Trouble on Bierstadt

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

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            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.

Mt. Antero

Mt. Antero
Date Climbed: 9/12/14
Climbing Partners: Brad (dad), Rene (mom), Alysa, and Salix
Elevation: 14,269

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            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.

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

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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.

Mt. Evans

Mt. Evans
Date Climbed: 4/6/15
Climbing Partners: Solo
Range: Front
Elevation: 14,264     

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            Daniel Weiss

      "Would you be mad if I climbed a fourteener tomorrow?" I asked. My wife and I were sitting on the couch watching TV this particular Sunday night. We had developed a system by now: I would beg to go on a fourteener, she would be reluctant, I would buy her dinner or something, and she would relent. I think she was just happy to have the next day off from work, so she said "Yes." By this point, it was 10:30 at night, and I knew I would have to get up very early the next day. I got up and began to pull my equipment together and she went to bed. I checked in on 14ers.com to check the conditions of Mount Evans. Warm temperatures and high winds; worth a shot.

      When I say warm temperatures, I mean a balmy 20 degrees in the morning, although it was projected to get into the mid 30s by the afternoon. However, having been on a fourteener with high winds and cold temperatures, I knew better than to underdress. A thermal bas layer, a down jacket and hard shell pants and jacket, along with crampons, ice axe, and snowshoes to deal with the snow and ice. I was packed and ready by 12:30. I finally showered and went to bed, setting my alarm for 4:50 AM.

      It only felt like an hour or two when my phone woke me up. I layed there for about five minutes, trying to come up with some excuse not to go today; to just sit at home and sleep in. However, my desire to get in a fourteener after such a long wait was overpowering. I got up, pulled on all of my clothes and gear and left the house by 5:25. I was at the trailhead by 6:50 and on my way up shortly thereafter.
      As usual, the road up to Guanella Pass was closed about a mile and a half from the trailhead for Bierstadt. Having been up the road many times on similar hikes, I knew it would take me about an hour to reach the trailhead and then it would be a tough slog of postholing to the base of Mt. Spalding (A 13er just northwest of Mt. Evans). It was a quiet morning, crisp and cool. Although the forecast had projected 55 mph gusts, I didn't even hear so much as a breath of wind in the trees. The snow was firm and hard packed on the road from countless hikers and skiers. It was so hard, in fact, that I almost wished I had brought my four wheeler to try and cut some time from my hike. I knew that as the day warmed up, however, that I might had to wait until dark to get back down on it as the snow softened up.
      I made very good time up the road. I felt stronger and in better shape than I had in a while, especially at this altitude (I image in part because of the basketball league I had joined). I took a shortcut up some steep snow and managed to make it to timberline in about 40 minutes. Instead of taking the road all the way to the trailhead, I decided to take a shortcut that I had heard about a few months earlier, leaving the road at the second to last switchback and going straight for Spalding. Apparently a few other hikers had the same idea as I was able to follow their footprints for a good distance. Surprisingly, the snow supported me very well, and only had one or two minor postholes on the way to the base of the mountain. Because of this, it took me only twenty minutes to get to my intended destination.
      Just a few months before, in February, I had done the same trek, although I had gone all the way to the Bierstadt trailhead and through the dreaded willows up Gomer Creek. Back then, it took me an entire hour and a half to reach the same point. Even with snowshoes, the endeavor left me worn out and by the time I had reached this point, I had to turn around because of time and energy. I decided that I would need to backpack in if I wanted to get Evans in when there was snow.
      I decided to give it another go this time without backpacking in. As the snow had frozen rather well, I figured there wouldn't be powdery snow as there had been in February, and I was right. Stopping at the base of the mountain, I observed the next stage of my climb. I had two choices: I could hike up the dry part of spalding, meaning it would basically be a summer hike (which is much quicker) but it also meant traveling a good distance out of my way. My second option was to take the steep gully right next to the Sawtooth. On my drive up, I was favoring the latter, but once I saw how long of a climb it would be, mixed with the uncertain avalanche conditions and lack of a second ice axe, I decided to take the hike.
      I took of my snowshoes, packed them away, and began the hike up Spalding. Again, I made excellent time as there was little to no snow on my hike. Once in a while I would spot a cairn and breath a sigh of relief that I was on the right path. Every fourteener I had done so far this winter (this being my first winter doing this) had been an endless game of trail-breaking, route-finding, and avalanche avoidance. It was nice to see the familiar cairn guiding my way (I desperately miss summer. I love climbing in the snow, but I love the green and warmth of the summer). By 10:30, I had reached 13,700 feet (according to my watch). I had found some old ski trails that I had hoped would lead to Evans, and so I had followed them. I looked up and knew I was almost at the summit. However, as I looked at my surroundings, I began to realize I was too low to be on Evans. I had climbed too quickly and could see Bierstadt looming about a mile or two away. I was still too low to be approaching the summit of Evans.
      By this point, the wind was starting to pick up, and I could tell it would turn nasty in the next half hour, so I quickly pulled out my map to try and figure out where I was so that I could get up and get out. As I observed the map, I began to have a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that I had mistakenly climbed Mt. Spalding instead of Evans. I was on the northwest slope of a mountain, but the question was which mountain? Slowly, I got uptick a few steps to my right (south) and a giant rugged and ugly peak began to come into view just over the side of the slope. I bowed my head in frustration, realizing I had wasted so much energy and time climbing the wrong mountain. I put away my map and started moving as quickly as I could toward Evans.
      I would have to lose about 300 feet (which was the bad) and travel a mile or so to reach just the north summit of Evans. This may not sound bad, but when you get that close to what you think is the summit and then realize you've got a lot more work ahead of you, you'll know just how draining that can be emotionally and physically. My pace began to slow as I grew more tired and the snow grew softer. By the time I had reached the middle of the saddle between Evans and Spalding, the wind had gone from a nice breeze to a roar. The closer I got to the cliff on the saddle, the stronger the wind became. Slowly, I began to regain the elevation I had lost. I also began to see the cairns again, which gave me an energy boost, knowing that I could follow the summer trail. 
      By the time I had reached the last part of the saddle, the wind had become so fierce, that I had to take cover every few steps in order to regain my energy and warm myself up. Although I had been sweating in just my thermal just a few minutes before, it was now winter temperatures. I pulled out my heavyweight gloves, threw on my thermal and swapped my beanie for my windproof baclava (I had learned my lesson from climbing Democrat and the other mountains in that range). I packed down my backpack as best I could, set it next to a cairn and left it behind, intended to make a quick assault on the summit, praying that I would be okay without my shell jacket.
      I was less than a quarter of a mile and 300 feet from the summit, and so thought I could make it in less than fifteen minutes. What I did not see, however, was the difficult and exposed section I would have to climb in order to reach the summit. I am still not sure if I had simply gone the wrong way or if it was just much more difficult than the others had made it sound, or if the winter conditions simply made it twice as difficult as I had thought it would be. Whatever the case, I quickly found myself inching my way up rocks that were smooth as ice, with no dexterity (because of my gloves and mountaineering boots) over a drop of about 3000 feet. This was easily the most technical climb I had ever done, and I was doing it in 50 mph winds and no footholds.
      At some points I would be climbing up rock hard snow, shoving my ice axe in to protect me from a fatal fall, the next I would be taking leaps of faith, praying the rock I jumped up to would hold my weight and that my gloves would grip it. After 40 minutes of relentless climbing and route-finding. I finally gave up on finding and "easy" way up, and went directly up the face of the mountain. I made it to the summit very quickly, leaving behind my ice axe so as to have both hands free to climb the last bit. When I reached the top, I was greeted with an old and familiar sight: Colorado laid bare before me, with no peaks obstructing my view. I had reached the summit. I looked to my right and could see the south summit, looming even with me. I had a brief moment of disappointment, know that the south summit was considered the "true" summit by many (since that is the one most people climb up to after a nice drive up the paved road). I like to think that this was the mountaineers summit: requiring one to fight through snow and rocks over perilous drops in order to stand on the top.
      I decided I would stand at the top of that summit one day after a nice drive up the road with some friends. I took some pictures and quickly retreated down to get out of the wind. After 30 minutes of careful descending, I finally made it to my backpack. I sat down, ate a CLIF bar for my lunch and some energy, and began my descent.
      It was much slower than I expected. The snow was slick as it was wet with the warm sun, but still hard enough to support my weight, thus making it very easy for one to slip and slide down. I had to drive my ice axe deep into the snow to help balance myself. I also had another looming danger: avalanches. Although it was only April, the temperatures had been unseasonably warm, so the snow was melting fast, but there were still subtstantial amounts above timberline; enough to create large and dangerous avalanches. Although the route I had taken earlier was dry, the direct route back to the bottom of Spalding from Evans was still packed with waste deep snow; plenty to slide and bury someone. What's more, the snow was on just enough of an angle and showing just enough signs of instability for me to worry. This made for slow going, although I did finally make it back to the willows by 1 PM (a lot later than my hoped for 10:30 summit time).
      I donned my snowshoes and began the dreaded hike across the now slushy snow. A hike that had taken me 20 minutes turned into a grueling 40 minutes. Although this wasn't the worst I had seen, every posthole was agony both to my feet and my energy. By this point I had already hiked 10 or 11 miles and was exhausted. I could only move at a snails pace, mindlessly putting one foot in front of the others, focusing on the nice smooth surface the road would provide for my aching feet. I had seen no one else the whole day, which was odd as I had seen at least one other person on every summit I had attempted, even in the dead of winter. This too, wore on me, as I did enjoy knowing there was help nearby in case of emergency. From the looks of it, no one else had made it even close to Spalding the entire day. I was truly alone.
      I finally reached the road, and quickly descended through the mercifully supportive snow. I had one last obstacle left: the 1/4 mile avalanche zone along the road, and then I would be home free. I was apprehensive as the avalanche website had warned us to be on the lookout for loose wet avalanches in the afternoons near treelike, especially on east facing slopes (which was exactly where I was at). I quickly moved through the zone without incident and made it back to the car by 3. I gratefully sat down in the drivers seat and felt a flood of relief and excitement. I had conquered my twelfth fourteener and my first one of 2015 and had two more fourteener planned in the next 2 weeks. I was finally ready for life at 14,000 feet again.

Pike's Peak

Pike's Peak

Date Climbed: 11/21-22/14

Climbing Partner: Solo

Range: Front

Elevation: 14, 114 Feet

*This story is out of order, and I have skipped a few 14ers in order to write this one fresh from memory. I will include my first attempt at Pike's Peak at a later date.

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Daniel Weiss

The alarm went off early Friday morning. It was 1 AM and it was time to get ready for the specter that was the Barr Trail. Having already attempted this trail once before (of which I will write in a later post), I knew the long journey I was in for. The afternoon before, I had packed all of the equipment I knew would be essential to my quest. Having just received a new backpack and sleeping bag, I was prepared for the cold night that lay ahead. Unlike last time, I was prepared to bring my snowshoes all the way up. After reaching Barr Camp on my last escapade, I found that there was two feet of snow, and no discernable trail between myself and the top, forcing me to turn around as I had left my snowshoes in the car. I hit the road at 1:30, right on schedule. As there was no traffic, I made it to the trailhead just before 3 AM. This would be the earliest start I had ever gotten on a trail. Knowing this would not be the last time I would get an early start, I took a moment wipe away the knowledge that there would be days I would have to be on the trail long before 3 AM. As I hefted my backpack, full of camping gear including a 20 below sleeping bag, tent, and snowshoes, I buckled my waist belt and hit the trail. There would be no stopping for pictures and breathtaking scenery this time. I knew the trail almost to timberline, and so knew what to expect.

My journey would take me over the infamous Incline (or parallel to it), through what I called the Dead Forest (better known as the Experimental Forest), along the Long Traverse into Barr Camp, past the three miles to the timberline A-frame shelter, and the final three mile sprint (or in my case slog) to the summit. It was a challenge I both dreaded and loved. Having been defeated once already by the sheer length of the trail, only to return to “I told you so’s,” and “have you learned your lesson’s,” I was ready to put this mountain in its place. The sad thing is, I was probably less prepared this time than I had been last time, for two reasons. One: last time, I had anticipated deep snow and had come prepared, yet made the mistake of leaving my snowshoes behind based on the conditions of the trailhead, whereas this time I was prepared for deep snow, although the real danger would be the slick snow and ice. Two: Pikes Peak had been two weeks of preparation last time, whereas this was a mere two days. There was one crucial difference though: I was more determined than ever to reach this peak, even if it meant hiking all day and night.

            Unlike last time, I was also planning on camping at the A-frame, knowing that it would make a 3 mile, 2500 foot difference in my journey the following morning. I began at an incredible pace, feeling refreshed by the brisk air and excited to use my new backpack. I was also confident that I would be able to stay warm in my sleeping bag, as I had already tested it in the backcountry in a snowstorm the weekend before. Within an hour and a half, I was at the top of the incline, and was just beginning the walk into the belly of the beast. The city was becoming harder and harder to see, as it began to fade behind the first mountain. I began to feel very uneasy at this point. As a child, I had heard of the mountain lion attacks in Colorado, and had even encountered one once while on a backpacking trip in eighth grade. I knew they enjoyed hunting in the early pre-dawn hours, and a lone man walking down a trail with a backpack full of food was a fairly easy target. Even more worryingly, there were no cars in the parking lot, an unexpected sight as I knew that many who traveled the Barr Trail were often at the trailhead by 1 in the morning. This meant that I would be doing this journey alone, and could only expect to see people at Barr Camp, if that. Every few minutes I would click to sticks together and have a short conversation with myself, more to comfort me than anything else, although I had heard that loud sudden noises would scare off mountain lions.

            Thankfully, I never encountered any wildlife, and the trip to Barr Camp was uneventful. Almost too uneventful. As I saw the familiar wooden fence leading to the camp, I knew that safety and company were not far ahead. It is hard to describe the feeling of finally making it to a destination where the comfort of food, people, and shelter can elate a lonely wanderer. However, I had a real problem. The evening before, I had taken a sleeping pill knowing that I would have trouble without it in anticipation of Pikes Peak. Although I did get a good rest, it was too short, and the drowsiness brought on by the pill was still in my system as I walked the trail. Although I had made it to the camp in under 3 hours (a good pace), I was literally beginning to fall asleep on my feet. Too tired to be frustrated with myself, I sat on the iced over bench along the stream in order to decide what the next step was. Should I continue up to the A-frame and set up camp their? Or should I pitch a tent here as I did last time. I knew that if I pitched a tent at Barr Camp, my shot at the summit could be in jeopardy, as it was even longer from here to the summit than it was back to the trailhead, and it was at a higher altitude. I also knew that I would face much fiercer winds, no company, and a longer hike with a heavy backpack if I continued. I also knew that if I kept going, I could hurt myself, as I was so tired I was beginning to trip over small rocks on the trail.

All things considered, I opted to take my chances with pitching a tent at Barr Camp. My plan of attack had changed. I was not going to take a day to recover for a summit attempt. I was going to take a short nap and hit the trail when I was awake enough to concentrate. I knew that if I wasted a whole day at Barr Camp, it would be unlikely that I would want to continue up the trail as laziness would set in. I also knew that it would be very tough to have two long days on the trail with my wife waiting my return in Manitou Springs. It was all a mental game, and the only way to beat it was to go hard and fast. I quickly set up the tent, unfurled the sleeping bag, and fell asleep almost immediately.

I awoke to broad daylight and the sound of birds perched on top of the tent. I checked my watch and was surprised to discover that it was 9 AM. I had slept a full two hours, but felt as refreshed as if I had slept for eight. I quickly did a quick test on my stove (checking to see that it would work in this cold altitude, as I had just bought it and was hoping to test it again at 14,000 feet), and hit the trail. Snowshoes slung over my shoulder and fanny pack around my waist, my going was quick at first. It soon became apparent that I had made a huge mistake. My layover at Barr Camp had not only cost me time, but also energy. Because I had taken just enough time to get a quick nap, my body no longer had the energy it had had earlier that morning. Whereas before I had hardly broke a sweat over six miles, the first mile was arduous, and my breathing was labored. I had no energy, and only one energy bar with me. I decided to save it for the A-frame. It took almost two hours to reach the A-frame, a distance of only three miles. Although it was average to travel 1000 vertical feet an hour (mounaineer’s pace), I knew I could average 1500 an hour below timberline. I knew I was in for a battle to make it to the top. At the A-frame, it became glaringly apparent that I had come prepared for the wrong conditions. It was no longer deep snow in my path, but slick ice and rock hard snow. I did not bring my crampons and had frustratingly lugged snowshoes up 5000+ vertical feet for nothing. I hid my snowshoes under some rocks off to the side of the trail, along with my ski poles, and began my ascent.

In view was the great mountain, the summit of Pikes Peak. This mountain was my arch nemesis, and I intended to crawl to the top if I had to. At the pace I was going, it was very likely that I would have to. Every step above timberline was arduous work. What’s worse, I began walking straight uphill, following a false path. It was not until I had completely lost the trail and traveled several hundred feet up, that I realized my mistake, and retraced my steps back to the A-frame. I quickly found the trail again, finished off my snack, and began the walk up again. The first mile was relatively quick and easy. It was hard work, but compared with the difficulties I would face in the last two miles, it was nothing. Immediately after the first mile, and beginning the long traverse across the face of the mountain, I ran into the first patches of rock hard snow. After the snowstorm, which had dumped four feet of snow in just two days at our winter camp near Herman Lake, the winds came cold and strong. With temperatures in Denver well into the negatives, the snow stuck and did not disappear. The same was true for Pikes, except for the last two days just before my climb. Any snow exposed to direct sunlight for too long melted and quickly froze in the bitter winds that ended the week. Every step on the rock hard snow was rewarded with a slip, and occasionally a fall. At times, I would step gingerly onto a pack of snow, expecting to slip, and my foot would sink a foot into the soft snow. At other times, I would take a heavy step, expecting to break through soft snow, only to be met a surface as solid as a rock and as slick as ice.

I had absolutely no traction. Every slip would cost me precious energy, which would increase my breathing, and it would take me several long breaths before I could continue walking. My pace had slowed to what must have been only 700 feet in just over an hour. At the next sign, stating that there was a mere mile to the summit, I looked up and saw the roof of the summit house that promised food and people. I still had not met a single soul on the trail, and was very surprised. The conditions were warm and sunny, with only a light breeze and occasional gust. Tomorrow was promising winds of at least 25 mph, a day which I was glad to have escaped. I had expected at least a couple of people to be close on my heels for the last bit of the journey, but this late in the day it was obvious that would not be the case. I was on my own, and the last mile was a mix of the same rock hard snow and ice, only this time the snow was almost knee deep in some place, and the Sixteen Golden Stairs lay before me. Having read in a report on the trail, I expected the stairs to be easy, as they were something “I would never forget.” More importantly, I had also read that the last mile was little more than a “walk up.” I was severely disappointed to find that this was not the case. Having had such a long break from high-altitude, along with cold, a 12 mile hike in snow and ice, and the weight of a backpack for half of it, I was physically exhausted, and still had another agonizing mile left to go, over a very steep slope with tougher conditions than I had experienced thus far.

What’s more, the slope was much more exposed than I had expected it to be. On normal summer days, the last mile would be a trifle to walk across to the finish. But in the onset of winter, with higher winds and slippery slopes, that promised to carry you 500 feet or more if you slipped, I was nervous for the first time at the prospect of a climb. Knowing I had no traction, I cautiously began to walk across the last long switchback just before the 16 Golden Stairs. The extra effort it took to concentrate on each step was draining me, and I would feel my balance fading. Midway across I slipped on a hard patch of snow, and began sliding downhill. I quickly jammed both fists into the snow to stop my descent. Luckily, I was over some soft snow and was able to stop. I quickly climbed back to the trail, heart racing and breathing heavily. I looked up to the lip of the summit, knowing I had less that 400 feet to go. I shook my head, ready to turn around and admit defeat. Countless times on these last 3 miles, I had looked up, anticipating to see the summit closer than ever, and each time I was disappointed. Every time, it seemed as though there was no progress being made, and the summit would look even farther away than it had before. I knew much of this was due to my lack of exercise and climbing in the last month and a half. Whereas before summits seemed to be conquered in minutes, this trip felt like days, and still the summit was just out of reach.

I had no more physical strength left, and just to stand was to cause my head to swim. I was dehydrated and hungry. The sun was now behind the summit and I was in the shadow of the mountain. I had nothing left to give. I fell to my hands and knees and prayed to God for strength. I knew I could only conquer this mountain with His help. Nothing seemed to happen; I felt no stronger, and no magical voice told me to go on. But my resolve hardened, and I gritted my teeth, ready to finish this mountain on hands and knees if need be. I quickly assaulted the 16 Golden Stairs (which I will never forget, though for quite different reasons than what the article suggested). The stairs were almost gone, hidden by snow so deep, I was climbing on hands and knees. After what I imagined to be 24 stairs, I heard voices ahead. I could not yet see the summit, but I could hear the train and the people talking. Elated, I rushed through the snow, beyond exhaustion, wanting nothing more than to see people and eat food.

I must have left the trail at some point, for as the ground leveled out, I was standing on rocks, staring at the train platform with the tracks between myself and the finish. Although the ground was nearly flat (relatively speaking), I could go no more than twenty steps before I had to catch my breath. Before me were some tourists, taking pictures of the beautiful views. They soon noticed me and began taking pictures as I walked the last 50 feet to the platform. When I finally reached it, was so happy, I began to tear up. I had finally conquered this beast of a mountain, and better yet there was a train ready to take me back down. “Did you just hike up here?” Asked a middle aged woman, looking incredulous. I tried to resond, but couldn’t, placing my hands on my knees trying to catch my breath. “Take your time, honey,” another woman said gently, smiling at me. When I could finally speak again, I simply replied with a “Yes.” I turned and took a picture of my view, and a picture of the sign. And began planning for the next steps of the journey.

“Do you mind if we take a picture of you?” The first woman asked, holding up her camera.

“Sure,” I smiled. She snapped a few photos and asked if I wanted some as well. I greatfully accepted and handed her my phone to take the pictures. After handing the phone back, she asked if I was taking the train back down. I hesitated. I had not planned on doing this, and so had no tickets. What’s more, my gear was back at Barr Camp and the A-frame. I also knew that to travel back down, exhausted as I was and with sunset quickly approaching, would be very dangerous. I decided it would be better to play it safe and come back down the slope the following day. I told the nice woman that I did want to take the train down, but I had no ticket. Thankfully, the conductor was nice enough to allow me passage. Wearily, I took a seat on the nearest bench and just sat there, too excited to sleep, but too tired to do anything else. The conductor was also a very nice lady and asked about my hike. I assumed she had met a lot of people like me, who would hike the trail in the morning and take the train down in the afternoon. She smiled and gave me instructions on how to pay once I reached the bottom. I thanked her for allowing me to hop on board and relaxed knowing that the worst was behind me.

It took an hour or so to reach the bottom (fast compared to my eight hour hike, not including the two hours at Barr Camp). After paying for my ticket, I began to walk back to my truck. The plan was to check into a local hotel where my wife and I would stay and hop back on the train in the morning and descend the Barr Trail to pick up my equipment. Unfortunately, I realized I had left my keys in the tent at camp, and now had to walk a ten-minute drive to the hotel. “Would you like a ride somewhere, Daniel?” Shouted the lady who had taken my picture earlier. I gratefully accepted, and hopped in the car with the couple.

Unfortunately I do not remember their names, but they were very kind folks from Pennsylvania on vacation. I am still very thankful for their kindness, and they are among those who I will always remember from these journeys, along with the countless others who showed me kindness in my quest to conquer the Colorado 14ers. After dropping me off and wishing me blessings, I got our room and awaited my wife. When she and our sister-in-law arrived, we went out to dinner and I explained all that had happened on the mountain and what my plan was for tomorrow. “Please hurry down.” She said. She wanted to spend the day with me, and I wanted the same.

After dinner and a hot shower, I lay in bed, deciding on the next course of action. Reports were now saying that the winds were going to be a sustained 40 mph, and having been in high winds at altitude in the winter before, I did not dare face that unless I had to. After the experience on Democrat and the other 14ers I had dealt with only a month or so before, I knew that “a sustained wind at 40 mph” on the internet actually meant double that. Thankfully, I discovered the train could drop hikers off at the Mountain View trailhead, a mere 1.5 miles from Barr Camp (looking back, I wish I had known that sooner). I knew I could get my tent and other supplies easily enough. I now had a difficult choice to make: risk the windy and icy conditions of a summit decent, or leave the ski poles and snowshoes behind. I felt I had little choice in the matter. Tired and sore as I was, and knowing a descent is much more dangerous than an ascent, I opted to leave behind the snowshoes, and hope that I could get them at a later date.

The next morning, I called the train, hoping to get a later ticket so I could get more sleep. There was no availability, and so I was on the train at 9:20 AM, headed for the Mountain View trailhead. The conductor was the same one as the day before, and so we had a nice conversation as to why I was back on the train. If you have not experienced the Cog railway up Pikes, I suggest it, if for no other reason than the cheesy jokes. At the trail, I made quick work of the 1.5 mile hike, running into another hiker, Amy, on her way to the station to get a ride down. Having learned that I could also get a ride down, I ran to the camp. Once there, I found my tent (which had flipped over and rolled downhill in the night) and put everything away. I considered hiking up to the A-frame, surprised at how quickly my legs had recovered. But I knew that would add on several miles and hours to my trip, and now that I had an easy way down by the railroad, I decided not to miss the opportunity. I informed the attendants at the camp that I had left my snowshoes, and hoped someone would be kind enough to return them someday.

I quickly made it back to the station, and waited for the train to return. While waiting, I asked Amy where she had just come from. Apparently she had ran to the top. Astonished, I asked for the details. To have made it in one day from the bottom to the top and then back to just past Barr Camp before 11 was incredible. I had only just made it to the top by 1 PM the day before. I wanted to know how she had done it so fast. She quickly began to tell me of her other hikes on all the other 14ers. She had already conquered them all, and had done Pikes Peak a staggering 14 times. She had done Pikes Peak more than all of my 14ers combined to that point. I envied her. She began to tell of all the other sports she had done, including Ice and snow and rock climbing, mountain biking, and kayaking. She was a true mountaineer, and the first one I had met on the trail with a passion much like my own. I was impressed. We were greeted (the third time for me) by the conductor, who allowed me free passage back down. On the way back down, we swapped stories, and she gave advice as to what 14ers to do and when, and what days were best to backpack where. I soon told her of my experience up Pikes, and she graciously offered to look for my snowshoes on her way up Pikes the following Thursday. I was astonished, knowing it was bad enough to carry my own load up a mountain, much less someone else’s.

I accepted, and told Amy I would find a way to repay her if she was able to find them. Once at the bottom, we exchanged numbers, and I wished her luck on her hike. As I got into my truck, I gave my wife a call and we met for lunch at a local Mexican restaurant. This all occurred very recently, and I am still awaiting Thursday, hoping that Amy will find the snowshoes and return them. I will complete this story when I hear back from her (hopefully in the positive). As a side note, however, I would encourage anyone who climbs mountains to be gracious to those they meet. I have met some very kind people, all willing to sacrifice for my mistakes, and I hope to return the favor when I meet others in need. It just goes to show you that in the backcountry, things often taken for granted here in the city are never forgotten when real need is upon us. A simple gesture in a time of need is better than a thousand dollars given in the comfort of your own home.