Penrose, in winter: It’s not the peak, it’s the journey that matters

When I entered the world of mountaineering years ago, reaching the summit of a mountain meant everything. A successful day of climbing was defined by standing atop a mountain’s highest point, regardless of the journey it took to get there.

The more time I spend in the hills, the more I can step back and find the wisdom provided by nature to understand what climbing means to me. The goal is always to reach the top, to see the beauty of the world from a vantage not many get to experience, but that doesn’t define success in the world of alpine climbing. Now the connection between close partners and the journey of exploring the unknown far outweighs simply reaching the summit. To me, it’s how you get there that matters. 

After several attempts had fallen short on different peaks this winter the mountains granted us our first summit of the season recently as climbing partner Adam Clark and I stood atop Mount Penrose in the Flathead Range after a technical ascent through rock, snow, and ice on its northwest face. As always, our day began pre-dawn, sporting headlamps as we made our way up the Skiumah Lake trail. Weaving through the densely vegetated forest and reaching the lake in the early morning light, our first views of Mount Penrose came into view. 

Tracing potential climbing lines up its multi-tiered rock face, zigging and zagging up the snowy apron over old avalanche debris, we reached the base of the face. Here we left our skis and began climbing its untouched gleaming blue ice. 

Rock and ice gear jingled from my harness as I made my way up the sustained ice curtain to reach a small stance where I belayed Adam up and past me onto the next pitch of quality rolling ice steps. 

Tiers of banded limestone jutted outward from above, blocks and loose rock looming overhead, thankfully frozen quiet by the seasonal freeze. Three and a half rope-stretching pitches later we began moving unroped through steep snow across a ramp that deposited us at the ridgecrest. From there, we traversed a steepening snow chute to reach the east ridge of Mount Penrose, where the evening light warmed our chilled faces. 

We weaved up towards the summit ridge through deep snow, in places wallowing up to our hips as we worked across the gendarmed backbone of Penrose. Nearing the summit, the skies began erupting with hues of pink and orange, illuminating the entirety of Glacier Park and the Flathead Mountain range we nearly stood above. Cresting over the summit ridge just as the sun dipped below the treed horizon made for a remarkable experience accompanied by a chilling breeze that greeted us as we stood atop the rimed summit cairn. 

We watched the sun set as we took in the dreamlike panoramic views from Canada to Browning, with Hungry Horse Reservoir at our feet illuminated by the last blue light of day. Reaching the top surely isn’t the only metric to success, but the views from our first summit of the winter reminded me why these mountains call to us. We dropped below the summit, sheltering ourselves from the whipping winds, and began our descent into the darkness of the north face. Our headlamps were the only beacon guiding us back to the base as we plodded down thousands of feet of steep snow to reach our skis. 

Clicking into our backcountry bindings meant we were close, but our car still awaited us many miles away. Thankfully uneventful, our descent through the winding trail went smoothly, reaching the trailhead as stars began twinkling overhead. Though the summit was reached this time, the memories made along the way and the journey to the top made this climb one we won’t soon forget.

    Adam Clark reaches the summit of Mount Penrose just as the sun sets. Seth Anderson Photo.
 SETH ANDERSON PHOTOGRAPHY   

    Adam Clark descends into the twilight after climbing Mount Penrose. Seth Anderson Photo.
 SETH ANDERSON PHOTOGRAPHY