Longs Peak Winter Alpine Ascent Trip Report
A Frigid Dance on the Diamond: Winter Ascent of Longs Peak via Kiener's Route
Published: 03/22/2025
Tim Wheatley
Photo: Tim Wheatley
It was the dawn of January 2nd, 2024, following a day of rest after spending the previous night partying at a bar in Colorado at Copper Mountain for the New Year celebration. The morning began weary‐eyed after a night in the van at 9,382 feet in the Longs Peak parking lot. Just before we went to sleep, a park ranger showed up, and we thought for sure we would be booted, as there were signs posted reading “No camping in the parking lot.” But to our surprise, he came and went without a word, likely because our gear was splayed out on the parking lot around our car as we packed our bags for the day ahead, making it obvious we were there to climb.
We woke up donning our headlamps, weary‐eyed and ready for the day ahead. Fracturing the darkness surrounding us, we crawled out of the warmth of our sleeping bags. After getting dressed, we left the car at around 5:30 a.m. Filled with excitement and ambition, we began trudging up the trail toward Chasm Lake in the cold and darkness, our packs loaded with gear. We had chosen to do Kiener's Route, a 5.4, M2, easy snow climb.
Photo: Tim Wheatley
Since we are from Tennessee and Georgia, the elevation crept in slowly, forcing our progress to be far slower than expected. Luckily, throughout the entire trip, aside from the difficulty of catching our breath, neither of us sustained any altitude sickness. As we drew nearer to Chasm Lake, the sun began to rise, revealing the incredible alpenglow we could’ve only dreamed of. The scorching fire of the sunrise, ripping through the horizon, pierced our eyes like no sunrise had before. The absence of other people made the environment all the more serene, and the newly revealed view of The Diamond glistening in the golden sunlight in the distance was magnificent.
We continued toward Chasm Lake, reaching it around 10:00 a.m. at an elevation of approximately 11,760 feet. Unsure if the lake was completely frozen, we threw a fairly large rock onto the ice; after the first impact, it was clear that it was frozen. The sound, like a stone hitting a slab of concrete, demolished any doubt we had. After further inspection, the lake appeared to be at least a foot thick, likely many more feet, reaching the rock below.
We continued onto the lake, donning our mountaineering boots and crampons (both of us wearing G‑techs as our choice of boot). We walked across the lake with our crampons screeching and gnawing on the impeccable ice slab beneath their 10 points.
We arrived just below Lamb’s Slide and continued up the snow‑covered boulder field beneath The Diamond, where we began ascending the couloir ahead of us. We were delighted to find that the couloir was filled with snow rather than a steep slab of ice, allowing us to ascend it without using ropes for protection, resorting to our ice tools only in case of self‑arrest.
Our feet sank into the snow up to our mid‑calves as we ascended the couloir, reaching the access point of the Broadway Traverse at 2:00 p.m., nearing 12,900 feet after climbing over 1,000 feet. The sheer length, steepness, and elevation of the couloir made the ascent more challenging than expected and longer than hoped. Although not technical, the climb was very slow going.
Photo: Tim Wheatley
After beginning the Broadway Traverse, we reached a point where the traversing became slightly technical and the fall potential outweighed that of soloing. Consequently, we decided to rope up to the summit, a decision that greatly slowed us but increased the safety of our ascent astronomically. At that point, we could see what we thought was the summit looming in the distance, which turned out to be only the top of The Diamond, hiding the true summit above and behind it.
Although the weather throughout our entire ascent was as good as we could have asked for, a bluebird day, it just so happened to be one of the coldest on Longs Peak. Halfway through the traverse, the temperatures began to drop dramatically; it took all the layers we had brought to keep us even somewhat warm. We finally reached the end of the traverse after negotiating many easy snow slopes, arriving just below the Notch Couloir.
At this point, things began to unfold in less than ideal ways. Reviewing the topos posted on Mountain Project, some advised ascending the Notch Couloir, while others suggested bypassing it to ascend 4th-class terrain. We opted to ascend the Notch Couloir, despite the sun nearly setting. At the top, after negotiating multiple sections of extremely thin, steep, unprotectable alpine ice, we were met with a near vertical section of around 45 to 50 feet of fully technical mixed climbing. Although the ice was thin and technical, it was nothing we weren’t used to.
Photo: Tim Wheatley
Both Mason and I had accumulated extensive experience on incredibly sketchy, thin "southern-fried" ice, making this section far more manageable than it might have been; climbing on ice too thin to take screws was something we were accustomed to. Up to this point, we had only used the rock protection and pickets we brought for anchors, placing very few pieces during the traverse as an ultimate safety measure, especially considering the traverse was extremely easy yet consequentially risky and exposed, with the potential for a fatal fall of several thousand feet.
While most people take very few pieces of rock gear, I opted to bring a full single rack of Totems and offset nuts, which made everything we were about to do far safer and more reasonable. At no point did we encounter ice thick enough to place any of the screws we had brought. As I had the most experience, I took the lead on this 40 foot technical section of unknown difficulty. It was pitch black and extremely cold, leading the pitch in a full summit parka and thick, heavy gloves. In retrospect, although nothing was ideal, it was quite enjoyable, climbing at around M4 or M5.
The sheer location and technicality of executing a near vertical pitch of full on mixed climbing with unknown difficulty was incredible. However, had I not brought rock gear, this section would have been far less awesome and incredibly dangerous.
We reached the top of the face and continued up and right toward the summit, pitching it out and placing one to two pieces every 200 feet as the climbing here was very tame, around 4th class terrain with one final section of offwidth 5th class. During this final section, the temperature dropped to a grueling low, causing us to shiver during each belay as soon as we stopped, battered by wind growing in intensity as we neared the summit.
As we stepped around a final culminating block onto the summit, blasted by wind and freezing cold, we could not help but feel elated to have completed a winter ascent of Longs Peak at 18 and 23 years old. At 14,259 feet and 11:34 p.m., we could see the city lights of Estes Park twinkling in the distance far below. Although we were incredibly cold and just wanted to begin our descent, I decided to take a quick summit video, a decision I am very happy about in retrospect.
We began our descent rather rapidly after summiting to stay warm. I pulled out my Inreach to send a quick check‑in message, only to be met with a notification that the device was reaching its minimum operating temperature of -20°F. As we continued downward on steep, snow‑covered slopes, scouring what we thought was the cables route, we miraculously found both eyelets for the rappels with minimal searching and finally exited the ridgeline into the boulder field. Although it was still incredibly cold, we were relieved to be somewhat protected and out of the wind.
Our original plan was to descend via a GPS route posted by someone, a hidden gulley returning to Chasm Lake that seemed the fastest. In the dark and weary, we could not find this gulley, so we opted to return to the car via the Keyhole Route. With both our phones and headlamps nearly dead, we began to scour the massive boulder field surrounding us, searching for the trail, aided mostly by the peaceful moonlight illuminating the snow. After arduously finding the trail, we followed it back to the car, straying off a few times due to snow cover and the minimal travel the trail receives in winter. We arrived back at the car at around 7:00 a.m. the next day.
Photo: Tim Wheatley
With our boots and crampons still on, harnesses around our waists, and helmets still on our heads, we were overjoyed to see the parking lot hidden among the dense trees. After over 25 hours of continuous movement in the mountains, as the sun was rising, we were chewed up and spit out by the mountain. Our parkas were filled with numerous memory-making holes and our fingertips would not be the same for months, but we had done it.
Although Longs Peak had allowed us to summit, it came at a great physical and mental cost. Reviewing the temperatures, it turned out to be around -30°F at the summit with wind chill. I believe it was far colder due to the incredibly strong wind and the elevation, though I’m not entirely sure. At the very least, it was -20°F without wind chill, as indicated by my Inreach reaching its minimum temperature. Although some things had not gone 100% according to plan, it was an incredible experience nonetheless. Taking a route we had not planned and adventuring in unknown terrain made the experience all the more exciting. I’d like to mention, however, that at no point were we truly in any danger, as we approached everything very conservatively with respect to both ourselves and the mountain. All hazards and risks were taken with prior consideration and by choice.
While our trip may sound pleasurable, I’d like to clarify that we were absolutely miserable, freezing cold, and exhausted at times. Still, it was a great time romping through the hills and accomplishing something so significant. A huge thanks to my partner Mason for remaining steadfast during our ascent, and to the mountain for allowing us to summit and return safely to our car.