Trigger warning: suicide/suicidal ideation.

Music has always been an important part of my life. My parents made sure to expose me to a plethora of musical styles and performances starting in childhood. From a very young age, so young I couldn't even remember the shows, my parents took me to the Madison Symphony Orchestra in Madison, Wisconsin, where I grew up. My mother was a pianist and taught me how to play the piano as well. I never cared for it much, and when other opportunities arose as I got older I took those, learning to play violin and eventually the trumpet, which ended up being my favorite. I also wanted to learn to play drums, because what teenage boy doesn't want to bash the hell out of things with sticks, as well as guitar adjacent to my growing love of metal music. Neither of those ever got off the ground, which I found frustrating as a child but am grateful for as an adult. I never had the motivation to stick with them.

When my parents signed me up for marching band my freshman year of high school I wasn't so sure about it. My school didn't have a marching pep band that played at football games, but rather a competitive summer show band, which meant months of weekend practice beginning in spring. When school was over the season really began. Though the season was relatively short, it was a month and a half of daily 12-hour practice sessions with no days off. These were grueling, learning and memorizing several thematic pieces of music and being drilled to exhaustion on a highly choreographed visual arts march to match with the music. Every day was demanding, most of it spent outdoors on a blacktop parking lot in Wisconsin heat, humidity, and sun, holding a piece of metal in front of my face while roll-stepping the same parts of the show over, and over, and over, and over, until they were perfect. As the season and our performance progressed we would travel to neighboring cities and states to compete with other high school bands. We consistently came in second place that first season, which was frustrating to everyone involved.

From the very first moment of the season, to the very last second at the end, I hated marching band. I hated it and wanted to quit.

I begged my parents to quit, begged them to let me do just about anything else, summer school classes, Boy Scout camp, help around the house (the horror), you name it. I wasn't having fun and I made sure they knew it. Still, they were patient and made me continue. "Just finish the season, you don't have to do another," they said with mild exasperation. I have no idea what they saw in the program that first year, but the day after our championship show (surprise, we came in second... again) I felt empty. Was something missing? Well yes, in a very obvious sense: marching band. But more than that, more than something missing, something in me had changed. I think that was the first time in my life I'd ever had actual regiment to my life, actual discipline, physical and mental training. It was emotional training, in a way. I'd never struggled with school or socially, and was kind of the poster child for being spoiled. I had always gotten whatever I wanted and, with many years of hindsight and further growth, don't feel like I grew up much until that summer of 2003.

Within just a few days of the end of that first season I knew I had to do marching band again. Changed indeed. I credit that experience as being the first that really taught me what hard work actually meant, with understanding the importance of exercise, teamwork, discipline and sticking with something difficult even though it sucked because the benefits later would be so much greater... Concepts that were foreign to a video game-obsessed teen who wanted to take the easy way through life. Marching band was probably my first real adult experience, or the one that cast me in the direction of becoming an adult. My parents are to thank for pushing me to do something I truly fucking hated, which ended up being one of the best things that could have happened to me.

What does this nonsense have to do with climbing mountains?, you might be asking yourself. Well, honestly, not a tremendous amount, at least directly. That's a few hundred words you'll never get back. But indirectly, for myself and probably for some reading this, music is an outside form of emotional processing just like climbing is a form of emotional processing. Most of the time music is something I listen to simply because it feels good, but probably the most important reasons for listening don't feel good, as an outlet for anger, sadness, and inner turmoil. We're conditioned to think that feeling good is (or should be) the baseline emotion. For me that's often not the case, as I know is also not the case for many of my friends and those reading, it's just not something people talk about. Our society, culture, and even our community reinforce the notion of always presenting a happy face and endless success, but that's simply not reality inside of ourselves. It's when things are out of sync that the emotional ship needs righting, and music act as sails carrying the winds of life to push the ship in a desired direction. Marching band was one of my first real emotional experiences, the winds pushing the ship that was my teen self.

In the winter of 2022-2023 I climbed nothing. Absolutely nothing. That winter was probably the most severely depressed I have ever been. The result was a winter where I barely left my house. My motivation for climbing was less than zero, which of course deepened my depression. Between fits of rage and uncontrollable tears I taught myself to ski that season but my heart wasn't really in that either. Climbing is obviously the greatest passion in my life and I was just too depressed to do any. I seriously questioned my commitment to finishing the thirteeners, which I had fewer than 100 remaining but was burnt out on and felt an uncomfortable amount of disgust for, and didn't bother even attempting any snowflakes since I found the idea repulsive. I knew I had to do some form of physical activity, lest I probably end up in the ground, so skiing and lifting weights in my garage gym was it for that season.

Even then most of the season was spent wallowing in worthlessness and despair, wondering if suicide would be enough to end the pain and senses of both loss and being lost that I felt or if those feelings would persist in death, a kind of Sisyphean fuck you I'd feel forever, even in the grave. Intellectually I knew killing myself was a terrible and permanent choice, but emotionally I was in the depths of hell and just wanted a way out. It wasn't the first time I'd felt so broken that I wanted to die - six years earlier I'd almost ended it all - and I knew time was the only real treatment, so I spent the winter aimlessly wandering the ashen corridors of my mind hoping that around each corner I'd find a glimmer of light instead of more darkness. As I slowly got better with the help of therapy and some truly amazing, beautiful, supportive friends who genuinely saved my life (some of whom feature in this trip report!), I vowed that the next winter season would be the one where I would get back on the horse and not let my often tempestuous emotional state get in the way of deliberate self-improvement through climbing.

Music was also a big support for me, primarily as an outlet for the terrible anger I felt at the time. More often than not that meant metal that was just as angry. It was music that served to vent some of the self-destructive impulses I felt before they became reality. But positive influences are just as important, something to emulate and look to for affirmation. I kept coming back to DJ Shadow's Endtroducing....., an instrumental hip-hop album released in the mid-90s before I was even ten years old. It never really reached contemporary success in the US, only garnering success in hindsight. For me though, it immediately had an impact when I discovered it in college in the mid-2000s, about a decade after its release. I grew up on classical and branched into metal in my teens, and eventually into electronic music, which Endtroducing..... arguably is.

The album starts off brightly before getting into a series of dark, moody, and evocative tracks - "Changeling," "What Your Soul Looks Like, Pt. 4," and "Stem / Long Stem" - that I think make up the core of the album, eventually returning to fare that's more lively and less like piloting a turntable-powered spaceship in a dark and alien corner of the cosmos. It's music I've found suitable for every mood, for long road trips, for putting on headphones and listening to in the dark, for having sex to, for doing mushrooms and dancing in the forest, for those times when I want to ride a work of art that gives me goosebumps and makes me feel... It's undoubtedly my favorite album, one I've listened to more than any other, and it has a special place in my heart for the emotion it pulls out of me.

The handful of DJ Shadow fans reading this will see where I'm going with the title of this report. The second track, "Building Steam With a Grain of Salt," is the first actual piece of music on the album and contains samples of a 1974 interview with American jazz drummer George Marsh. Less lyrics (since the album doesn't really have true lyrics) and more simply setting the mood, George states

From listening to records, I just knew what to do
I mainly taught myself
And, you know, I did pretty well
Except there were a few mistakes, but uh
That I made that, uh, I have just recently cleared up, you know

I'd like to just continue to be able to express myself
As best as I can on the instrument
You know, I feel like I have a lot of work to do still, you know
I'm a student of the drums
And I'm also a teacher of the drums too, you know

In my depression last winter I felt a special connection to those words, and to the title of the track. I've never felt like I was a particularly good climber, but I am an extremely dedicated climber. Like George I taught myself, made a lot of mistakes, and express(ed) myself through my climbing and my writing about climbing. In a way I felt like building steam with a grain of salt was a metaphor for the state I was in, or maybe the way I needed to get out of that state. Add solute to water, build into a boil, and create steam, which can be used as energy. Steam might not have been present right then, but all water has the potential to become steam, even if it doesn't know it. I had to take the grain of salt that was my climbing and turn that into steam, into energy, power, love, and happiness again. Easier said than done of course, but I was determined to get out of the hole I was in and kept those words in mind. I more or less had a mentality of fake it 'til you make it. Like the little bubbles that form on the bottom of a pot of water, I wasn't sure if I'd ever turn into metaphorical steam, but I was damn sure going to try.

Friday, December 22, 2023: Longs Peak via the Trough With Heather

As winter 2023-2024 approached things were looking good. I was still climbing in the alpine in trail runners in November, and while I know we need snow or else be faced with dire consequences, part of me selfishly hoped the dry weather would continue and I could crush a whole bunch of snowflakes early season like many had done in 2012 and 2018, both of which were before I really took winter climbing seriously. Things didn't work out quite that well - I wasn't able to waltz into Chicago Basin in trail runners without a care in the world - but the season did start off with little snow, and a long dry spell prior to the solstice on December 21. The solstice was at 8:27pm that day, so too late to do anything in my mind, but the following day looked great statewide. I took aim at Longs Peak, my last remaining Front Range snowflake, since avalanche conditions were green and I really wanted to get the damned thing over with. I'd already attempted it in winter three times and it was now by far my farthest snowflake from home, so it was eating at me. I debated between Cables, Keyhole, and Trough, and with just days left before the solstice committed to the Trough. A storm was coming in on the 23rd so there was only one day to climb before the season might be over. Heather (hr011242) joined me as she also had Longs as her final Front Range snowflake. I hoped I wouldn't regret my choice of the Trough, but (spoiler alert) it paid off big time.

We departed the Glacier Gorge trailhead in early morning darkness and made exceptionally good time to Black Lake, since the trail was completely packed. Longs' western aspect was windblown almost completely dry but the Trough looked good to go.

We dumped our snowshoes on the access ramp to the bench above Black Lake, having not needed them at all, and picked our way across the bench to the slope leading past the cliffs guarding the bottom of the Trough. There was some postholing in the flats above the lake but we suffered through them without much issue. Gaining the Trough itself was a piece of cake, and we put on microspikes and got out our ice axes since it wasn't really steep enough to warrant crampons. We also noticed one climber ahead of us - someone else had the same idea we had.

For the most part the climbing was simple. For a short section in the middle of the couloir, about 100 feet or so, the snow became steep and hard enough that we switched to crampons, but eventually the couloir was so windblown we switched back to microspikes to save wear and tear on our crampons.

We had no trouble crossing the Narrows, which by now had multiple sets of tracks on it (there were also two Keyhole climbers ahead of us), and dispatched the Homestretch with ease as well, again due to perfect steps already having been kicked into the snow packing the cracks in the rock. Longs had been deceptively easy but we were both super stoked. We sat on the summit for over half an hour since it was windless (unheard of in winter!) and breathed in the stoke. Or was that steam? This little grain of salt was making good on his promise. Could it last?

With our hangout complete we quickly did the route in reverse. The Homestretch wasn't anything to worry about on the way down, we ripped across the Narrows and down the Trough, and before we knew it were back at our snowshoe cache, which we didn't need on the way out either. I stuck around in the Front Range for the next few days as the storm came in and spent Christmas with Heather. We made ourselves filet mignon cooked in an herb butter sauce, potatoes, asparagus, with chocolate truffles for dessert, and watched Harry Potter movies. It was about as perfect a Christmas as I could imagine. Thank you, Heather.

Statistics

Climbers: Ben Feinstein (myself), Heather R.
Trailhead: Glacier Gorge

Total distance: 13.72 miles
Total elevation gain: 5,612 feet
Total time: 9:05:46
Peaks: One fourteener

• Longs Peak, 14,259'

Splits:

Thursday, December 28, 2023: San Luis Peak Attempt With Judd

My usual winter climbing partner Judd (CaptainSuburbia) had San Luis Peak as one of his primary winter objectives this year. Avalanche conditions were green there too, and from my reading and following storm cycles they'd barely gotten any snow. I figured San Luis would be easy like Longs had been. We met up at the winter closure below the West Willow Creek trailhead, at the junction of 503 and 504 north of Creede, and slept in our vehicles. It was brutally cold that night, below zero at only 10,550 feet, and tough to get motivated in the morning, but we did it. The four miles to the summer trailhead were miserable. Snow mobiles had only gone as far as the creek crossing, and the snow was garbage and postholy even with snowshoes on. It was so cold my entire beard was a chunk of ice. The upside was that things looked real dry above treeline, as the western aspects of the ridge separating us from West Willow and Spring Creek was almost entirely snowless. I prayed that would be the case on the eastern side of the Divide.

Now the thing about the route from Creede in winter is that it's a bazillion ups and downs, give or take one or two. Some people drop way down into Spring Creek and then climb steep western ribs directly up San Luis, but I was hoping to more or less stay on the Continental Divide trail. This necessitates going over an intermediate ridge, so overall the route looks something like

Go up the road to the Continental Divide, then
go down the Continental Divide Trail into Spring Creek, then
go up the intermediate ridge, then
go down to the eastern fork of the creek, then
go up San Luis' south ridge to the summit, then
reverse it all and
go down San Luis' south ridge to the eastern fork of Spring Creek, then
go up the intermediate ridge, then
go down into the western fork of the creek, then
go up to the Continental Divide, then
go down the road to the trailhead.

Ugh. That's five significant ups and five significant downs. We had our work cut out for us. There's nothing technical about San Luis as long as one stays off the Divide between Point 13,308 and Point 13,166, but there is ample avalanche terrain. I wasn't concerned with that on this day, but did keep it in mind. The problem we encountered was that there was far more snow than I expected. The trenching began the moment we crossed the creek on the road until we started going up the intermediate ridge. Up to the Divide it wasn't too bad, but from then on it was non-stop, deep, and exhausting. The snow was the kind of crap you can put just a small amount of body weight on before you crash through to your knees or above and still end up with your snowshoes buried in a foot of sugar. It took us forever even with constantly switching leads, especially in the forest where we were trenching well under one mile per hour.

Getting through the bottom of Spring Creek was the end of the difficulties to that point. The windward side of the intermediate ridge only had a thin cover of snow, which was good - that's where most of the avalanche terrain lies.

The lee side, on the other hand, was way snowier than either of us liked. I was OK cutting across it anyway, but it did contain some avalanche terrain. Instead we climbed up to the Divide, almost made it to Point 13,166, gave up due to how long it was taking us, and dropped down into the basin to the north. We traversed back to the intermediate ridge had to climb back up a few hundred feet to avoid the avalanche terrain. We got back to our vehicles well after dark. Nothing in town was open so we spent another frigid night in our vehicles without dinner and without a summit. Awesome, 3/10, one point for views and two for Judd.

Statistics

Climbers: Ben Feinstein (myself), Judd D.
Trailhead: Below West Willow Creek trailhead (junction of 504 and 504)

Total distance: 16.8 miles
Total elevation gain: 5,112 feet
Total time: 13:09:19
Peaks: None

• San Luis Peak, 14,023' (attempt)

Splits: None taken.

Saturday, December 30, 2023: Uncompahgre Peak with Heather, Kim, Nate, and Michael

The day after San Luis I drove to Lake City to meet up with friends for Uncompahgre.

Judd himself had just done it on the 22nd and we hoped the trench he had built with Anthony (astranko) was still in tact. Heather and Nate (waegookin_nate) came in from the Front Range, Kim (goingup) and Michael (Themanisme) from Montrose, and we all met the morning of our climb at the bottom of the Nellie Creek Road.

We were able to boot to the upper trailhead, but I hadn't recovered well from San Luis and was dragging ass so bad that I fell behind and hiked the road mostly alone. I wasn't sure if I was going to make it or not. Doubt and negative self-talk began, but I pushed on. We put snowshoes on at the upper trailhead and plodded through to treeline. From there the route was obvious - go in the direction of the giant alpine chocolate chip.

I struggled to keep up until we'd closed about half the distance to Uncompahgre, when I got a second wind. Would it persist or would I fall back again? I kept my thoughts to myself but inside I wasn't sure what to feel about my performance. Nobody else would care, I knew, but what if they did? I did, and I tried to let my improved physical state buoy my sinking mental state. With my head down I just kept walking. In pursuit of a direct route we went up one small avalanche slope and across another before reaching the slopes to gain the south ridge. It would have been safer but longer to reach the trail instead, but the snow was bombproof so we opted to save ourselves a bunch of time and effort.

By the time we reached the upper mountain I was feeling physically better, and I led the rest of the ascent. "No more talking shit to yourself, this self-abuse has to stop" I told myself. No more! The scramble to the summit plateau was completely dry and it was an easy walk to the summit, which was nearly windless. How lucky have I gotten so far?

We hung out, refueled, took photos, and congratulated ourselves on a well earned summit of the San Juan's highest peak. An excellent day in the alpine, and my final Lake City snowflake.

Statistics

Climbers: Ben Feinstein (myself), Heather R., Kim B., Nate O., Michael S.
Trailhead: Nellie Creek 2WD

Total distance: 15.3 miles
Total elevation gain: 6,327* feet
Total time: 9:42:41
Peaks: One fourteener

• Uncompahgre Peak, 14,318'

Splits:

* High by about 800 feet, for some reason.

Monday, January 1, 2024: Happy New Years Climb of Mount Sneffels With Heather and Nate

Mount Sneffels has a special place in my heart considering I see it every day from my house. This was my third winter living in Ridgway and I was getting antsy to climb this puppy already. We hadn't had a major storm in quite a while and avalanche conditions were again green, so we knew we could go for it with little risk. We wanted to do the southwest ridge so we packed crampons, axe, and gumption and went for it. It was nice actually being able to sleep in my bed for two nights and drive to the winter trailhead in the morning. The road miles went by quickly and while I was still slow I didn't feel like total garbage like I did on Uncompahgre. We made good time to the end of the road plowing above Camp Bird and kept booting until the outhouse at the lower 4WD trailhead. Thanks to Kiefer for breaking trail to that point!

At the outhouse the postholing began so we put on snowshoes and continued up the road, cutting as many switchbacks as we could. As we approached the upper basin Heather and I discussed the plan. Nate had fallen behind and we were concerned the southwest ridge would either take too long or be too exhausting, so we switched on the fly to the standard Lavender couloir. Heather stayed in front and broke trail all the way from the outhouse and up the south slopes to Lavender col. She is a goddamn beast, and don't you forget it! For the most part the south slopes were easy although the trenching did kind of suck, even if I wasn't doing any myself. The snow was super stable though and we had no worries about it.

Heather and I reached the col long before Nate and it was so hot, without a lick of wind, we became concerned about wet avalanche activity. Did I mention it was January 1st? What the heck! We stashed our snowshoes and put on our crampons and sped ahead of Nate, concerned that if we didn't get a move on we wouldn't get the summit before the snow went all to hell. Heather and I took turns postholing miserably up the couloir, which fortunately was also stable.

We made great time up it and reached the V-notch, but the wallowing there was truly awful. I made about 50 feet of progress in 15 minutes swimming up to my waist in sugar. At this point we still hadn't seen Nate so we continued onward. The V-notch itself was too snowy and exposed for our liking so instead we took a Class 3 crack a few feet to the right. Heather spent another 10 minutes excavating all the trashy sugar snow from every hold, and overhead, before wriggling up the crack and onto easier terrain.

I quickly dispatched the crack behind her and we raced up the snow covered Class 2+ slabs to the summit, high fived, and took our photos.

Considering the sweltering temperatures on the summit we raced back down. Down climbing the crack wasn't actually too bad and we were able to do it facing out, then began down the couloir.

Nate was coming up by this point and when we reached him he immediately - to our relief - said he was going to turn around since he didn't have the gas to reach the summit. We postholed down the remaining couloir, put our snowshoes on at the col, and absolutely destroyed the trench going down the south slopes, which by now was knee deep slush with trapdoors underneath. Cool, cool.

Once off the steeps of the slopes the return trip to the road became much easier. A couple of nutjob skiers were on the super steep north face of twelver Stony Mountain when we passed below, which was neat to witness. I'll have to climb some of Stony's couloirs myself some day.

My feet hurt walking on the road but we made it back to the cars before dark! Nice! Sneffels was my favorite snowflake of the season by far owing to the classic route, spicy climbing and scrambling, great company, and the fact that I can now stand inside my house, point to the peak, and say "I stood on top of that in winter." A proud moment in my quest to build steam, and another stitch mending my confidence.

Statistics

Climbers: Ben Feinstein (myself), Heather R., Nate O.
Trailhead: Yankee Boy Basin winter closure at Senator Gulch

Total distance: 14.56 miles
Total elevation gain: 5,678 feet
Total time: 10:38:46
Peaks: One fourteener

• Mount Sneffels, 14,155'

Splits:

Wednesday, January 3, 2024: San Luis Peak Redux With Whiley

The day after Sneffels I drove back to Creede for another attempt on San Luis, this time with Whiley (whileyh... duh). Man was I getting sick of the driving this winter, but there was no way in hell I was going to let this good weather and lack of avalanche danger go to waste. I was on a roll! Whiley and I met up in town before driving to the winter closure and were on the trail at 5:42am. This would have been too late in almost every circumstance but we knew the trench Judd and I had put in six days earlier was still in good shape. As annoying as it was to turn around so close to San Luis the week prior we knew that the effort Judd and I put in was going to be put to good use.

We made excellent time to the top of the intermediate ridge this time since we were able to simply cruise through the trench. I was glad to see it hadn't been filled in by wind yet. I was also happy about how good my body felt. The numerous beatdowns in just a couple of weeks were starting to coalesce into something resembling strength, both physical and mental. I was capable. I am capable.

From the intermediate ridge we cut directly across the only spooky slope of the route. Though short and not particularly steep there's a small amount of avalanche terrain and the slope was definitely loaded. Fortunately the snow was faceted top to bottom. I postholed thigh deep in it and had it gone I'd have been a goner myself. When I got to a safe, lower angle spot beyond the reach of a potential slide I called for Whiley to cross, which she did without issue.

Now past the dangerous part of the route we took Judd and my old trench for a little ways and then broke our own trench straight across the basin and up to the saddle between San Luis and Point 13,166.

We left our snowshoes there and booted up the 1,000-foot half dry, half snowy ridge. It was cold and windy on top, unfortunately, but we didn't care, we'd gotten what we came for.

On the way back, instead of crossing the avalanche slope a second time, we ascended a couple hundred feet up safer slopes before getting on the ridge.

The remaining up and downs on the route went by quickly. At Kip's Grill in Creede I got a burger and she got a sandwich and we split cheese curds, fried pickles, and extra fries. It was a well earned calorie bomb, and San Luis a great lesson in persistence.

Statistics

Climbers: Ben Feinstein (myself), Whiley H.
Trailhead: Below West Willow Creek trailhead (junction of 504 and 504)

Total distance: 19.14 miles
Total elevation gain: 6,050 feet
Total time: 10:57:01
Peaks: One fourteener

• San Luis Peak, 14,023' (success!)

Splits:

Saturday, January 6, 2024: Huron Peak With Heather

From San Luis I headed back home and actually got a few nights of badly needed sleep. Heather and I then went to Salida, where we'd rented a cheap motel for the weekend. We set our sights on Huron for Saturday and Missouri for Sunday. We knew Sunday was a longshot, since the weather was supposed to be extremely windy with some snow, which was probably going to be a whiteout, but Saturday we figured we could get Huron. No snow was predicted Saturday, we'd just have to battle the extreme winds and cold. We also weren't sure if we could still reach Winfield or if we'd be parking miles away. Heather was gracious enough to drive as she has a far more capable vehicle and we were delighted to make it all the way to Winfield. Again, talk about luck! We knew the day would only be about 10 miles instead of the 20+ it could have been if we'd had to park at Missouri Gulch or even lower.

The trench to the upper trailhead was in decent shape, and the trench from there through treeline was beyond excellent. Thanks to Ryan (RyGuy) and Tony (Tony1) for breaking the initial trench, also on the first day of winter. Hell of an effort, gents.

Above treeline the postholing sucked pretty bad but Heather and I are both hardheaded fools so we didn't bother slowing down to put snowshoes on. Besides, the wind was howling, the postholing kept us kind of warm, and stopping in the cold was a no-no.

The upper slopes were unrelenting, with the bottom half being very snowy and postholy, and the upper half being a windswept rockfield. Wind streaked across the mountain faster with every step we took uphill, and a huge plume of snow rolled continuously off the summit ridge. I can count on one hand the number of times I've worn my goggles and mittens on winter fourteeners, and this was one of those rare occasions. My fingers were pretty numb by the time we summitted, and the last few hundred feet were a total sufferfest. We took a few photos and began down without a real break since we were turning into popsicles at a fast pace.

We made phenomenal time down and were back to cooking in our layers below treeline. When we got back to Salida we met up with Will (Will_E... double duh) and went to Quincy's for dinner - it was prime rib night. Now, Quincy's isn't the best quality but damn if it isn't a lot of food, and it was great to finally meet Will and talk mountains with a legend and inspiration. We were asleep shortly after dinner for a possible second day.

Statistics

Climbers: Ben Feinstein (myself), Heather R.
Trailhead: Winfield townsite

Total distance: 10.78 miles
Total elevation gain: 3,879 feet
Total time: 6:15:50
Peaks: One fourteener

• Huron Peak, 14,006'

Splits:

Sunday, January 7, 2024: Missouri Mountain Attempt With Heather

The next day we drove back up to Missouri Gulch for an attempt on Missouri Mountain. This'll be a short one: the weather was just as bad as predicted and we reached treeline and decided to call it. We were getting sandblasted by the wind and blowing snow and could only see a few hundred feet in front of us. We knew being stubborn today would be pointless at best, an unforced error and possibly dangerous at worst. Stubborn doesn't equate to stupidity. Not only were we smart about turning around but we made the smart choice to go get breakfast at Jan's in Buena Vista on our respective ways home. It was disappointing not to be able to climb another day, but I didn't feel bad about it. That's one thing I've always prided myself in - if I turn around, which is honestly fairly frequent, I never question it. Turning around needs no reason and second guessing is when mistakes and avoidable mishaps are made.

Statistics

Climbers: Ben Feinstein (myself), Heather R.
Trailhead: Missouri Gulch

Total distance: 4.81 miles
Total elevation gain: 2,171 feet
Total time: 2:26:10
Peaks: None

• Missouri Mountain, 14,071' (attempt)

Splits: None taken.

Saturday, January 27, 2024: Mount Belford and Mount Oxford With Will

A few weeks passed with mildly stormy weather, and I waited patiently for things to clear. When they did I reached out to Will to see if he'd like to climb some of his local peaks - Belford, Oxford, and/or Missouri. He was in for Belford and Oxford and was so kind in letting me crash at my place so I didn't have to sleep in the van for a couple of nights. My van does have a heater but it's still uncomfortable in winter and one of the main reasons I bought a house. I owe a huge thanks to Will for opening his home to me!

Now Belford and Oxford are extremely boring. I'd already done them twice, and these were winter repeats for Will. I was grateful for the company on what would otherwise have been a snoozefest. We were still able to drive to Missouri Gulch, luckily, and the trail to treeline was still mostly packed. Above treeline we had to choose our own adventure with some snowy boulder hopping since the trail was impossible to follow. That was fine, these two peaks aren't particularly hard even in winter. We quickly found ourselves on Belford's northwest ridge which is unrelentingly steep, especially when beelining up and cutting every switchback on the trail. The snow cover was a few inches deep and very powdery, a slick affair. We booted up Belford in just a few hours and left our unused snowshoes on the summit.

Getting to Oxford wasn't much harder, with the ridge to the saddle having some moderate snow cover and the ridge up to Oxford being almost completely windblown. It was super fun climbing with Will, who was so much faster than me it was comical. He's truly a gifted athlete and someone whose serious but also somewhat casual attitude towards climbing I respect a lot.

If Belford is boring then Oxford is twice as boring, or half as exciting depending on your glass half full/empty outlook. We spent absolutely no time at all on Oxford for fear of boring ourselves to death and climbed back to Belford, which took about 15 minutes longer than the opposite direction. There was a little more vert to a higher peak, and we were going up the snowier part of the ridge. Still, at only an hour between peaks in winter I was happy with that.

These two were some low hanging fruit I'd been saving and it was nice to tick them off. We grabbed our snowshoes on Belford and made our way down the ridge into Missouri Gulch once more. By now it was warm and the powder snow we'd booted up was soft mush on top of wet grass. Will and I both fell on our keisters several times since the ridge was so slippery, but we were too lazy to put microspikes on and got down fine without them. When we got back to town we chowed down on Moonlight Pizza and turned in early. I had one more climb to do in this fruitful season...

Statistics

Climbers: Ben Feinstein (myself), Will E.
Trailhead: Missouri Gulch

Total distance: 11.64 miles
Total elevation gain: 6,114 feet
Total time: 8:23:12
Peaks: Two fourteeners

• Mount Belford, 14,202'
• Mount Oxford, 14,158'

Splits:

Sunday, January 28, 2024: Missouri Mountain Attempt With Marisa

After Belford and Oxford I texted Marisa (MWatson), who lives near Poncha Springs, and asked if she wanted to do Missouri with me. Nothing like a last minute session of mountain madness! We met up early the next morning at the Poncha Springs visitor center and drove once more to Missouri Gulch. Our plan was to go over Elkhead Pass, which we hoped would be dry, and up low angle slopes on Iowa Peak to Missouri's south ridge. The "standard" winter route up Missouri's west ridge was a dangerous proposition at the time. Normally western aspects would be safer but unusual snow loading patterns meant west facing, below treeline slopes were the most dangerous. We didn't want to walk all the way to Clohesy Lake only to turn around and we knew there was a trench well into Missouri Gulch, so that seemed best.

We were able to get high up into Missouri Gulch before leaving the trench Will and I had established the day before. From that point travel was mostly easy, though we did have some tough trenching through willows before we were able to find the trail again. As we got closer to Missouri's north face I kept looking at a more direct variation of the standard summer route up the northeast ridge. From below it looked steep but dry enough to alleviate my avalanche concerns. My temptation grew and we deviated from our original Elkhead Pass plans and began the steep snowshoe up the ridge, staying off the trail. The snow did indeed prove to be shallow on the ridge until we got into the rocks, where we had to cross a short section of maybe 10 feet that was both steep enough and snowy enough to slide. We took advantage of the safety of the rocks on either side and crossed one at a time before making the remaining Class 2+ scramble to the long summit ridge.

The summit ridge was easy and encouraging. I wasn't sure if we'd made it past the notorious gendarme guarding the summit or not since I'd never actually climbed the northeast or west ridges on Missouri - I'd been up Missouri twice before, both times via the north couloirs.

To my disappointment the easy travel did indeed come to a stop at the gendarme, which was super loaded on both sides of the ridge.

We scrambled up to the top but the rock quality was of course terrible and there was a long knife edge of snow beyond. We scrambled back down and decided to see how staying on the "trail" would be. I was pretty apprehensive about this as it was easily the sketchiest thing I did all weekend. If the slope ripped it'd funnel down into a bunch of choss chutes akin to a pinball machine. No surviving that. We stuck closely to the gendarme which had a nice little windblown path for us to take around the base, and reached the end. From here 50 to 100 feet of snow blocked further easy passage. I peeked around the corner and about 15 feet directly above hung a cornice. Not great. I asked Marisa to go back to a safer spot and very slowly crept beyond the end of the gendarme. Each step out meant less grip on the rock until eventually I had to let go. A few inches of reach became a few feet. I wouldn't be able to grab the rock if the snow did begin moving, and the rock wasn't much security anyway, but it was something.

Just a few feet away from the gendarme, about two or three steps, I heard a small whumpf. My breath caught. I didn't detect any movement in the snow, and I double checked the cornice above me. I shouted around the corner to Marisa, "did you hear that?" She said no. I told her the snow had collapsed a little on me. She asked what I was going to do. I looked ahead and knew continuing along our path would be stupid at best, suicide at worst. If I was going to kill myself this wouldn't be the way.

Slowly and carefully I crept back to the false safety of the rock, stepping as lightly as I could. I told Marisa that was it for the day and we returned to the safety of the ridge.

We briefly checked out a couple of other options - I climbed back up the gendarme, and we looked down into the western basin above Clohesy Lake, which was dry but without a good way to get into it. How goddamn irritating that we could have simply walked up dry scree to Missouri's south ridge had we not been concerned with the Clohesy route's safety... We quickly discussed our "options" but there weren't really any besides go home, so what's what we did.

Instead of being upset about it we were actually quite stoked. Neither of us had expected to make it as far as we did and we now had a ton of information that we'd use on a subsequent attempt. It did seem like the Clohesy side would be best, barring a known dry path across the upper summit ridge. We were probably only a five minute walk from the summit this time but we'd had hours of fun together and didn't mind having to turn around again. Our return trip was much faster and one of my snowshoes broke on the way down but it didn't matter. We now had dinner on our minds - more pizza, this time at Amica's. This Missouri attempt would be my last snowflake attempt of the year. I had hoped conditions would allow for more but even if they didn't I was satisfied with what I'd accomplished in the last month.

Statistics

Climbers: Ben Feinstein (myself), Marisa W.
Trailhead: Missouri Gulch

Total distance: 10.03 miles
Total elevation gain: 4,491 feet
Total time: 7:58:54
Peaks: None

• Missouri Mountain, 14,071' (attempt)

Splits: None taken.

As far as single winter seasons go, this was one of my best, and a sorely needed string of successes. There were some failures too, but I don't find them very consequential. I'm not sure what I would have gone through had this winter not been so successful and had I not been able to prove myself, as I still have bouts of depression and feel a little bit lost. I also don't like to think about that what if. There's no reason to let the unknown overshadow the very real positives I earned. Even if things aren't perfect they're pretty damn good and that is what I try to think about. I'm undoubtedly in a better place now than at any point in the last year. The passion I have for climbing is something I have to kindle to keep me warm inside, something that I have to let out to truly be me and truly be happy. I can't do it all the time but I can celebrate the wins I have. Those wins are the steam I've built, the result of very real blood, sweat, and tears I've shed in pursuit of happiness. Once again George Marsh's words speak to a broader context

And I would like to able to continue
To let what is inside of me
Which is, which comes from all the music that I hear
I would like for that to come out
And it's like, it's not really me that's coming
The music's coming through me

The music's coming through me

I seek to manifest George's words into my own reality, to create solace for myself, to keep the SS Benjamin's Emotions right on course. SS does stand for steamship, after all.

I would like to be able to continue
To let what is inside of me
Which comes from all the mountains that I climb
I would like for that to come out
And it's like, it's not really me that's coming
The mountain's coming through me.

The mountain's coming through me.

Thanks for reading.