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.