By Jarek
Hiking Quandary Peak on December 19 was probably the most physically demanding thing I have ever done in my entire life. I don’t speak for Kaylee in this since she has given birth, but for me, I think it tops the list.
Having hiked Pikes Peak last summer, I felt confident in our ability to take on Quandary. After all, it would be only 7 miles round trip instead of 14. This was such an “easy” 14er that we needed an extra challenge—so how about hiking it in winter? There would be fewer people, we could push ourselves and gain experience, we’d see the glorious snow-covered mountains… win-win-win.
Let’s just say Quandary outperformed on all accounts, totally “blowing away” my expectations.
We hit the trail right around 8:30 in the morning. The day was cold but clear, and moving quickly up the snow-packed trail we were soon in danger of getting too warm. We shed some layers and took in the snowy forest and surrounding slopes with joy. A quiet winter wilderness wonderland just for us.
A few signs warned of the challenges ahead. First, we noticed gentle snowfall glittering against the blue sky. The tops of the trees were rustling slightly in some higher wind, dusting us with crystals as we passed by. We started preparing mentally for wind on the ridge. Then we met someone coming back down. “Too windy up there for me,” he said. “I’m not brave enough for that.” We braced for wind and consoled ourselves by saying, “Well, he had to think about his dog getting cold, and he didn’t have a face mask anyways. Hopefully it’s not too bad…”
All too soon, it seemed, we reached the edge of the treeline and paused for a snack before ascending onto the ridge. Little did we know how fortuitous that would prove. We were maybe an hour and a half into our hike.
It was once we summited the ridge that my confidence took a major blow. Now, for the first time, I could see the peak disappearing into the clouds. It was far. It was steep. It was high. The wind was unpleasant and discouraging. Still, Kaylee, my sister, and I rallied together. “Now we can see it! We can do it!” None of us voiced the doubts in our hearts.
The slope was gradual enough at first, but before long felt like it was going straight up. The wind bordered on intolerable. Occasional blessed reprieves were followed by bursts strong enough to almost knock us over. We’d drop to our knees and shelter our faces from the stinging snow. Clouds of blowing snow obscured our view. Taking our gloves off for longer than 30 seconds became painful, so our carefully packed food became inaccessible. Kaylee’s water soon froze in the tube of her camelback, cutting our water supply in half. We shared mine until it ran out halfway up the remaining distance. The altitude began to take its toll, slowing our steps and making me feel nauseous.
At least we had hand warmers! On that mountain, those things were worth their weight in gold. Even with them, though, I could barely take my hands out long enough to snap any pictures (many of these are courtesy of my sister). And then the cold killed my phone battery, anyway…
A determined resolution to keep putting one foot in front of the other got us to the top at 1:45 pm. To contrast, on Pikes Peak we gained 4,000 ft over 7 miles in a little less than 6 hours. On Quandary, we climbed nearly 3,500 ft. in 3.5 miles and it took us 5 hours. Standing on top of that mountain gave an exhilarating sense of achievement, matched only by a desire to get down and out of the wind.
We stayed up top for less than 15 minutes. Buoyed by our victory and with gravity a foe-turned-friend, I optimistically hoped that the worst was behind us. Once again, I underestimated the mountain.
Simply put, I hadn’t counted on altitude sickness, hunger, and dehydration. I don’t think I’ve ever felt physically worse while hiking, but there was nothing for it but to take another step. I didn’t let myself stop and rest for fear that if I lost momentum it would be that much harder to start again. Soon though, we reached a fateful decision.
Hiking Quandary in winter, you’re supposed to get up on the ridge a little sooner than you would taking the trail in summer, so as to avoid a potential avalanche area. On our way up, we looked for this turnoff but never saw it, so we continued following everyone else’s tracks and took the normal, summer route (thankfully not enough snow for any avalanche danger that day). On the way back, however, we decided to try and follow the ridge down the “winter route,” both to see something new and in the hopes it would be shorter. What we got instead was a trail that faded into masses of drifted snow.
Right at the bottom of the ridge, with the main trail actually in sight, we got caught in the drifts. The snow was three to four feet deep, crusty enough on top to prevent you from easily pushing through it, but not strong enough to support your weight. Too exhausted to turn back but facing a seemingly insurmountable challenge, it was crushing. Call me melodramatic, but I actually lay in the snow and wondered if it wouldn’t be better to just die there. We tried spreading our weight across the snow and sliding down it, crawling down it, even rolling down it like children. Nothing worked; we just crunched and sank back into that deep powder. “Miserable” is an understatement.
Somehow, trudging, resting, crawling, giving up, rolling, then trudging again, we made it those 100 yards to the main trail. I got there a little ahead of the girls and just lay in the snow, utterly spent. When they arrived, cheerier and stronger than me, we tackled the last mile to the car. At 4:15, we made it. A cup of hot chocolate poured from a thermos could have been the elixir of youth, and before long even I was laughing at my pathetic crawl through those drifts. What a day.
We had braved the rugged and the inhospitable. We ascended the heights though the elements deprived us of food, water, and sufficient oxygen. It was beautiful but it was stunningly difficult. Every time I see Pikes Peak, I think, “I conquered you.” Every time I my mind goes to Quandary, I think, “I survived.”
