I spent way too much time helping close down my Frisco ski-share and only made it to Aspen about twilight Sunday. My drive took me straight to the trailhead to confirm access and lack of snow. Good on the first, horrible on the second. Worst Colorado Winter since before the 1980’s. As I started to organize my gear, I realized I didn’t have my stove or tent. Awesome. Just because I can’t find something at home doesn’t mean it’s in my ride. Did I forget them in Peru over New Year’s? I’ve car-camped at -5F in a borrowed bag before but this was going to be my first backpacking adventure in the snow. Not off to a great start.

Down into town to crash at the St.Moritz thinking maybe I’d go for it Monday anyway. Weather looked perfect thru Tuesday noon and I’m not so spoiled as to need hot meals. Wide awake at 4AM, I figured I’d get the day started to take advantage of firmer snow up to Snowmass Lake. Even a mattress at the only affordable spot in Aspen is more comfortable than wrestling with skins and packing in the cold and dark but I dragged myself outta bed remembering the heated parking area at the St. Regis from my last stay there. Luckily a ski bum can still find good treatment in Aspen if you know where to look. That symbol of ZG glitz provided me a couple hours’ charge for my car in a well-lit, warm garage making final preparations.

Clear cool weather and just a few downed trees crossing the trail started off the day in style. I made the transition from shoes to skins in the perfect spot and only had to take skis off a couple of times on the way up. Careful readers/14er skiers will note ominous foreshadowing here. I practically floated uphill on the gentle grade, switching to skis after 5.25 miles and two hours of hiking. Even the last 4.5 miles to Snowmass Lake had a couple switchbacks to smooth the climb and I arrived with hours of daylight to spare.

A little sheltered spot in the trees called out to me and I dug myself a comfy 6” deep coffin, hopeful that my 20F degree quilt would provide sufficient warmth. Last resort: get dressed and ski back down (or up) if I wake up freezing at midnight. Satisfied that I had everything nice and flat and smooth, I grabbed some water from the creek, read my book and ate my worst food first, leaving myself good chow to look forward to when suffering tomorrow.

While stepping around my makeshift bed, I sunk another foot down. Might as well just dig it deeper and take some more shelter. Turns out that 18 inch snow walls provide great insulation, even without a roof. So comfortable was my bed that I slept until 7. That seemed plenty early for 4000ft of vertical over 3 miles. Nope

The skin across the lake with Snowmass and Hagerman Peaks looming above was peaceful perfection (see pic). 3 pitches of steep-gradual-steep got me to Snowmass’ summit ridge without too much unwanted sliding or skin-sticking-snow. The only looming threat to the day rose when I spun my riser into a taller position for the steepest pitch to the ridge. Or rather, tried to. It wouldn’t budge in the correct direction, and I was only able to get it to a place where it’d help me climb, maybe foreclosing the possibility that I’d be able to get it back into ski mode at all for the descent.

Somewhere during that final push to the ridge my phone died leaving me with no pics and no instructions from 14ers.com on how to make my way the last 300 feet and quarter mile to the summit. Foolishly, I started on the better-looking northeast side of the ridge, in deeper, leeward snow that’d take me hours to make exhausting progress thru. But by then, crossing over to the southwest side took several class 4 moves stacked one on top of another (nerve-wracking even in really good AT boots) until I found myself looking back down from legit exposure with a few more challenging moves to go. Not fall-and-you-die, but fall-and-you-slide, AFTER breaking your back on the pointed rocks below. Just one, almost innocuous move after another until eventually the consequences of a slip become catastrophic. The rapid cost-benefit analysis of each move forward makes more sense than going back until you find yourself in a position where you can’t go back at all. Luckily, the ridge yielded to my efforts and I clambered over the top.

I made much faster progress on the SW side, 1% snow, 99% rock and scrambled to the top in less than an hour. Over the course of the morning and early afternoon, perfectly blue skies had been giving way to clouds and storms on the surrounding peaks but I was spared any real precipitation til I made it back to my pack and skis lower down on the ridge.

The rear binding that’d gotten jammed on the way up still refused to go back into ski mode. All the hand-strength I could muster couldn’t twist it into place. A mighty tirade of curses couldn’t make it budge. Using my ski pole for leverage only succeeded in breaking off the riser. A sharp rock embedded in the ridge offered enough resistance to finally bang it into place, just in time to drop into a total whiteout.

The whole day had about 2 hours of bad weather, 1of which swallowed my entire descent. The snow was a bit manky but even perfect pow would’ve been worthless in light so Florida flat. A couple point-releases and rollerballs gave just enough contrast to ski the first 500ft vertigo free. Once off the steepest pitch, those references lost, sliding to every stop nearly had me falling over. Ever seen someone absolutely slay it inside of a ping-pong ball or a glass of whole milk? Me neither. Just a few thousand feet of survival skiing. I’d like to think it was decades of backcountry intuition and sticking close to my skin track that helped me avoid the cliff bands on the way down but more likely blind luck. The clouds finally lifted barely enough to put together a dozen smooth turns down the final steep pitch to the frozen lake. Exhausted from the mental effort of just staying upright for the previous hour, I re-crossed the ice at maybe a quarter the speed that I had in the morning. Enormous white expanse beneath me, endless ceiling of white above and a wall of dark trees in the distance inching steadily closer.

Back in camp, the dusting of snow that had fallen on my gear fully melted out by the sun that had by then re-emerged in its full glory. I packed up my gear, super satisfied that my first experience camping in the snow was a raging success. The mellow angled descent back to the valley floor was light and fun, the snow supportive, barely any need to turn and check speed, even less need to pole along. A single bare patch had me remove my skis, but back to sliding soon. I cut the last switchback for a few fun final turns.

The light and breezy skin up the wide valley yesterday made for a whole lotta shuffling on the way out. I managed to mostly stick to the trail the first couple miles, skis stuck to my feet, weaving through the wetlands, in and out of forest. Bare patches began popping up more frequently where a normal winter would have them still under feet of snow. I walked tens and sometimes hundreds of yards at a time, thinking the party was finally over, only to put boards back on for another fun few minutes of skiing. Despite the warm, softening snow, my skis never torpedoed and I rewarded them with minimal punishment. A five foot stretch of rock-peppered dirt here, a ten foot patch of grass and mud there, but no uncontrolled sliding onto sharp stones and never a core shot.

Heaven is sliding downhill, even walking gently downhill in comfy shoes can be pretty great. Somehow the purgatory of constant switching, skis on-skis off, walk 30 ft, skis on for one minute, bend over and pull them off again, soaking wet gloves, snow mixing with mud melting down shouldered skis before running down your neck. It can all add up to a hellish experience. The flat section of snow that turns steeper around a boulder and the boots you left in walk mode betray you with a backwards fall that takes minutes to get up from.

But even after all that, I finished out the snow with a couple uninterrupted minutes of gently dropping downhill. The right spot to take off my boots and slip back into shoes seemed perfectly obvious and the mountains gave grace enough to never leave so much snow below to make me second guess the transition.

Relieved to be out of my boots, I made great time over the remaining miles. As the afternoon turned to evening, the patches of snow down the trail firmed up enough to support my weight as I flew downhill. The fading light shone beautifully in the meadows but rocks out of nowhere tripped me up in the denser forest. I finally dropped my pack, pulled out my headlamp and resigned myself to the dark with miles to go.

I sang a few songs for myself and the bears waking up from their long naps. I can’t wait until the final fence that means I’m really close to the end. How are there still snow patches when I took my boots off an hour ago? How does this trail keep on going forever? I could’ve sworn there were only two fences on the way up; how come it’s been a mile since what should’ve been the last one? Is that SAR coming up the trail for me? Nope, the reflection off my car’s blinker. DONE! 25ish Miles and 6700 vertical feet gained. Maybe another week left before the juice is no longer worth the squeeze. Get it while you can!

5.23 walk, 1446 feet gained

4.43 skin, 1324 feet gained

2.8miles to ridge, 3647 feet gained

.25 miles / 280 feet to summit

25+ miles and 6700 feet

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