A Windy Ascent of Mount Sniktau: My Son’s First 13er

The wind was already moving across the ridge when we started, carrying that thin, high-altitude chill that reminds you the mountains don’t give anything away easily. It had been years since I had climbed above 13,000 feet, and I could feel it—not just in my legs, but in the air itself. At this elevation, the air holds barely two-thirds of the oxygen found at sea level. It’s dry, it’s cold, and on this day, it was relentless.

The trail wasted no time.

Right from the start, it climbed steeply toward Point 12,915, gaining elevation in a direct and unapologetic way. Each step felt deliberate, the kind of uphill that forces you into a rhythm whether you’re ready or not. As we worked our way upward, the wind stayed mostly at our backs—just enough to cool us without slowing us down.

That changed the moment we reached the ridge.

The wind hit harder, colder, pushing across the rocks with more force. We ducked behind one of the small stone windbreaks scattered along the ridge and pulled on our jackets. From there, the terrain opened up, revealing what looked like the summit ahead—but like many mountain routes, it wasn’t the true summit. Just another point along the way: Point 13,152.

The climb to that point was noticeably easier, a welcome break after the steep push below. But once we arrived, the real summit of Mount Sniktau finally came into view. Between us and the top lay a shallow saddle, dipping just below 13,000 feet before rising again.

The final push was steep—just like the beginning.

Step by step, we worked our way upward again, feeling the elevation and the effort in equal measure. And then, just like that, we were there.

From the summit, the Front Range stretched out in every direction. Grays and Torreys Peaks, two 14ers,  stood prominently nearby, and far in the distance, I thought I could make out Longs Peak on the horizon. The wind still moved across the summit, but now it felt different—less like resistance, more like part of the experience.

We took a few photos, took it all in, and started back down.

This was my son’s first 13er—and that made the day even more meaningful. Watching him reach the summit, standing there in the wind and the thin air, was something I won’t forget.