Stats
Round trip time: ~14hrs
Elevation gain: ~7500'
Round trip distance: ~14mi

I'm not sure who Mr. Wilson is or why he was important enough to have at least two fourteeners named after him, but I've started to think his ghost is haunting me. I've attempted to ski Mt. Wilson and its southerly neighbor "South Wilson" twice. Both times I failed before I even got past the trail head.

The first attempt was in April of 2012. I didn't get more than three steps from my car before I realized I wasn't going to get anywhere. I had severely bruised my ankles on previous 14er tours in worn out boot liners. It took a month of rest before I could get back out into the backcountry again, with carefully padded boots.

I'm not sure this makes up for the wasted gas money, but I did get this cool photo of South Wilson's impressive south east face.

The second attempt was earlier this winter. I made it to the lizard head/cross mountain trail head pull out, feeling fine and ready for my next attempt at the two Wilsons. The next morning I woke up feeling not so great. I pushed back the alarm one hour at a time, hoping I'd feel better the next time it went off. By the time the sun came up, I knew I couldn't get both Wilsons but hoped to get regular Mt. Wilson. I was hoping that my ill feeling was just from drinking a bit too much the night before, even though I was nearly sure I didn't drink that much, and hoped that it would pass with a bit of water and exercise.

Again, I took just a few skin steps across the snow and knew that I wasn't going to get anywhere. The day was shot. I felt terrible. I looked back at the car, about twenty feet away from me, and felt like I didn't even know if I could make it back. It looked like miles away.

Apparently I had come down with a stomach flu. The regularly six hour drive home turned into an 8+ hour drive home. The worst drive of my life. I had to pull over several times along the way, as liquids were shooting out both ends of me like a fountain. The entire way home, I stared into the fields and fantasized about just crawling out into them and dying. I made it home, and shivered in bed with a fever. The next day I felt fine.

That brings us to attempt number 3, on March 25. Third times the charm, I kept telling myself as I drove down to the San Juans, wondering what else Mr. Wilson could do to foil my attempts again.

I made it to the road side Lizard Head/Cross mountain trail head, on March 24, by late afternoon. I wanted to arrive at the TH with enough light to see where the previous human tracks lead into the forest, since in my previous two attempts I had never made it quite that far (Beside the highway is a meadow, and it is not obvious where the trail enters the forest. Fortunately for me, there were numerous tracks to lead the way).

With two hours of light remaining, I began to unwind with my favorite IPA and enjoy the early spring scenery.

I hope you don't mind if I take one extra paragraph to digress from my story. I just wanted to address a concern that a couple of my trip report readers have brought to my attention. So, apparently I've been slacking on my typical gratuitous alcohol references. Some of you are wondering if this is an indication that I've given up the sauce and become a "responsible" mountaineer. I'm pleased to tell you this is not the case! Although I have been cutting back on my alcohol consumption in order to not sabotage my ski tours (as I've sometimes done in the past), I still intend to carry on the sacred mountaineering tradition of starting and ending all tours with at least some alcohol, and I also agree that what and how much I drink is vital information to include in each trip report.

I'm also pleased to mention (ok, maybe two paragraphs of digression) that my decrescence of alcohol has so far been successful since I started at the beginning of 2015. Thanks to my invention of a day called "Sober Sunday," I had more alcohol-free days by the end of February than I had during all of 2014!

Anyway, I apologize for the lack of alcohol comments in my last few trip reports. I hope this makes up for it:

The next morning, I hit the trail at 5:45 a.m. and began following the footprints in the snow by headlamp. The trail, which heads towards cross mountain, was packed down by dozens of hikers, not all of whom agreed where the trail actually was. Nonetheless, it was easy to follow.

Around 11,000' or so, one has to leave the trail and bushwhack in a northwesterly direction towards slate creek. I figured with all the traffic on the Cross Mountain trail, there would be a skin track diverging from the trail. I kept gaining elevation hoping to find such a trail. By 11,200' I decided I wasn't going to find such a trail, and started the NW bushwhack.

The bushwhack was simple, unobstructed, and an occasional view of South Wilson made navigation easy. However, I did have to lose at least three hundred feet of elevation to get down to slate creek to avoid difficult terrain.

From Slate Creek, I made my way up the drainage towards Mt. Wilson's NE facing bowl.

Skinning above tree line, I discovered what the ghost of Mr. Wilson had planned for me. On moderately angled slopes, my skins were not gripping. My three tours old skins had completely gone to s**t. Orange fuzz was visible from the sides. I could barely maintain any traction. When the angle steepened in the NE bowl, I had to put my skis on my back and just boot up. What should have been an easy skin up the bowl, turned into a much more time consuming booter.

"Very funny Mr. Wilson! But ruined skins are not going to stop me from climbing your peaks!"

As I was booting up, I caught sight of two skiers a few hundred feet below me. They were moving pretty fast on their skins.

"Oh, so that's what you're up to Wilson! You want to slow me down so that these skiers catch up to me, forcing me to decline solo status. F**cking hilarious, Wilson!"

Determined to not let Mr. Wilson get the better of me, I decided to throw it into high gear. If I'm fast enough to boot all my own steps, antisocial enough to not make too much conversation with those folks on the summit, and then ski before or after them, I can still claim this as a solo ski.

As I climbed, I considered where I would draw the line. At what point would I concede it was no longer a solo trip? People have asked me about this before, assuming that I regularly run into people in the backcountry. The truth is, as I tell them, I usually have the mountain to myself during the ski months, and especially on weekdays. This has been the case for the vast majority of my 14er trips. The few exceptions usually just entail a brief hello as we cross paths, or sometimes I'll just see someone from a distance and never cross paths with him. It's surprisingly easy to find solitude on the fourteeners, especially when you have a flexible enough schedule to ski on weekdays. However, on one occasion, an intended solo mission turned into a partnered mission when I arrived at the summit at the same time as two other skiers who took a different route"I ended up repeating this peak to truly get it solo. Ultimately, I tell people that you don't need strict guidelines to know when it counts or does not. You don't need to set a time limit on social interactions with passing climbers or set a minimum amount of trail breaking, ultimately, you just know when you are solo"loneliness is an unmistakable feeling.

Just before I arrived at the top of the couloir, south of the summit, one of the two skiers had caught up to me. He thanked me for the hard work of putting in the booter and offered to boot the final few steps. I politely declined (breaking trail is all apart of the challenge of going solo).

At the top of the couloir, I chatted with him for a couple minutes and then with his brother when he caught up.

They headed up the south gully to the summit as I changed layers and stowed my aluminum crampons. The scramble to the summit was nearly completely dry.

I made it to the summit, just as the boys were ready to head down. I stayed on the summit for a little while for them to leave and also to consider possible summit descents. Unfortunately, there didn't seem to be enough snow for an ethical (or safe) descent down the north ridge to the north couloir, or directly onto the east face.

I ended up carrying my skis back down to the south couloir. It wasn't exactly what I was hoping for, but I figure if I'm smart with my backcountry skiing decisions, I will be around when the ghost of Mr. Wilson decides he wants his peaks skied again. For now I'll have to settle for Dawson's line down the south couloir.

By the time I made it to the top of the couloir, the skiers were gone. It's funny how quickly you can find yourself alone again in the backcountry. As I was gearing up, I saw two more skiers heading for and then entering the boxcar couloir. Kind of a busy day up here.

I geared up, skied down, and headed for the boxcar couloir. The entrance is to skiers right, below the south couloir. It is obvious.

The two skiers before me had apparently side stepped all of the narrow sections. Their skis were shorter than mine, and left a side-stepping trench too narrow for my skis to neatly fit in. My tips and tails hit the raised up sides of their trench. It was not easy making turns in this. Oh well, I've skied worse, and overall, the boxcar was a fun alternative to the lower angle east bowl. On the way up, I debated taking the boxcar or making fast turns down the east bowl"I think I made the right decision.

It was just a little after mid day when I exited the couloir. The snow was just softening up above tree line. Below tree line the snow was very soft but very supportable. Based on my observations, I assumed the snowpack would remain safe throughout the day and decided to go for South Wilson. But first, I needed to get some more water from the creek. This forced me to descend a lot further than would be necessary to climb South Wilson from Mt. Wilson.

I decided to ascend South Wilson's lower angled south face (far left in image 1). Although I assumed the wet slab danger to be low, I wanted to play it safe and stick to as low angle terrain as possible, and to avoid traveling directly beneath cliff bands. I ended up having to climb and cross a lot more scree than I thought I would. This was miserable and tiring. The scree was loose and I triggered a few small slides. The slides were no more than a hindrance, but the leg breaker boulders sitting above me, was cause for concern.

This is not an ideal route up the mountain. If you want to climb South Wilson without needing to get Mt. Wilson first, I would recommend cramponing up the ski line in supportable morning snow.

I made the summit, a little after 5 p.m., just as the S.E. ski line was falling into shadow and freezing over.

In spite of the frozen snow, this was a really nice ski. The slope is wide open, steep enough to be fun, but not steep enough to cause any stress (I'd guess the max angle, measured in degrees, is low to mid forties). For all those who intend to ski the fourteeners, I'd definitely recommend adding South Wilson to your list. It has a fun, aesthetic line and, in my opinion, seems well differentiated from Mt. Wilson to have the feeling that it is its own mountain.

On the bushwhack out, I tried to avoid gaining elevation, but I did anyhow. It might have even been easier to retrace my steps, gain an extra 300 vertical feet and pick up the Cross mountain trail sooner rather than later.

I arrived at the car a little before 8 p.m.