Final summit of Mt. Sniktau.

May 5, 2024 – CO, USA (elevation: 13,240 ft)

This past spring I summited my first 13er. Mount Sniktau in the Arapaho National Forest proved to be an ideal introduction to solo hiking at high altitude. For a middle-aged couch potato, it was a grueling 3.6 miles with 1,555 feet of elevation gain. The popular trailhead provided the relative safety of many fellow hikers nearby.

Planning

While planning out a 5,000 mile drive from Georgia to a summer job in Alaska, I thought it made sense to pass through Colorado and attempt a 14er. I watched some YouTube videos and got acquainted with 14ers.com, but it seemed hard to determine in advance whether the trailhead to any particular peak would be easily accessible by car.

In a video comment I asked YouTubers @ShortGuysBetaWorks to suggest a first 13er and 14er for a May road trip. At their suggestion I penciled in Mount Sniktau and Mount Sherman as objectives, thinking perhaps if I acclimated well enough to complete a 13er, afterwards I could try a 14er as well. @ShortGuysBetaWorks also let me know, “There will still be lots of snow, in May. 14er season is really late June through early September.” When I reached Colorado late one night and found a motel in Idaho Springs, an internet search into road conditions suggested that Sniktau was indeed accessible.

Reviews from recent hikers in the AllTrails app suggested wearing microspikes for the icy terrain and goggles to protect against the wind. I didn’t have either of those on hand, but trekking poles, a balaclava, and regular eyeglasses served admirably as substitutes.

Arrival

The drive from Idaho Springs to the trailhead was easy. The portion of US-6 from I-70 to the trailhead was free of snow. One point of confusion, using the AllTrails app to navigate (via Google) was it told me to make a left turn (as if I wasn’t there yet), but actually it just meant turn left into an available parking spot. Upon exiting the car, the first thing to grab your attention was the howling wind.

The Hike

Two hurdles dogged me from the very beginning: (1) altitude, and (2) navigation.

My acclimatization to altitude consisted of sleeping in a motel at about 7,555 feet above sea level (according to Wikipedia). The drive from Idaho Springs took me up another 4,000 feet. What was it like to start a hike at about 11,500-12,000 feet? Imagine, if you will, the feeblest elderly person you know who can nonetheless circumnavigate their retirement home propped up by a walker and sheer grit. Now, replace that walker with a daypack and trekking poles and you’ll know how limber and athletic I felt.

The navigation challenge was that my only map consisted of the AllTrails app as presented on the dim screen of my brand new Motorola razr smartphone. (It was only after the hike I would realize that my phone was not defective. The brightness was turned down.) With the dim screen, I could only operate my phone inside my car or wrap a jacket around my head and strain to view the app under the cover of my ad hoc jacket cave.

I slowly hobbled up the mountain. The terrain was roughly 50/50 snow and reddish rock. The fiendishly steep first hump was the hardest part of all. Occasionally I paused to chat with fellow hikers to make sure I was pointed in the right direction. Mostly I was pausing to rest my decrepit body. It may have been a comical sight: a tolerably healthy-looking adult taking about ten steps up the hill, then sitting down to recover his strength, then ten more steps, and collapsing into a squat to catch his breath again and take a swig of water.

Slowly but surely I ambled to the top of the first hump, then to the false summit, and from there scoped out the ridge to the true summit. The ridge leading first down and then up to the summit was by no means a knife’s edge; however, my legs were so unsteady that I took mental note to fall left (where my crumpled self would be visible from Highway 6) if I lost my footing.

Fortunately, I reached the top without incident. Another hiker was a good sport and snapped a photo of me “blind,” since the lighting rendered my phone’s display solid black. I took in the beautiful snow-capped scenery and relished the accomplishment of traipsing up my first Colorado 13er. On a sentimental note, I realized that my motley assemblage of gear included my (mountaineer) paternal grandfather’s daypack and my (non-mountaineer) maternal grandfather’s UW Husky jacket.

The return hike back to the trailhead was hard. I was so fatigued that I didn’t even try to go the correct route back up the shorter summits on the way down. I just sort of hobbled laterally over rocky terrain, avoiding elevation gain where possible. I experimented with sliding down patches of ice on my butt–using slick ski pants as a sled–but that was ineffective.

I reached the parking lot spent, but safe. I’d only slipped and fallen twice.

Lessons Learned

  • It’s a surreal experience becoming utterly decrepit from altitude.
  • Don’t arrogantly assume you’re too smart not to have already turned up your phone’s brightness.
  • Colorado 13er and 14er season begins in June. Less is accessible in May.

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2 Comments

  1. Glad you had a good and just-challenging-enough experience, and glad any advice I gave didn’t point you in the wrong direction.

    1. Thanks for the note, Jason! Y’all are the gold standard for doing this stuff well and I look forward to continuing to learn from you.

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