It was perfect day in the mountains. The day was crystal clear with a temperature of about -10 degrees C and a light breeze was blowing off the ridge. The ridge was steep and corniced on one side where the south face dropped off a few thousand metres.  Each step required concentration as one mistake could lead to disaster. Ahead, I could already see a few Goretex clad climbers milling around on the summit taking photos and resting. I was on the summit ridge of Denali, the highest and coldest mountain in Alaska and North America at 6200m. A few minutes later, I reached the summit, took a few photos and tried to wipe the big grin off my face. Glaciers peeled off in all directions and the warm plains with meandering rivers could be seen in the distance. 

15 days earlier we had flown into base camp (7200ft) on the Kahiltna Glacier, below the magnificent Mt Hunter, and began our journey up the mountain. Now it was time to head down and back to civilization. 

Seven hours earlier, Jason and I had left the high camp at 17000 feet with some warm clothing and a few litres of water and some energy bars and gels. We took an ice axe each and a trekking pole each and didn’t bother with a rope or harnesses. Exhausted and not acclimatized well, Jason turned around after reaching Denali Pass at 18000 feet. I kept going, concentrating on my breathing and continuing for 50 steps before leaning on my trekking poles for a rest.  

The Alaska seed was planted after a successful winter trip to New Zealand in August 2002 with Jason Swinney. I originally suggested the West Rib route, a slightly more technical and less crowded route than the more popular West Buttress route and a more moderate and achievable introduction to the Alaskan mountains.  

We arrived in Anchorage, Alaska on the 8^th June, 2004 and bought all the necessary food and supplies to last about 25 days on the mountain. The next day we headed to Talkeetna by shuttle where we would catch our flight into the mountains. The intense cold and effects of altitude in the Alaskan mountains are legendary. Frostbite and altitude sickness are common ailment for climbers on Denali, so our agenda included sufficient acclimatisation time and some of the warmest clothes and boots available.

After 3 days of waiting in Talkeetna and multiple servings of Sourdough hotcakes, we got the go ahead to fly in. 

“Beefies, You’re up”. 

Five planes flew out within 15 minutes. We had a small window in the clouds and had to make the most of it. The anticipation of flying through gaps in the jagged mountains in the tiny Cessna, looking at peaks I had only seen in photos was hard to contain. A camera cannot really capture the views or the anticipation of finally coming to terms with the mountain that had dominated my thoughts for the last 6 months. 

Upon landing at 8pm, we surveyed our surroundings and the 100 or so climbers lingering around base camp waiting for a flight out. Not wanting to linger in the crowded base camp, we headed off into the fog with our kiddie sleds on a hard-packed trail, arriving at camp 1 (7800’, 2400m) at the head of the northeast fork of the Kahiltna glacier. From here, we had originally planned to head up the NE fork and climb the West Rib after an acclimatization trip up the West Buttress. After some discussion, we decided to change to the Upper West Rib instead and started sorting our gear and food in preparation. 

Time seemed quite irrelevant due to the constant light of the arctic summer. For the entire 4 weeks in Alaska, the sun would dip below the horizon for a few hours around midnight, but it never really got dark. 

When not sleeping or moving, the days were spent reading cooking, frying salami and melting snow for water. The exertion and altitude made it necessary to constantly hydrate with around 4-6 litres a day. 

After about 4 hours of snowshoeing up the Kahiltna glacier with the Kahiltna Peaks on the right and the massive Mt Foraker on the left, carrying a monstrous pack and towing a little kiddie sled filled with food and gear, we arrived at camp 1 (7800’, 2400m) at the head of the northeast fork of the Kahiltna glacier. The benefit of travelling at night on the lower glacier was understood during the day when the sun made conditions almost unbearably hot and glary. The day was spent cooking, frying salami and melting snow for water and sorting gear for our attempt on the west rib. With an acclimatization trip out of the question due to motivation, we loaded our packs with 12 days of food and fuel in preparation for a foray into the horribly crevassed northeast fork to the base of the West Rib. 

After shouldering our stupidly heavy packs and foreseeing the difficulty of technical climbing with such massive packs, we changed plans and decided on the upper west rib. This entailed following the longer west buttress route up to the 14000’ camp then joining the west rib at 16500’. We left for the 11000’ camp at around 9pm with sleds and packs repacked and arrived tired after about 5 hours of slogging and crashed in an empty tent site. 

After a rest day and a carry of food and fuel to 14000’ (4200m), a 3-day storm hit the mountain. This ended up being one of the more hectic 3 days I’ve endured in the mountains in all my trips. The wall built of painstakingly cut snow blocks drifted up quickly and our sheltered campsite became a snowy hell. Every 2 hours we were forced out of the tent to dig out the completely buried tent. Visibility was down to about 5 metres, but in our fogged-up goggles and full storm gear, we couldn’t see much more than the end of our arms. After about 36 hours, we decided to move the tent to a more exposed position where the snow would blow past and not bury us in a drift. With wet clothes and sleeping bags, we slept soundly for the first time in 2 days with the tent ripped and flapping around us. 

The storm abated overnight and the next day dawned clear but still windy. One of the clients from a neighboring guided party emerged from his tent after the storm muttering in a German/English accent “I’ve never been so bloody cold in my entire life!”. As some battered climbers descended past us from the higher camps, we learned that 8 tents had been lost or destroyed at the 17000’ high camp during the storm.

We rested for the day and headed up to the 14000’ camp the following day encountering around 50-60 knot freezing winds around the famed Windy corner, where the wind tends to funnel through a small gap in the mountains. Jas chose this most inopportune moment to have a movement. Startled onlookers wondered what on earth he was attempting, laying down in the snow and thrashing around. I was jumping around, trying to keep sane and warm in the freezing wind and wondering the same thing. 

On arriving, we discovered our cache at 14000’ was buried under about 6 feet of snow. After a rest day, we headed up the ‘Cut-off’ to the junction with the West rib at 16500ft for a reconnaissance. Jas struggled with the cold and the altitude, so I continued alone to 16500ft. 

After a lot of soul-searching overnight and careful consideration of the weather forecast and Jason’s fitness and level of acclimatisation, I proposed we change to the regular West Buttress route. To give us both the best chance of success, we could both travel at our own pace up the upper mountain and make our own decisions depending on how we were feeling. Jas agreed and we packed and headed up the headwall and along the very scenic and windy ridge to the 17000ft high camp. The ridge to 17000’ was probably the most spectacular part on the whole route, with the rocky ridge dropping steeply off both sides and amazing views in all directions. Another storm was forecast in 2 days, so the tents were secured well and snow walls were built high around the tent. 

After 3 days at 17000ft (5200m), the day dawned clear and cloudless. Summit day! This was our 15^th day on the mountain and we were more than ready to get up and get back down. We prepared and left high camp about 10:30am after the sun had hit the tent. There were a few groups ahead of us so the going was slow. The first 2 hours were spent in the shade of the mountain and the hands got a little cold.  Once I reached Denali pass at around 18000ft, I emerged into the sun and warmed my fingers up and got my warmer mitts out. I had neoprene over-boots over the top of my super warm double plastic boots so my feet were toasty warm for the entire day. Just before he reached Denali pass, one of the guided clients accidentally dropped his rucksack. Everyone on the ‘Autobahn’ watched helpless as the bag trundled 400m down the hill. Summit day was over for that guy as he and his guide had to descend to retrieve the bag. 

Summit day was a day of constant steep slopes followed by a beautiful scenic and sharp summit ridge. Breath… step… step… breath… step… step. This was the rhythm I followed all day. One foot in front of the other was all that was required. Not what you’d call a spectator sport. 

After a few more hours I reached the football field and one of the guides pointed out the summit to his clients- closer than I thought. I left my pack and half a litre of water on the plateau and headed off with my two cameras, half a litre of water and some energy gels.  A steep slope ended on the summit ridge, which was then followed for a few hundred metres to the summit. To the right, the south face dropped off steeply for 4000m and to the left, the football field and the beautiful Mt Foraker in the distance. The summit was a warm -10degCelsius with only a light breeze. I arrived on the summit about 530 pm and took the obligatory photos. Quite hard to capture the moment really, but a mixture of relief and happiness prevailed. After half an hour on top, I headed down, cruising down the slopes losing height rapidly, psyched to be going down at last. I reached the camp about 2 hours after leaving the summit. Jas had turned around, physically exhausted at Denali pass at 18000ft and was happy to be heading down the next day. 

We packed up and descended the next morning with the aim of getting to base camp that day. Jas was in charge of throwing the 4 days of human waste into a crevasse, but he managed to mistime the throw and drifted the biodegradable bag (and contents) off-course with an impressive hook shot. On descending past windy corner and the Washburn face, I noticed some fresh rock fall along the track. The weather had been warm – too warm. About 3 hours later, one of the rope teams from a guided group was hit was truck sized boulders while passing through that area.  Two clients were badly injured and one was killed. A sobering reminder that we are merely privileged visitors to the mountain arena.

After a brief rest at the 11000’ camp for a few hours, we hooked up our sleds to continue the journey to base camp. Dragging a sled downhill really sucks and after a few minutes of frustration, we decided to sit on the sleds, hold on for dear life and ride them down. Wooohooo. We hammered past 5 Japanese climbers who had left about 1.5 hours ahead of us, waving as we zoomed past, just in control. I only crashed once.

We arrived at the 7800 ft camp in about 2hrs and decided to wait for the glacier to freeze a bit harder. Conditions had changed considerably since we were last here. The snow bridges had melted out and were very soft and dangerous. We roped up and headed down to BC about 330 am. Many scary crevasse crossings later and we were nearly at the base of Heartbreak hill, the final hill up to the base camp and airstrip. I suddenly sunk up to my neck, snow-shoed feet kicking into the void below the worthless snow bridge. Somehow I managed to swim out with my huge pack and sled dragging behind. A half an hour later, we arrived at BC and signed up for a flight out. 2 hours later, we landed at Talkeetna airport, safe and relieved to be back in civilization. 

No longer beefy, we had each lost about 10 kilos, a combination of the effects of altitude and a large amount of exercise. Real food and beer was the order of the day, so we headed for hotcakes and pizza, classic American cuisine – a good end to a great trip.