Denali West Rib

Two years ago, during the summer of 2001, I headed up to Denali National Park in Alaska to climb Mt. McKinley, the highest peak of the Alaska range, now called by its native Indian name of Denali - ‘the high one’.

Location

Denali is located at the eastern extremity of the Alaska range. This thin, crescent –shaped, 600-mile long, east-west oriented range, lies roughly 200km north of the Gulf of Alaska, on the south-central edge of the state. From west to east, peaks slowly rise in height culminating in the heavily glaciated, snow-covered, granitic peak of Denali, which at 20,320’ is the highest peak in North America. It towers above the surrounding peaks and plains, which at only 800’ to the south and 2,000’ to the north, result in the presence of one of the greatest vertical drops on the planet - a full 18,000’ (over 5 km) - making Denali one of the most impressive mountains to behold. Once about ten years earlier, while trekking in the wilderness of northern Denali National Park, I remember seeing Rockies sized peaks, above them clouds, and yet higher still above the clouds, another cloud that was the summit of Denali.

Mountain building processes in southern Alaska have been occurring for hundreds of millions of years as the northeast-moving Pacific plate, at times carrying microplates, has subducted beneath the southern edge of the Alaskan craton. During this time, continental accretion has occurred by sedimentation, microplate suturing, and igneous activity. In the mid-Cretaceous, 90 million years ago, the subducting Pacific plate carried along a large volcanic island arc, called the Talkeetna supertarrane, which collided with the Alaskan craton. Over the period from 90 to 60 million years ago, this terrane sutured to the Alaskan craton, pinching up portions of deep seafloor, and compacting and uplifting shallow marine sedimentary rocks of the Susitna Basin located along the southern continental margin. The uplifted cretaceous sedimentary rocks of the Susitna Basin, of a rock type known as agrillite, comprise the bulk of the range. The uplift and associated folding and faulting were mainly centered along the 1,300-mile long east-west trending Denali fault system. The subducting oceanic plate also caused subsequent igneous intrusions such as the 56 million-year-old Denali pluton and the 36 million-year-old Mount Foraker pluton. Erosion has since removed most of the original sedimentary rocks at higher elevations, revealing the granitic intrusive rocks which now comprise most of the higher summits of the range. Uplift and associated earthquake activity continues to this day, although igneous processes have ceased at the eastern edge of the range.

Denali has a north and slightly higher south summit, separated by a summit plateau. The majority of climbing routes access the summit from the south, where aircraft can land near the park boundary at basecamp on the Kahiltna glacier. The south-flowing Kahiltna glacier, over 60-km long, and over 5-km wide along most of its length, is the central feature of the south side of the mountain. Straight north up the Kahiltna from the glacier airstrip and basecamp is the West Buttress route - the most frequented route on the mountain. A non-technical ascent, it sees over 80% of the traffic on the mountain and is sometimes crowded with hoards of Americans climbing their nation’s highest peak. The West Buttress route climbs the Kahiltna up to a Kahiltna pass, and then follows the upper Kahiltna glacier which extends eastwards, to finally reach the west buttress of the summit via a steep gully. The upper portion of the relatively low-angled west buttress then leads to the summit via a summit plateau. The classic harder route on the mountain is the Cassin ridge. This also goes up the Kahiltna for some way, but then turns east up the narrow northeast fork of the Kahiltna. This fork is followed to where the glacier ends at a steep col, and the Cassin ridge can be accessed via steep gullies and climbed directly to the summit. The West Rib uses the same approach as the Cassin, up the northeast fork of the Kahiltna, and accesses a west-facing rib via a steep 2,000’ snow/ice gully. The route continues up this aesthetic rib to the summit. Routes on the north end of the mountain are entirely within the national park where aircraft are not allowed to land. They usually involve weeks of overland travel to reach the peak.

Map showing West Rib ascent and West Butress descent routes.

Flying Away

On a clear summer’s day on June 13^th, I left Calgary and flew to Anchorage. I would try and meet up with another party on site, or climb the mountain solo, via the West Rib, the Cassin Ridge, or if conditions weren’t good, the West Buttress.

The flight from Calgary to Anchorage was fantastic, flying directly over the heavily glaciated, Antarctic-like coast range the entire way. From the airport a shuttle provided by the hostel I would be staying at drove me to the town of Talkeetna, situated at 350’ elevation and roughly 115 miles north of Anchorage. Talkeetna is the staging place for all flights into Denali National Park and this cool little town is home to veteran Alaskan climbers, bush pilots, mushers and the like.

I got up early the next day, July 14^th, and headed for the Airport, where I picked up a radio for weather forecasts and emergency, and made arrangements to fly in. The air taxi service, K2 Aviation, told me I could fly in this morning, as the weather was clear. After a last greasy breakfast and great views of Denali, over 100km away to the north, I loaded my gear into the Canadian built 1954 DeHavilland Beaver with four American tourists, and at 1:30 in the afternoon I was at basecamp at 7,200’ on the southeast fork of the Kahiltna glacier.

Summit party, composed of American tourists tagging along for the flight, by the DeHavilland Beaver at the Talkeetna airport.

The flight into basecamp is just as spectacular as anything on the climb itself. The 30-minute flight flies north towards Denali, over spectacular and aptly-named one-shot pass, and then follows the Kahiltna glacier to a landing strip packed in the snow on the southeast fork of the Kahiltna. Spectacular views of the Alaska range, the Ruth Gorge, and surrounding peaks make it well worth the $375 US (2001) return trip.

Looking northwards at Denali and the massive Talkeetna glacier viewed from the flight in. Thin wispy clouds partially mask Mt. Foraker to the left.

Arriving at basecamp at 7,200’ on the southeast fork of the Kahiltna, and looking east. My fellow tourist team members not looking too fit, I guess it would be a solo attempt.

The Climb

As most expeditions were already under way, basecamp wasn’t too crowded. I lingered long enough to re-pack my gear, have a quick but tasty meal, and load up my sled. At about 10:30 p.m., with the sun just starting to dip lower on the horizon, and snow on the glaciers firming, I headed down the southeast fork. I then skied up the main arm of the Kahiltna glacier, past Mt. Foraker on the left and Mt. Frances on the right, and set up camp at 7,600’, just across from the entrance to the northeast fork of the Kahiltna. Conditions on the glacier were good, with most snowbridges still in place, so I decided to continue solo. Solo travel is not recommended on Alaskan glaciers, especially late in the season. Alaskan glaciers are heavily crevassed and large crevasses lay hidden even on flat-lying sections (there, that’s my disclaimer!). Precautions can be taken however, by travelling when the sun is lower on the horizon and temperatures cooler, usually between 8pm and 6am. During this time, the melted surface snow layer solidifies and snow bridges become more solid. Also, being on skis and towing a sled helps distribute weight more evenly.

Basecamp and the landing strip at 7,200’ on the southeast fork of the Kahiltna. The Cassin ridge seen cleaving the south face of Denali in the background and the Kahiltna peaks obscuring the lower mountain.

I got up bright and early the next afternoon, July 15^th, around 2pm. Watching a large sheep-like guided party heading up the West Buttress less than a kilometre away, decidedly turned me off to the possibility of climbing via the West Buttress. Later that afternoon, I made dinner, cached my sled, extra food, fuel and supplies under 2 meters of snow, and proceeded to pack my backpack.

My pack was enormous. Equipment consisted of a 2-man snowfield tent, -28°C down Kluane sleeping bag, full-length thermarest, ensolite foam pad, Whisperlite stove with pad, 2 lighters, 2L pot, mug and utensils, 2 1L Nalgene water bottles with insulated covers, food and fuel (2.5L) for 15 days, 15 meters of 8mm rope, 2 ice axes, crampons with antibotes, harness, 2 ice screws, snow picket, 2 locking biners, 2 non locking biners, 2 slings, 2 prussiks, utility rope, about 15 bamboo wands, repair kit (duct tape, pole sleeve, pack buckle, chicken wire, sewing kit), swiss army knife, compass, Petzl zoom headlamp with 3V battery, camera, radio, altimeter watch, first-aid kit (containing hotshots, bandages, antibiotic ointment, ibuprofen, diamox, vitamins, matches), toiletries, toilet paper, pencil and paper, topographic map, books (Homer, the Odyssey and a guide to the West Buttress), an Ortovox probe pole, snowsaw and shovel. Clothing consisted of my big down jacket, heavy 3-ply gore-tex outer, 2 fleeces, long underwear, underwear (1 set), 3 pairs of wool socks, 300-weight zippered fleece pants, 3-ply gore-tex bibs, down camp booties, Scarpa boots with Intuition liners, neck warmer, balaclava, toque, ball-cap, bandana, gloves, mitts, goggles and sunglasses. With my skis, skins, and poles attached going up the ascent gulley, my pack must have weighed over 120lbs. I obviously had not learned light travel techniques since my first trip to the Alaska range, when passing climbers mistook me for a giant moose at a distance. Needless to say, I have since changed my ways and am now fully committed to climbing light.

Shortly after 8pm, I headed up the northeast fork of the Kahiltna glacier. The northeast fork, also called the valley of death, is a narrow gorge about 2 kilometers across, susceptible from large avalanches and serac fall from the south face of Denali to the north and from the Kahiltna peaks to the south. Entire parties have disappeared, including one Canadian party of 4 from Toronto, never to be seen again.

Entering the northeast fork of the Kahiltna at 8pm, two climbers heading for the Cassin ridge pulling their sleds can be seen just at the shadow line. The west rib is the snow-covered ridge rising to the summit in the center of the photo.

Trailbreaking was easy as a party had left before me on their way to the Cassin. I finally set up camp at about 10,000’ on an icefall between several large crevasses. Previous debris showed evidence that a big slide from above would take out any camp in this basin.

Camp at 10,000’ on the icefall in the upper northeast fork of the Kahiltna glacier, the summit of Kahiltna Dome in the background. My antiquated 20lb. Volkl’s sticking out of the snow.

On July 16^th, the weather was excellent again, and I continued up the northeast fork. Weaving through heavily crevassed sections, I remarked that in possibly two more weeks the route would be impassable due to melting snowbridges. Around 6pm, I finally reached a safe spot just below the access gulley and had a short lunch break. Imposing unclimbed granite walls and spires towered above. I then packed my skis, skins, and poles on my giant pack, cramponed up, and started up the 2,000’ gulley that accesses the west rib proper. There had been little in the way of new snow, so the 40°-50° gulley was mostly ice. Frontpointing up was straightforward but difficult on the calves to say the least. Mid-way up I chanced to witness a rescue on the Cassin, just a little further up the valley. Apparently a couple Britts dropped some ice on an American party below them at the start of the Cassin. One of the Americans received a chunk in the leg, and although he was not seriously injured, he was unable to continue climbing. His partner and the Britts lowered him down to a flat spot below a bergschrund where he was airlifted out with a military helicopter (see accidents in North American Mountaineering). The two Britts and the remaining American teamed up to attempt the west rib instead, and they would be the only other people I saw on the route.

Camp at 12,900’ on the upper west rib, Kahiltna Peaks in the foreground and Mt. Foraker in the background.

By around midnight, thoroughly exhausted, I finally reached the top of the gulley and excavated a campsite at 12,900’. I had initially hoped that I would see traces of an earlier guided party that had set of for the West Rib and thus not have to excavate platforms, but I later learnt they had turned around before even getting to the gulley. I slept well that night and on the 17^th awoke around 1pm to another alpine start. Some clouds were moving in from the west, but they were relatively thin, and the weather report on the radio called for continuing good weather. As I climbed towards a higher camp at 13,900’, I noticed the Britt/American party coming up from below. I welcomed their company and we set up camp behind a big chunk of serac that had fallen long ago. The rib broadened now somewhat and was composed of relatively straightforward snowslopes up to about 35°. There were numerous small crevasses though, and on more than one occasion I put a leg through one.

On the 18^th, I got up earlier and started up steeper snow covered ice slopes to reach the main rocky crest of the west rib. Travelling in a whiteout all day, I reached the rocky crest at 15,800’ where it was possible to ski down to the 14,400’ camp on the West Buttress route on the north side of the ridge. This is where I would cache my skis, tent and extra gear. So, I skied down in the cloud-covered snowy darkness and found the camp around midnight. Luckily an earlier guided party trying to reach the rib from the West Buttress camp had wanded the lower portion of the route from the 14,400’ camp to the west rib, or else I likely would not have found the camp that night.

The next day, July 19^th, I alternatingly slept and ate all day as I would try for the summit the next day. My initial plan was to get an early start on the 20^th – waking around 3a.m. I woke up around 11:00 on July 20^th, and it was a stellar day - high pressure again! I ate some food, drank as much as I could, packed a light pack with some food and 2 litres of water, and headed off from the 14,400’ camp to regain the rib around 2:00 p.m. – so much for the 3 am. start.

Looking westward onto the upper Kahiltna glacier, the 14,400’ camp on the West Buttress is barely visible just right of center. Low clouds can be seen creeping up where the upper Kahiltna glacier drops off to Kahiltna pass.

I thought I’d do an acclimatization hike and if I felt good, and would just keep going and climb the last 6,000’ to the summit. I passed a guided party who were just leaving the West Buttress route to try and climb the upper west rib. I regained the crest of the ridge at 16,500, slightly higher than where I had left off a day and a half before, about an hour after leaving camp. At 17,000’ I slowed to a crawl, one step and then three breaths. My prior acclimatization training – the scramble up to the 8,500’ summit of Mt. Lady McDonald clearly showing its deficiencies. The upper rib was mostly steep snowslopes and rocky outcrops, never more than 50°. By now I was moving at the pace of a very fast mollusc while kicking steps up the Orient Express. The aptly named couloir is in memory of several Japanese climbers who either had epic falls or died, coming back down from the summit exhausted. Just after midnight, I reached the summit plateau. Thoroughly exhausted, I crouched behind a boulder for some shelter from the winds and ate a few chocolate bars and drank some water, nothing like a snickers at 20,000’. The sun was just dipping below the horizon, but a few rays still tinted red and orange some of the boulders I was leaning on.

Looking south towards the Gulf of Alaska and Pacific Ocean from high up on the west rib. Mountain chains of the Alaska range trailing away in the distance toward the ocean, and the continuation of the Alaska range tapering off to the west (right). High pressure persisting as low clouds move in from the south. Mount Hunter visible in the left foreground.

After an hour or so, I got my pack on again and started inching towards the summit ridge, deceptively over 300’ above.

The final portion of the summit ridge, quiet and ghostily illuminated by the midnight sun.

I ever so slowly moved up this seemingly interminable, but easy angled ridge and at 2:00 a.m. on June 21^st, I reached the summit. I was alone on top of North America, and the slowly rising sun of the summer solstice, lying beneath the northeast horizon, lighted the sky a pale orange, it was a spiritual moment!

Alone on the summit of Denali around 2 a.m., with the soft sun of the summer solstice just starting to rise above the plains to the north. The summit of the North peak can be seen just below the horizon right of center.

To the north the Alaska range dropped off abruptly and five kilometres down, met the plains that stretched out indefinitely towards the hazy expanses of tundra of the Alaskan north. To the south, the ranges slowly trailed away towards the cloud covered Gulf of Alaska and Pacific Ocean. To the east, the peaks of the Alaska range tapered off in the distance, far below the summit. To the west, the looming mass of Mount Foraker shone pinkish-purple in the early morning alpenglow and the first rays of the rising sun. Time to head down dude. Going down was o.k., although a little slow on the flats of the plateau. I had to stop repeatedly and I was now out of water. I was now heading down the West Buttress route. The sun was rising and at about 3a.m. it was bright again. At about 17,000’, I crossed another party of three coming up from a high camp on the West Buttress. I continued down the upper buttress, past Denali Pass, Washburn’s thumb, and then down the steep snow/ice gully that accesses the upper West Buttress from the upper Kahiltna glacier, and back down to my tent at the 14,400' camp by about 5:00am on the 21^st, about 15 hours after leaving on the 20^th.

Looking north onto the plains over 18,000’ (5km) below, stretching to infinity and towards the northern tundra.

I slept a few hours at the 14,400’ camp, then packed up all my gear and started down the 7,000’ ski run back to the airstrip. Just below 13,000’ I entered the clouds and then ducked under them at 11,000’.

Ducking under the cloud layer while skiing down the West Buttress, the 11,000’ West Buttress camp visible just right of center.

Although easy, the West Buttress route is absolutely beautiful and I had some great turns on the way down, both on powder higher up and on corn snow lower down. While skiing down, I passed at high speed several parties on snowshoes, wondering why any right-minded person would want to sacrifice the superior speed and agility provided by skis for the brutally slow uphill and downhill slog on snowshoes, Americans I suppose.

The 7,000’ ski run down to the lower reaches of the Kahiltna. Lower peaks of the Alaska range trailing away in the distance.

Me with my giant pack, looking up the northeast fork of the Kahiltna.

The glacier had opened up considerably since I had left basecamp and giant crevasses now loomed across the path downward. Melting snow created beautiful pools of crystal clear blue water on the lower glacier. I returned to my cache at the entrance of the northeast fork, dug up my gear, ate some goodies, loaded up my sled, said goodbye to the valley of the northeast fork that spared me this time, reached base camp later that day, and flew out the next day on July 23^rd.

Pools of water that have collected from daytime heating on the lower Kahiltna.

Seven days of high pressure and sunshine! Back to Calgary to catch the tail-end of the rock climbing and windsurfing season!

Flying out and a final look southward down onto the massive breadth of the lower Kahiltna glacier.

I would like to thank Darren Foltinek for providing the website, the HTML text and scanning the pictures.