Outdoor Research Verticulture » Alaska http://www.outdoorresearchverticulture.com Get Stoked! Outdoor Research Verticulture Sat, 04 Feb 2012 05:31:57 +0000 en hourly 1 http://wordpress.org/?v=3.2.1 Adventure in the NW Fork of the Lacuna Glacier http://www.outdoorresearchverticulture.com/2011/09/adventure-in-the-nw-fork-of-the-lacuna-glacier/ http://www.outdoorresearchverticulture.com/2011/09/adventure-in-the-nw-fork-of-the-lacuna-glacier/#comments Fri, 09 Sep 2011 16:32:11 +0000 Teresa Bruffey http://www.outdoorresearchverticulture.com/?p=7180 “..adventure – in the grand old manner – is obsolete, having been either exalted to a specialists job or degraded to a stunt” -Peter Flemming, Brazilian Adventure (1933)

Flemming’s book is about the exploration of the Amazonian interior in the 1920′s. It is a story about getting lost in the wilds of the world, exploring what was then a large blank spot on the map. I first read this quote when I was twenty years old, while pinned down on the weather stricken west coast of New Zealand. I took the word ‘specialist’ to refer to ‘climbers’, and took pride in being one of those who might be able to participate in adventure ‘in the grand old manner’. I was in the process of cutting my teeth amongst the steep ice and rock of the Southern Alps and chasing dreams that I hoped would one day lead me to the greater ranges. This exploration of the unknown was the drawcard. This was the reason for my dreams and for my planned progressions into the big mountains.

Five years later, a relativity short amount of time by many accounts, including graduation from University, seven expeditions, and seemingly countless months on the road, had put me in a different realm of thinking about the world and the mountains. I had found that many of the far away places were in fact well known, that the discovery of the new areas was an opportunity to be relished and sought but was not always easy to find. So I continued the progression on routes new and old, always with a keen ear to the ground for these lands unknown

In the winter of 2010 my good friend and climbing partner Mark Allen called me about a photo he had come across of a glacier in Alaska of which we had never heard. We determined that it was possibly accessible with skis from the epicenter of Kahiltna Basecamp and by all accounts unknown. With a bit of work, photos lined up to maps, together showing steep terrain and big relief, our excitement built. We planned for the Alaska range in the spring.

In the lower 48 Mark and I trained and watched as winter loosened its grip for the year and we prepared for another trip into the big mountains. Between us, we had taken more than a dozen expeditions into  the Alaskan Range and because of this the process of getting into the mountains felt routine. Before long we were on the glacier with our heavy rations of pork product, quesadillas, and whiskey

Our goal was to access the Northwest Fork of the Lacuna Glacier, a small area located between the Yetna and the massive bulk of Mt Foraker. We knew that some of the peaks had been climbed from the opposite (Yetna) side by our friends from New Hampshire during previous seasons, but we had found no evidence that anyone had climbed from the Lacuna (east) side. So we set our sights to cross under the South Face of Foraker and wander into the unknowns beyond.

It took us four days to reach the NW Fork on our first trip. Two areas on the map that looked to be low angle and no big deal turned out to be heavily crevassed icefalls surrounded by loaded slopes.  With patience and persistence we eventually reached our goal having traveled a total of 27 kilometers from Kahiltna. And while it might not have been remote compared with the old timers who walked into the range, we both felt as though we might as well have been on the moon.

Entering the NW Fork was magnificent as we were greeted by the massive Southern and Eastern features of unclimbed peak 12,213 with it’s series of aesthetic buttresses pouring down at steep angles towards us. To find an untouched zone, and within it such a peak, was a combination of intimidation and dream come true.

We immediately set up a camp at it’s base and the next evening started an attempt on one of the buttresses on the right side of it’s South Face. Excellent mixed climbing led to desperate and terrifying ridge climbing. Moving slower than expected we made it through the worst and reached the broader ridge above, where we spent a comfortable night on a well protected and almost big enough perch. The next day, on the ridge to the summit, what we had anticipated to be easy climbing was in fact deep, faceted, dangerous snow on steep aspects. With three weeks left in the range we bailed, with the intention of letting the mountain cure, in order to make the transition out of the dangerous winter snowpack into the safer and faster spring conditions we needed.

So we returned to Kahiltina; to the pork, the whiskey, and the people. To fill our time we climbed the West Ridge of Hunter, a classic in the true sense of the word. While not on route we caught up on podcasts, watched Lord Of The Rings, shot a thug life video, and waited.

Within a week the conditions had improved and it was time to return. This time the ski to the Lacuna took us two days and we felt much more comfortable with our setting. The longer steeper buttresses in the middle of the face seemed to offer more technical climbing with less scary ridges and we happily opted for this option.

Starting the next evening we embarked onto some of best mixed climbing I have experienced anywhere: wild exposure and aesthetic steep technical climbing with a few bits and pieces that I wouldn’t wish on anyone. The cornices and ridge climbing were also still very much present and accounted for, but we made it back to the summit ridge without too many dramas. Upon reaching the ridge we were forced to look out with disdain on the large black clouds close at hand. The remoteness and the high consequences of heavy snowfall on our descent had us turned around and back on the glacier a few hours later, watching the clouds swirl on the peak above.

The next morning we found ourselves near the end of our trip, two days from base camp, with dwindling food and clearing skies. As we lounged, awake in the sun-warmed tent, resting from the 26 hour push the day before, we independently considered the proposition of heading back up on the mountain. By the time we finally started the conversation it was already clear that we were going to stay in Lacuna a little longer.

Slowly we packed, ate our meager rations, and continued to rest. Essentially we were to use our food for getting back to Kahiltina for one last attempt on 12,213 and therefore would ski back without food. We both knew we could do it. We both also knew that it would hurt. But subtle glimpses of magic are always afoot and we found in the bottom of a bag two packets of instant coffee which to two fellas from Western Washington might as well have been gold. With bags packed and the face out of the heat of the day, we slugged down lukewarm strong coffee and felt the power surge back into our bodies.

Six hours later we were standing on top of 12,213, having climbed a direct coulior on the South Face, an easier but more threatened 4,500ft line that we were able to simul-climb in two super long pitches. The climbing consisted of brilliant steep neve with the odd moderate mixed move, and fantastic fast terrain. On top we were able to look down over the Yetna and into the wide open tundra beyond. The ski back was no longer a concern,  simply a matter of continuing the perseverance and good decision making a little while longer. We had achieved our goal of climbing a new mountain and had an adventure ‘in the grand old manner,’ just as I had dreamed of so many years before.

Graham and Mark coined peak 12,213 “Voyager Peak” after the Voyager Satellite that launched in 1977 that is still exploring deep space. You can read more from each of them on their respective blogs; Nomadic Wanderings of a GZ and Expeditions Northwest

They would like to offer huge thanks to those who helped make this trip happen: The New Zealand Alpine Club, The Mount Everest Foundation, and Outdoor Research, with additional support from Julbo USA, Cascade Designs, and Feathered Friends.

]]> http://www.outdoorresearchverticulture.com/2011/09/adventure-in-the-nw-fork-of-the-lacuna-glacier/feed/ 0 Going Beyond Ourselves http://www.outdoorresearchverticulture.com/2011/07/going-beyond-ourselves/ http://www.outdoorresearchverticulture.com/2011/07/going-beyond-ourselves/#comments Wed, 13 Jul 2011 01:04:05 +0000 Harry House http://www.outdoorresearchverticulture.com/?p=6857 I had never been in a prison before.

It was night out, and I walked with the guard through the wired gates in the yard under the yellow glare of the lights to reach the austere auditorium. It was there, in a sparse room with plastic chairs, the inmates, including my friend, came to see me speak of an ‘adventure.’ At least that’s how it started out. Before long, however, it evolved into everyone talking about their own dreams – of things they hoped to do someday. And guess what; no one wanted to climb a mountain or explore a canyon. They wanted to run a marathon, to talk to their brother again, to ride a motorcycle across America. They wanted to do these things not just a little, but a lot. I envied them that.

After two hours, a voice from a balcony above us informed everyone it was time to head back to our respective homes. So many people coming up, hands outstretched, thanking me. And later, from the inmates and the guards: “I especially appreciated the connection you made with your audience.” “The men truly appreciated your taking the time to come and speak. I have heard many comments already this morning from the men.” The experience went from one of trepidation and minor inconvenience to high gratification.

Since then, I’ve contemplated what makes us feel that way – rewarded. Is it just plain having fun? Or is it having dreams, and acting on them for better or worse? For many years, I’ve voted ‘yes’ to the vision quest thing. I would guess that many others would as well. A less obvious question is what is the kernel of our dreams? Or do we just come up with this stuff out of nowhere?

It seems so often, it is actually the actions of others that are in fact the roots of our dreams. By dint of their life work, their mannerisms and style, or some pinnacle of achievement, they lead us on. We may think, for example, it was our hearing about an unclimbed ascent that first ignited a flame, but was it really just our awareness that others have climbed such peaks that laid the foundation of our hopes and goals?

Packrafting the Aniakchak

When I review my own list of those I most admire, or have been inspired by, it’s all over the map: Sally Ride for exploring space and other uncharted territory; my grandfather for his consistent humility and appreciation of simple things; my parents for always placing our needs ahead of theirs. Being an outdoors-sort, of course there is a long list of explorers and ‘adventurers’, especially from days-gone-by. They have all shaped and motivated my goals and perspectives, and have made my life richer than it would have been otherwise.

 

Imagine living a life that is not only fun, but rewarding. After all, fun is transitory, but gratification endures. Fun is great, but how can we all get some of that other stuff? Consider that certainly one of the most satisfying rewards is the knowledge that you have inspired others to chase their dreams… What then is the secret sauce that would make that happen? Is it some particular action? Is there some sure-fire pattern of behavior or scale of achievement that consistently resonates with others?

I don’t have the answer to that, but I do know one thing: For my part, the people who most inspired me weren’t trying to.

This summer, Harry and a friend will be paddling through little-explored waters of Mongolia. With plans as tightly dialed as possible, there are still many “unexpected’s” to come; maps are unreliable and resources limited. Keep an eye out for a report from Harry on the expedition and his discoveries when he returns in August.

]]> http://www.outdoorresearchverticulture.com/2011/07/going-beyond-ourselves/feed/ 0 Alaska Expedition 2011: Kahiltna http://www.outdoorresearchverticulture.com/2011/06/alaska-expedition-2011-kahiltna/ http://www.outdoorresearchverticulture.com/2011/06/alaska-expedition-2011-kahiltna/#comments Wed, 29 Jun 2011 18:14:55 +0000 Teresa Bruffey http://www.outdoorresearchverticulture.com/?p=6546 After last year’s success, Mark and Graham are returning to the Alaska Range for the month of May under the team name Pirates of Rad with aspirations to explore this year’s condition on the massifs of the Kahiltna Glacier. We’ll be updating their progress with reports from the field. Follow their journey here.

The setup: I was perplexed for a moment. Graham was below at a hanging belay and I had lead until he had no more rope to give me. For several minutes I dug down to the wall through sugar snow looking for some feature to attach an anchor to. After several minutes of digging, I reached rock.  But when I cleared away the snow, I found a steep sheet of granite with no cracks. The headlamp light faded down the fluted snow searching for alternatives. After the mixed section of my pitch I had sprinted this first unprotected snowfield, hoping for a solid anchor. To follow this pitch Graham would have to pendulum 40ft to get on line. We needed an anchor. I resumed digging. Over 10 cubic meters of snow had been removed with my ice tools before I found a flake. Not knowing if it was attached to the wall and four marginal pieces placed, I backed up the “C+” anchor by digging my heals into a stance. I held both lines with my hands. Graham was on belay.

These memorable moments of last year’s trip have come to mind over the past twelve months. But these are not the reasons Graham and I are compelled to go back. They are bi-products of the stress, concentration, good and bad fortune that comes with navigating long, complex alpine terrain. Our motivation instead comes from the inspiring stories of other climbers on these steep faces. Like them, we hope to add something innovative to the history of alpinism.  Contribute our memories to the narrative. Each year, we chose a new mountain feature, a new imaginary line, and test our ability to actualize that vision. To create moments.

The Alaska Range is magnetic, compelling and formidable. After several decades of climbing history there remains much to be explored, many lines to be drawn. Each peak has unique characteristics that give it distinct allure and personality.    When conditions, ambition and abilities align over the next 4 weeks, the stories will begin to take shape. We are stoked to go back. ~Mark

The Kahiltna is home to some of North America’s largest alpine faces belonging to Mt. Hunter, Mt. Foraker, Denali, among others. Mark and Graham, the Pirates of Rad, are looking to forward to getting after it again. Follow their trails here on VertiCulture and more detailed information on Markallenalpine.com.

Continue to Dispatch 1»

]]> http://www.outdoorresearchverticulture.com/2011/06/alaska-expedition-2011-kahiltna/feed/ 0 7 Things to be Afraid of While Ice Climbing…. http://www.outdoorresearchverticulture.com/2011/05/7-things-to-be-afraid-of-while-ice-climbing/ http://www.outdoorresearchverticulture.com/2011/05/7-things-to-be-afraid-of-while-ice-climbing/#comments Wed, 04 May 2011 18:16:32 +0000 Teresa Bruffey http://www.outdoorresearchverticulture.com/?p=6425 These are the lessons learned from the first ascent of Milago de Plata (WI6, 300M), a big ice climb in the wilds of Alaska.

Jason at Bart Lake, Alaska

#1 Big Hanging Daggers
I looked down at my harness to count how many ice screws I had left. There was only three remaining. Above me a wall of vertical ice continued endlessly with the only change in relief being a shallow indentation about 40 ft. above me. It wasn’t even close to being a ledge, but it was where I needed to belay.  I took a deep breath and kept climbing. Each swing was arduous despite the ice being soft. A long day of hard climbing can do that to you. I was absolutely soaked from the first half of the pitch, most of which was directly beneath a giant hanging dagger of ice that sprayed water from its tendrils. I tried to convince myself that it was highly unlikely to fracture, however it was plainly obvious that it had broken off recently and then reformed. If that dagger chose to succumb to gravity while Ryan and I were climbing under it, it could wipe us off the wall like a pubescent teenager might flick his buggers into the warm air of a sunny afternoon.
What To Do: Hope for the Best

 

#2 Running Out of Protection
Behind me the sun was low on the horizon.  The sky was taking on a pleasant orange hue and alpenglow lit up the ice. We were high enough now that the mouth of the Taku River could be seen emptying out into the larger channel of South East Alaska’s Inside Passage. One lonely boat was adrift out there in the distance. It was a dramatic and beautiful sight and as much as I wanted to gaze over and enjoy it, I was wrapped up with my own demons. High above my last ice screw, trying to muster up both calmness and courage to reach the slight indentation where I would set the belay, I was struggling to keep it together. Too far from help to make a mistake, your mind does the math for you, like the voice of a nagging brother reminding you of the trouble you’ve gotten yourself in to.. You’re tired, you’re way run out, darkness is fast approaching and you’re high on some giant wall of ice in the middle of nowhere. Gulp! Swallow hard. Now breathe. You’re there now. Once that ice screw is in, you’re safe. Focus. Hold on just a little longer. Clip. Done.
“Off Belay Ryan!” I shout into the void.
What To Do: Silence the demons and stay calm!!!!

 

#3 It Gets Cold at Night
I’m trying hard to be psyched about completing the pitch and I am. It was a fantastic lead on my part and one I will remember for a long time. This beautiful orange light that surrounds me is rapidly disappearing. I can see it changing to a cold dark blue below. I’m soaked through, hanging from two ice screws somewhere near the top of a one thousand foot wall of vertical ice. Somewhere, not quite near enough to the top. This wall seemed to have gotten bigger as we started climbing on it, and now I fear the oncoming dark might freeze me solid. I know that once that sun drops as will the temperature.
What To Do: Deciding you should start early in retrospect is too late to do any good.




 

#4 Unhappy Climbing Partners
Ryan climbed into sight below, soaking wet. I lied and told him we had about sixty feet of climbing left to the top.  That seemed to lift his spirits for the moment.
What To Do: Say what you need to say

 

#5 Falling ice from the Leader
Ryan set off climbing the next pitch and I assumed the protective pose, hunched over just slightly while trying to hide under my helmet.  At the same time I tried to imagine pulling all of the remaining heat in my body in towards my core.  Every belay on this climb was hanging and none were sheltered from falling ice or debris.

So much for the old ice climbing adage of the belayer must stand clear of falling ice.
Ryan climbed the sixty feet I had prescribed and then yelled down that we still had a long way to go.  I wasn’t sure what that meant.  Actually I did.  I just wasn’t sure how long it meant that I would be hanging in the cold while ice bounced down the wall.   I prayed only the small pieces would hit me.  Had I been more of a believer in religion, I might have prayed for something more extravagant, like a warming hut at the summit stocked with firewood, liquor and virgins.   Instead I kept it simple.
What To Do: take up a religion, or better yet, stand out of the way if you can

 

#6 Dodgy rap anchors
The summit celebration was short lived.  There wasn’t much to be seen beyond the light of the headlamp and a short orange gradient on the western horizon. The alder we were tied to bent under our weight.  This last detail disconcerned me, actually all of the details were kind of disconcerning.  Fear is kind fun until you become afraid. I had asked Ryan to rappel first as I needed to have a moment to get my head together, but being left alone in the night watching the alder bounce up and down under his weight wasn’t helping.
Rappelling into the blackness was unnerving, but otherwise uneventful.  On such a steep wall, the ropes pulled smoothly and had little opportunity to tangle.
What To Do: Send your partner down first

 

#7 Not having a name for your first ascent
We were soon in camp sipping on Leyenda de Milagro Tequila and debating what to name the climb.  Ryan had mentioned that inspiration for route names could often be found on a bottle of liquor.  The apple does not fall far from the tree, I thought, this coming from someone who lives in Juneau. Regardless, the name was right there before us, Milagro de Plata.  The silver version of the tequila or translated to “the silver miracle”.  It was a bit grand of a title, but then so was the climb.
What To Do: Liquor makes everything sound better

 

Read more of Jason’s writing here on VertiCulture or on his blog, Visual Adventures.

]]> http://www.outdoorresearchverticulture.com/2011/05/7-things-to-be-afraid-of-while-ice-climbing/feed/ 0 Cutting Baby Teeth http://www.outdoorresearchverticulture.com/2010/11/cutting-baby-teeth/ http://www.outdoorresearchverticulture.com/2010/11/cutting-baby-teeth/#comments Wed, 24 Nov 2010 22:36:21 +0000 Tom Murphy http://www.outdoorresearchverticulture.com/?p=5222 


A famous first descent this was not. The range itself, the Neacolas, is only famous within small circles, those that are conscious of the massive efforts of the likes of Joe Stock who pioneered several range-wide traverses in Alaska. And it only came into public awareness with events such as Mt. Redoubt’s Eruption January – March 2009. In short the Neacolas are the northern most part to of the Aleutian Range, butting up against the Tordrillos, which are the southern most part of the Alaskan Range. The Tordrillos have been on the tip of skiers’ tongues for years on account of Chugach Powder Guides’ Tordrillo Mountain Lodge, the jumping off point for the famous Kings and Corn helisking/fishing trip and home to hundreds of untouched descents. The sister range to the south is home to large volcanoes and a largely unexplored set of peaks with couloirs, faces, and Patagonia-esque spires. Plenty for everyone and a great spot for some good-old-fashioned human powered soul skiing.

Our trip to the Neacolas started with a few days of weather delays, a theme that’s expected in Alaska. We had four (ish) days of good weather in our nine on the glacier, an unexplored patch of ice just north of the Cook Inlet. Our first day was a divide-and-conquer mission to check different aspects for stability. The results were pockets of instability caused by a persisting gropple layer of inconsistent thickness. That evening the weather rolled in and our little camp became the boundaries of our world. It was like being on house arrest.

Three days later a bit of improved visibility inspired a quick tour to ski a short shot low on the slope to the west of camp. As we headed out, things opened up. The clouds lifted and we found ourselves staring across the glacier at one of our objectives, the Teeth. The smaller of the two teeth looked better than ever and we decided to push up towards it, at least enough to get a feel for the conditions. With our late afternoon start, it proved to be a good idea. The sky went completely blue and it was a beautiful tour that would lay the groundwork for our ascent the next day. A descent in deep, heavy snow in a lower angle couloir brought us back to the glacier and back in our tracks; it was an easy glide to camp.

The next morning, we got an early start and headed up our track breaking trail past where we had turned around the day before, pushing up onto a massive bench on the shoulder of this mountain. The windless, nearly cloudless day made for perfect conditions and so up we went, choosing to head up the South East Rib. Steep skinning turned into even steeper boot packing until we reached the shoulder before the last ramp to the summit. The curving aspect that we came up was like the front of a shark’s fin and from the shoulder we could look over the back of the fin, a vertical, precipitous drop of over 1000 feet.

The climb to the summit was easy and straight forward. From the top we took a few pictures and a few moments to reflect on our accomplishment. Looking north and east we saw the looming monument that is the larger of the two teeth. Access to the larger objective was definitely not easiest from our vantage. We concluded that it would be better to go further up the glacier before even beginning that climb. Thoughts of the larger peak were brief in the reflective celebration of our first Alaskan first ascent and looking to the first descent that was to follow.

From the summit we skied down the face that had been visible from the bench from which we had begun our climb on the rib. Decent snow, the rush of isolation, and the spirit of pioneering a route both up and down that had never been done before was incredible. There is still snowy frontier out there and it’s closer to home than you’d think.

]]> http://www.outdoorresearchverticulture.com/2010/11/cutting-baby-teeth/feed/ 0 Return to Paradise http://www.outdoorresearchverticulture.com/2010/08/return-to-paradise/ http://www.outdoorresearchverticulture.com/2010/08/return-to-paradise/#comments Thu, 26 Aug 2010 18:24:00 +0000 Harry House http://www.outdoorresearchverticulture.com/?p=4324

The route for our Aniakchak-Meshik loop in July 2010. Google Earth.

One year later, we stood again on the crater’s rim, looking down into the depths of our emotions.

This time, sunlight played across the entire caldera, revealing formations and undulations we had never seen during our previous encounter. For the first time, we could see the entire majestic panorama before us; like a reward of some sort. “Welcome back”, the wind whispered. Shyly: “Did you miss us?”

“Did we miss the volcano?” I’m not sure any of us had thought of it like that. A strong desire to ‘finish the trip’ took hold within days in each of us the year before. The hard way – again. Stubborn –determined… stupid? But Miss It?

“Yes”, we replied – “we missed you.”

Down the same slope of cinders we plunged, approaching new fields of snowpack glaring back at us in the sun. As we rested at the bottom, seven caribou sashayed past while we snacked. Rising again, we headed across the landscape toward the lake. We knew the way. By evening, we were putting our camp down within two feet of where it was when the storm hit the year before. A stronger camp – tighter, but with escape routes planned, like a wildebeest at a waterhole.

At our feet, still in the ground, stuck a stake from the year before. I used it.

Our camp at the base of Vent Mountain near Surprise Lake. Photo:Thomas O'Keefe.

We spent the next three days exploring the caldera floor and features, ‘looking for gear’ as an excuse. The Park Service had found one of our sleeping bags earlier, and we stumbled onto a paddle. Not much else – except for all the geomorphic treasures hidden by space and time. “I’ve never seen something that looked like that before”, I would ponder. “Be careful where you step”, we would say to each other. “It’s bigger than I thought it would be”, I would muse. I felt like we were doing time in nature’s funhouse.

Lest we forget where we were, the volcano soon reverted to form – hitting us with wind and rain, shutting down visibility and preventing any visitors from dropping in on us from above. Outdoor Research had ensured we were prepared for it all – as long as we kept their provisions in-hand. For those days, the funhouse gave access in spurts, but protected us as well, like new friends. “See”, she said, “I can be nice when I want to be.”

As we traversed the landscape, we at times came across our path from the storm. “This is where I got picked up and blown through the air!” Megi exclaimed. “This pond looks different now – I can actually see it!” “Here’s where Tom ran for the gear.”

When we came to the ‘emergency camp’, where we had spent the night in the storm, people became quiet, unsure of what to say or do. We found a few stakes buried in the grass; took a ‘group photo’. We climbed up to the ridge where the Coast Guard had dropped in with the Jayhawk, and stood on the spot where they put down. “Other people will stand here someday,” I thought. “They may camp here, or have a snack. They will take in the view, and maybe remember it for the rest of their lives.” I looked down towards the emergency bivouac, reflecting. “But we will emotionally own this patch of ground until we die.”

It was misty and cold the day we ran the volcano.

As we slipped through the Gates and out of its embrace, the volcano shut down behind us. “Go”, she prodded us, “it’s time for you to go.” And so we did. In heavily loaded Pakrafts, we ran. We ran for closure and redemption, and a promise to the Coast Guard. We ran because we are paddlers, and that’s what we do. We ran for each other. But mostly, we ran for the sheer joy of descending a pristine river that comes out of a volcano in the middle of nowhere.




For miles, the river sped through tundra and spilled over rocks and ledges without pause. I put my foot through the bottom of my raft on a sharp rock. I ran the next drop with it hanging out the bottom like the Flintstones driving in their car, up to my hips in water. No matter. Megi and Tom patched the boat, and we continued down to where the river paused the next day.

In our plans, we had hoped to complete a giant circle back to where we began, via a second river to the southwest. With some regret, we collapsed our boats and left the river behind, our last connection to the interior of the volcano. From now on, we ran under the shadow of the volcano as we wrapped around its base, but were no longer part of its hidden secrets.

Tracks at Meshik Lake. Photo:Harry House

A day later we found ourselves re-inflating our rafts next to a muddy bank, about to put in what looked like an irrigation ditch next to a lake. Three Red Salmon swirled in the stagnant water at our feet. “You know what that means”, said Tom. “Bears”, I nodded. An hour later, a side stream came in, and the ditch turned into a clear, narrow stream hurriedly winding over gravel bars and high banks. The salmon ran in thick schools from shore to shore. At every turn, we envisioned startling a sow and her cub, fish-in-mouth, not amused. We ‘sang out’ for two days running.

And bears there were; a gauntlet of them; each one behaving in their own manner. Running away, running towards us and standing to look, not running at all, but slinking back into the brush. One, having jumped out of the river at seeing us, thought better of it, jumped back in to grab a particularly nice fish in his mouth, and then hopped back up onto the bank again to watch us slide past while he dined.

The weather worsened as we descended the river towards the Bering Sea. Though we were only a few miles from the volcano, we caught only occasional glimpses of it to remind us where we were. Unsure of the wisdom of taking the rafts all the way out to the ocean and down the coast, we elected to pull off the river a few miles from the mouth and portage back to our starting point. Looking back on it, logistically, that was probably a mistake.

On the trail back to Port Heiden. Photo:Harry House

The next two days entailed a lot of swamp-walking, with occasional slivers of relatively hard ground to follow. The packs were still too heavy for conditions, the price we paid for combining a river trip with an extended backpack journey. As a friend told me once, when experiencing the consequences of a questionable course of action in the outdoors, we were “out here to get some EXERCISE!”

Two weeks after we departed, we stood again on our point of embarkation. Our bodies had paid the price. When we got back into town, we asked a helpful fellow we had met the year before if he thought we were going to make it this time. He smiled, dodged the question, and said “we were just discussing yesterday that you were about due back today…”

The next day, we boarded a plane back to Anchorage and homeward, back to our normal lives and routines. Airborne, we looked out the windows to the south, towards the volcano, but it was veiled in angry clouds, as usual. Just as well – to remember it like that. Each of us knew what lay concealed in that curtain of mist, both the physical wonders and our own memories.

We also knew we would likely never return.

In 2009, Harry, Megi, and Tom attempted to run the Aniakchak but their adventure quickly turned into an epic after their camp was destroyed in a storm that hurled 80mph winds through the crater. A dangerously cold night spent in only bivy shelters – their sleeping bags having been blown away – and a rescue by the Coast Guard quickly brought their journey to an end. Read the original story here.  Congrats Harry, Megi, and Tom on a successful and slightly less epic run this summer!

]]> http://www.outdoorresearchverticulture.com/2010/08/return-to-paradise/feed/ 0 The Gates of Paradise http://www.outdoorresearchverticulture.com/2010/07/the-gates-of-paradise/ http://www.outdoorresearchverticulture.com/2010/07/the-gates-of-paradise/#comments Tue, 13 Jul 2010 00:05:01 +0000 Harry House http://www.outdoorresearchverticulture.com/?p=3753

Harry descends from the rim of the Aniakchak caldera

Megi, Tom, and I stood on the gray ash and rock rim of the volcano, looking down into the mist.  As we waited, we dropped our overloaded packs into the wet dust at our feet. The same wind that was chilling our sweat was also whipping the fog into eddies in the chasm below. Swirling.  Spinning. Slowly lifting; higher and higher. Watching.

And then, we saw it.

Down in front, a perfectly circular vent of sand-like ash hundreds of feet high. A child’s dream playscape, for Tonka Trucks, pails and shovels, or simply rolling their bodies in. Looking a bit higher, the entire caldera revealed itself. Snowfields. Lava fields frozen in motion; slick black or covered with moss. Undulating. Sliced with meltwater rivlets and gulleys. Stretching beyond, six miles, a horizontal sliver of blue against the other rim – the lake. The entrance to the Gates.  And just like that, it was gone. But we had seen enough…a memory snapshot.

We knew we had a clear descent to the floor of the crater. A thousand foot plunge through a repose of course black sand. Energized, we shouldered our packs, and descended into the haze.  Against our instincts, slowly, carefully, respecting the weight on our backs pressing down with each step into the slanted ramp. By the time the slope leveled off onto the flats, our thighs were burning. No matter. We had entered a new world; a self-centered ecosystem that played by its own rules, permitted to do so by surrounding walls thousands of feet high in all directions. Though we had miles to go before our lake camp that evening, we all felt a sense of exhilaration and attainment. For the next few days, this would be our playground to explore. We felt free, like ‘adventurers’, if there is such a thing anymore. In the sequence of our plans, we had just completed a ‘crux move.’ Our visions were all forward looking; to the caldera, the Gates, and the rivers beyond. If we had taken a moment to reflect, we would have realized we were also potentially trapped.

For the next two days, we climbed lookouts, bathed in hot springs, and paddled the lake. An immense brown bear ambled by our camp the first evening, heading across the flats until the low white cloud engulfed him. If he hit the wall on the other side, would he bounce back into us?

One morning, I walked alone to the outlet of the lake, where the river formed and made its way to the singular cut in the side of the bowl; the Gates. I came to the point where it made its break through the gap; a low flat terrace covered with colored lupine, with the river sliding quietly past to my left. Downstream, the river boiled through a set of rock teeth. To my right, a small tributary that sourced from under a lava flow added its weight to the river’s momentum on its way to the Pacific. I stood entranced for a long time. The day after tomorrow, we would begin our descent through the Gates. I had dreamed of this spot, of that moment, for a quarter century.  “There’s this volcano; it has a lake in it, and a whitewater stream pours out of it to the ocean:  Run the volcano.” That either resonates with someone, or it doesn’t. It can’t be explained. If it does, it’s impossible to be disappointed with the reality once you’re there. What I didn’t expect was how stunning it all was; how perfect the point of egress. For me, it was a misty paradise.




The next morning, before our final hike, I said to Tom and Megi, “I’d like to say that at this point we’re home free, but I know better than to ever say that, so I won’t.” Prophetic. We packed extra gear and food, and set off on our last excursion in our hidden world. Our route took us to the other side of the crater and around a large vent mountain. What we didn’t know was that the largest storm of the summer was approaching the volcano.

It started slowly, building over a period of a couple hours, at our point of maximum distance from camp. By the time we started angling back, it was in full force. An hour from camp, gusts were picking up handfuls of gravel and driving them into our backs. After one particularly heavy blast, I told Tom, “If a gust like that hit our camp, it’s gone.” Tom began to run towards camp across the hardpan flats. He disappeared in the driving rain and fog. As Megi and I neared camp, we could make out Tom waterbugging about the area, and then sprint downwind across the tarmac. I knew at that moment we had problems.

When we arrived in ‘camp’, it became immediately obvious how serious the situation was. The shelter had been flattened and was in disrepair; the bivi sacks, sleeping pads, and sleeping bags were gone. All of the clothing was wet, as were we. Megi took off after Tom and disappeared into the mist. We had a little over an hour until dark. I gathered together what was left of the camp, bunched it downwind of a soil berm, and started moving towards the others.

Most of us who recreate in the outdoors never come close to death; not really. Or maybe some of us do, but are too unaware to realize it at the time. How many of us wonder, “If I ever was in such a situation, how would I react? How would my partners react?”

I don’t have to wonder anymore.

As I walked through the storm, I felt almost disembodied from the reality of the situation. While none of us were “professional outdoorsmen/women”, or better yet, natives living in the wild, we certainly had enough experience to fully realize the implications of our predicament. It’s not that we didn’t have good gear. For example, Tom, the gear nut, had suggested we all go with the Outdoor Research Advanced Bivi Sack, which he considered the best of the best. Which was all fine and good, until it goes blowing across the caldera like a drunken weather balloon. I continued to simultaneously act and detachedly observe. It was almost like an academic study; “so this is how people perish in the outdoors…by increments.”

Ahead, I saw Tom hand Megi an armful of gear, but before she could get back to me, she dropped to the ground to keep it from blowing away. There was a lot of scampering and long running, at least by Tom. Some of us did their best to act calm. Others concentrated on persevering. Search for a new camp, away from the Gates. Miraculously, and probably fortuitously, all three bivi sacks were recovered and a few other things. Insulation? What’s that?  Darkness fell, and we burrowed into a makeshift nest as time ran out. I remember green parachute cloth between my face and a cold, wet piece of lava; the feeling of chilling, wind-driven rain racing over the tops of our bodies. But mostly, I remember a voice in the dark stating: “Actually, I’m not sure we are ok.”

Tom looking out over the valley on the hike in to the Aniakchak crater

We later learned winds were clocked on the volcano at 80 mph, but I suspect they were higher near the Gates. No big deal, unless you’ve lost your toys in the rain.

Morning broke, and we spread out looking for gear and trying to improve the situation. We found one parachute chord. Critically, one of the boats was missing. The storm dropped some, but was still running hard. Someone asked me in my experience, how long storms like this last up here, and I said “three days.” (It lasted five.) We examined our options, considered the risks, and made our decision.

We triggered the emergency beacon late that morning, so whoever might come would have plenty of daylight to work with. A couple hours later, a Coast Guard C-130 out of Kodiak began overflying the volcano. Then we heard a Jayhawk helicopter thwupping through the Gates a hundred feet off the deck, cross the lake (lights flashing), and drop down into the wind on a nearby ridge, power on. “That took some balls”, I thought. In minutes, we were barreling down the river and out of the caldera.

Surreal. Grateful. Embarrassed. Stunned.

The captain told us we had left the best contingency plan they’d ever seen. Said it wasn’t our fault (of course it was.) Park Service said the same thing the next day. Nice of them all, but we knew better. A series of small mistakes normally don’t matter, but they do when you’re five miles from camp in a blowout. How lucky to have the U.S. Coast Guard watching your back, at least once.

So what does one do when your dreams are crushed by the winds of fate? You’ve had your memory, and given it your best shot after all. In this modern world, that’s about as good as it gets in any event. At the end of the day, there’s always another mountain to climb; always another river to run, by yourself or someone else. Who really cares what would have happened to us on the other side of the Gates? Who cares if we ever stand again on that terrace of flowers, boat in hand, about to complete a youthful dream? Who cares?

We care.

Run the volcano.

]]> http://www.outdoorresearchverticulture.com/2010/07/the-gates-of-paradise/feed/ 1 The Ruth Expedition: Field Updates http://www.outdoorresearchverticulture.com/2010/05/the-ruth-expedition-field-updates/ http://www.outdoorresearchverticulture.com/2010/05/the-ruth-expedition-field-updates/#comments Mon, 17 May 2010 22:23:29 +0000 Graham Zimmerman http://www.outdoorresearchverticulture.com/?p=2726 4/16/10: Dispatch Eight, We are out!

After receiving 150cm (60”) of new snow in at our base camp in the Ruth Gorge over the last 7 days (April 7th-14th), the Gri Gri boys (Japan’s premier club of Alpinists), Graham, and I spent several hours over the last few storm days stomping out a glacial run way for Paul Roderick to land his plane and digging out camp.

We chose to end the trip early because there was only one good fly day in the next several days and the peaks will not have time to shed all the new snow in time for us to climb. So we simply focused on getting out in time.

Building a runway is very time consuming. The size and length required to land the Beaver or the Otter bush planes is a great length when skies are your tools. Several times our work was covered by new snow but all the packing improved the success of the landing and more importantly the take off. A few times we had breaks in the storm fit for a pick-up but it was snowing heavily in Talkeetna thus the airport was shut down.

To bide our time in tent city, with the aid of the solar panel and ipod technology, we had countless hours of pod-casts, such as Radio Lab, BBC documentaries, Savage Love, Dirtbag Diaries…

This is what the typical day looked like….

SE Face of Mt Bradley

8:00am- Wake up. Hit the inside of the tent so the snow slides off outside. Go back to sleep.
8:30am-Repeat
9:00am-Repeat
9:30am- Think about waking up- turn on a Radio Lab podcast and indulge for 45min, brush the snow off the solar panel
10:15am- Graham makes coffee and I start digging out camp, make weather observations
11:30am-Eat, listen to This American Life
12:30pm-Dig out camp, make a weather observation
1:30pm- Retreat to Tent, Read, Sleep, Pod-cast
3:00pm-Make Quesadillas
3:30pm-Start drinking whiskey, talk about climbing
4:00pm-Make hot chocolate with whiskey and continue to talk about how cool it would be to be climbing
4:30pm-Go back to the tent and watch a BBC broadcast
6:00pm-make a huge meal and talk about how cool its going to be when we get to climb after it stops snowing.
7:00pm Weather observation and work on the runway, dig out camp.
8:00pm Watch a movie in the tent, talk about how good its going to be when it stops snowing

Repeat…

On April 15th, we had a wild pick up as Paul Roderick and TAT co-pilot Will tag teamed all the glacial pick-ups and drop-offs. Its been 7-days since a plane has left the airport so the list is long for folks wanting to fly. Will landed the Beaver in the Gorge and over shot the strip because of a strong tail wind and powered the ski plane through a turn and back to our stomped out loading zone slightly breaking a sweat. I had never seen a plane get face shots; now I have, it was an amazing sight.

Now back in Talkeetna, drinking beer at the Fairview, smelling the plants for first time, de-gearing, and reacquainting our selves with old friends and Talkeetna while counting down until we fly back with Seattle.

Graham and I are now going through all of the media and will be putting together some video dispatches, photos, route and trip beta for your enjoyment. Thanks for all of your support and your interest in our trip. Until next year!

4/15/10: Dispatch Seven

Mark and Graham called in on Tuesday with an update to their plans.

It’s been snowing every day here and has left over a meter of snow since we returned to camp on the 7th. So we’ve been tent-bound and waiting for the weather to clear. Today we received word that forecasts for the gorge are for precipitation to abate a bit Thursday. The forecast after that does not look positive as a storm is approaching from the West with high winds and lots of precipitation. Unless the weather circumstances improve, the snow will encumber our chances of climbing during our remaining days and we will fly out Thursday while the visibility permits it. The good news is that we’ve run into the Giri-Giri Boys, a group of Japanese climbers who have been pretty accomplished here in the past. We’re the only two parties in the Gorge right now, so tonight we’re going over to party with them in tent city.

Glimpse of the East Face of Dickey during a 5 day storm

4/10/10: Dispatch Six

Mark and Graham called in Saturday with the following update.

It’s April 10th and Graham and I are all packed up, everything’s repaired.  We spent the last several days repairing our body’s and equipment; eating a bunch of food and getting ready to go.  We’ll be aiming for link up of SE face and the South face of Mt. Huntington.  We’re planning on being out for 4-5 days, and just got word that we’re going to have some bad weather: Precipitation up to about 10″ of snow next 48 hours ( Sun/Mon ) so we’re just going to stay here until Tuesday morning and then head out of camp then. We’ll give you guys an update on Tuesday and then we’ll use our remaining time to tackle the link-up on Huntington.  We’re super pumped, and we’ll talk to you soon.

- the Ruth 2010 dispatcher

4/8/10: Dispatch Five

Mark and Graham called with details of their summit of Mt. Bradley:

After the bivi, heading out in cooler afternoon temps

April 5th at 4pm we summited Mt. Bradley via a new route on the SE buttress. This 4600ft buttress of sustained mixed climbing required twenty-nine pitches, nineteen of which are M5 or WI4 or harder. After sixty-six and a half hours including three on-route bivies, Vitalogy, Alaska grade V, M6+ WI5 5.9R A1 was opened.

On the evening of April 2nd we left camp and after regaining our highpoint from the first attempt on March 31st, we establish five new pitches before our midday bivy that day. The 1500ft of climbing included sustained 5.9 rock, an A1 tension traverse, M5 mixed, and a transition from boots to rock shoes and back on lead. We encountered cooler temps the next afternoon and began a beautiful ice ribbon, 1000ft in length, averaging WI4 with cruxes of M5+ and WI5. This was by far the most enjoyable climbing on the entire route. Then, we continued up a steep, blocky ridge. This was [when the] the first of three storms hit. We climbed in full conditions to the base of a large 1000ft granite tower, the second major crux of the route.

The storm broke while we pushed seven pitches of sustained mixed climbing until we were spent. We spent the night on an exposed ledge perch bivy, and then we finished the tower and simul-climbed to the summit on steep exposed snow slopes and spines.

When we topped out, there was much rejoycing and we saw two ravens circling us before they joined us on the summit. This was the first sign of widlife we’ve had the entire trip.

Mark and Graham on the summit of Mt. Bradley

We had perfect weather when we summited and it was awesome climbing through the storm. We spent about thirty minutes on the summit and finished our food and found that the normal descent was out this season. So we were forced to rappell into undiscovered country, 1500 ft down the headwall to a glacier and then descend 1000ft of icefall to the valley (backside) glacier and an ice-cave bivy. That’s when the second storm hit and it brought twelve to twenty inches of new snow in places, pinning us down for a day without food and little fuel.

Then the next afternoon during a clearing we were ready to start wading through seven kilometers of new snow over the entire backside glacier back around 747 pass and then down into the Ruth glacier to gain our camp. A third storm hit, requiring us to navigate in a whiteout, in the dark, to find our camp. We finally got back to camp after 99 hours. It was an extremely challenging endeaver and we’re super psyched to have completed the line.. it’s a beautiful feature on the peak.

They will be taking a couple days to rest and repack.  Please check back for regular updates or to listen to podcasts of their dispatches on their blog.

4/7/2010: Dispatch Four

Great news this morning! Mark and Graham called in having just now returned to camp after four days of climbing, descending and glacier travel. They completed a new route on the Southeast face of Mount Bradley. Their descent was slowed and complicated by the arrival of a storm and several inches of new snow. They are back in camp for a good meal and some rest and plan to call in tomorrow with details of the climb.

- the Ruth 2010 dispatcher

4/2/2010: Dispatch Three

Greetings! Here are Mark and Graham’s updates from today at 3pm:

Graham climbs the mushroom tunnel after the Lightning Bolt Courlior

We retreated yesterday after about 7 pitches on the SE face of Bradley so we did not continue up and bivy.  As we were coming down the route, from our high point our ropes got stuck and we had to resort to some alpine trickery to get our the ropes back and then we had to hang out on the wall for an additional hour in a cave while heat of day threatened the stability of some loose snow slopes.  Once everything cooled down we could safely walk back to our skis and ski back to camp.

So we’re back here now… just chilling, our pirate flag is still up.  Now, we’re going to go right back up onto the wall but we’re going to have a different strategy.  Instead of leaving at 3am, we’re going to leave at 3pm ( Friday ).  And then climb through the cold of the day and then through the night and hang out in the heat of the day ( Saturday ) for our bivies.  We’ll get about 9 hours of climbing and bivy in the sunshine, and then come off the next day ( Sunday ).  We’re going to go for the same route.  [ listen to the podcast for full route description ...about 500 ft of steep snow up a ramp, leads to 5.10 offwidth in a cave, pop out of the cave to the crux ]  And we figured out how to get through the crux, we needed to bring rock shoes.  So we’re going to bring rock shoes this time and we think we’ll be able to finish the route in this style.

We’re still psyched and conditions are improving every day.

- Submitted via the Ruth 2010 dispatcher

SE Buttress of Mt. Dickey from Base Camp

4/1/2010:  Dispatch Two

Mark and Graham called in last night (March 31, 2010) at 9:00pm with the following dispatch from the Ruth glacier:

Paul Roderick dropped the two of us off in the great Ruth Gorge at 4,450 feet on the glacier between Mt. Dickey and Mt. Bradley. We spent the first two days getting dug in, setting up tents, building snow walls, so that our camp will be safe from the weather unattended. We took several ski tours up and down the glacier from camp to see what was in good climbing condition and we can see that several of the hopeful lines will be coming into shape soon yet have been loaded with fresh snowfall in the last seventy-two hours and need to clear by sloughing off for safe climbing.

That said we have chosen a mixed rock and ice climb on an attempt on an unclimbed line on the Southeast face of Mt. Bradley which is not threatened by large snow slopes. We are climbing with bivouac gear intending to spend one night on the wall and summit on the second day. The temps here have been perfect, ranging between fifteen degrees and thirty-two degrees Farenheit, and the barometer looks to be holding.

We’re super pumped for this climbing and to be climbing together on such a beautiful peak. Wish us safe climbing and we will post our progression when we return. We’ve been having a great time, laughing a lot, we’ve been having beautiful weather, a couple small snow storms, and we’re just really psyched to be getting after it. We just can’t stop taking pictures this place is super beautiful, super majestic. Graham says love you all and he’ll talk to you all when he’s down. Apart from that…. ah, we’ve got our prayer flag up. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention, we are the only people here in the Alaska range, period. There’s no one else that’s flown in this season, we’re totally alone, and this is kind of unheard of and we have this place totally to ourselves, so it’s a pretty amazing situation. Alright! We’ll be back in two days and we’ll make our next dispatch then.

- Submitted via the Ruth 2010 dispatcher

The rarely seen East aspect of Huntington. Photo by Mark Allen

The rarely seen East aspect of Huntington. Photo by Mark Allen

3/28/2010 : Dispatch One

After running around feverishly in Anchorage (getting a flat in Joes Stock’s civic) and getting all of our kit, we have now made it to snowy Talkeetna via the graces of longtime K2 pilot and friend Tony Martin. After meeting with our pilot Paul Roderick of Talkeetna Air Taxi, he has informed us that we will not be able to land in the Private Idaho glacial landing zone below the South Face of Huntington. Private Idaho is the location Jack Tackle and Jay Smith landed last season 09’ when establishing the first assent of the route we intend to target Prizefight -V WI5 M5 R completing a line to the subsidiary summit of the Southeast Face below the South face.

What this means to our expedition is that we will forgo getting dropped with a base camp at the base of Huntington South or East faces as previously planed. Now we are focusing on digging in a camp the Great Ruth Gorge within range of dozens of climbing objective. The conditions and temperatures are good for climbing here right now making potential for getting things done. Paul Roderick will be landing us with 350lbs of food and gear in a large corridor positioned just between Bradley and Dickey. From hear we will travel the strip of the Ruth Glacier and window shop for a route coming up with a strategy for climbing a peak.

We also have been informed that we are the only party in the Alaska Range right now to the parks knowledge. This will change soon enough but for now Graham and I have the Alaska Range to ourselves which is a rare experience.

As for South Face of Huntington there has been little activity there because of the very problem of access. We are in good position to evaluate attempting the 1979 approach, which would entail several kilometers of glacier travel, and a few ice falls, a full scale AK mountaineering multi-day approach. We are hoping to gain more information from the flight into the area. More than anything Graham and I are ready to go climbing enjoy all the highs and lows of climbing here in this majestic place.
Wish us luck and stay tuned.

Check out Mark and Graham’s video below from their pre-trip prep:

If you missed the intro video, check it out. Its a good one – you’ll be happy you watched it. And check back soon to follow Mark and Graham’s expedition with regular updates on this page.

You can also check their blog, huntingtonsouthface.blogspot.com for updates and to listen to podcasts of their dispatches.

]]> http://www.outdoorresearchverticulture.com/2010/05/the-ruth-expedition-field-updates/feed/ 2 February Dreaming… http://www.outdoorresearchverticulture.com/2010/04/february-dreaming%e2%80%a6/ http://www.outdoorresearchverticulture.com/2010/04/february-dreaming%e2%80%a6/#comments Fri, 16 Apr 2010 00:47:03 +0000 Tom Murphy http://www.outdoorresearchverticulture.com/?p=2982 Here in Alaska there has been a warm snap. Above freezing temperatures and liquid precipitation has wreaked havoc on the snowpack. A slide closed the Seward Highway for a day just south of Girdwood. All I can do is wonder what mother nature has in store for us this year.




Last year the eruption of Redoubt with its apocalyptic display of ash and electricity quashed our plan to ski in the Neacola Range and forced us to resort to plan B, a trip to the Scandinavia Range in the Chugach. With commanding views of Marcus Baker and excellent terrain in the area it seemed to be a good option. The trip was great and some ski objectives were completed. We summitted and descended Greenland Peak. Made strong attempts on Finland and Norway peaks as well as two shots at the NW couloir off the shoulder of Denmark Peak. The breakable crust and questionable stability as the slope angle ramped up made those two attempts fall short. The only thing missing was quality snow. The thin pack made for hop turns through sharks’ fins and light footed turns on variably breakable crust rather than classic high speed big mountain descents but a great trip none the less.

So I reminisce about that trip and what some of the descents could have been like in better condition. But mostly thinking about how great it was to have such a talented group of skiers with the strength to make the most out of what ended up being a mountaineering trip instead. It was nice to be there with individuals with the determination to tackle the most aesthetic lines that were taunting us from camp in spite of the poor conditions.

This year has new potential. Even as I write this, the snow is starting to fall outside again. The temperature is dropping along with the barometer and winter is returning to the 49th state. This is good news. We have new plans for the Neacolas. Better researched and bolder in our goals we are headed to a region that has seen fewer visitors than the International Space Station, with our sites set on several first ascents/descents in this drainage. Look for more updates, as the trip approaches and planning and preparation gets underway. As long as the conditions hold and Mt. Redoubt stays docile there should be much to muse over come next February.

]]> http://www.outdoorresearchverticulture.com/2010/04/february-dreaming%e2%80%a6/feed/ 0 The Ruth Expedition http://www.outdoorresearchverticulture.com/2010/04/the-ruth-expedition/ http://www.outdoorresearchverticulture.com/2010/04/the-ruth-expedition/#comments Mon, 05 Apr 2010 18:19:42 +0000 Graham Zimmerman http://www.outdoorresearchverticulture.com/?p=2591 In March 2010, Washington State Natives Mark Allen and Graham Zimmerman will embark on a four-week expedition to the Central Alaska Range to establish two new routes on major peaks. We are deeply motivated towards making this significant contribution to our personal achievements and to Alaskan climbing history. Our team plans to climb with style and creativity – and is also possessed of a variety of practiced multimedia skills to document the expedition. We invite you to join us by reading our updates as we post them throughout the expedition.

You can follow Graham and Mark’s expedition here on VertiCulture or on their blog, www.huntingtonsouthface.blogspot.com.


]]> http://www.outdoorresearchverticulture.com/2010/04/the-ruth-expedition/feed/ 2