For the past few years I had been waiting for just the right “weather window” to attempt a winter ascent of Mount Washington in New Hampshire’s White Mountains. But the right combination of days off and good weather conditions never happened simultaneously.

This winter, however, it looked like the right combination of temperatures and winds would happen at the end of January. There was a weak but warm front approaching the region from the south for the first time in a month of near record cold. It was supposed to bring rain on Saturday, Feb. 1, but not until late in the day. My upstairs neighbor, Scott Fisher, and I figured we could summit and be back before the front reached the mountains.

I had never climbed the mountain in winter, or any mountain bigger than Cadillac Mountain in winter for that matter. I wouldn’t have tried it at all if I hadn’t already made lots of summer trips up the mountain. I wouldn’t have gone alone either. Any partner would have to have ability that I completely trusted.

Scott had been up the Lion’s Head Trail before, as well as several other winter trips on other, more notable routes on the mountain, such as Huntington Ravine. He could also teach me the crampon and ice axe skills I would need to get myself up and down the mountain safely.

We hit the trail at 4:10 a.m. after sleeping Friday night at a trailhead near Pinkham Notch. Sleeping could be defined in the most loose sense, with me in the back of the pickup and Scott outside in a bivy bag. The air temperature overnight might have been around 10 degrees; we didn’t have a pack thermometer to read. Whatever the temperature, there were no stars visible, so we knew that we would be climbing into clouds. And there wouldn’t be any great views from the top.

The possibility of no views didn’t really matter in the black of night during the 1.8-mile climb out of Pinkham Notch. Under the light of the headlamps, we followed the wide trail through the woods and constantly up the approach trail to the junction with the winter Lion’s Head route.

It differs from the summer route in that it approaches Lion’s Head from a less avalanche-prone side than Tuckerman’s Ravine. We didn’t need crampons or axes during the first two hours it took to hike to the beginning of the section of trail officially designated the winter route.

Once at the turn to begin the steep ascent, we put on the crampons and took out the ice axes for balance and to assist in pushing off as we began to climb. The trail grew steeper as we ascended through the trees, which diminished in size the further up the ridge we climbed.

Soon, a gray dawn crept in and we could recognize the features on the mountain around us. To our left, we looked into the great maw of Tuckerman’s ravine, the top of which was shrouded in clouds. We looked down on Harvard Cabin, on the righ. It was located on the approach to Huntington Ravine. We could see the ski trails on Wildcat Mountain across the notch.

Then we ascended into the cloud and all the views were obscured. By then, we were above the tree line and the entire view was of white, wind- packed snow, gray frost encrusted rock and cloud. Still, the air temperature was around 20 degrees, maybe more. With no wind, it felt more like late fall than mid-winter.

At the Lion’s Head crag, we took a pack-off break to drink some water and eat a snack. During the rest, Scott filled me in on more crampon technique. He showed me the French technique that involves using a crossover step so that all the points of the crampon above are on the snow, before transferring your weight from the downhill foot. It’s pretty easy to learn and in no time I had found a rhythm.

Scott had been leading for most of the way and we stayed together for most of the climb. It seemed that in no time we were at the sign at the intersection with the Alpine Garden Trail that crosses the base of the summit cone on the eastern side. It read “Mt Washington Summit, .9 Mi.”. We had been climbing for about five hours, with only a few rest breaks. With only an hour or so to the summit, it looked like we were actually going to make it to the top. Up until then, I wasn’t so sure.

Mt. Washington’s weather is notorious for it’s severity and suddenness. People have died of exposure during every month of the year on its slopes. Scott and I had agreed that we would see how long the weather would hold off before turning back. If it started snowing or whiteout conditions prevailed, it wouldn’t matter how close we were to the top, we would turn around.

It didn’t snow, although visibility was only about a hundred yards or so in the cloud that enveloped the summit. The mile to the top ascends steeply about a thousand feet through a broad, compacted snowfield deposited by the incessant winds blowing across the top of the mountain. It was packed hard enough to support our weight. Crampons provided purchase for my boots while the ice ax, driven two-handed in front of me into the snow like a stake, let me pull my way up.

Partway up we stopped for a final break at a crag of rock that you pass through before the final push to the summit. After another half hour of steep climbing, there it was: the top. All the summer buildings were boarded up. The only people here in winter are the Mt. Washington Observatory weather watchers. As for the views, there weren’t any. There was a patch of blue sky over Maine, but the northern Presidentials were socked in.

We took pictures of each other with the summit sign and after a few minutes, another climber showed up. It was around 10 a.m. A few more minutes later we heard a mechanical sound like a tank coming up toward the top. It was a snow cat, loaded with what looked to be about eight people, probably a shift change at the observatory. It moved at a little faster speed than a walk. The bumper sticker read “This Cat climbed Mt. Washington.”

Soon we turned around for the descent. Going down meant learning a new technique – glissading. It basically involves sitting on the snow, using your ice ax like a rudder and brake and sliding downhill. It took me a long time to get used to the idea of taking off my crampons before trying a glissade.

Eventually I took them off, but not before trying it with crampons on. That experiment led to catching my heel points, which nearly propelled me upwards in a forward roll. Then it came time for the slide down the slope. I held the ax with both hands by my waist, I dug the top point side into the snow and rode the slope down the hill. I could slow down by leaning my back and pack into the snow and increasing down force on the ax.

We arrived back at the truck nine hours after we started. It had taken us six hours to climb up and only three hours to come down. “We would have made it down in less if you had started glissading sooner,” Scott joked. I agreed that it definitely was easier on the legs than walking. He started the truck and we headed for home.