Quandary Peak
3-21-05

Just so there’s no suspense: we failed. Not only did we not summit Quandary . . . well, I’ll leave the best parts for my narrative below. Yes, my first snow climb was not a success, but my Dad and I had fun, at least, and we gained experience for any future snow climbs we attempt. A few reasons for our failure: we are inexperienced winter hikers (i.e. zero experience). I really wanted to do something exciting for spring break while I had the spare time, though, hence the reason for the trip. This trip was certainly ill-advised in every respect: I checked 14ers.com for about five days to see how the weather would turn out. This morning before we left, the site said that there was a 70% chance of snow and up to 44 mph winds. I also called ranger stations to check up on road conditions, and one ranger suggested that we not hike because a road to the trailhead was impassible (that only added 0.2 miles to the total hike, so no big deal, but it was an indicator of how deep the snow was). At REI, while we were renting our snowshoes, a worker there thought that we shouldn’t hike if heavy snow was in the forecast. An experienced, wise mountaineer would have cancelled the trip at that point. I am neither an experienced mountaineer nor wise.

Winter hiking is incredibly dangerous. The threats of avalanches, frostbite, hypothermia, and simply getting lost or stumbling off a cliff are ever-present. I prepared by researching the type of gear to bring and then buying or renting it, reading up on how to avoid avalanches and what to do if caught in one, and checking forecasts and road conditions (which, as I mentioned, I more or less ignored).

We left out house at 6:45 AM this morning, a very late start if we were climbing a fourteener in the summer, but we figured that it would be alright since lightning in winter is rare. We drove to the trailhead a few miles south of Breckenridge and hit the trail at around 9:30 AM. We were well-prepared in terms of gear: snowshoes, ski poles, four layers of clothing, hats, ski goggles, matches, and more food and water than either of us could possibly consume (just in case we got trapped on the mountain somehow). Our packs were still fairly light, though. We were a bit too prepared because I was extremely hot the whole time; I guess I shouldn’t have worn so many layers. Since neither of us had waterproof boots, I had the idea to wrap plastic bags around our boots; it looked ridiculous, be we were completely dry for the whole hike.


Dad suits up


(yes, I look like a bank robber, I know)

Winter hiking is definitely a wonderful experience: the visibility was low the whole time, it snowed constantly (sometimes lightly, sometimes thick and fast) but the nearby scenery was beautiful, and as an added bonus, we didn’t meet a single person along the trail. The snowshoes only took us a few minutes to get adjusted to. After a few minutes of practice, they felt so much a part of my boots that I was barely aware of them (as the snow got a few feet deeper later on, they started to get hung up and became a bit of a nuisance).



Someone had hiked up the trail before us and left a nice set of snowshoe prints for us to follow. This was very helpful because the trail was not very well marked other than a total of four signs (no cairns at all).

While we were still in the tree line, I uttered such comments as “wow, I really like this better than summer hiking” and “this is a lot easier than I thought!” Once out of the tree line, however, our “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening” hike became a “Lost on Hoth without Tauntauns and Blasters” kind of hike. As soon as we were out of the trees the trail and the footprints disappeared altogether. Without trees to shield us from the wind, we often had to strain to keep our balance. The visibility shot down to a few hundred feet. Snow began dropping quicker. At that point, with about four hundred feet of 45 degree slope in front of me, I began to wonder if we could even make it to the summit. We decided that we might as well continue up the slope even though we didn’t know if we were even close to the trail. After all, when you’re on a mountain you want to go up, and all the other possibilities led downward.



A long time after, the snow thinned and we reached the top of the talus slope and took a rest break. I was very disheartened when I saw that we had another slope even steeper and longer than the one we had just ascended. To make things worse, I could not see the top of the slope because it was covered in clouds. I told my Dad to stay there and I would scout ahead. I walked 100 feet or so when I heard what sounded like a thousand waves crashing against a seashore. My first instinct was to run in fright, but I did my best to stay calm. I am certain that it was an avalanche, but I have no way of knowing how large or how far away. All I know is that it scared the heck out of me and I knew we had to get off the mountain immediately. I proceeded back down the slope to my Dad and whispered to him that we needed to get down right away, and he agreed.

As we started down toward the tree line, the clouds cleared a little and revealed an enormous mountain across the valley from us. It looked so very familiar . . . and then I realized that it had to be Quandary Peak; when we had left the tree line earlier and lost the trail we must have really lost the trail because we were ascending Quandary’s neighbor, Wheeler Peak (a thirteener), by mistake! (Note: months after I posed this, I found out that we actually were on Quandary the whole time).


Me looking kind of goofy, oblivious to the fact that Quandary Peak is
actually right behind me and that we are on the wrong mountain (feel free to laugh)

We made it to the tree line in no time but couldn’t find the trail. I led the way through a thick group of trees until I finally spotted the trail. It was less than 100 feet away and we began walking toward it. The snow was extremely deep (over ten feet in drifts, we estimated with the help of our poles, and two to four feet everywhere else). My Dad fell into the snow up to his waist and couldn’t pull himself up for a long time. I kept taking a step, sinking nearly to my waist, struggling to pull myself out, then repeating the process dozens of times. So, it took us at least half an hour to go 100 feet (I hated this part of the trip most). The rest of the way down the mountain, once we were securely on the trail, was much easier. The snow was accumulating rapidly, and our footprints from the ascent were completely covered by that time.


Waist-deep snow even on one section of the trail

My Dad was getting tired. I heard a thud behind me and turned to see him lying face down in the snow, motionless. I was frightened until he started to laugh and stood up. Apparently he had crossed his snowshoes and tripped (this happened again ten minutes later with the same result).



We got back to our van and removed our snowshoes and a few layers of clothes then set off down the road. I was disappointed that we didn’t make the summit, but we were on the wrong mountain for half of the trip, anyway, so this trip was riddled with problems. I’ve discovered that when you are terribly lost, it’s a good idea to turn back and try again another time instead of risking getting even more lost. We had a fun backcountry winter adventure, neither of us got hurt, and we learned many valuable lessons that I hope to apply in the years to come.

Things to keep in mind for our next winter hike: bring a GPS and topo map with waypoints carefully plotted, don’t hike while it is snowing, bring someone along who has snow hiking experience, stay on the trail at all times, and above all turn back if the weather becomes too severe.