Winter Ascent of Mt. Timpanogos
Brent Waddoups, Lana Christiansen & Michael Hannan
April 22, 2008
Our intention – only the best, of course – was to leave the Dry Canyon trailhead at 5 a.m., headlamps blazing and attitudes positive. The thin overcast cloud cover periodically darkened the near full moon, but lights from Orem and Lindon reflected from the clouds enough so that between the three of us, only one headlamp caused a drain on its small stash of AAA batteries.
We ended up beginning ten minutes ahead of schedule and made good time up the mostly dry trail. Through the limestone narrows, eerily illuminated in the pre-dawn light, and high above the now wet creek bed to our south we hiked, crampons tucked away inside and snowshoes strapped on the back side of our packs. Our ice axes, heads wrapped in the loops made for them, poked up above our backs like some kind of antennae.
After 30 minutes of hiking we began to encounter lingering swaths of hardened snow in and along the trail. Bushwhacking would be too strong a term for our activity, but let’s just say that the trail vegetation was in need of trimming. Bushes and low-hanging tree branches reached out as if to intentionally entangle us in their winter-bared arms. We made sure to warn the person behind us as we followed the well-worn trail up toward the meadow below the southeast slope of Big Baldy.
Reaching the meadow in one hour and fifteen minutes, we headed across open fields of snow along the northwest side of a deep gully, still completely coated in snow – a luge run for a humpback whale. To our north was a big stand of aspens which extended to the saddle connecting Big Baldy with the lower portions of the Everest Ridge of Timp. The meadow began at about 7,600’. We could now easily see our goal high above us and to the east, the saddle below the Second Summit. It was a mere 3,600’ above us, lazily resting there as if to say, “Come on up, the views are terrific.”
We continued north and then east, easing up a snowfield directly below the beginnings of the Everest Ridge to a flat boulder which became our first rest stop, 8,233’. We had reached this point in 1+50. The ten-minute break put us back on the march at exactly the two-hour point in our adventure, and we strapped on our crampons since the snow was still hard and the slopes above us presented considerably steeper climbing than we encountered on the lower portion of the Dry Canyon trail. We had been gaining elevation at the rate of nearly 1,400’ per hour, but increasing steepness would seriously eat into that rate and make it unsustainable.
Weather continued mild, the overcast occasionally thinning, and then thickening like a poorly made comforter. The pink of dawn was gently spreading across the stratus clouds to our south, and the orange/yellow city lights which had once so prominently marked the city had nearly disappeared. Utah Lake was now a large gray-blue blotch along the western boundaries of Provo and Orem.
We angled east over the crest of a broad ridge, knowing that the North Fork drainage area was there. The pitch of the slopes was now approaching 25º as we ascended, so the going was tedious and necessitated the zigzag patterns we call switchbacks. At the three-hour mark we took another short break, noting our GPS elevation as 9,387’. Hmmm, we had only gained a little over 1,100’ in the hour, but at that rate we could plan to attain the saddle at about 10 o’clock. That would be in accordance with our projections, so we felt comfortable with that. It was here that we noticed a north wind, not strong, but constant. Would it get stronger with elevation gain?
At almost exactly nine o’clock, the four-hour mark, we stopped for another short break, taking in welcome food and drink. Hello, Mr. Banana. Hi there, Clif bar, good morning Gatorade. Clouds filtered the morning sun light, and the breeze had picked up to a steady ten miles per hour. We were now resting at 10,578’, and Brent remarked that the elevation in combination with the steep ascent was sending negative messages to his lungs and heart. But we had kept our pace steady, putting almost 1,200’ behind us in the last hour.
Below the summit ridge and northwest of the saddle we made the decision to simply tack straight up rather than angle southeast to the actual saddle. The slope was approaching 30º now, but the snow was holding firm. Here we passed scattered patches of scree or small boulders, tiny omens of the eventual spring melt. We could then see the hazy gray eastern sky as we approached the summit ridge, and a noticeable wave of relief spread over us; we knew that the majority of our climbing was now behind us. Or should I say below us?
North of the saddle by perhaps one quarter mile, we were standing on the summit ridge at an elevation of 11,460’. That meant that the summit hut, a tiny teepee-looking structure from our vantage point, was only 290’ above us. Unfortunately we had about one mile’s worth of terrain to cover before we would be there, and between us and the hut lay the hulks of intimidating, crumbling buttresses, snow-covered scree paths on the west side and magnificent but deadly cornices on the eastern sides of the ridge, some larger than compact automobiles.
Quickly deciding that there was no turning back now, we began what would become a one-hour trek to the summit hut, finding well-worn trails around and mostly below the afore-mentioned buttresses. In a couple of cases we lost the trail because of deep, lingering snow, but within a minute we would be able to spot it again, and we simply angled up or down to re-gain it. The slope to our left (west) was very steep; a fall in that direction would have had dire consequences, so we made good use of our ice axes. The pesky wind, now a steady fifteen miles per hour, was blowing right in our faces, mocking the late April date and making us feel as if we had been suddenly transported back into winter.
Just before the time expired on our sixth hour we angled our final boot steps into a six-foot rise and stood next to the summit hut, a four-sided steel structure with sides, no windows where windows would normally be placed and a steeply-pitched four-sided roof pointing heavenward. Winter storms had almost filled the six by eight shelter with snow, yet the walls still offered some relief from the tenacious north winds. We all wore smiles “you could see a mile,” and we didn’t feel the least bit guilty about taking pride in what we had just accomplished. Timpanogos is one of the most beautiful of the Wasatch peaks, and its huge massif dominates the eastern skyline from Lehi to Spanish Fork And we had just been able to reach its 11,750’ summit in winter conditions, safely and in a reasonably good time. We didn’t want to break our arms patting ourselves on the back, but cheers and congratulatory salutations were in order.
As with so many ascents of challenging mountains, time at the top is limited. Today the cloud cover was not going to hinder the rate at which sunshine would soften the snow on the steep slopes we had navigated. We needed to get down before the snow became so soft that we would posthole. We would have gladly spent more time at the top, and I wanted desperately to set up my camera tripod to take a group summit photo, but we couldn’t take the time or suffer the inconvenience of the delay.
So we spent a grand total of just over 20 minutes in the rarified air and began the descent back. Lana led the way, nearly sprinting along some of the sections. She later said that she needed to go fast across what she called the “gnarly” sections which spooked her and made her nervous. There was no doubt she was moving along, and Brent and I brought up the rear of the small climbing party.
With the softening snow we were able to plunge-step straight down even some of the steeper sections. The footing was good as the heel of our boots buried itself three or four inches with each step. Intrigued with the steep slopes Lana and I decided we would attempt to glissade, and glissade we did, descending at least one thousand total feet of the descent in seconds rather than minutes. We had to cajole and persuade, but finally Brent put on his slick pants and came down, grinning from ear to ear and squealing like a young boy.
We picked up the trekking poles Brent had left at the boulder where we had taken our initial at 7 a.m. and continued down, never having to don our snowshoes. We did, however, stow our crampons away and booted it down the lower section of the meadow and on out to the trailhead. Our descent from the hut began at 11:15 and we were unlocking the Honda Pilot at 2:45 p.m. Getting down in three and one half hours was not too bad, all things considered. Yes, we were a little bit tired, but generally we felt good. The exhilaration which floods the body and mind when you have reached a worthwhile goal can overcome many other feelings, including those of weariness or even exhaustion.
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