Last to First -- Would Anyone Care?

Note: this TR (once I eventually get to the point) details my 14er ski finisher on Capitol Peak on April 30, 2022 with forum member Gueza (Eric Sangueza) and Krishna Gandhi. Eric finished himself a couple weeks later. Yes it has taken me a full year to get to this -- many apologies to to Eric and Krishna as I have essentially held their beautiful photos hostage for the last year while I procrastinated on putting this TR together. Their patience is much appreciated.

In any event, the reason they deferred to me to author this TR is that Capitol was my ski finisher peak and was notable as a "first." In all reasonable likelihood, I became the first to ski Colorado's 14ers utitilizing the telemark skiing technique, or the first to "tele ski" the 14ers. Indeed, "only" tele skier may prove to be a better descriptor, as given the downturn in popularity of tele skiing as AT equipment gets lighter and lighter, I suspect that no one will choose to repeat this project. I chose to do the list of 58 named 14ers.

Since Colorado's 14ers have now been (AT) skied, snowboarded and tele skied, I would contend that as far as ski mountaineering is concerned, my "first" is the "last" in the recognized snow-riding categories (unless, that is, Carl gets the snowblades back out and gives it a shot, or I do think that there is one monoskier out there in the forum ...). So ... "Last to First."

How Did I Get There?

But before I get there, a bit of personal history of my relationship with Capitol and how it shaped my journey. (Skip down to the skinning in the forest photo below to get back to 2022). And yes, of course, I know and I'll acknowledge up front and center so we can get past it: I am aware that "No one cares that I tele." For anyone interested in some 14er skiing history, I've also include a bunch of links below.

My history with Capitol goes back to 1999, when a few of my friends working at the Grand Lake Lodge and I (collectively referred to by GL locals as "Lodglings") made a doomed attempt at hiking Capitol in a one-day push starting with the drive from GL early on a Wednesday morning. I had made a classic early-20s male choice to stay up drinking beer until our departure time of 4am (brilliant decision #1), because I surmised I could get all the sleep I would need in the bed of John L's pickup truck on the way to the trailhead (brilliant decision #2). And rounding out the brilliant decisions on the '99 attempt was the fact that, for whatever reason, it turned out that only 1 of 4 of us had actually managed to pack some food for the day (brilliant decision #3).

We quickly adopted a "No Food ... 'Till Treeline" food-rationing mantra (set to the Beastie Boys tune of a similar name). I think one of the cool features of the Capitol Creek approach(es) from the standard trailhead on Capitol is that its north face looms over you virtually the entire time.

It is always readily apparent what you are up against. The presence of Capitol's N face is intimidating to say the least. No more than 30 minutes into our '99 approach, my buddy Will decided it would help to cut the tension if he dropped his shorts and taunted the mountain with a full frontal waggle and some trash talk about our hiking prowess largely forged in Rocky Mountain National Park (brilliant decision #4?). A few hours later I found myself hearing my mildly freaked out partners' yells to "turn around" from my position stradling the knife edge about halfway across it with deteriorating weather looming above. They had given up. We went home with our "tails" between our legs and promised to return together with some better decision-making. In 2003 (or 2004?), 3 of our original 4 returned, this time armed with a high camp near Capitol Lake, plenty of food and a humbler attitude. And this time we successfully, and very proudly, summitted.

Back then I had yet to ski a 14er and it wouldn't have occurred to me that anyone could or would ski Capitol.

Fast forward to 2009, when my friend Luke expressed his desire to try his hand at hiking Capitol and asked if we be willing to show him the way. By then I had over a dozen 14er skis under my belt, with half of them solo including South Maroon and Mt. Wilson, and I was feeling strong about my capabilities and at least quitely contemplating giving an attempt at skiing them all. Capitol, of course, is the major crux by a country mile (as Jordan (Jcwhite) had confirmed to me by then on the sideline of an Ultimate field -- "Just don't ever ski Capitol" -- advice he subsequently ignored himself not once, not twice, but at least three times). So I agreed to hike Capitol again with Luke with the personal goal of staring down the ski route and picturing skis on my feet. We spent the night at the sites below Capitol Lake, got an early start passing all other groups before reaching the climber's right work-around to K2 and summited without difficulty. It was a great day to live in Colorado. Luke was psyched to complete his goal and my overall conclusion, for what it was worth, was that the ski route appeared "not that bad."

Would Anyone Else Finish First?

Armed with that information, I promptly set my mind to ski the 14ers. And since I was a tele skier, my project would be, of course, to tele the 14ers. It only took (sigh) another 13 ski seasons to get there. During that time, I naturally closely followed the Colorado 14er snow-riding projects, including the continuing pursuit of "firsts" by Easy Rider (Jarrett Luttrell), XC Snowboarder (Marc Barella) and Brittany (then Walker) Konsella. Brittany was quietly and then very publicly beat out by Christy (then Sauer) Mahon to be the first woman 14er skier.

When I went through Christy's reports, of which I was previously unaware, I noted that in dozens of her early descents she was very clearly tele skiing. I also noted that later on in her project she had converted to AT skiing on the tougher peaks. Chris Davenport's very public 2006 one-season turned one calendar year project included Aspen young-gun tele skiers Nick Devore and Will Cardamone on a handful of descents. But those guys had much better things to do with their time than gut through the mental endurance-fest that can be some of the more meanial 14er skiing. Why would you ski Sherman, Bross or Shavano when you can ski in Alaska and BC?

Perhaps Christy would re-free her heel and make another lap? You know, good for the soul and all that? She had a good head start on me, or so I had concluded by then. But I was able to clear up the numbers and her intentions during a brief conversation (before she left me in her dust) while hiking up Culebra on Marc's finisher. I recall that Christy confirmed she had managed 33 tele descents (I was at 36 by then), was now a full AT convert for ski mountaineering purposes and wouldn't be returning to tele to repeat the more difficult peaks. I had also followed her husband Ted Mahon's project, including his descent of Capitol with Al Beyer via the (unrepeated?) Mahon-Beyer route. Al was on teles that day (infamously starting the descent with his skis on the wrong feet), but during that same day on Cielo Vista Ranch with the Centennial skiers, Ted confirmed for me that while Al uses tele gear he doesn't necessarily make tele turns. I promptly crossed him off the list of concerning competition as well.

Was is possible that I could win the (nonexistent) race to tele them all? Would anyone care (well, other than me)?

My first ski "attempt" at Capitol came in late May 2017, though attempt may be an overstatement. Gueza and I had a strong 2017 season going with success on North Maroon in recycled powder and Wilson Peak in "thin" conditions. We joined up with moneymike (which is strange of course becuase he is more of a solo skier). Moneymike had a "memorable" experience on Capitol from his last go-around and he was eager to improve on that. We had heard that the road to the Capitol Creek trailhead was clear and got a leisurely start from there. After some wallowing on a notable steep pitch on the approach, we set up camp, ran through some rope work and attempted to get some sleep in preparation for 12am start. I slept a bit, but I woke up nauseous and I gave up as soon as we transitioned for the climb to the Daly saddle. I promptly lost our track back to camp and stumbled around in the dark for awhile before finding it. About twelve hours later, I was happy for my decision as Gueza and moneymike returned to camp demoralized after unsuccessfully overcoming poor conditions on the ridge to the summit.

I wouldn't return to Capitol for another two years. For me, the 2018 14er skiing season ended before it started when I got a bit carried away on a May Mary Jane powder day and skied into some lightly snow-covered downed timber (likely uncovered before the storm) in the Pony cliffs area and broke my ankle. As I managed my way down to ski patrol at the bottom, I was certain the injury was bad enough that all of my training was going to be for naught. 2018 was a bust. This was especially concerning as completing a "first" had admittedly taken on deep meaning for me by then, and it appeared that I finally had some competition in the tele category. Aspen locals Laura Hadar and her partner Nicky Anastas were new to the scene and quickly ticking off descents. Laura was a former pro snowboarder, Nicky a tele skier and it was clear that they ripped, were highly motivated and had a strong partnership. I better get my act together and finish this thing. I guess there's always next season.

My fried Matt Lipscomb and I attempted Capitol over the weekend of May 4-5, 2019. By that time I had managed a Pyramid solo in early April 2019 and was down to just El Diente, the Chicago Basin peaks and Capitol to finish.

To me, the crux to skiing Capitol appeared to be getting to the top. As I gathered steep skiing experience over the course of the project, I felt confident in my skiing abilities, but was uncertain of my climbing. In terms of the climbing route on Capitol for a ski descent, it boiled down to number of critical choices, namely, whether to: (1) approach from Capitol Creek or Snowmass Creek; (2) climb the "Secret Chute" or go across the knife edge (and if the latter, whether to over K2 or around it climber's right); and (3) climb the ridge to the summit (mixed snow and rock) or the ski route (an east facing snow climb).

The first choice is often determined by timing, as in a snow season where one would contemplate an attempt at skiing Capitol, the road to the Capitol Creek TH is usually not clear of snow until late May or early June. The Snowmass Creek TH is basically accessible year-round after a short skin on a groomed cross-country ski/dogsled trail from a 4-5 vehicle parking area at the bridge across the creek.

Given our timing, Matt and I decided to try the Snowmass Creek approach after spending a Friday night in Basalt. We would put in a high camp in the Moon Lake area and make our attempt on Sunday. After doing the math for how long it should take us to get to a high camp, we got a leisurely start from Basalt, had difficulty finding the best place to cross Snowmass Creek (we dropped down too soon and bushwhacked through soggy willow patches), crossed the fencing into the Maroon Bells-Snowmass Wilderness and promptly lost the West Snowmass Creek trail. The bushwhacking was miserable, brief amounts of skinning, mixed with climbing over and under downed trees with skis on our back ... eventually we were driven down towards West Snowmass Creek and decided to cross it and return to skinning on the other side. That decision soon proved horrible as the skinning soon turned into high-angle side-hilling on bulletproof refrozen snow over the creekbed dangerously below (while I wished my ski crampons were actually being put to use on my skis). Eventually, the terrain flattened out and we crossed the creek again, rejoining the trail around where it splits in two for Mt. Daly. But our detour had wasted a ton of energy and time.

We soon regained momentum and began to witness some more of the carnage that was the avalanche cycle of early March 2019. Massive slides had gone full path and taken out mature timber and left it on the uphill side of the paths. We reached Moon Lake and climbed higher, putting in a very high camp below the Daly saddle. With the predicated relatively avi-safe snowpack, we had made the decision to bring a tarp that would serve as a roof for the makeshift snow shelter serving as home for the night. Just dig a pit in the snow, top it with the tarp and you're good to go. Or so the theory was. In fact, we dug the pit a little too wide, leaving cracks between the tarp and the edges of the pit and throughout the night even the slightest breeze rained loose corn down. Between the snowfall and a past-its-prime winter sleeping pad, I froze my butt off.

I had given much thought over the years to the second critical route decision above, whether or not to go across the knife edge. I had concluded that dropping into the Pierre Lakes basin via the One-in-a-Million couloir and climbing the Secret Chute that tops out at the far end of the knife edge presented our best chance at success. We got an alpine start and easily found the entrance to One-in-a-Million. The chattering ski down in the dark was gripping. As the sun rose we found ourselves heading up the Secret Chute, eventually transitioning to booting. There is a prominent rock outcropping in the middle of the chute about 1/3 of the way up. As we skirted past it on climber's right we began hitting rotten, unconsolidated snow. While the Secret Chute is south facing, my suspicion is that it gets far less sun exposure than we had anticipated. Our pace slowed to a crawl as the sun quickly rose in the sky. Because the Capitol ski descent route is primarily east facing, timing is crucial and we were beginning to lose the race. By 7:45, now about halfway up the chute, but unsure of our precise position because of its novelty, we did some math and made the call to cut our lossses and turn around, disappointed. The coverage on the crux of the ski route, a rock rib where the route transitions from skiing down to traversing across the east face, looked fantastic.

We made our way back down the chute, traversed over to the bottom of One-in-a-Million and made the climb out from the Pierre Lakes side to the Moon Lake side where our overnight gear was stashed. After some smooth turns back down to our sleeping/shivering pit, spirits were again high as we appreciated our beautiful surroudings and the psychological pressure of a Capitol climb was temporarily released.

We slowly packed up camp and enjoyed quality skiing nearly the entire way out, but managed to once again lose West Snowmass Creek trail on the way out. After one more bushwhacking crossing of that creek for good measure, we regained the trail as we left the Wilderness, found our intended crossing of Snowmass Creek and vowed to return better, stronger, [slower, older]. My season didn't lose any momentum and included once-in-a-lifetime full powder conditions on El Diente at the end of May and another once-in-a-lifetime successful solo trip into Chicago Basin the following week in June (TR coming):

So I finished the 2019 ski season with only Capitol remaining, but this time, I wouldn't return for another three years. But at the El Diente "trailhead" we had run into Laura and Nicky and quickly found a camaraderie that is mostly out there among 14er skiers, but not a given between Front Rangers and Western Slopers. Gueza and I gave them some advice on the ascent route for Wilson Peak and a possible descent route on El D. We also discussed my tele project and that Nicky, like Christy, had transitioned to AT gear for the more difficult descents. So I had that going for me.

Nicky had noted that I was on "old school" tele gear (75mm vs. NTN). A few quick words about gear. Over the years, there has been a wide variety of tele bindings to choose from on a spectrum of "neutral" vs. "active." Where on that spectrum a binding falls determines how much input (bending at the knee and toe) it takes for the toe of the boot to flex and energy to be transfered through the binding to the ski edge. Historically, the tele boot and binding interface was a standard 75mm asymmetrical "duckbill" toe on the boot (the same as the historical cross-country boot toe) that fit into the toe of the binding. The asymmetrical toe means that there is a right and left ski. Tension for the transfer of energy was provided around the back of the boot with a strap, cable, sping, or some combination thereof. This historical boot/binding interface was naturally very neutral, meaning it took a lot of input (ie. going into a very low to the snow surface stance) to transfer energy into the edge of the inside ski. It is generally also non-releasable. Around the time of Davenport's project, the New Telemark Norm (NTN) binding and boot was invented. The NTN interface is mounted under the toe instead of at the heel. NTN is releasable, has a "touring" mode, is very active and led to big, heavy boots and a very high stance. Naturally adopting a very low stance, I have always preferred a more neutral binding than an active one. In 2010, I started using Voile's Switchback binding, which is a sturdy, active enough but neutral 75mm binding with a tour mode -- I used them for my last 40 or so 14er descents. Voile is a fantastic ski company, run by skiers, with great customer service. As long as they keep making the Switchback, I'll keep buying them. This past season, I also ventured into their 3-pin harwire binding, which doesn't have a switch to touring mode, but I found to be right in the sweet spot of neutral vs. active for in-bounds skiing.

And to anticipatorilly address some questions, a few words about tele skiing in general. I started tele skiing at the very end of my first ski season in Winter Park (1996-1997), as a result of spending the season skiing behind a roommate who was a fantastic tele skier. He was an early adopter of "fat skis," which at the time were Volkl Snow Rangers. By the end of the season, I dumpster dove for some 195 Atomics and mouted them with a Voile "cable binding," which was the predecessor to this one still sold by Voile, minus the 3-pin. I quickly took to the sport and never turned back. If you have the ability to rapidly progress through the learning process to become an "expert" tele skier, there is really nothing like carving long GS turns through untracked powder. It is truly effortless and so much like flying. But telemarking is not a license to suck is my tele phrase of choice. In terms of the feel underfoot, I think the discipline is actually significantly more related to snowboarding than alpine skiing. Most folks I know that are proficient at both tele and snowboarding agree. That is, a properly executed and balanced tele turn provides the feeling that the skis are connected as one plank beneath you. You know the classic toe-side snowboad turn with one hand down near or in the surface of the snow? The feel is like that on both sides, there is no dreaded heel side. Instead it is as if you are toe-side, toe-side fakie (switch), toe-side, toe-side fakie, etc. The same is true on smooth corn, hardpack, groomers. However, in more challenging snow conditions, or if your technique is poor, tele skiing can be extremely physically taxing. Even the long, extended runouts that characterize backcrountry missions are difficult, as you must constantly be aware of the risk going over the handlebars. I have taken my worst falls on the flats at the end of the day. But I contend that the only way to be prepared for those blissful powder days or the ripe corn days of spring is to tele ski in all conditions, or your legs simply will not be strong enough. I have also come to love tele skiing as a means of navigating steep, technical descents (but I don't know anything else, as I have never ski mountaineered with my heel locked down). The body positions that one can assume without being constrained by a locked down heel are very natural and allow for precise ski edge positioning. I am pretty sure that my wife digs it too. But that's it for the why bother question.

Preparing for Capitol.

2020 of course was 2020, when traveling from the Front Range to the Roaring Forks valley to climb became illegal in late March. 2021 seemed jinxed, as every available window -- off work, partner(s) available -- failed to coincide with an appropriate weather window as the April and May snow storms just kept coming.

Since my hike of Capitol in 2009, when I first concluded that it was possible for me to ski it, I had only physically made it up there twice, but in my mind I had spent days, weeks, even months up there, as thoughts of climbing and skiing it dominated -- always providing motivation for seemingly endless training and fodder for insomnia during occassional sleepless nights spent second-guessing whether it remained physically possible. And with each year, the weight of doubt grew with the certainty that (cue Warren Miller) if I didn't do it this year, I'd be one year older (and maybe no longer capable?).

Every year the training took longer, required more effort and brought more pain but less results. One of my regular winter workout routines became skinning at Mary Jane with large amounts of water on my back and dumping the water at the top before skiing down. These water carries were aimed solely at the goal of building strength to manage the longer 14er approaches that for me required a heavy pack and an overnight (Pyramid, Chicago Basin, Capitol) so that I wouldn't be sore for the following day's summit attempt and ski descent. The most efficient skinning route at Mary Jane is to climb the run Sleeper. I would carry one of those office cooler 5 gallon jugs (or more, sometimes as much as 8 gallons, with a gallon in each outside side pocket of my pack) and dump the water in a batch of trees about 20 yards from where the Challenger lift tops out. The C-Chair lift hovers over portions of the route and performing such a foreign activity in a very public forum regularly invited heckling from the passersby above. The most common comment -- "You're going the wrong way!" -- which I'd always quickly shut down with the response -- "I'm going the same way as you!" One critic, believing he knew much more about proper in-bounds skinning found it important to loudly, repeatedly and hysterically point out that there was no way I could ever drink that much water. Sigh.

Anyways, one morning I reached my water dumping spot and fell into my routine: drop the pack, pull out the big jug, turn it over in the stand of trees and begin ripping skins to the sound of glug, glug, glug. I noticed that two older couples who had just dismounted the lift were watching me with couriosity. Now, one expects a certain level of sophistication from those that ride the C-Chair as it services (as one might guess) challenging terrain. I continued my routine and noticed that one dude was skiing over to me as the water jug continued to glug glug its contents.

Older dude: "Wow, that must weigh a ton."

"Well, you know, its about 8 lbs a gallon, so 5 gallons is about 40 lbs or so."

[Long pause.]

"And you're doing it just to water the trees?"

[Short pause (is this really happening?), smile.]

"Just trying to do my part." By then, his wife and the other couple had skied up to join the conversation.

His wife: "We want you to know that we really do appreciate what you're doing here!"

Amazing. Though a bit confused, they cared that I tele'd!

But seriously, I tried to leave no stone unturned when it came to preparing myself for Capitol. One benefit of the passage of time was that my family became more directly involved. With our two boys, William and Alex (then 10 and 6) in Winter Park's 2022 competition center program, I did countless Sunday water carries, now mostly at WP. My wife Kathleen often joined in on the Sunday skinning routine, adding a new, welcome shared activity to our relationship (and demonstrating in no uncertain terms that she cared!). Additionally, in late January 2022, our family headed to Snowmass for a long weekend at an old classic ski-in-ski-out. Hoping to avoid the West Snowmass Creek bushwhack from 2019 and noting that SnowAlien (Natalie Moran) had just been up there on her winter finisher, on one morning of our trip I snuck away with an alpine start and hiked up the trail a few miles just so that I could record a gpx track for future use (if anyone wants to avoid a possible bushwhack, that gpx is attached to this TR). Previously too young to really understand where I was going and what I was doing when I left to ski 14ers, the boys were now old enough to sort of understand what I was attempting to accomplish and never had a shortage of questions about Capitol. For what it was worth, from the Snowmass ski area I was able to point out the peak and where I went on my morning tour and why.

Carl even tried to find me another potential partner, introducing me by text to his neighbor and frequent partner in crime, Krishna. I figured it was a good idea to have at least spent some time in a skintrack together before heading out for an objective like Capitol. Krishna is also a father of two and our schedules never aligned. One reason was to make sure he would be patient enough to put up with my slow hiking pace. But based upon Carl's recommendation, I kept him in the back of my mind as the spring skiing season began.

Things started to look good for the last week of April -- time off work, potential partners, weather forecast, snow conditions -- all the factors were beginning to align. One problem that I was considering was that I hadn't skied anything steep for quite some time. On Sunday, April 24, I headed to A Basin with the sole purpose of finding the thinnest snow conditions possible in the Steep Gullies to double check that my steep skiing remained dialed. On the first lap, I ended up opening the terrain with the ski patroler charged with that task for the day. We leapfrogged each other down one of the gullies and parted ways at the bottom. Brimming with confidence, I hiked back to the Pali lift intent on a second lap and chose another gully further skier's left. While transitioning to the skin I messed with my phone a bit and when I turned around I was suprised to find Eric, who had not yet committed to the Capitol trip, also transitioning. WTF? Without comparing notes, Eric and I had decided on the same confidence booster/steep skiing check in the Steep Gullies. We took that as a good sign, skied together for a few more hours, including hiking the East Wall for more thin conditions, and determined: Let's do this thing.

It looked like there would be a good window either Friday, April 29 or Saturday, April 30. The most concerning issue was the wind forecast. Work schedules appeared to be clear to go for either window. But before confirming with Krishna I had to have a heart to heart about climbing pace. While I knew Eric had become accustomed to my slow pace, I didn't want group dynamics to be thrown off. A quick call with Krishna and I felt good to go.

April 28, 2022 - April 30, 2022 -- Pristine Conditions and Success on Capitol Peak

Eric and I met Krishna for the first time at his self-modded trailhead vehicle at the Wooly Mammoth park-and-ride. I'll admit, jumping in a windowless van with a stranger with the goal of skiing a remote, objectively dangerous 14er together is a strange activity. However, there was some historical precedent for such activity set by pioletski (Matt Kamper), who first met Jordan and Jarrett on the way up Capitol. So by 1pm on Thursday the three of us were headed to the Roarking Forks with the plan to spent the night in Basalt, do the approach hike to Moon Lake on Friday and attempt a summit on Saturday.

We got a leisurely start from the winter Snowmass Creek trailhead and quickly encountered the standard frustrating mix of snow and dirt, skis on, skis off, skis on dirt, skis on rocks, skis on packs that tends to be par for the course for 14er skiing. Of course the type 2 fun is excentuated by packs heavy with overnight gear.

Mine was an extra 5 lbs or so heavier with the cheapo waders I had brought for the Snowmass Creek crossing -- like I said, no stone unturned in the prep game.

Using waders for such a small creek crossing was super goofy, but effective ...

I ditched the waders in a willow tree for the return trip and donned trailrunners for the extended dryland component of the approach.

I recognized the terrain from my routefinding mission in January and we easily stayed on the trail up West Snowmass Creek with no bushwhacking. In general, the key is to head up the second gully after the gate and when in doubt trend climber's right, resisting the urge to trend left. Once we crossed the little feeder creek that comes from climber's right, we found mostly quality skinning conditions, with at least one notable exception:

We skirted Moon Lake on climber's right and skinned up the heawall above it into the first shoulder of the basin between Daly and K2. Heading into the approach, I had lobbied for setting up camp at about 12,400 ft. around where Matt and I had done in 2019. Eric and Krishna found a good spot at about 12,100 ft. in some rocks climber's right of the basin and by the time I caught up to them it was clear they were done with the approach portion of the trip.

We quickly set ourselves to the tasks of snow camping: digging out tent platforms, pitching tents (we each brought our own), blowing up sleeping pads, building wind breaks with snow blocks, cooking, eating, hydrating and the ever-present one -- generating water by melting the abundant frozen resources at hand. An friendly disagreement ensued about whether it was more efficient to melt ice or snow. Their theory: ice. Mine: snow, as long as once you had a boil going, you kept it up. I recall they claimed their was based on science, I claimed mine was based upon personal experience. Testing began: Jet-Boil with ice versus Pocket Rocket with snow. The Pocket Rocket lost miserably, but I contend that the testing was horribly flawed due to the fact that I (so much for experience), more than once, accidentally kicked over my pot of water and had to start over. It had been a full three years since I had spent a night out in the snow and my skills were rusty to say the least. There is an outside chance that there may have been some nervous energy contributing to my clumsiness as well. I can't imagine Krishna was feeling confident about his brand new partner's competence (What did you get me into here, Carl?).

As we finished our dinners, the forecasted winds began to build and, after making some last-minute structural additions to our wind breaks, we escaped to our tents. We had previously discussed potential start times and I was adamant that the slightly lower camp spot would add about an hour to my computations, which meant one hour less "sleep." Have I mentioned that I have grown slow with advancing age? Over the years, the uphill pace I need to sustain in order to have enough legs left for the ski down has slowed to a crawl. However, it has become very predictable and I can generally look at a map and estimate, with good precision, how long a ski mountaineering climb will take me. I just adjust for it through very early start times. My pace was our rate limiting step, but Krishna had agreed to accomodate it, and over the years Eric had become accustomed to it. Based upon the snow conditions we encountered on the approach hike, we had agreed to try going across the knife edge and traversing around K2 as a opposed to going over it. Thus, the goal was to be at the start of the knife edge by ambient light, which occurs about 30 minutes before sunrise. I estimated that route would take me 4 hours. So, with a 6:05am sunrise, we agreed on 12:30am alarms and a departure goal of 1:30am.

The wind howled throughout the evening, with a couple of gusts that challenged the structural integrity of the tents. At least in my tent, not much sleep was had. We each rose before or with our alarms, cooked up some coffee and readied ourselves for the climb. The night sky was absolutely clear and the air was frigid:

We were able to set a reasonable skin track on refrozen snow that didn't require too much in the way of switchbacks until about 12,800.

Eric and Krishna slowly but steadily pulled away from me and then waited to regroup near the west ridge of K2 at about 13,300, where they had transitioned to crampons. By the time I caught them, they were ready to get moving again in order to stay warm. They left me to transitition on my own as they started the traverse around to the right to get to the north ridge of K2 and then work around it counterclockwise in an ascending traverse to the knife edge.

When I reached K2's north ridge I could see their headlamps lit up across the K2 traverse on nearly vertical terrain and I was hit by a stiff, bitter wind from the west. Things were about to get very real very fast in mixed terrain of rock, snow and ice. Snow loaded sloped spliced by three or four exposed rock ribs. Every foot, hand and axe placement from here on out would need to be deliberate and solid. The immediate focus brought on by that climbing was incredible.

I eventually caught Eric and Krishna one of the ribs running vertically up K2. Past that rib there appeared to be a loaded pillow and we concluded that we should use the safety afforded by the rock rib to get above it and past what we treated as an avalanche starting zone.

This work-around proved to be the crux of the traverse around K2 (and really the climbing overall). Eric did an amazing job of slowly, methodically working his way up the more wintery snow and Krishna and I followed. During the traffic jam of sort caused by the need to take extra care, we piled on every layer in our bags and wished we had at least one more. After working our way around the crux, I was able to keep up with their pace and we settled in to working as a team of three for the remainder of the climb.

We reached the start of the knife edge at about 5:25am, or about ten minutes before ambient light and just barely ahead of schedule. We tightly huddled together, got down some food and drink and discussed the bomber conditions.

At first light, we started to work our way across the knife edge and found perfect refrozen spring snow and respite from the wind on the east side of the ridge:

The climbing on the knife was fantastic. Every kick into east-facing snow was solid and there always seemed to be a solid placement available when atop the ridge or on the west side.

The wind kept cranking and there was perhaps a 30 degree difference between being below the ridge on the east side, versus on top of or on the west side of the ridge.

Over the years, Eric and I had spent probably hours repeatedly discussing the pros and cons of taking the ridge all the way to the summit, versus booting up the ski route across the east face and regaining the ridge just short of the summit. Of the many groups that had skied Capitol by now, the Carl/Marc/Bean group in June 2010 was the only one we knew of that avoided the ridge route. We of course retrod the topic again and again during the hours of the drive, the approach, at camp the night before and while we waited for first light before the knife edge. We agreed that depending upon what we found on the east side of the knife edge and what we saw once past it, we would make the call.

Given the solid snow conditions we found on the knife edge, we felt confident in about the decision to climb the ski route, with an ascending traversing out onto the east face. Eric continued to lead, carefully putting in a booter as the temperature steadily rose:

The ski route also yielded solid climbing conditions. So long as we were efficient, choosing that route over the ridge also gave us the added safety advantage of inspecting and assessing the ski conditions for the trip down. Even the ski route crux, which prior groups often reported to be rotten and unconsolidated near and around the dark-colored rock, was bomber.

The confidence-inspiring climbing conditions and prospect of quality skiing in such an awe-inspiring setting provided an added burst of adrenaline and before we knew it we had topped out and were headed for the summit ridge.

After a few celebratory photos, some food and beverage of choice (Red Bull as always for me), we efficiently prepared for the ski down as the east face continued to cook in the sun. We wanted to get down and off that face as quickly as possible. But first, we needed to execute what Jordan has referred to as the "south face scoot." Often, a 14er summit ski involves a brief amount of side-slipping down a ridge to access the real skiing. However, the Capitol summit ridge doesn't hold snow that would ordinarily permit a simple connection to the primary skiing on the east face. In order to get there, skiers need to make some turns directly down the south face, traverse, rinse and repeat. In some instances, some sidestepping up is then required to get around the last rock rib protecting the east face skiing.

Eric led the south face scoot and I followed as soon as I was geared up, with Krishna bringing up the rear. I fired up my GoPro and it immediately died. It having been 3 years since I had been in backcountry position worthy of taking helmet cam video, I had forgotten that a GoPro requires constant babying to preserve the battery life -- primarily keeping it in a warm pocket for the duration of the hiking, sleeping, etc. Oops. I was looking forward to shooting that footage.

In any event, on south face scoot I made two strong turns south on still refrozen corn, traversed left (carefully picking my way through mixed snow and rock), made two more turns south and performed another similar traverse. It was there that I caught up to Eric, who was putting in a sidestepped track. We needed to gain about 15 vertical feet in order to access the east face and in order to stay on snow and keep the skis on our feet, as we climbed we also had to go backwards. For me, this was the crux of skiing. My neutral tele bindings mean that when I pick up my foot, the tail of the ski pivots down. So to execute this south face sidestep I had to lift up my foot, then grab the tail of my ski using the ice axe portion of my "whippet" ski pole handle and then carefully place the ski back down, slowly making my way up the 50-plus degree slope. My "critique" about the utter stupidity of it all could probably be heard across the Pierre Lakes basin.

Once the south face scoot was behind us, we regrouped and discussed our plan for the real skiing. As we topped out on that portion of the route we noted that there was a thin wind/sun crust. The question was if and how and for how many turns the crust might impact the skiing. Eric agreed to serve as our test poodle and report back, continuing to lead the group down the east face:

Eric made two turns down the face that were clearly impacted by the crust. He set up to take some photos and kindly passed the lead to me:

I continued past him, confirmed that he was OK with me poaching his line to lead and as the crust faded away, I was able to link fluid, nonstop turns through the left facing-corner crux.

As it later turned out, Jordan was watching our descent from a vantage point across the basin on Clark Peak and snapped a shot:

For perspective, that is me on the right and Eric on the left (circled above) and we are in roughly the same positions as Eric's photo above from the climb taken over his shoulder (Krishna must be belnding in with the rocks somewhere near the top of the east face).

I led the traverse across the east face to where there are a couple more downward turns available and let Eric take the honors:

As we made our way down the ridge, with occassional forays onto the face, we continually discussed not letting our guard down. A slip here would bring a quick conclusion.

We made it to the rap station, shared some brief but heatfelt congrats all around and dropped into the Secret Chute:

Time was still a concern, so Krishna started the ski down the chute while I waited for Eric and helped him gather the gear. Transitioning in the Secret Chute is interesting. I tried to move out of the line of fire from Eric's rap and then built myself a platform to get my skis back on. Once Eric had pulled the rope and found a good platform to finish the tasks, I quickly got my skis back on and headed down. The Secret Chute is also rather steep and the apron near the bottom was riddled with debris. I took a couple falls here, I think as a result of allowing myself to relax and consider what we had just accomplished.

Since we were now one basin south of where we had set up camp the night before, we needed to climb back up 500 ft or so. We worked our way over to the One-in-a-Million couloir and made another transition into our climbing gear. One-in-a-Million, which faces south, was completely cooked by then. However, since the couloir is a bit askew, tipped to climber's left, by hugging the right side rock wall as we wallowed our way up, we were able to limit our exposure.

Eventually, we topped back out on the west ridge to K2:

One more transition and we skied the 1000+ ft down back to our camp.

About 30 minutes into our task of packing up camp to prepare for the slog back out to Krishna's van, we heard a group coming down around the corner from where we had just descended. It turned out to be Laura, Nicky (who we immediately recognized) and another partner! They had made a one-day attempt from the Snowmass Creek trailhead, witnessed our ski descent from the knife edge and (I think) made the decision to bail upon reaching our rap station. Their timing was a bit off and would have made riding/skiing the east face too much of a risk. We identifed ourselves from afar (it's Eric and Rob from Wilson Peak and El Diente!) and they offered their congrats. After comparing notes for a bit, they were gone just as quickly as they had arrived and we never saw them again.

As long as the snow lasted, the ski out was largely uneventful. I located my waders and put them to use again at the creek crossing. I had considered "donating" them to the crossing, but decided that could get a poor reception from a leave no trace perspective. After the crossing, the trail seemed to never end, nor did the transitions from skiing to skining to walking.

We ate dinner in Basalt and Krishna impressively powered through the entire drive back to the Dino lots. I found this at my front door, courtesy of our boys:

There were some congrats here on 14ers, on the Facebook page and on Instagram, of which the latter two I needed assistance to view, since I am not on social media:

So I had my fifteen minutes or so and I'll admit it was nice to know that at least a small important audience cared that I tele.

My Success Was a Group Effort.

What a journey! From my first ski descent of Castle Peak to my finisher on Capitol, my project took me just less than 17 years, and required some repeats to go back and get "clean" descents on some of the early ones before my project was a thing. Seventeen years is a long time and included such major changes as my marriage, two kids and a couple of home purchases. I had no shortage of help and support during that time.

Thanks again to Eric and Krishna for dragging me up Capitol. I'll never forget the absolutely perfect day we spent together on that mountain. I am still amazed at the photos you guys were able to capture in such high-consequece terrain. Eric, it has been a great journey together, best of luck to you as you transition to what I expect to be a great career in medicine.

I was very sad that Matt Lipscomb, who had been a trusted partner and close friend for the duration of my project (both on the slopes and the frisbee field) couldn’t join on Capitol. Matt, thanks again for all the energy you put into my goal over the years when there was certainly better snow out there to be had (with the exceptions of Missouri and La Plata, that is ... TR hopefully forthcoming someday). I'm looking forward to skiing some Grand County objectives!

Some stats about my partners over the years and a few classic TRs from other members:

Matt Lipscomb -- 12
Eric Sangueza (Gueza) -- 9
Dan Knowles -- 4
Fritz Sperry (killingcokes) -- 4
Marc Barella (XC Snowboarder) -- 4
Carl Dowdy (Carl) -- 3
Dave Wolf -- 3

Carl and Marc, thanks for bringing me into your skiing crew and always assuring me that I could get Capitol done if things aligned. You were right Carl that Krishna was a perfect partner for this particular objective.

One peak:
John Laake
Mike Bean (Bean)(attempt, success)
Otina Fox (bergsteigen)
Brian Miller (lordhelmut)(ran into on Humboldt)
Caroline Moore (USAKeller), Keith Kiggins (KeithK) (Keith K's intro to snow climbing on Mt. Lindsey)
Jordan White (jcwhite), Matt Kamper (pioletski)(nearly getting blown off Longs)
Bill Middlebrook (BillMiddlebrook). One of my absolute favorites, finally meeting up with Bill for the Blanca powder day(also present in other groups were Rob Mullen (SchralpTheGnar), Mike Mullen, Natalie Moran (SnowAlien) and (Manky). Thanks, Bill for the resource, the community, for your devotion to this site and for the platform to tell the stories that mean so much to each of us.

And thanks again to my beautiful, brilliant, kind and understanding wife Kathleen who has the patience of a saint and has been supportive from day one of this saga. Of course you cared! (it's just a somewhat forced literary hook for this TR). I am very glad this is finally over for you too and I am looking forward to all of the adventures that not 14er skiing provides us the time and energy to do.