After watching the already marginal weather forecast take the all too familiar nose dive as the weekend approaches its time to relinquish all hope for Plan A and hurriedly throw together Plan B. Dominic and I climbed Antero on a miserable winter day last January with Ken and on that trip I was bummed that the weather wasn't conducive to a side trip over to Mount White, a bicentennial thirteener I had yet to climb. With Kevin and Dwight still lacking a winter checkmark for Antero and no better ideas popping up it feels like the right thing to do.
Saturday is supposed to be nasty; the perfect excuse for a backpack in the comfort of the trees for us winter camping freaks. We'll climb Antero and White from a camp near treeline on Sunday in (hopefully) better weather. To further support the excuse for the backpack we add Cronin Peak to the agenda, tipping the vertical scale at 7,000 feet. Given this figure we feel secure that our secret, shameful love for winter backpacking will remain veiled.
We get a lazy start up the well tracked road in late morning and snowshoes remain on packs all the way to the junction. Here an old track continues left under the new snow but flotation becomes beneficial. Its snowing lightly and the wind sounds unpleasant up high; I'm glad to be down here. We hang a left and continue up the Antero jeep road. Higher up the track is totally blown in and some minor trailbreaking is required. Shortly before 2pm and still feeling fresh we find an inviting, sheltered place to camp at 11,750 ft near treeline. After a nap we're treated to one of Dwight's signature campfires which keeps us up and about long into the night (hey, 9:30 is late by winter camping standards!).
Mount Cronin
The night competes for the title of coldest yet this year out of the eight nights I've spent in a tent. At 6:45am we begin to trickle out of camp. Its cold. I break trail the short distance to the point at which we plan to leave the road only to discover I've left my camera in the tent. Fortunately its Valentine's Day and Dominic insists on going back for it.
Last year we took advantage of firm snow in the low angle gully that the road switchbacks across and cruised up 1000 efficient vertical feet using our snowshoes for traction. Today the snow is unconsolidated powder and takes more effort than its worth so we divert our attention to the steep, windblown slopes south of the gully. Its a grind up to Antero's south ridge and I'm struggling with the temperature. Dwight's thermometer shows a numbing -5 degrees and that isn't accounting for the wind chill, of which there is plenty. My thighs are numb despite their down and hardshell armor. My feet and hands are cold but only because my core temperature isn't up to snuff. I'm quite miserable but I drag myself upward. Stopping to relieve a complaining bladder is pure torture.
After an eternity we top out on the ridge and are greeted with a glint of sunshine and associated warmth... ahhh. I'm still cold but now hopeful that this new development will kill the chill. Just above the terminus of the 4x4 road we regroup and cache snowshoes. I finally cave and put on my monstrous down jacket; the sun just ain't doing it for me today.
Mount Antero & its south ridge
Antero's south ridge seems more time consuming than it should be with snow but its not difficult. Conditions are similar to what we found last January, complete with wind shadow on the east side of the ridge. Finally the chance to recover from the deep freeze! The wind returns for the last hundred or so feet as expected but its not so bad now that I've finally warmed up. We summit at our own paces, turn around and begin the descent after little more than a summit pause, and regroup for a break to refuel in a sunny wind shadow a few hundred feet below.
Descending Antero's South Ridge
Rock outcropping along the ridge
Mount White looks awfully far. We retrieve our snowshoes and pick our way south down talus, scree and snow following the gist of the jeep road toward the Antero/White saddle. Extra gear is stashed and we begin the 800 foot ascent, gaining the west ridge and running it to the summit. For some reason it feels like a butt kicker. Dominic and I summit first and although it isn't very windy we're cold after just a few minutes of inactivity.
My GPS indicates Cronin Peak is an astronomical 2.5 miles away! I'm not having a good day but in some twisted sort of way Cronin still holds a lot of appeal. Dominic remains optimistic, Kevin is a maybe, and Dwight's had enough for the day (or so he thinks). We all make our way toward the Antero/Cronin saddle for the final go/no go decision and to scout our descent route.
About a quarter mile past and 100 feet above the saddle we spy a reasonable descent route; a short stint of steep scree leads to innocuous, low angle snow. Dominic and I drop superfluous gear and Kevin catches up. I'm surprised to hear he's in for the 1000 foot climb up Cronin despite already having scaled it in winter before! We find good snow on the steep east ridge and Dominic leads us up nearly the entire length kicking wonderful steps in the snow. Just short of the summit he starts running out of steam and Kevin graciously offers to finish it off for us. I'm grateful because I'm concentrating on not vomiting and breaking trail would probably put me over the edge. At 3pm we reach the summit. Dwight is already in the valley below and we see his track heading for camp.
The descent back to the stash goes quickly and after a short slip and slide down scree we don snowshoes for the trek back to camp. We follow Dwight's track and all goes well until he is lured into the trees prematurely. Seems like he's done quite a bit of work here, heck he may have had it harder than we did! I'm feeling very nauseous again and the wallowing seems endless. We catch sight of Dwight just before camp.
Starting up Cronin's East Ridge
I crawl into my sleeping bag and force as much food down as I can. After a hot drink, more food, and a bit of relaxing I've recovered enough to pack up. The last of us don't shoulder our packs until almost 6pm. Darkness finds us far from the car and we cruise the track by headlamp. The lights below are deceiving and the road drags on. When the cars appear I'm feeling like a million bucks compared to how I'd felt at camp. By some miracle Dwight's beers haven't frozen and, equally as perplexing, a cold one actually sounds good to us right now.
