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I suppose every trip has a background and this is no exception. Although Jean Aschenbrenner had climbed more than half of the 54 traditional 14ers in calendar winter, her success list did not include Mt. Harvard or Mt. Oxford. I hadn’t been up Harvard in winter since an East Ridge climb in 1993 and Oxford since a direct ascent from Little John’s Cabin in 1988. I did climb the Northeast Ridge of Harvard in winter conditions in November of 1984, but fair is fair and that wasn’t winter. In February of 1989, with two friends, we postholed up the Pine Creek valley to a bivouac at Little John’s Cabin on one of the coldest weekends in the history of the universe. We retreated the next day with tails tucked firmly between our frozen legs. Last February, we were members of the infamous French Trench Gang and were twice repulsed by the East Ridge of Harvard by weather or time concerns.
OK, enough history. This was the year to add these to Jean’s list and I’m always on the lookout for new routes on 14ers, especially in winter. We would do a 3-day backpack up Pine Creek and climb the Northeast Spur of the Northwest Ridge of Harvard and something like the Southeast Ridge of Oxford. How about doing it over the Christmas holiday? Now what red-blooded American peakbagger could resist a suggestion like that? As the day approached, the weather forecast predicted frigid conditions to start, but clear and warming over the weekend. My body even had a day to recover from a tough climb of Columbia on the 22nd. We were good to go.
It’s Christmas Eve, 7:00 AM. I’m lacing up my plastic boots in the back of the 4Runner at 8,800’ just off Highway 24. A gusty wind is rocking the truck. The wind chill outside is precisely -373 degrees. Holy shamoley Stevo! Better toss Fido an extra biscuit and be glad he couldn’t find any room at the inn. I put seven hand warmers in each mitten, hop out, and struggle to lift my 168-pound pack. Yes, I’m thinking in extremes this morning. We start with snowshoes and scrape along a rutted road for several hundred yards before settling into the remains of an old track. It gradually occurs to me that I might survive the first hour.
The ski and snowshoe track continues across the meadow, into the forest, and beyond the start of the Pine Creek Trail. This is an unexpected early Christmas present. We were assuming that we’d be doing extensive trench work today. What did we do to deserve this? I'm pretty sure it’s nothing to do with me. Jean insists that, yes, she has been especially good lately. We plod on merrily and thankfully for hours as the day gradually warms. By about 9,900’, we’re convinced that Steve and Terri snuck in here a week ago and made the track to “pay us back” for Frenchman Creek last winter. If so, they’re having a hearty laugh as the track abruptly ends.
Oh well, it was bound to happen. The real effort has begun. At about 10,200’, we reach the nasty exposed section. In summer, the trail side hills across active landslide scars. With a heavy snow layer, there’s no evidence of a trail and the exposure above the creek is … interesting. I drop my pack, remove snowshoes, and slowly build a platform in the sugary snow wide enough to cross on snowshoes. It’s a spooky place. I return and we cross with the big packs. That’s only the start of the problems. The side hilling continues on hard, crusty snow. It’s a good challenge for the snowshoe claws and miserable on the ankles. Eventually, it becomes too difficult; we can do it no more. We descend into the creek and carefully work our way along the ice with water gurgling just below. The gorge quickly becomes too tangled for progress, so we frontpoint on snowshoes through snow and on frozen ground to reach a shelf on the north side of the creek. A two-minute easy descent deposits us back on the trail in the meadow at 10,400’. The crux of the approach has been overcome.
The long trek to Little John’s Cabin is relatively easy. We snowshoe across lightly-covered meadows, through deeper woods, on the icy creek bed, and occasionally along a bare trail. I’m surprised to find that the Cabin is padlocked these days. It’s good that we weren’t planning to bivy. We continue for another quarter mile and find a very nice campsite just on the south side of the creek at about 10,800’. Camp is established before 4:00 and the evening is pleasant enough that we can cook outside sitting on a log. How’s that for suffering? By 5:30, we’re tucked in for a long winter’s night.
I had planned to start the stove at 5:00 AM, but the nasty wind that came up overnight has me thinking that a later start would be OK. We’re not planning a long day. We don’t set out until 7:40. Yeah, I suppose that is rather embarrassing for two veterans. We climb steeply and slowly on snowshoes along a mini-ridge on the west side of the unnamed creek that separates the Northwest and Northeast Ridges of Harvard. In a performance as old as time, Jean makes a two inch deep track and I follow with a knee-deep wallow. Although I understand that it’s all just part of a grand plan (quite a fiendish one if you ask me), I occasionally feel the need to vent. Fortunately, Jean is typically well ahead and out of harms way at these times. In a snow-covered boulderfield at about 11,900’, we cache snowshoes and traverse a short rugged bit to get onto the spur that descends northeast from Point 13426. The day is wonderfully clear, but the wind has come up strong now above treeline. Extra layers are put on for the battle ahead.
Up we go. The spur is steepish in places, but generally very nice for plodding up and trying to stay warm. We climb slowly to conserve energy … or maybe just because we’re old. At point 13426, the ridge turns southeast and heads for the summit. We hide briefly from the wind and gird our proverbial loins for the homestretch. The steeper, cliffy section at 13,800’ turns out fine on hard snow and rubble. We enter the wind crux at about 14,000’. Big plumes and snow devils lash us with spindrift. Fortunately, the east side of the ridge is covered with easily-walked hard snow and we’re able to stay just off the crest. We climb close together, but say very little. Happiness is being up here with a partner that you completely trust. After many years of this, little needs to be said. When wearing goggles, a balaclava, and two hoods, that’s just as well.
Above 14,100’, we reach the shadowed North Face. The terrain gets steeper and concrete snow separates islands of large rocks. Two kicks with a plastic boot barely make a dent. Take it slow and easy. This would be fun except that the shade and the cold and the wind and the remoteness lend a touch of intimidation. It’s a good idea to be careful up here. A final little rock scramble takes us to the sunny East Ridge just twenty feet from the summit. It’s 12:07.
What a way to enjoy Christmas Day! We sit for a bit in a partial wind shadow. The most recent register entry is from Brian Kooienga and partner on November 13th. I wish that I could have afforded the weight of my monster thermos. Some hot tomato soup would go down very easy right now. The sea of peaks that are the Sawatch Range extend forever north and south. Uncompahgre looms large to the southwest.
Despite the sun we’re getting cold and it’s time to go. We ease down the upper section and regain the sun and more mellow terrain. Once below Point 13426, the wind is more at our backs and the day more pleasant. After reclaiming snowshoes, we break trail down a different route, no better I’m afraid. An early dinner becomes our chief concern in life. We’re zipping the tent shut as a full moon crests the trees.
On Sunday morning, we start for the Southeast Ridge of Oxford at 7:20. It’s another sunny day. We head off on snowshoes, but cache them after only a half hour. The south-facing slopes covered in leafless aspen are half bare. We do a rather miserable bushwhack through entangled dead branches, weave around some surprising cliff bands, posthole through unexpected snow to reach the cursedly high treeline, and eventually stumble onto climbable terrain.
The ridge is rather nice for a short while on steep rocky tundra with some outcrops. The wind is up, but it’s not unpleasant. Above about 13,200’, the tundra is replaced by scree and the outcrops by snow-filled boulders. Progress slows and the wind rises. This route is not destined to be listed among my 14er favorites. At 13,800’, as we gain the summit flats, the wind graduates suddenly from nasty to brutal. We weave our way up with many stops to brace for especially fierce gusts.
We top out at about 11:20. It’s difficult to find anywhere to hide up here. The register shows a previous entry on October 29th. I sign in spurts between finger and pen re-warming. We’d like to head over to climb Mt. Belford, but the time just isn’t there. Well, truth be told, the wind is just a tad discouraging in any case. Mission accomplished. Let’s get out of here.
Below 13,800’, the wind dies away to merely outrageous. We’re quite slow descending the grunge and snowy boulders, but pick up the pace below. The brittle aspens are just as hideous as during the ascent, but do yield our hidden snowshoes. We regain camp a little after 2:00. Now for that most dreaded part of any winter camping trip. Just close your mind and focus on each little chore. Fortunately, we took the time in the morning to melt a pot of snow to refill water bottles.
By 2:45 camp is broken and we’re loaded up and starting down. It’s going to be a long snowshoe out on tired legs. We’re able to deal with the nasty section in and out of the gorge with daylight. We settle in for the long plod by headlamp. Every ache and pain that my creaky body can imagine is presented to me for consideration. Ummm, OK, we can do that for awhile; no, nope, I want nothing to do with that one. The rising full moon is actually a nuisance, creating a dappled forest floor. At 7:05, we’re back at the truck feeling just a bit like senior citizens.
I pose the traditional question. Jean has to think for a second, after all she has just tagged two new winter 14ers. But, yes, we certainly are getting too old for this … and that’s been true for many years. |
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