Denali - Part 1

June 2019, Talkeetna Alaska - The distinct smell of jet fuel wafted across the tarmac as we prepared to load up two Turbo Otter ski planes with thousands of pounds of gear and supplies. The faint electricity of thunderstorms was in the air and a comfortably warm breeze radiated off the pavement.

The day had been a nervous one as our newly formed expedition team waited for the go-ahead to fly from the small town of Talkeetna to Denali’s Kahiltna Basecamp deep in the Alaska Range. The morning started off sunny, but some sporadic rain showers had moved into town and I started to question whether we’d be able to fly out on time. I’d heard stories of teams getting stuck in Talkeetna for a week or more due to weather and was eager to get our trip started without delay. Fortunately, the conditions were good in the mountains and our team put on our “action suits” which included everything we’d need to be prepared for our arrival on the glacier: boots, gloves, climbing layers, eye protection, etc. It was time to leave civilization.

We hopped aboard the planes and took our seats up front, the bags of gear already stowed in the back after having been carefully weighed and placed for balance. The pilot and each passenger put on headphones as the prop began to spin and we listened in as the pilot communicated with air traffic control in that relaxed drawl that only an Alaskan bush pilot can pull off. Heading down the runway the plane took off effortlessly, almost floating upwards, and banked hard to the right across the basin towards the Alaska Range over 60 miles away.

As we approached the mountains, I was struck by how big everything looked. The scale of these peaks was off the charts! Looking out the left side of the plane I spotted the mighty Mount Foraker, then, glancing through the cockpit in a moment of excitement and terror, I laid my eyes on Denali for the first time. Gulp. It was a HUGE icy mass with a thousand-foot plume of spindrift blowing off the summit. Everyone was pointing at it and giving each other “thumbs up” over the noise of the engine so as to diffuse our collective anxiety.

"In the afternoon sun, we could see avalanches calving off the steep slopes above but running out harmlessly a kilometer or more away. It really was a beautiful but intimidating place to be dropped into knowing the terrain would only get bigger and more intense as the trip progressed."

For those who might not know, Denali is North America’s highest peak at 20,310 feet. It is the crown jewel of the Alaska Range that runs SW to NE and lies approximately midway between Anchorage and Fairbanks in the heart of Alaska. Denali is considered by many to be the coldest mountain on earth where a few decades ago the lowest recorded temperature was -73 degrees Celsius. While significantly lower in altitude compared to Mount Everest or Aconcagua, Denali is just 250 miles away from the arctic circle at 63 degrees latitude north. This extreme latitude means that the air at a given elevation has relatively less pressure than what is observed at lower latitudes. So what does this mean for climbers? Essentially, the air is thinner at 20,000 feet on Denali than on a 20,000-foot peak closer to the equator (such as Chimborazo in Ecuador). So, from a climber’s point of view, Denali can FEEL more like a 22,000 - 23,000-foot peak in terms of difficulty.

The route we planned to climb was the classic West Buttress (first pioneered by Brad Washburn et al in the 1950s) now considered to be the standard route on the mountain. Summit Post has a great description of the route which you can review for more detail than what is offered here. The West Butt, as it’s called, has five camps ranging in altitude from 6,800 feet at Kahiltna Basecamp to 17,000+ feet at high camp and covers nearly 17 miles in horizontal distance. As with most large peaks, we’d climb Denali expedition style. This means our team would ascend most of the mountain twice to help acclimatize our bodies and enable us to cache food and gear at higher elevations before returning a second time to establish a new camp.

Back on the plane, deep into the mountain range, the pilot began his descent for landing at Kahiltna Basecamp. The ridges and peaks below got closer and closer. Looking out the window through the cockpit, all I could see in front of us was a mass of rock and snow without a bit of open sky in sight. Just then, the ground proximity alert started sounding off through the headphones “beep beep beep beep beep”. The pilot was in complete control of course, but navigating through tight terrain as he banked the Otter hard to the left in a looping circle to line us up with the snowy “runway” which sloped distinctively upward.

With engine power reduced and skis deployed, the plane came down for a nice soft landing. We’d made it into the mountains and a major milestone was behind us. No more greenery, fresh food, showers, or clean clothes for the next three weeks.

Once on the glacier, it was time to set up our temporary basecamp just uphill from the runway. It was an incredible spot to camp with planes coming and going as new climbing teams arrived and others departed. Those who were leaving looked significantly more weathered and tired from their expedition, almost like soldiers coming back from a war, which struck the rest of us with some mild apprehension about the challenges that lay ahead.

The striking Mount Hunter served as our backdrop on one side and the imposing Mount Foraker on the other. In the afternoon sun, we could see avalanches calving off the steep slopes above but running out harmlessly a kilometer or more away. It really was a beautiful but intimidating place to be dropped into knowing the terrain would only get bigger and more intense as the trip progressed.

Building camps on Denali can be a significant chore and take a few hours to complete. In fact, it is one of the key distinguishing challenges of this mountain since the day’s work is often far from complete once the climbing is over. The effort involved in digging out level tent platforms, a latrine, food and gear caches 10+ feet deep, and a seating area for the shared cook/mess tent can take many hours.

Now a little about the team. On this expedition were our three guides: Lead Guide Jeremiah and Assistant Guides Taylor and Cris. As we developed our first camp, we naturally broke up into four groups with the three guides in one tent and the nine clients separating into three groups of three. The clients were:

In tent “A” (they weren't actually called A, B, C)

• Myself

• Bruce: A good friend of mine from Canada who I’d climbed with before on Mount Elbrus as well as Glacier Peak in the Cascades.

• Daniel: A young Norwegian on a quest to be the youngest person from his country to climb the seven summits. He was also an endless source of card games and dirty jokes which his tent mates appreciated very much.

In tent “B”

• Bert: Generally hilarious guy from New York (but recently moved to Seattle) who had done a handful of solid mountains and international climbing trips. He went to business school with his friend John (below).

• John: Also hilarious with a similar climbing pedigree as Bert and a deep ability to recall movie quotes from the mid-1990s to mid-2000s.

• Derrick: Probably the most fit client on the team who, in his modest way understated how competitive he was in marathons and ultra-marathons. Also seeking the seven summits.

In tent “C”

• Tim: An engineer with the Air Force who had been stationed in Fairbanks and dreamed of climbing Denali for years. Whenever the team was down Tim could be counted on to help us see the positive side of things.

• Nate: Also an engineer who worked with Tim and thought Denali sounded like a good adventure. On the less experienced side but proved his climbing capabilities on the trip and was a strong member of the team.

• Tony: From the UK, was well-traveled and had been on many of the same peaks as the rest of us, having summitted Elbrus and Aconcagua among others.

Once basecamp was established, Jeremiah briefed us over dinner about his plan for the next few days. On the lower glacier, where temperatures are the highest the mountain, the chief issue to mitigate against is soft snow. Slushy conditions not only make for strenuous travel but also increase the probability that somebody could punch through a weak snow bridge into a hidden crevasse below. Not good. Based on these considerations, his plan was to get our team on a “night” schedule. This alone is a bit of a misnomer in the endless light of Alaska’s summer, but the snow did firm up quite a bit as temperatures plummeted once the sun dipped below the surrounding ridge tops in the wee hours of the morning. To get us on our new schedule, we stayed up until 1 AM (though you wouldn’t know it) telling stories and jokes in the cook tent.

The next day we awoke at 10 AM (very late by mountain standards) and after a quick breakfast got a lesson from the guides on how to properly rig and travel with the sleds that we would haul with us on the lower mountain. These sleds are another unique part of Denali’s climbing experience. They allow climbers to carry a few dozen extra pounds of food, gear, and refuse in addition to what can be carried in backpacks which can top out at 70+ LBS apiece. Managing the sleds was quite challenging at the start, especially when traveling downhill with snowshoes. Unless your partner behind you helped control the sled, it would bang against the back of your legs and result in a fall. Most everyone got the hang of it during this practice session though I was already looking forward to when we could ditch them mid-mountain. Getting on our planned night schedule, we went to bed early and planned to wake at 2 AM for our move to Camp 1 in firm snow conditions.

The next morning we broke down camp quickly and were eager to start climbing. Despite it being the middle of the night, no headlamps were required and that made fussing with the tents and rigging the sleds much easier than it would have been in the dark.

One oddity of climbing out of Kahiltna Basecamp is that you must first go downhill before you can go up. It’s certainly counter intuitive but the camp is situated on a slope above the broad Kahiltna Glacier below and moving to camp 1 requires a decent of “heartbreak hill” before you can access the main glacier and start moving upwards to Camp 1. So, while the net elevation gain from Kahiltna Basecamp to Camp 1 is only 1,000 feet, the initial descent adds at least 500 feet to the gross amount climbed.

This would also be the longest horizontal distance (5.5 miles) and the heaviest day of the trip as we’d carry all of our gear in a single push. As such we carried close to 100 LBS of food and gear between our backpacks and sleds, aiming for a 70/30 split between them in terms of weight distribution.

I was on Jeremiah’s rope team and made quick work of the descent down heartbreak hill, taking care to control the sled in front of me so as to prevent it from smashing into Bruce’s legs. Once on the glacier, we continued up the gentle slope for another hour or so until our first rest break. While the loads were intense, the climbing itself was pretty tame and completely manageable.

"While the Kahiltna is relatively flat and seemingly benign, looks can be deceiving. This portion of the route is notorious for large crevasses and it’s downright common for climbers to punch through the snow and require rescue."

The sun started to rise from behind the ridges at around 4 AM and was glancing off the summits of the high peaks above. As those slopes started to warm in the sun, a handful of large avalanches cascaded down in large plumes onto the glacier below more than a mile from where we were. Overall, it took just under 4 hours for us to make the trip from Kahiltna Basecamp to Camp 1 and Jeremiah said that was the fastest he’d ever done it with a group of clients. Not sure if he was blowing smoke but it was a confidence booster nonetheless. Indeed, climbing at night was a great call as the snow was firm and made for quick traveling.

The first two rope teams made it to Camp 1 at about the same time and started the process of building camp. Somewhat ominously, Cris’s rope team had not arrived after more than an hour and Jeremiah was unable to raise him on the radio. While the Kahiltna Glacier is relatively flat and seemingly benign, looks can be deceiving. This portion of the route is notorious for large crevasses and it’s downright common for climbers to punch through the snow and require rescue. That was on all of our minds as Taylor and Jeremiah started roping back up to retrace the route and find Cris’s rope team.

Just as they were getting ready, another group was coming up the climbing trail and we asked them if they’d seen our third team. Fortunately, they had seen them and said that a member of the team was putting on a knee brace and redistributing some of his weight to the others. After a few more minutes of waiting, they finally arrived into camp and we got back to work setting things up. Notwithstanding this bit of drama, things were going well at this point. Everyone was getting along, feeling mostly healthy, and the group dynamics were strong. But things were about to get shaken up...