We're not quite sure but, has Snowmass Mountain ever been done in winter in one solid push? If not, well it has now...
Mike predicted an 18 hour ordeal. He sent me and Abe a picture last week of current conditions and all I wrote back was, "gulp".
Sane people don't climb mountains and most certainly not in winter. Snowmass Mountain in winter is an insane endeavor, period. The remoteness alone is enough to keep even the local Marble folks away as we saw no sign of tracks or humans after the Co road 3 to the old frozen ghost town of Crystal.

Abe and I quietly pulled up behind a sleeping Mike just past the beaver pond east of Marble Friday night and enjoyed two hours of sleep for a 1 am go time. My husband Marc asked me Friday morning before work, "Why 1 am" I put it simply, "In mountaineering, some agenda items need no explaining."

So, at 0130 Saturday after a banana and one last cup of hot tea, Abe and Mike turned beast mode on and took off like pissed race horses up the road. Eek. I thought and reminded myself of the mantra that there is no pain in good company and so removed pain from my mind, besides, we three had some catching up to do about adventures past.
We were shocked that there were no tracks to be found and the snowshoes immediately became mandatory when Mike cranked the heat up a little more. Brisk as it was all I needed was one wool shirt, neck gaiter and my king fu fighter headband. Let the battles begin. The waxing crescent was no help but would have been good for star gazing but never mind we had a large chore ahead. Seven miles one way and 2,044' vertical to Lead King Basin, ugh. Not much was said as we romp and stomp our way by headlamp past the Crystal Mill and like good trekkers take turns and stomp separately for a hopeful good swift retreat out.

We all battle the sleep demons until the first obstacle presents itself. Avalanche terrain on the rough Lead King Basin 4WD FR 315 road as it courses north. Old avalanche debris was obvious and crossing this on snowshoes to me is like walking on concrete rubble in clown shoes.

Now deep in the Maroon Bells-Snowmass wilderness we see the first hint of day break as Fravert basin slowly wakes. Good morning Bells! Mike and I notice a shooting star blaze the sky then examine the steep hill leading to Geneva lake. Side-hilling in snow shoes in the dark sucks. Enough said. But no worries because sun up, chin up. Like chipper morning birds, conversation revs up and Abe and I solve great mysteries about aerodynamics. Solving such complexities is not recommended in a sleep and oxygen deprived state. During all our yammering about we startle either a confused dark colored Ptarmigan or some sort of lonely grouse and it will be the only sign of life seen all day. Six hours now and we've reached the lake but decide to continue to 11,000' for our first break to discuss how all the gullies to the 'S' ridge sure look welcoming. Should we do it?

Break's over and Mike is the first to launch but before we head up to the final shelf to the base of the mountain he stops and asks, "Do you do a self assessment for the probability of success?" "Oh yeah", I say, "Like how are my legs feeling and will I make it to the top today?" "I think about it all the time but never articulated it as well and so far based on how I feel, I'm 100% for the summit, how about you?" He responds, "I'm never 100%, you're optimistic." Based on his body language, I'm pretty sure Abe's also 100%

A little after 9am now we're at the base for a gear change into crampons and axes. We discuss how we love sharpening our tools, like a samurai or a master chef sharpening their sword and knives. The snow is as we predicted early spring like near bullet proof thunkness and so the 'S' ridge is a go! And we're off!

We all agree on the third gully from the right and precede delicately.

Only once about 1/3 from the top did the snow feel unwieldy and ready to give so we moved closer to the adjacent rock band.
We made quick work of the gully and soon were staring up at the remaining ridge. Whole lotta fun scrambling was had until we approached a crux with an unmanageable crappy loose rock jumble in crampons on the left and a snow filled slab no fall zone on the right. Wishing we had a small rope, Mike carves out the snow and made tracks for Abe and I.

On the summit of Snowmass now at 11:33 ish and I tell them this is my second year winter mountaineering and thanked them for the invitation today. I feel honored to be standing up here with Abe who just now completed his winter 14er Elk Range and Mike who is one 14er away from penning his name in the Colorado 14er winter finisher record books, complete with all the great traverses and most of them solo.

There are many adjectives to describe these two; accomplished, motivated, borderline obsessed but I would simply say badass, yo!
We both know Mike also wants to check off North Snowmass and it's like right over there so why not? A few summit photos, snacks and jokes and tired f the ever present winter wind we blast on over 0.2 miles to North Snowmass.

The views of Satan's traverse to Capitol is in its full glory. The views anywhere from here are brilliant with visibility clear and a million. Upper level moisture present as contrails abound. I say to the guys, there's no better perch and they joke back oh yeah how about a hot tub or on your nice warm couch watching a movie. Ha!

Alright now, how do we get off this thing? We choose to thread our way down the west side. Abe says, a good mountaineer displays her true skills down climbing a mountain as we three pull out every trick in the book to descend the west face. I think we invented a few as we front point, plunge step and what I call boot scoot glissade in crampons. The snow is radiating fiercely and the warm day creates generous descending conditions.

We were off the mountain and back at our snowshoe stash in a little over 2 hours. Mike being the transition master was first to take off, Abe a close second and I display how much I suck at downhill snowshoeing or as Abe says, slowshoeing.

Past the upper shelf we stop to get some fresh mountain water and snacks. We dread what horrors lie ahead through the willows. The warm day now trapped under a blanket of clouds creates heavy slushy spring like snow and we surmise it is the Boss Mother Nature and her gift for the superb quality couloir snow. Now we must repay our good fortunes.

Oh snow folly or foe, what was good is now a mighty slow go. Abe says snowshoeing is a learned skill and shouts up my way, "Sometimes making your own tracks is easier." He's right, but I still despise downhill snowshoeing while cursing my creaky knees and sloppy footing. Boo, hiss.

4 o'clock PM now and we finally reach the Lead King Basin road and do some avalanche cookie chucking, which is quite entertaining and fun to watch them gain mass and explode while screaming to no one below, "snowball". At least I think it's funny. Time to plod along.

Funny snow formations are all around.

Ten years later, we get to the right turn towards Crystal and Mike turns to me and says, "What does that sign say?" "1 mile to Lead King Basin", I respond. "That's the longest damned mile," he bellows. We concur and nod.
Still some daylight left and views we missed like the glistening river and frozen ghost town and eventually a short break at the Crystal Mill Powerhouse: a well preserved Colorado icon where we have 5 long miles to go. So much for succinct snowshoe tracks in because the warm day has us remaking those same tracks out. The unpleasant surprising undulating never ending road is slowly killing us all. Delusional and delirious at one point I actually think I'm lost and reluctantly pull out my GPS not wanting to see how far to go. I tell Mike, "I don't remember any of this and where the hell did that lake come from pointing toward Lizard Lake?" Mike says we don't remember because we were tired when we first crossed and we're definitely tired now.

Before the last never ending mile we take one last break and I plop face down and fall into a deep one minute sleep. It's the kind of tired that is deep behind the eyes inside my dead numb brain. The cold ground cools my thighs. I leave a distorted snow angel and ask the guys, are you hurting as much as me? Oh yeah they both confess. Our final trek as they warily continue by headlamps I'm content in my pain cave guided by the sliver of a crescent moon haloed with a dog eye. Finally I hear Mike roar with joy as we make our final turn down Co Rd 3 toward our cars.

We say our goodbyes to Mike who hugs me as he says you were awesome today. With deep exhaustion I almost cry a little. Last night Abe examined my GPS track and cleaned up the "noise" he figured we completed 21.3miles, 7320' vertical with a 1:30 start, 7am to Geneva, 11:35 summit, left north Snowmass summit at 12:25 and 8:10 pm to the cars. Mike's GPS was 24.9 miles, 7,223 feet and 18.75 hours, he was damn close.

All's well that end's well. Abe and I couldn't fathom driving home and crashed in the back of the truck. Abe was fast asleep, but the fascination would not let me rest. Stupefied as my mind runs wild. Did we really just do that?

To sorta quote my friend, I can think of 3 people I would have attempted this with, Abe and Mike are definitely two of the three.
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