Mt. Sneffels - 14,150'

This trip report is more so a tale than a trip report. You see, there's nothing I can say about Sneffels' standard route that hasn't already been said in the route description and in other trip reports. It's straightforward if you studied the route. It's loose once you reach the gully. Wear your helmet. Watch your fall line. Watch others' fall lines. Respect the v-notch and the drop-off. Embrace awkwardness if your moves through the notch lack elegance, and if you need help to get through it safely, accept the help; I did. Once you summit, the breaths that have supported you on ascent will be carried swiftly away. This story is about the unexpected treasures that sometimes await us in our quest of heaven on earth. It begins as many stories do: once upon a time.

Once upon a time, the day grew dim and quiet. Subtle hues of rose touched the towering rocks, and the Tea Kettle was ready to be put away until morning.

Dusk brought with it a deep stillness, and out of it a lone deer approached us where we were camped as if to say goodnight to old friends she hadn't seen in a while. An almost-full moon graced the sky basking everything below it in a radiance of which the sun itself would be jealous, and under the guardian-like presence of Tea Kettle, Sneffels, Gilpin, and other stately friends, we rested our eyes until the wee hours of the morning beckoned us into its darkness.

As so many of us do in our cold, dark pursuits of the mountains, I wondered if I would regret cutting our slumber short in favor of the gamble of sunrise. Discomfort reigns supreme in these hours of arising when one is forced to eat for energy, to change into less comfortable clothes, to pull on stiff boots, to don a heavy pack. In many ways, it is what happens in the absence of light that speaks to the true nature of our efforts in seeking the moments and experiences that make it all worthwhile. So I forced myself to eat; I changed into my hiking clothes; I put on my stiff boots; I donned my pack made heavier with the weight of my camera.

There is something unique in being the only thing you hear. As we proceeded to wind up the road, the sound of our footsteps was faint, and our voices did not echo. For a short while, we were guided by the light of the moon, from which my heart was gaining happiness for the day ahead. When we reached the high trail and stepped onto rock, the rocks glowed and glistened, and now our footsteps sounded a little like teacups clanging together as we made our way across the rocky trail.

By the time we reached the gully, Gilpin had already claimed the moon, and we were left to be led instead by the stale and stark lights of our headlamps. Up and up we wound, earth moving and shifting little by little below our feet, loose and steep, until at last we reached the saddle between Sneffels and Kismet. Here, we would rest for a few minutes. Stolen glances were exchanged with the Lavender Couloir which, even in the meager light of our headlamps, we could tell contained fresh snow and ice. There was a slight breeze and greater chill now as we donned our helmets, additional layers, and microspikes in the quietude of the mountain. Though a vast abyss lay before us, the sky on the horizon was changing, signaling that civil twilight would very soon be upon us; we began to see outlines of other towering peaks in the distance and the brilliant star, Sirius, hinting of impending dawn.

Up the couloir we traveled navigating rocks, snow, and ice, and I appreciated the gift of these elements in adding to the uniqueness of the day and to the care I must take in every step. And with each step, the sky grew lighter, my eyes grew wider. Kismet came into its full glory, revealing of ridges and character, and the lights of the Bird Mine twinkled brightly below.

We continued upward, and at the top of the couloir I was distracted looking beyond to the northwest to see what greeted my eyes. I was reminded that I needed to re-focus my attention on the route if we hoped to attain summit by the time the sun would breach the horizon. Upon arrival to the v-notch, I wavered slightly by the realization of consequence if I were not to succeed in being careful maneuvering through it, and just enough moisture was present on the rock to give me pause. Alas, I swallowed my pride and accepted the gracious offer of help and guidance from my partner. Unlike everything else of the morning thus far, this was not to be graceful or elegant, but it was swift and effective. At last, we would reach the summit also to be joined for sunrise by a lovely gentleman named Richard who climbed the southwest ridge. Together, the three of us witnessed a gift whose imagery I couldn't have even conjured in my own mind if I had tried. This ordinary day would prove to instead be extraordinary.

Clouds, they captured the essence of the morning, while Uncompahgre and Wetterhorn greeted the sun. Dallas flirted with Sneffels' silhouette, and the Blue Lakes gradually appeared as pools of smooth glimmering azure on the landscape. I was happy to be a witness but sad at how fleeting all of this would likely be.

Soon, a multitude of mountains, layers, textures, tones, and shadows would fight for our attention but ultimately come together in an unforgettable collaboration of all that is good, wonderful, and true about this most majestic bounty.

But the clouds and the light, the shadows and the sunbeams, oh! Did they wrestle with discontentment. This way and that way, they fought with one another, smothered one another, in an ethereal scene that all words may fail to describe. I was torn. A good photographer sees the world through a lens; a good climber sees the world through an experience. I struck a balance of both, I hoped, in not wanting to miss out on one or the other, and in doing so captured the following image that is still, somehow, horrifically inadequate in comparison to what I saw with my own human eyes.

The fight continued, and sadly, the clouds seemed to be winning as we continued our watch, and we feared our time on the summit was coming to a close. In moments, the light went away, and it summoned us to follow; so we did. The clouds threw graupel upon us as we descended as if to shoo us off the mountain, as if we had somehow overstayed our welcome. Kismet's sparkle was snuffed out, and we, too, seemed destined to be shrouded in obscurity by the time we would escape the couloir, and the clouds would lay claim to victory.

But then as we reached the saddle - and as if a lesson in life and in optimism - the light began to fight back, and the clouds parted. The sun broke through and bathed the landscape calling forth brilliant hues of blue, green, copper, silver, and gold. It awakened the smallest of creatures and invited them into a new day. The light sternly prompted the clouds to be on their way, and the clouds obliged.

The light had won, and a new beginning dawned.