stick as a third point for balance. We slowly made our way across the river and finally came out the other side. I collapsed in happiness, thankful that Salix had not gotten caught up in the current and to finally be on a road. We began to hike up the road, continuing in the same direction we had been doing earlier. A minute later, a jeep came rolling down the road, and I waved them down. I teared up in happiness, just thankful to see people again.
      "Hi there, I'm Daniel, I just climbed Oxford and Belford and I'm trying to find my way back to Vicksburg. Do you know which direction that is?" I asked. "Yes, it's about a mile up this road." The man replied, pointing in the direction we were headed. It was an elderly couple out on a four-wheeling trip, and they were obviously on their way back home. I thanked them and began to continue my hike. "Are you alright?" Asked the lady, looking concerned. "Yes ma'am. I'm just very tired. We got lost and had to bushwhack our way down here." I replied. She looked at her husband and then asked "would you like a ride back to you truck?"
      Normally I would say no, as I would not want to be a burden to anyone, especially as they were ready to get home. However, I was so exhausted and ready to get home myself that I gratefully said yes. The older man hopped out of the jeep along with his dog so that Salix and I could get in. He said that he would stay there while the woman dropped us off and then she would go back down the road. I was so grateful for her help that I almost wept with joy. We were back at the truck in just a few short minutes where I offered the woman some money, but she generously declined, saying that she was glad just to help. I don't remember their names, but I am very thankful for their kindness. Especially for going out of their way to help a random hiker. Because of what they did, I promised I would help any hiker/climber I came across from now on in the backcountry, even if I had to go out of my way.
      As I drove home, I called my wife and told her of our ordeal and that we would need food when we got home. Glad that these mountains were behind me, I was ready to take a short break before my next adventure. This hike opened my eyes, and I consider this one of the two climbs that turned me from a hiker into a climber. I realized that in order to get fourteeners in the summer, I would need to have a turnaround time of noon. I also needed to have a map, compass, and water filter (and later I would always carry the Ten Essentials in case of emergency). Finally, I needed to learn more about the mountain before I went, and that I should never leave the trail unless it's life or death. There is no such thing as a "shortcut" in the mountains. Trails are there for a reason; use them. Don't take a "shortcut" because it often makes things take longer.
      Although I was dead tired and in need of a break, Mount Antero was in my sights, and I would be there in just five short days. In the back of my mind, I was excited and rearing for more.

Tuesday, April 7, 2015

Mt. Evans

Mt. Evans
Date Climbed: 4/6/15
Climbing Partners: Solo
Range: Front
Elevation: 14,264     


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            Daniel Weiss



      "Would you be mad if I climbed a fourteener tomorrow?" I asked. My wife and I were sitting on the couch watching TV this particular Sunday night. We had developed a system by now: I would beg to go on a fourteener, she would be reluctant, I would buy her dinner or something, and she would relent. I think she was just happy to have the next day off from work, so she said "Yes." By this point, it was 10:30 at night, and I knew I would have to get up very early the next day. I got up and began to pull my equipment together and she went to bed. I checked in on 14ers.com to check the conditions of Mount Evans. Warm temperatures and high winds; worth a shot.
      When I say warm temperatures, I mean a balmy 20 degrees in the morning, although it was projected to get into the mid 30s by the afternoon. However, having been on a fourteener with high winds and cold temperatures, I knew better than to underdress. A thermal bas layer, a down jacket and hard shell pants and jacket, along with crampons, ice axe, and snowshoes to deal with the snow and ice. I was packed and ready by 12:30. I finally showered and went to bed, setting my alarm for 4:50 AM.
      It only felt like an hour or two when my phone woke me up. I layed there for about five minutes, trying to come up with some excuse not to go today; to just sit at home and sleep in. However, my desire to get in a fourteener after such a long wait was overpowering. I got up, pulled on all of my clothes and gear and left the house by 5:25. I was at the trailhead by 6:50 and on my way up shortly thereafter.
      As usual, the road up to Guanella Pass was closed about a mile and a half from the trailhead for Bierstadt. Having been up the road many times on similar hikes, I knew it would take me about an hour to reach the trailhead and then it would be a tough slog of postholing to the base of Mt. Spalding (A 13er just northwest of Mt. Evans). It was a quiet morning, crisp and cool. Although the forecast had projected 55 mph gusts, I didn't even hear so much as a breath of wind in the trees. The snow was firm and hard packed on the road from countless hikers and skiers. It was so hard, in fact, that I almost wished I had brought my four wheeler to try and cut some time from my hike. I knew that as the day warmed up, however, that I might had to wait until dark to get back down on it as the snow softened up.
      I made very good time up the road. I felt stronger and in better shape than I had in a while, especially at this altitude (I image in part because of the basketball league I had joined). I took a shortcut up some steep snow and managed to make it to timberline in about 40 minutes. Instead of taking the road all the way to the trailhead, I decided to take a shortcut that I had heard about a few months earlier, leaving the road at the second to last switchback and going straight for Spalding. Apparently a few other hikers had the same idea as I was able to follow their footprints for a good distance. Surprisingly, the snow supported me very well, and only had one or two minor postholes on the way to the base of the mountain. Because of this, it took me only twenty minutes to get to my intended destination.
      Just a few months before, in February, I had done the same trek, although I had gone all the way to the Bierstadt trailhead and through the dreaded willows up Gomer Creek. Back then, it took me an entire hour and a half to reach the same point. Even with snowshoes, the endeavor left me worn out and by the time I had reached this point, I had to turn around because of time and energy. I decided that I would need to backpack in if I wanted to get Evans in when there was snow.
      I decided to give it another go this time without backpacking in. As the snow had frozen rather well, I figured there wouldn't be powdery snow as there had been in February, and I was right. Stopping at the base of the mountain, I observed the next stage of my climb. I had two choices: I could hike up the dry part of spalding, meaning it would basically be a summer hike (which is much quicker) but it also meant traveling a good distance out of my way. My second option was to take the steep gully right next to the Sawtooth. On my drive up, I was favoring the latter, but once I saw how long of a climb it would be, mixed with the uncertain avalanche conditions and lack of a second ice axe, I decided to take the hike.
      I took of my snowshoes, packed them away, and began the hike up Spalding. Again, I made excellent time as there was little to no snow on my hike. Once in a while I would spot a cairn and breath a sigh of relief that I was on the right path. Every fourteener I had done so far this winter (this being my first winter doing this) had been an endless game of trail-breaking, route-finding, and avalanche avoidance. It was nice to see the familiar cairn guiding my way (I desperately miss summer. I love climbing in the snow, but I love the green and warmth of the summer). By 10:30, I had reached 13,700 feet (according to my watch). I had found some old ski trails that I had hoped would lead to Evans, and so I had followed them. I looked up and knew I was almost at the summit. However, as I looked at my surroundings, I began to realize I was too low to be on Evans. I had climbed too quickly and could see Bierstadt looming about a mile or two away. I was still too low to be approaching the summit of Evans.
      By this point, the wind was starting to pick up, and I could tell it would turn nasty in the next half hour, so I quickly pulled out my map to try and figure out where I was so that I could get up and get out. As I observed the map, I began to have a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that I had mistakenly climbed Mt. Spalding instead of Evans. I was on the northwest slope of a mountain, but the question was which mountain? Slowly, I got uptick a few steps to my right (south) and a giant rugged and ugly peak began to come into view just over the side of the slope. I bowed my head in frustration, realizing I had wasted so much energy and time climbing the wrong mountain. I put away my map and started moving as quickly as I could toward Evans.
      I would have to lose about 300 feet (which was the bad) and travel a mile or so to reach just the north summit of Evans. This may not sound bad, but when you get that close to what you think is the summit and then realize you've got a lot more work ahead of you, you'll know just how draining that can be emotionally and physically. My pace began to slow as I grew more tired and the snow grew softer. By the time I had reached the middle of the saddle between Evans and Spalding, the wind had gone from a nice breeze to a roar. The closer I got to the cliff on the saddle, the stronger the wind became. Slowly, I began to regain the elevation I had lost. I also began to see the cairns again, which gave me an energy boost, knowing that I could follow the summer trail. 
      By the time I had reached the last part of the saddle, the wind had become so fierce, that I had to take cover every few steps in order to regain my energy and warm myself up. Although I had been sweating in just my thermal just a few minutes before, it was now winter temperatures. I pulled out my heavyweight gloves, threw on my thermal and swapped my beanie for my windproof baclava (I had learned my lesson from climbing Democrat and the other mountains in that range). I packed down my backpack as best I could, set it next to a cairn and left it behind, intended to make a quick assault on the summit, praying that I would be okay without my shell jacket.
      I was less than a quarter of a mile and 300 feet from the summit, and so thought I could make it in less than fifteen minutes. What I did not see, however, was the difficult and exposed section I would have to climb in order to reach the summit. I am still not sure if I had simply gone the wrong way or if it was just much more difficult than the others had made it sound, or if the winter conditions simply made it twice as difficult as I had thought it would be. Whatever the case, I quickly found myself inching my way up rocks that were smooth as ice, with no dexterity (because of my gloves and mountaineering boots) over a drop of about 3000 feet. This was easily the most technical climb I had ever done, and I was doing it in 50 mph winds and no footholds.
      At some points I would be climbing up rock hard snow, shoving my ice axe in to protect me from a fatal fall, the next I would be taking leaps of faith, praying the rock I jumped up to would hold my weight and that my gloves would grip it. After 40 minutes of relentless climbing and route-finding. I finally gave up on finding and "easy" way up, and went directly up the face of the mountain. I made it to the summit very quickly, leaving behind my ice axe so as to have both hands free to climb the last bit. When I reached the top, I was greeted with an old and familiar sight: Colorado laid bare before me, with no peaks obstructing my view. I had reached the summit. I looked to my right and could see the south summit, looming even with me. I had a brief moment of disappointment, know that the south summit was considered the "true" summit by many (since that is the one most people climb up to after a nice drive up the paved road). I like to think that this was the mountaineers summit: requiring one to fight through snow and rocks over perilous drops in order to stand on the top.
      I decided I would stand at the top of that summit one day after a nice drive up the road with some friends. I took some pictures and quickly retreated down to get out of the wind. After 30 minutes of careful descending, I finally made it to my backpack. I sat down, ate a CLIF bar for my lunch and some energy, and began my descent.
      It was much slower than I expected. The snow was slick as it was wet with the warm sun, but still hard enough to support my weight, thus making it very easy for one to slip and slide down. I had to drive my ice axe deep into the snow to help balance myself. I also had another looming danger: avalanches. Although it was only April, the temperatures had been unseasonably warm, so the snow was melting fast, but there were still subtstantial amounts above timberline; enough to create large and dangerous avalanches. Although the route I had taken earlier was dry, the direct route back to the bottom of Spalding from Evans was still packed with waste deep snow; plenty to slide and bury someone. What's more, the snow was on just enough of an angle and showing just enough signs of instability for me to worry. This made for slow going, although I did finally make it back to the willows by 1 PM (a lot later than my hoped for 10:30 summit time).
      I donned my snowshoes and began the dreaded hike across the now slushy snow. A hike that had taken me 20 minutes turned into a grueling 40 minutes. Although this wasn't the worst I had seen, every posthole was agony both to my feet and my energy. By this point I had already hiked 10 or 11 miles and was exhausted. I could only move at a snails pace, mindlessly putting one foot in front of the others, focusing on the nice smooth surface the road would provide for my aching feet. I had seen no one else the whole day, which was odd as I had seen at least one other person on every summit I had attempted, even in the dead of winter. This too, wore on me, as I did enjoy knowing there was help nearby in case of emergency. From the looks of it, no one else had made it even close to Spalding the entire day. I was truly alone.
      I finally reached the road, and quickly descended through the mercifully supportive snow. I had one last obstacle left: the 1/4 mile avalanche zone along the road, and then I would be home free. I was apprehensive as the avalanche website had warned us to be on the lookout for loose wet avalanches in the afternoons near treelike, especially on east facing slopes (which was exactly where I was at). I quickly moved through the zone without incident and made it back to the car by 3. I gratefully sat down in the drivers seat and felt a flood of relief and excitement. I had conquered my twelfth fourteener and my first one of 2015 and had two more fourteener planned in the next 2 weeks. I was finally ready for life at 14,000 feet again.