Denali - Part 2

June 2019, Denali National Park - At 2 AM, in the cold half-light din, our team was preparing for our first “carry” to stash spare food, gear, and clothing higher on the mountain. The objective was to climb nearly 3,000 vertical feet up a broad and rolling slope called “Ski Hill” to a point just below Camp 2 at 10,400 feet. I was a little slow getting going and jumped on the back of Cris’s rope team along with Tim and Nate. Nothing was said aloud, but I got the impression that the other clients seemed to be avoiding this rope after the delay and mini-drama of the day before (see last post). It turned out that Cris, as the guide, was the one who had been struggling to reach Camp 1 instead of one of the clients as we’d all assumed.

I had a nagging anxiety about being on this rope as we started up the slope to Camp 2, and sure enough, after just a few minutes of climbing the other two rope teams started to pull away and climbed out of view on the slope above. Our movement was slow, labored, and inconsistent. It was clear watching Cris from the back of the rope that he simply had too much weight in his pack and was working overtime to heave the weight upward. Tim, Nate, and I were feeling strong and offered a handful of times to take some weight from his pack, and after an hour or so Cris finally accepted our offer.

With his load lessened we started to make better headway, but I was pretty frustrated and cursed the situation under my breath. How could the guide of all people be the least capable person on this rope team?! Topping the first steep section of the climb, about 900 vertical feet from Camp 1, we saw the other two rope teams waiting for us, arms and legs waving wildly in the air to force warm blood from their core into their hands and feet.

Jeremiah was clearly frustrated by the situation and when Cris collapsed to his knees it was pretty clear to everyone that his trip was over. I came upon Bruce first as we pulled into the rest break a full 30 minutes behind the other teams.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Stupidest thing ever, man” I exclaimed to him over the wind, gesturing to the exhausted guide. “There’s no way he can go on like this and we have so much mountain to climb still.”

Instead of making the full carry to 10,400 feet as planned, we cached our gear on the spot, nearly 2,000 feet short of our objective for the day. The katabatic winds were blowing and it was definitely a chilly spot to be in the pre-dawn morning. It took about 30 minutes to dig the 10-foot deep cache in the snow and organize gear. The hole generally needs to be that deep because the snow can melt up to a couple of feet per day and large ravens with razor-sharp beaks prowl the slopes for exposed food bags.

"This portion of the route is notorious for extremely poor conditions and has been the site of numerous accidents in the past and will be the site of yet more accidents in years to come. At Windy Corner, there is constant rockfall from the West Buttress on climber’s left and there is a massive drop off and crevasse on the right waiting to gobble up unsteady climbers."

All three rope teams descended back to Camp 1 without incident but occupied with frustration and anxiety about what would happen next. Jeremiah was quick to inform us that Cris would be ending his trip and he jumped on the satellite phone to coordinate the next steps with the guide service’s office and National Park Service. Bruce, Daniel, and I killed time playing cards in our tent, which depending on the amount of cloud cover from one minute to the next felt like the inside of a sauna or refrigerator.

Within a few hours, by some miracle, a plan was in place. Taylor and Cris would travel together back to basecamp where Cris would catch a flight back to Talkeetna. At the same time, he would be relieved by a new guide, Eric, who was going to arrive on the same plane that Cris would leave on. Later that night, Eric and Taylor would make their way back to Camp 1. Eric was planning to guide a smaller team just behind ours, but due to the circumstances was shifted up to assist our larger group. In all, it was a pretty stressful and challenging day, but the stars aligned perfectly and the issue dealt with swiftly and decisively. Only after our climb was over was it made known to us that we’d been an inch away from having our entire trip canceled.

The following morning, with three healthy guides, we set out to finish the job we’d started the day before. Our whole team met Eric at breakfast and we all felt confident that he was going to be a huge asset to the team and generally great guy to be around. Our instincts proved correct in every way. Roping up again, we pulled out of Camp 1 at about 6 AM and made quick work of the section we’d already climbed, making it to the cache site in half the time.

Digging up the cache was no small chore and it took us about 45 minutes to dig everything out and rig up our sleds for travel upward. The slope above us was fairly gentle and the team was able to move at a good pace for about 90 consecutive minutes. The sun was starting to crest over the ridgelines in some places, lighting up the Kahiltna Dome on our left but leaving Denali’s western aspect in icy shadow to our right. At the top of the rolling glacier, we took a right turn and climbed up steeper terrain leading to Camp 2 at 11,000 feet. We all clicked in the risers on our snowshoes to make upward travel more comfortable and efficient. Everyone was in good spirits as we reached our target cache site at 10,500 feet.

We’d been moving really fast that morning and my tentmate Daniel was feeling nauseous. He vomited a couple of times at the cache and then once or twice more on the way down. Fortunately, he was feeling completely normal by the time we made it back down to Camp 1 and would remain healthy for the remainder of the expedition. I think this absolutely proved the efficacy of the “climb high, sleep low” acclimatization process we followed.

"Every morning starts off with a small ice storm as condensation from our breathing freezes to the inside walls of the tent. So, when the first person wakes up and accidentally bumps the tent, a wave of frozen drool comes snowing down on your face."

Back in Camp 1, again, I was beginning to realize that managing downtime in camp was equally as important as the climbing itself. Some detractors say that you “camp your way up Denali” on the West Buttress, and while that is meant to be disparaging, I found some truth to it. Staying active both mentally and physically in camp was important for me to remain sane and acclimatized. I found myself playing cards for hours, telling stories with others in the cook tent, digging out deep caches, and reinforcing snow walls to protect against the wind. On one occasion we even built a pair of life-size snowmen!

It was finally time to pack up Camp 1 and move up the mountain to Camp 2. With heavier loads than on our carry to 10,500 feet the day before, we started up Ski Hill for the third and final time. Passing through now-familiar terrain, we made it to our current cache site in good time and climbed the final 500 vertical feet to Camp 2 in shadow. As the slope steepened and Denali’s West Buttress came into view it felt like we were really climbing the mountain for the first time. This morning was the coldest I felt on the entire trip and the tips of my fingers lost feeling for a few hours after arriving into camp. That was the first time I’d ever had a sensation like that and it was a good warning to take better care of my layering and protection from the cold as we progressed higher.

The amount of effort expended building camps on Denali cannot be understated and at times I felt it was more physically taxing than the climbing itself. This challenge alone accounts for why some people who’ve climbed Mount Everest, with vastly more support, can encounter difficulty on Denali and fail to summit. Without sherpas or porters, guided clients are required to be much more self-sufficient and participatory in the daily labor of preparing and maintaining camp life.

At Camp 2, the first order of business was to prepare a large tent platform that took all nine clients nearly an hour to complete. A few hours later we’d fully established camp including a comfortable seating area in the cook tent and a latrine with an A+ view of Kahiltna Dome and the route below. I was feeling really fortunate to be at Camp 2 with what looked like good weather ahead, back on schedule, and with a full contingent of healthy guides. With a rest day ahead, and to the jealous shock of my tentmates, I ended up sleeping for 13 hours that night contented in the cocoon of my -30 degree F sleeping bag.

On our rest day, we enjoyed a leisurely pancake breakfast and took a short walk down to 10,500 to pick up our cached gear. I was thrilled to dig through my cached items to find a much-needed pair of fresh underwear and socks… it had been 6 days since I’d changed them after all.

By this time I was definitely getting settled into mountain life and small inconveniences started to emerge that are hard to fathom as I’m writing this back at home. For example:

• The amount of “floaties” in the drinking water was getting worse and worse by the day. By floaties, I am referring to small leftover food particles that end up in the drinking water because it’s hard to get cooking equipment used for breakfast and dinner completely clean for melting snow into water. Gulping down little pieces of old pasta or bacon bits is commonplace.

• Every morning starts off with a small ice storm as condensation from our breathing freezes to the inside walls of the tent. So, when the first person wakes up and accidentally bumps the tent, a wave of frozen drool comes snowing down on your face.

• The pervasive sweet and sickly smell of snack bags and body odor in the tent.

• A constant battle in camp trying to remember where you put something. Every time I would misplace my harness or a pair of gloves I’d endure a minor heart attack until it turned up.

• Schizophrenic weather patterns that make it impossible to remain comfortable for long. One minute the tent is boiling hot in the afternoon sun and the next it is cold as a meat locker as a cloud passes over.

Following our rest day at Camp 2, we would get our first look at some of the more notable features of the lower mountain. There are lots of names in this section so bear with me. The plan called for another carry to help us acclimatize and stash more gear and supplies higher on the mountain. The route started with a steep 500-foot ascent of Motorcycle Hill which climbs directly out of Camp 2 and is named because it’s steepness closely matches the slope angle of those dirtbike hill-climbing competitions. I got into a really good rhythm on Motorcycle Hill and when we crested the top was rewarded with a fantastic view of the forbidding Father and Sons Wall on the Northwest side of the mountain as well as the West Buttress proper.

The sun was just cresting over the top of the Buttress and we took a quick rest break with the steep, but less imposing Squirrel Hill ahead of us. It took some time to properly manage the sleds dragging behind us on this steeper terrain and they made the whole process much more cumbersome than walking with a pack alone. We’d gained some significant altitude by the time we topped out on Squirrel Hill and I was happy to see that the slope angle backed off significantly for the next portion of the route called the Polo Fields. While this section was less physically taxing, extreme caution was required as there were a number of small crevasses covered in a thin layer of snow that crisscrossed our route. Fortunately, we traversed them without incident.

At the end of the Polo Fields, with the West Buttress to our left, we took another short break and put our helmets on for the first time. Due to a lack of overhead rock and icefall hazards, they simply weren’t needed until this point. Ahead was a slightly steeper section followed by the “technical crux” of the lower mountain: Windy Corner. This portion of the route is notorious for extremely poor conditions and has been the site of numerous accidents in the past and will be the site of yet more accidents in years to come. At Windy Corner, there is constant rockfall from the West Buttress on climber’s left and there is a massive drop off and crevasse on the right waiting to gobble up unsteady climbers. The route can pass over slippery blue ice, and if the wind is blowing hard (as the name suggests it often does) it wouldn’t take more than a misplaced step or poorly managed sled to pull a rope team off the mountain.

Thankfully for us, conditions were perfect with clear skies, a light breeze, and firm snow underfoot. Even still, we were extremely cautious and deliberate with every move, taking care to position our sleds properly and engaging every point of our crampons.

A short distance past Windy Corner, at around 13,500 feet, we cached our gear and prepared to descend back to Camp 2. What took hours to ascend that morning with heavy sleds and packs was downclimbed in under 50 minutes.

The following morning we packed up Camp 2 and prepared to move to Camp 3 at 14,000 feet. I noticed that “moving days” typically progressed slower than “carry days” because the loads were heavier and prudence demanded better energy management since we’d plan to sleep at the higher elevation with no ability to retreat to a lower camp.

Camp 3 functions as the Advanced Base Camp on the mountain and is by far the largest and most populated camp on Denali. It sits in a large basin with a tremendous view of Mt Foraker, Mt Hunter, and the summit ridge of Denali 7,000 feet above. It’s at Camp 3 (also called Fourteen Camp) where the National Park Service maintains a semi-permanent presence of climbing rangers and medical personnel.

We were getting more efficient at breaking down camp and were back on the climbing trail before 5 AM, headed up Motorcycle Hill in freezing fog with all of our food and equipment in tow. I was on Jeremiah’s rope team in the lead group with Bruce and Daniel. We waited anxiously at the top of Motorcycle Hill for 15 minutes or so for the other two teams to emerge from the mist. Wondering what was taking them so long, they finally arrived and informed us that Taylor was having stomach issues but feeling good enough to continue. As such, our team’s ascent of Squirrel Hill, the Polo Fields, and Windy Corner was pretty slow but we got it done. Taylor’s resilience and determination to get to Camp 3 was pretty impressive.

Passing the site of our cache from the day before, we got our first look at the upper mountain. Like small children, we were pointing out landmarks we’d only ever read about. “There’s Washburn’s Thumb! Oh look, the fixed lines! Over there is the West Rib!”. After dreaming of this place for so many years it was really special to lay eyes on these iconic features and settle into Camp 3 at 14,000 feet to prepare for our attempt on the upper mountain.