Quandary: A state of perplexity or doubt
What began as an ambitious but achievable adventure ended in a different kind of adventure altogether; but I believe in my heart that God sent us an angel right when we needed one.
I’ve been wanting to hike a winter 14er for the past few months. I’d chosen Quandary Peak, as it is generally known as a “good winter 14er.”* I was waiting for the trifecta of available time, good weather, and a hiking partner. It all finally came together when my 16-year-old daughter Amber, who has been wanting to hike a 14er, had a day off school—and the weather had been clear for several days, meaning no fresh snow to deal with.
(*This a good winter 14er because it is a Class 1 mountain that is easily accessible from the road, and has a low avalanche risk. This should not be confused with the word “easy.” It is not easy. No 14er ever is.)
I knew Quandary would be hard, but achievable. I did my homework, asking previous hikers about trail conditions and watching the weather forecast. What should have been a textbook Class 1 climb, however, was anything but.
What began as an ambitious but achievable adventure ended in a different kind of adventure altogether; but I believe in my heart that God sent us an angel right when we needed one.
I’ve been wanting to hike a winter 14er for the past few months. I’d chosen Quandary Peak, as it is generally known as a “good winter 14er.”* I was waiting for the trifecta of available time, good weather, and a hiking partner. It all finally came together when my 16-year-old daughter Amber, who has been wanting to hike a 14er, had a day off school—and the weather had been clear for several days, meaning no fresh snow to deal with.
(*This a good winter 14er because it is a Class 1 mountain that is easily accessible from the road, and has a low avalanche risk. This should not be confused with the word “easy.” It is not easy. No 14er ever is.)
I knew Quandary would be hard, but achievable. I did my homework, asking previous hikers about trail conditions and watching the weather forecast. What should have been a textbook Class 1 climb, however, was anything but.
The good news is, the weather was perfect. We couldn’t have asked for better conditions for this time of year. The trail was well-defined and well-packed; no problems there. The views above treeline are phenomenal. I’m not going to lie, though — this hike is hard. With an elevation gain of nearly 3500 feet in just 3.5 miles, the grade was enough to really kick my butt. It’s the kind of thing that motivated me to work out harder so the next one doesn’t wipe me out. It took us 4 hours to summit—a record-breaking slow pace for me!
It was the descent that got hairy. It started out perfectly fine: we were really enjoying the views, which are better going down than going up. Amber, being young, fun, and just a wee bit reckless, thought it would be a good idea to slide down some of the milder slopes on our butts. My quads were screaming at me in fatigue from the sharp descent, so I gave in and joined her. And it was totally fun!
Somehow, we’d slid past where the trail broke to the left at the treeline, and we went straight. What confused us was that there were fresh tracks in the snow, and so we figured we were following people who knew where they were going. That’s when the trouble started.
About the time we figured out that we were on the wrong track, one of the hikers that we’d been following materialized around a tree and said the same thing: these tracks were going the wrong way. This was Tim, a heaven-sent angel disguised as a tall, slender, Asian young man about 25 years old. We’d seen him at the trailhead and again at the summit, though he was always ahead of us a bit. He’d been following the first guy through the trees (who, I hope, made it back okay, considering what we went through). Tim and I consulted our GPSes and agreed that we just had to cut across a little to the left to get back on the trail; no big deal.
Well, we cut across, and across, and across, and NEVER got back on the trail. The further left we went, the further left the trail went. It was truly perplexing.
In the summer, this wouldn’t have been a big deal, because as long as you’re going down, you know you’ll get there eventually. Plus, cutting across the mountain isn’t all that hard in the summer.
Not so in waist-deep snow. We were literally postholing to our thighs with every step. In fact, we were crawling on our hands and knees (which works great until your arm postholes or you lose your balance), sliding on our rears, and sometimes even rolling. (We were without snowshoes, because the hiking trail was packed down well enough that microspikes were sufficient for the climb.) At first, I thought this was a draining but very temporary detour. By the time it became clear that it was not, it was too late.
My biggest enemy was fatigue. After the climb and descent, my legs were shot. I was tired BEFORE this happened; postholing through the wilderness brought me to the end of my endurance, as I’ve never experienced before. I got to the point where I seriously wondered if I could get out of there under my own power. Amber, being both younger and in better shape, fared better than I did, though she got a little ragged near the end, too. Her biggest problem was her fingers nearly got frostbitten. With all the wading and crawling, her gloves got wet – and then they began to freeze. She was okay, and as I told my husband later, thank God for good, dry boots and snowpants. I don’t want to think what it would have been like without them!
Through all of this, though, our angel Tim stayed with us. He was on snowshoes and could have easily tramped down to the bottom without us. In fact, at first I thought he did; and I wouldn’t have blamed him. We had no idea at first how it would be, and if he’d gone on ahead, I wouldn’t have thought anything of it. But he must have seen we were struggling, because he waited for us. As it got worse he stuck close by, making sure we were getting through okay. As it went on and I was truly at the end of my rope, both he and Amber showed real concern. I finally took some time to rest and have some trail mix and water. At this point, the temperature was beginning to dip, bringing a host of new potential dangers. Tim offered me his snowshoes, and that literally may have saved my life. I hated to do it; if I didn’t think I couldn’t extricate myself from one more posthole, I wouldn’t have taken the snowshoes because I knew it meant that he'd be postholing. But I was desperate, so I did take them. And that’s what got me out of there, I swear. (This is the first time in my life I've felt old.) We found some older tracks soon after that, and the going wasn’t so bad anymore, but still … the snowshoes were probably the difference between getting out of there myself or calling Alpine Rescue to come get me.
It was an incredible day I’ll never forget, with lots of valuable, hard-earned lessons about the dangers of the mountain. Talk about highs and lows: from the exhilarating summit of a 14er on a gorgeous winter day, to the realization at my core that I. am. in. trouble. Thank God, we got out of there safely, with no hypothermia or dehydration, just some very weak knees. As for my daughter’s first ever 14er experience, well … she wants to know when we can do it again. Kids.
Lessons learned: 1) When getting off-trail, track back to the diversion point, instead of trying to cut through the forest. 2) Even if I don’t think I’ll need snowshoes, bring ‘em. 3) Never underestimate the value of good quality winter gear. 4) All that extra water and food I packed? This is why. 5) Angels exist, and God sent one when we needed one. He protected us from our folly, and so miracles exist, too.
Well, we cut across, and across, and across, and NEVER got back on the trail. The further left we went, the further left the trail went. It was truly perplexing.
In the summer, this wouldn’t have been a big deal, because as long as you’re going down, you know you’ll get there eventually. Plus, cutting across the mountain isn’t all that hard in the summer.
Not so in waist-deep snow. We were literally postholing to our thighs with every step. In fact, we were crawling on our hands and knees (which works great until your arm postholes or you lose your balance), sliding on our rears, and sometimes even rolling. (We were without snowshoes, because the hiking trail was packed down well enough that microspikes were sufficient for the climb.) At first, I thought this was a draining but very temporary detour. By the time it became clear that it was not, it was too late.
My biggest enemy was fatigue. After the climb and descent, my legs were shot. I was tired BEFORE this happened; postholing through the wilderness brought me to the end of my endurance, as I’ve never experienced before. I got to the point where I seriously wondered if I could get out of there under my own power. Amber, being both younger and in better shape, fared better than I did, though she got a little ragged near the end, too. Her biggest problem was her fingers nearly got frostbitten. With all the wading and crawling, her gloves got wet – and then they began to freeze. She was okay, and as I told my husband later, thank God for good, dry boots and snowpants. I don’t want to think what it would have been like without them!
Through all of this, though, our angel Tim stayed with us. He was on snowshoes and could have easily tramped down to the bottom without us. In fact, at first I thought he did; and I wouldn’t have blamed him. We had no idea at first how it would be, and if he’d gone on ahead, I wouldn’t have thought anything of it. But he must have seen we were struggling, because he waited for us. As it got worse he stuck close by, making sure we were getting through okay. As it went on and I was truly at the end of my rope, both he and Amber showed real concern. I finally took some time to rest and have some trail mix and water. At this point, the temperature was beginning to dip, bringing a host of new potential dangers. Tim offered me his snowshoes, and that literally may have saved my life. I hated to do it; if I didn’t think I couldn’t extricate myself from one more posthole, I wouldn’t have taken the snowshoes because I knew it meant that he'd be postholing. But I was desperate, so I did take them. And that’s what got me out of there, I swear. (This is the first time in my life I've felt old.) We found some older tracks soon after that, and the going wasn’t so bad anymore, but still … the snowshoes were probably the difference between getting out of there myself or calling Alpine Rescue to come get me.
It was an incredible day I’ll never forget, with lots of valuable, hard-earned lessons about the dangers of the mountain. Talk about highs and lows: from the exhilarating summit of a 14er on a gorgeous winter day, to the realization at my core that I. am. in. trouble. Thank God, we got out of there safely, with no hypothermia or dehydration, just some very weak knees. As for my daughter’s first ever 14er experience, well … she wants to know when we can do it again. Kids.
Lessons learned: 1) When getting off-trail, track back to the diversion point, instead of trying to cut through the forest. 2) Even if I don’t think I’ll need snowshoes, bring ‘em. 3) Never underestimate the value of good quality winter gear. 4) All that extra water and food I packed? This is why. 5) Angels exist, and God sent one when we needed one. He protected us from our folly, and so miracles exist, too.