Heart in the Range

Turning my back to the morning light and walking to the packed car, it was time to go. We just watched sunrise from our hometown beach in Hampton, New Hampshire. The starry sky which we’d walked out onto the sand under was now a hopeful orange and blue. The sun had pierced the horizon and covered everything in the gift of a new day. My winter was over, I had said my goodbyes and was starting the more than 5,000 mile drive back to Alaska. This time my co-pilot was one of my closest childhood friends, Jeremy, who does not live a mountain life- but understands why we do. The car was a trivial game of Tetris but all set for the ride. Casting off on a new adventure; we turned the music up and let the miles fall by the wayside. Over the next ten days we’d cross North America and end up in the unforgettable Last Frontier.

On the final days of the drive, I found myself again living a childhood dream- to go by road up to Alaska and go into the mountains. This fabled drive, a right of passage, was something I’d read about in old mountaineering stories. Times were different then, but the feeling of speeding across the wild and rugged Yukon territory, car full of expedition gear, is still just as good. The landscape becomes lonesome, the road endless and the mountains ever larger. Eventually you reach the edges of Kluane National Park, you’ve made it to the coastal mountains and your destination only seven hundred miles out. Crossing the border, driving along the Wrangell and Chugach Mountains and gazing out mile after mile at Alaskan giants, eyes ever brighter, stoke ever surging, a massive caribou antler we found piercing the air atop the car- it was time to get into the range. 

I slipped on my boots in the parking lot at Talkeetna Air Taxi on April 23rd with Alex Hansen and Jon Lykins. There was still snow on the ground in town, it was cold out, the sky was grey. I sent out a few farewell messages and in a short time we were in the air. Catching our last views of town and the thick forests, it was snow, ice, and rock from now on. We’d waited three days after flying all the way into the Southeast Fork of the Kahiltna Glacier in the evening and finding landing conditions to be unreasonable. We had a brief glimpse that day- turning the corner around Begguya (Mt. Hunter) and entering the Heart of the Range. It was gloomy and ominous, our routes looked snowy and raw and there were no signs of people at basecamp, we’d be the first ones there. It was intimidating in that flat, grey evening light, I think our pilot was understandably feeling that way too as we circled the landing area, all crammed together in the small ski-equipped Beaver. 

Now, three days later, we shared the larger Otter plane with two girls from Alaska who were headed in to climb around basecamp as well. They were no rookies to the range and one of them a veteran Denali guide. When Paul Roderick landed us in the range with fresh tracks at ten in the morning, it was -10 degrees fahrenheit and the sun was out. The plane shot off down the glacier and sailed off back to Talkeetna. It was now the five of us, Girls team and Boys team. Hour after hour we dug through and hard packed powdery snow to build our respective camps, tricking it out with gear shelves, kitchen tables and counters, snow benches and wind walls- you better do a good job because this is home now. I think we spent more than nine hours building camp. It seemed to get dark early that night, the sun fell behind Sultana (Mt. Foraker) and temps were well below zero. We tucked off to bed, the five of us alone on a wintery Kahiltna Glacier. 

While the Girls were putting in the grunge-work shoveling there way up a buried Southwest Ridge of Mt. Frances, Boys team skied out to climb Bacon & Eggs a second time. Our first attempt was shut down about halfway up when the pick of one of my tools broke in half mid-pitch! We tried to carry on but the going was slow, obviously, with one broken tool. My replacement picks were foolishly left in camp, lesson learned. This beautiful snaking runnel of ice slithered it’s way down a feature called the “Mini Mini Moonflower” on an arm of Begguya. Not to be confused with it’s big brother “Ham & Eggs” on the Moose’s Tooth, this shorter line was a classic in itself and lay tucked up valley in a steep cirque of towering granite and ice. Shadowed most of the day, this north facing couloir was chilly and in the harsh morning temps we crossed the bergschrund and hopped on the bulletproof fifty-degree ice slab that wandered on for three rope lengths. Jon wasn’t feeling too hot so it was just Alex and I on this mission. 

The wind was just strong enough to make you shiver and I sat back in my harness belaying Alex up the first crux, a 90-degree ice shoot that gave way to more calf-burning low angle ice. Spindrift blew across my face and I watched Alex make his way up the shoot in good time. A little further on we made it to our previous high point, it was a lot easier getting there with two working tools. I was fully stoked and took over. Moving up into an ever-tighter couloir it began to take on more of a chimney shape. The climbing was good. The ice was mostly 70 to 80 degrees, the sticks were great but the feet often kicking through a poor layer of styrofoam ice that coated the surface. Alpine ice can be continually variable and that was true on this route. With the feet instilling little confidence, I sewed it up with gear on the pockets of good ice. A couple pitches got us up to and through the second crux which was a choke point in the chimney gaining 90 degrees and where we’d hoped for ice was just sugary snow on steep rock. It was an incredibly cool position leaving the chimney- a big step out right and the wall fell away below you but you’ve now gained lower angle terrain. I belayed Alex up and we had a special moment at the belay where we each said a few words about how special being out on Alaskan Peaks was. We’d eventually turn around near the summit ridge, snow began to fall and having climbed the couloir and all of it’s technically difficult sections, it was time to go back to the shelter of basecamp before the approaching storm settled in. We could barely make out our skis that sat on the glacier below.

Then began the arduous process of rapping down the route on 0-threads. Apparently there are a few rock anchors up there but I didn’t see any that looked very safe so ice it was. We had a good rhythm going; I would rap first and immediately begin making the next thread while Alex was on the way down, by the time he got down I’d have one of the sixty-meter ropes directly through the thread, rigged with a new stopper knot and ready to be pulled. This process was speedy and we got down pretty fast. We each made a big jump on rappel to cross the bergschrund again, a few minutes later we’d be at our skis. I had stashed some chocolate beside them- damn I needed that! 

Skiing away from the wall, the clouds engulfed it. The faint evening light was enough to travel without headlamp. We were pretty tired. Slogging along, I had a deep sense of place. This place that challenges us, scares us, empowers us, and enriches us strangely felt like home. The grey and blue snow and rocks seemed to glow and the cloud ceiling lowered, the valley didn’t seem so intimidating that night. The lights of our basecamp were a beacon in the distance, Jon was there and would give us a hot meal when we arrived. Together we made our way towards the beacon, gear clanking on our waists and packs, wet gloves and sore feet. Tired legs. It didn’t matter anymore that it was getting dark and already cold, we just had an incredible day of alpine climbing in the Alaska Range- I drove all the way across a continent for that. We made it to the tent just as darkness settled in.

In came a peaceful but snowy storm. Hot chocolate, mashed potatoes & veggies. Candy bars, dry socks, down booties and puffy pants. Alex, Jon, and I zipped the tent shut and hopped in our sleeping bags. I fell deeply asleep to the soft sound of snowflakes on the tent. Basecamp had grown to a small tent village and the next few days we’d hang with other teams as we all waited out the calm storm. It was good to be in the range.