Living in Aspen, it's easy to become numb to the seemingly infinite stretch of mountains extending out in every direction from downtown. With thirteen-thousand foot peaks dotting your view wherever you look, the mountains tend to lack an identity; it's hard to stand on Main Street and pick out a particular peak, even after seeing it up close on a hike or drive.
Not so with Mt. Sopris. Located 20 miles downvalley in a tiny town called Emma, Mt. Sopris is a bit of a geological anomaly; while technically part of a "range," the peak of Sopris, at 12,995 feet, looms nearly 4,000 feet taller than the neighboring peaks. As a result, the upper reaches of Mt. Sopris dominates the landscape from every vantage point in the lower valley; it's nearly impossible to stand anywhere in a 60 mile radius and NOT have hour eyes drawn to the solitary peak towering about the valley floor.
Here's the view from Aspen, nearly 20 miles away from Emma. I shot this picture from Aspen just to give you an idea of how Mt. Sopris stands alone, even from a distance. 
Zooming in on Mt. Sopris from Aspen. As a skier, it's absolutely impossible to take in the peak of Sopris and think anything other than, "I wonder what it would be like to ski it?" Shortly after moving to the valley last summer, I made up my mind that once I felt prepared, I would find out.
Without a hint of hyperbole, I can say that the 100-plus days I spent on snow this year, both climbing and skiing, were leading up to this trip. Climbing and skiing Mt. Sopris requires a huge effort. To ski it under safer snow conditions, one has to wait until late spring. However, waiting until late spring means much of the snow will have melted off at the lower elevations, making the approach to the snow-covered peak a long, wet slog up muddy trails and gullies.
This trip was going to require a strong group, so I gathered my buddies Todd, Jeff, and Dave, who while he hasn't joined us on any backcountry descents yet this spring, is a fantastic skier and strong mountain biker, so aerobic capacity wouldn't be a problem.
As Dave, Todd and I gathered at my house on Friday evening, we got word that Jeff would have to bail out of the trip. Undeterred, we finalized our plans.
With nightime temps on Friday targeted to stay above freezing, even above 10,000 feet, and anticipated Saturday temps in the low seventies, we knew getting off the mountain early was imperative. As I've mentioned before, skiing peaks after a cold, clear night, while the snowpack is "frozen" and consolidated, is extrememly safe. Mere hours later, however, after solar radiation has heated the snowpack and selt a river of melt running beneath its lower layers, climbing these peaks can become a suicide mission. With the snow-melt acting as a lubricant, the entire snowpack can give way in a huge climax avalanche. For that reason, the single most important part of any spring season climb is the start time. Get it right, and you can enjoy perfectly safe climbing and riding. Wait too long, and you needlessly immerse yourself into a game of Russian Roulette.
Knowing that the summit of Sopris was over 8 miles and 4,900 vertical feet from the trailhead, we couldn't take any chances. Rather than wake up early and hope to get it right, we opted instead to make our initial approach to the base of Sopris Friday night, camp at Thomas Lakes at 10,400 feet, and make our final climb at first light.
So at 10:45 PM, Todd, Dave and I arrived at the Dinkle Lake trailhead located at 8,600 feet. With no snow for miles, we had to load everything we would need later in the trip on our backs: skis, ski boots, sleeping bags, water, helmets, etc...
Here's the guys getting ready. Temps were very pleasant as we started the climb, maybe 55 degrees. Combined with nearly 6o pounds on our back, we found that we quickly began to overheat.
It took us nearly 3.5 hours to reach Thomas Lakes. I wish I had more pictures to share, but with it being pitch black, there wasn't much to see other than guys in headlamps. We climbed in hiking boots for nearly 1.5 hours, before the snow finally arrived at 9,500 feet and we were able to get the heavy skis and boots off our backs and onto our feet where they belonged.
From there we climbed along a creekbed until we reached a lower lake that served as a route-finding landmark. This is where things turned ugly. We got lost a bit, and were forced to work on our map and compass reading skills. After nearly an hour of backtracking and orienteering, we got back on the right route, and finally found Thomas Lakes at shortly after 2 AM, just enough time to make camp and get a couple hours of sleep before the final climb in the morning.
After 3.5 hours and 1,600 feet of climbing, the guys dig out our campsite while I...uhhh...attended to some business elsewhere. The key was to dig out the snow to the ground so we could lay our sleeping bags down on a slightly warmer base.
At 4:45 AM, the light started to come and I woke the guys. The temps were in the low 30's, which made it a bit tough to get motivated, even in these less than ideal beds.
We managed to eat a bit and get some fluids, and with the summit of Sopris finally not obscured by darkness, we started our climb at 5:45 with the moon and sun battling for superiority in the early morning sky.
Our first view of the summit of Sopris from our camp at Thomas Lakes. The brown dust layer from a mid-April Utah dust storm that blew into Colorado will be a recurring theme in these pictures. The climb to the summit would require a 2,500 foot effort from our camp. Budgeting one hour for each thousand feet, we planned to summit by 8:15, allowing plenty of time to get off the mountain before the solar radiation took effect and things got dangerous.
Further along the approach to the summit. This is called Thomas Lakes Bowl, and our apporach required us to climb straight up the bowl before making a right turn and heading up that patch of white you see in the middle-right of the picture.
Another picture from the same location, zooming in on the face we would climb after leaving the bowl. You can see the skin tracks from a group that went up Wednesday switchbacking up the face to the saddle that would lead us to the ridge which would lead us to the summit.
Shortly after starting the climb up the bowl, we had to negotiate this boulder field, which was more annoying than anything else. Here's Todd and Dave rewarding themselves with some fruit leather and Gatorade.
The first picture back down the valley from the climb. If you look hard, you can see Maci and Lauren playing in our backyard.*
Another shot of the climb. You can still see our ascent route in the middle-right leading up the ridge.
Once we reached the face leading to the saddle, it got steep fast. Here's Todd on one of our many breaks. Dave decided to pack it in shortly before this, exhausted from the climb and the lack of sleep. Kudos to him for listenting to his body.
Interesting fact about Mt. Sopris. It actually has TWO summit, located over a mile apart and each EXACTLY 12,995 feet. This has been the answer to a question on Jeopardy in the past, so if it comes up again I expect you to nail it. Here's a view of the east summit. We would be heading to the west summit.
A view of the ridge from the climb. That is a huge cornice overhanging the ridge, a result of six months of west winds that piled snow onto one side of the ridge. As you can see, as the sun melts the cornice, pieces begin to fall off and tumble down the mountainside. If an entire cornice goes, you get an apocalyptic slide. Exactly why we want to get off the mountain before it gets hot!!!
Getting closer to the summit. The turns of a group from earlier in the week reminding us why we do this in the first place.
An awesome shot back down the valley.
The final three switchbacks from the ridge. From there it would only be 600 feet to the summit.
Another shot of the ridge and cornice.
Finally, after 9 hours and nearly 5K of climbing, we reached the east summit. The next few pictures are the obligatory panoramic views.
After the hero shots, we put on our skis and prepared for the descent. I would love to tell you I had pictures of the just rewards, but to be honest, there really wasn't a safe place to stop and snap photos. You'll just have to trust me: the skiing was superb.
After skiing the face, we skieed the colouir in the middle of the photo. The snow was excellent but quickly growing soft, an indication that we needed to get down.
Remember when I said that when a cornice collapses, it can create a HUGE slide. Here's proof. This must have went sometime in the past few days, and we got a great view of the toe of the debris from our descent route. As you can tell, if a person were climbing or skiing when that snow came down, they wouldn't be making it off the mountain.
Another view of the slide path.
As we descended Thomas Lakes Bowl, a view back up at the summit. Our descent route was the patch of white in the upper right of the pic.
As enjoyable as the descent was, once we reached the lakes, things got miserable. The snow below 10,500 feet had turned to slush under the early morning sun, and we were exhausted and facing a three hour climb/ski/hike out to the car. Here's Dave and Todd pretending they're happy. Mt. Sopris in the background.
About in hour into the slog out, we turned around and shot this pic of Sopris. Looking at it, it's hard to believe we had just stood on its summit.
Zooming in our descent route.
Two hours into the slog out, we reached the meadows and had to put the 60-plus pounds back on our backs. It was a beautiful day, and as we slowly worked are way back to the valley floor, all we had to do was turn around to remind us of where we'd been.
After three hours, back at the car. From here, Mt. Sopris looks absolutely unreachable. It's almost better to climb these peaks at night so you don't get your spirit crushed by what looks to be an unreachable goal.
Zooming in on the peak from the car.
Exhausted, we began the drive back to civilization. If I stood still, my legs would begin to violently shake. After six months of preparation, 15 hours of effort, 5,000 feet of climbing, and roughly 20 minutes of sleep, I couldn't wait to get home and see my wife and puppy. As we descended the road, however, we were greeted with an amazing view of our accomplishment.
*=may be a lie
With me as usual was my buddy Todd. This time, however, he brought along his yellow lab Kya, who brought to the table an unbridled enthusiam at this god-forsaken start time that neither Todd nor I could muster. 
By the time we reached the basin, I was in awe. With mountains rising dramatically in all directions from the wide, flat tundra on which we walked, you couldn't help but feel a bit insignificant. If I've leanred nothing else this year, it's that the mountains have a way of making one feel very, very small.
Top picture shows the route, not to mention just how alone we were out there. Bottom picture shows the long approach through the basin, West Pearl Peak barely visible in the distance.
Another pic of Todd entering the basin. In both shots, West Pearl Peak is the large mountain in the center of the shot.
Lower X marks our quitting point. Upper X marks the summit at 13,356 feet.
Enough said.
