Yama El Grande

Got up the Yama El Grande again with my brothers and uncle.  A fun fall day.  I made a video:

Denali Part 8: Indispensable Gear

Perhaps one of the hardest things about Denali was getting the necessary gear together.  Fortunately, friends like the Straightchuter, the Powder Whore. and Brian Harder were able to point me in the right direction. I also relied on the American Alpine Club's Denali gear checklist and Mark Westman's Alaska Climbing.  Through these sources, I put together a gear list.  If you, by chance, think you might want to give Denali a go, I'd be happy to share the list with you.

Of the 75 pounds of gear that I took, there were a few pieces that proved indispensable.  By this, I mean that without this gear, the trip very likely would have failed.  Here is my top 10 list in no particular order:

Exped Downmat 7 UL -- Combined with a Z-rest, this mat kept me off the snow and very comfortable.  Towards the end of the trip, ice got inside the mat, but it still functioned well.

Jetboil Helios with custom carbon stove board -- The word on the street for stoves was MSR's XGK.  However, after experimenting with the Helios, I felt it made more sense.  This was confirmed on Denali.  The Helios is a system that has a built in heat exchanger and cozy on the pots.  The pots fit firmly on the stove.  The stove has an integrated wind screen.  Although the stove requires propane/butane canisters, it allows for a liquid fuel feed, which allows the stove to work fine at higher altitudes and colder temperatures.  Finally, the whole system was very efficient.  For 1 large Jetboil fuel cannister, Aaron and I got 3-4 days worth of water and cooking.  

Aaron with his carbon stove board and the Helios Guide cooking system

Mountain Hardwear Trango 2 -- This tent protected us in gale force winds and withstood meters of snow.  Inside it was roomy for two people and has lots of pockets for organization.  

Julbo Trek Glasses -- I had no idea how bright glaciers were.  Luckily, I had these.

La Sportiva RST Skis w/ Spitfire Boots w/ RT Binding -- The RST ski is a light mountaineering ski. Combined with the RT binding and Spitfire Boots, the setup was key to being efficient and fast going up and down.  For true ski mountaineering, the Spitfire boot is really on of the only options out there.  It has a full coverage sole.  It keeps snow from entering the front of your boot.  It has good ankle articulation (not the best, but good enough for hardcore mountaineering).  It is pretty minimal with only two buckles--light, but has good support as well.  

Extolling the virtues of the Spitfire

Camp X3 600 Pack -- These packs weigh about a pound, yet are able to hold all that is necessary for a summit bid.  I've used this pack in nearly all of my other mountain projects.  For most of the trip, it was relegated to a sled duffel, except for summit day.

Climbing up the "fixed" lines with Camp X3 600 Pack.

Montbell Thermawrap -- I've had this piece for 3 years.  It's been used a lot.  It got used on Denali every day.  It's probably the best puffy I've owned.  It's got holes in it; it's discolored, yet it still functions well.  Having been through so much with me, it's developed a high sentimental value.  

Gore Active Shell (Arc Teryx Alpha FL top, Millet bottom) -- Active shell is a newer product from Gore.  What makes it great is that it is much more breathable than other hard shell materials, yet it still is a hard shell.  It keeps wind and weather out, but breathes well enough to allow a person to put out a reasonable aerobic effort without getting drenched.  From base camp to the summit, I wore my Active Shell pants almost exclusively.  Above, 14k my Active Shell top was a mainstay.

Action Suit:  Active Shell clothing, Camp X3 600 pack, Julbo glacier classes w/Buff and visor, La Sportiva Skis

                                                                                                                                                                          Snow 'Chutes -- Brian Harder supplied these.  Their weight to utility/strength ratio is very very high.  We used these things to anchor our tents.  Dig a little hole, put a snowball in, then stomp, and voila, an anchor is set.

Gregory Whitney Pack -- This is a gear hauler.  There were a couple days where I couldn't get this thing on my back without assistance.  Once Aaron hoisted it onto my back, I was able to slog in relative comfort up the mountain.

A 60 pound load. 

Other essential items:

Steel spade

Snow Saw

IPad 

Cathedral Traverse: My Favorite Photos

Below are some of my favorite photos of the Cathedral Traverse, which I did last week with Jason, Chad, and Andy.  While some of those guys feel like we "settled" for the Cathedral Traverse, I am thrilled to have traversed the Cathedrals.  Never before has an outing emphasized the difference between the mediums of rock and snow like this one did.  Never before has an outing emphasized how less-comfortable I am in a vertical environment when the medium is rock.  Will my foot stick?  Will it slide?  Not fully able to predict this, the traverse was a mental challenge for me.  I'm glad I had good partners and good guides.  Thanks guys.

After the clouds lifted, this is the view that greeted me.  I have mixed feelings about this glacier.  On the one hand, it's intriguing, especially since it is August.  But on the other hand, this glacier looks like it is dying.  It is pitifully small.  Has it always been in this condition?  Or  am I  unfairly comparing it to Pacific Northwest glaciers or Alaska glaciers?  

My guide framed in front of the GT just as the clouds burned off.  The North Ridge of the GT loomed BIG.  I was feeling slightly out of my league. 

This is Mt. Owen.  We rapped and downclimbed this mountain.  When the downclimbing got serious (5.6), I pulled out a rope and rapped.  The others waited for me at the bottom.  

The descent of Mt. Owen requires negotiation of this snowfield.  We traversed across the top of the  snowfield, and then downclimbed.  This was scary because there is lots of air at the bottom of the snowfield.  Andy and Chad courageously led the charge and in doing earned a spot in the Top Ten Moments: Bad Ass or Dumb Ass (forthcoming on this blog).  Lucky for us, the snow was very soft, which enabled us to stick our feet deep into the slope.  We each had an ice axe.  I had a prayer.

Two of the Cathedrals of the Cathedral Traverse:  Mordor, I mean Teewinot and Mt. Owen.  

Chad leading the second pitch above the Gunsight.  This would take us to the Grandstand.

This is the view from the Gunsight.  In view is Teewinot, Mt. Owen and Delta Lake.  The clouds didn't completely leave.  Would it rain on us as we climbed the GT's North Ridge?

Jason belaying Chad.

Andy, Jake, and Joe climbing the Italian Cracks.  Photo taken from the Grandstand.

One of the stunning views from the Grandstand.  Mt. Moran in the distance.

Another view from the Grandstand.  Cascade Canyon and beyond.  The thunderheads threatened, but never got serious.

Chad on the second pitch of the Italian Cracks.  

This photo was taken on the last pitch of the North Ridge direct route.  Maybe we were off-route.  Jason led this pitch; Chad and I followed.  As he was doing so, there was an uncharacteristic pause with lots of grunting and gasping.  After a few moments, we heard a, "Whew!  That was sooo physical."  Worried (and serious), I asked, "do you think I will make it?"  Jason said, "I doubt it" and kept climbing.  

Denali Part 7: Summit Day

On Wednesday June 13, 2012, Aaron and I decided that we had endured enough of the Denali weather and that it was time to go home. I walked to the weather board, and the forecast was more or less the same: unsettled today, partly cloudy tomorrow. To me, partly cloudy meant more snow. I had more or less convinced myself that I was satisfied with what we had accomplished, that I didn't need to stand on top of Denali, that I could come back another day.

Fortunately, the weather was unsettled enough that we were forced to second-guess our decision all day long. Looking for someone to snap me out of my uncertainty, I picked up the sat phone and called my friend Brian Harder. What should I do? I asked. He checked the weather and reported unsettled. But he also provided the sage advice that weather on Denali changes quickly. I might have commented that it had been snowing straight for over a week.  But Brian had spent lots of time on Denali.  Could he be right?

As the day wore on, Aaron and I became less resolved about leaving. Around dinner time, in an effort to unload some food, we had Colin Haley and Nick Elson over. In a more positive way that I thought was warranted, Colin asked, "did you see the weather report?" I said I had, but that it was no cause for celebration. Colin said, "are you kidding? Partly cloudy means good weather. That's the best you get here." I said, "Oh." If anyone knew the mountain, Colin did. Needless to say, by bedtime, our plan to depart had eroded. If the weather looked decent when we woke up, we were going for the top.

The next morning, the weather was decent.



By 8:00 AM, it was still well below zero.  Outside our tent, we could hear climbers bustling about, getting ready to go.  We buried our heads in our bags.

By 10:00 AM, we were suited up and ready to go.  With skins, we were able to make relatively quick work to fixed lines.  There, we were fortunate enough to benefit from a booter set by a French party of 2 and a Tahoe party of 4 (I said Seattle in the video, but meant Tahoe).  We stopped at the top of the fixed lines to tend to Aaron's cold feet, putting toe warmers under the tongue of his ski boots.

Around Washburn's Thumb at 16,800, Mark and Janelle Smiley overtook us.  At the 17,000 foot camp, the Tahoe group, the Smileys, and we took a quick lunch break and then continued up to Denali pass.

To reach Denali pass (18,200), you have to cross what is known as the Autobahn.  When I got to the Autobahn, my heartrate increased a few beats.  There was a fair amount of windloading.  And to cross the Autobahn you had to traverse an exposed 40 degree slope.  It's called the Autobahn because a number of unfortunate souls have slid to their deaths off the slope.  By the time I reached the Autobahn, I had passed the French team, and while I could see where the route went, the snow was a clean slate.  Excited and scared, mostly scared, I went into rando race mode and skirted across the Autobahn.

Climbers ascending to the base of the fixed lines from Camp 4.

Denali Pass and the Autobahn.  The three specks are me, Mark and Janelle Smiley.  Photo by Aaron.

Until I reached 18,200, I really didn't notice the effects of the altitude.  Not so after 18,200.  Between 18,200 and 19,000 feet, I felt pretty wasted.  I didn't have a headache, but felt kind of bonked.  Perhaps it was because I pinned it across the Autobahn.  I ate and drank what I could.  We made a rookie mistake by taking insulated STEEL bottles.  Lips freeze to steel when it is below zero.  Aaron seemed stronger here, and I did what I could to hang with him.  At around 19k, the Smileys left us and rallied to the top.

 At the Football Field, around 19k, I looked off towards the head of the Messner.  Luckily, the conditions (lots of new snow, wind, and loading) were such that we didn't even consider skiing it.  At the Football Field, the summit of Denali came into view.  Getting to the summit would require crossing a large flat area, skinning and then cramponing up a 40 degree face to gain the summit ridge, and then following the ridge to the summit.

Unfortunately, my camera literally froze and I didn't get many pictures of the summit ridge.  It was cool.

View of the Football Field from about 20k.  Photo by Aaron.

Me, climbing the summit ridge of Denali.

Standing on top of Denali was one of the coolest things I've experienced.  Fortunately, although we had experienced wind at lower altitude, there was only a breeze on the summit.  It was probably between 10 to 20 below zero--cold enough that we couldn't dally on the summit for long.  At about 19k, the altitude started to get to Aaron, but he battled upwards and stood squarely on top.  Later in the day, he said that it was a bit of a blur and that he felt like there was a baseball lodged in his skull.

Then, we skied off of Denali.  We skied the summit ridge, made turns on the face, and then tucked it across the Football Field.

Aaron standing on top of Denali.

The view from the top.  Looking down on Foraker and the Alaska Range.

Two dudes on top of Denali. 

After we reached the top of Denali, we didn't let ourselves relax.  Driven to movement by the bitter cold, we reminded each other to move mindfully, and to descend safely.  There was no straightlining and lots of sideslipping.  "Just get down safely" was our mantra.  We took our skis off at about 18,500 and walked to Denali Pass and then midway across the Autobahn.  Then, realizing that skiing was probably safer than hiking, definitely faster, we clipped in and skied down to 17 camp.

At 17 camp, we said our goodbyes to some our Camp 4 friends who had moved up to 17 Camp.  We also spent a frantic, cold hour trying to brew up and cook a ramen.  We eventually gave up, resigned to the fact that a Jetboil does not function at 17,000 ft.  Tired and cold, we continued our descent.

As it often happens on epic adventures, a moment of magic occurs.  While an argument could be made that the whole summit day was magical, I will forever remember the magic I walked through at 16,500 feet.  It was 11:30 PM and the sun was just setting, golden hour in the Alaska Range.  The sun's rays and the increased oxygen felt palpable.  This onset of physical comfort coincided with an onset of mental relief: having passed through the gauntlet (twice), at last we could relax.  We could genuinely enjoy the moment.  I raised my arms and axe.

Bliss.  Photo by Aaron.

Aaron descending the West Buttress at the end of Summit Day.  

The Magical Moment.

Perhaps one of my favorite photos of the whole trip is the photo below of Aaron.  I had descended the fixed lines was on a mad mission to brew up, get some food, and go to sleep.  Apparently, at the bottom of the fixed lines, Aaron hung out for a bit and took this self portrait.  I think it pretty much sums up the day: frazzled, burnt, frost nipped, content, beautiful, end of the day.

Self Portrait by Aaron Inouye

But I've Never Been to Disneyland . . .

Dad, everyone in my class has been to Disneyland, except me.

Well . . . I'll bet not many in your class gets to hike-a-bike up Puke Hill.

Are we ever going to Disneyland?

Trust me, this is better . . . 

Ethan, 10 years old.

Denali Part 6: Life at Camp 4

Aaron and I moved into "14 Camp" aka Camp Four on June 6, 2012.  In large part because of its location, simply being at Camp 4 was exhilarating.  Camp 4 sits at 14,000 feet, the highest Aaron and I had ever really climbed.  Camp 4 is surrounded by notorious peaks and features--places that magazines and books always mention, and places to which I've always dreamt of going.  Now we were there.  Messner Couloir, Orient Express, West Rib, Edge of the World, Valley of Death, West Buttress, Denali, Sultana, Arch Angel, Hunter.  

Denali from Camp 4, rising above the Messner, Orient Express, and West Rib

I'm sure part of the exhilaration at being at Camp 4 stemmed from the fact that that's as high as we'd have to haul our junk.  Camp 4 was to be our home away from home.  From Camp 4 we would acclimatize by climbing to 17k once or twice, and then once acclimatized, make our summit bid.  It was a Wednesday when we got to Camp 4.  We thought we could get "it" done by Sunday.  Our level of confidence and optimism ran high.

From June 6, 2012 to June 14, 2012, it snowed every day.  To simply say "it snowed" is accurate and not-so-accurate.  Some days it snowed, other days, it nuked, full-on.  On the days that it snowed, we skied around.  On two of those days  we climbed to the top of the fixed lines, or 16k.  And then we lounged around in our tent.  On another one of those days, we climbed to Washburn's Thumb at about 16,800.  On that day, we turned around because of unstable snow and low visibility.  And then we sat in out tent.  

Climbing the fixed lines to 16k

Downclimbing the West Buttress ridge after going to Washburn's thumb.  Weather was approaching.  Photo by Aaron.

Aaron climbing the West Buttress ridge at about 16,400

On the days that it nuked, we tried to stay out of the weather.  And we pretty much just sat in our tents.  We had a cook tent under which we excavated a table and two benches.  On one nuke day, we spent nearly the entire day sitting in the cook tent and drinking tea.  On another one of the nuke days, we couldn't sit in our cook tent because of high winds.  So we laid in our Mountain Hardwear Trango 2, ate Nutella, listened to a book on tape, slept, watched our tent shake and shimmy, and did our best not to go stir crazy. 

Our camp at Camp 14.  Aaron standing in the "bathroom."

Clouds and weather coming in over Foraker

Inevitably, there were breaks in the storms, even on nuke days.  These breaks provided us a window for a variety of activities, like alternately gazing at the summit and wondering if "it" would ever happen or gazing towards Foraker and wondering if that lenticular meant that "it" would, in fact, not happen.  Like taking a sponge bath.  Like skiing lines of tight powder 8s, eighties style.  Like going to visit the weather board at the 14 Camp ranger station.  Like building snow walls around our tent.  Like hanging out with other climbers.  Like practicing our Japanese; I had never had the occasion to speak so much Japanese.  

Skiers express themselves on the local hill.  Aaron pointing at our powder 8s.  Yes, we simul-skied them.

Sponge bath at 14k--pure luxury

Suffice it to say that after 8 days of weather at Camp 4, our confidence level and optimism had waned.

A Few Snapshots of My Training Week

I'm about 2500 feet above Wasatch Blvd on Grandeur Peak, a go-to training run for me.  But I'm having second thoughts about banging out the last 500 feet.  I stop and look around.  Then, I cautiously and slowly proceed.  A grasshopper jumps and, making a clicking sound, flies away.  I nearly go into cardiac arrest.  I can't take it anymore.  Mentally, I've lost it.  Without looking at the summit, I turn around and begin to walk, not run, down.  I walk as softly as I can, so I can hear.  As I pad down the mountain, I hear something rustling in the skunk cabbage to my left.  I stop.  I bend down and peer through the scrub oak and out emerges a rattlesnake--THE SECOND ONE OF THE DAY.  I scream like my 7 yr old girl, and run away.

I open the door to the warming shack on Hidden Peak, and exit into a thick mist.  It was 104 degrees in the valley yesterday.  But by the time I arrived at the top of Hidden Peak my arms were numb from my shoulders down.  It is probably about 40 degrees right now.  I descend into Mineral Basin and soon the mist is only above me.  Without a plan, I keep descending on a jeep trail,  I've never been on this trail.  At times, the road becomes the stream and the stream becomes the road.  To my right, the mountain is rusting red.  I pass an abandoned mine, and soon I'm in American Fork Canyon in a familiar place: the Speedgoat Pacific Mine aid station.  Now, I pretend that I'm racing the Speedgoat, wondering if this year I will be able to stave off the bonk that left me near-motionless the last two times I climbed this "hill."

It's pouring rain.  Yet a warm feeling of satisfaction engulfs me as I trot down the mountain.  I've met my training goals for the week.  My watch, set to buzz each mile, buzzed for the 21st time today.  The rain falls harder.  Where the roads converge I meet, nearly collide with another runner.  Our eyes meet as we now share the same trail.  The strides lengthen.  And lengthen.  I feel the soreness and the fatigue in my legs and feet melt away.  At times, loose rocks cobble a runnable path.  Other times my feet disappear into rivulets.  I hope I don't turn an ankle.  Mud flies over my head.  Water courses down my face.  I taste salt and grit.  My feet are squishy.  Running is raw.  I am running flat out.