Winter is alive and well above 12,000 feet in the Rockies. It is difficult to wrap my mind around this especially when, not three weeks ago, I was so sticky and miserable from the heat in Rome. One of the benefits of living near the mountains is that when temperatures soar at 6,000 feet, you can always get cooled off at 9,000 or 10,000, and it's just a short drive away. But sometimes the contrast takes me by surprise.
Luckily, I came prepared yesterday morning as I left the jeep around 6:45 AM and entered a chilly, windy atmosphere just below the Dauntless Mine at Fourmile Creek. I put on my winter hat and gloves and four layers of upper-body clothing. I couldn't even see Mt. Sherman anymore through the thick fog that swept in and out like waves over the peaks. It had just snowed the day before and there were swathes of it lying in rock crevices and north-facing slopes.
The wind was interminable and the clouds were moving so fast above me it was like watching a time-lapse film. In the rare moments the fog cleared over the long craggy massif to the east, I could see the snow spinning wildly in mini-vortexes over the tops of the peaks. "It's going to be brutal up there," I said aloud.
The fog seemed to get heavier as the morning drew on, the long-abandoned Hilltop Mine above me undulating in and out of view like the ghost that it is. I could see no mountains, just the barren, rocky landscape around me and ten yards or so of trail before me. Large cairns several feet tall helped lead the way. There were only two times I felt the need to pull out my map and compass to reassure myself I was on the right path.
I could hear voices of fellow hikers ahead of me. I met them briefly just below a famous snow cornice (only an obstacle in the spring) as we mustered energy to climb it. The cornice is the point just below the saddle between Mt. Sheridan and Mt. Sherman. Someone had previously created a notch in it so hikers could pass through, but it was anybody's guess what lay on the other side. I led the way and passed over to the saddle where the fog was thinner. Still, the tops of the peaks were elusive, peeking out only occasionally.
The trail was thankfully easier to see now. A hiker and his dogs descended and he stopped to share his experience from above. He had thick ice in his beard and his face was wind-burned; he told me the winds were at least eighty miles an hour up there. I don't know how to measure wind speeds, so I just assumed the worst and put on my nylon shell. I climbed higher and higher through the snow, meeting false summit after false summit. The higher I climbed, the stronger the winds became. I passed several rock outcroppings that were covered in ice crystals; from a distance, the rocks themselves appeared to be dark, frosty crystals protruding from a geode.
The final stretch was unbelievable. I followed a relatively narrow ridge and felt the need to walk in a crouched position for fear of being blown over. I've never felt winds so strong, even at the Keyhole of Long's Peak. Just lifting and planting my poles took a lot of effort. Ice crystals beat against my nylon hood, my hands, feet, and face were numb, and my legs were becoming so. I spent about twenty seconds on the summit before turning back, pausing frequently to turn my back to the wind.
I descended to the saddle rather quickly, meeting several people who were turning back, but about four who were determined to make it. The winds were comparatively calmer here and the fog was nearly burned (or blown) away so that I could see far away to distant mountain ranges.
I had just summitted my twentieth fourteener and I was pretty stoked. It was an accomplishment for me, a little milestone I suppose. Back at the jeep, I took off a few layers and put on my ball cap and flip-flops for the drive home. I looked up to the swirling snow at the top of Mt. Sherman and marveled at the contrast.
Something was brewing over Mt. Sherman as I drove along the 4WD road.
A view of the cirque beside an old mining cabin.
Mt. Sheridan, neighbor of Mt. Sherman.
Approaching the Hilltop Mine and cabin.
A long massif to the northeast.
The Hilltop Mine smothered in fog.
The cornice that had already been notched.
A view of a mining cabin from above.
One of many false summits.
Another false summit.
Another...
Another... (this is getting discouraging!)
Icy boulders.
A peak to the east.
The summit, just ahead, demarcated by the rock cairn and post at the top right.
On the way back down...
Panorama on the way back down. This may be very difficult to see, but in the center of the photo, on the saddle, you can see a couple black specks (people) and to the left of that, the cornice running along the saddle and the notch where I climbed up.
People on the way back. Some turning back, some going forward. Again, just above and to their left, you can see a couple people just above the cornice and the notch.
