Friday, June 19, 2009
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Denali: tightrope, remodeling, & corniced ridges
--Tightrope--
If you are on a tightrope, you don’t sneeze. If you are taking a break on an awkward rock with a steep snow slope next to you, just above the headwall at 16,210 ft elevation, you try to find an acceptable spot for your 65 lb pack where it won’t slide down the mountain or take you out should a gust of wind appear. Then comes the gentle (and tricky) part where you slowly work yourself a little lower on the slope (easier than working the pack higher), balance your pack on your right knee, and thread your arm through the strap. Next you slowly wiggle the heavy pack around to your back, thread your next arm in place, tighten the waistbelt as tight as you can get it (especially if you happen to have a down coat on), and you’re back ready to continue the climb. Once your four teammates have done the same, you head upwards, hoping it won’t really take many hours to go the next 1,000 vertical feet (it will).
--Remodeling--
Remodeling is fun. The previous occupants, after all, didn’t have just your taste, or your size of group, or wind coming from the same direction. Though sometimes they did have the good sense to set up a nicely sheltered CMC (Clean Mountain Can) alcove. Generally you move into a camp, decide which walls to use as starters, and then change things up. At one camp, that may mean that you get the snow saw and shovel out and start quarrying snow blocks to fill a doorway, plug some holes, and increase the height of the protecting snow walls. At another camp, that may mean that you decide to add a doorway between adjacent campsites, turn a wall 90 degrees to more closely hug your tent, or angle and relocate a given wall to direct the wind, moving the wall block by block. If you have a little extra time, you can add a kitchen too. At the highest camp, you may decide to build more functional protection from the wind; some less-than-perfect snow chunks will do the job. We were really quite lucky with respect to the winds at our camps, with the breeziest day being one of our rest days at 17 camp.
--Corniced ridges--
There were many spectacular parts to the climb. Flying past dark rock spires in Little Switzerland on the way in; seeing snow ridges above you as you snuck just over a pass. Moving along the broad and long Kahiltna glacier just as the sun dipped below a mountain. Looking back at your team placed so evenly on the rope, moving up the first steep section of Motorcycle hill, the walled fortress of Camp 11k in the background. Clouds engulfing the lower valleys up to almost your toes. Seeing the alpenglow on Mt. Hunter from 14 camp after a long day. Turning your view around for the first time on the ridge above 16,2 to see the fullness and beauty of the West Buttress. Cresting Denali Pass to see the other side of the Alaska range opening up, hunkering behind black rocks for shelter from the wind. Seeing the pink rays of sunset on distant mountains coming down to Camp 9.5k.
Though it was the very very last section of the climb that was the most spectacular. It had been a long time since beginning the climb late that morning. It was maybe 7pm, 7:30. I had cycled between feeling extremely strong around 18,000 and 19,000 feet to being extremely slow going up pig hill. First Jim and Cindy had turned around just below Denali Pass, turned by altitude and the good sense to be conservative on this big mountain. We had shortened the rope to fit three, and added their emergency supplies to our backpacks. Then, after climbing up to the pass and yet another hour above the pass, Pete had appeared at our rest stop with a white tipped nose and cheek. This day was no day for exposed skin; it was time for descent for another of our team. Even higher on the mountain, Jaroslaw and I decided that, given the improved weather, it was safe enough to set an anchor and leave one of our packs (mine) and the rope behind for the last 'hour' (or more) left in the climb. Was the top of pig hill the tippy top (as I had hoped for in my mind)? No. But that is when the summit ridge revealed itself.
A ridge that is beautiful and frightening at the same time. One that is fun in ideal weather conditions, but one that demands your attention to footwork, especially given that it is above 20,000 feet and that you’ve been climbing for hours today and weeks prior (well, 10 days in our case). The cornices ran on one side for the first part of the ridge (small ones), and on the other side for the second part (big ones). Looking to the right on the way up, the mountain shot down thousands and thousands of feet almost immediately. Zero wind is the kind of weather condition you want to have for that ridge. And that is just what we had. Step by step, focusing your attention at the task at hand, glad that the ridge did not gain significant altitude, but instead let you catch your breath and build your anticipation. The sun was getting lower in the sky, bringing a golden and shadowed and intense view to all the mountains around Denali. And then we reached the end of that spectacular ridge just around 8:20pm. Jaroslaw and I had made it to the top!
If you are on a tightrope, you don’t sneeze. If you are taking a break on an awkward rock with a steep snow slope next to you, just above the headwall at 16,210 ft elevation, you try to find an acceptable spot for your 65 lb pack where it won’t slide down the mountain or take you out should a gust of wind appear. Then comes the gentle (and tricky) part where you slowly work yourself a little lower on the slope (easier than working the pack higher), balance your pack on your right knee, and thread your arm through the strap. Next you slowly wiggle the heavy pack around to your back, thread your next arm in place, tighten the waistbelt as tight as you can get it (especially if you happen to have a down coat on), and you’re back ready to continue the climb. Once your four teammates have done the same, you head upwards, hoping it won’t really take many hours to go the next 1,000 vertical feet (it will).
--Remodeling--
Remodeling is fun. The previous occupants, after all, didn’t have just your taste, or your size of group, or wind coming from the same direction. Though sometimes they did have the good sense to set up a nicely sheltered CMC (Clean Mountain Can) alcove. Generally you move into a camp, decide which walls to use as starters, and then change things up. At one camp, that may mean that you get the snow saw and shovel out and start quarrying snow blocks to fill a doorway, plug some holes, and increase the height of the protecting snow walls. At another camp, that may mean that you decide to add a doorway between adjacent campsites, turn a wall 90 degrees to more closely hug your tent, or angle and relocate a given wall to direct the wind, moving the wall block by block. If you have a little extra time, you can add a kitchen too. At the highest camp, you may decide to build more functional protection from the wind; some less-than-perfect snow chunks will do the job. We were really quite lucky with respect to the winds at our camps, with the breeziest day being one of our rest days at 17 camp.
--Corniced ridges--
There were many spectacular parts to the climb. Flying past dark rock spires in Little Switzerland on the way in; seeing snow ridges above you as you snuck just over a pass. Moving along the broad and long Kahiltna glacier just as the sun dipped below a mountain. Looking back at your team placed so evenly on the rope, moving up the first steep section of Motorcycle hill, the walled fortress of Camp 11k in the background. Clouds engulfing the lower valleys up to almost your toes. Seeing the alpenglow on Mt. Hunter from 14 camp after a long day. Turning your view around for the first time on the ridge above 16,2 to see the fullness and beauty of the West Buttress. Cresting Denali Pass to see the other side of the Alaska range opening up, hunkering behind black rocks for shelter from the wind. Seeing the pink rays of sunset on distant mountains coming down to Camp 9.5k.
Though it was the very very last section of the climb that was the most spectacular. It had been a long time since beginning the climb late that morning. It was maybe 7pm, 7:30. I had cycled between feeling extremely strong around 18,000 and 19,000 feet to being extremely slow going up pig hill. First Jim and Cindy had turned around just below Denali Pass, turned by altitude and the good sense to be conservative on this big mountain. We had shortened the rope to fit three, and added their emergency supplies to our backpacks. Then, after climbing up to the pass and yet another hour above the pass, Pete had appeared at our rest stop with a white tipped nose and cheek. This day was no day for exposed skin; it was time for descent for another of our team. Even higher on the mountain, Jaroslaw and I decided that, given the improved weather, it was safe enough to set an anchor and leave one of our packs (mine) and the rope behind for the last 'hour' (or more) left in the climb. Was the top of pig hill the tippy top (as I had hoped for in my mind)? No. But that is when the summit ridge revealed itself.
A ridge that is beautiful and frightening at the same time. One that is fun in ideal weather conditions, but one that demands your attention to footwork, especially given that it is above 20,000 feet and that you’ve been climbing for hours today and weeks prior (well, 10 days in our case). The cornices ran on one side for the first part of the ridge (small ones), and on the other side for the second part (big ones). Looking to the right on the way up, the mountain shot down thousands and thousands of feet almost immediately. Zero wind is the kind of weather condition you want to have for that ridge. And that is just what we had. Step by step, focusing your attention at the task at hand, glad that the ridge did not gain significant altitude, but instead let you catch your breath and build your anticipation. The sun was getting lower in the sky, bringing a golden and shadowed and intense view to all the mountains around Denali. And then we reached the end of that spectacular ridge just around 8:20pm. Jaroslaw and I had made it to the top!
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Life on Denali: the cold and the gear
--- The cold ---
They said this mountain would be cold. And I thought, hey, I’ve been up Everest, how cold can it actually be? ... They were right. It was cold. Definintely colder than I’d expected. That cold that comes from all the moisture in the air. The kind of moisture that would make your hair turn all curly were it not underneath three layers of hats and buffs.
Not cold all the time mind you, but enough of the time. Like when we flew into the glacier on a Saturday, late afternoon, and decided to head up to our first camp, leaving base camp around 8pm (remember all that light I talked about earlier?). By the time 12am rolled around and we were still hiking up the Kahiltna glacier, sun long set but no headlamp needed, it felt like I shouldn’t really need my down parka for hiking since I was only around 7,000 feet above sea level--wouldn’t it feel like giving in if I put it on now? What would I do 13,000 feet higher on the mountain if it got cold and I had nothing left to put on? I stuck it out, putting my puffy pants on and my Goretex on up top, and donned the down when we finally set up camp at 7,700 ft, but decided that this was a mountain not to be taken lightly.
The cold hit me hardest up high heading to 17 camp (that is, the camp at 17,200 feet). It was day 8 of our expedition, and we were doing a ‘full carry’ to Camp 17 (high camp). ‘Full’ meaning that we decided not to do a trial (aka cache) run with some of our gear up to 16 or 17 on an earlier day, but rather to put everything we’d need for a stay at high camp and our summit push in our backpacks and trudge on up the mountain, roped together as a team of five. By the time we made it to 17 camp, it was the longest day up to that point in the climb, we had divided into two rope teams, my two Nalgenes were frozen from the cold, I had waited a little too long to put on my down coat, was actually shivering sitting on my pack, and was supremely thankful to Cindy for putting up the tent and boiling water for us and to Jaroslaw for doing similar things for Pete and Jim who came in to camp two hours later. This is partly why we climb in teams, and why even when only a subset of the team stands on top, the success is for the entire team. One day you may have more energy and go retrieve a cache from down low, one day you may do all the cooking, and the next you may sit resting in your tent while others prepare the food and water.
--The gear—
Start with your backpack.
Add essentials such as sleeping bag (bring the warm one, rated to -40F, you’ll need it. Extra long ones are nice so you can keep all your clothing and boot liners inside), pads (bring two, re-inflate the thermarest if it is a rest day so you don’t get cold that second night and end up sleeping on your side the entire night), tent (keep it dry, which may be impossible if it snows 1 foot overnight, but is usually possible if you let the frost dry out and don’t break camp until after 10am), pickets (useful for getting your friends out of crevasses, even if they are generally just extra weight), snow saw (essential for reinforcing or building those snow walls at 11k camp, 14k camp, 17k camp), shovel (useful for digging caches, which you’ll leave up the mountain many many places, especially when you find out that you’re carrying too much. Bring a sturdy one and don’t bury your caches tooooo deep), fuel (hmmm, bringing lots is good; don’t step on your fuel funnel or you’ll end up improvising with a plastic bag with a hole in it), stove (clean it, know how to clean it, and keep it clean so it actually melts snow and warms it up up high), pot (you may also bring 2 other pots for melting snow, one other pot for cooking soups and noodles, one frying pan for cooking pancakes and cheesy noodle sauces, ... or you may decide to cache these things down low when you realize how much weight you’re carrying), contact solution (remember to always keep this warm in your sleeping bag or you’ll end up warming it up between your legs or underneath your armpit the next morning), snack food (keep the favorite secret summit stash of food separate from the general climbing snacks, make sure things don’t freeze easily, and bring some extra jerky to trade with your climbing partners for gummy snacks up high).
At this point you’re probably running out of space in your huge backpack. Time to load up the duffel in the sled so you can drag the rest of your ‘essentials’ (broadly defined) up the big hill with you. Note: your sled will be really heavy, and you will feel your hip flexors. Too heavy at first, but you’ll learn tricks to help out--like putting an extra pair of gloves in your harness for extra padding. Going downhill with a sled will also be tricky at first, but you’ll try things such as flipping the sled upside down, or tying a knot or bungee underneath that will make travel much better.
Bring a cook tent (useful as a gathering place, especially during rest days, when it is windy, or when you want a change of pace from your little tent. Important: make sure and have lots of snow stakes on this ‘extra’ tent so you can steal them to anchor your partners’ tents down on summit day so their tent doesn’t blow away up high. Always a good thing to have a tent to come back to). Bring some food. Scratch that. Bring a ton of food. Scratch that. Start with a ton of food (go ahead and bring some hard to make things so you’ll have something to do on rest days, though you’ll rethink that when making the meals). Once you realize you don’t need that ton of food, cache as much as possible at camp 9,500 ft, then cache some more at 14k, and finally bring a lot back down to base camp with you when you’re done with the climb. Be really really thankful that you were able to fly out from the glacier on the last plane your air service sent before the weather closed in too much to fly, and didn’t need to eat that same food again and again at BC.
Round out your gear with things you have on you: a good harness, lots of warm clothes (bring a few extra layers, white layers for down low because it gets hot too on that mountain, a clean set for above 14 camp), poles (useful almost all the time on the mountain), snow flotation (my favorite was snowshoes, but make sure whatever you have stays on your feet...please), crampons (don’t forget those anitball plates...please), sunglasses (complete with the ugly nose covers so everyone looks just as silly in pictures, but everyone also avoids big burned noses). And bring all those extra things I haven’t mentioned. Then cache 60% of those things on your way up the mountain.
They said this mountain would be cold. And I thought, hey, I’ve been up Everest, how cold can it actually be? ... They were right. It was cold. Definintely colder than I’d expected. That cold that comes from all the moisture in the air. The kind of moisture that would make your hair turn all curly were it not underneath three layers of hats and buffs.
Not cold all the time mind you, but enough of the time. Like when we flew into the glacier on a Saturday, late afternoon, and decided to head up to our first camp, leaving base camp around 8pm (remember all that light I talked about earlier?). By the time 12am rolled around and we were still hiking up the Kahiltna glacier, sun long set but no headlamp needed, it felt like I shouldn’t really need my down parka for hiking since I was only around 7,000 feet above sea level--wouldn’t it feel like giving in if I put it on now? What would I do 13,000 feet higher on the mountain if it got cold and I had nothing left to put on? I stuck it out, putting my puffy pants on and my Goretex on up top, and donned the down when we finally set up camp at 7,700 ft, but decided that this was a mountain not to be taken lightly.
The cold hit me hardest up high heading to 17 camp (that is, the camp at 17,200 feet). It was day 8 of our expedition, and we were doing a ‘full carry’ to Camp 17 (high camp). ‘Full’ meaning that we decided not to do a trial (aka cache) run with some of our gear up to 16 or 17 on an earlier day, but rather to put everything we’d need for a stay at high camp and our summit push in our backpacks and trudge on up the mountain, roped together as a team of five. By the time we made it to 17 camp, it was the longest day up to that point in the climb, we had divided into two rope teams, my two Nalgenes were frozen from the cold, I had waited a little too long to put on my down coat, was actually shivering sitting on my pack, and was supremely thankful to Cindy for putting up the tent and boiling water for us and to Jaroslaw for doing similar things for Pete and Jim who came in to camp two hours later. This is partly why we climb in teams, and why even when only a subset of the team stands on top, the success is for the entire team. One day you may have more energy and go retrieve a cache from down low, one day you may do all the cooking, and the next you may sit resting in your tent while others prepare the food and water.
--The gear—
Start with your backpack.
Add essentials such as sleeping bag (bring the warm one, rated to -40F, you’ll need it. Extra long ones are nice so you can keep all your clothing and boot liners inside), pads (bring two, re-inflate the thermarest if it is a rest day so you don’t get cold that second night and end up sleeping on your side the entire night), tent (keep it dry, which may be impossible if it snows 1 foot overnight, but is usually possible if you let the frost dry out and don’t break camp until after 10am), pickets (useful for getting your friends out of crevasses, even if they are generally just extra weight), snow saw (essential for reinforcing or building those snow walls at 11k camp, 14k camp, 17k camp), shovel (useful for digging caches, which you’ll leave up the mountain many many places, especially when you find out that you’re carrying too much. Bring a sturdy one and don’t bury your caches tooooo deep), fuel (hmmm, bringing lots is good; don’t step on your fuel funnel or you’ll end up improvising with a plastic bag with a hole in it), stove (clean it, know how to clean it, and keep it clean so it actually melts snow and warms it up up high), pot (you may also bring 2 other pots for melting snow, one other pot for cooking soups and noodles, one frying pan for cooking pancakes and cheesy noodle sauces, ... or you may decide to cache these things down low when you realize how much weight you’re carrying), contact solution (remember to always keep this warm in your sleeping bag or you’ll end up warming it up between your legs or underneath your armpit the next morning), snack food (keep the favorite secret summit stash of food separate from the general climbing snacks, make sure things don’t freeze easily, and bring some extra jerky to trade with your climbing partners for gummy snacks up high).
At this point you’re probably running out of space in your huge backpack. Time to load up the duffel in the sled so you can drag the rest of your ‘essentials’ (broadly defined) up the big hill with you. Note: your sled will be really heavy, and you will feel your hip flexors. Too heavy at first, but you’ll learn tricks to help out--like putting an extra pair of gloves in your harness for extra padding. Going downhill with a sled will also be tricky at first, but you’ll try things such as flipping the sled upside down, or tying a knot or bungee underneath that will make travel much better.
Bring a cook tent (useful as a gathering place, especially during rest days, when it is windy, or when you want a change of pace from your little tent. Important: make sure and have lots of snow stakes on this ‘extra’ tent so you can steal them to anchor your partners’ tents down on summit day so their tent doesn’t blow away up high. Always a good thing to have a tent to come back to). Bring some food. Scratch that. Bring a ton of food. Scratch that. Start with a ton of food (go ahead and bring some hard to make things so you’ll have something to do on rest days, though you’ll rethink that when making the meals). Once you realize you don’t need that ton of food, cache as much as possible at camp 9,500 ft, then cache some more at 14k, and finally bring a lot back down to base camp with you when you’re done with the climb. Be really really thankful that you were able to fly out from the glacier on the last plane your air service sent before the weather closed in too much to fly, and didn’t need to eat that same food again and again at BC.
Round out your gear with things you have on you: a good harness, lots of warm clothes (bring a few extra layers, white layers for down low because it gets hot too on that mountain, a clean set for above 14 camp), poles (useful almost all the time on the mountain), snow flotation (my favorite was snowshoes, but make sure whatever you have stays on your feet...please), crampons (don’t forget those anitball plates...please), sunglasses (complete with the ugly nose covers so everyone looks just as silly in pictures, but everyone also avoids big burned noses). And bring all those extra things I haven’t mentioned. Then cache 60% of those things on your way up the mountain.
Friday, May 29, 2009
We're back!
We're back to civilization--and we had a successful trip! Two of us made it to the top (Jaroslaw and I), and four of us are back in Talkeetna (weather is preventing the planes from picking up Jim from the glacier). More later, but I wanted to get a quick update out. :)
Val
Val
Saturday, May 16, 2009
All packed up
The sharp things are separated: ice axes, crampons, snowshoes,
shovels, ... the food has been divided: breakfasts, dinners, high camp food, condiments ... our personal gear is ready. Now it is time to get some lunch and then fly in to the glacier! We're lucky that it is clear today as yesterday they weren't flying in.
shovels, ... the food has been divided: breakfasts, dinners, high camp food, condiments ... our personal gear is ready. Now it is time to get some lunch and then fly in to the glacier! We're lucky that it is clear today as yesterday they weren't flying in.
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