Standing on top of North America

The mountaineer and writer Herman Buhl once wrote "Mountains have a way of dealing with overconfidence.” He couldn't be more correct. Over the course of the last 18 days, I was able to push my mind and body to its limit with a team of climbers and successfully reach the 20,320 foot summit of Mt. McKinley, the highest mountain in North America. It is regarded by many climbers as a more challenging and demanding summit than Mount Everest. Primarily because the loads carried by the climber are much larger, the temperatures are horrendous (80ish miles from the Arctic circle) and no supplemental oxygen. This is my account of climbing Denali (Athabaskan for "The Great One").


On May 12^th, I and ten others were taking our last moments of rest in the hanger of K2 aviation in Talkeetna, AK awaiting a break in the clouds to fly into the base camp glacier at 7,200 ft. Gazing past the airstrip into the distance, I soaked up every ounce of greenery - knowing that things would be cold, hard and white for the next couple of weeks. The team was lively, a fit bunch of adventurers from all over the country, chomping at the bit for their taste of the highest mountain in the Alaska Range. Vlado Haluska, a Slovak climber and refugee from the communist days in Czechoslovakia, would be attempting his 5^th summit in a quest to complete the 7 tallest summits on each continent. Markus Logan, a pastor in the making and a Pacific Crest Trail through hiker, would be attempting his last big climb before seminary. Steve Bott, a ski patroller and backcountry enthusiast from Salt Lake City, UT, would soon find himself in a place that rivals all the grandeur he has seen in the mountains. These are just a couple of the team members sharing the same passion as myself. And then there is the crew from RMI; Paul, Billy and Geoff, a strong and competent group of mountain guides returning to McKinley to get another taste of the bitter and thin high altitude air. It's an addictive sensation.

"Load em up!" were the words that broke me from my gaze as the pilot neared the hanger queuing us to pack up the gear and head over to the airplane. A weather break had come, and it was time to fly into the unknown. Grabbing my bags I walked across the airstrip towards the bright red DHC-3 Otter Aircraft. The planes usually seat about 12 passengers, but half of these seats have been removed to haul our gear to the mountain's base camp. Boarding the plane, the engine begins to fire and the energy of 1000 horses runs through the turbine and sends chills through my skin. The anticipation and excitement is finally coming to fruition!

As we lift off the runway and make our way towards the mountain, I began to see the great expanse of tundra surrounding the Alaska Range, and it was my first glimpse of the river I would be paddling after the climb. As much as I wanted to scout that part of the adventure, I knew my focus needed to be on the immediate task of climbing in the Alaska Range.

Entering the foothills and glacial toes, I started to get a sense of the absolute enormous scale of these mountains. At first glance they resemble the Rockies or the Sierras until you peer further and see the giants of Mt. Hunter, Mt. Foraker, and Mt. McKinley towering above the already immense range of peaks. Among the clouds and jagged ridges we pass through glacial valleys and granite walls making our way up the Kahiltna. Then, as we fly through “one shot” pass, I see the tiny cluster of tents below looking like pepper flakes shaken on a white paper plate. We descend into the landing pattern and become engulfed by the sheer walls of ice on each side, and I am feeling as if I am entering a land frozen in time.

Landing softly on the powdery snow, the engines power down and the door hatch opens to the fresh air of the mountains. After stepping of the plane the feeling of adventure enters the veins and I walk across the snow, my mind and eyes trying to catch up with each other. I have never been to a place of this scale. Every direction I look I see giant mountains blanketed in snow and ice. The sound of icefalls caving off the high peaks nearby rumbles the valley and gives a sense of life to an otherwise desolate wonderland.

The next step is to set up camp for the evening and get our gear and sleds ready to begin the actual climb in the morning. Base camp is the starting point for most significant climbs in the Alaska Range. There is a climber from Japan planning a solo attempt of Denali's West Buttress, a group awaiting a weather window to attack the steep north face of Mt. Hunter, another team gearing up for a bold new route on Mt. Foraker. It's everything I had imagined. After setting up camp and fixing dinner, I tuck into my -25 degree sleeping bag for the night in anticipation of the days to come.

The next 17 days were spent on the mountain and the tale of the climb is recorded in bits an pieces in my journal which I will share at the end of the trip. I am leaving in the morning and heading back up to the glacier to begin the paddling descent of the headwaters all the way to the sea with a comrade from the good old days. Cheers friends.