Snowmass Mountain – Wild Wanderer

Hagerman Peak 13,848 & Snowmass Mountain 14,105

RT Length: 15.5 miles

Elevation Gain: 6211’

After my failed attempt last week I decided to do more research and try Hagerman again today. I learned the upper road to Lead King Basin had an avalanche about 1 mile after the stream crossing (very close to where I’d parked) so I decided to take the lower road from Marble to Crystal instead. I’d heard a lot of conflicting reports on this road, but when I searched it online I found this video, which was very helpful.

Marble to Crystal

The road itself wasn’t that difficult with a 4WD (I wouldn’t attempt in a 2WD), and my Tundra handled it just fine. The only problems I can foresee would be passing other vehicles. Luckily there are a lot of small turnout areas on this road, especially before and after the committing areas. I drove in at night to ensure I wouldn’t need to pass oncoming vehicles, which I knew would be problematic in my big truck, no matter the size of the other vehicle.

Since I drove in when it was dark I wasn’t able to see the Crystal Mill, but I expected to see it on my way out the next day.

I made it to Crystal around 10pm on a Thursday night and all the lights in the ‘city’ were out. As I passed the Crystal Mill I saw a sign saying Lead King Basin was closed, so I dimmed my lights and parked at the east end of town, mentally calculating the extra mileage and what time I needed to start in the morning. Looks like I was getting about 3.5 hours of sleep.

As I was preparing to go to bed (my lights were out) I saw the lights go on in the second story windows of a cabin across the street. The two story 18^th century style wood cabin had two tiny windows upstairs, covered in lace curtains. The light from the windows was glowing pale blue, and I saw the silhouette of a woman walking around. She was wearing a long nightgown and her hair was pinned up in a bun. The woman slowly walked around the room, picking up objects and setting them back down. Then the lights went out.

I set my alarm for 2am. When I woke up I crawled from the back seat into my front seat and started putting on my shoes. I didn’t need to turn on any lights because the full moon was shining bright enough to allow me to see. I saw a fox run down the center of the road, and then noticed the lights in the second story window of the house across the street turn on. Once again I saw the silhouette of a woman walking around. She was wearing a long nightgown and her hair was pinned up in a bun. She slowly walked around the room, picking up objects and setting them back down. Then the lights went out.

Whoa. That was spooky. I knew I hadn’t woken her up because I hadn’t made any noise, opened any doors, turned on any lights, etc. I was going to have to investigate that house in the daylight upon my return because that was just… weird. I mean, what are the chances she was up at 10pm and 2am, just like I was? Also, how many women still wear nightgowns to bed?

Ok, so I was on the trail at 2:15am. It was a 2 mile hike to Lead King Basin along a 4WD road that didn’t offer many turnouts, but was indeed open and my truck could have made it just fine to the trailhead. Oh well, I was getting in 4 extra miles today.

The trailhead was about 2 miles from Crystal. I didn’t see any of this in the dark (these signs seriously need reflective elements to them for us who start before daylight).

There’s a nice junction where you turn left to head up and around the north end of Lead King Basin to Geneva Lake

Here the trail was quite overgrown with flowers, plants, and trees. I thought to myself how it felt a little like being in a rainforest, and how much fun the flowered areas would be on my way back (I’m not a fan of flying-stinging insects, so I was being sarcastic). On the positive side: no mosquitoes!

It was in this area I saw my first ever porcupine on the trail. I see them along the side of the road when I’m driving to trailheads quite a bit, and one time I heard one under my truck at the Grizzly Gulch trailhead and had to fend it off in the middle of the night, but this was the first one I’d encountered on the trail.

He was just sitting there, staring at me. So I talked to him to get him to move. He turned around and waddled ahead of me, staying directly in the middle of the trail. I didn’t really want to follow a porcupine to the lake, so I talked a little louder to him. He scurried into the bushes and I immediately realized the error of my ways: now I couldn’t see him and didn’t know where he was. I didn’t want to experience porcupine quills and all that entails, so I nicely talked to the porcupine in a sing-song voice as I passed where I’d last seen him, crossing my fingers I hadn’t made him mad/scared and that he wasn’t sitting in the bushes: poised to shoot.

Mission “pass the porcupine” accomplished I continued on to the lake. The moon was full and bright so I conserved flashlight battery and hiked by the moonlight. Just as I made it to the lake I heard a faint barking in the distance. I was worried there was a lost dog out there somewhere (hey, it’s happened) but as I rounded the bend to the lake the barking got louder, and then I saw a flashlight turn on. The owner was pointing the flashlight in the direction opposite of me, and the dog was starting to bark really loud. I yelled up at them “It’s just a hiker!” I received no response, but the dog stopped barking and the flashlight turned off. It was about 4:45am. I immediately felt more secure hiking in the dark: I was pretty sure there wasn’t another animal in the area, as that dog would have been alerted to it.

Just north of the lake the trail continues north and then there’s a stream crossing. There were tons of areas to cross here, and all required taking off my shoes. At times the water was knee deep (I’m 5’4”), but mostly it was just high on my shins. Also, it was cold. When I was done my water shoes were quite muddy so I left them on a rock to dry and to pick up later.

This is where my trip report diverges from some of the more popular field guides. I took the 1^st west side gully to the southwest ridge.

I crossed the creek and headed north for about 100 yards, looking for a gully to my right (west gully). I’d seen pictures of the access gullies on the east that were still full of snow, so by taking the west side I was hoping to avoid any snow filled gullies. I wasn’t disappointed. Here’s the gully I took:

This gully was steep and loose. I did not feel comfortable sticking to the scree in the middle, so I stuck to the right side where the rocks were larger.

My goal was to gain the ridge as quickly as possible, aiming for this small saddle

Here’s looking back on the route

From the small saddle you can see Hagerman Peak

I turned left (north) and faced a class 3 section and headed up and over the ridge.

At the top of this point I could see the rest of the route before me

It’s important to note if you’re attempting this ridge to start early and make sure you have a large weather window. This ridge is very committing. I went at it slowly and carefully. The rocks here crumble: I’d find a hand hold, grip, and the rock would crumble in my hands. I had to make sure to test out each hold several times before using it to secure myself. Luckily, the ridge was snow free.

This is definitely a ridge you take by… sticking to the ridge. I was able to go directly up and over most areas, dipping to the left or right just a couple of times. As I ascended the rocks stopped crumbling and started tipping a bit (nothing fell, but not much was stable). Here’s the final push to the summit.

I made it to the summit at 9:10am

Hagerman:

I started the ridge at 7:15am and ended at 9:10am, making this a 2 hour ridge to cross. Here’s looking back at the route

The day was absolutely beautiful and it was still early morning so I considered traversing over to nearby 14er Snowmass Mountain. I’d done a lot of research and came up pretty empty with details, but I knew it could be done. I spent quite a bit of time looking around at possible paths before deciding if I was going to attempt traversing or not. I looked at Snowmass Mountain’s east side: nope, that was a no go. Tons of snow and no way I could see to begin from the summit. Next I looked to the left (west). A lot less snow but the shadows weren’t helping much.

I stopped and did a lot of thinking here. I knew the traverse was possible. The rock looked loose, but I could also see goat trails (or maybe those were gullies…). I was confident I could find traction in the dirt. I mentally calculated how much time I had, the weather, and looked for exit strategies in case I got to a place where I couldn’t continue. I decided both time and weather were in my favor today so I decided to go for it.

Note: This may not be the safest way to traverse from Hagerman to 14er Snowmass Mountain. For me and my abilities, it was the safest way on this particular day.

The first move committed me to the traverse: I down climbed about 50 feet of… this. I’m not sure I could have climbed back up this wall. (Ok, I could have or I wouldn’t have climbed down, but it would have been a lot of work).

I turned and looked towards Snowmass Mountain. This is what I saw. So I headed northeast and rounded the corner.

I was taking this one section at a time, focusing on what was directly in front of me but glancing up at the rest of the route every so often to make sure I was on course. I found myself trying to stick to the ridge, but that is not the way to do this traverse: you need to drop down much lower than you want to. Every time I tried to regain elevation I was forced to head back down.

My advice is to descend lower than the saddle, and then take the scree line up to where the trail connects with the east route. The best terrain was consistently 100-200 feet below the ridge.

Once you connect with the ridge where the east route links up you can easily follow the cairns to the summit.

This was a very slow climb. Everything was loose and what wasn’t loose was scree. I took extra time to be careful with each and every step, and kept the entire route in view as often as possible. I most likely made this take longer than necessary, but I stayed safe. I made it to the summit of Snowmass Mountain at 12:50pm, making this a traverse that took over 3.5 hours to complete. Here’s looking back at the route

Summit photo

Summit Video

I spent a lot of time on this bluebird day taking pictures. It’s harder than you think to set an automatic timer and then scramble up to the summit block. It took a few tries… and the ones that actually turned out were fuzzy, so I gave up.

After spending much more time on the summit than necessary I needed to make the decision of how I was going to head back down. I’d been hoping, similar to the west side of Hagerman, that the west side of Snowmass Mountain would be free from snow. No such luck. There was still snow in the gullies.

I did not want to do the traverse back to Hagerman because that and another 3 hour traverse would have been exhausting. I could tell the gullies on the west side of Snowmass Mountain ended/cliffed out in a waterfall area, but I could also see bare rock I could traverse either north or south to connect up where I needed to be. I decided to head down Snowmass Mountain’s west side, but for safety I would slightly alter the traditional route. It was too late in the day to safely take the gullies, so I was going to take the rock rib that wasn’t a rib but a bunch of loose rock that bulged from the mountainside. Here’s the route I took

Do not let these photos fool you: this is where I encountered the loosest rock of the day. These rocks are the size of refrigerators and tables. Every 3^rd rock would tip, and I would think to myself: “That’s a lot of rock to tip!” Luckily not one rock actually tipped/fell/tumbled/caused a rock slide.

This was a very slow process but eventually I made it to the waterfall area. My feet were starting to hurt at this point from all the rock work.

The snow ended just at the waterfall and surprisingly I crossed the waterfall pretty easily here and headed down. I made it down to this area at 3:30pm.

The snow started up again after the waterfalls

From here I looked down at the basin, and unfortunately there was a lot of snow covering the trail I was supposed to take back to Geneva Lake. That snow was going to be several feet of mush at this time of day so I decided to traverse south along the mountainside, looking for a safer route down.

I made it here and unfortunately cliffed out yet again… but I could see where I needed to be: That goat trail should get me down.

After searching around for a bit I was able to find a way off this spot by circling the area to the north and down the small cliff

From here I followed the goat trail that went down a forested gully and came out ready to exit and head towards Geneva Lake.

The area through the trees to the stream crossing was wet.

At the stream crossing I reconnected with my water shoes. They were now dry but had been scattered and were now no longer sitting on the rock together but in the grass a few feet apart. I changed out of my shoes into my water shoes and crossed the creek

I’m ashamed to say the creek ate my water shoes. Seriously. The banks were quite muddy and during the last two steps my water shoes got sucked off my feet and into the muck. I spent 20 minutes trying to dig them out with my ice axe, but no dice. I couldn’t find them. They were buried in the banks of the stream. Ugh. From here I sat and put on my shoes and new, dry socks. I looked back at the route I’d taken to Hagerman.

My feet were hurting, and I still had 4 miles to go. Time to hit the trail. I skirted the lake and headed back towards Lead King Basin.

One great part of this hike was being able to see the waterfalls. And, since it was so late in the day: no bees!

At the base of the waterfalls the trail was running with quite a bit of water.

In the daylight I could see the upper 4WD trail to Lead King Basin

This is where my feet really started burning. I was surprised, since I’ve done more challenging hikes with greater mileage/elevation gain than this one, yet my feet were very sore. I made it past the Lead King Basin trailhead as the sun set and each step I took hurt more than the last. I wanted to cry. I’ve never felt foot pain like this. Also, I’d been hoping to stop in Carbondale tonight to get Subway for dinner, but it looked like I wasn’t going to make it back in time for that to happen.

It seemed as if it were taking forever to reach Crystal. I eventually came across a sign that said “Private Property next 2.5 miles” and mentally freaked out for a second. There was NO WAY it was 2.5 miles to Crystal! Not only could I physically not make it 2.5 more miles (My feet! My feet!!!) but I was pretty sure it had been 2 miles to the upper trailhead. Had I been wrong and it’d been 4? Ugh, I needed rest and I needed calories because my mind was playing tricks on me. Luckily it was only half a mile past that sign to the town of Crystal. I finished this hike at 8:45pm, making this a 15.5 mile hike/climb with 6211’ in elevation gain in 18.5 hours.

Read on for gross feet pictures and segue into the next hike…

I limped to my truck and sat down by a small access creek about 1 foot wide on the side of the road. I took off my shoes and gasped: Yuck! My feet had never looked like that before! The heels and pads were completely swollen and red/gray, and very painful to the touch (no blisters though).

I decided to wash them off in the water. I placed them both in at the same time and immediately felt relief, and then 2 seconds later started screaming because they started burning as if I’d placed them into a pot of boiling water. My feet turned bright red and were rendered useless. Seriously.

I couldn’t walk the 5 feet to my truck so I sat there for half an hour in the wet creek bank and thought about what I was going to do. I was supposed to drive to the next trailhead for my hike tomorrow, but doing the math if I left now I would get there and only have 1 hour to sleep before starting again. This hike had taken much longer than anticipated. I’d only had 3 hours of sleep last night so it was a bad idea to try to drive and then hike at this point. Also… my feet. I wasn’t sure they’d function tomorrow. They needed time to dry out. But long distance runners/thru hikers have this stuff happen, right? They just tape them up and hike/run anyway. I decided I was really, really tired and should sleep before attempting anything. I’d adjust my schedule as needed.

I had pain killers but decided not to take them: I wanted to be sure of an accurate pain level when I woke up so I could plan my day accordingly. Unfortunately, I never really made it to bed. I crawled into the cab of my truck, thankful I hadn’t rolled up my sleeping bag this morning. I tried to nap but even though I was exhausted I couldn’t get myself to fall asleep. After 2 hours I gave up and decided to drive home, with the added bonus of doing so in the dark late at night so I most likely wouldn’t need to pass anyone on the shelf road out. My feet had dried out a bit and were raw but less sore. They still overreacted every time I tried to use them. My right foot was healthier than my left; I couldn’t press down on the pedal very hard, so I drove slowly, but I made it.

Oh, and since I’d returned in the dark I never got to see the Crystal Mill, or get a good look at that old house with the lady in the windows…

Snowmass Mountain – 14,092

RT Mileage: 22 miles

Elevation Gain: 5800’

It‘d been a long week at work, so I needed a quick nap before heading to the trailhead. I got all my gear together and packed it into my backpacking pack and loaded it into my truck so I’d just need to get up and go.

My backpacking pack looked excessive for a day hike, but I was darned tired of carrying those snowshoes in my hands all the way up the trail again. They don’t strap to my day pack, and they’re a bugger to carry, but they fit nicely into my backpacking pack. So today that’s where they went. At least the pack was light.

My plan was to get to the trailhead at 1am and make it to the lake around 3:30am. That meant I needed to leave at 9:30pm. That gave me 2.5 hours to rest if I fell asleep right now. I jumped into bed, checked my alarm one more time to make sure it was set for 9pm, pulled the covers over my head and fell asleep. Two seconds later I turned over and looked at my phone because I felt way too rested. AGH!!! 10:33pm! My alarm hadn’t gone off! Drat! I did the mental calculations: Was it to late to start? This is really a hike that needs to be started very early in the morning. Very early. Did I just miss my shot? I knew I could make up some of the time driving, and I was all packed, so…

I jumped out of bed, re-heated the morning’s coffee, and was out the door in 5 minutes.

Surprisingly there was no one on the road at 11pm on a Thursday night. I drove most of the way not seeing another vehicle. I couldn’t speed however, because there were a lot of animals out. Just after Buena Vista I saw about 20 deer trying to cross the road in front of me. I had to slow down very quickly to avoid hitting them. I’ll admit I was pretty close, but was able to stop in time. I’m guessing we had 3 inches to spare.

Just as my truck came to a full stop, Wham! I heard a big thump on the back passenger side of the vehicle. I’d just been hit by a deer! I thought that kind of thing only happened in Gilmore Girls? I didn’t want to get out of my truck because there were a bunch of deer around, so I slowly crept the vehicle forward and looked in my rear-view mirror to see if the deer was ok. It was. It had just gotten scared and done the prey thing where they try to zig and zag to confuse their predator into going the other way. She’d zigged when she should have zagged, but all the deer were up and walking around behind me, so I continued on. I’d look at the damage to my truck when I got to the trailhead.

My GPS stated I was making good time. I’d already cut off 30 minutes of drive time, making me only a little over an hour behind schedule. That was promising. Until I made it to the trailhead. Or, what I thought was the trailhead. Those of you familiar with the Maroon-Bells and Snowmass area might think this was a stupid mistake, but my GPS directions and the directions from the .com were pretty parallel, and after following them I ended up at the Maroon Bells Trailhead instead of the Snowmass Trailhead. Both are referred to as the Maroon-Snowmass trailhead (side note: there’s a sign at the park entrance saying the $10 fee to enter Maroon Bells starts June 10).

I was starting at the Maroon-Snowmass Trailhead, but apparently there are two of those?!?! Luckily I’d started the GPX file for the hike before leaving the house (something I learned to do dozens of 14ers ago for situations just like this) and saw where I needed to go to fix this problem.

It took me an hour, and just an FYI, when using the .com directions there is no Snowmass Creek Road: It’s now called Brush Creek, with no mention of Snowmass anywhere, even when it becomes a dirt road.

I made it to the correct trailhead (also named Maroon-Snowmass BTW) at 3am. I’d wanted to almost be at the lake by this point. Now I was mad at myself. The alarm thing was my fault (I’d accidentally set it for Friday at 9pm instead of Thursday at 9pm), and even though I’d found several different directions to the trailhead I messed that up too. So all the time I’d “made up” driving was lost, and then some.

I jumped out of my truck, threw on my pack, and was on my way. I had serious time to make up. Side note: there was a huge tent set up in the parking area with a generator running? That seemed a bit excessive. There were 2 other cars in the lot, one I assumed belonged to the tent people and the other to another hiker(s). The road in was a 2WD dirt road for some of the way. Here’s a picture from later in the day.

About a quarter mile in I realized I forgot to eat my bagel, and I wasn’t 100% sure I remembered to pack my gloves. I knew they’d made it to the truck, but I wasn’t sure they made it into my pack. I was only a little ways in, but I wasn’t turning back. I had food with me, and if my hands got cold I had an extra jacket. I’d improvise.

I passed several closed gates and great signs indicating the correct trail.

It was dark but I was hiking by the light of the moon. I could hear but not see the river, and was glad the path was so easy to follow.

The trail was very well maintained

There were several downed trees directly on the trail, but they were (mostly) easily avoided).

There was also evidence of avalanche activity in the area.

It stayed dark until 5:30am, just as I reached the log jam. (Note, there’s a video of my crossing the log jam later towards the end of this post for those interested in experiencing it with me). The log jam was much easier to cross than I’d anticipated! The only tricky part was all of the logs were floating on the top of the water, making them springy and not secure. The lake was about 8 feet deep in the middle, so I didn’t want to accidentally fall and be a swimmer. I just made sure I checked for stability with each step, and where possible used my trekking pole for balance.

Snowshoes were needed about ¼ mile from the lake. I pulled them out to put them on and woot! I had my gloves! Things were looking up!

I kept the snowshoes on to cross this short log bridge, which actually ended up being a great idea: they gave me extra stability.

I’d made it to Snowmass Lake. It was beautiful in the morning light!

I made it the 8 miles to the lake at 6:45am, when my original intention was to be there at 3:30am. I was over 3 hours later than I’d wanted to be at this point. I did a mental sigh, knowing it was unlikely I’d summit today because the sun would melt the snow to a point that made climbing impossible. Even knowing this I continued on, telling myself there were probably more unknowns ahead and I’d want to be more prepared next time I attempted Snowmass. I’d just keep trekking on and see how far I could get and how much I could learn about the route for next time.

There was no evidence anyone had camped at the lake, so I assumed the extra vehicle belonged to day hikers.

There was evidence of recent avalanche activity at the lake. It looked quite recent, and was coming from the east side. The left banks of the lake were covered in snow I was sure should have melted out by now, and attributed it to an avalanche. There were broken pieces of trees everywhere. I kept my snowshoes on to cross the banks, which was extremely helpful. It looked like others had postholed. There was still ice on some of the lake.

Even after I made it past the lake I kept my snowshoes on as I headed towards the scree slope gully. This was 600’ in elevation gain of pure torture. I don’t like gullies. As far as I’m concerned a gully should either be full of climbable snow or not on the route. It took me forever to climb this thing! It was full of scree and large, loose rocks and boulders. Nothing was stable. It was like a bad Paula Abdul song: two steps forward and two steps back. I actually kept on the snowshoes until I was about halfway up the gully because they gave me added stability (don’t try this at home!!!). I only took them off when the scree and rocks transitioned to boulders. It was apparent they were now doing more harm than good and I didn’t want to risk a broken ankle.

I made it to the top of that very instable gully at 8:30am. I put back on my snowshoes and helmet, thinking to myself it probably would have been a good idea to put my helmet on before the gully.

I looked at the rest of the route before me. Snowmass is best done with snow in the mass, and boy did it have snow!

I started forward and noticed a guy glissading down towards me. This really ticked me off. I was so mad at myself! I should have been where he was right now, on my descent, but instead I still had 3 miles of difficult terrain ahead of me. He made his way towards me and started some small talk about the climb, how many 14ers we’d done, and the generator at the trailhead. He hadn’t seen anyone else all day, and was pretty cheerful. I tried to make small talk, but it was hard for me to remain upbeat. The sun was shining, the snow was melting, and I was behind schedule. I’m sure I came across as rude, and while I regret that I couldn’t help it. If you’re reading this, I apologize for my bad manners!

He told me he’d started at 1am, and was just going lightweight today (he noted, looking at my excessive pack). He didn’t have snowshoes, so he’d postholed around the lake, having a miserable time of it. The snow up towards the top of the mountain was still pretty stable, so I shouldn’t have trouble summiting. I sat down and switched my snowshoes for crampons. This putting on and taking off my snowshoes/crampons was getting exhausting!

We said goodbye, and I looked at the route before me and the way I’d traveled thus far (with the hiker to the right).

I steeled myself: If the snow was indeed still stable as the glissader said there was a small chance I could summit today, and I was going to do my best to make it happen if it was safe to do so. It looked like a long trudge, but doable if I could get there before the snow melted out too much.

Because the trail is covered in snow (if there even is a trail underneath?) you just need to aim for the ridge and make your own route. This mountain is much bigger than it looks, and those rocks and cliffs you see are at least 20 feet in width, some much larger. I aimed for boulders in front of me and just kept going, making my way towards the ridge.

All was going pretty well and I was quite pleased with my progress. It looked like I was actually going to do this! The snow was getting noticeably softer, but I was so close! When I hit about 20 feet from the ridge I hit a big problem: the snow became extremely soft. Stepping on it was like what happens when grab a piece of cotton candy between your fingers and squash it, but slushy. This was not good. I tried to follow tracks made by others, but that ended up making things worse. I was now going parallel to the ridge, trying to find a safe way to summit. It just wasn’t happening, and I was making a mess of the mountain. I hadn’t realized it while I was doing it, but I’d chosen a path that got the most sun earliest in the day. Ugh! I wish I’d have angled toward the right more! Then I wouldn’t have been in this situation. Oh well, I’m a problem solver, so I kept at it until I found a stable route. OK, I actually just tramped down the 5 feet or so of snow until I hit rock and made my way up that way. I apologize to those following in my steps! If you want to avoid this just gain the ridge more to the right…

At 10:30am, despite everything I had going against me, I gained the ridge! I was elated, but I knew one thing: I did NOT want to go back down the way I’d come up. Not only had I pretty much ruined that line it just wasn’t safe. This meant I needed to look for a safer route down and I needed to summit asap because that wonderful sun wasn’t on my side. I sat down to take off my crampons and took a look at the way I’d come and the ridge before me:

It took me about half an hour to travel those .2 miles. Not because the terrain was difficult but because the wind was insane! It was much faster than the predicted 30mph, and COLD!!! I was a popsicle, and could barely move. I summited at 11am. Snowmass is a small summit, and I was frozen and in a hurry to beat the sun, so no great summit photo. Surprisingly, I wasn’t thrilled with this summit like I usually am when I make it to the top. I did get (one) selfie that would have to do and booked it back to the ridge.

19 Snowmass Mountain 14092

The snow came all the way up to the ridge in most areas, so finding a different route down wasn’t too challenging. What was challenging was the angle of the down climb!

This was much steeper than the way I’d taken on the way up. I was surprised at how much firmer the snow was in this area. The descent was easier than I’d anticipated (snow conditions wise) but it still took what seemed like forever! Here’s a photo of the route I took: I went to the left on the way up, and the right on the way down.

I finally made it back to a semi level area and sat down to glissade. Drat! I couldn’t! Because I was wearing my big pack! Oh well, I’d just hike out and enjoy the view while I did so.

The top of the gully had a great view.

The trek down the gully wasn’t any better than the way up. What little snow there was was too soft to traverse. The rocks were all unsable and it was impossible to get traction on the scree, so I had to carefully watch every step I took to avoid falling and creating a rockslide. It was very slow-going and I couldn’t get down fast enough. Have I mentioned I’m not a fan of gullies?

When I made it back down I got a quick video of the avalanche evidence. It looks pretty recent to me, with a lot of debris rolling on top of the snow in the wind.

23 Avalanche near lake

OK, here I was back at the lake.

To make up for my bad attitude I decided to follow the post-holes the glissader made on his way back and trench them with my snowshoes to create a nice path for the next hikers to follow. This was slow going, and took me over an hour. I was making a nice, solid trail though!

I was half way across the lake when it happened. The section I was trenching calved while I was crossing it, right into the lake.

You’re probably thinking: Wasn’t the lake icy cold? Honestly, I couldn’t tell you. It all occurred in slow motion, and luckily I realized what was happening while it was happening so I had some time to plan and prepare before hitting the water.

As the snow and ice disintegrated below me I took a deep breath, filled my lungs with air and steeled myself for the shock of landing in the ice water. I hit the water ready to spring up and stable myself. I was still wearing my snowshoes, and had on my helmet and pack. I stood up, made it as quickly as I could to the shore, climbed up the snow bank, threw off my pack, and rolled in the snow to dry off. I was making snow angels and checking to make sure I hadn’t hurt any part of my body.

After a few good rolls I took off my outer layers of clothing and stripped down to my moisture wicking under-layers. I rolled in the snow again. When I felt I’d absorbed as much water as possible I got up and did jumping jacks for 2 minutes, warming up my body. While doing the calisthenics I considered my options. The next course of action should have been to start a fire and dry out my socks/shoes, but I was pretty sure there was a fire ban, and besides, it would take longer to dry out my stuff than it would take to hike the 8 miles out. I needed to stay as warm as possible, and sitting in front of a fire would just take time and provide the opportunity for me to go into shock. The best way to prevent shock (for me) is to keep moving. My altruism was done for the day. No more trenching: I threw my wet clothes into my pack and began the long slog back to my truck in soaking wet socks and boots. My new priority was making it back to my truck and the dry socks I had sitting on my passenger seat.

I made it to the log jam and decided to take a video of the crossing

In case you’re wondering, these ponds have fish in them. I saw dozens of trout near the shore.

It was a very long 8 miles back to my truck. Those 8 miles out were not as pleasant as I’m sure they were intended to be.

Around mile 18 is when I really got tired. My feet were rubbing against my wet socks and drenched shoes, creating terrible blisters. They squished with every step, and at one point I felt my pinky toenail come off. That stung. My pack, now full of wet clothes, was heavy and eating into my shoulders. Every quarter of a mile or so I had to stop and bend over to release some of the tension and weight from my shoulders.

I was following the creek back, and as I was relieving the pressure from my shoulders I heard it: singing. I righted myself and looked around to see if anyone was there, but the forest was empty. Yet I could distinctly hear singing. I couldn’t make out the words, but it was a woman, singing softly and humming. It almost sounded like it was coming from a radio, faint in the distance. I’ve often heard what sounds like music from a creek/flowing body of water, but that’s not what this was.

I shook it off and kept going, but every time I came close to the creek I heard it again. At one point it sounded like it was coming from a jukebox or an old staticky radio. I looked over at the raging creek. Water was a good conductor, maybe that’s where it was coming from? I shook my head. Ugh, not a conductor of sound Laura.

I knew what was happening: I’d only gotten 3 hours of sleep last night, and while I had food I hadn’t eaten all day because I didn’t feel like stopping to take it out of my pack (I don’t get hungry when I hike, so I have to force myself to eat). I was in shock and suffering from low blood sugar, causing auditory hallucinations. Not eating combined with lots of physical exercise and the distress of falling into the lake was causing me to go into shock. That didn’t stop me from taking a video while I heard the singing to assess later (in case you’re wondering, no, you can’t hear the ‘singing’ in the video).

On the positive side, there were a lot of beautiful flowers.

I made it back to my truck at 6:30pm and assessed the deer damage: none!

It had been quite a day: 22 miles, 5800’ feet of elevation gain, and an unexpected dunk in Snowmass Lake in 15 hours. It was 26 hours door to door, and I was exhausted!