Re: Part II: Personal Blunders in the Mtns
Posted: Fri Mar 12, 2021 3:43 pm
Since winter climbing season seems effectively over and I have had plenty of time to sit around and reflect on this experience, I feel that I may as well share it.
Near the end of this past January, I decided I wanted to climb Evans from Guanella. It seemed safe to me, I was familiar with the environment I was going to be in, and it didn't seem all that physically challenging. I had some new snowshoes to help me out in the willows, I had mapped out my route as well as I thought possible, and I was going on a Sunday, meaning that there would be plenty of other hikers around in case something went bad. The weather looked good, and I went for it.
Things started to go poorly pretty quickly. I forgot my hiking shoes (nice, right?) and had to turn back to Boulder when I was nearly in Golden. Got them, then got stuck in awful ski traffic because of the late start. Arrived at the parking lot and started the hike up. I left the Bierstadt trail and immediately realized that there were more clouds than I had expected. Oh well, I just wouldn't get a sunburn. I took off through the willows and realized there was a ton of fresh snow I hadn't anticipated. I broke trail and exhaustedly made it to the base of the steep gully I had to climb, and then I saw that there was a ton of snow there. I went up and arrived at the top without a ton of energy left, but I figured I must be close, right?
I decided to check on the clouds, and it looked bad. I hiked for a bit and then effectively found myself in a growing whiteout. I should have bailed then, but I decided to try and wait it out. It parted a bit, so I hit the Evans ridge. The only problem was that I got on the ridge proper rather than hiking below it on the actual trail. Running on fumes, I topped out what I thought was Evans... only to realize that I wasn't even on West Evans yet. Sigh.
The clouds were building back up, and the traverse over to Evan itself looked awful, and I knew I was too tired to keep going even if I had wanted to. I turned around, got to the gully, and found that my tracks were completely filled back. I half zombie-walked/half slid down the couloir and made it to the bottom. My legs were hurting and I was alone and I was cold and I was tired and I was mentally kind of broken from being stuck in a bit of a storm at the top. Then I saw my trail through the willows had filled back in again. I made a really bad decision here. Instead of retracing my steps, I decided on a new route that seemed more direct and easier to follow. Oops. After postholing in absolutely diabolical snow up to my hips for about an hour, I was almost too tired to carry on. At one point, I unknowingly stepped through a thin sheet of ice and directly into some freezing cold water. That was a nice addition to the day. I finally made it back to the Bierstadt trail and cursed my poor decision making skills.
All of that was enough to make me really tired, desperate and sad, but none of it was bad enough to warrant its own post. The really bad part happened when I was hiking down. The sun was beginning to set, I was out of food, my water bottle was frozen shut, and I barely had anything left. In fact, I thought I had barely anything left at the top of the couloir, so I must have been on empty for a bit. When I came to the top of where that little avalanche bypass trail through the woods is, I couldn't find it. I looked for a bit, yet I didn't see it. Confused, I decided to just jump over the little fence on the side of the road and hope to find the trail. BIG mistake.
I almost immediately realized what had happened: the earlier mini-storm had filled the trail through the woods back in, leaving me with little idea of where I was. I wasn't sure what to do. I had made an awful decision, and I was standing up to my belly button in soft snow on a very steep slope that seemed to go on forever. I felt stuck. If I went up, would the slope slide? If I went to my side, would it slide? If I went down, would it slide? I didn't wanna move. I didn't have any energy to plow through the powder. I had no idea where the true "trail" was.
I decided the best idea would be to go downwards. I don't know why I chose that, probably just because it seemed like the easiest thing to do physically. I started going down, and it only got worse. I started to panic. Not like an "oh s**t, I messed up" panic, but a real panic. I actually thought I might be in danger of dying. I was paralyzed.
Eventually I managed to calm myself down and I aimed upwards for what I thought was the trail, and I was right. It hadn't filled back in, I had just failed to see it. I felt like a complete moron. Not only had I made a super dumb and obvious mistake, I had seemingly risked my life in the process. And for what? To dejectedly eat a frozen Kit Kat on a random point on a ridge while lamenting my inability to make it to one of Colorado's most-summited peaks?
I made it back to the car and I was scared, humiliated, and beyond tired. I considered the idea that maybe the mountains just weren't for me. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that the mistakes I had made were largely things that I could have controlled. More patience, more awareness, and better decision making could have saved me from that whole experience. In a way, looking into that part of my heart was a bit thrilling. But it wasn't the thrill that made me go back and summit Evans two weeks later, it was the fact that I thought I could improve upon myself, learn who I was, and become a safer person in the outdoors.
And all of this was from a solo day on Mt. Evans! Who would have thought!
Near the end of this past January, I decided I wanted to climb Evans from Guanella. It seemed safe to me, I was familiar with the environment I was going to be in, and it didn't seem all that physically challenging. I had some new snowshoes to help me out in the willows, I had mapped out my route as well as I thought possible, and I was going on a Sunday, meaning that there would be plenty of other hikers around in case something went bad. The weather looked good, and I went for it.
Things started to go poorly pretty quickly. I forgot my hiking shoes (nice, right?) and had to turn back to Boulder when I was nearly in Golden. Got them, then got stuck in awful ski traffic because of the late start. Arrived at the parking lot and started the hike up. I left the Bierstadt trail and immediately realized that there were more clouds than I had expected. Oh well, I just wouldn't get a sunburn. I took off through the willows and realized there was a ton of fresh snow I hadn't anticipated. I broke trail and exhaustedly made it to the base of the steep gully I had to climb, and then I saw that there was a ton of snow there. I went up and arrived at the top without a ton of energy left, but I figured I must be close, right?
I decided to check on the clouds, and it looked bad. I hiked for a bit and then effectively found myself in a growing whiteout. I should have bailed then, but I decided to try and wait it out. It parted a bit, so I hit the Evans ridge. The only problem was that I got on the ridge proper rather than hiking below it on the actual trail. Running on fumes, I topped out what I thought was Evans... only to realize that I wasn't even on West Evans yet. Sigh.
The clouds were building back up, and the traverse over to Evan itself looked awful, and I knew I was too tired to keep going even if I had wanted to. I turned around, got to the gully, and found that my tracks were completely filled back. I half zombie-walked/half slid down the couloir and made it to the bottom. My legs were hurting and I was alone and I was cold and I was tired and I was mentally kind of broken from being stuck in a bit of a storm at the top. Then I saw my trail through the willows had filled back in again. I made a really bad decision here. Instead of retracing my steps, I decided on a new route that seemed more direct and easier to follow. Oops. After postholing in absolutely diabolical snow up to my hips for about an hour, I was almost too tired to carry on. At one point, I unknowingly stepped through a thin sheet of ice and directly into some freezing cold water. That was a nice addition to the day. I finally made it back to the Bierstadt trail and cursed my poor decision making skills.
All of that was enough to make me really tired, desperate and sad, but none of it was bad enough to warrant its own post. The really bad part happened when I was hiking down. The sun was beginning to set, I was out of food, my water bottle was frozen shut, and I barely had anything left. In fact, I thought I had barely anything left at the top of the couloir, so I must have been on empty for a bit. When I came to the top of where that little avalanche bypass trail through the woods is, I couldn't find it. I looked for a bit, yet I didn't see it. Confused, I decided to just jump over the little fence on the side of the road and hope to find the trail. BIG mistake.
I almost immediately realized what had happened: the earlier mini-storm had filled the trail through the woods back in, leaving me with little idea of where I was. I wasn't sure what to do. I had made an awful decision, and I was standing up to my belly button in soft snow on a very steep slope that seemed to go on forever. I felt stuck. If I went up, would the slope slide? If I went to my side, would it slide? If I went down, would it slide? I didn't wanna move. I didn't have any energy to plow through the powder. I had no idea where the true "trail" was.
I decided the best idea would be to go downwards. I don't know why I chose that, probably just because it seemed like the easiest thing to do physically. I started going down, and it only got worse. I started to panic. Not like an "oh s**t, I messed up" panic, but a real panic. I actually thought I might be in danger of dying. I was paralyzed.
Eventually I managed to calm myself down and I aimed upwards for what I thought was the trail, and I was right. It hadn't filled back in, I had just failed to see it. I felt like a complete moron. Not only had I made a super dumb and obvious mistake, I had seemingly risked my life in the process. And for what? To dejectedly eat a frozen Kit Kat on a random point on a ridge while lamenting my inability to make it to one of Colorado's most-summited peaks?
I made it back to the car and I was scared, humiliated, and beyond tired. I considered the idea that maybe the mountains just weren't for me. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that the mistakes I had made were largely things that I could have controlled. More patience, more awareness, and better decision making could have saved me from that whole experience. In a way, looking into that part of my heart was a bit thrilling. But it wasn't the thrill that made me go back and summit Evans two weeks later, it was the fact that I thought I could improve upon myself, learn who I was, and become a safer person in the outdoors.
And all of this was from a solo day on Mt. Evans! Who would have thought!