Delano Peak on Snowshoes (#21)

This would be my fifteenth time to summit Delano Peak, which I've done from almost every possible direction. I've been to the top in early summer, late fall, in the midst of dangerous lightning storms and on the most beautiful blue-sky days when the grassy slopes were full of colorful wildflowers. But never have I been there during the dead of winter.

To be sure, this was one of the driest winters in several years, so we were fortunate not to have six feet of snow on the mountain. But it wasn't bone-dry either. At these upper elevations there was at least 10 inches of snow and in some spots on the northern slopes over two feet.

As we arrived at the ski lodge above 10,000 feet, the temperature registered at 32ºF. That was thirteen degrees higher than last month when we pulled into this same spot to hike Mount Holly. Joining me on this soon-to-be miserable hike was Ricardo and Trevor.

The journey begins!

We strapped on snowshoes, avalanche beacons and backpacks. With no fanfare we began our ascent through the ski resort and into the backcountry. I could tell from the start that my body wasn't feeling well.

The pain was slight, a small ache in my upper abdomen that came from lap swimming the day before. The small ache had been off and on for the last five years, sometimes being almost non-existent and at other times transforming into a debilitating gnawing. No doctor has ever been able to absolutely diagnose the cause of this pain, but it has correlated perfectly with my polycythemia vera (which brought about an enlarged spleen and splenic varices).

Our plan was to snowshoe around Mount Holly to the base of Delano, and then up to the peak. Our line of travel would either be atop the hiking trail (which was covered in a foot of snow and completely imperceptible) or in whichever direction appeared to be the easiest.

About an hour into our hike we came to our first little challenge. It was a gulley with tall pine trees that dropped 150 feet on the north-facing slope. By this time we had lost the trail and we knew it. As we worked our way down the north face through the trees we quickly learned that the snow here was soft and about two feet deep. With each step my foot sank, the white fluffy powder coming above my knees. Inevitably, it didn't take long before I got tripped up, and suddenly I wallowed in the snow like a melting witch, grasping at branches or anything to hold myself up. Somehow Trevor had made it to the other side of the gulley unscathed, but Ricardo and I struggled. The big awkward snowshoes on our feet didn't help. For a while it felt as if I were trapped in quicksand, unable to move.

Floundering in the snow.

Once on the other side of the gulley, we were faced with a decision: Do we move downhill and try to reconnect with the trail, or do we work our way uphill and onto a ridge that could possibly lead to a shortcut? The ridge I refer to is a large bulk of mountain that lies in between Holly and Delano. I knew that if we followed it up that it would connect with another ridge that led to Delano. Another bonus was that it would keep us above the tree line. We chose to go up.

Going up was no easy task. We had to walk diagonally and use side-steps. This uphill movement was hell on me. I had to stop about every minute to rest my legs and catch my breath. It felt as if the blood inside my veins was gushing like a hose turned on full-blast. Ten years ago I was like a mountain goat. Now I felt like the fat kid that was slowing down the group.

The ridge continued to rise in elevation and we reached the crest where we could see the other side. From this viewpoint we could see another bulky ridge, this one leading to Delano Peak. But between us and it a formidable ravine blocked our direct passage. It probably wasn't impossible to pass through, but it was steep enough we didn't want to mess with it.

First close-up view of Delano.

With our eyes we followed the ridge up to the point where it made the final pitch to Delano and noted that it looked very steep, and possibly dangerous. Having been the one who had climbed there several times before, I gave no promises, but attested that up close it wasn't as bad as it looked. But, of course, that was in the summer. Now in the dead of winter, it could've been another story. We took our chances.

So up the ridge we hiked. It was a beautiful day. The sky was mostly clear, but patches of clouds eerily hovered to add some character. It is interesting to note that on many of these upper slopes, the ground was barren of snow. Wind in these parts was so strong and so consistent that any white flake that managed to touch the ground was eventually whisked away.

Silhouetted on the ridge.

On these large barren patches we removed our snowshoes and continued our hike unencumbered by the awkward footwear. As we climbed higher in elevation, the wind picked up speed. I pulled my balaclava up around my mouth. As each new ravine or cliff or rolling hill would come into view, I would scan for mountain goats. Nothing yet. I always wondered where they went during winter.

As we approached the crux I began to doubt whether we could reach Delano from this angle. We could see a small section of trail that was half covered in snow. At this point just under 11,900 feet, the trail came painfully close to the summit. A jaggedly steep defile covered in snow and loose rock blocked our passage.

We climbed to the faint trail and weighed our options. There weren't many. Perhaps if we had crampons and an ice pick we could go up, but I think the snow was too soft for that. Every option appeared too sketchy. We made the decision to backtrack.

We retreated the way we came, then dropped into a westward-facing gulley, losing 400 feet. Again we strapped the snowshoes over our boots and then negotiated a slope on the same mass as Delano. We still had to be careful doing this as the snow was deep and the slope was steep. Each of us took a slightly different route, but finally made it to a point where the slope wasn't so sketchy.

Having to go back down and lose 400 feet. 

Again, these south-facing slopes had been swept of snow, so we unstrapped our shoes and tied them to our packs. As we climbed I noticed goat poop on the tundra, indicating that they were here recently.

Without the shoes I was unburdened and my gait felt lighter. But I still moved at a snail's pace, having to stop frequently. I picked objects such as rocks and made it my goal to walk there without stopping. And when I made it, I rested, then chose another goal. Every inch of my body ached.

The final climb to the summit on a wind-swept slope.

At last we made it to the top! Delano Peak is 12,182 feet according to my GPS. It is the highest peak in Beaver and Piute counties, lying on the boundary. It took us 5 hours 20 minutes, covering 4.3 miles.

Delano always has a splendid view. There are peaks everywhere, most of them easily confused in the jumble of mountains. The two most prominent are Baldy and Belnap.

Delano Peak.

Panoramic view from the summit, looking northward.

Twenty minutes later it was time to work our way down. We weren't out of the woods yet. We still needed to reach the truck before dusk.

I usually only skim over the return trip, unless there is anything of note. The first hour and twenty minutes was a piece of cake compared to anything on the way up. We traveled a little over a mile and dropped 1,588 feet in elevation. The most dramatic event for me came when I slipped on ice and landed on my forehead, bending my glasses.

Once at the bottom, we strove to stay near the trail, but even with GPS on our phones, we found ourselves deviating several times. It was still no walk in the park. Several times we had small stretches of uphill while fighting deep soft snow.

At last on the way down!

I was ready for this hike to be over with. My whole body hurt. And now, with all the heavy inhaling of cold air, I worried about my lungs. I think we were all ready for this day to be done.

At last we came to the final crest, beyond which we could see the ski resort and knew that it was literally all downhill from here. In half an hour we dropped over 500 feet, and at last we were in the parking lot! It took 3 hours 51 minutes to come back, meaning we shaved off about an hour and a half.

As we packed up and were once again on the road, there were two salient points on my mind: 1.⸺I am so grateful this was a dry year. I can't imagine how hard this hike would have been with normal or heavy snowpack. And 2.⸺I will never again hike Delano from the lodge during winter! ♠

Delano Peak

Distance from car (one way): 4.3 miles

Net elevation gain to peak: 1,844 feet

Total elevation gain to peak: 2,520 feet

Final elevation: 12,182 feet

Total round-trip distance: 7.7 miles

Total round-trip elevation gain: 2,903 feet

Total round-trip time: 9 hours 36 minutes

Mount Holly in January (Peak #20)

It was seventeen degrees Fahrenheit when we pulled into the parking lot of the lodge. That was warmer than I expected. We were the first ones there. The sun had just crested over the forest of trees in the east.

We got out of the car and put on extra layers of pants, shirts, gloves and jackets. Then we strapped on snowshoes and began our small journey northward on a steady uphill slope of packed snow.

We were fortunate. Although it was the last week of January, this year was unusually dry. There had been some good storms at the beginning of winter, but for the last 50 days the mountain saw no snowfall.

But I didn't know what to expect. I'm not a seasoned winter hiker and had no idea whether I could stay warm. I wore three layers of pants, including good snow pants on the outside. My socks were doubled, one of them made out of merino wool. On top I wore a pair of long johns, a t-shirt, two long-sleeve sweat shirts, and a Loftek jacket that in the past had done well to keep the cold out. A black balaclava covered most of my head, topped with a beanie and the hood of my jacket. Two pairs of gloves covered my hands. My only weak spot was my boots. All I had were regular hiking boots. The sole on my snow boots were coming off.

The hike began from the lodge at 10,349 feet. Our original plan was to hike Delano Peak and take snowmobiles in five miles on another road, but the guy renting out the snowmobiles backed out on that plan due to possible whiteouts. So we opted to hike Mount Holly, which was closer to the lodge.

The first part of the hike fell within the boundaries of the ski resort, but we soon arrived at the backcountry. It's hard to say how deep the snow was here, but I would guess maybe a foot or more. It should have been several feet deep during a normal year.

One thing that made me nervous about hiking in the backcountry during winter was the fact that we needed to carry avalanche beacons. The thought of being buried alive under an avalanche terrified me. I would rather be shot to death. When Ricardo first invited me on this excursion, I told him the one stipulation was that we didn't get buried in an avalanche.

I should mention who was on this hike. There were three of us. Ricardo from Uruguay was a friend of mine, and several years ago he and I ran a trail marathon on this mountain, the Crusher in the Tushars. The other guy, Trevor, I had never met, but later we learned that we were distant cousins, which is never a surprise here in Utah.

I've climbed Mount Holly ten other times according to my count. In many ways it's an easy hike due to its proximity to pavement, but it's a steep little bugger and will certainly test your thighs. But I had never hiked it in winter . . . until today.

As we hiked, my body stayed relatively warm except my nose and my right-hand fingertips. As for the nose, I just had to put up with it. I tried pulling the balaclava over it, but it just steamed up my glasses. For my hands Trevor gave me a little heating pad that I shook up and placed between my two layers of gloves. That seemed to do the trick.

Despite the fact that most of the higher peaks had a couple feet of snow, I was pleasantly surprised that the southern slopes of Holly was largely devoid of snow due to constant wind. Once we arrived at a bare spot on the southern flanks, we removed our snowshoes and began the arduous hike in just our boots.

This part of Holly is difficult. It can separate the casual from the serious hiker. I think most hikers could do it, but it requires stamina. We pushed upward, resting every few minutes. As I climbed the blood pulsated through my body and my thighs burned. As we got higher, the intensity of the wind increased. There were shallow patches of snow, but nowhere near what I expected.

The peak of Mount Holly was as blistery as anticipated. The wind ramped up five-fold and suddenly we faced gusts that had to have been near sixty miles per hour. The view was the same I had seen many times over, only it was now covered in snow: Delano Peak reigned to the north, Mount Baldy to the northwest and a steep basin to our east. I could see no mountain goats anywhere.

Every time I removed my right glove to take a picture, my fingers stung with a frigid burning. I walked around, looking over the ledges on the east side to look for goats, but to no avail. We stayed at the summit no longer than ten minutes. The wind chill had to be near zero. Even the snot that drizzled from my nose to my beard instantly froze. It was time to find a location free from wind, and there we could take a small lunch break.

* * *

This account wouldn't be complete without sharing what happened after we finished our hike and were back at the car. Now the entire parking lot at the lodge was full with skiers and snowboarders moving around like ants. Trevor, who had a season pass for his family, proposed that we stay an extra hour and all go skiing. We could go for free on his pass.

My only objection was the embarrassing fact that I had never skied in my life, other than cross-country skiing a couple of times. Trevor agreed to be my tutor, and we could practice on the “bunny slopes.”

To make a long story short, the next hour was more miserable than anything we did on Mount Holly. I spent the entire time trying to make “pizzas” with my skis, wiping out on the snow, trying to get back up, and probably getting scoffed at by school kids who had aerial views from the ski lift. I received bruises on my elbow and hip, and would have received a concussion if I weren't wearing a helmet. I concluded that you can't teach an old dog new tricks! ♠

Mount Holly

Distance from car (one way): 1.9 miles

Elevation gain: 1,654 feet

Final elevation: 11,993 feet

A Winter Delight

Today was good for me. 

We weren't even sure what we were going to do when I talked to Dave on the phone last night. Our original plan was to go cross-country skiing on the mountain, but the forecast called for a snowstorm. We toyed with the idea of just going down south and doing a normal hike, but we felt it would be a wasted opportunity. This was February and a chance to take advantage of snow. 

There was another issue. I haven't felt good lately. In fact, I've been sick in one form or another for nine months. I recently blogged about my new cancer diagnosis. Lately my stomach has been very tender and sore. We were concerned about falling while on the skis and hurting my stomach further (and believe me, I would fall!). 

We decided we would leave in the morning and beat the storm. And instead of skiing, we would go snowshoeing. Done deal! 

I felt under-prepared when Dave picked me up this morning. I only had on a few layers of clothing and was already feeling cold. And I forgot my snow boots. 

When we got to the rental shop they had already run out of snowshoes. I about spoke up and said that we could just go down south and go hiking. But Dave beat me to the punch: “We'll just get skis then.” It was the best decision we made all day. 

Physically, I felt great. No soreness today. That could all change, however, when I started chugging along a snowy trail, working all the muscles in my core. 

Thirty minutes later we arrived at the trailhead. The mountain was covered in a couple feet of snow, with a sprinkling on the pine trees. The weather was perfect. No cloud or snowstorm in sight. At that moment, we highly doubted the weatherman knew what he was talking about. 

We got out of the truck and I pulled over a sweatshirt and a LoftTek jacket. I took off my hiking boots and replaced them with the snow boots that came with the skis. Then we clipped the boots into the skis. I slipped on my gloves and beanie, grabbed my poles, and we were ready to go. 

This was a semi-popular trail for winter activities. It had been groomed and well packed. We glided along and I was surprised that I was doing so well. This was only my second time on skis. The first was last year and I think I fell at least 50 times. 

I followed the grooves left in the snow by previous skiers. This helped me move along with little worry of my skis becoming crossed or doing the splits. Our path moved forward slightly uphill. Everything seemed perfect. My stomach wasn't even hurting. 

Since my diagnosis I have had many ups and downs. When I am down I worry that I will never feel as well as I used to. But when I am up, I am planning so many treks and trips in my mind, looking forward to the day when I will finally be able to do them. 

Dave and I.

Dave has been instrumental in this forward-thinking. For a few years now we've went on several excursions together. Little by little they have grown in size and now we probably have at least a dozen different places we plan on going together. Last year we had a backpacking trip planned in the Snake Range in Nevada. At the last minute I had to cancel because I needed a bone-marrow biopsy. That was the same week I was diagnosed with cancer. I was pretty bummed. For nine months now I haven't been able to run or backpack, two things I love to do. I have been able to hike, but only on relatively flat surfaces that don't require a lot of exertion. 

The point I'm trying to get at is that these excursions with Dave have given me the motivation to stay positive. They have given me the determination to do whatever I can to recover to a level at least as high as what I was at before. I have learned that you can't take this life for granted. 

Today's adventure was a step in the right direction. 

By the time we arrived at our first resting point, I had biffed it twice. It was a downhill section and I panicked when I started going fast. I still have some work to do. But it was still a great improvement over last year. 

An iced-over Navajo Lake.

We stopped at a view point overlooking the frozen Navajo Lake. Unless you knew it was a body of water, you may not have recognized it. Instead of the deep-blue veneer like it has during summer, it had a monochromatic sheet of ice that blended with the surrounding snow-clad hills. 

We had a humorous moment when I unclipped my skis. I must have nudged my left ski forward because it effortlessly began to slide down the hill. Not just a little ways, but so far down we couldn't see it! Luckily it left a slight snake-track on the snow. I had to trudge down the hill with snow up to my knees to retrieve the ski. 

It was here that we were met by a group of skiers from the outdoor club at SUU. There were about a dozen of them and they were kind enough to take our picture. 

After guzzling down some water and eating a candy bar, we clipped on the skis again and continued our loop. By now a couple small clouds had formed in the sky. Nothing much. We still mocked the weather forecast that called for snow by 1 pm. 

Our time was filled with good conversation and scenery. Although I will admit that most of my scenery was focused downward as I concentrated on my skis. There was very little wind and the sun was happily shining, except for when it hid behind a cloud, which seemed to be happening more often.

I was falling more frequently now, but that was because there were more downhill sections. I was surprised that my stomach was not feeling sore. When we went uphill I could feel the fatigue that had been so common with me the last several months. But it was nothing too bad. In fact, it could probably be chalked up to the skiing (and being out of shape). After all, this is a sport that uses most of the muscles in your body. 

As we came to the halfway point, there was a long downhill section. Dave taught me to keep my skis pointed inward and to use my poles to slow me down. That worked most of the time, but I still kept biffing it. 

Another one bites the dust!

After one of my spills I got up and saw that Dave was talking to an older man with a long gray beard. His name was Bob Rasmussen and he used to live in Salt Lake City, but now lived down here. I think he must ski every day. He knew all the trails. 

As we talked, the skiers from the college began to pass. They were spread out now. Some seemed like pros, while others played it cautiously. At least three of them biffed it when they came around the corner and saw us. I don't blame them. I would have, too. I don't know if they psychologically faltered at the sight of another person, or if they were worried they would hit us. 

By this point the entire sky was full of clouds. We only had a couple more miles to the vehicle and I only wrecked once on that stretch, landing on my elbow. It hurt! 

When we arrived at the truck it was 12:56 and the first flakes were falling from the sky. I guess the weatherman was dead-on. 

Today we traveled a total of 6.1 miles. For me, that was good. I told Dave that next year we need to do a bigger trek that would be ten miles one-way. Maybe in the Tushars. 

We unclipped the skis and shed a couple layers of clothing. I was glad to be back. As I walked I felt light-headed. I worried that maybe I pushed myself too hard without realizing it because adrenaline had kicked in. If that was the case, then so be it. I was satisfied. ♠

 

One o'clock snow.

 

First Time on Skis!

This is Dave, who has been on skis MANY times.

There's not a place on my body that's not bruised, battered or stretched!
 
It was time to get out and have another adventure with Dave and this time we chose cross-country skiing at 10,000 feet. The only problem was that I had never skied in my life.
 
We pulled to the end of the pavement, or at least to the end of where the county had pushed the snow, and from there we slid on our coats, backpacks, gloves and beanies, then clipped on our skis. I wasn't sure if this would be easy or hard, but I figured the only way to find out was to just do it.
 
With poles in-hand I maneuvered over the mound of snow pushed by the plows and moved onto a lightly used path. Dave had briefly returned to the vehicle and while he did I fell flat on my butt. Wipe-out #1. And the funny thing about it was that I couldn't get up! I looked like little Randy Parker rolling in the snow. I couldn't help but to lie there and laugh at myself.
 
Eventually I regained my footing, yet remained wobbly. It didn't take long before I biffed it again. This would be a long, long, day!
 

Vast meadows, once filled with wildflowers, now held three feet of snow.

Really, it was a shame that I had to spend my entire focus and energy looking at my feet to maintain my balance. We were in such a beautiful place. Pine trees grew all around. Vast meadows, once filled with wildflowers, now held three feet of snow. Crimson cliffs beckoned like a city skyline in the distance. We were in heaven, but all I could do was look down at my skis.
 
The distance traveled between wipe-outs gradually began to increase. I learned how to balance my weight over the skis and gained more confidence. Sometimes the point of the skis would come together like a pigeon-toed walker and naturally I would fall over. Other times the point of the skis would drift apart and I would involuntarily do the splits. That would hurt.
 
I fell in every conceivable manner: on my butt, on my face, on my hip, on my elbow. My hands and wrists took the brunt of many falls and I worried that I would twist a knee or ankle.
 
The easiest terrain was either flat, or slightly uphill. During these stretches I eventually did well, but as soon as we came to a downhill stretch I would lose control of my weight distribution and fall directly on my back.
 

Clay-colored cliffs were covered in a veneer of white.

We traveled about two miles to our turn-around destination. I estimate that I biffed it twenty to twenty-five times. I was happy to take the skis off for a moment and replenish my body with food and liquid.
 
We spent time at the overlook. This was an opportunity that not many people get to do. Although I had been at the overlook several times before, it was never during winter. This stretch of road is always closed during the the colder months.
 
Much of the clay-colored cliffs were covered in a veneer of white, with green coniferous trees poking through the layer. Most of the northern slopes sat covered in snow, while those facing the opposite direction had melted off into Ashdown Creek. In the distance we could see the globular radar tower on Blowhard.
 

Dave takes a break from gliding across the snow.

By now the breeze had picked up and it was becoming bitter cold. The sun inched toward the horizon. We certainly wouldn't want to be trapped out here at night.
 
My return trip ran much smoother. The skis glided across the snow and I felt I had a rhythm. Even though it was becoming easier, it still required a great deal of concentration.
 
At one point we stopped and for a moment just listened. A soft breeze blew through the trees and other than that there was nothing. Silence. Then two ravens lifted off from a tall pine tree and we saw the spread and flapping of their wings and the dusting of powder as it floated to the ground. Again it was silent.
 

Then it was silent.

Pink and orange hues of sunset began to gather on the clouds. We smelt the musky smell of pine needles. We were far from anywhere.
 
On our return trip I only biffed it five times. Dave biffed it once. As I gripped my poles I thought that this must be similar to how tight a jockey grips the reins of his horse. Although I wasn't falling down, it was still a challenge to stay standing.
 
At last we arrived at our starting point. I was very glad to unclip the skis and relax in a warm car on a soft seat where I had no fear of falling over. ♠

Pink and orange hues of sunset began to gather on the clouds.