Day 1: The sky's as black as carbon at 4 o'clock in the morning, but the phone is lit up, its mission to stir and motivate a few brave souls. It's a different story at dawn, once the effects of the alcohol-induced euphoria of the night before have evaporated slowly in the restless sleep. It's time to scavenge the kitchen for any scrap of edible substance, (or palatable sustenance) raid the gear closet for strange-shaped tools that some obscure inventor deemed useful on the mountain, curse at the "refuel now" flashing signal in the car - you swear that there was enough gas for one more trip -and then snap out of the early morning mind-fog and realize that three hours have gone by. It's true, it's 7 AM, still relatively early, and the best part of the day to let your lungs expand and breathe the fresh morning air.
As the sun winks over the awakening Eastern plains, the now-alert team sees the Boulder Flatiron Mountains disappearing in the rear view mirror. The tiny town of Allens Park, at the edge of the Park, is reached in a short drive. First car in the snow covered parking lot. Always a good sign. Peter sports snowshoes, gators, a 60-pound pack and a sharp ice axe in his right hand. The always-dandy Pietro dons ATV skis, synthetic skins, a 60-pound pack and a thin, flattering Smartwool hat. Destination is Finch Lake.
Distance: 4 miles
Start Altitude: 8974 feet
Arrival Altitude: 9915 feet
Elevation Gain: 941 feet
Weather: Sunny
Difficulty: Easy
Trail: Breaking trail the whole way. Lots of snow
We arrive near lakeside in late morning, and the rest of the day is spent digging a survival cave for practice, melting snow to replenish our water bottles, scouting the map for the next day's adventure, choosing the right spot for the tent and enjoying the warm sun. Other brave alpinists have followed our snowsteps to the lake, but none are spending the night. Thanks to the latest airport security's extreme robbery of fuel tanks, all we are left with is a fondue sterno stove to boil some water for dinner. With the falling snow and faster-falling temperatures, we realize the battle's afoot.. When we see a bit of steam coming out of the pot, we rush to dump the lukewarm liquid into one of the dryfreeze packets. We salivate while the veggie curry meal slowly hydrates. It's a sad supper, and our bodies are fighting to stay warm. We jump in the tent at 6 PM, as the light fades away behind the upper peaks. We talk in the dark for a while, then let the snoring grab and shake our tired minds.
Day 2: Our single-wall, four- season tent is built to tackle the harshest conditions on the planet, in every hemisphere. It's designed for hurricane strength winds, extreme cold conditions and high altitude mountaineering. But apparently, the condensation created by our breathing is beyond its extreme specs. We wake up in a fragile ice cave with precarious icicles hanging over our heads. We know that even the smallest movement will result in the entire roof exploding over our sleeping bags. It's bound to happen, and we don't take any precautions. We get an early cold shower, and move on. Everything that we could fit inside the sleeping bags is warm and toasty. The rest is frozen solid. (A good lesson for novice winter campers, which you've just learned at our expense.). My mummy sleeping bag was big enough to fit: two water bottles, clean socks, wet gloves from the day before, an orange, boot liners, a sausage, a piece of cheese, the sterno gel fluid and my body wrapped in every piece of garment that I brought to the mountains. I left out my breakfast apple, which lay inside the tent, but not inside the sleeping bag. It's still frozen solid today, four days after I have come back from the trip. We didn't have a thermometer with us, but the mercury line must have dropped in the negatives. Breakfast is as cold as the temps, consisting of frozen granola, frozen chocolate and small pieces of cheese and sausage. No time to heat anything up. Tent comes down relatively fast and we move on. An inch of fresh snow has fallen overnight and most of our tracks from the day before have disappeared. We start with a fresh canvas to paint our ski story, and we couldn't be happier.. Today's destination is Pear Lake, further up the valley. The challenge is to find the trail in the deep snow.
Distance:2.1 miles
Start Altitude:9915 feet
Arrival Altitude:10437 feet
Elevation Gain:522 feet
Weather: Snowy
Difficulty: Easy
Trail: Breaking trail the whole way. Lots of snow
Originally, our plans were to set up camp and then explore the higher peaks around us, but the white-out conditions and an avalanche danger quickly change our minds. Instead, we anchor down inside the tent for most of the day, studying the crevasse rescue book and playing with the fabric patterns of our garments .The area around us is absolutely astonishing, with Longs Peak and Mount Meeker to our North and another range of peaks well over 13,000 feet surrounding our camp. Or so we see in our mind's eye: We can't see any of it. Another early night's crash, with the symphony of human grunts and Mother Nature's winds scaring the wild animals in the forest.
Day 3: Looking through the small plastic windows of the tent, something becomes apparent: the snow has stopped falling, the sun is unclouding, and the wind is dying to a gentle whisper. We rush to re-pack our gear, zip down the trail to Finch Lake and begin scaling the summit of Saint Vrain Mountain (12162 feet). Breaking away from the forest, and traversing the open range fills our hearts with joy. The snow is fantastic, and after checking the snow layers with a shovel, we are ecstatic to discover that there is not a relevant avalanche danger above us. Pure paradise for any backcountry fanatic. Peter sallies on snowshoes, which, I must admit, governs my desire to speed ahead on my skis. As Ulysses in the Odyssey, we agree to rope together and practice a bit of team dynamics. It becomes a good, hands-on exercise to test crevasse rescue. But the ultimate prize, the mountain summit, continues to stare at us, and eventually it becomes impossible to resist its temptation: a huge untouched bowl, north facing, with wind-blown layers of fresh snow. I drop the harness, the rope, the ice axe, and click my boots in the ski bindings. The snow under my edges kicks up in the air and the wind slaps it away like flies from a mule's tail. Past the steep face, the skis go through undulated hills with some tiny pine trees, and then into the steep, deep valleys with big fur trees anchoring the soil to the Earth. The eyes are getting lost between the virgin terrain and the view of Longs Peak and the Rocky Mountain Range all around us.
Distance:6 miles
Start Altitude:10437 feet
Arrival Altitude:12162 feet
Elevation Gain:1725 feet
Weather: Partly Cloudy
Difficulty: Medium
Trail: Breaking trail the whole way. Lots of snow
As all good things, everything must come to an end. Skiing down the main trail to the car is filled of mixed emotions. The prospect of a warm meal, a shower and seeing our families is good, but leaving behind many more untouched runs and this beautiful valley is hard. The love for this range will bring us back here one day. We don't express in words, but we are both sure of that.