I remember five years ago carefully studying a topo map of the Collegiate Peaks, one of those Nat-Geo topos. I loved maps, still do, and would spend hours just looking them over, searching for something different, special, worth exploring. As I scanned across the ridge, I could see the broad, hulking masses of Oxford, Belford, Missouri, Huron, and then something different. The Apostles were there at the far end, rugged and steep, apparently different than the mountains around them. "Ice Mountain, 13,951" was written there in the middle of the group, seemingly prominent among the others. I went to my laptop and looked it up.

Ice Mountain was absolutely different than the Sawatch I thought I knew. It captured my attention. You see at the time I was rather new to this mountaineering thing. It was my sophomore year of college at Western State in Gunnison. I was a wiry sport climber from Missouri who had come to Colorado to climb real mountains, and damn, here was a mountain. Naive and arrogant then at just 19, I decided I must only climb Ice Mountain in winter! If I only knew what trouble I had just gotten myself into. (I'm sure I am still plenty naive and arrogant in different ways now...).

The First Attempt: How Far?!

My first attempt came shortly after that day with the map in January of 2014. The road was impassible not far from the typical winter closure at the Clear Creek ranch, and the approach much further than I had anticipated. After barely limping into Winfield, my partners and I gave up on reaching Ice Mountain in a reasonable time frame and opted to scramble up some nearby peaks. We never even saw the mountain. Ice Mtn 1 - Me 0.

The Second Attempt: Siege

After that grossly underestimated first attempt, a fire was lit. I wasn't about to get shut down by the approach next time. So a couple months later in March, over my spring break, I made my second attempt, Colorado Expedition style. Accounting for the full length, winter approach from the Clear Creek Ranch of 17 miles one-way, I planned a 5 day trip to assure the summit. My team mate Josh and I skinned in pulling sleds with food and gear for five days of winter camping and climbing. On day 3 of the trip we made our summit attempt from treeline below the Apostles.

Josh and I made our way up into the bowl between Ice and the North Apostle, cautiously probing the snow as we gained elevation. Finally we made it to the saddle, the start of the north-east ridge of Ice mountain. It was absolutely terrifying, and after 2 days of brutal approach pulling those loaded sleds, we were beat. I stared at that ridge for 15 minutes and called it; we were in no condition to take that on, and far from any help should something go wrong. We consoled ourselves with a quick run up to the summit of North Apostle, tucked our tails between our legs, and began the numbing 17 mile march back to civilization. It was so close, and still so out of reach.

Attempts 3: New Tactics

The following December I was starting to feel a little desperate; this mountain has to be climbable!! I wanted another shot at it, but was having a hard time finding a willing victim to join me. About this time I was beginning to feel comfortable doing more solo missions, having just spent the summer soloing numerous large objectives around the state, and decided "Why not give Ice a go solo?" With the thin, early winter snow pack I thought I might have a chance, I could even drive to Winfield still and that had to count for something. Off I went, enjoying the "short" approach.

This time around I chose to enter the upper basin between Ice and N. Apostle via the narrow access couloir on climbers right of the major treeline cliff band. Once in the upper basin, I stuck to the climbers right slopes, directly under Ice's broad North-Northeast face. The snow was deeper and felt more and more ominous with each step. Something seemed off, wrong as I came closer to the runout of the Refrigerator couloir. I stopped. Weighed my options. Took note of my situation. Decided I just didn't have the margin for error here, and once again turned around. I'm getting pretty good at this bailing thing at least...

Attempt 4: Lost
I let some time pass and my pride recover, and by January of 2016, I felt ready for another attempt. I wrangled my good friend and long time climbing partner Ben into joining me, and we came up with a new idea. The North side had already stumped me 3 times, why not try climbing/approaching from the south side? It would save some drive time, as we lived in Gunnison, the round trip distance was somewhat similar, and the climbing might actually be easier from the south ridge. Once again, we never even made to the mountain. This is becoming quite the chore.

Perseverance

Ice Mtn, Northeast Ridge
~11 miles RT, ~3700'
December 12, 2017

It's been nearly two years since my last efforts towards Ice mountain. A lot has happened, alpine climbing in Peru, big walls in Zion, long days in the Black Canyon. I started work with ski patrol at Monarch last year and so my winters have changed since my empty days of college. Still I hadn't quite forgotten about Ice Mountain, it would hang over my head as long is it remained un-climbed for me.

So there I was, staring at a 3-day weekend with thin snow coverage in the Sawatch, and thinking this is the last good shot I might have this winter with work increasing over the holidays and only more snow to come. Perhaps I should give it one more good effort. I asked a around some, but decided for the second time on a solo attempt of the Northeast Ridge.

I drove into Winfield Monday night after work and parked where the snow typical gets too deep just after the town site. I was within striking distance. At 5:45 am Tuesday I was out of the car and skinning off into the morning. I just felt optimistic about it this time for some reason. The approach is simple for the first few miles from Winfield, past the Huron Trailhead, until you reach the split for Lake Ann and the Apostles Basin.

From here I never seem to be able to follow the trail perfectly, of course it's also always under snow and I've never seen it in summer, but I have sussed out 3 main ways of getting up to treeline from this junction. A) is to stay climbers left up the drainage on an old loggers road, however with thinner snow it is choked with endless fallen trees, quite miserable on skis. B) is to skin up the steep-sided and narrow gorge that flows out of the Apostles basin, but can be a terrible terrain trap if bad avalanche conditions exist - use caution. C) is to gain the climbers right side of the drainage and follow an easy, but faint trail, though I often miss the turn for this option. Today I chose B) and skinned through the gorge following some other poor soul's skin track. After the initial willow bashing it is actually a nice way to go...

Around 8:30 I had arrived at treeline where the cliff band guards the upper basin. Here I ditched my skis and donned my mountaineering boots, opting to not bother with skiing in the upper basin. So I hopped from rock to rock where the snow was thin, and postholed up where it was deep. For most of the basin I could see a faint line thinner snow and talus to safely gain the saddle without much avalanche exposure. And so I continued, though I could feel some fatigue and altitude beginning to take affect; patrolling all week had not exactly refreshed me. Around 11:00 I was at the saddle, staring up at the North East ridge. This was my high point 5 years ago, and finally I was back in a position to surpass it. But damn, was I tired now.

Funny how as climbers we can long for the opportunity to climb and achieve our goals, but once actually presented the chance our fear and apprehension can start to get the better of us. Things had changed a lot since that moment five years ago though. I understand my limits better now, and have more confidence in ability as a climber. This fatigue was merely a convenient excuse to turn around now, and boy did I want to at that moment. No, this was my chance finally, "don't blow it" I thought. I pulled out my crampons, ax, and harness, and suited up.

Save a few trip reports and beta I had read, the ridge was all new terrain to me. It starts out mellow up to the crest of a small bump, but then becomes more involved where you must then down climb and traverse across some slabs to a notch. Already the climbing was fun, thoughtful, and increasingly exposed. From the notch, the route continues up a small face on ledgy terrain to gain the ridge crest, however today the top 40' of this face was covered in snow, up to maybe 55 degrees, and made for some delicate moves just before hitting the ridge again.

For a brief distance the route remains on the ridge until you are once again force climbers right back onto the N. face of the ridge. Here I believe the route traverses across some pleasant, but exposed ledges till you enter the beginnings of the crux gully. Again, snowy conditions change the routes character. The traverse was covered in steep, wind drifted snow, firm in spots, and softer in others, all with an impressive distance to fall below. This, I remembered, is where Steve Gladbach chose to rope up (and rightly so) in the only winter TR I had read prior to my attempt. I proceeded with caution, delicately kicking steps below in the snow and hooking my tools above in the rock. Actually, I'll admit, I rather enjoyed it.

The traverse came around a sharp snow spine and into the beginnings of the crux gully. No more than 200' above was the summit, this might happen... I continued up, noticing that the crux section did not seem to look easy as I approached, but actually became as steep as I feared. Fifteen feet of steep snow, maybe 60 degrees, and I reached the start of the rock. It looked quite loose and uninviting for crampons and ice tools, but not dry enough to think of any other method. Obviously, this isn't a place to consider a fall... I looked around, it would be heartbreaking to call it here. Twenty feet climbers left I noticed another possible line through this upper cliff band, and onto the summit ridge, let's check it out. I traversed over and liked what I found, 15' of juggy handholds and hooking features with adequate feet up to the ridge, M3 maybe. In a moment I was up, fun climbing really, and I felt some pride in finding this alternate line.

All I thought now was that "I've done it!" Yet, a final unexpected hurtle remained. Perhaps I missed this piece of beta in my research, or without snow it is irrelevant, or maybe it really just wasn't listed anywhere. However it may be, I was caught off guard just before the summit at a final rock band/step in the ridge, just above the typical crux gully. To the left the ridge fell away into the southeast face, caked with suspicious looking snow that seemed far from trustworthy. To the right the ridge launched up into a blank overhanging barrier. A small cornice overhanging the SE face led up and slightly left to the only feasible weakness, a 10' vertical dihedral capped with more snow. Precariously I tip-toed up the cornice, kicking and clearing steps while hooking above. I got perched at the beginning of the dihedral, really only a few moves to make, and I hesitated, froze. I was truly scared of these moves, looking at the whole SE face below, and started thinking of retreat. I searched with my picks a little longer and decided to commit. It went (as you'll often find things do when you need them to). A couple minutes more and there it was, the summit.

I summitted at 12:23 pm, on December 12th 2017, some 5 years after I first discovered Ice Mountain for myself and began this self-imposed journey to climb it in winter conditions. I'll concede, to you purists, that this was not a calendar winter ascent, yet for myself I feel justified and fulfilled in having done it with a proper winter challenge. I spent 45 minutes up there enjoying it, reminiscing on past attempts and where I was in life during all of those efforts, and thinking of what the future might bring now? It was a cathartic time and a personal milestone I will remember for some time to come. Well, I suppose I ought to get off this thing.

Here's where I called an audible. The route up the ridge was definitely possible to descend, but seemed a bit contrived and there would be some necessary, "sketchy" down climbing, while there was potential for a much more straight-forward option nearby, the Refrigerator couloir. Why not check it out. I down climbed from the summit onto the west face, below the ridge, and got a little more than I asked for - steep, sun-warmed wet snow, and hidden slabs. What's mountaineering without some bullshit off-route action. Anyways, after longer than I would have liked, I hit the couloir notch and looked in. Not climbing down from here. Good thing I brought rope, well a 30 meter 8mm. I scrambled up the ridge 10', pulled out some bail webbing, and slung a large horn. I threaded my 30 meter and rapped in. It got me past the barren notch, but not quite far enough. About 50' below was a couloir wide wind drift with a 15' near vertical snow face to be navigated. I pulled the line and moved down 20' to an alcove with some decent rock. Here I pounded in 2 pitons, equalized, and began rappeling again. I made it just below the steep drift, but still very much in the steep upper section of the couloir. I pulled the rope, coiled it, and started down climbing. After about 30 minutes I was walking out from the base and home free.

An hour later I hit treeline, donned my skis, and began the "ski" to the car. After some epic willow bashing, log hopping, and endless skating, I skidded up to my car and called it a day around 5:30 pm. I was absolutely exhausted, quite dehydrated (I only took one liter of water for the day), and grinning ear to ear!

So that's my story with Ice Mountain. What's your Ice Mountain?