Denali - Part 3

June 2019, Denali National Park - A sheer 7,000-foot vertical drop loomed behind me as I tentatively crawled on all fours. I tried not to focus too much on the extreme exposure just a few inches from where I was placing my hands and feet. My crampons creaked against the ice and polished granite as I slowly stood up from a crouch on my tenuous perch and raised my ice axe in triumph. Had I made it to the summit? Was I climbing some technical part of the mountain? Had I fallen and self arrested on some ledge below the route? No. This was a photo op of course, albeit a classic one at a location referred to as “the edge of the world”. It really was a stunning spot with clear views of Mounts Foraker and Hunter emerging from breaks in the mist billowing up from the glacier valley below.

This was our second day at Camp 3, colloquially referred to as “Fourteen Camp”, and we’d passed the last two days in a leisurely fashion. We took some time to rest, agonized over a few riddles that had been posed to us the night before, and familiarized ourselves with the proper technique and protocol for efficiently passing fixed anchors in the snow as well as ascending and descending fixed lines.

The next portion of the route to High Camp at 17,500 feet would be the technical crux of the climb and it was important for everyone to climb both safely and efficiently. As part of a rope team, we’d secure ourselves to fixed protection in the snow or rock so that we’d be caught if the group started sliding into an uncontrollable fall. As the team ascends upwards, each climber must pass successive anchors by unclipping from the rope in front of them and then reclipping the anchor to the rope that trails behind them. But, while passing an anchor, there is a moment or two where the rope is not clipped into the protection and the team is exposed to an unprotected fall. To avoid this, the guides showed us a neat little trick called the “magic clip”. It’s a little tricky to describe, and I couldn’t find any videos online, but the gist is that a climber can take a loop from the rope that trails behind them and clip that into the anchor before unclipping the rope in front of them. This way there is always one strand clipped into the anchor at all times. Maybe a little too nerdy and esoteric for the casual reader but I thought it was cool and beg your forgiveness.

After our third night at Fourteen Camp, we geared up for our carry to the top of the famous fixed lines at 16,000 feet. I’d prepared my bag of food and gear to stash up on the ridge to reduce weight for at least a portion of our move to High Camp. We left at 9 AM before the sun crested the ridge and the temperature was frigid with most of the team actively managing cold feet and/or hands for the first hour until we made it out of the shadows and started to thaw out.

"It’s no exaggeration for me to say that the view from 16k ridge was the most spectacular I’d ever seen."

From Fourteen Camp the fixed lines high above look really steep and intimidating. As we got closer to the base of the lines, I was pleasantly surprised by how much more manageable the terrain seemed up close. I was on Taylor’s rope team and after the first rest break, it was clear that she was still feeling the effects of her stomach bug from the days before. Because of this, our team was moving really slow and staged up at the bottom of the fixed lines a full 10-15 minutes after Jeremiah and Eric’s teams had arrived. I could tell she was pretty frustrated by her condition and we all did our best to cheer her up and provide some encouragement. I was a little nervous that we’d be down yet another guide, but she gritted her teeth and showed a lot of toughness as we continued upward.

Ascending the fixed lines was a dream come true for me. It’s one of the more famous portions of any climb in the world and this was my first time climbing a “true” fixed-line and using an ascender. At its steepest, the slope angled 50-60 degrees at most. While I would be comfortable climbing it without protection in good conditions, I was glad to have the added layer of protection since a fall from somebody above would certainly pull you off the mountain and cause serious injury or death.

Moving up the fixed lines was a slow and clunky business. Every 30 seconds or so the team had to pause as somebody passed by an anchor and clumsily fiddled with their ascender before continuing up. Nearly 2,000 feet above the tent city of Fourteen Camp, the views became more and more expansive. The entire western half of the Alaska Range was laid out below us, and far in the distance, I could barely make out Kahiltna Basecamp where our bush plane had deposited us in this icy world more than ten days before.

Our team crested the fixed lines in the early afternoon in our shirtsleeves. Temps were now downright warm and I welcomed the gentle breeze as I unclipped from the fixed lines and walked less than 50 yards to the apogee of the ridge and the location of our cache site. From this location, I got my first view of the north side of the mountain and the microscopic ant farm of Fourteen Camp below. I’m keenly aware of my penchant for hyperbole, but in my journal that night I wrote: “It’s no exaggeration for me to say that the view from 16k ridge was the most spectacular I’d ever seen.”

Taylor had struggled to make the final steps to the cache site but showed a lot of fortitude to push through her pain and discomfort. I was grateful to be there and tried to live in the moment as much as possible. We quickly retraced our steps back down to Fourteen Camp which in the afternoon heat felt like being inside a solar oven. Bruce quite literally wrung out his shirt and both Daniel and I gave him a hard time for doing it in the tent vestibule but soon exacted our revenge in a series of card games.

At dinner that night, Jeremiah informed us that the weather forecast was calling for a series of low-pressure systems in the coming days, but that it was worth making a try for a move to high camp the following day. This was certainly disappointing and disconcerting news, but weather forecasts on Denali are famously inaccurate so I was hopeful that the good weather would continue.

As morning broke the weather seemed to be holding and the team proceeded to break down camp and gear up. We were all getting much more efficient in packing and had everything stowed away and were ready to climb in fewer than 90 minutes after breakfast. Right as we were about to start climbing, literally roped up with packs on, the weather started to turn. High above on the ridge, right where High Camp was situated, we could see large plumes of snow and spindrift blowing hundreds of feet in the air. Jeremiah immediately went about making inquiries with the National Park Service (NPS) and teams he knew higher on the mountain. The diagnosis was generally negative with reports of high winds and a climber struck with HAPE (High Altitude Pulmonary Edema) at 17,500 feet that the climbing rangers were trying to deal with. After more than an hour of waiting, Jeremiah made the call to scrub the climb that day and stay at 14,000 feet to wait for the weather to improve. A few of us, myself included, felt like the conditions were still manageable and it was a hard pill to swallow as we watched a number of other teams pass our camp on their way up. All the same, I appreciated Jeremiah’s independent thinking and unwillingness to bend his decision based on what others were doing. In the end, he was the lead guide and his judgment and experience was what we all depended on for success and safety.

"It was a clear reminder that we were living and recreating in a dangerous place where the rewards can be immense but so can the consequences."

The next day it was clear from the very start that we would not be climbing. There was a huge lenticular cloud capping the summit and the winds were clearly blowing hard higher on the mountain. It’s a real mental struggle on these days where you know you need to pass at least another 24 hours killing time in the tent. Morale was definitely low, as this was now our fifth day at Fourteen Camp and it’s hard not to grumble and stress about whether you will ever get to move higher up the mountain.

On the sixth day at Fourteen Camp the team was yet again prevented from climbing higher, but this time it was not due to the weather. Poking my head out of the tent I was ecstatic to see clear skies and feel calm winds. Everything seemed like it was “go time” and all of us were excited to plow through breakfast, break camp, and get going. But during breakfast, a member of the team (who I will keep anonymous) suddenly passed out right in front of us and started seizing with his eyes rolled back in his head. It was really frightening and unnerving to see one of your friends in a state like that. He came around after 15-20 seconds but soon started to hyperventilate and started seizing again. Most everyone hurried out of the tent to give him and the guides some room to operate. We nervously mingled outside the tent waiting for news.

After a few minutes, he emerged looking a little shaky but was speaking normally and looked generally okay. It was a total relief. He and Jeremiah went over to the NPS medical tent to get some diagnostics run on him. Fortunately, his vital signs were all normal and remained so throughout the day, but after such a violent incident Jeremiah made the decision to end his trip and found a team that could take him out on their way off the mountain the following day. It was an emotional moment but he handled it with tremendous poise… much more than I would have been able to display if I were in his shoes.

Of course, the incident meant we were not able to move to high camp as planned and that we’d endure yet another day killing time in our tents at 14,000 feet. Somehow it was easier to stomach this time knowing that our friend and teammate was doing okay after such a scary incident. It was a clear reminder that we were living and recreating in a dangerous place where the rewards can be immense but so can the consequences.