- Date: May 23, 2020
- Distance: approx. 14 miles round trip
- Elevation Gain: approx. 5000′
- Trailhead: Snowmass Creek
Mark had set his sights on mountain biking and all but put away his ski boots when Parker called us with a flash of inspiration: ski Mt. Daly. I was working in Aspen for a couple months before I started thru-hiking the CDT, so all of us were in the Roaring Fork valley making the adjacent peak a perfect objective. Mark and Parker had surely spent many a day gazing at the face of Mt. Daly which stands out even against the backdrop of the Elk Range. It is often viewed from mountain bike trails or the ski resort in Snowmass where it stands out as an obviously aesthetic ski.
After securing the same day off from work, we started making plans. One of Mark’s best friends had skied the peak recently and conveyed some of the difficulty we would encounter, although surely we didn’t take heed of his experience as we should have. We decided on an especially early start knowing that the long hike was largely off trail and wanting to catch the alpenglow at the summit. We decided it would be best to be hiking at midnight.
Mark and I slept for a few hours before our alarm clocks harshly awoke us at 11 pm. We downed a cup of coffee and drove to the trailhead to meet Parker. We were hiking by roughly midnight and at first, made good progress. The trail up Snowmass creek was well trodden and easy to follow. We removed our shoes for the single, chilly river crossing and continued on our way. When we were forced to leave the trail toward West Snowmass creek, our pace slowed. We found ourselves hiking through an historic avalanche path that had slid the season prior in the massive spring snow that occurred that year. Dead trees covered the valley floor. Interspersed were patches of old punchy snow that often sank us in to our knees or waists. Besides that, we were navigating by headlamp using our gps maps to try to make the straightest shot possible up the valley. This meant constantly stopping to double check our position and bearing.
We realized what terrible time we were making, and, still hoping to make it to the top by sunrise, discussed ways we might move more efficiently. Mark suggested that we simply needed to hike faster. Parker and I, in our state of pre-sunrise exhaustion, did not point out the absurdity of this–if we could have been hiking faster, we would have been–and instead agreed that it seemed like a reasonable strategy. Despite our efforts to “just hike faster” we did not make better time. (This is now a favorite joke of ours: “just hike faster!”) Eventually, we did make it out of the trees and were able to lay eyes on the face of Daly as the light of the sun began to creep over the horizon. When we reached continuous snow, we put our ski boots on and eventually dawned crampons as well.
As we strapped our crampons on, it was obvious that we were not going to be at the summit for sunrise, and because of some low lying clouds filtering the light of the rising sun, there would be no alpenglow either. Mark struggled with his crampons for a few hundred yards, trying to figure out the appropriate settings to keep them from falling off his feet while he was hiking. Once he had those squared away, however, Mark was up and running. While both Parker and I wallowed in exhaustion as we faced the task of booting up the rest of the couloir, Mark pushed on, dragging us up with him. When the sun finally hit us, I began feeling much more invigorated, and excited to push to the top. Shortly, Parker received a similar boost of energy and soon we were all not only moving faster, but enjoying ourselves quite a bit. In the big open couloir, it was easy to maintain communication, and I hiked ahead breaking trail and enjoying my newfound energy, while Mark and Parker slowed to take in the view and snap a few photos.
When we reached the summit, it was 7 am and temperatures were still frigid. We enjoyed a few minutes on the summit and then tried to start our ski down. One turn over the icy surface of the snow and we realized we would need to wait a while longer to let the snow soften. Actually, Mark and Parker came to this realization. Distracted my cold fingers and toes I was determined to keep moving, but submitted to the better judgment of my partners. An hour later when we did start our descent, there was no doubt that Mark and Parker had made the right call. Not only was the skiing more fun on the sun warmed snow, but it made for a significantly safer descent. The skiing was great, and made the hike in feel totally worth it. The hike out, however, still loomed ahead of us.
We kept our skis on for as long as possible, but eventually were forced to return to our sneakers and the crummy snow field covered in fallen trees.
On the hike out, I hit a serious wall, and if it hadn’t been for Mark and Parker I might have laid down and taken a nap atop one of the downed trees. Following their footsteps, however, I kept hiking. We made our way out of the trees slowly. “Slurpy” was the chosen adjective to describe our slow steps in wet sneakers. We rejoiced to be back at the trail. Upon starting down it, however, we found that even the well marked trail felt longer on the way out. The heat of the day was rolling in and we began to see day hikers dressed in t-shirts and shorts. Not only did our ski laden backpacks feel ridiculous in comparison, but awfully heavy on our tired shoulders. We joked that we should tell passer- bys that “no, we had not skied anything, we were merely training,” because that somehow seemed just as ridiculous as the reality: we started hiking at midnight, spend hours tramping through punchy snow in a collapsed forest to wait at the top of a peak in the cold hours of the morning in order to enjoy a few turns and then endure just as draining a hike on the way out.
By the time we got back to our cars, it was already noon, which meant that we had been up-and-at-em for 12 hours. We sat at the trailhead for a while, enjoying each other’s company and a cricket based protein bar that Parker brought (although I don’t know if ‘enjoy’ is the right description for eating the protein bar, but it wasn’t bad!). After we parted ways at the trailhead, Mark and I chose the easy option of splitting a takeout pizza before crashing into an afternoon nap. As silly as outings like this one can feel sometimes, they are really some of the most joyful. The opportunity to laugh at ourselves while still getting to try our best and experience a beautiful place, is an experience I rarely encounter and one I always appreciate!