Iliamna Volcano, or Mt. Iliamna is a 10,016 ft glaciated cone shaped volcano in the Aleutian Range – and part of the Ring of Fire – a string of volcanoes and seismic activity around the edges of the Pacific Ocean. It lies on the on the western side of lower Cook Inlet (immediately due west of the village of Ninilchik) and is the 25th most prominent peak in the United States. There is no summit crater – but on the east face there is a zone of fumaroles which continuously emit steam and gases. Several prehistoric eruptions have been dated and minor historically confirmed eruptions occurred between 1740-1870 (see list of eruptions here), however compared to her neighbors (Redoubt and Spurr), the volcano has been fairly benign with no major eruptions cataloged int he past 5000 years.
For millenniums the Dena’ina people migrated from Southwest to Southcentral Alaska via a valley at the northeast corner of Iliamna Lake to Iliamna Bay. This valley lies 30 soouth south of Iliamna Volcano and the native name for the peak was Ch’naqał’in, meaning “one that stands above.” The first western reference to the peak was in 1779 when the Spanish Don Ignacio Arteaga expedition sailed into Cook Inlet and named the peak “Volcan de Miranda” in honor of Lieutenant Fernando Bernardo de Quiros y Miranda who partook in the expedition.
The name Iliamna was first published by the Russian hydrographer Mikhail Tebenkov who was stationed in Alaska from 1845-1850. His 1852 map of Cook Inlet included a drawing a volcano with the inscription “Sopka Ilymna”. Despite these prior references, Tebenkov’s name stuck and was later formally recognized, probably because it referenced the native name for nearby Lake Iliamna .
Suffice to day – the prominent peak has captured the attention of travelers for ages – especially for people on the eastern side of Cook Inlet who look across the water at the massif soaring 10,000 ft into the sky.
Looking across Cook Inlet at the East face of Iliamna from Seldovia.
Climbing History
The first (and fanciful) record regarding an ascent of Iliamna was published in Appletons’ Guide-book to Alaska and the Northwest Coast by Eliza Ruhamah Scidmore in 1893. Scidmore writes:
Iliamna was ascended by a party sent from the Imperial Academy of Sciences at St Petersburg in 1852 and by several parties of US officers while the garrison was maintained at Fort Kenai 40 miles distant across the Inlet. There was an eruption in 1854 and in 1869 climbers found running lava near the lower crater a vast oval bowl full of sulphur crystals and were driven from the upper crater by the volumes of dense black smoke. Many hot springs occur on the slopes and the heat furnishes a luxuriant growth of trees in the valleys and ravines. The natives have many superstitions concerning it.
– Appletons’ Guide-book to Alaska and the Northwest Coast, p136
Given the hardships endured by climbers a century later, it is difficult to take this account seriously, especially given the reports of hot springs and luxuriant trees. That said, historic ascents similar to this were not unprecedented: In October 1519, Cortés sent 9 Spaniards and several Tlascalan Indians to undertake an ascent of Popocatepetl (17,888 ft) which at the time was in eruption. Dodging a bombardment of ashes and heated stone, three of the party eventually made the summit. And in 1897 the Duke of Abruzzi led the first expedition to the top of Mount Saint Elias (18,008 ft). Closer to home, during a 1985 ascent of Mt Spurr, Anchorage climbers Stuart Grenier, Tom Choate and Leo Americus discovered a hot spring near the summit of Crater Peak (the 7,575 ft sub-peak south of Mt. Spurr summit) which turned out to be warm enough to swim in – so perhaps there is some truth in that tale!
Meeting of the tribes of Tlaxcala and the army of Hernán Cortés between the Popocatepetl and Iztaccihuatl Volcanos. 17th Century engraving. I just finished Álvaro Enrigue’s hallucinatory novel “You Dreamed of Empires” which reimagines Cortés in these moments. It’s an intense read.
Mount St Elias from Malaspina Glacier, photograph by Vittorio Sella on the first expedition to climb the mountain, 1897.
Climber descending to the hot pool on Mt Spurr’s Crater Peak. Summer 1986. Source: John Crater collection.
John Crater soaking in the Crater Peak hot springs. Source: John Crater collection.
First Ascent
Anchorage Daily Times June 17, 1958.
The first substantiated attempt of Iliamna took place in June, 1958. A group of Alaska climbers (Neil Davis, Pete Isto, Mat Nitsch, Roger Waller, and Keith Hart) made it to 7,500 ft on the southeast side before retreating due to bad weather. Later that summer Lt. P. J. McEleney, of the Kodiak Naval Station, led a three-man party to 7,000 ft on the northeast face before a “particularly severe storm compelled them to return“.
Finally, in June 1959, the mountain was summited via the Southwest Ridge by Anchorage climbers Helga Bading, Paul Crews. Erik Barnes and Greg Epperson. Helga Bading’s colorful account, published in the June 1959 Scree, details the approach, the climb and descent.
They began their journey by landing at sea level in a “sand pit” at Chinitna Bay where they made the acquaintance of a local fisherman who ferried them across the bay in a boat. Helga described the approach as follows:
About 10:30 a.m. we started off across the swamp, wearing our “wading clothes”, tennis shoes and jeans. Climbing boots on top of the packs added to the weight. We crossed swamps, sloughs, lakes. It seemed alright for a man of Erik’s height. But when you’re only 5 ft. short… well, after I fell into that lake up to my shoulders it didn’t really natter. We finally came to the river- wonderful walking on the sandy beach, except it always seemed to be on the wrong side of the river. On our side were the alders. You ever crawled through alders with a heavy pack? Sure, but with snowshoes on top its murder! After a good supper of Knorr Soup we went on. We were in swamp up to our knees. Above and beside us alder and devils club. Around us mosquitoes. No end in sight. We didn’t speak much, just went on in desperation, our shoulders aching,
They bushwhacked up valley for 1 1/2 days before finally gaining the Southwest Ridge which turned out to be “two steps up and three backwards” moraine. After fighting their way up this they collapsed at 3,700 ft on “a rocky ridge sticking out between two glaciers”. They then set up camp and waited for decent weather – which never came. Eventually they opted to go for the summit – opting to leave camp at 6:30 pm and climb through the night. “Daylight was no problem…” Helga wrote.. “It was keeping dry that bothered us.” The 12 hour summit day was arduous. Visibility was nil, weather was foul and the crevasses were plenty. Helga described the ascent in detail:
Helga Bading on the first ascent of Mt. Spurr. Sept 1960. Photo by Burt Puchtler.
Paul and I climbed on one rope and so did Erik and Greg. We took turns kicking steps. It was not difficult but for the “holes”: which we periodically fell into. Some crevasses had to be skirted but we did neglect to fall into those. It started to snow and blow. No were pretty hungry, but who wants to stop and eat when it’s cold? So we just kept going. By midnight we were in dense cloud and couldn’t see more then 50 feet. Gregg kept marking our trail with the willowsticks. I remember seeing the dim outline of a ridge to my right and the rest was just nothingness.
Finally, directly above, I saw the “cornice” we knew was just below the summit. Tho wind seemed to have reached gale force and snow was blowing and it made it even harder to see anything. I shouted to Paul to give me “felt” my way around the steep now bank. Then the mountain flattened out. We were on top. I remember distinctly thinking “lets got the heck out of here”, but there stood the others, just as cold as I was, studying the photo in the dim light. “That’s it”, Paul said, “Let’s go.”
We needed no other invitation. Erik stuck the last two trailmarkers into the snow on the summit. Blessed be the trailmarkers that showed us the way back. In my state of malnutrition I had visions of getting onto the wrong glacier.
Back in camp they collapsed and slept for a few hours, waking in mid afternoon to un and a chance to finally, for the first time since starting, see the mountain they had just climbed. They ate a late lunch then packed up camp and descended to the river below the moraine. The next morning they egressed down valley – an adventure of itself:
Friday morning. We decided “never to bushwhack again”. Instead we crossed the glacier stream by means of rope. This is a sport for tall people only. When the icy water gets above your waist it ceases to be fun. At this point, too, our trip ceased to be a climbing expedition, Instead, we built the “Iliamna Queen” and floated down the river. There is no room here to praise the seamanship of Paul, Erik and Gregg (all I did was hang on for dear life).
They flew out the next day. It had taken them 6 1/2 days. A few days later the Anchorage Times published full headlines celebrating their ascent.
Anchorage Daily Times, June 11, 1959.
Helga (Bading) Byhre died on August 24, 2024 a few months shy of her 98th birthday. A wonderful memorial written by Steve Gruhn and Michael Bading was published in the May 2025 Scree.
First Winter Ascent
After the first ascent attention turned to securing a first winter ascent – no small task in the Aleutian Range which is renown for storms and dense snowfall. Nick Parker and Gary Bocarde made two attempts in the early 80s:
Nick Parker and Gary Bocarde in Yosemite, 1982. Source: Gary Bocarde collection / Mountain Trip.
One time we flew to the coast in front of the mountain. The weather was not real good to pick out the best landing for our attempts and we landed in the wrong drainage. We went up thinking we were headed to the Mountain. But we ended up being in the wrong drainage and climbed up a mountain in front of Illiamna. I just remembered that we had left the map of the area behind at Nick’s house and we guessed wrong where we should have been. We could now see where we should have been. We did not have enough time to do it. Another time we landed on the other side of the mountain and spend a week or two just shoveling out our tents all day long. I think we did one camp move and had to go back to get supplies we left behind at the landing site. We did a lot of digging.
– Gary Bocharde (personal correspondance)
After the two attempts they didn’t go back. “I think that we were not suppose to climb that mountain!’ Boacharde said.
In December 1982 Anchorage climbers Doug van Etten, Willy Hersman, Peter Flournoy and Peter Reed flew in for an attempt of the North Ridge. After a couple of touch and gos, the plane, piloted by Anchorage pilot Dean Carroll, coasted in for a landing. However as he touched down the left ski broke through the crust. Subsequently, the left gear failed and the plane nosed over (NTSB report here).
No one was injured in the landing and the pilot caught a ride back to Anchorage – meanwhile the party built an igloo and set up camp just as a two day storm blew in and forced them to wait. A clearing allowed them to start moving. A second camp a little higher and then they pushed for high camp at 6,800 ft.
Gradually visibility went to zero. At about 6800 we started Cave 3 using headlamps (December gets pretty dark) and ·once again P. Reed was exclaiming something: “Hey a crevasse!”
I stuck my headlamp down in and the whole floor of the cave lit up like Christmas Eve (which it was). OK, let’s dig that way.· Soon another crevasse. Great. Outside the wind was howling in the darkness. The angle of our slope was 30°, so tents would require a lot of digging. On with construction! It turned out that the crevasses were long enough and deep enough to reach the other side of our ridge. A blast of cold air came through whenever one was uncovered. We were on a knife edge of ice.
The cave was small to start out, but it actually got smaller every day. Hemmed in by crevasses we could only shave the roof as it crept lower. Outside the storm got serious. A radio call to Anchorage told us that they had 90 MPH gusts on the hillside. I figure that was pretty close to our winds. The tunnel entrance, when shoveled out, would seal off in about one hour. Fear of blowing away like kites kept us in the cave. We stayed a wonderful six nights. Ran out of food, ran out of candles, ran out of games. Masochists note: Iliamna is a great place for Christmas.
– Willy Hersman, Scree, May 1983
The team descended after the storm and retreated to the beaver that was almost buried in the 8 ft of new snow that had fallen!
“Calling for help.” – The beginning of the 1982 climb. Source: Willy Hersman collection.
Iliamna Feb 1985. Herman’s team ascended the icefall directly below the plume of steam then traversed right to gain the NW. Source: Willy Hersman collection.
“Ice pitch at 9,800 ft.” Feb 1985. The slope Hersman descended with one crampon. Source: Willy Hersman collection.
Hersman returned in February 1985 with George Rooney, Rudi Bertschi and Ken Zafren. They ascended the Northeast Ridge but, “after reaching within 600 feet of the summit in a whiteout, hanging séracs and crevasse problems changed our minds.” They bivied in a snow cave and on February 21 set out across the north face to the unclimbed Northwest Ridge.
The climbing was not difficult for the most part, with only one 150-foot pitch of steep blue ice, but high wind and cold made the wind-chill factor -55° F. George Rooney, Rudi Bertschi, Ken Zafren and I wasted no time on the summit. A setting sun and increasing cold encouraged a rapid descent to our distant camp. Just below the summit a crampon failed and disappeared down the face.
The loss of crampon slowed down the team quite and bit and both Willy Hersman and Rudi Bertsch ended up with frostbite. They reached their snow cave with just a few minutes of twilight left, and descended the following day.
2006 Cook Inlet Crossing Ascent
For the next 30 years no significant ascents were made. A trickle of climbers ascended the peak – mostly from the west side where a ski plane could land easily on either the upper Tuxedni Glacier or the upper Tongue Glacier. From there most parties climbed either the Northwest Ridge or the West Ridge – both of which ascend moderate slopes up until 6,500 ft, followed by gradually steepening snow and ice to the summit.
In May 2006 Rory Stark, 37 and Tyler Johnson, 32, decided they wanted to climb Iliamna and approach by inflatable raft from the eastern side of Cook Inlet. Their plan was to launch from the Ninilchik beach, motor 50 miles across Cook Inlet, a body of water where heavy winds and tidal currents are the norm, and into Tuxedni Bay. They planned to then travel by foot until they reached the glacier and then ski to the summit.
As the story – which is well known in Anchorage ski-mountaineering circles – goes, Rory and Tyler drove south to Cooper Landing where 35 year old Craig Barnard, whom everyone knows as “Chunk”, was living in a shack behind Wild Bills. Rory and Tyler knew Chunk had climbed Iliamna before, so they thought he’d be a good asset to their party. And so Rory walked in and told Chunk he was going.
Clark Fair, a former faculty member at Kenai Peninsula College and writer for the Redoubt Reporter writes:
“Rory was like, ‘I know this guy, Craig. He’s down in Cooper Landing. He lives in a tent. We’ll stop by and see if he’s there,” Johnson said.
“So we stop in Cooper Landing and we start driving down Craig’s road, and there he is, walking from the liquor store with a six-pack. We’re like, ‘Craig, hey, man, you gotta come.’ And he’s like, ‘All right, all right. Yeah, yeah. Hey, can I call my boss real quick?’
“So he calls his boss and leaves a message and tells him he’s not going to show up to work Friday and Saturday.”
According to Barnard, the “invitation” from Johnson and Stark was more of a command. “We walked into my tent, and they told me what I need and what I don’t need,” said Barnard. “And what I don’t need was ice axes or crampons or ropes. So they just kind of quickly shuffled some gear into a bag for me.” And rapidly the three of them were on the road, heading south.
“That’s how it started, completely off-the-cuff, no planning whatsoever,” said Johnson.
– Skiing on Volcanos by Clark Fair. Originally published in the Redoubt Reporter, November 18, 2008.
Rory, Tyler and Chunk left Copper Landing and continued south. Passing through Soldotna they stopped and bought a stack of burritos from Taco Bell. They launched from the Ninilchik Beach at 2am. In the boat were backpacks, skis and alcohol. No maps, no GPS, no mountaineering gear. No stove. They would warm their burritos up by slipping them down inside their bibs.
They motored across, reaching Tuxedni Bay in the early morning hours. Chunk, who had been there before and was supposed to be giving directions, kept nodding off. Rory and Tyler would shake him awake and look around. “Yeah that way,” he’d mutter and nod off again.
They worked their way up the bay as far as possible before the mud stopped progress. Then they dragged the boat above high tide line and began bushwahcking up and over a pass and then down to the Tuxedni Glacier, eventually working their way up to a 5,000 ft high camp where they finally collapsed after being on the move since work ended 36 hours earlier.
They reached the summit the next morning and then retraced their steps – reaching their boat mid-day Sunday and then back across Cook Inlet and landing Ninilchik in the middle of the Memorial Day king fishing mayhem.
“We beached the boat on Ninilchik beach, and there’s probably a thousand motorhomes all lined up, and these people were there, and they come walking over,” Johnson said. “They were just blown away. They’re like, ‘Where’d you guys come from?’ And we’re unloading our ski gear and stuff. They just couldn’t believe it.”
– Skiing on Volcanos by Clark Fair. Originally published in the Redoubt Reporter, November 18, 2008.
Other Significant Ascents
Two other significant ascents stand out. In April 2012, Kellie Okanek, Russell DeVries and Phil Hess landed at 600 ft on the Umbrella Glacier and then ascended and skied the Southwest Ridge. They were able to ski off the summit and all the way back to high camp.
And of course I must mention Luc Mehl and friends epic IRS (Iliamna, Redoubt and Spurr) traverse. Luc and several friends landed at 4.000 ft on the Tongue Glacier and summitted the next day. “It kind of felt like we had just climbed something off the highway,” Luc wrote, “But the weather was great and we could see steam vents, Cook Inlet, and our next objectives, Redoubt and Spurr.” That said – this was only the start of their journey. Over the next 30 days Luc and friends traversed 265+ miles from Iliamna to Redoubt to Spurr and then across Cook Inlet in packrafts to Anchorage where they took out at the bike trail at Westchester Lagoon and walked to Humpy’s for burgers. Luc’s famous video from this trip can be viewed here.
Looking northwest towards Homer and Iliamna (left) and Redoubt (right) from the summit of Poot Peak (Kachemak Bay State Park). August 2015.
An Account of the Tuxedni Glacier / West Ridge
All the stories coupled with decades of staring at the peak from multiple viewpoints had me fantasizing about climbing Iliamna for years – but the trip never materialized. In the winter of 2025 things finally came together when Matt Hickey, Cory Hinds and I decided to give it a go. We wanted the full 10K experience (minus crossing Cook Inlet in an inflatable) and so we got in touch with Doug Brewer at Alaska West Air and asked if he could drop us off a sea level. Doug did a reconnaissance flight and found a suitable gravel bar just off the Tuxedni River and we packed our gear and waited for a weather window.
The weather window came in mid April. It wasn’t a huge window – 48 hours of high pressure, followed by a storm and then another partial clearing. Not ideal but good enough. And so on April 18, 2025, we drove to Nikiski and piled our bags on the runway. The routine of check-in and weighing and re-packing and soon we were stuffing our bags into 3 super cubs – the plan to fly across the inlet as fleet with Doug Brewer, owner of Alaska West, in the lead with his sons, Joel and Douglas following.
I try not to get too excited about flying in bush planes. The environmental impact of chartering a private plane for recreation is one thing, and when you couple it with the prohibitive costs and dangers of flying in Alaska it’s about as sustainable as a drug habit. An hour in a Super Cub is roughly the same cost as an 8-Ball and delivers a euphoria that lasts roughly the same amount of time with similar risks… But damn it’s fun.
And so we piled into the Super Cubs and took off flying side by side across the inlet. We passed over a pod of belugas and Douglas dropped sharply so we could get a look. We skimmed over the top of trees looking for bear. We buzzed above the mudflats of Tuxedni Bay and then looped around the landing multiple times getting a feel for wind and staring at the short gravel bar. Then all three cubs drifted in for perfect landings, gear was tossed into a pile and then they were gone again with a tilt of their wings to bid adieu.
Doug Brewer above Cook Inlet.
Tuxedni Bay. At the top left is the summit of Iliamna.
View of our approach and the Tuxedni Glacier in the distance.
Days 1 & 2: Getting there
We hefted our ridiculously heavy packs at 3pm and set off. We only packed 5 days of food – but you really shouldn’t skimp on gear for an Aleutian peak. Standard glacier, climbing and avalanche gear – plus a solid 3 person tent, winter sleeping bags and 8 days of fuel in case we got stuck and couldn’t descend.
Into the brush!
Matt Hickey loaded down.
Cory Hinds loaded down.
The walk was fairly easy: It was a distance of 3.5 miles from where we got dropped off to the glacier – but only 1.5 miles to where we could ski. Minimal bushwhacking and the river crossings knee deep at most. We transitioned to skis after 45 minutes on the move and reached the toe of the glacier 2 hours after being dropped off. Easy peasy.
Cory crossing the river that drains from the Tuxedni Glacier. Barely knee deep at 4pm!
Out of the brush and onto the gravel bars.
Crossing the frozen lake at the toe of the glacier.
On the lake.
And finally onto the Tuxedni Glacier in the late afternoon sun. I’m pretty sure Tuxedni Glacier is the flattest glacier in the world. It ascends 2000 ft in 17 miles – a 2% grade. Matt took the lead and started breaking trail. When Matt puts his head down and starts breaking trail you don’t bother offering to help… just get behind and try to keep up. And so we skied up the whole damn thing. In shin to knee deep isothermal snow that Matt plowed through. It was abysmally slow – and the hot sun kept us thinking we’d find a crevasse at any second so we stayed roped up and plodded along like snails.
Peak on the east side of Tuxedni Glacier.
Lower Tuxedni glacier.
Through the first icefall.
Evening and approaching our campsite for the night.
North face of Iliamna at sunset.
Camp for the night at 1700′.
We slogged till dark then set up our tent and crashed. Then we work up and repeated the process. Two long days of slogging until finally reaching a gradient and breaking trail up a minor icefall to gain the top of the Tongue Glacier where we set up camp at 4000′ and went to bed.
Day 2 and around 2500′.
Northeast and Northwest ridge of Iliamna. FWA followed the NE ridge (left skyline) to the upper seracs and then traversed to the NW ridge.
Matt out for a quick ski after reaching high camp.
Camp 2.
Summit Ridge of Iliamna.
Day 3: Summit
Up early, packed and moving by 6am. We had sent an inReach message a friend asking for a weather report and he warned us that a storm would move in by afternoon so we were keen to reach the summit and be descending before the storm rolled in. We set off from camp skiing to the head of the Tongue Glacier and then over a ridge to gain the western flank of the mountain. We then worked our way up glacier and right towards the West Ridge.
5am breakfast.
Dawn around 5500′.
Looking up at the summit – around 6:30am.
I believe this is Peak 5350 – due west of Iliamna and between the Umbrella and Tongue glaciers. The northwest couloir is stunning.
Looking northwest at the peaks above the Tuxedni Glacier.
Around 6500′.
Around 7,000 ft we reached a rocky ridge where we pulled the skis, switched to crampons and began working our way up the ridge until we were able to climb up and over the ridge to gain easier slopes. Then easy step kicking till finally gaining the summit ridge.
Start of the rocky ridge around 7000′.
Around 7500′.
Around 8000′.
Up until this point we had endured deep snow on all aspects – and were looking forward to a nice secure bootpack to the summit… maybe even the possibility of skiing. But our first close look of the summit ridge nixed all ideas of skiing… There wasn’t a hint of soft snow anywhere on the ridge. The ridge was windswept – with patches of blue ice and blobs of rime ice. We stopped in our tracks peering upward – doubt filling our minds. We pulled our skis off our pack and sunk them into the snow on the ridge. I opened my mouth to express hesitation, but before the words came out Cory pushed past. “I got this,” he said. And off he went.
Start of the summit ridge.
Snice snice baby.
On the summit ridge. Clouds building above us.
We set off. An ice axe, whippet and crampons. Cory kicked steps and sunk his ice axe so deep that all I had to do was find his placements and drop in my axe for a secure stance. We climbed slow and steadily – working our way up the ridge till blue ice forced to us traverse out on the face for 500 ft of 40-50 degree snice. It was just steep enough to slow down and climb methodically – but not steep enough to where we thought a rope was necessary. And so we worked our way up. No rope. No slips allowed.
Eventually the angle eased off and we were able to regain the ridge and work our way to the final slopes. Incidentally this is where we found the only crevasse of the trip. Cory had punched a leg through the bridge and Matt had done the same. By the time I got there it was a torso width hole and everywhere I stepped the bridge gave way. I started to yell for the rope but Cory and Matt were out of earshot so I spread my arms and legs and star-fished across. No style points – but it worked. And then another couple hundred feet of easy walking and we were there.
Cory and Matt on the summit. No views. 😪
Summit selfie!
The summit was a broad plateau of thigh deep snow. We waded across wondering how it was possible that the lower slopes and the summit had deep snow – but the summit ridge was windswept ice. No views at the top – the clouds had now engulfed us. But no wind… yet. We snapped a couple pictures then turned and began to retrace our steps. This time all of us had to star-fish across the crevasse. We regrouped at the top of the steep ice slope… Just as the storm rolled in.
The winds rocked us. Steady 30+mph blasting. Our steps down the ice face quickly blew away and we began working our way down mostly blind. Cory lead again. He downclimbed slowly, probing carefully for the old bootpack and searching for the holes where he had slammed his ice axe in 45 minutes earlier. All traces of our previous ascent were gone so we tried to follow our route as best as possible. My ice axe slammed to the hilt for purchase, whippet sunk into the snice and I kicked hard to make my crampons bite. We inched down.
Cory downclimbing. It was a long arduous descent.
Matt with his game face on.
Selfie after getting off the summit ridge.
2 hours later we were off the ice slope. The descent had been slow and complicated but we made it down safely. We regrouped where we had cached our skis. Below our skis and parallel to the ridge we booted was a gully we had hoped to ski – however the wind had blown all the snow off the slopes we had booted and deposited it in the gully which was now loaded and waiting for a trigger. Skiing no longer an option we cramponed down the wind swept slopes and began downclimbing the rock ridge.
A couple hundred feet lower and we decided we could safely enter. We transitioned and I slid in – the freshly deposited wind-slab breaking free and running inbetween the rock bands below us. We skied down – sticking close to the ridge line until we could safely drop into the bowl. At which point the next issues presented itself: zero visibility. Luckily we had the foresight to leave a handful of wands on the way up and between 3 skiers, our GPX track and the wands we figured out the route and worked our way back to camp.
Classic glacier conditions.
12 hours later we skied back into camp elated and exhausted. We slept well.
Day 4: Egress
We woke to a foot of fresh snow. We had broken trail all the way to high camp and now we’d be breaking trail down the world’s flattest glacier. We ate breakfast, broke down the tent and then began breaking trail…. downhill.
The descent went smoothly. We were able to leadfrog – the person in the back would pick up speed and as they approached the leader he would step aside and that person would glide by and pack down the trail. With three people it went fairly fast and soon we were working our way through the lower icefall and then down across the flats and down the frozen creek. A shin deep-river crossing and a short section of brush and we were back at the landing strip in less than 7 hours.
12″ of fresh snow for the flat descent.
Cory heading down.
Through the lower icefall.
Shin deep river crossing.
Last bit to the LZ.
Back at the LZ!
We collapsed in the grass. Cory had stashed a 6-pack at the strip and we cracked open a beer and inReached the pilot. An hour later we heard the buzz of Super Cubs and we were gone.
Resources
This is a spectacular peak that sees 2 or 3 ascents per year. The logistics combined with bad weather make it difficult to plan for so you have to be flexible. The West Ridge is mellow glacier climbing to 7,000 ft, 1,000 ft of moderate scrambling and then 1,000 ft of steep snow and/or ice. This route has been skied a few times – but it can also be ice and sometimes has a cornice so plan accordingly.
If you want to climb from sea level you can land at the strip where we landed – but you have to go either earlier in the season when there is ample snow coverage, or later when the snow has melted. There is also a strip on the south side if you want to climb the Umbrella glacier. The lower strips are Super Cub only whereas a larger plane can land on the glacier. If you want a real adventure you can charter a boat to take you across from Homer. I spoke with a captain at Coldwater Alaska who said he could do it – however this option is more expensive unless you go with several people (see Luc’s write up where he chartered a boat).
Climbing the route from sea level gave us the full 10K experience – but most parties opt to skip the 20 mile approach slog and land around 3,000 ft on either the upper Tongue Glacier (see Mike Record’s writeup) or the upper Tuxedni Glacier. Reach out to Doug at Alaska West Air for a conditions report.
Some key links below. If you’re into maps I’ve included my gpx files – however adventurous climbers like Bocarde, Parker, Stark, Johnson and Chunk have all been there without maps so leave them at home if you desire!
