Of Autumn & Ice

Alex Hansen nearing the top of “Longing For Light” at sunset in Alaska’s Hayes Range. Photograph by Benjamin Lieber

“I lay my head tonight on a pile of bags covering a bed in a small closet. It is a lumpy heap but it doesn’t matter- it’s warm and dry. We’re back at the lodge and the contrast from this morning is striking. In the dark Tundra on the North Side of the Alaska Range I woke to temperatures of a challenging negative. Austin had the stove going and Alex lay awake, headlamp on, staring at the ice crystals hanging overhead on the tent ceiling. I rolled over, my face wet and stiff, and an icy frost around the head of my sleeping bag shed into my eyes. It was pretty cold. Together as a team we packed camp and began our last, and much easier, hike out to the now snow-covered air strip. Just as we were about to feel the sun, after seven days in shadows, we turned a corner to find an entire herd of moose blocking the way. More than fifty. It was a surreal dream. We stood together, with ice forming on our hoods from our breathing, and watched them run up the alder-covered hillsides and out of the way. What a gift it was to be there in the frigid early morning of changing seasons…” 

Preface

The coffee is hot in the timber-frame Lodge at Black Rapids in Eastern Alaska and my keyboard beckons. The guests are asleep, hoping to rise in the middle of the night to the glow of the Northern Lights. But a storm rises and snowfall is coming to the range. Cold temperatures continue to populate the air, a typical southern wind bites at everything along the way. And as if the weather was fair, we sit helplessly in the comfort of the wilderness lodge. Perhaps the common pace here continued in its way regardless of us. The dishes still needed washing & the sauna was still hot. After all, the guests know nothing of our escapade as they are amidst their own traveling dreams. “Oh were you out camping?” They’ll ask. “Yes we were. Chilly this time of year.” We’ll engage in lodge life and occasionally glance across the room at each other and smile, for inside Austin, Alex, and I are replaying memories in our heads. A film reel of moments on repeat. But these are not just visual, we can feel the cold and hear the sounds. We can smell the stove boiling & we can taste the fruit gummies that would alter our moods. At times we can even feel the ache of our chilled fingers and toes. We talk often about storytelling. It is a shared passion amongst the three of us. Well how do you tell a story as it was? Perhaps we never will be able to. But in this piece I hope the reader can transport to the mountains with us and tap into the senses of being in the Alaska Range in Autumn- for all its wickedness & for all its indescribable beauty. 

Bush Pilot Jesse Cummings flying through the Hayes Range on a recon flight. Photograph by Alexander Hansen.

It was well past midnight  when we neared the Hayes Range from a round-trip drive to Anchorage, some twelve hours of driving. Alex & I successfully executed “Operation Austin” and had him with us in the station wagon as we ripped through the night across the wild lands of Alaska. He’d never been to Alaska and to say he was about to be mind blown is an absolute understatement. For now he was asleep. “Moose!!” I called out. No answer. Alex was asleep now too. We’d been up late the last few days packing and working out our final logistics plan. Just a few weeks prior we’d coordinated a similar plan and managed to climb a beautiful couloir on a peak at the Gillam Glacier, in the far West of the Hayes Range. Climbing in autumn was a particularly interesting prospect. First and foremost- it was cold. Secondly the season is relatively unexplored in the Alaska alpine community. During the summer Alex and I began talking and hypothesized this: Ice, lower avalanche hazard, less daylight, very cold, difficult logistics- but maybe it was safer? Well the mountains were silent on our trip a few weeks prior and we found excellent ice conditions. Another interesting piece is that many of the ice climbs would be buried in the spring and thus would never inspire someone to climb those flows- that became our main inspiration. We thought, instead of focusing on summits, what if we focus on lines? Now as a team of three we were ready to do just that on the North side of Mount Moffit. I was exhausted but kept the music rolling and the ship pointed to the lodge. When we arrived, we stepped out of the car to a seasonal chill and began a frenzy of shuffling bags into the basement before exploding them across the room. Excitement filled the lodge and Austin’s contagious energy was immediately welcome on our team. 

At sunrise Alex got in the car alone and drove forty miles North to an airstrip in Delta Junction where he’d fly first in the two-seater bush plane. He wouldn’t be alone however. Our forth team member was our X factor. Jesse Cummings is a skilled bush pilot running Golden Eagle Outfitters, he is now one of our most trusted companions and we owe the entirety of our experience to him. It should be clear that without Jesse’s efforts this wouldn’t be a story at all. In the previous month, Alex, Jesse and I were a team. Together we scouted the entire range on a recon mission and together we executed a wonderful logistics plan below the watchful eye of Mount Deborah in a tight weather window. We were only in the mountains for about 72 hours! He had more than earned our respect and there was a mutual excitement for this coming trip. I can imagine Alex on that car ride. Alone speeding through the mountains of Alaska to Jesse’s hangar, his eyes bright and his heart pounding to the full-volume music. What an incredible journey it is to offer your energy to the mountains. To plan. To travel far to meet them. And on that morning, oh that perfect first morning, to let the window down and feel the cold Alaskan air bite your face. To grip the wheel and drive a little faster. To let yourself live in the now. To let yourself feel all of the wild emotions of life. He was a long way from Minnesota to say the least. But with a burning passion & reliability I’ve been fortunate to witness many times, Alex was all in that morning. I didn’t even have to be there to know that. When I first met Alex many years ago he was a total noob following me up Mount Rainier. He had short hair and not so much as a stubble on his face and was living in Minneapolis. He’d never been to Alaska, or even done any mountaineering for that matter. Now his hair was long and wavy, patchy facial hair carried many days in the mountains, and he was living in a van in Colorado. His shy but curious role on our climb of Rainier was a distant opposite to what he offered as a partner at this point. Nowadays it is often just Alex and I together on these trips and he’s grown to be a strong and trusted companion, his level-headedness respectable and his generally funny and optimistic personality a welcomed addition to any trip in the mountains. 

Meanwhile Austin and I were sluggish and lazy. We rolled over weary from our short rest, rubbed our eyes open and hobbled upstairs for some hot coffee. Ray DeWilde, our close friend who works at the lodge, prepared us breakfast and we sat at a two-seat table looking out at the splitter skies. The luxurious nature of the lodge was, and still is, a hilarious contrast to where we were going. We were borderline fine dining that morning! Because the lodge is located in the range itself, we were actually sitting only 18 miles from our basecamp- by Alaska standards this is about as close as it gets and should we have to hike out if the plane can’t get us, we can make it there without too much distance. Though it would still be quite the slog in the current conditions and crossing the Delta River, the final obstacle guarding the Richardson Highway from the Hayes Range, would be a real hoot! The lodge was a leg up for us, offering comfort & convenience, and a place to pack our bags. 

I’ve been living here since our spring expedition to Mount Hayes, where we had set up basecamp on the West Branch of the Trident Glacier. That trip was our introduction to the range and it wasn’t a particularly good one. We had a tough time with snow fall, wind, temperatures above freezing, and overall poor conditions. The Hayes Range was to us a moody and challenging environment. Halfway through that trip, we’d given up hope on a technical line we were eyeing and set our sights on the East Ridge. At our bivi just below 10,000ft on a somewhat broad but corniced bump, we withered in our tent waiting for lower winds and hopefully improved snow conditions. It never happened and after a day’s wait, the wind rose in the evening and we lay side by side on our backs with our feet pushing against the collapsing south wall of the tent. A few times one of us would peak out of the tent door and get a solid look at the environment before zipping it shut with wind-blown cheeks and a red nose. At around 11 PM, we threw in the towel as the winds continued to rise and we watched a black cloud sink from the ridge opposite us and down to our basecamp. The summit was not happening. We geared up and packed our equipment in a hurry, being sure not to lose our tent in the wind. Starting down, updrafts blew ice and snow straight at us and we weaved our way back down to the Trident in poor snow. When we arrived back to basecamp sometime in the early morning, it was clear it had been less fortunate than us. Our beloved kitchen tent was shredded beyond repair and in our main tent, the violent wind had blown zippers open. My lofty basecamp sleeping bag was gone and powdery snow filled every corner of the tent. To say the situation pushed our buttons is an understatement. I was grumpy that morning without my big sleeping bag, though I had a lighter one in my pack from the upper mountain. I went to bed right away to avoid my frustrations and Alex stayed up salvaging the kitchen area. Nevertheless, we were fine and in okay spirits knowing we were no longer in the storm on the ridge. For the next week we did a lot of sitting, napping, and shoveling. We even had a brilliant one-on-one snowball fight that resulted in some rough face shots, we laughed the entire time until we were both exhausted laying in the snow waving white flags. When we left the Trident, we were dropped off back at the lodge and staying “for dinner” turned into an entire week! 

Five months had gone by and I’d watched the snow melt and give way to summer and wildflowers before returning and laying plants to rest until next spring. I had a strange but good summer with expeditions to the Central Alaska Range & the Wrangell Mountains, some road-accessed alpine climbing, and a couple handfuls of days guiding glacier ice climbing in the Chugach Mountains. It was cold at the lodge now, about freezing. Austin and I gathered our bags and tossed them in the Lodge van. “We just need to drive to the air strip, it’s a short ride.” I told Austin. I let my foot off the break, let the van roll down the 100-meter long driveway and turned right. “Okay we’re here.” Austin was confused. “Here? Like the plane lands right here?” I assured him this was the spot and not five minutes later we saw Jesse come buzzing over the foothills. This was somewhat of a relief, it meant that Jesse and Alex had successfully located a basecamp, dropped bags on it, and Alex was now alone on a rocky riverbed beside the end of the Trident. All was going to plan! Jesse came in and touched down on the grassy gravel strip right beside the highway and Austin couldn’t believe it. “He can just land right next to the road??” He asked laughing. “Yeah man- this is Alaska. You can even get this air strip on the Weather App under ‘Black Rapids Airport.’” I told him. “Airport?? What??” We had a good laugh as the plane pulled up. Austin was smiling ear to ear when we loaded him in the cramped back seat of the Super Cub. I may have been smiling even more, while he didn’t exactly realize the grand scale of where we were going, I’d been before and I was feeling so excited to see my friend headed in for the first time. Austin is a talented professional photographer but I find it hard to imagine him using the camera very much on that flight. It was his first bush plane ride and we’d given him a few bags to drop at basecamp. Lost in the captivating experience, his camera would’ve sat mostly idle while his heart raced and his eyes grew wider when Jesse flipped the door open. I would’ve loved to have seen his face during that operation!

Jesse heading towards Mount Moffit. Photograph by Austin Schmitz.

Ready for drop… Photograph by Austin Schmitz.

“Air Mail” headed for basecamp. Photograph by Austin Schmitz.

Jesse Cummings in the Tundra. Photograph by Austin Schmitz.

Alas, I looked out the dining room window and saw the cub returning for me. I chugged some more coffee, stuffed my face with yogurt and berries and hugged my lodge companions goodbye. At the air strip Jesse came out of the plane and again it was just him and I together. I hadn’t seen him for about three weeks since our climb of DeWilde Style at the Gillam Glacier. Jesse has a long beard and always arrives in his hooded cotton sweatshirt, a beanie, and a pair of hearty work pants. He always looks the part as an Alaskan Bush Pilot and he steps out of the plane with a smile each time. Bush pilots in Alaska are skilled, courageous, and hearty. Their service offering is second to none and Jesse brought an added confidence to our team. Having a really reliable and badass pilot is excellent peace of mind. I was glad to ride with him again and given Alex and Austin’s residence in the lower 48, I felt a bond with Jesse that morning. Despite all the nerves and stresses going through my head, we actually didn’t even talk about the trip. We talked about regular life. We talked about his family and my life at the lodge, about the weather and the hunting season, about the great Delta River and the massive Moose in the valley. Arriving over the Trident, we crossed its East Branch- an otherworldly icefall lies in this valley. The jumbled mash of ice blocks spans the valley side to side and ascending the icefall, I imagine, would be similar to the kind of travel found in the Khumbu Icefall on the South side of Mount Everest. It is an amazing sight! Moving along further, Jesse flipped the clam-shell door open on the right side of the aircraft and we banked left into a sub-branch coming off of the North Face of Mount Moffit. Wind and cold rushed into the plane and we drove straight for the towering North Face. Sheltered in shadows, it was a big and scary place to be, especially flying straight at it in a tiny 900-pound airplane! I don’t think my mother will like hearing about that! But as is true with all rides in backcountry Alaska, I had my full trust in Jesse to make it happen. Get behind your pilot and let them perform. Gazing out at the cirque, the walls were plastered in ice. From single pitches of waterice to alpine big-wallin’ it was all there for the taking, whatever objective you fancy. Now we were speeding along close to the rock-covered glacier and I leaned my head out the door to get eyes on basecamp. I could see some bags Alex and Austin had dropped but was unsure of when to let go of mine. 

“Look for the big boulder. See it???” Jesse said over the headset. 

“Where???” I couldn’t find it. 

“Now! Drop it!!” Jesse said with a little more urgency. 

Still I waited too long and when I pushed the bag off the wing-frame, I turned my head back to watch it. BOOM!!! I could see snack bags flying everywhere across the snow and rocks as soon as it came in contact with a large sharp rock at the far end of the basecamp zone. “My chocolates!!” I thought to myself. I let out some not-so-confidence-inspiring noises and pulled my hands in to warm them. 

“You missed it, didn’t you?” Jesse asked laughing.

“Yep. It blew up. Those guys are not going to be happy with me.” 

We both continued to laugh and banked left again to stage another round. With my hand now stiff in the cold air & holding another bag on the bars supporting the wing, the window open and the mighty power of the Alaska Range in every direction, I looked out beyond to the West Branch. There I saw Mount Hayes in a golden morning light. It felt like a dream, like we weren’t actually flying with the door open, and like we’d never been to Mount Hayes. The beauty and surrealness of the moment was nearly beyond comprehension. I have spent a fair amount of time in the mountains, but nothing came even close to that moment. As we sped straight for the north wall again, I let Jesse know where I was at, “This is the coolest thing I’ve ever done in my life. Right now. This is it.” Shortly before noon Jesse touched the plane down with his full size Tundra tires. They are probably about two and a half or three feet tall and on the side they say “Alaskan Bushwheel.” Yep- Badass. With mega excitement Alex and Austin waved at me like kids in a candy store. We made it baby! 

After saying goodbye to Jesse and giving him our word for a safe return to the air strip in one week’s time, we set off with light packs along the Tundra benches beside the Trident. The going was great for the first half. But we’d greatly underestimated the approach to basecamp and eventually we were on the glacier navigating through the boulders and patches of bare ice until we gained a medial moraine that would take us straight to camp. It was a slog but it was nothing compared to the difficulty we’d encounter hiking out at the end of the trip. The hike took us about half a day. About 3 miles from basecamp, we stopped for a rest and noted our last minutes feeling the rays of the sun on our faces. From now on, we’d be in the shadow of Moffit until our departure. At this time of year, the valley and its walls get zero minutes of sun. With cold wet feet in approach shoes, we climbed the final hill up onto the branch we’d dropped our bags on and we happened to walk right up to our equipment without knowing it! Although I had exploded a bag, everything was okay for the most part. We didn’t lose more than a bag of noodles. It was sundown now. The temps were dropping and the day’s logistics had left us tired. We organized all our gear and set up camp before crawling off into our sleeping bags with a plan to climb the next day. 

Gearing up at Basecamp. Photograph by Alexander Hansen.

Approach to Mount Moffit. Photograph by Austin Schmitz.

The watering hole in basecamp. A hole through the ice of a pond. Photograph by Austin Schmitz.

In the morning, we woke lazy and lethargic. Slow going to get ready, slow going to make breakfast. The weather was fantastic. With low snow levels and cold air, conditions were prime and avalanche hazard was low. The area we planned to climb was a wall left of the taller proper north face and its top was the Northeast Ridge. A route on this face could continue up the unclimbed Northeast Ridge but that wasn’t our goal on this trip. Our approach involved hiking up the glacier on rocks, snow drifts, and rolling hills before getting a little more complex where the glacier steepened and arranged itself in an array of cracks running side to side. Hugging the left side, we managed to weave through under relatively low hazard without crampons and without needing to rope up. If we had to go up the middle of it roped together, we would’ve put ourselves into serious objective hazard ending up in a flat basin below the proper north face where massive ice shelves hung thousands of feet above and regularly swept the basin even in low avy hazard. We were pretty happy to be squished up against the left side and safe, highly recommend going this way.

At the base of the wall, we decided on a line to try. Several deep gullies separated by buttresses and headwalls characterized the wall and long ice pitches offered plenty of eye candy. One of the difficult things to decipher in the flat light on a wall of 800 meters is how hard the climbing is. For example, the route we chose featured a gorgeous stretch of ice way off the deck that we identified from the plane and thought would be engaging steep ice, turns out it was about 45 meters of AI3, I was sure it would be steeper than that! The other factor that went into our route choice was objective hazard. Further right, an ice shelf hung over the wall and when it broke it would sweep the approach to many of the possible routes. Being the first ones to climb on this area of the north face, to our knowledge, we figured we’d go for the plum line. And it was pretty safe! We never heard any rockfall in our gully and never had spindrift coming down. The snow was solid and the ice was well-bonded to the rock, can’t ask for much more than that. We hiked up a steep snow fan of a little more than 100 meters and racked up below the start of the route. Alex took to the sharp end and we simul-climbed the first few hundred meters of the route. The ice was generally thin on the entire route, except for a few stretches, and we used small screws, often against rock, throughout. At the start of another ice flow, Alex built an anchor and brought us up. I led us through a thin stretch of ice, with some route finding shenanigans higher up before Austin took the rack and got after a steep rightward pitch of variable ice. I knew we were close to the ramp and I was licking my lips ready for it! But, as mentioned, when we arrived at the ramp Austin had already simul-climbed right through it. Despite it not being as steep as we hoped, it was by the far the best quality ice on the route, almost enough to call it “fat” and even more, it seemed to stick out from the wall more so than than the rest of the route as we had traversed out of our gully and into another to get to it. It hung over the valley and the positioning when you looked out beyond the route to the rest of the range was enough to make the ramp very memorable. 

Perhaps four rope lengths later, night fell and we made the tough decision to bail realizing the top was still a few hundred meters away. Rapping through the cold Alaskan night on short knife-blades and doubled-up V-threads of often less than 8cm, we took our time to make appropriate anchors. I wish I had taken more photos of the rap stations because they were pretty thoughtful! It was great to see the team make it happen in a timely and safe manner. Like many alpine environments, finding places to build rap anchors was often challenging. When we arrived at the snow fan below the first pitch, it was well after midnight and quite cold. We didn’t care. We were all smiles & we sat around for a while brewing up a hot drink before starting the hike. It was an amazing day out climbing in the Alaska Range and though we didn’t finish a route, we felt like winners that night on the walk back to camp in high spirits. Exhaustion really settled in upon our arrival and we all flopped into the tent to lazily share hot drinks and chocolates. 

Enduring the night time cold and spindrift. Photograph by Austin Schmitz.

Settling in for the night. Photograph by Austin Schmitz.

Over the next two days we rested. Anticipating a light storm during this time, we hadn’t planned to climb but the weather was actually pretty decent those days. Our basecamp was in an unbelievable location. What it lacked in comfort it certainly made up for in beauty. The camp was situated on a thin snowpack over loose rocks. Shortly below that began the old and thick ice of the glacier which I would guess was just a couple hundred feet deep in this area. With zero minutes of sunlight each day, life in camp was a cold and stark environment. Hoar frost began to grow on every single surface. Our tent, hardware, & equipment bags were covered in white crystals. It was rather inhospitable and we were thankful for the good weather to help out. About fifty feet from our tents, a small glacial pond had a frozen surface of a few inches between three and four feet down. Learning of this pond, we started chucking rocks onto it to see how thick it was. Solid! Austin hacked out a small hole just wide enough for an upright nalgene and now we enjoyed the luxury of having water that we didn’t need to make from snow. As the days passed we realized how beneficial this was. In the cold temperatures our stove was much less efficient and we went through more fuel than expected. Had we not found water and needed to melt snow, we may have needed to leave earlier as we would’ve been low on fuel. 

Beyond camp views of stunning mountain features surrounded us. Mount Moffit’s North Face towered over the valley, its summit 8,000 feet above. In the center of the face, the “Entropy Wall” stood as proud as a castle. Its steep nature, plastered in ice and snow was a scene to remember. It is one of the most powerful looking walls any of us have ever seen. There is only one route on the Entropy Wall and it was climbed by Jed Brown & Colin Haley (2007). The other route on this face that goes to the summit is left of the Entropy up a giant swath of snow and ice and guarded at its top by massive hanging ice shelves. It was climbed by Brian Teale & Harvey Miller (1989). It is a good looking route but it definitely has plenty of objective hazards. The mountain’s great Northeast and Northwest shoulders stood over us on each side and the imposing cirque was frozen solid. It was quiet and only a handful of times did the valley make even the slightest sound. When it did, large hunks of glacial ice came crashing down the right side of the face and into the basin below. Looking west, Mount Hayes’ East Faces rose more than 6,500 feet from the West Branch of the glacier and we could see our May Basecamp as well as the bivi site we’d encountered the wind event at. Mount Hayes’ twin summits were silhouetted in the evening by pink & golden light. They stuck out from the skyline like great beacons and its shadowed faces were dark hues of blue and grey. Being the tallest peak in the range, it deserved a certain level of respect when gazing at it. To the right, the main summit was lurring but not easily attained, as we found out in May. A handful of amazing routes and an array of failed attempts make up the mountain’s climbing history. In the mornings, with bright light now shining across it, the mountain looked so perfect and daunting. With it now having a shared importance between Alex and I, we looked out dreaming of attempting it again, but knew that it wasn’t going to happen this year. Hopefully we will make it back there in the future. 

Looking North, the Trident Glacier buckled in a short icefall before dropping off out of sight below. The great tundra of Interior Alaska was off in the distance and in its autumn form appeared shades of tans and browns on rolling hills and benches. Smaller peaks stacked in an unbroken chain off the East Ridge of Mount Hayes blocked our view to the Northwest. Though they were smaller in stature (Less than 10,000 feet) than their siblings like Moffit & Hayes, they were beautiful peaks and would be worth anyone’s time. The main flow of the Trident Glacier now guarded us from any other area, including the tundra. Being October, the snow from the previous winter was gone and the ice was mostly clear of it. Long crevasses, one after another, made up even the flat ground. Rocks scattered across it and lateral moraines seemed somewhat inviting along its sides. With the lack of snow, you could see the true path of which the glacier flows. It had a seemingly perfect way of bending and snaking between the mountains before freeing itself in the tundra. The glacier looked like a giant conveyor belt as it carried rocks from peaks standing over its many branches and eventually brought them all the way to the lowlands. Nature was hard at work in this place and we took the time to observe and analyze the many processes going on. Taking the time to understand how glaciers work and impact the landscape is a really great way to spend time in basecamp.

Austin at basecamp. Photograph by Alexander Hansen.

Better not touch that with your bare hands! Photograph by Alexander Hansen.

Austin making a brew. Photograph by Alexander Hansen.

Being lazy in camp. Photograph by Alexander Hansen.

Looking out at Mount Hayes. Photograph by Alexander Hansen.

At night, the stars were out by the billion. Stuffing our feet into our boots, we’d rise from the tent in puffy pants and parkas to gaze upward at the sky. Faint bands of the Northern Lights sometimes hung high to the North in a dull green. The milky way stretched horizon to horizon and with light winds and frozen mountainsides it was pure silence when looking at the stars. Surely it was strange to be there in the fall. We hadn’t found much information on folks climbing in the Alaska Range this time of year and so it was really special to be alone in the range on those clear October nights. I always recall the feeling of being “out there.” It is so unique. In one way it is daunting and in another it is empowering. Despite the cold and utter darkness of those evenings, there was a certain sense of place that came with it. It was one of the valuable tokens of the trip.  One night I was rolling around in my sleeping bag squished between Alex and Austin and watching Shark Tank (I love that show!) and Austin was getting his camera out. 

“Going to take some night pics?” I asked.

“Yep! The sky is clear and all the stars are out. This is the time!” Austin replied.

“Nice, man. I bet you’ll get some great stuff.” I said back before continuing on with my show. A few minutes went by and Austin spoke again. 

“You know man, when I don’t want to take out my camera is usually the best time for a photo. It could be like now. You’re in the tent and it’s cold and dark. Or you could be at a belay with spindrift crashing over you. Or in the morning when everyone is still asleep and you want to catch that moment when the team wakes up. I always say to myself, ‘You gotta do it. Get the camera out.’ And everytime I do I get a picture I’m really psyched on. And when I don’t I know I missed a good one.”

After some more back and forth talk Austin got out of the tent and for the next hour and a half I could hear him moving about basecamp taking photos. It was cold that night, perhaps 0 Fahrenheit. I was really impressed with his commitment to his craft. I met Austin several years ago at Ice Fest in New Hampshire. He had a smile bigger than the room and was traveling around meeting climbers and ice climbing for the first time. Photographing his way into a career, I was fortunate to meet him at a time he was really winging it and making it happen. I gave him a ride down to Portland, Maine so he could fly out to Michigan Ice Fest and on that ride I realized we had a lot in common and there was a friendship to be grown. Austin has been on an amazing journey for several years now. Leaving Florida and eventually landing in Bozeman, he has transitioned from southern boy to full time climbing photographer embedded in our community. What most folks don’t know, is that behind the camera and his ear to ear smile, is a guy who can really throw down. Austin is very strong and if you’ve got him on your squad- you’re looking pretty solid. One night someone at the lodge asked how Austin ended up in Alaska. What they didn’t realize was that they’d asked quite a large question, one that is difficult to answer. While he thought about what to say, I butted in. “It's a long story involving a camera and a Prius.” Pretty much sums it up. We were lucky to have Austin with us on this trip and his friendship is one we’ll always hold on to. Coming from an art and design background myself, I hold his photography in a high regard. His work continually amazes me and so that night hearing his feet scurry to and fro in camp, knocking against small rocks and splashing powdery snow, while I lay comfortable in my sleeping bag, I was really psyched for him to be capitalizing on another great opportunity. 

Getting stoked for the route. Photograph by Alexander Hansen.

Alex starting up Pitch 1. Photograph by Austin Schmitz.

Psyched! Photograph by Austin Schmitz.

Alex on steep ice. Photograph by Austin Schmitz.

On October 13th we were up early in the dark, our headlamps illuminating our breathing as we each got our kit on and debated when to leave our sleeping bags. The stoke was high that morning and with well over half of the route already climbed and rigged with anchors to rap off of, we were confident in finishing it. Following our approach tracks up and down the rocky hills of the glacier & skirting alongside benign crevasses, I looked up at the proper north face and knew I’d be back in the future to give it a try. Our inquiry of autumn climbing had been a success regardless of if we finished our route today or not and I was already beginning to look at the range in a different way. Regaining our high point on the route was a mostly uneventful and very fun task. However, early on, on the low snowy section of the route, an erupting crash shattered the silence of the valley. We looked across to see massive blocks of ice shedding from a high shelf some five to six thousand feet above the valley floor. In just a matter of seconds the cascade of ice and snow swept down the steep face and obliterated itself on the glacier. It’s snow plume cast itself in a monstrous cloud and filled the entire valley. Our approach tracks were just out of harm's way and we all watched humbly from our route. Though we had low avalanche hazard on that trip, large shelves shed weight gear round by nature and it is simply incredible to see them at work. 

Shortly after our previous high point we found the best pitch of the route and Alex had called dibs on it from the valley- he was psyched! It was a beautiful swath of steep ice in variable quality pouring down a stretch of rock. The kind of ice where the pro is terrible but dang the tools couldn’t possibly be anymore sinker!  It was so long that our sixty meter ropes were insufficient and I had to simul climb into it while Alex was grinding his way to the next area of an available anchor. I got absolutely buried in snow for the first forty to sixty meters and when I arrived to Alex at the anchor I was frustrated and chilled to the bone. The sun was soon going down and warming me up became a priority. Alex handed me his lofty down mitts and I happily accepted them. Once Austin was up with us at the anchor Alex traversed out right over a steep rib of snow and then onto moderate ice another rope length. In an effort to get warmer, I led the final pitch. Strangely I wasn’t too focused on finishing the route but rather getting my body warm again from its chilled state. And of course the final pitch was steep scary snow. I did my best to distribute my weight onto all parts of my body and sort of wallowed upward. After a poor pin and a mediocre nut, I made it to the ridge and found it to be knife sharp. On the other side, the world seemed to drop away in similar fashion to ours and down to the East Branch of the Trident Glacier. The jumbled icefall we’d seen from the bush plane was below and it radiated a deep blue under now grey skies. 

I was feeling a bit warmer and I flopped into a small snow bowl, about the size of my curled-up body and lay on my side for a moment. I looked out at the tundra below. I looked out at Mount Hayes in the distance, silhouetted by the golden light of sunset. Clouds were building but the weather was fine. It was very cold. The only spots for gear I could find, with what we had left, were two nuts that I hammered into cracks in an unorthodox but bomber manner. Austin would later add a stout pin before the descent. Belaying up my partners, I had all the time in the world to take in the scene. It was so amazing to be there at a strange time of year and I knew this would be a great stepping stone for me to hold onto. Again, we rappelled together into the cold dark night. When we reached the glacier below, we’d rapped seventeen times with two sixty meter ropes. 

We woke in basecamp on October 14th to heavy snowfall ushering in an arctic trough. It was the first day of winter as far as I’m concerned and we climbed the last day of autumn. Temperatures plummeted. For the whole day we stayed in camp to rest and dry our equipment. Drying things was a complex problem due to the zero minutes of daylight at camp and the abundant moisture. Everything, even things we weren’t using at all, was becoming damp. Ice crystals covered the tents and our hardware piles. On the morning of the 15th we stuffed and strapped our packs to max capacity and began the hike out. On the way in, the approach took us about half a day and in warmer temps. Now it was covered in half a foot of powder and with our heavy packs we struggled to maintain any pace in the miles of boulders on glacial ice. The hike out was significantly harder than anything we’d done on the trip so far. It continued to snow, we each snapped a trekking pole, and in low flat light we poked and prodded our way across the lumpy bare blue ice of the main branch of the Trident Glacier- a seemingly blind crossing that challenged my many years of guiding dry glaciers. Alas we made it across and now had access to the tundra- but at a full day’s cost and we were forced to camp as nightfall overtook the valley. 

On top of Longing For Light. Photograph by Austin Schmitz.

Testing out the heavy pack before heading to the Tundra. Photograph by Austin Schmitz.

Suffering from the cold on the final morning. Photograph by Alexander Hansen.

Making a somewhat blind crossing of the Trident. Scary! Photograph by Austin Schmitz.

Frozen Tundra. Photograph by Alexander Hansen.

That night temperatures continued to drop and we estimate it was well below -20 Fahrenheit when we woke on October 16th in the snow beside the Trident Glacier. The quote at the beginning of this story is from that day. While I’d been in these temps many times before, it was extremely difficult as our equipment was so wet and now frozen from the shadowed life we’d lived in the last week. With wood-block fingertips in stiff gloves, we made the final hike out under clear skies and our forth teammate, Jesse, came in just before noon with the supercub. We flew out one by one and I went last, as I was last to arrive on the way in. For forty-five minutes I was alone in the frozen tundra and the sun cast its rays on me. I ran in circles to stay warm and I watched moose stare strangely at me from the hillsides. I looked out at the high peaks and to the shadowed North Face of Mount Moffit. We all long to live in the now, to be present. And for that forty-five minutes I was as present as I’d ever been. My senses all in tune with the great power of Alaska. For all its beauty, for all its might and its relentless force, for its way of making everything, even the easy things hard. I was so grateful to be there and I was speechless for everything it had given me over the years. I thought of Alex and Austin, erupting into the Lodge with big smiles and sharing hugs with our family there. They were grabbing a hot coffee and getting dry, taking a hot shower & putting on clean clothes. The thought of my friends rejoicing was so pleasant it brought me to watery eyes and my stiff wind-burned cheeks stretched painfully as I smiled. I was humbled to be alone in the great wild, even just for a short time. Alas, Jesse’s plane came buzzing over the moraine and a few minutes later I tucked in behind him for the ride out. I flew away with wide eyes and butterflies in my gut looking out over the Trident Glacier. The ride concluded a difficult year of expedition climbing where I was somehow able to launch five expeditions in Alaska despite many roadblocks. My hands grew warm again, and now my spirit too. Normally a continuous conversation, I was mostly silent. Inside, a deeply moving experience was being packed away into my memories, I knew I would hold onto that morning forever and I let it rush into me. Strangely, in retrospect, the experience of hiking out was more memorable than the route itself. We learned much more about ourselves on that final phase of the trip and we’re better for it. One last look at the Trident- I knew I’d be back come Spring. It was time to let the range winter over. 

Special thank you to Rab Equipment for supporting our trip. 

Thank you to: Annie Hopper, Jesse Cummings, Ray DeWilde, Taylor Brown & Reese Doyle.

“Longing For Light” AI5 R, 800m+, FA October 13, 2020. Hansen-Schmitz-Lieber