Beyond Climbing: Hayes Range
“As we flew over the final hills, a lush green coat appeared across the Black Rapids Valley. The vegetation had changed here in Eastern Alaska since we’d flown away, now the forest felt alive and rich with life. A stark contrast from our snowy, windy, grey home on the Trident Glacier. The view is a welcoming sight, our tired bones & sunbaked skin rejoice, our adventure into the secluded & moody Eastern Alaska Range becomes a memory. The Cessna Skywagon banks wide lower & lower in the valley, the dirt airstrip we left from comes into view, and the lodge above it. We had arrived two weeks ago in the middle of the night, unsure of where we were going but ready for the unknowns that raw adventure provides us. A small super cub on wheel skis had dropped out of the sky onto the dirt runway beside the highway & out came a bearded man who was both confused & excited for us, a stout pilot who is your go-to guy for getting onto big peaks in Eastern Alaska. Off we went, one at a time into the hills. It was warmer now & the air felt very whole. The range wasn’t particularly nice to us. A massive wind event had destroyed our kitchen tent and swept away some of our gear, we’d been kicked out of a Bivi in the middle of the night due to high winds, we spent the last week in a storm, curled up in our tent, getting out to shovel from time to time. It was a tough trip. We continued to try our best despite hardship, that’s all you can really do anyway- try your best. Now we would crawl away into the Black Rapids Lodge, a quaint space. Hot coffee, chess, showers, steak dinners, the compassionate presence of the lodge owner. She brought us in with open arms and for nearly a week we rested and relaxed in the lodge. Perhaps the most special thing we get from these trips are the memories. It is something that we keep inside & carry with us. Each of us has our own memory of the trip, a moment in time lived together but in our own way. We had been alone in a gigantic Alaskan mountain range, it’s beauty and naturalness inside of us now, we are better versions of ourselves because of it.”
I wrote this passage about returning from the mountains shortly after our trip and I write this today from the Black Rapids Lodge. It is a quiet evening here. The sky is grey and a light wind blows from the South. This trip, which began as a random idea to go to a new range, has proved meaningful for me beyond the actual time in the range. With coronavirus continuing to be an issue and my guide work at a minimum, I have been hiding away here in the Hayes Range. It’s been so special to spend time with the older folks who occupy this area and learn about its history. Currently I am helping them to restore the famous Black Rapids Roadhouse which was built in 1902 and was a hub for travelers making their way North or South on the Valdez-Fairbanks Trail. It’s history is deeply rooted in the land and I’m humbled to put my own labor into it. My mentor on the project, Sandy Jamieson, seventysix years old, is tough as nails but thoughtful and young at heart. He has been here more than sixty years. He is a builder, a writer, a painter, a pilot, a fisher, a hunter, and a passionate historian. I humbly follow his lead and try to learn what I can. His hands are withered and he works slowly. His short stature, warm smile, and round white beard are a friendly sight. His workwear is a stylish arrangement of collared shirts, pocketed vests, and hard-wearing leather boots. At times we do not work, he tells stories of the valley, of his life and his time here. He is wise. Everything we do, we do with thought and care. We put pride into our work and do it the right way, no rush, just patience and craftsmanship. This coming week he’s sleeping on the plywood floor of the log cabin framed roadhouse for a hard work session, this is something the common person would not do, let alone someone of his age. I envy his strength at such an age. I wonder if I will be that strong. Life is a slower pace here at the lodge, I am surrounded by peaceful wilderness and books! (Note: At the end of this story are links about the fascinating life of Sandy.)
Three months ago when Alex Hansen and I had decided to go check out the Hayes Range on a whim to explore a new area and social distance the Alaska way, I had no relationship to this place. I had heard about the range before and briefly read about some of its peaks. It is not a popular place relative to its neighbor, the Central Alaska Range (Denali National Park & Preserve), and not without reason! The Hayes Range, in my experience and the same for some others, is a very windy and moody environment. The snowpack seems to be quite fickle and the rock quality generally not as reliable as other ranges. Access into the range is a problem as well, you’ve got more logistics on your plate than going to Denali (not to discredit the difficulties of that area). Like any big mountain range in Alaska, climbing is challenging for many reasons and whether you get on top of something or not- you’re probably in for a taxing trip!
On a cool clear May evening Alex and I finished packing our kitbags in the forest at our friend’s homestead in a valley of the Chugach Mountains. The McAlpine’s had welcomed us to their property and it was here we slept in the car and planned our adventure. Their three dogs and cat were a comforting crew of companions who we spent much of our time with. We’d arranged a bush plane flight to the Hayes and the pilot asked us to be staged and ready the next morning at an airstrip near the range where he would meet us. “Black Rapids Airstrip,” he texted us. I looked it up and zoomed in to see a grassy dirt strip running next to a secluded highway that cuts through the Eastern Alaska Range. I was confused- where would I leave my car? Where should we stay if we can’t fly in? Classic logistics questions arose but Alex and I had the car packed and were heading to the grocery store. We got there 30 minutes before it closed and in that time we purchased food and fuel for three weeks. As you can imagine, it is rather difficult to do that calmy in 30 minutes so we may have looked a little crazy! Now it was 9:00 PM, the station wagon was packed to the brim and we set off with hot coffees for our grand adventure.
Driving East down the famous Glenn Highway, we snaked our way between the Talkeetna and Chugach Mountains. “Moose!!” We’d yell and point every twenty minutes or so. The road and forest now in a dark shade, the sky still light and rays of pink streaming from the North, our general excitement for life was high. At Tok Cutoff, instead of turning right to go to Tok and on the way out of Alaska as I have done in the past, we kept straight and followed the single lane Richardson Highway North to the Hayes. The light was strange that night, we both mentioned several times the energy of the area. The mountains were dark knights silhouetted by the spring sky. They guarded the way for the bigger peaks and a certain sense of wilderness began to settle in. We made it in the early morning and slept a few hours in the car before getting the message from our pilot Zack that we cannot fly due to inclement weather. Our disappointment was quickly saved by his next message, “Go into the Black Rapids Lodge above the airstrip, tell her I sent you.” Good enough for us! And then the value of our decision to go on an expedition to this area showed its first signs of life when we met the lodge owner, Annie Hopper.
When we stepped into the lodge for the first time, we were smiling ear to ear at our fortunate situation. The lodge was a beautiful wooden structure up on a hill above the road. It had all the characteristics of a true mountain lodge- wood beams, antlers, old photos, books, and relics defined the space which had an array of windows casting light. A wide porch hung to the West and staged the view. The mighty Delta River split the valley with its raging brown waters. It was melt season and the snaking rapids showed a relentless & forceful youthlike nature. The valley, lined with moraines, was distinctly characterized by its intense reminisce of glaciers, which now sit further back into the mountains. Forested foothills gave way to treeline. Avalanche chutes and rotten snow littered the low rocky alpine and great snowy peaks vanished into the clouds above. Rain splattered down on the windows and we were happy to be inside for now. It was a truly special place that we felt connected to immediately.
“Hello?” we called out standing awkwardly under the twenty-foot ceiling. Out came a woman with glasses and sandy hair accented grey, a streak of purple communicating her liveliness. “Climber dudes!” She said with a welcoming smile. “Zack said you were coming. It's so nice to have you!” Quickly conversation became about what we were doing in the mountains. At this time we didn’t really know so we just said, “Climbing Mount Hayes!” She was ecstatic and we learned right away she can talk your ear off! Her relationship to the land was something I envied. She had built this lodge with her husband, had a cabin in the area, and was working on restoring the roadhouse. Her knowledge of the area and the way she spoke of it was captivating and added to the energy we had felt on the drive in. Annie is a passionate musician and regularly performs by way of acoustic guitar and singing for those staying at the lodge. Her music is rich and authentic. Having written most of the songs herself, she sings with enthusiasm, her voice in harmony with her guitar.
We began to uncover the storied history of Black Rapids & the Hayes Range, something we didn’t have on our radar going into the trip. For the whole day we talked with Annie, went for a driving tour through the mountains and learned about the immediate land, and helped her move rocks from the river to a pathway at the lodge leading to a wood-fired hot tub that they had built. At one point she led us into the basement and dug around for an old VHS. In a flurry while digging, she explained she had a copy of Bradford Washburn’s film of the first ascent of Mount Hayes, which he did with his wife Barbara and four others in 1941. Wow! I happen to be a Bradford Washburn geek so this was big news for me! When it began, we were taken back in time. The clothing, the equipment, the techniques, the overall strategy- it was all different. Clips of pushing wood crates full of supplies out of a bush plane along the way in preparation, long wood-shafted walking axes, and proper mountaineering clothing comprised the film. Even more compelling, Annie had Bradford’s Deacon Flying-Suit. This was a true historical gem and I spent over an hour examining it. Bradford had worn this hanging out of small bush planes with his camera flying through the mountains in Alaska. He carefully photographed ranges here and produced highly accurate topographic maps. Still today, his photographs and maps are some of the finest pieces of mountain art ever made. I longed for the level of explorer Barbara and Bradford Washburn were. They represented the vision I had for myself in Alaska. They were strong, committed, curious, and strikingly passionate. During my previous three years in Alaska I had gone on many wilderness escapades in the alpine. But for the first time I felt connected to something bigger, which maybe was what I was looking for. I wanted to find my own corner, my own mountains to challenge myself in. Meeting Annie, learning about the Hayes Range, spending time in it with Alex- I felt as though this strange somewhat forgotten range is a place I wanted to put a lot of my energy into.
The next morning I rolled over in my bed at the lodge and looked out the window. Clear skies! In just a matter of seconds I was dressed and bursting into Alex’s room. He was up already and turned to me with one of those full blown smiles on his face. That smile of youth and life and happiness. We both knew what the skies meant, we were going into the mountains! Shortly after I got a text from Zack, “Expect me at 0900.” Annie made us a wonderful breakfast and we put down as much coffee as possible. By 9:00 AM we were standing all together on the airstrip by the highway. Alex and I in our boots and our equipment piled at our sides. Suddenly a small plane buzzed overhead and circled the lodge before touching down. We had too much stuff so we spent some time surveying our kit and making some cuts. The jalapeno jar had to stay behind, tough cut there.
Our pilot, Zack Knaebel, owner of Tok Air Service, was a close friend of my close friends but we hadn’t met until he stepped out of the two-seater supercub. He was a bearded man with a ballcap and a “Tok Air Service” embroidered button-down shirt. He’s a third generation pilot whose passion for flying in the Alaskan wilderness and landing in untracked areas has built him an honorable resume. Pilots of Zack’s caliber enable motivated big-mountain enthusiasts to pursue their goals. Reliance on your pilot is a critical part of many backcountry adventures in Alaska, they are as much a part of the team as the climbers themselves. Slowly he opened up to us as we talked about mutual friends and the Hayes Range. His laugh was contagious and he seemed as excited as us to fly into Mount Hayes. Alex and I didn’t exactly have an actual game plan squared away so when Zack pulled out the map and pointed to where he was landing us, confusion came out. Not only did we think we were going to a different glacier, but it also had a different name!
I went first and the decision to land was made in the air, I chose the West Branch of the Trident Glacier which sits below Mount Hayes. The terrain was big and after the plane flew off to get Alex, I was alone and spent a little over an hour in awe of the mountains. It felt so enriching to breathe their air, to stand below them, to listen to their great avalanches and watch plumes of snow blow off their summits. They were alive and I began to feel so small. I’m not sure I understood how big Mount Hayes was until I was there below it. It’s massive East Faces shot up abruptly and steeply from the glacier and separated in perfect harmony as they went off to it’s two summits which share an extensive plateau between them. From summit to summit a monstrous glacier staked its claim, its edges a hanging shelf several hundred feet tall. Blocks of ice bigger than buildings let go from the wall and sweep down the nearly 7,500 foot face. To put some scale into the picture, the world’s tallest building, the Burj Khalifa, is 2,716 feet tall, two and a half of those gets you to the top. The mountain’s complex structure intrigued me. It had several major ridges that led to the double-headed upper mountain. Extensive glacial cover weighted the mountains, blue ice patched across the valley walls between buttresses of poor rock. The mountains here were beautiful & proud structures and did not care much for my presence.
The sun was out and with it rays of heat covered the glacier. I began shoveling out a basecamp area and within ten minutes was down to just my briefs and crocs. It was nice to be alone for a while, I felt more badass than I am and embraced the wildman image I gave myself. While I was the only person in the entire range, it wasn’t totally unfamiliar. I’d chosen an area we’d looked into where a few routes existed already. They were both amazing and inspiring efforts so I was excited to be in the same venue! The snowpack was not very deep and I could poke at the hard ice with my pobe. Zack returned just over an hour later, bringing Alex with him. Alex’s eyes lit up as he stepped out of the supercub and onto the sun, Mount Hayes over him. After saying goodbye to Zack, we spent most of the day shoveling out a camp, setting up our sleeping tent, cook tent, and organizing our supplies. It was an exciting day and we were ready to get after it.
Over the next two weeks however, we struggled to achieve anything. We had problems with both weather and snow conditions. Warm temperatures, whiteout visibility and regular snowfall characterized the valley. We made several efforts to climb high but each was thwarted by either an oncoming storm or avalanche danger. There were some beautiful lines to be tried but conditions weren’t in our favor as rotten ice, cornices, and mushrooms rumbled down the faces, it was too late in the year for good ice and mixed in this valley, it didn’t have the glue holding everything together. Many times we swallowed our pride and turned around in respect to maintaining our healthy wellbeing. With steeper climbing seemingly unsafe at the time, we set our sights on the less technical East Ridge. The ridge is gained through a 10,000 foot subpeak that is easily climbed up a massive swath of snow we dubbed the “super ramp.”
We set out with light packs, food and fuel for two days and a few comforts such as Hot Socks and puffy pants. Due to the warm temperatures, we could only climb at night. This time of the year in Alaska there is very little darkness and we didn’t need to use our headlamps at any point. Arriving to the ridge around 10,000 feet near midnight, we carved camp out on a low-angled cornice which hung to the North. This ridge marked the Northern edge of the range more or less. Peaking over we could see off into the distance towards Fairbanks. Up high now, in the golden glow of the midnight sun and the cold breeze from the South, we gazed out at the mountains around us. More giants than we thought populated the land. Each of them mighty. Each of them complex, intimidating, and somehow inviting. These were really cool mountains! We zipped up the tent, nibbled at our foods and sipped coffee. It was much colder up here which was in our favor. But with a stout wind it would be a chilly sleep.
In the morning we woke to get ready, we figured up higher here with the cold temps we might be able to get going at that time. The wind imposed upon us and we both stuck our heads out of the slightly unzipped door to gaze at the route. It was in the sun and we began to question the snowpack as it wasn’t great on the way up or at our bivi. We had a heavier layer sitting on a bunch of powder. “What are you thinking?” Alex asked me. The question that begins the great analysis! We debated back and forth, agreeing, disagreeing, and countering each other. Ultimately we had the same concerns about the snow. We figured let’s drink coffee and watch it for a while- let’s listen to the mountain (a concept I take on by faith). What’s it saying? An hour and a half goes by as we wither in the tent, then suddenly, CRASH!! A loud rumble gets our attention and again our heads are side by side out the door. There above us a serac collapse has set off the slopes below it and with eyes wide open we watch our route be swept by a massive rumble of ice and snow. Our humanity humbled once again, we sit back in the tent and share a sigh of relief. Only a few words were exchanged in our mutual understanding of the extent of our choices, “Good call man.” We each took a nap and decided maybe we could consider another go at the route the coming evening. When we woke in the afternoon, the wind was picking up but the weather was still okay. We were both now a little frightened of the mountain given what we saw earlier. That day we had a meaningful conversation in the tent about longevity and decision making in the mountains. The game we were planning now wasn’t the safest form of climbing and we’d been reminded of the importance of staying aware and never letting your guard down. There are times to commit and push onward and times to go down unapologetically, it is simply the nature of the big mountains.
In the evening we were beginning to consider the amount of food and fuel we had left, the snow conditions, the weather- the bigger picture. We were still psyched on trying to go to the summit should the evening weather and conditions line up. Slowly the wind grew stronger and stronger until around 10:00 PM and then our cornice home became not so confidence inspiring. Laying side by side on our backs with our feet up on the South tent wall, we were now battling a serious wind. The steady pace was between 40 and 50 miles per hour and the gusts perhaps 60. Peeking our heads out of the tent, the weather was changing. It was nasty out and the wind ripped and howled its way through the mountains. We watched as a massive black cloud came up over the ridge opposite us and dove swiftly into the valley of our basecamp. The mountains seemed angry, it was not the time to be up here anymore. The realization was a difficult one to swallow as when you’re in your tent in a sleeping bag during a windstorm you don’t often consider leaving it, let alone in the middle of the night!
But leave it we had to. We made the tough but necessary call to pack up our things as fast as possible and retreat to basecamp. Within 20 minutes we were both fully geared up and taking down the tent. I remember taking a second to grab a photo of Alex. It was a slow motion moment. He looked so much different than when I had met him years ago on Mount Rainier. I thought back to the younger guy he was, he’d never even been mountaineering! He was stronger now, he was a real alpine climber and it was just really cool to have a moment to recognize that transition in him while he wrestled tent anchors. His will currently being put to the test bailing on a cornice bivi in the middle of the night in Alaska, I knew he’d be fine. As we always joke to each other, “Just keep it together!” We didn’t even have time to bag the tent, “Just stuff it in your backpack, get on the rope and get going, we’ve got to get the hell out of here!” I thought to myself as I crammed everything into my rucksack. Soon after we were ready to go and headed down the super ramp. The wind howled and our descent route forced us to head towards it. Visibility was okay but the wind brought bits of ice and rock dust with it, making us shield our eyes as we went down. Updrafts carried the debris straight up the mountainside.
Our descent was tiring but rather uneventful and not a very long distance. The wind however was continually concerning. Lower down before we stepped into our skis again, we stopped to make a brew and built a tight windwall of rocks so the stove would run. I noticed the wind direction had changed and was blowing primarily from the East, coming up glacier, an unusual situation relative to the weather we’d seen on the trip so far and the clouds still coming in from the Southwest. An uncomfortable concoction of different winds was occupying the steep-walled valley below the 6,500 ft East Faces of Mount Hayes. Other than trying to sort the way in flat light, the rest of the terrain back to camp was simple and we made good time.
We arrived back to camp with an eerie feeling in the air. It was snow-blasted and weathered. One of the main tent doors blown open and our kitchen tent a ragged pile of torn fabric with a pole sticking up. It had tears all over it and was damaged beyond repair. We turned on our headlamps to get a better look in the low light, it was a disappointing scene and it looked like our camp had been rummaged through and looted. In our sleeping tent, powdery snow was spread throughout, it lined the walls and filled the gear pockets inside. We immediately realized my basecamp sleeping bag, rated to -13 fahrenheit, was gone. The wind had snatched it up and carried it away. I was frustrated and bitterly hopped into my lighter sleeping bag and went to sleep. Alex stayed up that night making water, taking stock of the damaged kitchen and getting some food in his gullet. While our kitchen was a shared loss, I think he was sympathizing with my discouraging situation. It was however important to note that it really wasn’t very cold in basecamp and the loss of my lofty down bag did not mean the trip was over, we had two lighter bags which we brought for bivis and this combo would be more than sufficient should it get colder, it was just a real bummer because it was my nice new warm bag! I had only slept in it for three or four nights.
For the next week we sat in camp in poor weather. Most of it was a whiteout. At times the snow would stop and the clouds would slightly lift. We could see off into the warlike nature of the range as it endured another storm. Bundles of fresh snow blew from ridge’s edge into the torrent air above and we had a shared feeling of the mountains taking us in, wrapping their great arms around us and leaning over. We were comfortable but we were captives of the Trident Glacier. Our white room the purgatory, our supplies our allies, our partnership the wall to which we lean. At one point heavy rain began to fall and we took our ruined cook tent and strapped it over the sleeping tent to stay more dry. All our ropes and hardgoods went into the effort. And then again, rose the wind. We spent hours together building our snow walls. We worked in silence, each in our own state of being. Out alone in the big mountains, no one around, just us two and there we were laboring away at our shelter. It is interesting to note that at times during these trips, you expend great energy on things not related to climbing but related to your wellbeing. We go at great lengths to take care of ourselves and our partner. We spend hours in the blowing snow perfecting our camp and tightening down the hatches. We weather each storm, one at a time, we react to the world around us. Our flexibility & adaptability are the keys to our safety. We do our best to identify potential problems before they happen and get in the trenches when they arise unexpectedly.
Other times we would emerge from the tent restless and energetic, utilizing the snow to create competitive games to pass the time. We always begin with the opening line, “Well I’ve only got one question for you, are you a betting man?” The irresistible offer could never be denied and next thing you know you’re getting free food for a week or you owe a few hours of designated trail breaking on the next climb. One evening while we were both outside rolling around in the snow or throwing shovels (a common activity), the first snowball was thrown. Over the next half hour we broke into full-on battle. Anything goes, so of course we quickly began to exchange face shots, ouch! Back and forth we went pelting each other, we laughed and dove and whipped snowballs until we both collapsed in the snow out of breath and with wet hands under a light snowfall. “I’m going inside.” Alex said exhaustedly. “Me too. Let’s have some jo.” And that was the end of our historic match. In the tent we would nap on and off, trade snacks and play games on our phones. Power was at a minimum so every minute of game play was appreciated. Moving our cooking operation inside the vestibule, we lived in tight quarters and craved better weather so we could go climbing.
Alas a whole week had gone by and we were tired from being stuck in camp. Our bones ached and our backs sore from hunching over. The poor news was the weather wasn’t going to get any better. We had spent endless hours thinking about what to do and decided it was time to go. The weather opened the next day and our pilot was on the way. We quickly packed everything for his afternoon arrival and had duffels full of wet equipment. The weather unfortunately began to change again. More snow was on the way. This time returning in his larger plane, a Cessna 185 Skywagon, we could ride out together. Finally we were filled with relief when we heard the buzzing of the engine and spotted it in the distance. However as he got closer we noticed he was still quite high, we didn’t have coms with him at the time so we were unable to communicate. The clouds grew and more grey patched the sky, which he flew under a blanket of. We watched as he banked wide and did a half circle around the valley and continued back where he came from. Off over the mountains in the distance, the plane disappeared and we knew the reality of our situation. We weren’t leaving today. The light was too flat now and within minutes of leaving heavy snowfall broke out over camp and in frustration we hastily set up our tent again and got in our sleeping bags.
The next morning the weather cleared and Zack came in quickly to get us. Flying through the mountains again, seeing them from the comfort of the plane, I was proud of our partnership. We did our best in a new environment and handled everything in good form and style. We knew we would be returning here, perhaps many times, that was an unspoken agreement. When we returned to the lodge to let Annie know we made it back safe, we were unsure if we could stay the night and planned to drive out of the area that same day. But Annie, as I have come to learn, is a social being and it only took a minute before she said, “You’re going to stay the night with us right? Have dinner?” And so one night turned into a week and we rested at the lodge and hung out with her. We formed such a wonderful friendship. She was supportive of our goals and a believer that we could achieve them, she had a strange way of really cutting into your existential life questions and she said about what you get from staying at Black Rapids, “spiritual experiences beyond the common man.” In a motherly way, she had welcomed us into her lodge, a couple of traveling climbers, and taken us in as family. We were so grateful to be there. Our love of chess was at its finest stage that week. There weren’t any guests at the lodge and at one point even Annie left. There in the center of the dining room we spent hours and hours going head to head in chess. As sportsmen, we stand, make eye contact, shake hands, and wish each other good luck before each match and then the silence is on. Some matches were more than an hour and we drank bottomless coffee to maintain our calm demeanor as we both schemed to defeat the other.
The season carried on and we said our “until-next-times” before hitting the road. Driving South down the Richardson Highway and back to our coffee stop in Glennallen, we had such great conversations about what the experience in the Hayes Range had meant to us. So many things happened and it all came from going there on a whim in the middle of the night a few weeks prior. With our skin now tanned, flakes of skin peeling from our burnt noses, and our eyes wider than ever, we closed the door on our Hayes adventure.
Over the next two months I continued to pursue my mountain craft while waiting for guide work. Alex and I parted ways while he took his girlfriend on a grand tour of Alaska and I hopped in another ski plane for an expedition into the Central Alaska Range with Matt Wentzell. We linked up together again some weeks later and climbed in the Western Chugach and then another expedition to Wrangell-St Elias National Park & Preserve. When big mountain season ended and I was still at a minimum of available guide work, I found myself wondering what to do. Eventually I texted Annie and gathered my things to go out to the Hayes again.
Here I am now some months later and a few days since beginning this piece. It’s evening here in Eastern Alaska and the forest is dark. The midnight sun that defined our nighttime adventures nearly three months ago is gone. The climbing partners came and went, the longest days of the year behind us. I have been spending my days mostly alone, I like it that way anyway. The blueberries are out and the air a little cooler. The wilderness surrounds, I wander the mountains nearby, and continue to work on the old 1902 Roadhouse. There’s no one in the lodge tonight. It's just me. I reflect on life and purpose. I wonder about the strange series of events that led me here and ponder my relationship to the land. I try to decipher the past years and smile at my predicament- I put so much of myself into chasing true adventure that when it ended I actually didn’t have another home to return to. I consider my relationship to my friends and my family, I question if this lonely mountain road will yield someone to love. I carry on in high spirits, inspiration abound, below the foothills of the Alaska Range and reflect on the power of courage. I grasp my blossoming connection to the rich history and wondrous spirit of the Black Rapids valley and envision future ascents in the range. I scour maps and books, planning next year’s climbs with excitement and inspiration. I relish in the presence of my being, in the pursuit of my mountain craft, in the journey that is the destination, in all that I selfishly did for myself to live this way. Working alongside an elderly man, I continually wonder about who I will be at that age. Beyond climbing, beyond accomplishments in the mountains, I long to be someone who lived an authentic life of adventure. That my time can be recognized as honest and imperfect. That I can look back at what I’ve done and find peace and solace in my willingness to try. Beyond climbing, I embrace the beautiful life it continues to provide me.
Special thank you to: Alex Hansen, Annie Hopper, Zack Knaebel, Elissa & Travis McAlpine, Taylor Brown, Reese Doyle, & Sandy Jamieson.
Additionally, I’d like to thank my sponsors for their support: Rab Equipment, Revo Sunglasses, Goal Zero, Sterling Rope, Cilogear Packs.
The life & work of Sandy Jamieson
The Lodge at Black Rapids
https://www.lodgeatblackrapids.com/
Tok Air Service
