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.