SKI DENALI - PART 4 (Summit Climb and Skiing the Messner Couloir)

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SKI DENALI - PART 4
DENALI SUMMIT CLIMB - SKI DENALI VIA MESSNER COULOIR

"Further up and further in."

-The Chronicles of Narnia, C.S. Lewis

Way up and gettin' into it!

Ski Denali - Part 4: Denali Summit Climb

This was it - summit day.  We had been on the mountain for 18 days and most of those were spent waiting in storms.  So far, all the clear weather windows had been short, and today's was no exception.  After talking with Joel Gratz (meteorologist for OpenSnow.com) the evening before, it looked like we had a weather window of roughly 18 hours before another series of storms was set to blast the mountain.  It was now or never if we hoped to reach the summit.

A cold start at the tail-end of a storm.

Most parties start their summit attempts from High Camp (17200') and take multiple days to do so.  Since we hoped to ski the Messner Couloir we didn't have that luxury.  The Messner starts above 19000' and ends at Camp 14 (14200'), entirely bypassing High Camp.  In order to summit Denali (20320') and ski the Messner we had to start from Camp 14, ascend over 6000 vertical feet, and return back to Camp 14...all in one day.

14200' - 20320' - 14200'

For me, that was a tall order both literally and figuratively.  I knew other ski-mountaineers had done this in the past.  But, I also knew that many of those ski-mountaineers were faster and more fit than me.  I expected a challenge, so I had dedicated months, perhaps even years, to physical and mental training specifically for this.

I was as ready as I'd ever be.  The weather and conditions were still somewhat unknown, but we had to assess those when the time came.

A look at my improvised rigging for my crampons.

We prepared all of our gear the night before so we could make a seamless, early-morning departure.  If weather would have allowed we would have started earlier, but Josh and I were out of camp at 5:30 am.  We left at the tail-end of a storm, shortly ahead of our clear weather window, to increase the likelihood of summiting and descending in the clear weather.

Transitioning to crampons at the bottom of the fixed lines.

Since we had already spent time on this part of the West Buttress Route, the dense cloud that shrouded the Headwall did little to slow us down as we navigated through several crevassed sections.  The crisp -20 F air felt refreshing as our our pulses and altitude elevated.

Before we knew it we were beyond the Headwall, beyond Washburn's Thumb and 3000 vertical feet above Camp 14.  During our ascent the weather had been clearing, giving us periodic glimpses of our stunning surroundings.  Clouds still clung to the higher elevations, but beautiful views of the mountains and glaciers below us hinted to the progress we had made.

At High Camp, we took a short break to refuel our bodies and assess our situation.  Between gulps of water and mouthfuls of food we confirmed that: we both felt strong, the weather seemed to be improving, and we were optimistic about our chances of summiting and skiing the Messner.

Water break at the top of the fixed lines.

Josh nearing Washburn's Thumb as the weather starts to clear.

A look down to Camp 14 from Washburn's Thumb.

From High Camp, the West Buttress Route reaches Denali Pass via a section called the Autobahn.  Despite its rather unimpressive pitch and unassuming presence, the Autobahn is where the most fatalities happen on Denali.  The long, climbing, side-hill traverse sits in the middle of a slope that is several thousand vertical feet tall and crossed by numerous crevasses.  From what I understand, accidents on the Autobahn are usually due to one party trying to pass another party.  In such cases one is more likely to fall and slide down the slope (and into a crevasse) because they are moving hastily to make a pass.  Or, one is more likely to fall into someone else and cause that person to slide down the hill (and into a crevasse).  

Whatever the case, the Autobahn is not to be approached with flippancy despite its benign appearance.

Roping up at the Autobahn.

"ANCHOR."
"CLEAR."
"ANCHOR."
"CLEAR."

As we went from one picket-anchor to another on the Autobahn our lungs began to pump faster.  We were slowly climbing above High Camp, and the air seemed to be thinning at an exponential rate.  My body still felt strong, so it was a strange sensation to be breathing heavily even though I wasn't fatigued.

Halfway through our traverse on the Autobahn, we caught up to another party.  We were certainly moving faster than this party but opted not to pass them.  We had budgeted plenty of time to accommodate unforeseen issues like this.  Making a pass and saving some time simply wasn't worth the risk.

Roping up at the Autobahn.

As we slowly climbed across the remainder of the Autobahn, the wind picked up and the temperature dropped.  By the time we reached Denali Pass, a stiff wind was blowing into our faces.  It was downright frigid.  Huddling behind some rocks, we quickly finished off our water and ate some more food.

Denali Pass acts like a funnel for the wind, concentrating and accelerating air that is being pushed over the mountain.  This was no place to set up our stove and attempt to make water.  We opted to climb above Denali Pass, to a less windy location, before refilling our empty water bottles...or at least trying to.

Looking like a walrus as the wind howls on Denali Pass.

At an elevation near 18550', roughly 350 vertical feet above Denali Pass, we came to a rock outcropping that was fairly well protected from the wind.  It was still cold, even without the wind, due to the sparse cloud cover, but it was time to make water...or at least try.  I took the stove out of my backpack to begin the snow melting process.

We were a little over halfway finished with our climb, and we had each consumed two liters of water.  Our plan, which is the standard method, was to use our ISOBUTAL stove to melt snow for more water during our ascent.  What sounded so simple in theory didn't quite work for us in practice.

Frustration face after spending nearly 1.5 hours in the
cold trying to get the stove to stay lit.

No matter what we tried, we could not get our stove to stay lit.

We shielded it from the wind.

We warmed the fuel canister.

We insulated the fuel canister from the cold snow surface.

None of it worked.  Each time we would get the stove lit, it would go out after about 10 seconds.  All of our toil yielded just under a measly half-liter of water.  After an hour and a half we gave up.  Our water making efforts had definitely put us behind our anticipated schedule.  Thank goodness for budgeting plenty of extra time.

We made the decision to continue going up the mountain with the water we had left.  If either of us started to feel like dehydration would pose a serious safety threat, we knew to be vocal about it.  We've both pushed through long excursions in the mountains with little water and know when we are reaching our limits.  We weren't at that point yet.  

Even without water, we continued at a decent pace.  A decent pace, that is, until we had to stop again.  Just below Archdeacon's Towers, at an elevation of roughly 19300', we ran into two guided parties who had stopped.  A member of one of the guided parties had had a heart attack, and the rescue effort was under way.

The clouds began to clear as we waited at 19300'.

A high altitude helicopter had been called in and was trying to find a reasonably safe spot to land.  The gusty wind, mountainous topography and thin air made it an exceedingly difficult challenge.  Any time the helicopter would get close to touching down, the wind would gust and he'd have to move to another location.  This meant that the guides running the rescue were constantly moving back and forth across the West Buttress Route to get their patient in a better location for pick up.

We were not about to get in the way by trying to pass.

Having been a part of mountain rescues in the past, working professionally in that field, I know how challenging the task is.  The guides on site and pilot did a tremendous job, but the helicopter simply could not land.  Eventually, the helicopter pilot flew to a lower camp, hooked up a long-line, and returned to long line the patient back to Camp 14.  After a heart attack at 19300', that must have been the experience of a lifetime for the patient - a solo long-line in a basket stretcher from 19300' down to 14200'.

Helicopter trying to evac a patient at 19300'.

We heard later that the patient made it safely to a hospital and was recovering.  I tip my hat to all the rescuers.

Once we got moving again we had been delayed another 1.5 hours.  We were nearing the end of the "extra time" that we had budgeted but were still able to continue upward with reasonable safety.  In fact, we ended up approaching the summit with the guided groups that had been delayed by the rescue, who are generally very conservative with their timing.

When we got to the Football Field we could see the remainder or our ascent - Pig Hill, the Summit Ridge and the Summit.

The roughly 400 vertical feet on Pig Hill was the last significant portion of climbing.

Step.

Breathe.

Step.

Breathe.

The Football Field, Pig Hill, Summit Ridge and Summit.

Pig Hill certainly felt like a pig.  It had been a long day, and the combination of my tiring body, a lack of water and the thin air brought me to the brink of bonking.  Midway up, I gobbled down as much food as I could stomach, giving me the energy to finish of the long day of climbing.  All spring I had worked with The Feed to figure out what kinds of foods work well for me and how many calories I'd need for climb like this.  It really paid off here.

When we reached the Summit Ridge, almost all the clouds had cleared as far as the eye could see.  Ironically, with all of the delays on our climb, the timing was working out perfectly.  It was a sight to behold.  Even though it felt like a long time, less than 15 minutes passed between our reaching the Summit Ridge and reaching the Summit.

Archdeacon's Tower.

The Summit Ridge with Hunter, Foraker, and even the
ocean in the background.

The Summit Ridge with breaking clouds
to the West.

The Summit Ridge.

Josh on the Summit Ridge.

Reaching the summit of Denali.

It is a strange feeling to achieve a goal you have planned for, prepared for and dreamed about for so long - especially in ski mountaineering.  The challenge of standing on a summit is a motivating force for ski mountaineers like myself.  The challenge of the ski descent is the other motivating force.  Although it was an emotional experience to finally be standing on the highest point in North America - a goal I had planned for, prepared for and dreamt about for years - there was not yet a full sense of accomplishment.

Reaching the summit is the halfway point.  The goal would be fully accomplished when I got back down.

I spent some time on top, by myself, taking in the view and purposefully burning the scene into my memory.  The color of the sky, the majesty of the range, the chill in the wind - it is a vivid memory I'll enjoy for the rest of my life.

Denali summit marker.

Josh and I on top together.

Obligatory goofy summit shot.

A little relaxing at the summit.

Josh making his official ski from the summit of Denali.

On top with skis on.

A few moments alone at the summit of Denali.

Ski Denali - Part 4: Skiing Denali Via Messner Couloir

Departing from the summit of Denali was fairly casual.  From the top we made our way down the same way we had come up - Summit Ridge to Pig Hill to Football Field - until we reached the entrance to the Messner Couloir.  Here we diverged from our ascent route, and the casual nature of our descent quickly dissolved into a reserved excitement and intensity.

Skiing from Denali's summit marker.

Skiing the Summit Ridge.

Skiing Pig Hill.

Skiing the Football Field.

One of the beautiful things about ski mountaineering is the amazing singularity, and thus clarity, it can bring to your existence, even if for just a brief period of time.  The sorts of situations you can find yourself in may demand all of your attention.

At moments like these, it no longer matters what is happening elsewhere in your life.  For a brief period of time your life is reduced to you, the mountain and your Maker.

Your mind must not wander.  Your life depends on it.  Even if you are relaxed, you're completely focused on the task at hand.

Standing at the entrance to the Messner.

An interesting side effect of these moments of singularity are the clarity that they give afterwards. It becomes easier to realize and prioritize what is truly important.

Skiing the Messner was one of these situations.  It is a big line that demands all of your attention and focus.

Together and separately, Josh and I had put a lot of thought into a ski descent of the Messner.   Long before ever standing at its entrance, we had: given ourselves go/no-go guidelines, contemplated what the hazards were and ways to navigate them, determined our acceptable level of risk, kept an eye on conditions, and more.

Dropping in on the Messner.

When we found ourselves finally standing atop the Messner, our preparation allowed us to make a decision rationally instead of emotionally.

It was a go, objectively.

Since I had the rope, Josh took the lead.  By going first, he had the highest likelihood of falling into a crevasse, in which case I would use the rope to extricate him.  At least that is the theory...

Navigating to our line.

Calling it the Messner "Couloir" is a bit of a misnomer.  The line is more like a giant, steep funneled face with rocky walls than it is a thin little strip of snow.  There were significantly different conditions on one side of the Messner than there were on the other.  Since we had been keeping our eyes on it our entire time at Camp 14, we were aware of a wind loaded section on the skier's left side of the Messner that was not on the skier's right side.  The entrance to the Messner is from the skier's left, so we had to traverse to the skier's right to avoid the wind load, before skiing directly down the fall line.

Atop our line, about to start
5000 vertical feet of fall line skiing.

The first few hundred vertical feet of skiing were variable.  There was a layer of new, somewhat wind-affected, snow on top of ice.  After we continued to cautiously work our way down, though, the snow became more consistent.

Soft.
Stable.
Steep.

It was the perfect trifecta for a ski mountaineer.  If I hadn't been constantly gasping for air, I would have whooped and hollered the entire way down.  We were incredibly fortunate to get such amazing conditions on such a big line, and we knew it.

Variable conditions at the top of the Messner #1

Variable conditions at the top of the Messner #2

Variable conditions at the top of the Messner #3

More consistent snow conditions and fast turns on the Messner.

Beautiful snow on the Messner.

Face shot on the Messner.

Skiing fast, in soft snow in the heart of the Messner.

Steep and fast on the Messner.

Beautiful light and beautiful snow on the Messner.

Catching my breath on the Messner.

Letting my slough pass just above the choke of the Messner.

Slightly variable snow on the choke of the Messner.

At the choke, things became variable again, and we had to carefully manage our slough.  It wasn't as variable as the top, and we wanted to spend as little time as possible in the choke, so we still skied it with some speed.  At the bottom of the choke, we were spit out onto the apron.

Once again we found ourselves on the deep, smooth and consistent snow.

Once again we ripped enormous turns as fast as our exhausted legs would allow.  

The choke of the Messner.

Coming out of the Messner's choke.

Snow conditions improving and speed picking up on the Messner.

Fast and deep on the Messner's apron #1.

Fast and deep on the Messner's apron #2.

Fast and deep on the Messner's apron #3.

Fast and deep on the Messner's apron #4.

Fast and deep on the Messner's apron #5.

A quick look back up from the Messner's Apron.

Navigating yet another crevasse field.

Crossing cracks.

Alaska skiing.

Looking back towards the Messner.

Our tracks in the evening light.

"Brother's don't shake hands, brothers gotta hug!"

We arrived back at Camp 14 parched, hungry, and ecstatic.  We had accomplished our large, intimidating and difficult goal.  All of our planning, preparation and hard work had paid off.  Our dream had become a reality, and it had happened in style - with fantastic conditions.

I would try to describe the feeling more, but I'm afraid I can't truly articulate such an amazing experience.  Those who have had an experience like it may understand.  Those who haven't likely won't understand.

Still giving high 5's before going to sleep.

I was high on endorphins and feeling good, so I collected snow and began making water.  Josh, who had been steadily getting colder and colder, climbed into his sleeping bag to warm up.  After we each consumed several liters of water and hot chocolate, we switched positions.  Josh cooked a feast of fajita-steak quesadillas while I relaxed in my sleeping bag.

More than an hour after eating dinner, we were still giving high 5's and reflecting on the day, too excited to fall asleep even in our exhausted states.  When sleep finally came, it was peaceful and satisfying.

We were truly blessed.








Below are the raw journal entries from the above day and the day immediately following.  I wrote these on my phone while I was on the expedition and I have not edited them at all, save for some typos.

June 20, 11:20 pm: 14k Camp, 14,200'

We summited Denali today and skied The Messner Couloir.  Amazing.

I'm exhausted.  I'll write more about it later.

Thank God!


June 21, 1:00 pm: 14k Camp, 14,200'

Wow...the past 36 hours have been everything I trained for, planned for and hoped for out of my Denali experience and more.  When I got back to camp last night I was too tired to write about it, so I'm doing it now before I start to forget details.

Yesterday we left camp at 5:30 am with the intent to summit and ski Denali.  We have been eyeing The Messner Couloir all week and it was our primary objective for the trip to begin with.  It is the most aesthetic and direct line that comes into 14k Camp and is considered the marquee ski descent on the mountain.  It is huge and very committing and hasn't been skied in the past several year.  When we looked at The Messner during our bone chilling departure from camp (-20 F) I had a sense of optimism.

Although we lost visibility and had to break trail we made good time up The Headwall.  By the time we were on top of the fixed lines and making our way to Washburn's Thumb the clouds had cleared a little, giving us views of some other parties leaving 14k Camp.  We had to take one extended break on the ridge leading to High Camp due to some bathroom issues, but all in all we were feeling healthy and made decent time.

When we got to High Camp (17,200') the clouds started to roll in again, the temperatures dropped and the winds picked up.  We had a big food and water break because we didn't plan on stopping on The Autobahn, which connects High Camp and Denali Pass.

We roped up for the running belay on semi-fixed picket anchors and started our journey on The Autobahn.  "ANCHOR."  "CLEAR."  "ANCHOR."  "CLEAR."  It really is amazing how much the altitude effects are increased once one gets over 17,000'.  It seems exponential.  Although we were huffing and puffing we still set a decent pace and caught up to a slower moving party, which we got stuck behind.  The Autobahn is actually the sight of the most deaths on Denali, and I'm told it often happens because one group tries to pass another group and there is a slip or mistake.  So, we were respectful and patiently moved along behind the slower party.

At Denali Pass we really felt the brunt of the wind.  It was chilling.  I was fortunate enough to stay warm in my big down jacket but I know Josh was chilled and wanted to get out of there.  We ate and drank as quickly as possible and then pushed forward.

We passed the group that had been ahead of us on our way to the Kahiltna Horn.  At this point both Josh and I had consumed most of our 2 liters of water (each).  So, I got out the ISOPRO stove and tried to melt some snow.  No dice.  I would continually get the stove lit, put the pot on it and within 10 seconds it would die.  We tried everything.  We blocked it from the wind.  Josh warmed the fuel canister in his jacket.  We insulated the fuel canister it from the snow surface.  None of it worked.  After a long time trying we had only melted about an additional 1/2 liter to be split between us for the rest of the day.  That was very demoralizing and the process had set us behind pace again, but we continued on.

When we were just below Archdeacons Pillars (near the entrance to The Messner coincidentally) we ran into a large guided party that was stopped.  Someone in one of the guided groups had had a heart attack and there was a helicopter rescue underway.  The pilot was having difficulty trying to find a place to land and load the patient because of the gusting and swirling winds, so the crew on the ground was continually moving around with the patient to accommodate where the pilot might be able to land.  We thought it best to be respectful of the rescue situation and not potentially get in the way by continuing upward in case that would be a place where the pilot could land.  Eventually, the helicopter flew back to base camp and rigged a long line to hoist the patient down to a lower landing area with less wind before repackaging him inside the helicopter.  Pretty crazy.

By this point we were far behind pace, but the weather was actually improving greatly.  We continued on and made our way across The Football Field (now back on skins and skis).  From here we could see the summit.  The last big obstacle between us and the summit is the aptly named Pig Hill (followed by the benign Summit Ridge).  After so much effort climbing from 14,200' to see this last significant climb makes you really think of it as a disgusting pig.

We did our best to hustle up Pig Hill, having to transition mid-way up from skinning to crampons (we  also ditched some weight that we didn't need to carry to the summit, like the stove), but the effects of altitude and lack of water were really beating us down.  At one point I had to stop so I could eat and catch my breath.  It was the closest I have come to bonking in a long time.

When we topped out on Pig Hill we were back in a stiff wind on the Summit Ridge.  It is amazing how much colder the wind made everything despite the clear skies and brilliant sun.  We left the rope at the start of the ridge and climbed solo up to the summit.

Standing on the summit of Denali was incredible.  I got a bit emotional because it was a dream I've had since I was a little boy of 6 or 7 years old.  Amazingly, the wind had died down and the views were tremendous in all directions.  We spent some time taking pictures, praying and soaking in the moment.

Then it was time to do what we had worked so hard for - ski from the summit of Denali!  I put my skis on and pushed off from the summit marker, making my way down the Summit Ridge and Pig Hill.

We packed our gear that we had ditched on Pig Hill and started to get a little concerned about the time.  I honestly do not know what time we were on the summit because in all my excitement I failed to check.  All I know is that we were behind schedule.

We pushed across the Football Field and to the entrance of The Messner Couloir.  After some discussion about the risks and what we knew about the route from staring at it all we and skiing other lines, we made the decision to go for it.  There was no time to get the still camera out and shoot any still pictures while in The Messner because we were in a hurry - trying to get back to camp and cross crevasses in good light (which we did).  I was, however, able to capture some good helmet camera footage of the descent.

It was truly the ski of a lifetime.  The conditions toward the top were variable with wind effected snow and ice, but once we got into the heart of The Messner it was good.  Even with a very heavy backpack (filled with rope and countless pieces of gear) I was able to rip a bunch of fast, fun turns in one of the most exposed and remote environments I've ever been in.

Josh lead the descent because of his ample experience in glaciated terrain.  He took things a little slower than I because he was unsure of what lay underneath the snow.  Going second I had the advantage of knowing where there were firm/icy/funky patches and where there was good snow.  This allowed me to really open it up when the conditions allowed and back off when they didn't (very important with a heavy pack).  I'm incredibly thankful to have a ski partner like Josh.  We work well as a team and our strengths compliment each other well.  When one of us is struggling, the other is there to lift him up.  This is true in terms of skiing/mountaineering and life in general.  I love Josh like a brother.

Thousands of vertical feet of fall line skiing were a dream come true, from the top through the choke and on the apron.  We made our way down the choke of The Messner (fun snow), out the apron (more fun snow that I got to absolutely fly down) and through the maze of crevasses and broken glacier at the bottom.  At this point we relaxed a bit, hooted and hollered, shortly talked about how amazing The Messner was, took a couple pictures and said a prayer of thanks.  Then we skied into 14k Camp and directly to our tent at 10:30 pm.

We were elated but exhausted and very thirsty.  I was warm and feeling good so I got to work making water while Josh (who had gotten quite chilled) warmed up in his sleeping bag.  After I made many liters of water (and consumed a bunch) Josh had warmed up.  We switched places - me in my bag and him in the kitchen - and he made some quesadillas.

We talked, prayed, and fantasized about what we most looked forward to about getting back home.  Then we drifted off to sleep.

What. A. Day.

It ranks in the top 5 of my life (behind the birth of my Marilyn and my wedding day, of course).

Today we slept until 10:00 am and are getting things prepped to go down toward Kahiltna Base Camp tonight.  Hopefully we fly out tomorrow!