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