Date Climbed: 5/12/16
Climbing Partners: None
Elevation: 14,197
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Daniel Weiss
The rumble of the truck was comforting as I slowly wound my way up highway 287 to Buena Vista. It was around 2 AM and I had woken up just an hour ago. I still had two hours until I made it to the trailhead, but that at least gave me time to wake up. This is one of my favorite parts of the climb: the easy drive up, radio playing in the background and the steady hum of the engine that promised safety and warmth. In my rearview mirror, there was not the usual black void of a midnight drive, but a yellow blur. As Mount Princeton was my goal, I had brought along my four-wheeler in order to make quick and easy work of the road up to the radio towers.
Two hours later, I was at the winter trailhead, with a clear four wheel drive road ahead of me. I quickly hopped out of the truck, untied the four-wheeler and put down the ramp. I turned on the engine and the gas, pulled the clutch, pressed the start button and... nothing. Just a slow dead rattle as the engine sluggishly attempted to turn. It could have been the cold air, but having just charged it, it should have been able to start. I tried once more, praying it would start. Again, a dead battery. There were two options: start walking from here, which would double my mileage and make it nearly impossible to get down before the snow softened and avalanches became a real danger. The only other option would be to drive my huge truck up the extremely narrow road and risk getting stuck, or worse sliding off a cliff. I had turned back enough on Princeton and was not willing to concede defeat yet. So as the sun rose, I began the slow, rocky drive up the narrow Mount Princeton Road.
I was much more worried about this road than the hike ahead. Should I make it to the radio towers, I would have a relatively quick and straightforward climb. The problem was there was no way of knowing how far down the snowline was. Should I run into impassable snow too far down, there would be no place wide enough for me to turn around. And a road this narrow and steep would be near impossible to back down (especially with an ATV blocking my rearview mirror). Slowly the miles passed by. An hour (and some very sketchy turns) later, I ran into some deep snow. Unwilling to risk getting stuck, I found the nearest switchback and managed just to find enough room to turn around and park. It couldn't be much of a walk to the radio towers, and that was good enough for me.
I was already more than an hour behind and I would fall even further behind because of the snow, but with a good forecast, I knew I had time to give. I began the long hike and within half an hour had reached the radio towers. another 40 minutes and I was at the end of the road and beginning the treacherous hike across the Princeton Trail. Normally, this hike would be quick and (14er-wise) easy. With snow, as I have said before, there was no such thing as easy. With a winter like snowpack and rapidly warming temperatures already, I decided to play it safe and leave the trail, hiking up and down multiple hundreds of feet around avalanche chutes. The work was exhausting and the progress slow, but I refused to quit with such good weather.
Thankfully, I had been training and working out in order to prepare for the upcoming spring climbing season, and the extra energy helped. Unfortunately, even though I was able to make progress across the first few chutes, I had two giant (and filled) avalanche chutes between myself and the ridge connecting Tiger Peak and Mount Princeton. I could either cut straight across them, risking a huge avalanche, or go up and over (as I had the others) which would add a lot of time and increase the danger on the way down. I decided to play it safe and go up and over again, but this truly slowed me down. By the time I was on my way over the last major avalanche chute, it had been over an hour and I had only made a few hundred feet of progress.
By now I was on the ridge and had a straight shot at the summit. Unfortunately the snow was just soft enough for me to sink in a few inches, creating slow progress on what should have gone by quickly. Already exhausted, I was at the decision point. Should I turn back, knowing that the snow would grow softer and more dangerous every minute I delayed? Or should I continue and conquer the summit I had already suffered for? I decided to just put my head down and push through. Step by step, breath by breath, I made my way across the rugged ridge, occasionally passing by cornices the size of buses, forcing me to stay back many feet from the edge which looked so invitingly smooth and easy to travel across.
Soon I was looking up the long steep slope which led directly to the summit. I could see evidence of avalanches directly across the faint trail I could pick out. Thankfully, the snow at this elevation was still frozen solid, and the danger of any avalanche was relatively low. I took a deep breath, put my head down, and decided to go straight up the slope, ignoring the trail altogether. Step, breath, step, breath, step, breath. It was hard work, but the time spent on Insanity (a DVD workout system) seemed to be paying off. Once I had a rhythm, I simply ignored the desire to stop and take a break and pushed. After 20 minutes of solid front pointing straight up the slope, I noticed the angle give way and a cold blast of wind forced me to look up. A little off to my right was the summit, and below me were thousands of feet of snow and rock. A new energy seemed to flow through me and I quickly skipped (more like stumbled) up to the summit, heart pumping. The exhilarating feeling of accomplishment washed over me and I fell onto my back, breathing heavily and sucking in all the water I could get. It was so peaceful. Not a soul for miles around. It was blue bird days like this that I lived for. Where I could sit on a summit and reflect on the beauty that God has made for us. Even the harshness of winter had its own beauty, which I throughly enjoyed and even preferred on most summits. But it was nice to still have the feeling in my toes when standing on a summit for once.
After a few pictures and a quick lunch, it was time to continue down. I refilled my water bottle with a spare liter I had and began the slippery walk down. In order to save time, I decided to glissade down. Just as I sat, I felt my water bottle slide out of its pocket and quickly roll down the slope. I lunged for it, but the snow was too solid and the bottle gained speed and was out of reach long before I could reach it. I watched it slide thousands of feet, traveling faster and faster as it made its way down to the basin far below. I was speechless. All of my water had just tumbled down the mountain and I still had the most dangerous, hardest, and hottest part of the climb ahead. I stood up and decided to hike down instead considering my last blunder. Thankfully, the ridge went much faster as I was able to follow my footsteps back down. Once across the ridge, I was faced once more with a major decision. I could go over Tiger Peak, which would allow me to get a 13er in, and which would be much safer, but much more difficult, especially without water. The other option was to risk the avalanche chutes once again, now with much warmer temperatures.
I decided that the best course of action was to run the risk of avalanches rather than dehydration (and extremely hard work). Because I had used so much energy getting up, I had almost none left to work up and down the chutes again and decided to cut straight across the steep slopes following the summer trail. At first, the snow was in great shape and the risk of avalanche was small. But as I made my way down, the snow grew softer and softer under the intense sun. Half way across, I was committed and I was sinking past my boots (a sign of wet slab avalanches). Knowing my life was at risk I moved as fast as my weary legs would carry me across the last two dangerously steep slopes, sinking up to my knees at times, praying for protection. Thankfully, nothing eventful happened and I was standing on the road, looking back at Princeton.
The climb was in the bag, and all that was left was a difficult drive back down the narrow road (but at least that didn't involve walking). Unfortunately, the sun had done its job and the "easy" hike back down the snow filled road was an exhausting slog which took much longer than it had on the way up. Every step was either so slick I fell or so soft that I sunk up to my waste. A section that had taken only ten minutes earlier in the morning now took half an hour. After another hour of painful potholing, the road dried out and I was able to walk on dirt and mud. The rest of the hike was downhill and the truck soon came into view, and not a moment too soon! I threw my backpack into the back and gratefully gulped down the gallon of water I had saved for my return. I felt dizzy and weak from so much exertion and so little water. Dehydration had set in, and I had made the right decision avoiding the climb over Tiger. The narrow road was slow going but uneventful. I eventually made it back to the highway and set the truck on cruise control. Another 14er down, and a season of snow climbs ahead.
Although my desire to summit the 14ers had diminished, my desire to find technically challenging peaks was very much alive. As so many mountaineers before me had experienced, with every 14er I conquered, I wanted a bigger and more technical challenge. As Aconcagua loomed closer, climbs like "Super Star" and "Dragon Tail" appealed more and more. 14ers are amazing and beautiful climbs, and character building. Great for a big mountain experience right in your backyard. But they are not very remote compared with the peaks of South America, Alaska, and the Himalaya. I can only hope that God will continue to open doors that will allow me to lead an expedition to South America and the famous Aconcagua.
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