Day two, we overslept. It was only 8 AM but we missed our window of opportunity to climb and ski anything of significance. We conceded that the day would be better served by setting up an auxiliary camp close to some of our targets as well as observing the snow and sun movement in order to have a more educated idea of our possibilities. The basis of our conversations the night before revolved around the large, open north-west face of the peak looker’s right of Kickstep. Due the sun’s movement, we figured our magic window would be between noon and one, just after the sun began to hit the slope. Anything before would be rock hard ice, anything after would be too soft and run the risk of wet slides.

There we were digging again, not skiing. Pausing for lunch, we were treated to a fireworks show of sorts. It was just before three and like clockwork, southerly and easterly faces around us let go of what was left of the snowpack. Our serenity was interrupted by what sounded like jet engines echoing around the valley every five minutes. They served as stark reminders of the omnipresent dangers that exist in the mountains, amplified by below average snowpack and above average temperatures. After lunch and some impromptu nude foot races, we put our gear back on and collectively skied some fun, low-angle terrain before returning to camp and calling it a day.

Up before the dawn, the four of us set out on the day’s mission. As we reached Camp II, Lange, Sage, and myself continued towards the ridge as Sales remained behind with the promise of hot pancakes and bacon upon our return. The three of us traversed along a route that alternated between snow and exposed tundra on the way to the base of the ridge. We decided the quickest way up the ridge would be to boot pack so we strapped up and began the hike. Lange took point and broke trail – MVP of the day. The ridge was a lot longer than it looked but after an hour of solid hiking, we made it to the top.

The sun had yet to hit the face and sure enough, it was frozen solid. We found a cozy plot of exposed tundra to rest our legs as we cracked jokes about what Sales had been doing by himself for the past four hours. Over the radio, Sales’ voice crackled, “Okay, you guys ready to drop?” Our reply was concise and resounding, “No dude, it’s rock hard!” I awoke from a nap about an hour later, slightly startled at my surroundings. This place is indescribably beautiful with layers upon layers of mountains as far as I could see. Testing the snow, it was go time.

One by one, we descended the ridge to the top of the open face. I won – or lost, depending on your view point – rock, paper, scissors for first drop. Pointing down the fall-line, I made a few cautious turns as I approached the blind roll-over. Feeling confident with the perfect corn beneath my skis, I raced down the remainder of the slope and raised my arms in elation as I made one final arc towards the direction of camp. In a safe spot, I cheered as I watched my two friends snake down the two-thousand foot face at high speeds.

Stoke was high as we rendezvoused at Camp II. Sure enough, we had hot pancakes and bacon waiting for us. Jet engines signaled that the day was done, but we didn’t mind. One run was all that we needed. That feeling still hadn’t worn off as we sat around the fire that night on our three-piece sectional made out of snow. Returning to Anchorage the following day to see Sage off on his journey for higher education, we took the time to recoup, refuel, and resupply. Real furniture that wasn’t constructed out of snow sure was a welcome sight.

Check out the beginning of this series in Part I of the Myst crew’s Alaska trip report.

Four season tent – check. Skis, boots, skins – check. Beacon, shovel, probe – check. Harness, rope, ice screws, crampons, axe – check. Beer, whiskey – check. Reindeer sausage – check. “You sure all of this will fit?” Camera gear, radios, stove – check. We sat in Sage’s basement meticulously packing all of our gear into the sled and respective packs. Preceding this was a full day of frantic running around Anchorage ensuring that nothing was forgotten for five days of camping and skiing. By mid-afternoon, we set off along the Seward Highway en route to our destination.

I was taken aback by the surrounding scenery as we drove along the Turnagain Arm. This was the first time that I have ever witnessed such dramatic peaks arise immediately from the ocean. Sales informed me that this body of water has some of the most dramatic tidal ranges in the world. As the tide ebbs and flows during the colder months of the year, car-sized blocks of ice will be traveling along the inlet as if they were another vehicle on the highway. No such frozen cars today, but there was a fair share (read: more than one) bald eagles flying overhead – perhaps an omen of good things to come.

A short ninety minute drive had us at the turn-off where we would embark. The route we selected was a fairly mellow skin that would have us at the planned campsite well before sundown. In hindsight, we should have left in the morning allowing easier transport of our sled, which at this point weighed well over a hundred pounds. Our timing was largely centered on Sage returning to Anchorage in a few days to board a flight to Chicago for the start of med school, leaving us with no choice but to depart this afternoon. Sage bravely volunteered as the first sled mule and we set off at a less-than blistering pace along half-frozen, half-cream corn snow. Less than five hundred yards from the start, the sled had already tipped over, requiring two of us to assist in getting it back upright. This was going to take a lot more effort than we had originally hoped.

Spirits were high despite the slog. Smiles visible, jokes aplenty, even as we lifted the sled upright time and time again. Two hours in, after some bushwhacking and a change of course, I hopped in the saddle despite knowledge of some inclines ahead. This wasn’t so bad. Aside from a few tip-overs here and there, it was relatively smooth sailing complete with a hundred pounds strapped to my hips. We approached our first sustained climb for about a half mile, maybe a fifteen to twenty degree slope at its steepest point. This climb might as well have been vertical. In the two hours it took us to get to this point, it required another two hours to ascend a quarter of that distance. At its worst, Lange was carrying Sage’s skis as Sage pushed the sled from behind because I could no longer get the thing to move under my own power. The smile was gone from my face. By the time we crested the ridge, it had been five hours since we left the car. Exhausted from two hours reminiscent of power sled workouts for soccer, I handed sled duty over to Lange for the final push as I basked in my new found fleet-footedness.

Still short of our intended campsite, we settled on a level plot of land sheltered by tall trees on all sides. As the other three began to dig a solar well and pit for our fire, I set off on a brief recon mission to see where we ended up. Fifteen minutes above camp, I first got eyes on Kickstep and the surrounding zone. It was just as it was described to me, except for the fact that the spine face to the north was all but melted out and wet slide debris was visible on just about every aspect of the compass. Changing over, a smile came back to my face as I linked some downhill turns through the trees back to camp. Finally! I made my first turns in Alaska.

Part III of the Myst crew’s Alaska trip report is up next.
In case you missed it, check out Part I of the Myst crew’s Alaska trip report.

Fifteen hours into a day that will be burned into my memory forever, I paused amidst watching Nick Langelotti manhandle our gear sled down a now-grassy slope. I thought about the Alaska I optimistically envisioned before I landed in Anchorage – you know, the Alaska that you’ve seen in just about any form of ski media ever published. I was standing there, thinking about the raid about to ensue at the Girdwood Tesoro station, if we ever got there. Knee deep in a frozen porridge, I was more exhausted, cold, and hungry than I have ever been in my entire life. Just after midnight, I collapsed on the gravel parking lot we had departed from 18 hours prior. It was simultaneously the best and worst ski day of my life and is the embodiment of my first trip to Alaska.

Rewind three weeks to a Taco Tuesday meeting at Spedelli’s in Salt Lake City, Lange, Eric Sales, and myself met up to discuss our plans and expectations for the trip. The idea was to tour into a zone at the foot of Kickstep Mountain in the Turnagain Pass region of the Chugach Mountains. From there – on a good year – we could tour to a multitude of options including spine faces, open bowls, and even an attempt on summiting Kickstep. This was not a good year, with mountain ranges in Southern Alaska seeing snowpack levels well below average for late April. Upon landing in Anchorage, it became clear that we would have to dial back pretty much all of our expectations.

We were picked up at the airport by Sage Gale, Sales’ college buddy who grew up just outside Anchorage. Sage’s contributions to the trip are priceless as his family took us in and allowed us to stay in their basement for two weeks. Shortly after arriving at Sage’s home, we were in the hot tub in the backyard with local Alaskan brews in hand. Catching up and ragging on each other, I interrupted the conversation by pointing out a faint, grey-green streak dancing in the sky above me. Sage assured me that it was probably a cloud, and that he had only seen The Lights this far south only a handful of times. I was not convinced and the longer we gazed, the more we began to realize that this was indeed a solar event. We hopped into dry clothes and cruised thirty minutes north to get further away from any light pollution.

This couldn’t be happening. Surely, within two hours of being in Alaska I was witnessing one of Mother Nature’s greatest shows for the first time in my life. We stood there in awe. Sales taking exposure shots, naturally. The grey-green streak had turned into green waves gently moving across the sky. We watched for about an hour before the full day of travel had caught up with us and we decided to turn in. There was quite a bit of work to do over the next two days to prepare our gear and supplies for the coming days. We were there to ski after all, although beers and a hot tub were pretty enticing.