Vince Anderson has spent more than 40 winters in Colorado’s high country. He has been buried by avalanches, caught in whiteouts, and pulled hypothermic clients off ridges at 2 a.m. Now the owner of Skyward Mountaineering in Ridgway warns that this unusually warm and erratic 2024-2025 winter is lulling people into dangerous complacency.
“The mountains don’t care that you think you’re an expert,” Anderson told me last week. “They never have.”
This Winter Feels Different, But the Danger Is the Same
Colorado Avalanche Information Center (CAIC) data shows the state is on pace for another deadly season. As of February 20, 2025, CAIC has tracked over 1,200 avalanches and confirmed four fatalities, with two more under investigation.
The early warm spells followed by heavy storms have created a weak, sugary snowpack layered under heavier slabs, exactly the recipe for large, deadly slides. Forecasters call it a “persistent slab” problem that can stay active for weeks.
Anderson says skiers and split-boarders are triggering most of the big slides right now because they chase the best snow onto steep, untouched slopes, the same terrain that can kill.
But he is quick to add that snowshoers, winter hikers, and ice climbers often end up in the runout zones below those slopes with no beacon, no shovel, and no idea they are in harm’s way.
One slide near Loveland Pass in January buried a solo hiker 6 feet deep. He survived only because a passing ski tourer saw it happen and dug him out.
Read the Terrain Like Your Life Depends on It (Because It Does)
Anderson teaches every client the same simple rule: If a slope can slide, assume it will.
Look for red flags: convex rolls, open bowls above treeline, slopes between 30 and 45 degrees, wind-loaded pillows, or any place where the trees suddenly stop growing.
He tells people to ask themselves one question before committing: “If this slope goes, where do I end up?”
Most victims never ask that question until it is too late.
Hypothermia Doesn’t Need Minus-20 to Kill You
“You can die of exposure at 25 degrees if you’re wet and the wind is blowing,” Anderson says.
He has treated more cases of hypothermia in March “bluebird” days than during January storms because people dress for the hike up, not for stopping on a windy summit or getting stuck overnight.
His non-negotiable items every single person must carry, no exceptions:
- Extra puffy jacket that never leaves the pack until you need it for an emergency
- Emergency bivy sack or small tarp
- Lighter and fire starter (he prefers the mini BIC + cotton balls soaked in Vaseline)
- Spare gloves and hat
- Chemical hand warmers
“If you stop moving for 30 minutes above 11,000 feet in Colorado, you cool down fast,” he says. “I’ve seen people shaking uncontrollably in April while wearing just a soft-shell.”
The Decision That Separates Survivors from Statistics
Anderson’s hardest days guiding were not the storm days. They were the perfect powder days when clients begged to ski “just one more lap.”
He turned around on Longs Peak in 2019 with a strong client who later thanked him for saving his life when the slope they wanted ripped wall-to-wall two days later.
“There is always another day,” Anderson repeats like a mantra. “The mountain will be there next weekend, next month, next year. Your family wants you home tonight.”
Get Trained or Stay Home
Anderson will not take anyone into the backcountry without at least an AIARE Level 1 avalanche course. Period.
CAIC reports that 93% of avalanche victims in Colorado triggered the slide themselves or were in the same party. Proper training cuts that risk dramatically.
Popular courses fill up months in advance, but many outfitters now offer one-day “Avalanche Awareness” clinics if you can’t commit to three days.
Anderson’s final piece of advice is the simplest and hardest: Trust your gut.
“If something feels off, it is off. Turn around. Live to come back and tell the story over beers instead of becoming the story.”
Colorado’s peaks look gentle under blue skies and fresh snow. They are not.
Listen to the guides who have spent four decades learning the hard way. Their lessons are written in the snow, and some of them in blood.
What is the one piece of gear or habit you will never head out without this winter? Drop it in the comments and tag a friend who needs the reminder.
