MT. BUCKSKIN
13,865 ft.
October 2, 2002
By Tim Briese
My friend Brian and I wanted to climb one more mountain together before he returned to Minnesota. Two days earlier we were thwarted in our attempt to climb North Apostle and Ice Mountain by an unexpected snowstorm, so we were determined to get a summit in today. Unfortunately the weather was very marginal again today, though, with snow, wind, and fog confronting us, so we selected something easy to bolster our chances, and settled on Mt. Buckskin.
Brian and I met in Fairplay and drove up the snow-covered road to Kite Lake together in my truck. Several inches of the fluffy white stuff had fallen overnight. The landscape was engulfed in a misty mantle of low clouds, so we could see nothing except for a brief tantalizing glimpse of Mt. Democrat ahead of us to the northwest. A stark and wintry scene greeted us at the Kite Lake Trailhead when we arrived. There was no one else in this deserted place except for a man from Kansas who had been caught in the snowstorm and slept overnight there in his van. Fog cut our visibility to a couple of hundred feet, so it was apparent from the beginning that this climb would be quite a routefinding challenge.
At about 7:40 we left the trailhead and slogged through the snow off to the southwest. We found a faint trace of what appeared to be the Lake Emma Trail, almost completely hidden under eight or more inches of snow, and we followed it for about a third of a mile to 12,400 feet in the valley above. At this point we left the trail, crossed Buckskin Creek, and turned to the south, skirting around a bushy area as we hiked across a broad, flat basin. We were literally engulfed in whiteness, as light snow swirled around us in the dense fog. I have nearly always done routefinding by observing landmarks, but that was impossible in these conditions. We stopped frequently to study our contour map and to take elevation and bearing readings with our GPS units in order to find the way. Brian wisely set a couple of GPS waypoints in case we became disoriented on our return. This method of routefinding reminded me of an airplane making an instrument landing in foul weather.
When the terrain began to steepen we turned to the southwest and started to ascend steep slopes of snow toward the hidden heights above. An old powerline crossed the slopes in this area, and its presence on our map was a good confirmation of our location. We climbed relentlessly upward on soft snow that varied in depth from a few inches to two feet or more. In some places snowshoes might have been helpful. Mt. Buckskin may be easy to climb in dry conditions, but it was grueling and strenuous on the soft snow. We stopped frequently to catch our breath and to gaze about into the surrounding whiteness. Distances to nearby slopes and rock outcroppings were difficult to judge due to the poor visibility.
Eventually we spotted the crest of a ridge just above, but were at first uncertain whether the summit was to the right or the left along the ridge. About 10 a.m. we climbed up over a cornice of snow and stepped atop the prized ridge, and were immediately greeted by a stiff wind howling out of the southwest. A GPS reading told us that our elevation was just a few feet lower than the summit, so we followed the crest of the ridge upward to the northwest about fifty yards to the top. I was pleased that our routefinding in the fog had taken us almost directly to the summit.
It was brutally cold on top, with a temperature reading of 25 degrees and a wind chill index that was certainly well below zero. The scene reminded me of photos I had seen of climbers standing on the snowy summit of Mt. Everest. In spite of the conditions we decided to follow the interesting ridge a quarter of a mile northwestward to Buckskin’s northwest summit, a rocky point that is only five feet lower than the true summit. We couldn’t even see the point until we closed within a hundred feet of it. After a brief snack break in the windy cold on the secondary summit we returned along the ridge back to the main summit for photos and another brief rest. It was so cold that Brian’s camera ceased operating, and he had to take its battery out and warm it with his hand so that he could get the camera’s shutter to close. Before we left we poked about in the snow for a moment in search of a summit register, but found none.
This was not a good place to tarry long, so just after 11:00 we retraced our steps along the ridge and began our descent. It was a welcome relief to get out of the worst of the wind as we dropped back below the crest of the ridge. The descent down the long slopes of soft snow was very fast and immensely fun, and somewhat made up for the difficulty of the ascent that we had endured. It took only thirty minutes to descend 1500 feet back down to the flat area in the valley below. It was convenient to have our footprints from the ascent in the snow to find our way back, eliminating the need for further routefinding. We noticed that the wind was quickly obliterating them, though, and they were likely gone within hours.
We quickly hiked back across the basin, and turned back to catch a brief view of the summit when the clouds broke for a moment. A little before noon we returned to my truck. The descent was incredibly fast, taking less than fifty minutes from the summit to the trailhead, thanks to the speed at which we came down on the snow. The numbers spoke of an easy climb, since we covered only three miles roundtrip and climbed 2000 feet of elevation gain in a total time of just over four hours. These numbers are deceptive, though, for given the routefinding challenges and the brutal conditions, we felt like it was quite an undertaking. This was essentially a winter climb, far more challenging than the friendly ascents of summer.
