How a 2017 ski trip to Mexico changed my life

November 18th – November 23rd, 2017 

This story was written in the months following this event and hasn't been edited. 

“Count me in, I’m coming!”

Skiing the third tallest peak in North America, an international ski trip with friends? I was ready to leave as soon as I was invited.

The objective was Pico de Orizaba, an inactive volcano towering 18,491 feet above sea level (5,636 meters). In the Mexican town of Tlachichuca, Orizaba is a four-hour drive from Mexico City, making it a quick trip from Denver and a weekend get-a-way growing in popularity.

The months passed and our trip was only mentioned a few times. I grew worried it was all talk, but one day a Facebook group popped up. We were planning on traveling to Mexico and conquering Pico de Orizaba over the week-long Thanksgiving break. Dates changed a bit much to my luck. I had already told my mom that I would not be home for Thanksgiving that year. With our new dates, I could make it home in time for dinner on Thanksgiving Day, but I didn’t tell my mom that – I was going to surprise her.

With plane tickets purchased, the countdown began. I read trip reports at work and checked the weather until summit day was in the ten-day forecast. Large amounts of snow accumulation increased and decreased, but Tuesday morning, the day we planned to attempt an ascent, was forecasted to be sunny. The official group included myself, Tom, Aidan, Lily, Max and Elliot. We met through the backcountry club at the University of Colorado, Boulder, and had skied together many times. United, we had a good amount of experience in the backcountry. Tom, Max, and Elliot had spent the month of May on an expedition in the Yukon, bagging multiple first descents. After graduating, Max moved to Jackson to work for Teton Gravity Research and Elliot moved to Tahoe. Tom had one more semester of school in Denver. Lily is the kindest soul with the most contagious smile. Touring with her is the best because she always has chocolate covered expresso beans, which was a lifesaver when we skied Mt. Elbert last winter. Lily moved to Utah after graduating and worked for Backcountry.com. Aidan, who also graduated from CU Boulder, is a school teacher living in Colorado. He climbs ice and rock, and I met him my freshman year in the hiking club. Watching him French step up the glacier makes it look easy. Not only were we an experienced crew, we were friends.

Our plan was simple; Aidan, Tom and I were on a 4 PM flight from Denver International Airport to Mexico City, set to arrive at 9 PM. We would rent a car and drive to Tlachichua. Elliot, Lily and Max would arrive on an earlier flight, and we would meet them at the hostel in Tlachichua. A late night, but simple. 

In the Denver airport, Elliot texted us with warnings about some car rental issues they had when they arrived in Mexico City. We quickly purchased a cheap version of insurance and crossed our fingers. Our friends had success with this option, but had to pay a hefty deposit.

After what seemed like an everlasting flight, Aidan, Tom and I landed, deplaned, and went through customs. Alarmed faces asked us why we had ski boots and where we were going. With large smiles across our faces, we told them.

We found the small rental car booth. The trouble began as Aidan channeled his Spanish-speaking skills to figure out the car situation. After talking with the man at the booth, we were shuttled to the actual car rental location. Aidan ended up arguing over our prepaid insurance with the lady at the booth. They would not accept it and ultimately made us purchase theirs, in addition to an $800 deposit. At that point, we were tired and hungry and just didn’t care – we wanted to begin the long car ride to Tlachichuca. 

Eventually, we found ourselves crammed into a Toyota. Our ski bags extended from the back to the center console, where the transmission was. It was dark and late.  

We cruxed out quickly; driving in Mexico City is not for the weak of heart. It’s terrifying. Tom was behind the wheel and took it like a champion. 

Our friends sent us another warning – do not hand your ID to the police if you are pulled over. They had made this mistake and had to bribe the officer $100 USD. With this in mind, we cruised on. Luckily, we were not pulled over, but we did manage to catch air off the dozens of speed bumps we hit at maximum speeds over and over again. 

We arrived at the hostel at around 3 AM and went straight to bed. The next day we were set to be shuttled from the hostel to the 14,000-foot hut.

I woke up at seven AM, exhausted, but unable to go back to sleep. I woke up Tom, accidentally of course, as I anxiously shuffled around. Hearing our friend’s voices from downstairs, we got out of bed to greet our buddies. We were excited to see them, tired, but ready. 

We littered the hostel with our gear – six pairs of skis and poles, packs, helmets, harnesses, crampons, ice tools, ski straps of every color, Ziploc bags filled with bars and energy shots, the works. Our entertained host took pictures as we tried to organize our junk. After quite the gear shuffle and breakfast, we piled into the truck. Chugging more water than our bodies could handle, we set off on the bumpy dirt road, asking the driver to pull over only three times so we could relieve our painfully full bladders.

When we arrived at the hut, we saw a few others coming down with skis. We ran over and asked them for beta. They said the glacier was extremely icy and that they had skied about 400 feet. I’ll just channel my inner east-coast racer, I thought. It will be just like home! 

Slightly concerned if there would be space in the hut, we were quite relieved to hear that there was room for six more. We settled in a bit and decided to go on a little hike. We did this in groups, worried about leaving our gear unattended. Tom, Elliot and I set out to scope the labyrinth, the first part of the route. The labyrinth is a sea of loose dirt, with many different paths, properly earning its name. It’s hard to navigate, and even harder to get a solid foot in. We definitely went the wrong way, and a thick, low cloud left us with limited visibility. We didn’t mind, we were just wandering. 

The next day, we planned on hiking up to the start of the glacier and dumping our gear. We woke up as casually as you can in a hut full of people, ate too much sugary cereal, and complained about stomach aches. After encouraging each other to go to the bathroom, we geared up and began walking.

We found a spot to leave our skis, boots, and other gear, and sat for a bit to pass away the day. 

When we arrived back at the hut, we made dinner and went to bed early – tomorrow, or more accurately, in a few hours, we were set to head to the summit. 

I barely slept. I was nervous and anxious and battled with my earplugs. The Austrians were noisy when they set out at midnight and so was the next group. The night felt long. When I finally fell asleep, I was shaken awake. Go time. It was 2 AM and I was hungry. After a weird breakfast of leftover rice, tortillas, and cookies, we were on route. 

The beginning of the route is concrete and starting is one of the harder parts. You have to determine your pace. If you start too fast, you are quickly humbled by the thinning air. After the concrete ended, the scramble up the labyrinth began. Apologies for morning farts were passed around. Alpine starts do strange things for your stomach.

We arrived at where we ditched our skis and it was still dark. We loaded up our gear, put on crampons, and started walking. Ice tools in hand, the glacier was rock solid.

We were immediately front pointing up patches of snow. The steep initial grade was definitely not the proper way up, but the other crampon marks in the ‘snow’ and the dark sky affected our decision. Either way, we made it up and continued walking. 

“As long as I poop before the glacier, it will be okay!” That was the most popular phrase of the morning. Like I said, alpine starts do funny things for your stomach. At the bottom of the glacier, we sat for a few minutes as the sun slowly began to peak up. 

It was time to start the trek. The glacier proved to be extremely solid. It was water ice, not snow. Our group split, and Tom, Aidan and I started towards the left of the glacier, thinking it would be softer since the sun shone on that side. We were so wrong. Aidan, Tom and I wanted to bail, knowing these conditions were unskiable. We couldn’t see Lily, Max, or Elliot. We rappelled on a V-Thread down the 30 meters our rope offered us, which was just enough to make it down to more forgiving conditions. We spotted our friends. They were summit bound and we were shocked. With new hope, we anchored our skis, knowing that conditions to ski were just not there, and started to walk up the way we originally foolishly decided against. 

The softer snow got us rethinking – maybe we should bring our skis just in case. We had no expectations to ski, but no harm in walking our skis up. 

“We are 300 feet away from where we left them.”  

“Let’s do it, we are here!” 

We rushed back to where we left our skis and geared up.

Back at it, slowly making our way up the glacier, the air thinned. Ten steps, three breaths. We were nearing 18,000 feet and the summit was so close, but we still had a considerable amount to go. I was facing a gully, and so was Aidan and Tom, as we switchbacked up Jamapa Glacier. We were searching out the softer snow for the path of least resistance. 

I happened to be looking up when I saw a cloud of snow blow by, just over the other side of the roll into the gully. My first thought, rock fall. Aidan quickly asked, “Did you guys see that?”  

“Yes.”  

“It looked like a helmet and pack. It was probably just a backpack.”

I continued to walk. 

“I think we should check it out” Aidan shouted. 

We peered into the gully, but didn’t see anything unusual. We looked down and up.

“Is that a ski?” I asked.  

Something was planted vertically in the snow near the summit. How could a ski be planted like that in these conditions? Where wind drifted snow did not hide the ice, there was pure ice. 

Probably a stick or something, I told myself.  

Ten more steps, three breaths. Ten more steps, three breaths, peak up at the summit. A person headed towards us. He had skis on his pack and he was basically jogging down the dangerously shiny glacier. In the lead, I started to walk towards the man and he started to walk towards me.The man had two skis strapped to his pack and a third sticking through his shoulder strap on his back. That thing I saw vertically planted in the snow was a ski.

“Did you see him?” asked the man.

That cloud of snow was a human plummeting to his death and we watched it happen. In the blink of an eye and one misstep, our journey down south had turned into a nightmare. My heart had dropped and my insides melted. 

“We saw a cloud of snow go down there” I pointed. 

“Oh no, oh no. Oh man, oh no.” 

“We looked, we didn’t see anything.” Tom and Aidan were catching up at this point. 

We started formulating a plan. 

“I have a basic first aid kit” he said. 

“Do you have a sat phone?” Tom asked.

“Yes” answered the guide.

“Give him your radio” I was told.

I took off my pack, grabbed my radio, and handed it to the guide. He was shaken and moving fast. He couldn’t focus. We formulated a plan. The guide was to boot down and look for his friend, radioing us when he found him. We were to follow.  

“Do you want me to take your skis?” I asked 

“No.”

Thoughts rushed through my head as Aidan, Tom and I began to follow the guide. If this man is hurt, if he’s bleeding, what do I have in my pack that can help? For food, I have one bar left and a bit of water. 

Tom radioed the guide, asking if he found his friend. Not yet. We continued to walk. 

Tom radioed him again, I was insisting. If the fallen man needed help, we had to rush.  

The radio made noise. 

“I found him. I don’t think he made it. I’m about 1,000 feet down.”

We reached the top of the rocks that divided the gully where we watched the man slide down and the glacier route. We sat down. 

“What do we do?”

We weighed out the possibilities. If we booted down the gully where the man had slid, we would exhaust ourselves. We had limited water and food. 

“We shouldn’t leave him alone, someone should help. Tell him to call for help on the sat phone.”

We sat quietly on the rocks. We were going to wait to either see the helicopter, or see the guide, so he would not be alone. We watched Elliot finally make his way down, and Tom ran over to him. I tried to take a bite of a bar to satisfy my growling stomach, but food felt like a rock slowly rolling down my throat. I could not eat. Water tasted wrong.

I turned to Aidan. “I don’t think we add any value by sitting here, we should head back down.” 

Aidan agreed, so we grabbed our gear and walked back over to Tom and Elliot. Elliot would wait for Lily and Max, who had no idea about what we had witnessed, and Tom, Aidan and I would start to head down and communicate with those at the hut regarding the day’s events. We made it to the bottom of the glacier and we saw the guide ski down towards us.

Tom walked over to the guide and gently asked him if he wanted us to walk down with him. 

“That would be nice.”

We waited as the guide spoke over the satellite phone. Tom, Aidan and I all began to tear up as we heard the guide speak. I don’t know who he was talking to, but his words will never leave my mind. “I just killed him. How do I tell his wife I just orphaned his children?”

The walk back to where we left our approach shoes was quiet. I felt hollow. I was emotionally wasted. I felt like I had no insides. In the back of my mind, I dreaded the guide reaching the point he left his approach shoes. He would be greeted by two pairs of shoes – his and his dead friends.  

We made it to our shoes and started to change out of our ski boots. The guide was ready before us, thanked us for the help, and continued on his way. I was moving slowly, I didn’t have it in me to move any faster.

Aidan, Tom and I arrived at the hut, hungry and beat. We waited for Lily, Max and Elliot. Finally, through Aidan’s binoculars, we saw their skis as the three of them waddled down the labyrinth. When they arrived, they hugged us, asking if we were alright. Hungry and tired, but more emotionally wasted than anything, we packed the truck that waited to shuttle us back to the hostel and drove away, this time stopping for no full bladders. 

Back at the hostel, we feasted. Eating endless fresh tortillas and drinking beer, we sat around chatting until our stomachs were full. Showered and exhausted, we went to bed hungry again. When I closed my eyes to sleep, I saw the snow cloud I had seen earlier that day.

I woke up the next morning and saw the snow cloud. I heard the conversation the guide had over the satellite phone. I thought about my family together in Pennsylvania and the dead man’s wife and children. I thought about my best memories, spent in the mountains with my friends, coming home so hungry and tired the only thing I have energy for is eating and crashing into a deep sleep. I love talking about ultimate powder days and once-in-a-lifetime lines. What we fail to talk about is what we saw in Mexico. Death is a consequence of backcountry skiing, mountaineering, mountain biking, climbing, and nearly every outdoor activity. That day, the mountains had claimed another life. Weather prevented body recovery for a few days, and I thought about the man’s corpse, draped over rocks, 17,000 feet into the sky. 

It was dark out when we pulled into the driveway of my Pennsylvania home on Thanksgiving Day. I had woken up early in Mexico City to catch a flight to Philadelphia. After much discussion as to how to surprise my un-suspecting mom, we decided I would just walk into the house. When we pulled into the driveway, my mom was waiting at the gate. I popped out of the car. My mom looked at me. I think it took her a few moments to realize, but she cried. I hugged my mom – I didn’t know if she was crying because she was mad at me for lying or happy to see me. It was probably a combination of both. Wrapped in my mother’s arms, I cried too. I cried because my mom had yet to know what happened. I cried because I was the lucky one who made it home to a loving family on Thanksgiving Day.