As the warm light of the rising sun filtered through the tent, I could feel the temperature slowly rise to a comfortable level. Several birds were singing a chorus as they scurried around the camp. Songbirds and warm sun.
Was the beginning of our long-planned Juneau Icefield crossing just a dream? I rolled over in my sleeping bag and felt the snow crunching under my insulated sleeping pad. It was no dream.
It was our first morning after a cold night. Fourteen members of the Juneau Alpine Club (JAC) were camped at 4,600-foot level of the Llewellyn Glacier just below the base of Juneau Icefield Research Program's (JIRP) Camp 26. The songbirds were snow buntings returning from their migration.
Our trip planning began several months ago at a JAC meeting when I proposed the idea of skiing the length of the Juneau Icefield from the toe of the Llewellyn Glacier in British Columbia to the Mendenhall Glacier and out the West Glacier Trail. Over 20 people showed up for the first planning and information meeting, but other commitments and apprehension whittled the number down to our team of 14.
Trip planning and training involved a commitment, and the team had to be strong, self-sufficient, and above all, compatible, to be successful. Days of glacier crevasse rescue training, weekends spent skiing with heavy packs and towing gear on small plastic sleds, long nights spent preparing food and gear, and hours spent programming the logistics of flying the team to the drop off site in a remote location in another country were finally put into play.
Day 1- Friday April 26, 2002. It was 7:30 A.M. when the team gathered at the Ward Air hangar to begin our journey. The skies were unbelievably clear and our pilot, Ed Kiesel, brought the ski equipped DeHavilland Beaver close to the hangar and started loading our equipment. Tim Arness, Bill Forrest, Carol Race, Dave Duntley and a few hundred pounds of gear were loaded on the first flight. Kelly Mitchaud, Peter Gorman, Bob Cita, Tom Bornstein and more gear were flown out on the second flight. Kathy Landry, George Koening, Dr. Johnson, Greg Bledsoe, Don Larson, the final load of supplies and I were loaded for the last fight.
With clear skies and very little wind, the flight across the ice field couldn't have been better. We approached the site that Bill and I picked out on an earlier survey flight, and Ed gently touched the skies of the loaded aircraft down on the hardpacked glacier. A quick unloading, and Ed was off. As the roar of the radial engine faded away, an exhilarated group of skiers readied to begin the trip. Fourteen people and more than 1,000 pounds of gear were spread out along the glacier, yet we were all dwarfed by the sheer magnitude of our surroundings.
It was 1 P.M. We spent the next two hours organizing gear and preparing the rope teams. Since we were not sure of the crevasses along this stretch of the glacier, we thought it would be wise to rope up. With three ropes, we divided into two teams of five and a team of four, attaching ourselves to the ropes, along with the sleds and packs.
In the event one of us should fall through a crevasse, we could unclip our packs and use our Prusik knots to climb out, leaving our supplies to be hauled up once we were safe. As we moved south, ascending to the top of the 24-mile-long glacier, it was slow going at first. To keep the rope from tangling along the train of skiers and sleds, we had to make several adjustments to our myriad of knots attached to the packs, sleds, and our harnesses.
By 6 P.M. we reached Camp 26 and stopped for the night. Although we had only skied four miles and gained a mere 800 feet of elevation, we were hungry. A chilly wind was blowing, and we quickly set up our tent camp on the snow. Several ambitious members of the team hiked to Camp 26 buildings which loomed on a steep cliff a hundred feet or so above the glacier. The view of our camp was spectacular.
Day 2 - Saturday April 27. We didn't have our routine down yet, so it took nearly three hours to get the group underway. We decided to continue without being roped up. The group set out in stages several minutes apart. Most of us had 90-plus pounds of gear. Tom, Bob, Peter, and George pulled most of their equipment in sleds while the rest of us had at least 60 pounds in our packs and pulled 30 pounds in sleds. The snow was perfect for skiing but with the weight of our packs, the gradual climb, and the thinner air at more than 5,000 feet, we plodded along at a very slow speed.
By 1 P.M. we had progressed only three miles in two hours of skiing and gained another 700 feet. The sun was warm, and we lingered for two hours during the lunch break. We pushed on for another two hours and decided to call it a day, establishing camp 2 at nearly 6,000 feet. We had progressed 6.2 miles for the day, 10.5 miles so far in our two-days trek.
Day 3 - Sunday April 28. We held reveille a bit before 7 A.M., then lit stoves to boil water for breakfast and melt snow to fill water bottles. Breakfast staples included oatmeal, farina, granola, dried fruit, and hot tea. With no place to hide and mixed company, the last part of the morning routine started off a bit awkward since there were no bathrooms on the glacier. While some dug deep pits close to camp, others skied for a few hundred yards till all that could be seen was a dot on the horizon.
By 10:25 A.M. the last person in the group was skiing. We continued for three hours and progressed 4.6 miles before stopping for lunch at our highest point of the trip- 6,330 feet- the headwaters of the mighty Yukon River. Five thousand square miles of snow and ice, and we were the only people around for miles- or were we? A lone skier descended the hill from the west, then another, and another. What were the odds of running into a group of six Canadian skiers on a guide-training trip? They had departed Skagway a week before and were on their way to Juneau. We didn't see them again until we reached the Mendenhall Glacier.
From the Matthes Glacier, we descended, skiing a few more miles until we reached the Canadian/US border located with the aid of a GPS (global positioning system). The sun was still high in the sky when we stopped, and with very little wind, the temperature was comfortable. We selected tent sites and began digging. With the exception of Tim, Carol and George who used tents, the others in the group used Megamids.
These shelters have 81 square feet of floor space, a single center pole, for support, and don't have a floor. Digging out the snow under the shelter promotes a creative floor plan. Don, our engineer, and Greg always managed to dig the deepest and most elaborate living quarters, complete with three steps to enter and a smooth level table for cooking. It's amazing what you can carve with snow.
After the tents were set up, we melted snow for water, boiled three cups of water for our freeze-dried dinner, then went tent hopping to see who had the best desserts.
As we milled around camp in the warmth of the late afternoon sun, the silence was broken by the sound of a small plane circling overhead. After more than 30 minutes of this buzzing, I broke out the VHF-AM radio, dialed in the local frequency and called the aircraft. The pilot informed us that his passenger, David Job, a noted Juneau photographer, was recording the scene. Our camp of six Megamids and two tents accented by 14 pairs of skis and poles set against the white expanse of snow must have been picturesque from 1,000 feet.
The pilot volunteered to airdrop treats. After I gave our altitude and the wind direction, the small white airplane descended over camp, dropping extra-large Hershey bars, M&M’s, caramel chocolates, and other assorted easy-to-carry-and-consume goodies.
Day 4 - Monday April 29. We woke up to the promise of another sunny day and were skiing by 9:30 A.M. It was all downhill for the next several miles, so skiing was fast. After we covered 5.2 miles and lost 1,500 feet of elevation, we took a long lunch break, then continued our journey across the ice field.
On our survey flight earlier in the month, Bill and I noticed two large open crevasses in the middle of the glacier directly on our route. These large open holes were formed as the Matthes glacier and a smaller unnamed glacier slowly moved down the valley and converged at a steep section of terrain. Normally we would have roped up, but with fantastic visibility and a good sense of the location of the crevasses, we could see them well in advance. Nevertheless, there was a tinge of excitement in the group as we skied past those giant holes. Through careful route selection we managed to avoid any falls.
By 5 P.M. we were on the Taku Glacier standing on 4,000 feet of compressed snow, and it was time to stop for the day. Surrounded by jagged mountains called nunataks, some standing over 7,000 feet, most unnamed and unclimbed, we felt like we were in the middle of a desert. Hidden in the clouds and pelted by severe weather, the steep granite walls of these nunataks were foreboding even to the most experienced of climbers. Yet there we were standing in the warm sunshine, taking in a panorama that overwhelmed the senses in its sheer magnitude. By nightfall some of us even had time for some night skiing, complete with the sounds of honking geese flying low over the glacier.
Sleep came easily that cold night, but nature called, waking me up. A quick unzip of the sleeping bag and tent flap and I was outside exposed to a sky rich in stars. As my body eased the discomfort, my mind was captivated by the view. A wanting moon was perched directly over a steep peak to the east. Venus and Mars stood brightly against the rich glow of the Milky Way, and the faint outline of jagged peaks engulfed the horizon. A quick shiver brought me out of my trance, and I quickly hurried back to my warm sleeping bag.
Day 5 - Tuesday April 30. We had to climb again but by now we all felt much stronger and moved along almost without effort, at least those without monster blisters on their feet. We rounded Carpet Peak, climbed onto the Juneau Icefield, and skied alongside the Taku Towers stopping just north and west of Emperor Peak. The plan was to spend two nights at this location and ski Snowdrift Peak on May Day.
Day 6 - Wednesday May 1. We had grown accustomed to endless sunshine and tents flapping from occasional breezes, but this morning was different. Since we were in the shadow of the Taku Towers, the sun wasn't providing the usual warmth. The Megamid flapped like a sail lofting in a gale force wind. Outside it was a whiteout with strong winds blowing snow.
I could see Greg and Don building a wall of snow around their tent, but the rest of the camp was barely visible. Everyone worked to secure camp. Two hours later, with the tents somewhat protected from the strong southwest wind, it was time for breakfast. It was a day to socialize, improve the walls, nap, cook different foods to share, and just wait for a break in the weather.
Day 7- Thursday May 2. We awoke to a winter scene, The wind changed direction, now blowing out of the north. The jagged peaks around us were covered with a layer of fresh snow and the temperature was in the low 20s, but the skies were clearing. We broke camp and started skiing toward the Mendenhall Glacier, thankfully with the wind on our backs.
The wind intensified as we waited for the group to assemble just prior to our steepest and most dangerous descent, the icefield on the upper South branch of the Mendenhall Glacier. Large open crevasses filled the scene to the east; however, our air survey prior to the ski trip showed that the west side of the icefall would be safe and provide the gentlest grade. We put on our harnesses but determined that roping up as we skied down would be worse than just skiing independently at a good clip.
We started down slowly at first, looking for the best line and avoiding the sudden drop offs. As the descent steepened sleds tumbled behind us and we scanned for hidden crevasses. Toward the bottom, with the end in sight, those with heavy telemark skis were able to carve some nice turns in the fresh powder. In fact, the telemark skiers even skied back up for more turns!
After lunch we continued our speedy descent down the South Branch to the Mendenhall Glacier. At 5:30 P.M. we stopped for the day at an elevation of 2,663 feet. From our last camp alongside the Taku Towers, we had lost almost 2,500 feet in elevation. As we were probing the area for crevasses and setting up camp, the Canadian team caught up to us and passed us skiing swiftly down the glacier.
We formed our plan for the next two days. Tim, Carol, Greg, Don, and Kathy wanted to stay a day or two more. George was to stay behind and fly out with a cache of gear Friday afternoon. The remaining eight would ski out on Friday. It was our last night as a group. Excited that we were just a few miles from our destination, we also realized that the months of planning, the camaraderie that was formed enroute, and the spectacular scenery was coming to an end.
Day 8 - Friday May 3. After last minute hugs and group pictures, we ventured out to ski the most hazardous portion of the trip: the crevasse field along the lower Mendenhall Glacier. A Ward Air DeHavilland Beaver flew over and I was able to make contact and relay a message for the pre-arranged helicopter pick up.
Bill, the skier with the most experience and knowledge of the glacier, started first. After skiing just a few miles we ran into the Canadian team just roping up, so we stopped, broke into two rope teams of four, and followed the Canadians. Bill provided a thorough briefing of crevasse rescue and we double checked harnesses and knots. Skiing was easier without the sleds and lighter packs, but our progress was much slower as we picked our way through the maze of deep open crevasses, snaking our way down the glacier.
Alongside the massive thousand-foot-high icefall of Suicide Basin, we stopped for a quick lunch, but a cold gusty wind hurried us on. We skied less than a mile before the ridges became too steep to continue on skis, and we had to pack the skis and poles, don crampons and carry ice axes to aid in self-arrest if someone should take a fall into a crevasse. Another few hundred yards of progress and we were able to ski again.
On a relatively flat portion of the glacier, we noticed that the Canadians headed toward the lateral moraine, but Bill thought that portion of the Glacier would be riddled with large crevasses, so we decided to stay toward the middle of the glacier. The maze grew tighter, and it was time for crampons again. Bill started out along a narrow snow bridge and without warning broke through, his leg dangling precariously down a deep narrow crevasse. He scurried out and continued.
Peter was next. Attempting to jump the crevasse, he fell through up to his waist but managed to climb out. Then it was Kathy's turn to cross. Last on the team, I braced for her to jump. She paused. I could feel her heart beating through the rescue rope as she stooped, looking down into the rich blue crevasse.
It was 3:30 P.M. Bill stopped and assessed the situation. The snow, usually gone by this time of year, was lingering due to the unseasonably cold spring. He called NorthStar helicopters on his cell phone. Jason Kulbeth would be overhead soon enroute to pick up our cache of gear. We requested a shuttle. I know- the ease of cell phone use, calling for assistance- it was too easy, but Bill is a lead guide for NorthStar, I flew for them last summer. Jason is a friend and an experienced pilot, the helicopter was going to be overhead in a few minutes anyway, so why not?
We scurried back to a place where the "helo" could land safely and probed the areas. Jason landed, transporting four of us at a time and depositing us just below the bottom of the West Glacier trail as the Canadians encountered their first crevasse crossing. We didn't complete that small portion of the trip without assistance- less than one-fourth of a mile, but after completing more than 50 miles of skiing over a remote area, why get hurt or killed within sight of the Juneau Airport?
We repacked our gear and climbed the steep cliff to the top of the trail. The Mendenhall Glacier slowly dropped away from us. Mountain goats were grazing alongside the trail and the snow slowly gave way to dirt and mud. The smell of rich earth and vegetation permeated our noses. It took more than two hours to hike to the trailhead, where we made phone calls to arrange for rides. We were able to clear US customs over the phone thus allowing us to disperse at the trailhead. Our rides were waiting when we arrived at the West Glacier trail parking lot. Hot showers and a good meal were in order.
Day 9- Saturday May 4. The rest of the team skied out without any problems. Bill even called Tim to alert him not to follow our route. Our trip was officially over. It was time to organize the slide show and potluck, reminisce, and plan for our next adventure.
Printed in Alaskan Southeaster Magazine, December 2002, pp.22 - 28.
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