Target: Mt. Washington
Type: Highpoint
State: New Hampshire

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Picking a goal for the White Mountains was easy. There are many amazing things in this Forest, but one truly legendary pursuit: a winter ascent of Mount Washington, home of the worst weather in the world. While the top of the mountain is technically a state park, the entirety of the ascent is through the Forest and at least in this case, it’s truly about the journey, not the summit. From Bradford Washburn to David Roberts and on into the modern era, some of the world’s leading mountaineers chose to prove themselves and train for the great ranges on the slopes of Washington. You truly walk in the footsteps of greatness as you ascend through the snow and ice.

Winter ascents of any above treeline mountain depend on a number of factors including avalanche danger and weather windows. Avalanches would kill two people on the mountain while I was there, both skiers in the steep and dangerous Tucker Ravine. I would be hiking the Tucker Ravine trail, but staying on the ridge that circles it. The weather is more difficult to work with, famously fickle and brutal, it can turn from sunny calm to 120 mph raging blizzard in a matter of minutes. I had only four days to hope for an opportunity, so I settled in and hoped for the best.

The first day saw snow and temperatures around 12 degrees Fahrenheit. I was camped in the Barnes Field Campground, the only official one open in the valley during winter months. I had the place to myself and wanted to have a leisurely morning, but needed to be ready to move if the mountain was clear. I quick look showed a solid wall of clouds, and the forecast was no good. Instead I went for a snowshoe at the base of and partially up Mt. Madison. I wanted to stay in shape, but not push too hard and put my Washington attempt at risk.

The next day was the same, bad weather up top, temperatures below zero at camp, and light activity. I hoped to do some ice climbing on this trip, but I would wait until after my climb, or at least after I was sure the climb wouldn’t be possible. I was getting a little stir crazy even though I was out snowshoeing and exploring during the day. The White Mountains are a tough playground in winter and even though I’m normally not so goal focused, I really wanted to take a shot at Washington so I kept myself on a tight leash.

Finally on day three I had my chance. The mountain was socked in, but the forecast called for possible clearing in mid day, deteriorating to possible Category 5 hurricane force winds in the late afternoon. I decided to start up the mountain and be prepared to turn back if it didn’t look right. I cleared my head of ambition and committed to the climb, not the summit. I had prepared two possible routes depending on conditions and given the possibly short window I chose the more direct Lions Head route since it would have the best chance of success.

The first part is a short, two mile trudge along a well beaten path. The base snow layer was old, having laid down in December and only been lightly added to over the course of January. Then big snows had come down over the last few days creating a loose layer on top of the hard base. This could be dangerous higher up since I had to cross a couple of large faces. At the rescue cache I turned onto the actual summit trail which gets steep quickly and stays steep for most of the way.

There is a section called the Steps which is pretty exposed and guided groups often rope up for. With care and experience on mixed ice it’s not too bad, and it would be tough to actually kill yourself here. A broken bone is more likely and being close to the beginning that’s not a life-threatening injury. I decided to free climb it and put on my crampons and pulled out my axe. These would be needed for the rest of the trip.

There’s one section that’s pretty tricky, right at the top of the first ‘step.’ The ice is thin, but covers the rock enough that’s hard to find a crevice for the axe pick. Once you navigate that, you have another ledge with much more exposure, but better ice. This leads into a very steep snow section and then finally a flat area where you can take a breath before moving on. There was one group of three ahead of me so I had plenty of time to get through here as I was mostly waiting on them. They would be the only people I would see on the mountain. I passed them and continued on.

After this it’s just a very steep and exhausting hike to treeline. Crampons and axe are absolute necessities. This is a seemingly endless slog through tight trees and requires constant attention in order to avoid simple mistakes with potentially big consequences. There’s little chance of death here, but any slip would be very painful and extraction much more difficult.

After what seemed like a very long time, but was really only an hour or so, I turned a corner and found myself nearly at treeline. The vegetation was thin, with only a few stunted trees scattered around. This was the point to make a go/no go decision. The mountain top was still in cloud, but I could see blue skies peeking through in spots and it seems to be clearing. I decided to go for it. I stopped for a snack and some water and adjusted my layers. Things were about to get very cold and this was the last protected section.

The terrain here was frustrating. The entire under layer was uneven rock, but there was a 12-14 inch layer of snow on top of it making footing impossible. I had to proceed very carefully and kept falling into holes, or catching a point on the edge of a rock. This was annoying on the ascent, but would prove dangerous on the descent, with so much more momentum.

I soon came to a long ridge line with a steep drop on the left. People have actually been blown off the trail here and down the cliff, but it’s normally somewhat protected. Unfortunately today the wind was blowing against the prevailing, which meant that it was quartering in a way that made it difficult to protect from. No matter how much I tightened my head, adjusted my goggles, and pulled up my gaiter I could feel the frigid wind burning my skin. There was nothing for it but to push on make sure everything vital was covered.

As I traversed this section I could see a clouds flowing down the mountainside like a massive waterfall. A huge field of clouds had backed up on the west side of the mountain and were pouring through a notch and into the valley below. Despite the cold winds I stood for a while taking in this incredible sight. And then it got even better. As I watched, the sun suddenly broke through and in a matter of minutes the entire sky around the summit cleared. The valley below was completely covered, but a huge ring of clear sky circled the mountain.

The sun didn’t bring any warmth with it, so after I time I crossed a rocky rise and dropped onto a wide face with a lot of avalanche exposure. The wind had frozen the top layer to an icy shell, but punching through revealed a stable base. I picked a line and move across to a long line of stone at the far end. The long, steep face leading to the summit was on the other side and I took another short break in a protected alcove before moving out into the wind again.

And this was it, one long, tiring push to the summit. I was exhausted, overwhelmed by the stunning beauty of the place and beat down by the penetrating cold, I just kept moving. Every step was treacherous with a layer of snow covering ever bigger rocks. Eventually, after pushing myself forward over and over again I saw the first of the summit antennae. Soon other structures came into view and finally there was only a staircase between me and the top. I died a little inside at the idea of walking up steps after the long, steep climb I had completed, but sucked it up and moved onward and upward, until I could drop my pack in the lee of an ice covered building and sit down for the first time in hours.

The wind was alternating between dead calm and 20-30 mph gusts as I got back to me feet and made my way to the actual summit sign and around the weather station that crowns the mountain. It was here that a 231 mile per hour wind was recorded in 1934, and the monitors regularly pick up 100+ mph sustained winds. that very day they would see 120 miles per hour shortly after I was back in the treeline.

This had been an incredible experience so far and I had to keep reminding myself that the summit is only the halfway point. The descent is much more dangerous. A far higher number of accidents happen on the way down due to a variety of factors such as exhaustion, inattention, momentum, and the increased difficulty of seeing terrain and obstacles below you.

After spending 20 minutes or so on top I had to get moving in order to stay ahead of the potential afternoon weather. I started down, forcing myself to be as careful as possible, but still twisting my ankles and losing my footing on the hidden, uneven rocks. Near the end of the summit face I passed the party of three still going up. They would have a tough time getting down before dark or weather.

Carefully retracing my steps, I was able to safely glissade in a few spots to save time. Otherwise it was just a long slog requiring constant attention. When I finally reach the Steps I put my mind into overdrive to safely down climb them. When I achieved this without a hitch I silently celebrated and casually started down the last steep section. Then I fell.

Somehow I had made the mistake of thinking that all the dangers were past. I had cleared the last obstacle and had an easy hike out. Instead I caught a rock with the edge of my crampon and went down into a sideways slide, rapidly gaining speed as I moved toward a long drop. I got my axe under my shoulder, pulled my feet up to keep from catching a spike, and dug the axe blade into the snow. I started slowing, but not fast enough. There was a tree slightly to my right and I rolled a little to aim for it, counting on my speed to be low enough to handle when I got to it. All this was happening in the space of a few seconds at most and I miscalculated, catching the tree with the tip of my foot instead of the middle. The crampons grabbed on and there was a loud crack from my ankle followed by an even louder string of expletives.

There were a million scenarios running through my head at this point. I had my Spot, but there was no way short of complete immobility that I was going to push that button. My ankle was on fire, but after a couple of minutes it started to go numb. I tentatively moved it, just a little, and found that it didn’t really bother me that much. I carefully got to my feet and made my way down the last hundred feet or so of steep snow and then started the slow process of hiking out.

I swapped my axe for hiking poles and cautiously removed my crampons at the junction with the main trail. I found that if I stepped in a way that rolled my ankle at all then lightening shot all the way up my leg and into my spine, but otherwise it was pretty much okay. The last couple of miles were stressful, but uneventful and I made it back to my car and then camp without any further drama. When I took my boot off that night the ankle was grotesquely bruised and swollen, but still manageable. I had gotten very, very lucky. This was a lesson I had learned in the past, but not in a long, long while and I was happy to have relearned it with so little consequence.

Unfortunately this also meant I wouldn’t be ice climbing and the trip was essentially over. One last long, cold, uncomfortable night at camp and I headed home.