The three rules of mountaineering are well known and frequently discussed: "It's always further than it looks. It's always taller than it looks. And it's always harder than it looks." But all the reading in the world cannot prepare you for the experiences had at high altitude, particularly here in Colorado where some of the highest peaks in the continental United States reside. So much of exploring these remote locations hinges around weather and the company you keep while ascending them. I've found three lessons in particular to be integral in my development of this hobby.
Views seen about a third of the way up Mount Flora (13,132'), at 12,342 feet.
Ed Viesturs, an accomplished high-altitude mountaineer, is known to have said "It's a round trip. Getting to the summit is optional, getting down is mandatory." I couldn't agree with him more.
So much of what I love about mountaineering is based in getting outside, exploring new corners of my newfound home state, and learning about the regions I want to explore. If conditions are such that I'm forced to turn around within 200 feet of the summit, so be it. At least I got that far.
I have, however, found that not everyone that climbs shares this attitude. Some folks don't like to repeat peaks, and therefor will refuse to turn around even if all signs point to that being the safest option. Some folks fear they don't have the stamina to try something a second or third time and will refuse to repeat for those reasons.
Looking back at our group ascending La Plata Peak (14,360′) in the Sawatch range of Colorado.
If your climbing partner(s) don't share your mountaineering mentality or aren't on the same page about your goals, it can be a true detriment to not just team morale, but the team's chances of success on any given day. Some of the best prepared climbers have been injured, stranded, or worse due to poor communication.
If someone in your group is hard set on summiting no matter what, but the rest of the group has accepted that conditions might not hold? That's miscommunication.
A high percentage of fatal incidents in the mountains begin when someone breaks off from the group. Splitting up will almost always end badly.
"Success is not counted by how high you have climbed but by how many people you brought with you." — Will Rose
Taking a break in a posthole at 12,713 feet.
While descending Humboldt peak, I came across two hikers in trail runners, no snowshoes, struggling to get off the mountain while finding themselves stuck in waist-deep, sloshy snow pits, repeatedly sucking them down like quicksand. At times, I watched them slide or roll downhill in the wet snow in an effort to save some energy, allowing themselves to fall in a controlled manner instead of fighting the terrain one step at a time.
At one point, I stopped to help them out and lost the snowshoe clean off of my foot in the process. "Ah well," I thought, "I can put it back on once I get this guy's foot out." As I stood there up to my hips in wet snow, digging one of their trainers out of a pit, I realized my own foot was no longer visible in a hole of its own that shot even deeper into the quicksand-like white that comprised the ground below us. I started to panic. Of course that was the day I was testing out a lighter winter pack, one that didn't include my avalanche shovel or beacon, and my ice axe was failing me as a digging device. I could no longer see my foot, and I was starting to feel the water creep into my lined boot.
Article by: Kylie Stewart
Kylie is a software engineer and Notion ambassador.