Climbing 14ers in winter is...well, varied. They are always more demanding than in summer. Duh. But with good weather and ideal snow conditions, they can be reasonable if you can get to the summer trailhead. That last bit is frequently a significant factor and can sometimes double the roundtrip mileage versus the summer, which generally means a lot of travel in the dark on short winter days.
I've been slowly working through the 58 (59 in winter!?) Colorado 14ers. As of this climb, I've done 32, so I know a bit about doing these and have encountered a wide range of conditions, especially with the weather. In general, I won't attempt a winter 14er without a good weather report. Even then, it's unlikely you'll have stellar weather the entire day and I've turned back on numerous occasions. These are serious objectives and if you make a mistake high on one of these peaks it would quickly become a life-threatening situation. Hence, I'm pretty conservative.
While I won't try a 14er without a good weather report and good snow conditions, once committed, by far the most important factor is your choice of a partner. And it is here where I am very blessed. John "Homie" Prater is one of the most experienced 14er climbers with 600 ascents and more than 100 winter ascents. He's done every 14er in winter, many multiple times, and more than half of them twice. He isn't impervious to cold, as no human could be, but he seems that way to me, as I would never be out in conditions where he'd truly be cold. He's also got unreal endurance. When he went for the 14er speed record, cut short by injury, he'd done over 40 14ers in seven days. Seven days of nearly continuous climbing!
Dan Mottinger and Wes Thurman joined Homie and me for this climb. Dan and Homie did the Maroon Bells traverse, in winter, in a day. Wes is an accomplished ultra-runner and he's running the Barkley for the second time this March. These two are badasses, yet, there was no question in anyone's mind who our leader was: Homie.
Homie picked Dan and me up at my house at 2:30 a.m. and drove us to the Spanish Creek Trailhead (same as the summer trailhead) where we met Wes. The weather report was good and would hold for the entire day. When we started at 6:45 a.m., it was 8 degrees and a bit chilly for the first hour, but working hard kept us warm.
Homie led us up the "trail" which was entirely covered in snow. We broke trail the entire way, though down low, it was just a couple of inches of sugary snow that wouldn't consolidate. Eventually, we started to rotate leaders and the snow got deeper. We constantly had to deal with deadfall. Most of the time we could climb over it, but a few times we had to go under it and I was reduced to crawling a couple of feet. Staying on the trail was a constant chore, as it was faint to the point of being invisible most of the time. Homie and Wes used topo maps on their phones to keep us on track.
After two thousand feet of gain, we had to pull on the snowshoes. We had resisted as long as we could because of the deadfall, but once we were plunging consistently to our knees, it was time. Now we really had a peloton rotation going. The leader would break trail until they needed a break and then would stay aside and rotate to the back. Breaking through crust to sugary snow and climbing over deadfall made progress difficult and tiring. We were averaging about one mile an hour. Later, we'd all agree that none of us would have made it without the others. I certainly couldn't have made it with just one other partner.
Nearly every step of this adventure, up and down, was hard work. That said, the time I spent in the fourth position was heaven compared to being at the front. I've done winter 14ers with Homie and Danny where I never went to the front. It was all I could do to keep up in the back. But this day, I took my turn at the front. I'm sure my pulls were shorter than everyone else's, but I didn't skip any turns.
Finally, after four hours of near-continuous work, we got the base of a third-class ridge that would lead most of the way to the summit. A snow gully to the right was another option, but we wrongly assumed it would be brutal post-holing and eschewed it.
I took us first up the ridge, assuming as is usually the case, that I'd be the slowest and would need more time. I'd do this at each of our very short breaks as well. Taking off a minute or two early so that I could get a headstart on my stronger companions. I was concerned about altitude issues as well. I hadn't been over 10,000 feet since early September when Homie, Sheri, and I had climbed Granite Peak in Montana. I expected to get crushed after 13,000 feet.
I led up the first section of rock and along a flattish ridge. Dan took over and broke trail in snow up to the next step of rock. I went back into the lead here and set a goal for myself to stay in the lead until we hit 12,500 feet. Once there, I still had a gap and reset my goal to 12,700 feet. I was moving really slowly but very deliberately with little wasted effort. The rock on this peak is great: really solid with lots of good handholds. My pace was slow enough that I could maintain it and I just kept going. I hit 13,000 feet and kept going. Normally above 13,000 feet, there is no pace slow enough that doesn't require me to stop to catch my breath. But, remarkably, I found a pace that I could maintain.
I felt like I crawled the last 1500 feet to the summit since I almost always had my hands on the terrain. Either I was grabbing handholds or punching my hands into the snow. I think this helped me, as I had four limbs propelling me upwards like a dog. And my gap on the others wasn't shrinking but growing. How could this be? Dan was next below me and a similar gap stretched from him down to Wes and Homie. I knew Wes, despite his amazing fitness, wasn't a climber. He was uncomfortable on steep rock and was unfamiliar with the proper use of an ice axe. This climb was probably over his safety margin, but Homie took care of him. Homie takes care of everyone...
At 13,700 feet, the wind was finally making me quite cold. My slow pace wasn't generating enough heat. I pulled off my pack and pulled out my down jacket. Normally, I couldn't climb in a down jacket as I'd overheat, but with the wind and my slow pace, and my susceptibility to the cold, it worked for me. If Homie had pulled on a down jacket here, he'd have died from heat stroke. I'm an absolute wimp in cold temperatures. I've wondered many times why someone like me would do something like this. I don't have a good answer. It is only because of the quality gear that I have that I can do winter 14ers.
Once my jacket was on, I pulled out my $300 Black Diamond gloves. These gloves were a game-changer for me. They are ridiculously warm and have an inner, lobster-style, Gortex glove that works well on its own. They are very expensive, yes, but these gloves make my hands nearly as tough as Homie's.
I put on one crampon and couldn't get the other one on. The buckle was jammed with snow and I couldn't clear it. I gave up and pulled a Microspike onto my right boot. Below me, the others were stopped as well doing the same tasks. Before continuing, I made sure to eat and drink. Then I pulled out my ultra-light ice axe and headed towards the summit.
I kicked steps in the snow when I had to and scrambled rocks when I could. I hit the summit ridge and encountered a steep, knife-edged ridge of the hardest snow I'd ever seen. It was impossible to kick a step. With only one crampon and one axe, I wondered if continuing was too risky, but, duh, I had an axe in my hand. I laboriously chopped steps up the ridge. I'd hang onto the ridge with one hand, stand on one foot and chop away until I could then plant my axe and pull on it while I hopped up my foot. Thankfully, the ridge was short and I probably chopped only ten steps before I could get across to the fabulously exposed north side and work along a foot-wide ledge.
A short while later, I arrived at the summit. I sat down there but realized I couldn't see the ridge so reversed back about fifty feet to where I could sit and watch the others. Bundled in my jacket and my giant gloves, I was warm enough, though my feet started to get cold. I watched the others inch up the technical crux toward the top. I could see that Wes was probably at his technical and mental limit. Homie watched him closely.
Dan arrived first and then Wes and Homie. After some summit brownies, I headed down to stay warm. I quickly reversed back to my pack and continued descending. I glissaded the couloir on the way down but found it to be a heads-up descent as the soft snow layer was thin, and very hard snow lay just beneath. I descended cautiously, keeping my speed slow by digging in my axe. Despite this, twice I got going too fast and had to roll completely onto my axe and self-arrest. I exited the couloir about halfway down and descended the ridge. I wasn't sure anyone would follow my lead.
I got all the way down to the flat spot on the ridge, found a nice rock and waited for the others. I saw Dan descend the couloir all the way and then he cut back to our ascent track. He stopped above me and waited a bit before descending to me. We watched Wes and Homie carefully climb down the couloir. Wes didn't really know how to self-arrest and even being in that couloir was a significant risk. Homie would later tell me that he was very concerned that Wes might stumble and fall. If he did, he'd have to self-arrest and likely wouldn't be successful. But Wes has an inexhaustible supply of energy. And good concentration. He didn't tire and he didn't make a mistake.
Homie and Wes didn't stop when they got to us but continued down another couloir which wasn't nearly as steep as the upper couloir but was rock-hard snow. A bit below me, Homie's foot punched through the crust and he pitched forward onto his chest. Homie had only been using his poles and might not have been able to arrest his fall, but his boot was caught by the hard crust and he stopped. His foot was stuck so badly that he couldn't even extract himself. I descended to him and punched out the crust that held him fast.
Back at the snowshoes, I was once again ready first. I'd had more time to rest and knew I'd be the slowest on the way out. I got started. After a bit Dan caught up. Going back over the deadfall was getting trickier for me as my fatigue built. At one such obstacle, I got on top of the logs fine, but then fell forward. I put out my pole to stabilize me and it plunged completely into the snow. My arm followed up to my shoulder and I had to duck my head to prevent a face plant. Instead, it was a head plant. Thankfully, no sticks or stones were beneath the snow. How Dan didn't start laughing at my position, I don't know. My head planted and my ass in the air.
Soon Homie and Wes caught me as well. I continued on until I needed a break to drink and get out my headlamp. Dark was coming fast. Dan and Homie continued and Wes joined me in digging out his headlamp. We descended together and soon had our headlamps on. We caught up to Homie when he was shedding his snowshoes. We did the same. It was really dark now and we had lost the trail a bit. But Homie is a bloodhound when it comes to finding the track. He's led me out of the darkness many times and he did it again.
Back on the trail, we still had 2000 feet to descend and it took a long time. I fell to the back and was continually getting gapped, but Homie constantly looked back for me, making sure I didn't get left behind. Dan was leading and he slowed the pace so that I could tack on for the finish back to the cars.
What a great group of climbing partners. I'm a lucky guy and I'm acutely aware of it. It's gotten to the point where I really don't want to even attempt a winter 14er without Homie. He's my security blanket. But Dan and Wes were incredibly strong breaking trail and I wouldn't have made the top without them either. So, while I still need Homie to summit, I now need Homie plus a couple more co-guides.
Homie drove the entire way back. Both Dan and I volunteered to take a turn at the wheel. I certainly couldn't have done the whole drive but could have contributed an hour. Maybe. It might not have been wise because twice in the first hour of the drive home my hamstrings cramped so badly that I screamed out in agony as I tried to get them to release. If I'd have been driving... Well, I'm thankful for Homie's heroic turn at the wheel.
I was so tired on the final descent to the car that I could not imagine ever trying another winter 14er. But I still seem to possess the most important quality of an alpine/winter climber: a bad memory. As I write these words, less than 24 hours after the climb finished, the suffering doesn't seem so bad now. Maybe I could do another 14er. Maybe even this year. But only if Homie and Danny and Dan and Wes come along too...
