Daniel

Daniel
Mt. Sneffles

Monday, July 6, 2015

Mt. Lincoln

Mt. Lincoln
Date Climbed: 6/22/15
Climbing Partners: Katie and Charlie
Elevation: 14,286

For more photos, follow me on Instagram or add me on Facebook:
            drweiss2
            Daniel Weiss




     Just as winter began to set in here in Colorado, I attempted the DeCaLiBro. This is four 14ers in one day; Democrat, Cameron, Lincoln, and Bross. Unfortunately, I was ill prepared that day, and only got Democrat, Cameron, and Bross. With frozen water, no traction (crampons or micro spikes) for the snow, and winds around 60+ mph and no gloves, I doubt I would have made all four without injury. And for this reason, I returned to Kite Lake to finish off this part of the Mosquito Range.
     We had a late snow this year, which delayed my attempt until I could drive all the way to Kite Lake. Finally, after watching the conditions reports daily, the report came in that the road was clear. I arrived just below the trailhead around 7 AM with clear skies and a great forecast. It would be clear and warm weather with only a light wind. This was a nice change from the bitter cold of winter and lightening storms I'd encountered on Bierstadt. All the same, I prepared for freezing temperatures and brought along all the gear I might need. I wasn't going to be turned around this time because of lack of preparation.
     I hit the trail and made great time. Kite Lake was still frozen but flooding around its edges with all the rain and snowmelt. What had been a simple hop across the creek just months before was now a river crossing, hopping from one rock to the next to avoid getting my feet soaked. One of the major differences between winter and summer is the speed you can travel. In winter, it could take anywhere up to 7 hours or so to travel a distance of 3 miles. In summer, it would only take 2. Summer was finally here and I was glad to have a lighter load.
     Although the trail was mostly dry, there were a few snowfields I had to cross, and even took out my ice axe to be on the safe side. On my way up, I passed two girls whom I noticed did not have an ice axe. Although they had walking poles, it might be hard to stop yourself if you were to slip even with poles. So I decided to slow down a bit and make sure they didn't slip or anything. I was surprised to see that they were keeping up with me even on the slick snow. Once in a while they would stop and look around, probably to evaluate the snow and look for the best way up. At the time I didn't realize it, but they had on micro spikes, which allowed them to get good traction along the snowfields, whereas my boots would slip every so often. Either way, I decided to hang back just to make sure nothing happened. As I made my way out of the lower basin around Kite Lake and into the Upper Basin, I decided to sit down and take a break since there was no need to rush on such a nice day.
     Shortly after I had sat down, the girls caught up to me. I asked which 14er they were aiming for today, assuming they were going to hit Democrat like everyone else. They were, however, going for Cameron and Lincoln, just as I was. With DeCaLiBro, there is a trail junction where everyone going to Democrat must turn left and all of the other 14ers are off to the right. This means that if you are going for all four, you have to go up democrat, come all the way back down and go back up to Cameron in order to reach the other 14ers. For us, however, we only had to go over Cameron and take a short walk over to Lincoln. In other words, we were going the same direction. Since it was a nice day so there was no hurry and since we were going the same way, I asked if I could join up with them.
     They agreed, and off we went. I was just glad to have some company. As we marched up the slope, we introduced ourselves. Katie had recently moved to Colorado and had already completed a number of 14ers, while Charlie had only completed a few. It was obvious that Katie knew quite a bit about mountaineering so I asked about some of the mountains she had climbed. To my amazement, she had been to South America and climbed a high peak down there, as well as some mountains in California, Alaksa, and elsewhere. She also turned out to be a descent rock climber. At first I had thought they were only some young ladies enjoying a nice hike. It was obvious now that Katie had much more experience than I did and I began to ask question after question about her adventures and where she'd been and what she'd done. I had watched all kinds of movies about mountaineering overseas, but it was pretty cool getting to talk to someone who had actually done it.
     Hearing about her adventures made me slightly jealous as I have always dreamed about climbing in the Andes and doing some snow climbs in Alaska. As much as I have dreamed of it though, she had already done it. Although I have a few expeditions I am currently planning for next winter, none of them are like an expedition to the Andes or Alaska. It was exciting to meet someone else who had the same interests in climbing big mountains.
     Time seemed to fly by and we were soon approaching the summit of Cameron. Up until that point, the wind had been calm (unusual given my last experience here). Soon, however, the wind began to pick up and push us slightly off balance as we walked on toward the summit. Although it was nowhere near as bad as last time, it was still annoying and a little chilly. Just as we summited, the wind became constant and strong. We had to yell to hear each other even though we were only feet away. Neither of the girls had gloves, so I knew we couldn't spend a long time in the wind (I had done the same thing and had lost feeling in my hands for a good couple of hours last time). I noticed we were standing on a snow bank and gestured to the other side. I crossed over to the other side and sat down behind the cover of the snow. The others followed and we began to add some layers. Katie said that her hands we ok, but I could tell Charlie was cold, so I handed her the inner linings of my gloves. After we had warmed up, we pulled out some food for energy and discussed moving further.
     I already had my mind set; even if the others decided to turn back, I was going to get Lincoln in. I had prepared properly for the wind this time, and I wasn't letting anything stop me this time. It looked a long way off, but we wouldn't have to gain too much elevation now, which was great news. Katie was up for it, but Charlie was very tired. After a moment, she said that she was ready to go for Lincoln. We packed up and set off at a quick pace, hoping to get through the wind as quickly as possible. As we began to descend to the saddle, I was expecting the wind to pick up even further. Surprisingly, it became very calm, and I almost began to sweat with the added layers. I took off my gloves and unzipped my jacket vents. In just over 20 minutes, we summited Lincoln, and I had finished my 14th 14er!
     After taking the obligatory summit photos and another quick snack, we began the long walk down. Unfortunately, we would have to gain a little elevation on the return, and after such a long time of rest, it was much harder to start another uphill slog. I felt much slower this time, but still not terrible. On our way down, we saw a man moving up the Democrat slope. He was making extremely slow progress. It was so slow at one point that I almost wanted to go up there and make sure he was doing alright. However, we decided he was still moving and there were others descending past him, and so moved on. We passed a few other groups on the way down, and were quickly back at our cars. Relieved to be done, we said our goodbyes and began the long drive back to Denver.
     It was a relief to have DeCaLiBro done, and it was obvious it was time to take my climbs up a notch. So as I drew closer to Denver, I began to set my eyes on Torrey's Peak and it's classic Dead Dog couloir. I also began to plan a few expeditions to Long's Peak and the Grand Teton. It was time to try some more challenging peaks and hope that success there would give me the confidence I would need to one day take on a peak like Aconcagua and Denali. The 14ers are still my goal, but I am beginning to think I may have a shot at some of the Seven Summits. Only time will tell, but if God opens the door, I hope one day to achieve some of these summits, and maybe even Everest! But for now, Dead Dog was my goal, and it was time to start preparing.

Thursday, June 25, 2015

La Plata Peak

La Plata Peak
Date Climbed: 6/24/15
Climbing Partner: Nicole
Elevation: 14,336

For more photos, follow me on Instagram or add me on Facebook:
            drweiss2
            Daniel Weiss




    Running off of an hour and a half of sleep in the last 30 hours or so, plus a 3 AM wake up time and a 14er just two days before, I knew this was going to be a hard day. Luckily, I didn't have to do this climb alone. Just the day before, a friend of mine, Nicole, asked if I was interested in climbing a 14er. The answer is almost always yes. So we set our sites on Huron Peak and planned to meet at her house at 3 AM. I pulled up to my her house just a few minutes late, half asleep and wanting nothing more than to just go back to bed.

    We quickly packed up and began our two and a half hour drive. Nicole agreed to drive for the first bit of the drive while I slept (I was being a true gentleman as you can tell). About an hour into the drive, we began to discuss our plan. There were some concerns about a flooded river we would have to cross on the drive up, so we decided to have a backup plan if it looked too deep. La Plata and Mount Sherman were our two options. There was a problem, however. Because of the forecasted thunderstorms in the afternoon, we would only have one shot at picking the right 14er. My experience on Bierdstadt just a few weeks earlier had taught me to be very conservative when dealing with lightening. Thus, we would have to arrive at the trailhead as soon as possible in order to summit well before the predicted storms. So we discussed our options. On the one hand, if we chose Huron and the river was too high, we wouldn't have enough time to get over to La Plata's standard route, and so we would have to settle for Sherman on the way home as it was a much shorter hike. Yet, Sherman didn't excite us as it wasn't as spectacularly beautiful as Huron. However, if we went for La Plata's standard route, we might not have enough time to summit as it was 3 miles longer than Huron's route. 

    Since I've had my share of failed attempts, I didn't want to waste all the energy just to get within a few hundred feet and turn around. So I voted for the conservative decision in order to guarantee a 14er summit. Nicole said we should just go for La Plata as it was a beautiful climb and we still had a shot of summiting because we were early and could keep a good pace. I decided to see if there was an alternative and checked out 14ers.com to see if there was a compromise. Surprisingly, there was! La Plata had a Southwestern ridge that could be climbed and it was shorter than the standard route and had less elevation gain. We decided to attempt Huron and go to La Plata if we couldn't make he trailhead.

    At around 6, we pulled up to Winfield (an old ghost town) and took the fork in the road that led to Huron's trailhead. Shortly after we began up the rough 4-wheel drive road and our progress slowed. About a mile up the road we saw what we thought was the creek crossing that had stopped so many cars. However, it was little more than a trickle and we easily made it across. Excited, thinking we were going to have the opportunity to climb Huron, we moved on. However, just as we came around a corner, we noticed a large truck pulled off to one side. It was odd as the road had not grown any rougher and it was still a good distance to the trailhead. Just then I noticed something blocking the road: a fallen tree. We stopped and I walked up to it and attempted to move it, but there was no way. It was a very large tree and we had no chainsaw to move it with. So I got back in the car and we quickly retreated back down the road, hoping to get to La Plata's trailhead soon as we were now very late.

    Arriving at the washed out road around 7, we quickly put on our gear and began our hike. In order to cross the river that now flowed across the washed out road, we had to balance on a few trees that had been set next to each other across the gap. Not trusting the makeshift bridge, Nicole crawled across on all fours and I had a great time laughing at her slow progress. Karma quickly caught up with me, though, as I had to stop a few times to retie my brand new boots because of some excruciating blisters I had received from my climb of Mount Lincoln. Finally, we were on our way and made good time to timberline.

    Once there, we saw one of the most beautiful vistas I had ever been to. On all sides of the gulch we steep mountains, covered in wildflowers. Off in the distance were the taller peaks, summits just barely layered with snow. Off to the southwest were the famed "Three Apostles" and their stunning views. To the Southeast was Huron Peak. To the Northwest was the tip of Sayers, and to the northeast were some stunning cliffs with some interesting looking snow climbs. We continued up the gulch and marched through the muddy willows. Thankfully, the progress was much faster than it would have been with snow on the ground, so I had no issues with the mud. after half an hour of trudging through the mud, we reached the base of a very steep colouir. It took us about 45 minutes or so to reach the top of this, and the sight that greeted us at the top stopped my heart.

    Immediately to my left (west) was a knife edge with thousands of feet on either side that lead to a very small peak. To the right (east) was a smaller looking gentler mountain slope. When Nicole reached the top, I pointed at the peak to our left and she laughed (sarcastically). It was hopeless. We had no gear with us that could deal with the kind of challenges we would have to face if we attempted the peak. I need to explain that this trail is not well marked as it is not used very often. It took us half an hour just to find the trailhead. My map also cut off about half of the trail, so I had nothing to refer to. The only way we knew we were headed the right direction was by the faint trail. However, the trail ended at the top of the color and we had no idea which mountain was the right one. Based upon my impressions of La Plata, I thought La Plata had a western ridge that looked much like the mountain to the west of us. However, the one time I read the route description for this trail, it had said it was nothing more than a class two hike and that there was a gentle slope after the willows. The hike before us was a class four hike (meaning scrambling and some technical rock climbing moves). I just assumed the website was wrong on the difficulty of the hike, just as it had been with Mount Evans.

    The mountain to the east fit the description, but the location of the mountain to our west fit the location better. What's more, there was a trail we could see back down in the valley that seemed to be a route that would lead to the top of the peak. It also looked much taller than the other mountain. We both groaned; we had taken the wrong trail and it would take at least an hour and a half to get to the top of the other trail. Since I saw what I thought was Huron, and it looked like the mountain to our left was the only one west of Huron (just like La Plata is) I assumed the difficult mountain was La Plata. We began moving across the ridge, intending to go as far as we could. After some very slow progress I stopped and tried to assess our situation. Even if we could make the top, we wouldn't be able to get down fast enough to avoid the thunderstorms at noon. It would also be very risky to attempt this peak which had so much snow at the top mixed with steep rock. This climb required an ice axe and crampons. I only had an ice axe and boots. Nicole had neither, and I had no rope to belay her up the rock hard snow that would certainly be at the top. Our only shot would be for me to chop steps into the snow and hope that would be good enough to make it up the steep slopes once we made it across the ridge. However, the ridge itself was difficult enough since there were sections where we would have to down climb and the climb back up a hundred feet or so of 5.9+ rock (a very difficult climb even with rope).

    I knew there was no way if we went straight across, so I looked back toward the other trail. We could traverse along the edge of the slope of the mountain and eventually meet up with the trail, but even that would be very difficult because of how steep the angle was. I turned to Nicole and asked what she thought. Neither of us were interested in a 13er (which is what we thought the peak to the east was), but neither of us wanted to go back empty handed. Since we were uncertain about which peak was La Plata, we decided to just try and climb the mountain to our east and hope it was La Plata. We back tracked and began our now hurried ascent. Just as I began to lose hope that this peak was La Plata, I saw two small figures coming down the slope. I yelled back to Nicole, excited that we could ask someone if we were going the right way.

    It took much longer to reach them than I thought it would, but eventually we met up. I asked if we were headed the right way to La Plata and they responded with a yes. I felt reenergized and almost shouted for joy now that we still had hope. They told us that the clouds from the top were starting to look threatening and that we probably wouldn't reach the top before the storms came. I was disappointed to hear this, but I wasn't ready to give up yet. We thanked them and redoubled our efforts to reach the top. We had a lot of time to make up for, but at least the summit was now in sight. Although the slope looked like a very gentle one from a distance, it turned out to be much steeper and rockier than it looked, and it took an hour of tough going to reach the summit. However, just as I came of the lip of the mountain, ready to yell in victory, I was stopped short.

    About a half mile in the distance and another 700 feet up I saw the true summit. We were already as high as the first peak we'd attempted and this next peak was much higher. It was undoubtedly a fourteener as it dominated the skyline and I could see people standing on it's summit. It just reminded my just how tall these 14ers really are. You always think you're almost there, but then there's always that last half mile or thousand feet left above you when you see the true summit. There were two more false summits standing between me and the peak. We had come too far to turn around now, and my resolve hardened to finish now matter what. I waited a little for Nicole to join me on the false summit and I could tell that she too was disappointed at the sight (beautiful though it was).

    We began the long walk onward, willing one foot in front of the other. I began to think in small increments, just setting small goals for myself. I focused on just one small false summit and then the two big ones, telling myself it was just this one more false summit and then I'd be there. finally we met up with the standard route and in no time we made the short hike from the last false summit over to the true summit. I stood there, looking out over the magnificent view of the Sawatch Range. To the West I could just make out the famed Maroon Bells and to the North were the true giants: Massive and Elbert. Nicole soon joined me and we celebrated with high five and congratulations. I knew we couldn't really celebrate yet, however, as the threat of storms were all around us. None had appeared yet, but that could change in a moments notice with the clouds to both the South and East. Nicole had a quick bite to eat, and even offered me a bite of her sandwich as I had forgotten mine. This is one of the things I love about 14ers. One of my former teachers describes it in this way; "it creates a temporary community. It creates a small group where people can simply be themselves without the pressure of everyday life." It allows us to be more open and creates greater friendships through the struggles a team has to overcome.

    After a quick chat with the other groups on the summit, we began the long hike back. I knew it was going to be just as long coming down as it was going up because of how steep and rocky the slopes were. The later it got, the more threatening the clouds looked and I began to have flashbacks to the storm on Bierstadt. When we made it back to the bottom of the saddle between the jagged peak (which I later learned was called Sayers) and the first false summit, we ran into a group of two men and three kids. They seemed to be going very slow and they had another hard two hours ahead of them. The man asked some info on the route ahead. I described the route but warned him that the storms were on their way. He encouraged his group to go faster, hoping to push them to the summit. I wanted to tell him to turn his group around since he had kids, but I knew it was up to his judgement. Shortly after consulting the other adult they decided to turn around. One of the children began to cry. I felt very bad since I had been somewhat negative in my assessment of their chances, but I had to be as it was not easy and they were already very slow and it was too close of a call to continue on with kids. However, the ultimate decision was theirs and they made the right choice I think. They began their descent and we moved on ahead of them.

    After a long grind down to the bottom of the colouir we took a break to rest our knees and get some water. We were somewhat safer in the gulch protected by the steep cliffs and with timberline so close at hand. With this in mind, and the fact that I wanted to wait to make sure the group with the kids got down safe, I dropped my pack and sat next to a rock and took in the views. Nicole sat down as well and we discussed our trip so far and other 14ers we wanted to do. It was nice to finally be able to sit down and relax on a hike rather than face the harsh winter conditions and hazards I had dealt with so much in my recent climbs. Whiteouts, avalanches, frostbite, severe wind, and lightening turned these mountains from strenuous hikes into mountaineering feats. But the true joy from climbing a 14er was from hikes like this: an nice pace with no real obstacles and some time to enjoy the scenery.

    I was half tempted to take a nap when a low rumble made me stand upright in an instant. I grabbed my pack and told Nicole we had to get down fast. I was afraid I had made the same mistake I had last time: we were too high for too long. We wouldn't get down fast enough, and as drops of rain began to fall, the lightening would be on top of us in five minutes. I rushed ahead, ripping through bogs and willows without even noticing them. I could feel the rush of adrenaline as I began to have flashbacks of Bierstadt. It was almost as though I could feel the static building up on my body again and hear the scratching on my backpack from the lightening strikes. But there was no lightening. Thankfully, we did not have the same experience as I had on Bierstadt, but we had made it back to treeline just in time. Once we were below the trees, I felt more relieved and we continued back to the car without incident. We congratulated each other and began to talk about other 14ers we wanted to do. Nicole had done very well as she hadn't done a 14er since last season. She was almost beating me up the mountain several times!

    Overall, this is one of my favorite hikes and probably the best way to hike La Plata.One day I hope to go back and backpack into that gulch and maybe even take a picture from Crystal Lake. Not only had I gotten in a CCU 14er (one of the 14ers the CCU dorms are named after), but I had accomplished 14 peaks and had done one of the classic 14ers. Ahead of me was the famed climb "Dead Dog Colouir" up Torrey's Peak. I had no idea what it would be like, but I knew it would take everything I had learned from other snow climbs to reach that summit.

Wednesday, May 27, 2015

Trouble on Bierstadt

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

For more photos, follow me on Instagram or add me on Facebook:
            drweiss2
            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.

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

      For more photos, follow me on Instagram or add me on Facebook:
            drweiss2
            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


For more photos, follow me on Instagram or add me on Facebook:
drweiss2
            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     


For more photos, follow me on Instagram or add me on Facebook:
drweiss2
            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.