Mesa is Spanish for table. In the SW United States, a mesa is a large, flat-topped mountain, often with steep cliffs on the sides. Gooseberry Mesa is about 20km south and west of Zion National Park in southern Utah. The mesa is bordered to the north by the Virgin River, flowing out of Zion canyon and to the west a plateau and valley that drops down to the towns of Hurricane and St. George. To the south of Gooseberry is another valley, though which highway 59 runs SE towards Arizona.

Gooseberry Mesa, SW of Zion National Park

Access to Gooseberry Mesa is via a dirt road that turns off from highway 59, then goes north and west through the farms and pastures around the quaintly named town of Apple Valley. The road, like much of the land around here, is red dirt, and is dry and in good condition, but if the dirt is wet, it becomes impassable mud. There are clean, modern parking and outhouse facilities at the top of the Mesa, as well as free campsites, but there are no other facilities and no water, so you need to bring all the food and water you need. And bring an extra day’s supply of water and food in case you get stuck up there when a storm turns the road into mud.

The West Temple in Zion National Park, from Gooseberry Mesa

Gooseberry Mesa camp

After loading up on food, water and other supplies in St. George, we get to the top of the mesa in the early evening. The campsites are established branches off the road, with space for a vehicle or two, and usually a stone fire pit. There are plenty of empty spots to choose from, and we find one within a couple 100m of the outhouse, on the north side of the road. The big red peaks of Zion, just north of us across the Virgin River valley, are glowing in the evening light as we setup camp and make dinner. The sky is clear and the stars come out above us on this stunning location on top of this table mountain. Wow!

Gooseberry Mesa camp under clear night sky

Night storm

A thunderstorm rolls by on the southern horizon, with sporadic lightening filling the cloud, and the dramatic light show forces me to stay awake for another 1/2 hour to capture the spectacle of this desert storm. Photography note: this was not a very active storm, with lightening only every few minutes, and each blast only lasts 1/3 of second or so, too quick to capture by triggering the camera when you see the flash. So as I brushed my teeth and got ready to sleep I took frame after frame after frame of the dark storm on the horizon, each one an 8 second exposure, until finally capturing the cloud lit up by a lightening bolt.

May 11

The day starts off with some mechanical work on the bike to fix my chain, which broke last night on the way to the outhouse. Once the bike is running again we ride the Bowls and Ledges and North Rim trails. Fun and spectacular riding on blobs of white sandstone, then changing to moderately technical single track as the trail network takes us north to the edge of the mesa.

Blooming cactus

Cholla cactus and Zion peaks

The desert on top of the mesa has plenty of cactus, and in mid May they are in full bloom, a spectacular sight in this dry and sparsely vegetated environment.

The north rim is spectacular, with long, convoluted ridges of white and red sandstone winding their way down and across the valley from the steep cliffs of beige sandstone that form the top of the mesa.

Rob at the North Rim

Darren in a slickrock bowl, Gooseberry Mesa. Photo Rob C.

We continue riding along the stunning rim before turning south and following a trail that takes us across the mesa to the south rim. Along the way my chain breaks again and I’m forced to coast / walk the bike down the dirt road back to camp, bringing the day’s ride to an early end, bah!

Less shelter, more view

We drive back to town to get a new chain and take the opportunity to pick up some more beer, chips and other supplies critical for desert survival.

After dinner I decide to move my tent to a slightly higher, less wind-sheltered campsite with better views of Zion and the other spectacular mountains for a night photo session. The alarm is set for 2am, but some cirrus clouds have moved in. Hopefully they will clear…

May 12

Up at 2 am and my first thought upon stepping out of the tent is “damn, the clouds are still here”. A few minutes later, after becoming a little more conscious, I realize those are not clouds, that’s the Milky Way arching across the eastern sky! Whoa!

Milky Way over Gooseberry Mesa camp

Excited about the clear sky, I set up the camera and start shooting. The constellations of Sagittarius and Scorpious are sitting nicely above the southern horizon and the only light pollution is from St. George to the west and a faint glow in the north, perhaps from Cedar City, 60km away. The tourist town of Springdale also casts quite a glow on the red walls at the southern entrance to Zion canyon, but does not light up the sky.

Pink

Red

The above image is a composite of 35 frames, each one a two-minute exposure, and covers nearly 180 degrees of sky, from north (left) to south. By 5am the sky to the east above the big walls of Zion are just starting to brighten and the late show is over. Finish shooting the ground frames as the sky brightens, quite quickly, and by 5:30 I’m packed up and back in the tent to catch a couple of hours of sleep before the sun hits the tent and makes it unbearably hot.

Ridge detail

View from the north rim, Gooseberry Mesa

After a groggy breakfast we ride out to the viewpoint at the far west end of the mesa, following part of the same trail network from yesterday. There’s a fresh chain on my bike and I’ve had a solid few hours of sleep, the riding is fun, the scenery spectacular, and desert is full of cacti in full bloom. What a place!

Riding the same trails twice is fun because you can work on cleaning sections that stumped you the first time, navigation is easier, and you get a more continuous ride, approaching the elusive state of flow, where all your awareness is in the here and now, your mind is clear and focused, and your bike and body are working as one.

One thing is for sure: achieving flow and coming back with lots of photographs are not very compatible activities. You are either in the zone, riding, or you are stopping to gawk at and photograph the scenery (which really deserves to be gawked at!), but not both. Today we ride. Well, ok, a quick few photos just need to be taken!

Rob chasing the flow on the way back from the west end viewpoint

May 13, Zion National Park

Time for a short break from biking. We get up early, pack up camp and get to Zion around 10 in the morning, hoping to get one of the first-come-first-serve campsites. As we approach the town of Springdale, at the south end of Zion, we run into heavy traffic, and soon slow to a crawl, along with 100s of other vehicles all trying to get into the park. After the quiet campsite and trails on the mesa, the crowds in the park are a big shock, but we are early enough to get a campsite in the tent section of a big RV lot.

In the middle of the day the heat is intense, and we chill out in the shade of camp for the afternoon. After a quick, early dinner I catch one of the regular (free!) buses that ferry people up and down the canyon, planning to head up to West Rim and Angel’s Landing for the evening. Since the last bus runs at 8:30, I’ve brought my bike along for the ride back and some warm clothes and a headlamp for when the sun goes down.

Evening in the main valley from the lower West Rim trail, Zion NP

An oasis in a sea of sandstone, West Rim trail, Zion NP

Reflected evening light, Zion NP

Angels Landing is an extremely popular trail to one of the best viewpoints in the canyon, and even at this late hour it’s crowded with people. The upper part is narrow, steep and very exposed, with chains to protect hikers from the 300m drop. To avoid the crowds on this narrow trail, I take a left turn at a junction and head to the West Rim Trail, which climbs up on white sandstone to a higher elevation than Angels Landing. I only meet one other person on the west rim trail, while on the more famous Angels Landing there are queues of people at the bottleneck points. I’m moving at a quick but sustainable pace, and it feels great to be walking again after a few days of riding the bike and sitting in the car.

Staying comfortable on a still-warm rock, Zion NP

The cross-bedding in the sandstone is beautiful, there are small lizards running around, and the view looking 500m down to the lush, green canyon floor is just stunning. It’s also very impressive how life thrives in the harsh and dry environment high above the canyon floor, where it’s mostly bare rock.

Cross bedded sandstone, Zion NP

Zion park is on the western edge of the Colorado Plateau, a massive region covering 337,000 km² of Utah, Arizona, Colorado and New Mexico. The sand and sediments now exposed in Zion were deposited here starting around 250 million years ago, when all the continents were jammed together into the super-continent of Pangaea. What are now big cliffs of red Navajo Sandstone were accumulated over about 10 million years as thick sand dunes during the Jurassic Period, when a huge desert covered this part of North America. The canyon itself was carved relatively quickly, with the Virgin River cutting down 400m over the last 1 million years. The erosion is on-going, with the Virgin River moving an estimated 5000 tons of sediment daily.

Alone out here, surrounded by the immensity of the geology and feeling the incomprehensible span of time it took to first deposit and then carve out this landscape, I feel simultaneously absolutely insignificant and very fortunate to be here. A truly magnificent and special place!

Looking up canyon into The Narrows, Zion NP

Reflected light on red walls, Zion NP

Angels Landing and valley, as seen from West Rim trail

After hiking along west rim for a ways, it’s getting late and I still want to make it up to the Angels viewpoint, so I turn around and head back to the junction. The historic Angels Landing trail, built in 1926, is probably the most famous hike in Zion and promises great views.

On the way up the Angels Landing trail I meet two park rescuers who are helping a guy who has slipped and broken his ankle. After running up to the top and snapping some photos of the stunning views up and down the canyon, I carefully pick my way back down the trail in the twilight.

On the way down I meet the rescue party again, who are now moving the victim very slowly down the trail. He can’t walk in this steep terrain, and is shuffling along on his butt, clearly in great pain, and secured to one of the rescuers. I ask them if they need any help, and then move past them to get down to easier ground before it gets dark. Those guys are going to be in for a long, slow descent.

They really should not call this trail a “hike”, because actually it is a very exposed scramble, protected by chains. Many of the people that I saw up there this evening really do not belong on an exposed scramble. When you are wearing flip flops, carrying a water bottle in one hand, and don’t have a backpack with extra clothes or a headlamp, this is not the trail for you, especially in the evening.

Walls of sandstone lit by moonlight, Zion NP

Wider view of Zion Narrows and the Big Bend

On the way down I meet up with other groups of hikers, none of whom have a headlamp, and we stick together, swapping travel stories as we hike down the trail in the dark. We meet a crew of at least six Park’s Rangers coming up the trail hauling a single-wheel stretcher, to carry the guy with the broken ankle down once the team of two rescuers get him down off the technical upper trail and onto the easy ground of the paved trail.

The others didn’t realize that the bus stops running, so they are in for a couple hours walk down the road back to town. After saying goodby, I hop on the bike for a stunning ride down canyon surrounded by towering red walls lit by the moon. Magical!

May 14

Another hiking day in this crowded but absolutely stunning place! Note to self: much as I enjoy meeting people, this place would be much quieter in the winter time. And not as hot!

To avoid the heat, we’ve chosen the Hidden Canyon hike, which starts at the Big Bend and winds up a series of switchbacks until entering a narrow side canyon. There the official trail ends at a big log, lying at a 30-degree angle, that needs to be down-climbed to continue up the canyon.

Panorama of the Big Bend from the trail to Hidden Canyon, Zion NP

Rob on a log crossing, upper Hidden Canyon, Zion NP

In a narrow passage of Hidden Canyon, Zion NP

As we continue hiking there are several steep sandstone steps, between 4m and 8m high, that need to be climbed, either on the stone or using logs. These obstructions add some fun and excitement to the hike, while the tall, dramatic red walls rise up to end at a skinny band of blue sky. The depths of the canyon are shaded, making this is one of the most comfortable places in the park on a hot day.

The canyon can be explored for a few kilometers, but eventually you will run into obstacles (walls) that cannot be climbed safely without technical climbing gear. Remember as you explore up canyon that it’s always more difficult to climb down than it is to go up!

Vertical forest on the red sandstone walls

Historic building in Zion Park

Once again I’ve taken the bike on the bus, so that I can ride back down the canyon, an absolutely stunning road ride through this surreal landscape of giant red walls. An added bonus is that the road is mostly free of cars, thanks to the bus-transport-only policy during the high season in this park.

Cactus along the road, Big Bend in Zion

We get back to camp in the late afternoon and settle down to make dinner. Storm clouds are moving across the sky, and we decide to head out after dinner for a quick bike ride up the canyon road, chasing the storm and the potentially beautiful evening light.

It’s difficult to drag yourself away from a beer and the comfort of a chair in camp to jump on the bike and go chase the possibility of a cool photo, but in a landscape as incredibly dramatic as this one it’s totally worth it!

Evening storm over Zion Park

May 15

Among all the great mountain biking in this part of the world, there is one more trail we want to hit before leaving the SW corner of Utah, and that is The Whole Guacamole ride just west of Zion park on highway 9. Getting there requires driving up a narrow and exposed dirt road that heads up a drainage to gain a plateau immediately south-west of Zion.

We have been using the fantastic MTB Project app to find and navigate bike trails in the area. The app combines Google Image display with crowd-sourced trail maps and usually includes a good description of the road approach to the trailhead, which is often not simple in this area. Most importantly, the app caches the map data, so it remains fully usable when you are out of cell range. Brilliant and highly recommended!

Being so close to Zion, we are expecting great views, but upon arriving at the trailhead parking lot we both gasp – the big peaks of Zion are right in your face, and off to the NW a volcanic cinder cone rises out of the plateau.

Rob drops into the white sandstone at Guacamole

Riding with the cactus, Guacamole trail, Utah

The trail starts on smooth white sandstone before moving onto rocky single track surrounded by blooming pink cactus. Then comes more single track before entering a region of 5-10m high blobs of white sandstone which the trail winds over, around and down.

The riding is continuously challenging, but never too difficult, making for big grins and lots of joyful whoops. We ride some sections repeatedly just because they are so much fun, and all the while the red peaks of Zion make for a stunning, colorful backdrop. Another wow!

White sandstone and red walls of Zion, Guacamole trail

Darren rides around sandstone blogs, photo Rob C

Darren in the blobs, photo Rob C

At the edge of the white sandstone region is a series of fun, narrow gaps and wildly eroded nooks and caverns. The trails climbs a bit to get to the south edge of the mesa, where we take a quick lunch break and enjoy the view out over the Virgin River valley. Then super fun, twisty, swooping single track takes us back down to rejoin the main trail leading to the parking lot.

The twisty, swoopy single track on the south rim. Note the volcanic cinder-cone on the left.

We get back to the car, tired and over-heated but just thrilled to have ridden this fantastic trail with superb views over a great variety of terrain. The Whole Guacamole absolutely gets 5/5-stars and my vote for Best Mountain Bike Trail in Utah!

Big fun in my favorite part of the United States!

- Darren Foltinek, 2016

After three weeks traveling through Utah, Nevada and Arizona, mostly spent mountain biking and with a little climbing and hiking, it’s time for a relaxing change of pace. The Utah town of Moab, seemingly at the center of the desert adventure universe, is extremely busy, with main street thick with RVs and motels and campsites are all sold out. Because Moab is so busy, we decide to stay in Fruita, Colorado for a few days, where the biking is excellent, the restaurants funky, and the micro-brewed beer outstanding.

Driving I70 from Fruita to Moab

Sunday morning starts at 4:30am. Yesterday was spent buying and organizing food, sorting and packing the gear, shifting from biking and car-camping mode to wilderness-river mode, and this early morning we just load the car and get on the road for the 1.5 hour drive from Fruita to Moab.

The drive is beautiful, with the early morning light highlighting the fascinating geology of the Colorado River valley, which is quite wide along I70. The La Sal mountains are standing prominently on the horizon, all by themselves above the red rock of the river canyon, and we regularly see prong-horn antelope in the desert next to the road.

We get to Tex’s Riverways in Moab before 8, and meet Devin and Darren, the two brothers who run the show. Loading the boats and gear on their trailer, instructions from Devin, and logistics take a while, then we head out on the 1.5 hour drive to the Mineral Bottom boat launch. The very exposed dirt road follows a series of switchbacks cut into the side of the canyon during the cold war era, when Moab was a uranium mining operation. The road is well maintained, and is one end of the locally-famous White Rim road, a popular jeep and mountain bike loop that runs 160km around Canyonlands.

Rob in the red rocks, Green River, Utah

Loading the boats takes a while, and we have lunch before getting on the water, at about 1:30. The boat launch area is a hive of activity, with people launching boats, and two parties, including our British camp mates Roy, Andrew and Oliver from last week in Moab, arriving for a pickup. A family group, with an angry grandad trying to keep control over a bunch of unruly kids, arrives in six canoes and the stress level of the whole place increases dramatically.

An arch in the making, Green River

Rob kayaking on the Green River, downstream of Mineral Bottom

Once we put the boats on the river the peacefulness is profound, with nothing but the calls of birds and the splash of the paddles to break the silence. The red canyon walls tower above us and we float and paddle down the smooth but swiftly flowing Green River. It’s been a couple years since either of us have paddled a boat on a river, but it all comes back quickly as we practice entry and exits from eddies along the shore. Rivers don’t get much more gentle than this one!

Camp at Fort Bottom, Green River, Utah

Rob enjoys a cold one at Fort Bottom

After four relaxing hours spent floating and occasionally paddling, checking out possible river landings and campsites, and gawking at the stunning scenery, we arrive at Fort Bottom just before 5. We pull out just before the old cabin, at the end of a series of thick bush, which lines the river as an impassible green wall, and before a tall rocky embankment. The river take out is excellent, with good spots to secure the kayak and canoe.

It takes an hour to unload the boats, move the gear up to high ground, and set up the tents, and all the while the sun is beating down and the flies are relentless. We put the kitchen under an overhanging sandstone rock that provides precious shade, and prepare dinner of rice and steak and mushrooms. The view from our kitchen patio, of the high red walls across the river, is stunning. River camping is only slightly more difficult than car camping, and we have a big cooler, a two-burner stove, comfortable chairs, and lots of camera gear. Cheers to day one!

Evening storm at Fort Bottom

Cactus at Fort Bottom

Desert flowers at Fort Bottom

In the evening a bit of wind blows through camp, which is typical as the desert cools rapidly after the sun goes down, and we reinforce the tent anchors as a thunderstorm passes to the east. Devin at Tex’s gave us a lecture on the serious winds that often come howling through the canyon, complete with stories of tents being blown through fields of cactus and other dramatic events that can reduce the fun level on a river trip.

The cool air in the evening is a great relief from the heat of the day, and we alternate between lounging around camp and exploring the desert, admiring the hardy life and geology.

Monday, to Anderson Bottom

Dawn panorama, 6am, Fort Bottom

Tall, spindly desert flowers

Cactus in the early morning, Fort Bottom

Wake up at 5:30 after a restless, hot night, when the temperature in the tent was too warm to be in the sleeping bag and too cool to be on top of it. I’m always glad to get out of the tent in the early morning to check out this gorgeous time of day, when the air is fresh and the stunning low light changes dramatically, minute-by-minute.

There’s lots of work to do in the morning, chiefly get breakfast going, take apart camp and pack the boats, but there’s always time to grab some photos of this stunning and peaceful time of day in between jobs.

Morning camp panorama, 7am, Fort Bottom

Detail of the Fort Bottom cabin

Cabin at Fort Bottom

After breakfast and packing up camp, before the sun gets too hot, we walk just west of camp to the nearby abandoned cabin, built in the late 1800s. Perched on the edge of the river, it has lost its roof but the log walls and stone fireplace are still standing. Known as “Outlaw cabin”, it was built by Mark Walker, a pioneer rancher on the Green River, well before the region was declared a National Park.

Interior of Anasazi fort

Remains of Anasazi fort

After investigating the cabin, we follow a trail up the butte at the center of the river bend to check out the remains of an ancient fort built by the Anasazi people and estimated to be 750 years old. The fort sits on the very highest point on the butte and is a compact stone structure, only big enough for perhaps 4 people, with fantastic views overlooking the river, far upstream and downstream of Fort Bottom. The two stone towers are connected by a small window / doorway and the taller structure still has wooden beams embedded in the stone walls that would have supported a 2nd floor.

View south, downstream, from the fort

Approaching Anderson Bottom

Rob in the kayak under some cirrus clouds

By 10am we are back in camp to load the boats and get on the water. The sun is already hot, and we are moving slowly to not overheat. The river is once again gorgeous, calm but quick flowing water, with constant bird songs, sightings of blue herons, ravens, swallows, all the time surrounded by constantly changing geology. On the river it doesn’t take long for the heat to really get to us, and we are dunking the sun hats in the muddy water to cool ourselves off within an hour. No dawdling today, and we get down to Anderson Bottom by 1:00, find an easy take-out with a great big camp spot under a huge old cottonwood tree, and with dwindling energy we look forward to the prospect of an afternoon nap in the shade of the big tree.

Sandstone wall at sunset

Flowering desert plants

Cracked mud at Anderson Bottom

Unloading the boats and setting up camp takes about an hour, then it’s time for relaxing under the tree with a beer in hand before the nuisance flies drive us into the tents to escape their incessant buzzing in the ears and eyes and nose. They don’t seem to be biting (much), just really annoying.

After an afternoon siesta, we take a quick stroll to the cliffs across the mud flats of this abandoned river bend to some caves and then it’s time to cook dinner while fighting flies, eating dinner while fighting flies, and taking sunset photos while fighting flies.

Anderson Bottom camp is at a meander in the river that the river abandoned some time ago, and the broad flats between the current river and sandstone canyon walls are covered in silt and sand. After wolfing down dinner, I run around grabbing photos in the dramatic light as the red walls turn even more brilliant red and the sky gets some color.

Anderson Bottom at sunset

Finally after sunset the flies disappear, and we are left in relative peace, pondering some large, shiny black bees that appear to have a nest in the logs around the fire pit. Later on Rob figures that these are Carpenter Bees. The sky rapidly darkens and the stars come out, slightly obscured by thin clouds.

Around 2am I wake up and stumble out of the tent to find the light clouds from earlier in the evening have cleared, and that the sky is now thick with stars. Canyonlands National Park is far from major sources of light pollution, with the nearest town of any size being Moab, about 40km away. Out here, the Milky Way is a glorious, subtly glowing band that starts off lying along the eastern horizon, and slowly rises until it’s standing vertically around 3am.

Moonrise over Anderson Bottom camp at 3am

Even through bleary eyes I am totally in awe of the sky, and really have no choice but to set up the night photography gear and capture this magical sight. This photo covers nearly 180 degrees of sky and is composed of 20 frames, each a 90 second exposure with a 28mm lens. It takes about an hour and a half to set up the gear and capture these frames, and close to 3am I notice that the sky in the east is getting brighter, behind the big sandstone buttress across the river. At first I’m confused by this, as it’s still far too early for sunrise, but then realize that the moon is rising, and its reflected light paints the desert with long fingers of brightness and casts dark shadows.

May 31, Anderson Bottom to Turks Head

Wall dome at Anderson bottom

Tall grass on the riverbank, Anderson Bottom

Rob and I both fail to get an early start this morning. I was up for over two hours in the middle of the night, and it turns out that Rob heard me as I was walking around and taking pictures, and so he had a bad nights sleep too. Sorry buddy, I was trying to be as quiet as I could!

Morning reflection leaving Anderson Bottom

After the morning routine of breakfast, taking apart camp and loading the boats, we’re on the water again. 2/3 of the way to our destination today, just before the Turks Head bend in the river, we stop at a takeout marked by Devin and hike a mile to find a huge boulder with petroglyphs on one side. We joke that it’s a long way to walk in the heat of the desert to see some old graffiti and then joke that the strange-looking figures seen in petroglyphs in this region are actually proof of alien visitation.

Petroglyph rock, Tower Park, Green River

Petroglyphs at Tower Park

Darren having lunch in the shade. Photo by Rob C.

In all seriousness and respect, the petroglyphs impress on us a tremendous sense of time, and deep continuity of humanity, out here in this harsh and stunning landscape. We wonder how old they are, and speculate on the meaning of the symbols and figures carved in the rock so many centuries ago, by fellow humans who had far, far greater skills than we do at surviving in this land, humans who were much closer to the reality of life and land and sky than we are in our modern, online, opulent and largely virtual lives.

Approaching Turks Head bend

After hiking back to the boats and getting back on the water, we look for a takeout that would let us hike to some of the native cliff dwellings on this bend of the river. And some hunting around that involves difficult upstream paddling and fighting to secure the boats on a steep, muddy bank with nothing but eroded shrub roots for rope anchors, we find an excellent takeout about a mile down river where there is already a pair of canoes, lashed together. We are hoping that there will be enough space for two more tents, and that whoever is here will be willing to share this space with us.

Camp cactus

On shore, we meet Carl and Nancy, and Ron and Sally. Super fun folks, we chat the night away swapping back country adventure stories of deserts and hills and mountains. Carl has hiked the Appalachian trail, 2100 miles, by himself, a journey taking 5 months, and Ron has mountain biked the white rim trail, just across the Green River, all 100 miles, in two days, among other adventures. The solitude out here has been fantastic, but we joke that it’s a nice break to have somebody else to talk to!

We share our wine with them, and Carl gives us a block of ice out of their amazing Canyon ice chest, which has kept ice frozen for the last 6 days. They are running the river from Crystal Canyon, just south of the town of Green River, and have done several days of more than 20 miles each, much better than our 10-12 mile days. Maybe we should be paddling more and not just floating!

Experienced desert paddlers, they share tricks with us Canadians such as clearing the river water with Alum powder, mixed into a quart of water, which is then used to settle the sediment out of numerous 5-gallon pails of muddy water. After being cleared of mud, it can be used for bathing, or treated and consumed. We, on the other hand, have been carrying all of our water, more than 5l per person per day, and our ice melted after two days.

Canyon detail, Turks Head campsite

After suffering from heat exhaustion the last two days, we have been slowly figuring out what it takes to be comfortable out here in the heat and sun. I stow my 2L water bladder behind the kayak seat so that I can drink constantly, and am keeping my sun hat wet all day by dunking it in the river every 10 minutes, which keeps my head cool and drips over my body, keeping the heat under control. After arriving at camp today, I feel much better than the last two days.

Turks Head campsite

Feeling bad about waking up Rob last night while I was shooting night photos, I resolve not to do that again and make sure that I place my tent far away from any other campsite, so I can play with the camera under the incredible starry sky without disturbing anybody.

Sunset over the river from Turks Head camp

Canyonlands is beautiful in the middle of the day, but in the evening the place becomes magical as the red rock walls glow intensely in the low light, and the sky is clear and deep blue. As the sun sets, the desert air cools rapidly, and there are often wind gusts that blow dust up dust around camp. The dust is a nuisance, but the cool breeze feels fantastic!

Evening river reflection

I’m writing this while sitting in a shirt and pants, in a collapsible chair outside my tent under a night sky that is incredibly rich with stars. Everybody else in camp has gone to bed, and the night is very peaceful, but not quiet. At 10:30 there are still birds singing, crickets and frogs chirping, and some unknown creature crying out up river every 10 seconds like he’s being tortured. The flies which are such a nuisance all day and evening are gone, the temperature is beautifully cool, and the evening sky is full of bats, flitting about in their acrobatic style as they hunt down the pesky flies and mosquitoes. Go bats!

The Milky Way lies flat on the horizon early in the night, and by 2:00 in the morning it will be high overhead, from Scorpius in the south to Cassiopeia in the north, but after losing more than two hours of sleep last night I can’t afford stay up all night again! The plan for tonight is to wait a bit until the Milky way has risen decently above the horizon, shoot until midnight or so, then crash in the tent.

Milky Way over Turks Head camp around 11pm

On the far right of this image is the constellation Scorpius, where the two brightest “stars” are Mars and Saturn. The glow on the horizon, just above my tent, is the light pollution of Moab, and green glow on the horizon is air glow, a natural phenomenon that has annoyed astro-photographers for all time. The dark clouds that obscure the glowing band of the Milky Way are not Earth clouds, but clouds of galactic gas, billions of years old, floating in our galaxy, waiting to collapse into stars.

Ok it’s 12:30, well past time to sleep and I’m in awe of the gorgeous night but exhausted. 6am comes early and we’re hiking to some cliff dwellings tomorrow morning before packing up and getting on the river.

Jun 1, Wednesday, Turks Head to Water Bottom

Up at 6, as usual, as the sky brightens but before the sun hits the tent. Groggy this morning, but the nights sleep was solid, right they way through, from 12 – 6, after taking photos of the glorious Milky Way as it lay in a gentle arc in the eastern sky.

Green river lizard

Scorpion

While having breakfast this morning, there’s a cry of “scorpion!” and we all gather around to gawk at this 3 inch long, prehistoric-looking creature, all armour and pincers and stinging tail, as it scampers from a hiding place under a bag to the safety of a nook in the rocks. Scorpions don’t just look primitive, they are truly ancient creatures, with the earliest fossil records dating back over 400 million years. After the excitement of the scorpion, I resolve to keep my shoes inside my tent at night, instead of outside in the vestibule as I usually do, because it would be a very unpleasant surprise to find one of those in a shoe at 4am!

After breakfast we say good-bye to our friends as they head off down river, going all the way to Spanish Bottom. Rob and I go for a hike to find the cliff dwelling ruins up-river of our campsite – much easier to walk across the desert than to paddle up river! We scramble up through a band of the soft, deep red sandstone from camp and then on to and around a broad bench surrounding the Turks Head formation, before scrambling down a wash to reach a lower, grassy bench. Following a very rough trail we come across the first dwelling very soon, just above the grassy bench, tucked below an overhanging layer of hard sandstone. We continue wandering and find another small rock wall, partially collapsed, before turning back and then continuing on in the opposite direction, past our descent wash.

Cliff dwellings at Turks Head bend

Cliff dwellings at Turks Head

After 20 minutes of wading through scratchy grass, we are just about to turn around when we see, up about 10m in the broken cliff, a set of three beautifully preserved cliff constructions. The biggest one would make a great kitchen, the middle sized one a very compact sleeping quarters for two small people, and the smallest one perhaps a storage area.

We realize that these cliff houses, make of thick rock walls and tucked under overhanging rock, make a fantastic shelter from the sun, and are far more comfortable than our high tech tents, which are completely unusable when the sun turns them into nylon ovens during the heat of the day.

Field of chert

Hiking back to camp past Turks Head

As geo-geeks, Rob and I are both fascinated to find lots of chert in the area, a rock with extremely small crystals that fractures into very sharp-edged fragments, suitable for making knives, arrow-heads and other stone tools. Also cool is to see an aerial view of Turks Head.

Another tough day on the river

After getting back to camp, making a quick lunch and loading the boats, we are on the water by 12. It feels great to get on the water, especially since it’s noticeably cooler than the sandy desert. We’ve been dunking the sun hats in the river, and putting that hat soaked in muddy river water on feels great, and keeps the heat exhaustion at bay.

The transition from land to water every morning takes about an hour, packing up the gear and loading the boats, and is fun and exciting, as we are about to start off on another day’s journey downriver through new territory.

Floating and paddling down the smoothly flowing river, watching the cliff walls glide past, looking for landmarks and navigating with the excellent river map is very peaceful. There is an deep sense of time while floating down through this canyon, carved over millions of years by the river, and exposing layers of rock that were deposited as river and ocean sediments 100s of millions of years ago. The slow pace of travel really gives you lots of time to contemplate this and let the reality soak into your bones.

Rob drives the canoe towards Water Canyon

Blue heron on the Green River

Steep walls of red sandstone rise straight up from this section of the river, approaching our next campsite at Water Canyon. Once again, water defines life in the desert, and the thin band of dense vegetation lining the river is thick with birds, constantly singing and crying out to each other as we float by. We see several blue herons, standing on the bank or flying gracefully over the river, and after several attempts I’m finally able to grab a photo of one, standing serenely on the bank as we float by.

Life in the desert is all about hydration, and after today’s easy, two hour hike to the cliff houses and back, we each consumed about 2l of water. Paddling some but mostly floating on the river today I drink another 2l of water from my water bladder over a few hours, and then put down another liter after setting up camp and before cracking a beer.

In the mud at Water Canyon

Looking for camp in Water Canyon

I’ve been navigating, and miss the takeout to the upper Water Canyon campsite, instead putting the boats into the creek coming out of canyon itself. We paddle up the narrow gap between a small rock wall on the left and an equal sized green wall of the invasive Tamarisk trees on the right, without finding any suitable landing points, until we run out of navigable water and turn around. Since I’m in the “Ferrari” kayak while Rob is driving the “freighter” canoe, I go back to the river and push the boat hard to get upstream and find the campsite, then guide Rob and the freighter along the shore, in the eddies, which is much easier than fighting the main river current.

The transition from water to land can be dramatic, aiming for the takeout point and driving the boat there (fun!), then usually struggling to get onshore in the deep, soft mud that really tries to suck the sandals off your feet, securing the boats to a tree, walking about to make sure we are at a good campsite, emptying the boats and then hauling the gear up an often steep and slippery or sandy path to the campsite under the blazing sun. Kind of fun, mostly knowing that there’s a lukewarm beer waiting for us after camp is set up.

Camouflaged lizard at Water Canyon camp

We have a 10l water bladder, and the two of us are going through about 1.5 of those a day. It is not extremely hot, but the temperatures are still around 30C, and the sun is inescapable while on the river and while hiking about the desert. After getting the boats landed and secured, moving the gear onshore while floundering in slippery, ankle-deep mud, hauling the gear up a sandy trail under the blazing sun and setting up the kitchen and tents, our reward is our daily beer, the best tasting thing in the world. Unfortunately we only have six beers each for six days, but the main craving is not for beer, but cold liquid. We’ve brought 3l of wine in a box for the week, and find that it tastes OK when diluted 5:1 with water, which allows this parched desert wanderer to enjoy the flavor of the wine, in a more subtle manner, while still filling the body with the water it craves. We call it a back country desert sangria.

Rob has been teasing me over my choice of tent locations this whole trip. I really enjoy capturing images of my tent in spectacular locations, so I tend to choose camp sites based more on photo esthetics rather than the more standard criteria.

Flat? Not so much. Wind sheltered? Not at all. Spacious? No, just one skinny tent wide. Secure? Not really, it’s wedged between a crumbly cliff and the steep river embankment. Scenic? Oh yeah!!

Water Canyon camp

While shooting stars after dinner, a big meteor streaks across the sky, from north to south, covering most of the sky and leaving a glowing trail. Wow! It’s been difficult to get enough sleep on this trip, since the days are busy from 6 in the morning until 9 at night, and then the stars come out, completely stunning here in the desert under a nearly new moon, which means that I want to stay up all night capturing the glorious universe! Fortunately I have embraced the concept of the siesta, and catch up on sleep during the heat of the afternoon.

Reflection of Saturn and Antares at Water Bottom camp

Thursday, Water Canyon hike

Up at 5 with an urge to use the poo box. In this national park, we need to pack all human waste out, so we rented a portable toilet, which is a simple, sturdy metal box, which does the job. Decide to stay up and photograph the dawn sky instead of going back to bed. The sky starts off dark blue with still a few stars visible, but is rapidly getting brighter, with thin clouds scattered about.

Water Canyon camp at dawn

By 6 Rob is up and I am still shooting the stunning location of this camp, the upper Water Canyon camp, tucked between the cliff and the river. After breakfast we plan today’s hike and get ready, scoping out the trail from camp.

My scenic tent spot at Water Canyon

Water Canyon, looking down towards Green River

Water Canyon lizard cairn

The hike starts off paralleling the creek drainage that feeds into the river and working up the fairly flat bottom of the canyon. The trail soon turns left at the junction between Water and Shot canyons and begins to climb steeply up a slope covered with car and house-size sandstone boulders. The trail is very well marked with cairns, and more than once we see a helpful lizard, perched on top of a cairn, pointing the way. Or merely sunning himself…

Tadpoles in a pool, Water Canyon

Huge boulder fall in Water Canyon

Flowering cactus

Near the junction of Water and Shot canyons is a spectacularly huge boulder of white sandstone that has fallen from the top of the cliff and broken into a few pieces when it hit the floor. The canyon, as promised, has water trickling down the middle, and there are small pools full of tadpoles in the flat areas. The stream originates far up-canyon, as a spring coming out of the sandstone.

Hiking up a wash onto the mesa above Water Canyon

Rob admiring the huecos

Darren exiting the hueco-bowl, photo Rob C

Exiting the main canyon leads to a flat, sandy wash (water drainage), which ends at a formation with spectacular hueco formations eroded into the soft sandstone.

Cyptobiotic soil and cactus

Along the way there is a long section with very thick cyptobiotic soil, some of the thickest we have seen on this trip. This soil is formed as bacteria colonize the sand, stabilizing it against wind erosion, holding moisture, and fixing nitrogen, which eventually allows other plants to take hold and grow. The soil is dominated by cyanobacteria (blue-green algae), one of oldest known forms of life, with fossil evidence dating back over two billion years. The resulting soil is very fragile and slow-growing, and the rule here is to never disturb the crypto-soil, and never walk off-trail, unless it is down a sandy wash.

Hiking across the mesa towards river overlook

Colorado River overlook

The final section is along a mostly flat, sandy trail surrounded by pillowly red and white sandstone formations 20-50m high. A kilometer or two of this leads to a large patch of white sandstone slickrock, and the first river viewpoint.

Looking down at the joined Colorado and Green rivers as they flow south towards Spanish Bottom is spectacular. After spending the last few days at the bottom of the canyon looking up at walls it’s great to get a high, big-picture view. The confluence of the two rivers is upstream of this viewpoint, and not visible here, but there’s a extension of the trail leading towards a viewpoint that might show it.

Last bend in the Green River, and confluence with the Colorado River

Confluence of the Green (bottom) and Colorado Rivers, with the La Sal mountains on the horizon

Turkey vulture eyes me up for lunch

After a bit of discussion about water and time, I run out along the trail extension, giving myself half an hour to get to the viewpoint and back. The view from this 2nd viewpoint is spectacular, overlooking a big bend in the Green River, with the confluence just visible as a V-shaped feature in the rivers. Snap some photos as four turkey vultures circle overhead, clearly recognizing a solo desert traveler as a potential meal, and then head back to join Rob for lunch.

Tree and flowers

My throat has been dry most of the morning, and I’ve finished half of the 2l of water I carried. We both realize that it will be a long, hot and dry walk back down to our camp on the river. The small pools in the canyon bottom will provide some chances to cool down, but otherwise it is just hot, dry blazing sun all the way back. 2l is clearly not enough water for 7+ hours in the desert, but today it will have to do.

The tenacity of desert life really impresses me. This tough little tree, probably a decade or more old but only a foot high, is growing out of a bed of rocks, no soil in sight. And this cactus is clearly quite happy, hanging on between some cryptobiotic soil and the edge of a cliff. Amazing!

Desert tree, growing in rocks

Cactus on the edge

Stopping at the water pools in the canyon to soak the hat and shirt really helps, as does sitting down in the few shady spots we find. Back in camp by 3:30, where we both put down about 1.5l of water before cracking a beer. The hike was only about 12km, with 1100ft (335m) elevation gain, but we are both feeling wiped out from the heat and dehydration. In camp, a thermometer reads 33C in the shade.

It has been a great day, a spectacular hike and it was nice to stay at the same spot for two nights, avoiding all the work of packing and moving and setting up camp again. Falling asleep, on top of the bag with the temperature down to maybe 25C, listening to the frogs scream their ghastly cry, the crickets singing, the bats chirping at incredibly high pitch, and the river gently flowing, 10m away from my tent. This is living!

Friday, to the Confluence

Camp cactus, Water Canyon

The end for a bee, photo Rob C

Last day of the this amazing river trip. Clouds came in last night, thin clouds but enough to negate any desire to stay up late and shoot the sky. Not the best location for deep sky imaging anyway, down in the depths of a narrow canyon. Crash fairly early after the very hot hike and up at 6 this morning.

On the trail from my tent to the poo box I hear the buzzing of a bee, and look down, still groggy with sleep, to see one of the big black bees and one regular bee caught in a spider web, frantically trying to escape, while a big black widow spider attacks and tries to kill them. That’s an intense life and death struggle in the desert so early in the morning. The spider is moving in an incredibly menacing way, hard to describe, as it approaches the bees, who are buzzing their wings and trying to counter attack with their stingers, but are trapped and immobile in the webbing. I watch this for few minutes, then call Rob, who is fascinated by the insect drama. After returning a few minutes later, the black bee has managed to escape but the regular bee is doomed, moving slowly now while the spider bites, poisons and wraps it.

Pushing the freighter to the confluence

Very calm water on the Colorado River

After breakfast and packing up, we are on the river by 9, as per schedule, and heading downstream to the confluence of the Green and Colorado, around the bend that I saw from the overlook on the hike yesterday. The river is not flowing very quickly, and Rob, driving the freighter, needs to work hard to get the big boat to our pickup point, 6 miles downstream at Scorpion Rock. Approaching the confluence wraps up the trip nicely, as it’s a very natural, and grand, end point to the river.

On the calm Colorado river

Jet boat pickup by Tex’s Riverways

The confluence itself is incredibly calm, not a rapid or even a ripple where these two large rivers come together. The current in the joined Colorado river is faster, but the extra speed is only really noticeable once we have landed at the excellent, hard sandstone takeout.

We land at our agreed upon pickup site of Scorpion Rock, unload the boats, haul them up on the rock, and wait for a 1/2 hour until Tex’s jet boat appears, heading downstream to Spanish Bottom to pick up other groups. I have time for a swim in the river, which is cooler than expected and very refreshing. Just don’t drink the muddy water!

On the jet boat are Carl and Nancy and Ron and Sally, our friends form Turks Head, as well as two other folks, who have come down river in a kayak and a standup paddle board (!), covering 100 miles in 8 days. The jet boat ride is a dramatic change of pace from the calm, quiet peacefulness of the canoe, as we run up the Colorado at nearly 30 miles/hour, the wind and roar of the engines so loud that it’s difficult to speak, and the stunning and constantly varying canyon walls racing by. 2.5 hours later we are at the boat dock, close to the Potash mine, and in a school bus for the ride back to Moab.

Logistics

Green River trip overview

A permit is required to camp along this river, available from the National Parks Service. This may take a few weeks, so make sure you book ahead.

Thanks to Devin and Darren at Tex’s Riverways in Moab, who provided us with rental boats, toilet, drybags, water container and other gear, a shuttle to Mineral Bottom and a pick-up at the Confluence, plus lots of good information and advice, all for a reasonable price.

Belknap’s Canyonlands River Guide is an excellent, beautifully illustrated and water-proof guide book covering over 370 miles of the Green and Colorado rivers. Available online or at Tex’s. We did roughly 50 miles of the Green River in a very relaxed 6 days; a 100-mile trip starting just south of the town of Green River is also commonly done.

Water. Very important in the desert! We carried 65l of water for the two of us for 5 nights and 6 days. At the end of the trip we only had about 6l left. Plus we had 6 beers / person and 4l of nut-milk for breakfast, in tetra-packs that don’t need to be kept cold. We heard from several folks that the standard desert rule is one gallon / person / day (just under 4l) but we carried 5.5l / person / day, used about 500ml / day for dish washing, and drank almost all of it. The sediment-laden river water can be treated with Alum powder, and then purified for drinking. You’ll need to bring a big bucket for settling the water, which is what other parties used on the river. We also froze 8l of fresh water in drinking containers and used them as ice blocks in the cooler, which kept the cooler dry and also provided drinking water.

We also had the Moab West topo map from Latitude 40 maps. Very useful for hiking trails, in addition to the river guide. There are many other interesting hikes along this stretch of river that we did not have time to do, including the Needles Area, the ancient meteorite impact known as Upheaval Dome and the Dollhouse area by Spanish Bottom.

One slight annoyance of this trip is the dirt and dust at the campsites, which are often on sand or old river sediment, which is very dusty. The dust and grit go everywhere and get into everything. My SLR was either in a Pelican case, which worked very well, or in padded dry bag, which keeps out water and dust. The little camera, not being encased in so much protection, got dustier, but keeps chugging along. Personally, the dust and dirt problem is easily managed by using baby-wipes, which get the day’s dirt and sweat off without using up any of the precious clean water.

Campsite locations were a bit of an exercise. The camping on the river is all wild – there are no facilities of any sort, and the locations are not marked in the guide book. Devin at Tex’s marked a few locations for us, and we got a few more locations from another party. The available camp locations also depend on water level, and we had very high water, as May is the peak of spring run-off. It can be difficult to find landing spots on the shore because of the thick Tamarisk growing everywhere. The campsites we used were occasionally hard to find and sometimes required padding upriver after missing the take-out, but each one was beautiful and extraordinary in different ways. We did not have any rain, but rain would have turned the silty grit into mud, something to think about when choosing campsites. The wind can be very strong and gust suddenly in the canyon, so it’s important to shelter and secure your tent appropriately. Contact me and I’ll share the camp spots: darren at frontrange dot ca.

Food storage. A cooler is nice to have, so that you can have fresh vegetables, non-melted cheese and luxuries like hummus and milk. We used a basic Coleman cooler, which started off the trip with 8l of ice. That ice lasted just over two days in the 30+ heat. More expensive coolers, made by Canyon Coolers or Yeti are able to keep ice frozen for well over a week in those temperatures, adding to the luxury. Another technique is to have two coolers, a high-quality cooler strictly for ice an another one for food. It also helps to cover the cooler with a wet towel.

The main challenge is managing the heat, which hits hard by 9 in the morning and doesn’t let up until 8:30 or so in the evening. Being out in the hot sun for hours is draining, and you need to actively keep yourself cool and drink lots of water, or by early afternoon you’ll be suffering heat exhaustion.

To wild places and dark skies!

- Darren Foltinek

Text and photos by Jocelyn Dufour.

After a success story on Mt. Clemenceau, it was time to steer our attention on the next big prize of the area: Tusk Peak. At 3362m it sneaks into the list of Canadian Rockies 11,000ers by 10m, and is the third-highest peak in the area, after Clemenceau (3664m) and Tsar (3417m).

Tusk (left), Tilman, Irvin and Shipton as seen from the lower slopes of Clemenceau

A big, stable high pressure system covering much of British Columbia gave us the opportunity to have a rest day after the ascent of Clemenceau and plan our climb for Tusk knowing the weather would be great until our last day in camp! However, the hot dry weather of the past few days meant that an early start was mandatory to avoid soft snow on the route, so we decided on a 2 am wake-up call with a 3 am start.

John and Barend in moonlight on Tusk Glacier.

Our team was composed of young John, Barend and I. Our goal was to try to get to the Tusk/Tilman col early in order to have stable conditions in the couloir (prone to rock falls) leading to the col.

After a comfortable breakfast in our luxurious base camp, we started our approach on the glacier towards Tusk under moonlight. We made good progress and the route finding was relatively straightforward with only one exception when we had to slightly come back down, traverse right, and contour some big crevasses.

Ascending couloir on Tusk.

First view of Shackleton.

I was relieved to find the couloir in reasonable condition. There was a one meter gap in the snow that provided for some interesting mixed climbing but the main worry was still the loose rock above.

After a few pitches of climbing we were at the col and rewarded for our efforts by our first view of the magnificent north face of Mt. Shackleton, named after the famous polar explorer Ernest Henry Shackleton.

Rock crux on Tusk south ridge

After a short break at the col, we started our ascent via the South Ridge, which is mainly snow, with a rock climbing section in the middle. The rock section represents the main difficulty of the route, and the steep rock step was negotiated directly on the main ridge up to the crux section.

Barend and John thick in the shale on Tusk ridge

I was able to protect the climb reasonably well, i.e. better than expected, with small/mid size cams and nuts. The crux was short (5.4-5.7) but provided some entertainment, being basically composed of one hard move to get over an overhang with loose shale at the top; good thing there is a fixed pin just before it.

Barend and John on south ridge of Tusk

John getting over the crux on Tusk.

After setting up the belay, it was now the turn of the two young bucks to have a go at it, starting with John. John’s hands appearing first looking for something to hold on to, then came the head with a grimacing face, then the chest resting flat on the shale bed above the overhang and finally the rest of the body followed more easily; with a relieved voice John’s first words were “SOB” .

Barend’s turn now, same process but this time around the tall Dutch guy used his height advantage to easily get over the crux section.

Barend and John on the upper ridge of Tusk. Pic Tordu left with Irvine and Shipton behind right.

We were quite pleased to be above the crux but we still had 200-300m to go until the summit. The upper section was icy at the end then followed by a loose scrambly rocky section to finish, Darren’s favourite!

John and Barend on Tusk south ridge, with Shackleton (left) and Pic Tordu (right) behind.

John and Barend approaching Tusk summit

Jocelyn on Tusk summit, with Shackleton behind

We finally reached the summit at 11:15 and the panoramic view in all directions was fantastic. To the south were the beautiful folds of Pic Tordu and behind it the Columbia valley and Columbia Mountains, and to the east was the stunning and heavily glaciated north face of Shackleton

Mt. Clemenceau, south ridge and east face, from Tusk summit.

Clemenceau was immediately to the north-east of us. The Tiger Glacier route on the SW side of Clemenceau that we had ascended two days ago was out of view, but we had fine views of the south ridge and glaciated east face.

You can’t hang out at the top forever, so after a replenishing lunch break it was time to leave this stunning summit and get back down to camp.

The weather was still beautiful and the sun very hot. By now, at noon, the snow was getting quite soft and we released a small wet snow avalanche on our way down. We were on the very edge of the snowfield and in no danger of being caught, but it was a good reminder of the dangerous combination of heat on fresh snow.

Wet-snow avalanche on descent.

Barend and John descending Tusk, with Shackleton behind.

John rappelling the crux portion of the ridge.

John rappelling with Shackleton behind.

We had to do one short rappel down the crux, directly on the ridge, followed by two rappels down a slanted gully with loose rocks. We were glad we did not go up that way and quite pleased the rope did not get stuck!

The peaks and glaciers in this area are stunning, but the rock is very loose and mostly shale, desperately hanging on in an ultimately losing battle against gravity.

Heading down towards the col, the views of Shackleton and its surroundings were outstanding, and will stay forever engraved in my memory.

The stunning north aspect of Mt. Shackleton

Shackleton north face and glacier

Barend rappelling over some loose rock in the coulior

Glacier mill hole

Descending the couloir went quite smoothly, with one rappel needed, and we were fortunate not to knock any of the big blocks down. We headed back down on the glacier with Barend in front, taking our time coming down, knowing this climb was our last of the trip.

Glacial streams provided an excuse for a break on the way back to camp, stopping to refill bottles with beautifully fresh melt water and peer down into mill-holes (also known as a moulin), the fascinating and spooky holes drilled into the ice by glacial streams.

It was great to be back in the Canadian Rockies in good company!

Jocelyn Dufour, August 2015

Kinbasket river flowing into Kinbasket lake.

Landing with the rest of our crew.

Every year the Calgary section of the Alpine Club of Canada (ACC) runs a week-long mountaineering camp. The camps are in remote areas that are otherwise quite difficult to access and are a fantastic way to explore new terrain with great folks from a comfortable base camp.

We start the day in Golden, BC, with an early breakfast at the Big Bend cafe, where there is excellent food, a fun atmosphere and a great selection of hot sauces. All 12 of us drove to Golden last night so we could get an early start this morning, and we are all very awake and excited to be here.

After breakfast and some last minute shopping we do the long and slow drive up the Bush River road, north along Kinbasket Lake. After some 150km on generally good gravel roads we get to the helicopter staging area, where we stack all of our food and gear and commence waiting for the helicopter.

The flight in is stunning, up the Kinbasket River and over ridges with beautiful alpine meadows. At one point our pilot swerves to avoid a golden eagle soaring over the ridges. We spot a patch of smoking forest on a ridge top from a recent lightening strike and he makes a note to call the location in. Soon we are beyond the forest and flying over rocky ridges and glacial morraine, and the long tongue of the Cummins glacier comes into view.

Basecamp above Tusk and Cummins glaciers.

Our campsite is perched on a broad bench below Mt Shipton, next to the Tusk/Cummins glacier and above a steep drop off to the Cummins glacier. A small pond and stream provides water and there are plenty of spots in the moraine for tents, just taking a bit of work moving rocks and flattening the ground.

It takes three flights to get the 12 of us and our gear in, and in between flights we have time to chat with the folks from the first week of the camp, who are flying out as we fly in. We are sorry to hear that the rainy weather we are seeing today is some of the best they have had all week, and they spent most of the week sitting in camp. Yikes, we are hoping for better weather than that!

Monday

The plan for the first day of climbing is to go up the north slope of Mt Irvin with Jocelyn and Barend. It’s a highly-rated moderate climb and will give us the chance to look around and check out conditions on the glaciers.

Jocelyn and Barend in the fog.

Barend peering into a crevasse on the Tusk glacier

We leave camp around 6:30 with a quick walk down the moraine to the Cummins / Tusk glacier and around the shoulder of Mt Shipton, at the east end of the long ridge. The day is overcast and as we climb up the Tusk glacier clouds are moving up and down, with an occasional bit of light rain. But there’s no serious storm so we just march on up, across the bare ice of the glacier. Because the glacier is bare ice we leave the rope off and just walk up the gentle slope, zigzagging occasionally around crevasses.

As we turn towards the SW to head towards Irvine, the glacier steepens, we put on the rope, and the day quickly gets interesting as we enter heavily crevassed terrain. We have climbed up into the clouds now, and are navigating these large, complex crevasse fields in a white out, which makes long-distance navigation impossible.

Occasionally the clouds open and we get spectacular views across the Tusk glacier to Reconnaissance Ridge and the south face and glacier of Mt Clemenceau, our main objective for the week.

Crevasse in the fog

As we move up, the glacier continuous to be very broken, and we are moving through spectacular huge crevasses, big enough to hold a train. Not particularly dangerous, as the glacier is mostly thin snow over bare ice so there’s little chance of falling in, but rather spooky to be navigating terrain like this in thick fog.

Navigating through the broken Tusk glacier on the flanks of the Tusk / Irvin / Shipton massif

We are aiming for a 45 degree snow and ice slope that runs up the north side of Irvin. There are very steep bedding-plane slabs rising up from the glacier, and a few couloirs of snow that stop before the ridge line. The clouds close in again and we lose visibility but continue working east towards the north slope, crossing a swath of heavy wet snow avalanche debris.

Last week had very wet weather, with rain down low and about 10cm of snow falling up high. The fresh snow was moved around by wind, and there have been some point release avalanches from very steep terrain when the weather is been hot. Fortunately for us the clouds are keeping the snow cool and the fresh snow is well bonded to the underlying alpine ice today.

Jocelyn crossing a bergschrund on Shipton.

Another break in the clouds gives us the visibility we need to see our ascent slope. We work our way across the avalanche debris and across another crevasse system to the base of the steep slope. Before we get to the clean snow / ice slope there are a couple more crevasse systems to navigate through, and Jocelyn sets snow pickets and ice screws to protect the tricky parts.

Up 300m of snow over good alpine ice to the top of Shipton.

Around 11:00 we are past the complex, broken glacier and start up the face proper, a beautiful, clean and smooth slope of snow over ice running about 300m straight up to the summit. The condition of the face is excellent, with 10-25cm of new snow over good ice, and running belays and two ice axes each make for efficient, safe climbing. With 7 ice screws, we run the 70m rope out three times, building ice screw anchors to bring the team together and swap gear.

As we work our way up the slope, we are faced with a mystery. The route description talks about a 150m slope no steeper than 45 degrees, but the slope we are on is more like 300m and steeper – we estimate closer to 60 degrees. Much later, we sheepishly realize that we have climbed the wrong mountain, and we are on Shipton instead of Irvin. Turns out that we got quite lost in the fog on the glacier and stayed right when we should have moved left. Whoops. The good news is that, according to Dave P. Jones, this route was first climbed by members of his party in 2014, and so we have done the 2nd ascent!

Jocelyn leads the whole face, occasionally whooping with joy at the beautiful route and being able to climb again in the Canadian Rockies. The clouds are clearing, and the view behind us, of Tusk and Clemenceau poking through the clouds, is incredible, but we are focused on the few meters of snow and ice immediately in front of us as we climb the face, and there is not much time for sightseeing as we need to get to the top while the snow is still cool and firm.

Tusk and Clemenceau view from upper Shipton North Face.

The slope goes on and on, up into the clearing sky, and finally ends at a 5x5m bench of snow just below the rocky true summit. The sky continues opening up, and we hang out at the summit eating lunch and taking pictures for about 1/2 hour before starting the descent down the ridge towards camp.

Jocelyn at the top of Shipton, with Mt. Irvin and Tusk behind and Clemenceau in the clouds at left.

Barend enjoys the view from the top of Shipton. L-R: Cummins Glacier, Reconnaisance Ridge, Tusk Glacier, Mt. Clemenceau.

The mountains here are folded and steeply dipping shale, and the ridge top is the upper end of a series of shale beds that drop steeply, 60-80 degrees, down to the Tusk glacier on our right. On the left side of the ridge the shattered ends of the shale slabs drop steeply down to the Cummins Glacier, 1000m below.

Jocelyn descending the ridge of Shipton with Tusk Glacier and Clemenceau behind.

Travelling along the ridge starts off ok, walking carefully on a snow arete or broad, broken rock, but soon becomes quite miserable, with completely shattered blocks of shale covered in 10cm of soft snow, and big exposure on both left and right. There are several steps, of 4-6m, that require very careful down climbing, with crampons still on the boots. Numerous knife-edge sections require a spicy balancing act.

Jocelyn traversing the solid handrail on Shipton, with Cummins and Tusk glaciers below.

Barend traversing the handrail on Shipton west ridge with Mt. Irvin and Tusk behind.

As we descend Shipton down the ridge the rock becomes more limestone and more solid, and the highlight of the ridge is a stunning knife-edge traverse on good solid limestone, with a wide crack for your feet and the ridge-edge for your hands. After 100s of meters of terribly loose and broken rock it’s a real treat to get something solid to hang on to!

Barend descending the Shipton NW ridge back to camp.

The ridge is just over 1km long, and as we approach the end of it broadens before we turn left and descend the last few 100 meters of loose scree down to our camp, sitting on a rocky bench just above the Cummins glacier.

ACC base camp above the Cummins Glacier.

Back in camp we discuss the weather, swap stories with other parties who were also wandering in the clouds today. The forecast for tomorrow is rain, so we plan on taking a rest day.

Wednesday, Clemenceau bivy

Jocelyn inspecting the big stream on the Tusk glacier.

Barend and Andy on the Tusk glacier, Mt. Tusk and Irvin behind.

The participants in the first week of camp had nothing but rain and heavy clouds, weather which we have had a taste of for the first three days here. We are receiving weather forecasts by satellite phone, and are all very excited to hear that the forecast for the 2nd half of our week is for a big high pressure system to move in to the area, which means at least three days of clear skies!

We take this great opportunity to make an attempt on our main objective, Mt. Clemenceau, as early as possible in the forecast high pressure window. The normal route up Clemenceau goes up the moderately-angled Tiger glacier on the south-west face, and in order to get up and down the glacier quickly and safely, we set up a high camp on the lower slopes of the mountain. Starting from the high camp will save us about 3 hours in the morning, and allow us to get down off the glacier before the sun hits the face and softens up the fresh snow that covers the slopes.

Barend and Andy on Tusk glacier, with the mysterious glacial striations.

Jocleyn and Tusk glacier stream

As we march across the Tusk glacier towards Clemenceau we are quietly excited. The sky is still full of puffy clouds, but it is obvious that the weather is improving. We are not in a rush, and take time to examine the numerous streams carving their way down the Tusk glacier. There is one particularly large stream that has carved a substantial channel in the glacial ice and needs to be crossed carefully, while all the others are small meandering flows which can be easily stepped across.

Parallel to the down-hill flow of the glacier, the surface is marked with prominant light and dark striations, and we puzzle over the cause of these patterns. They appear like layers of clear and dirty ice, but the layers are either vertical or tilted into the glacier. There are some theories about stress-induced differentiation of the ice, but these striking features remain mysterious.

After crossing the Tusk glacier we work around a lateral moraine to the south-west of Clemenceau, looking for a good route up through rock bands that guard the lower flanks of the mountain. After plodding up around 200m of loose scree we top out on a broad bench of broken shale, and find some stone walls protecting a few sites, each suitable for a small tent. The location is absolutely stunning, with grand views across the Tusk glacier to Reconnaissance Ridge and the massif of Mts. Tusk, Irvin and Shipton.

John Adams and team crossing the Tusk glacier. Mt. Irvin and Shipton behind them.

We are two climbing parties, each with four folks, for the Clemenceau attempt tomorrow. Jocelyn, Barend, Andy and I are the first up the bivy site, and John Adam’s team of Paula, Dom and John M. arrive shortly afterwards. There is plenty of space for the four tents. We have hauled some beautifully pure glacier water up from the last stream crossing on the Tusk glacier, and there is a also a snowfield nearby for extra water.

Our bivy site on the lower slopes of Clemenceau (left) with Tusk glacier and Tusk / Irvin / Shipton group (right).

Darren enjoying sunset at the bivy site.

We setup camp, make dinner and enjoy the stunning views as the sun sets and puffy clouds race across the sky. Unfortunately we can’t stay up late to watch sunset as the alarms are set for 3:00 tomorrow and our fingers are crossed for the promised good weather!

Thursday, Mt. Clemenceau

The stars are out for a 4:00am start.

Breakfast in the dark

3am comes early after a restless night where we wake up every couple hours as winds gusts hit the tent. As we crawl out into the dark, it appears that yesterday’s forecast is correct and the sky is mostly clear, the stars are out, and the nearly full moon is lighting up the landscape beautifully. It’s tough but exciting getting up at this hour, boiling water for oatmeal breakfast while trying to warm up, wake up and get ready.

It’s a short walk up rubble slopes towards the glacier just above our bivy site. As we move off the rock to the glacier we find that the surface snow is well frozen, which we very happy about as it means good avalanche stability, strong crevasse bridges and solid footing in crampons.

The nearly full moon is still quite high in the the sky, which greatly helps with navigating across the glacier. The route moves from snow to ice fairly soon, and we are working though icy, open crevasses by headlamp and moonlight. The glacier on the west face of Clemenceau is tremendously broken, and we are roughly following a route guided by a photo of the face taken last year by Dave Jones.

Barend and Andy traversing below crevasse as the moon sets.

Moving up the western side of the glacier we approach a prominent rock buttress poking though the ice and skirt left around it. The terrain is steep enough here that we put in a snow picket and an ice screw as a running belay. Above the rock buttress we enter a broad bowl below the rocky west ridge and move right towards a moderately steep slope that leads us out of the bowl. The slope has a big crevasse across it which requires a bit of snooping around until we can find a suitable bridge. Once over the bridge we continue up the slope and into another bowl.

Above the horizon the sky shows the Earth’s shadow brightening to pink and blue and the moon is a beautiful orange ball that sinks into the horizon, jagged with the distant peaks of the Columbia mountains. After climbing out of the first bowl, we need to drop into another bowl below the west ridge before gaining a glacial shoulder that appears to offer the easiest line out of the second bowl.

Barend and Andy, half way up Clemenceau and just past the huge crevasse field breaking the west face.

Barend and Andy in big crevasses on Clemenceau glacier.

At the top of the shoulder we find ourselves surrounded by absolutely immense crevasses, and after searching around for a crossing, realize that the only way through is to climb down into a crevasse and out the other side. Jocelyn is leading, and we give him a full belay across, as he protects the entry and exits with snow pickets.

After that dramatic crossing, we head up a steep snow slope that leads to the eastern end of the rocky west ridge, one picket and one ice screw for protection. The climbing is solid and straight-forward and we top out onto a broad snowy bench.

Andy and the final major crevasse before the summit ridge.

We have now crossed the major difficulties and find ourselves on a bench leading to the right-left ramp that provides an easy path through another major crevasse system before gaining the summit ridge.

The broad ramp is a easy walk with incredible, dramatic scenery all around. We are still in the shade and as we gain the summit ridge we climb into a strong wind layer and it gets quite cold. We are very leery of the enormous cornices to our left and work our way up easy snow to the summit block, a small rime-covered mound of snow with an icy crevasse splitting it from the cornice hanging off the back (NE) side. Andy is leading at this point, and he gains the summit via the steep SW side at 9:00, very leery of the cornice on the other side.

The views are stunning in all directions – Columbia Icefields to the south-east, Mt. Robson 125km away, on the far horizon to the north, the big peaks of the Adamant range in the Columbia mountains, 50km south, and nearby, Mt. Tusk and Shackleton behind the big cornices on the south ridge, in the direction of camp.

Approaching the summit of Mt. Clemenceau.

Darren and Barend

Barend and Andy

Jocelyn on the summit.

Only 9 in the morning and the cold, howling wind does not take the joy at being on top of 4th highest peak in the Rockies in perfect weather.

There’s no lingering at the top, and we quickly take a few photos before down climbing to get out of the wind, off the rather precarious summit block and back on to the relative comfort of the ridge we came up.

Clemenceau summit view, looking down south ridge and over to Tusk, Shackleton, Irvin and Pic Tordu.

John’s team approaching the west summit ridge.

As we descend the summit ridge we meet up with John A., Paula, John M. and Dom coming up, and we shake hands and congratulate them on their soon-to-be summit.

John A, Paula, Dom and John M on the Clemenceau summit.

John and team descending from Clemenceau summit.

The descent follows our up track, and we do not waste any time, trying to get down as soon as possible before the snow softens dangerously. The descent goes well, but the softening snow means we are breaking through the frozen crust more often, which makes for frustrating walking, and I punch a leg into small crevasses three times.

Barend and Andy traversing on the descent.

Barend traversing on descent.

Tiger glacier route on the upper west face of Mt. Clemenceau.

This photo, taken a few days later from a ridge on the south side of the Cummins glacier, shows the upper portion of the west face of Mt. Clemenceau and the approximate route we followed up the glacier.

Mill hole on the Tusk glacier.

Stream dropping into a mill hole on the Tusk glacier.

We are back at the bivy site by 1:00 in the afternoon and relax and pack up our camp while waiting for John’s team to get back. Some cumulous clouds have built up and the afternoon is beautiful as we stroll back down the Tusk glacier back to the main camp. The glacier is full of interesting features carved by the flowing water; streams and mill-holes and, and as we are in no hurry, we stop to investigate.

Mill-holes are beautiful and spooky holes created by water drilling down into the glacier. They appear bottomless, black pits that actually end at the base of the glacier where the ice rests on the bedrock, which on a glacier like this is likely to be 50-100m deep. I have seen them as small as 30cm in diameter and as large as 10m. Sometimes they have a stream flowing into them, falling into the depths, and sometimes they are dry, with the stream that created it having changed course. They are terrifying because they are quite randomly spread around glaciers, and do not follow the regular patterns of crevasses.

Glacier cinnamon roll.

We also find this puzzling circular feature which we call a glacial cinnamon roll. It’s about two feet in diameter and has a small trickle of water flowing into and out of it. The dark stuff is mud mixed with fine rocks, which melts down into the surface of the ice as the mud gets warm on a sunny day.

Barend crossing a stream on the Tusk glacier.

Large boulder on the Tusk glacier

In the middle of the glacier, 100s of meters from any rock wall, we find a large boulder perched on icy pedestals and figure that the rock has shaded and protected the ice from melting. Photo stop!

Eventually we get back to camp, where our friends, food and celebratory beers are waiting. Mission accomplished.

Friday, rest day at camp

Today everybody is in base camp, resting. I wake up at 10:00 after roughly 12 hours of sleep last night, whew that felt great! Eight of us went up Clemenceau yesterday and four went up Tusk, one of 3 11,000 foot peaks in the area, and despite being a gorgeous day, without a cloud in the sky, everybody is lounging around camp.

Rest day under perfect blue skies.

Jocelyn is doing yoga by his tent in the morning, and I do some qigong out on the glacier-polished rocks. George, Clare, Casey and Jeff are preparing to head to the Clemenceau bivy site today for an attempt tomorrow, some folks are just eating breakfast, while others tuck into lunch. Clothing and gear is scattered about drying in the warm sun, and folks are reading and relaxing.

George, Casey, Clare and Jeff preparing to hike to the Clemenceau bivy site.

We see the Clem crew off with a big hurrah and photo session around 2:30, then an hour later have to launch a resupply mission after receiving a call on the radio that somebody broke a crampon and could we please meet them halfway on the glacier with spare parts.

Remains of what appears to be a mountain goat on Tusk glacier.

John and I head out with the parts and have a great conversation as we hoof up the bare ice – it’s the first time I’ve had the chance to chat with him this trip, as we have ended up on different climbing parties. It’s also good to get out for a little walk, to stretch the muscles and move a bit after a big day yesterday.

Horn and jaw bones of the goat skeleton.

After delivering the spare parts, we head back to camp and come across the skeletal remains of what we think was a mountain goat. Other than a few flies, some small shrubs and one tiny tree, we have not seen any other living things up here, and are very surprised to find these remains. There is certainly no meat, and only a few tufts of fur, and we wonder how old this skeleton is. It could be only a few years old, or perhaps the glacier melted back and revealed this skeleton of a goat that died hundreds of years ago.

John and Paula move their tent to avoid a new stream.

Sitting outside watching the sunset with John, Paula, Dom and Andy in the evening drinking beer, wine, and whiskey and eating chocolate while discussing life, meaning, and why we do such silly things as climb mountains.

We all agree on why we climb:

To achieve the rare feeling of complete focus when you are fully engaged;
To see and experience unique and special things;
To suffer – occasionally being cold, scared, hungry and tired – makes one appreciate what we have in life;
There is nothing like the astonishing beauty of wilderness;
To share these feelings with people who understand.

Saturday, Cummins glacier hike

Dom, John, Paula and Andy in the middle of beautiful striations on the Tusk glacier.

After a relaxed morning John, Paula, Andy, Dom and I leave at 9:00 for a walk across the Cummins glacier below and south of our campsite. The plan is to go check out some peaks at the head of the glacier, to the NW, as well as the ridge to the SW. From camp we walk down to the Tusk glacier and then descend over a bulge, entering a large crevasse field that requires moving to the right to get around the big ones.

At the edge of the Cummins glacier a wide rocky moraine begins, at the base of Reconnaissance Ridge, below an active rockfall zone. We walk up the low-angle glacier heading west, aiming to have a look at Mt Sharp and Morrison at the head of the glacier.

Upon gaining the top of a high point on the gently rolling glacier, we find ourselves once again in the middle of a heavily crevassed zone. The crevasses are surprising, as the glacier is basically flat and straight at this point, and we guess that there must be a hill beneath the glacier that is disturbing the surface. It’s a good reminder that no matter how benign and gentle the glacier appears, there can always be crevasses.

Stream on Cummins glacier, Pic Tordu behind.

John crossing a big stream on the Cummins glacier.

The day is warm, and the glacier is melting furiously, with dozens of small streams meandering, some slow some fast, down the glacier. The water in these streams is fantastic, cold and pure. Well, pure except for some dirt and surface bacteria, but it sure tastes good!

The ridge at the south edge of the glacier is comprised of white quartzite, broken into large sharp edged blocks and run through with quartz veins. The blocks are precariously perched on each other and we work our way carefully up through them to the ridge top, where the rock type changes to a pinkish quartzite, similar to that around Lake Louise, covered in lichen. I’m puzzled by the dramatic change in rock type at the very crest of the ridge.

Dramatic change in rock on the ridge crest, and deep green valleys to the south west.

Andy and I run up to the highest point on the ridge and get great views of the upper part of Clemenceau, hang out for a bit, and then drop back to the rest of the crew to descend the ridge back to the glacier.

Merger of streams on Cummins glacier.

Deep crevasse on the Cummins glacier.

On the way back across the glacier we run across numerous small streams that are continuously merging into larger and larger streams, which eventually becomes a raging torrent that has dug a 2-3m deep canyon into the ice. We follow this stunning stream down the glacier until it veers off to the south into a glacial depression and we need to head north back to the Tusk glacier. Andy has the idea of putting a tracker into a Nalgene bottle and sending it down stream to track the path of the river that flows under the glacier, which we talk about excitedly for a while.

Andy next to a big one on the Tusk glacier

John and Paul next to a big crevasse on the Tusk glacier

This was planned as a casual glacier walk, but the GPS has logged over 900m of vertical and a dozen kilometers, and we’re a bit tired as we climb up the slopes of the Tusk glacier back to camp. We should have stayed further left to avoid some big crevasses, but instead took a short-cut and find ourselves dead-ended by a large crevasse that loops around the entire top of the bulge. It is too wide to cross, and there are no bridges, so after checking both left and right we are forced to drop down the bulge again and cross the crevasse down low where it pinches together. The sun is behind us now, and shines down into the depths of some crevasses, lighting them up beautifully.

Beautiful evening for our “finish the booze” party.

Back in camp all the teams have returned from their adventures today and the party has begun. It’s a beautiful, warm evening and the low sun lights up this magical place as we sit outside on the patio and enjoy dinner and drinks and stories.

Last night of the 2015 Calgary ACC Clemenceau camp.

Patio party in the Clemenceau.

Sunday, final morning

Morning reflection

Flying over the Cummins glacier

The day starts with an absolutely stunning blue sky. We are up quite early as we have to take apart camp and be ready to fly by noon. The packing goes quickly, and we have plenty of time to lounge around enjoying the sun and warmth.

When the chopper arrives the relaxed atmosphere changes very suddenly. It’s very important to remain calm when working around helicopters, but it takes some practice as it’s a very intense environment when the chopper suddenly arrives with all of it’s wind and noise.

Tsar Mountain

On the way out we have great views of Tsar Mountain, inspiring some discussion about the location of next year’s camp!

Big thanks to George and Clare for organizing this year’s camp and to everybody else: Jocelyn, Barend, John A, Paula, Andy, John M, Casey, Jeff, and Dom for being such fantastic folks to hang out and climb with. A fantastic week!

Special thanks to David P Jones who provided us with invaluable route information from his upcoming Rockies guide books.

- Darren Foltinek, August 2015

Alex testing the creek

My buddy Alex and I head to one our favorite back country ski haunts in Kananaskis Country for some early-season turns. Mid-December skiing in the Canadian Rockies is usually very thin and rocky, but by combining persistence, luck and some local knowledge good skiing can often be found.

The first challenge is crossing a big creek at the beginning of the trail. The weather has been warm, but 24 hours ago a cold front came through and the creek is freezing up, creating an ice dam with a slushy pond behind it. Being the tenacious type, Alex is determined to cross, so we run back to the car for rubber boots. One pair of rubber boots… Expecting a quick, wet plunge that will end our day early, I hang out on the shore snapping shots while Alex carefully wanders out and probes his way across the newly formed ice dam. The good news is that he doesn’t fall in, but the ice is too soft and we can’t cross here. We decide to work our way upstream for quite a ways before finding a suitable place to cross.

The upper bowl

Turns at sunset

The snow down low in the valley is very thin, but the higher we go the better it gets, and by the time we get up into the alpine the snowpack is quite solid, with a decent layer of wind-blown soft snow on top.

It’s very late in the afternoon by the time we turn around and start the ski descent. The advantage of this late descent is that we get to enjoy the beautiful alpenglow on the surrounding peaks from up high, but the disadvantage, of course, is that we will be skiing back to the car in the dark. Well worth it!

The sky has been beautifully clear all day, and after dinner in Canmore I decide to head back to the mountains to do some night photography. The Universe is really just an (infinite) extension of the great outdoors, and with 16 hours of darkness this time of year it’s a great season to do some star gazing.

Orion the hunter

Orion the Hunter

By the time I drive south from Canmore back into Kananaskis the constellation of Orion has risen above the horizon. Orion is one of the most easily recognized and famous constellations in the sky, and is full of fascinating deep space objects.

In Western culture, Orion, like many of the constellations, was named after a figure in Greek mythology. Orion the Hunter first appeared in Homer’s epic Odyssey. Humans have been imagining stellar constellations long before the ancient Greeks, and archaeologists have speculated that the constellation of Orion was carved into mammoth ivory by prehistoric humans 32,000 years ago!

Giant stars of Orion

Orion is such a spectacular constellation because its main stars are so bright, and because it actually looks like something. And its stars do not appear bright just because they are close to us, but because they are also much more luminous than our Sun, putting out many 1000s of times the energy.

Generally, the more massive a star is, the hotter it is, the more quickly it burns through its supply of hydrogen fuel, and the shorter its life. Just like a the white-hot filament in an old-fashioned tungsten light bulb, colour of a star is determined by its surface temperature. The relationship between a star’s mass, lifetime, luminosity and surface temperature (colour) was first characterized around 1910 and summarized in the Hertzsprung-Russell diagram. The relationship between a stars luminosity and temperature, as revealed by this diagram, drove the understanding of stellar evolution physics.

Hertzsprung-Russell diagram showing stellar temperature, luminosity and size.

The brightest star in Orion is Rigel, a young, blue super-giant star, only 10 million years old and 772 light-years away. It appears very blue/white to the naked eye, weights in at 17 times the mass of our Sun and emits 85,000x as much light.

In contrast, Betelgeuse appears very red to the naked eye, and is classified as a red super-giant star. It is a variable star, with its luminosity varying between 90,000 and 150,000x our sun. It is also one of the largest known stars, and would easily engulf both Earth and Mars, reaching roughly out to the orbit of Jupiter if it replaced our Sun. It is also very young, less than 10 million years, but is consuming its fuel very quickly and will explode as a supernova in the (relatively) near future, likely within one million years. Not to worry, however, because at around 650 light-years away we should be safe from being cooked when this giant explodes.

The three brilliant stars of Orion’s Belt, Alnitak, Alnilam and Mintaka, are all giant, young blue stars, with luminosities between 90,000x and 375,000x our Sun’s output.

Belt and sword of Orion, M42 at lower-right

M42, the great nebula in Orion

Stars are created from the gravitational collapse of vast clouds of gas and dust. As these clouds collapse, the gas density increases until the pressure and temperature are enough to initiate nuclear fusion, and new stars are born. The young stars start pumping out electro-magnetic radiation and particles (solar wind), eroding the surrounding gas clouds. This tug-of-war between gravity and radiation shapes the gas clouds, with the young stars carving out bubbles of relatively empty space and illuminating the clouds from within. The results are stunning nebulas, and the closest one to Earth is known as Messier 42, the Great Orion Nebula.

This nebula is so large and close to Earth that it is visible to the naked eye, appearing as the blurry middle “star” in Orion’s sword. The image at left was made with a 50mm camera lens, which is not much of a telescope!

Gas and dust around new stars in M42, Hubble telescope

Because M42 is the closest star-forming region to Earth, it is one of the most photographed and studied by both amateur and professional astronomers. Numerous discoveries have been made in this region, including the first image of solar-system formation around a new-born star.

Taurus the bull

Taurus the Bull

Aldebaran and Sol. [Source: Wikimedia commons]

Just “in front” (south) of Orion is the constellation Taurus the Bull. One of the oldest constellations, its association with a bull dates back to the early Bronze age, 3000-5000 BC.

Taurus is easily recognizable by the distinct V-shaped group of stars called the Hyades cluster, which is actually the nearest star cluster to Earth. The brightest star in Taurus, Aldebaran, is actually not a member of the Hyades cluster and is much closer to Earth than the cluster stars. Another truly giant star, Aldebaran is 44x the diameter of our sun and puts out 425x as much energy. A picture really puts this into perspective.

M1, the Crab nebula

Just above the lower-left star in Taurus is a small fuzzy spot with an incredible history. In July of 1054 an extremely bright star suddenly appeared in the sky. Chinese astronomers of the Song Dynasty noted the appearance of this “guest star”, which was so bright that it was visible in daylight for 23 days and visible in the night sky for almost two years. The most detailed record from Japan describes a guest star that was as big as Jupiter, and accounts from Iraq talk of a spectacular new star in that year.

Crab Nebula, M1, photographed with 50mm lens

Crab nebula image by Hubble

As seen at left, the Crab Nebula is visible through a puny 50mm lens, but is certainly not much of a sight. The stunning Hubble image below really reveals what happened here: the “guest star” was actually the explosive death of a star, now known as Supernova 1054.

The remnants of this incredibly powerful explosion are still expanding, at roughly 1500 kilometres per second (0.5% of lightspeed), and in the nearly 1000 years since the exposion have grown to about 11 light-years in diameter. That fuzzy little spot in the sky is really big: 11 light-years is about 100,000 billion kilometres. The visible expansion of the nebula was first noticed in the early 1900s, and by back-tracking this expansion the age of the nebula was estimated to be about 900 years.

At its centre is a neutron star called the Crab Pulsar, only 28-30km in diameter and spinning at an incredible 30 revolutions per second. This means that the surface of this star is moving at around 2700 km/s, or nearly 1% of light speed! This neutron star is the strongest persistent source of X-ray and gamma ray energy in the sky.

In 1758, the French astronomer Charles Messier was watching for the return of Halley’s Comet when he observed a fuzzy patch in the constellation Taurus. After noting that the object did not move or change brightness over several nights, Messier concluded that this was not a comet, and thereby started his famous catalog of non-comets that eventually grew to include over 100 of the most interesting deep-space objects.

“What caused me to undertake the catalog was the nebula I discovered above the southern horn of Taurus on September 12, 1758, while observing the comet of that year. … This nebula had such a resemblance to a comet in its form and brightness that I endeavored to find others, so that astronomers would not confuse these same nebulae with comets just beginning to shine.” -Charles Messier

Taurus and the Pleiades

M45, Pleiades cluster

Further south from Taurus and easily visible to the naked eyes is the famous Pleiades cluster, the Seven Sisters, consisting of seven hot, young blue stars.

Being easily visible to the naked eye, this cluster has been known since antiquity to cultures all around the world, with the first likely depiction on a bronze disk from the 16th century BC.

Seven stars are visible to the naked eye, but the cluster contains many than that, with Galileo Galilei counting 36 stars when he first viewed the cluster through his telescope in 1610 and modern analysis showing over 1000 stars.

M36, M37 and M38 star clusters

Connected to Taurus and sharing the star Alnath is the constellation of Auriga. Looking towards Alnath you are looking through the plane of the Milky Way, but exactly opposite it’s centre. The big deal of looking through the plane of the Milky Way is that’s where all the stars and most of the interesting objects are.

Stars are created when massive gas clouds collapse, and these clouds are big enough to form dozens or hundreds of stars at a time. As the stars ignite and start to emit radiation the gas clouds are blown away, revealing the stars (and their planets) in mostly empty space. These clusters of stars are loosely bound to each other by gravity, and tend to stay more-or-less together for 100s of millions of years.

M36, M37 and M38 in Auriga

In the constellation Auriga are several star clusters of varying ages. Through binoculars or a small lens they appear as small clumps of stars against a background already dense with stars.

Messier 36 is a small, young cluster about 3600 light years away 25 million years old containing approximately 60 stars in a ball about 14 light-years across.

Messier 37 is much older, around 500 million years, and farther away, about 4500 light-years. With an estimated 2000 stars in a diameter of about 30 light years it is much bigger and denser than M36.

Roughly half way between M36 and M37, in both age and size, sits M38. Compare it’s estimated age, 220 million years, to the approximate age of our Sun, 4.6 billion years, so see how relatively young these star clusters are.

The big picture

I’ve only described a few of the many deep-sky objects in this part of the sky. Click in the image below to zoom in and explore this familiar and fascinating part of the universe.

Click to zoom into the high-resolution image.

This high-resolution image was stitched together from eight 3-minute exposures, taken with a 50mm lens at ISO 1600. Because the photography site, on the Smith-Dorrian road in Kananaskis, is only 80km from the city of Calgary, there is significant light pollution visible in these long exposures. I use a CLS light-pollution filter from Astronomik to help remove the resulting sky-glow and improve image contrast.

A different perspective

Of course, the stars that make up Orion are scattered all across 3D space, with the closest star 240 light-years away and the furthest 1300 light-years. This results in the constellation completely losing it’s familiar shape when viewed from a different perspective, which is beautifully shown in this illustration by artist and scientist Mark Garlick.

The stars and M42 in Orion as imagined from a perspective 100s of light-years from Earth.
Image copyright Mark Garlick at space-art.co.uk and used with permission.

The universe is vast beyond imagination and full of wonders and insight into who, what and where we really are. Worth exploring!

- Darren Foltinek, 2014

Lake O’Hara is one of the gems of the Canadian Rockies. O’Hara is the biggest of several stunning lakes in the area, and is a popular year-round destination. In the summer, it is accessible by bus or foot, 12km up a road. In the winter the road is a few hours by ski, and makes a great destination with light touring gear or even ultra-light cross-country skis.

Mt. Huber, Lefroy and Yukness at Lake O’Hara

Mt. Schaffer detail, Lake O’Hara

For fans of the great outdoors, the months between summer and winter – October, November and December – are known as Shoulder Season, Drinking Season, or Renovation Season. The days are rapidly getting shorter, and by mid November it’s dark by 7 in the evening, making it a great season to get out and enjoy the night sky!

Elizabeth Parker Hut

There are several places to stay in the Lake O’Hara area, including the historic lodge, the campsite, and two Alpine Club of Canada Huts. Abbot Pass Hut is a fantastic stone building perched at the col between Mt. Victoria and Lefroy, but is only accessible in the summer. On this trip we stayed at the Elizabeth Parker Hut, built in 1919 and located a few 100m from the lake, which is easily reached by ski during the winter.

Sunset at Elizabeth Parker hut, looking toward Mts. Huber (left) and Lefroy (center)

Skiing in up the road the sky is mostly clear and weather sunny and beautiful, with a few puffy clouds sticking around to give some colour to the sky during sunset.

Sunset on Mt. Lefroy

Monitor Calibration

Before scrolling down too far, having a properly adjusted monitor is key to viewing these night photos accurately. Adjusting the Contrast and Brightness of your monitor should allow you just barely distinguish between the different shades of gray on the following strip.

Gray scale strip

Night Sky

This time of year the days are short and the nights long, so after a relaxing dinner and some sitting around swapping stories and drinking wine I pop my head out the door, around 7:30, to find that the sky to the SE is now completely clear of clouds and thick with stars. The Milky Way is a glowing band rising above Odaray Mountain to the SW and arching straight overhead to disappear behind Mts Huber and Lefroy to the east. Stunning!

It takes about 15 minutes to setup the tripod, align the AstroTrac to north, setup the camera and start shooting. Capturing all 30 frames takes at least two hours, during which time a few Taurid meteors sail overhead, and a few folks from the hut come out to enjoy the spectacle with me.

Click to zoom into the high-resolution image.

This image was built up from about 30 frames taken with a 50mm lens, set at f4.5 to increase sharpness, and guided for 3 minutes at ISO 400. The sky conditions were nearly perfect, with minimum sky glow, not much condensation, and no clouds or wind. Even the temperature was pleasant, maybe -10C.

This view covers about 90 degrees from south (right) to east (left) and about 90 degrees up to the zenith.

How Many Stars?

Vertical strip of O’Hara night sky

With your naked eyes on a clear night, far from any source of light pollution, you can see roughly 4000 stars. More like 4500, actually, depending on your latitude, time of year, sky darkness and atmospheric conditions.

Star brightness is measured in stellar magnitude, a logarithmic brightness scale established, like much of astronomy, in ancient Greece. Under very dark skies (more than 50km from a town and 200km from a city) the human eye can see stars to about magnitude 6. This image is comprised of 3-minute exposures, in which I was able to see stars and galaxies to about magnitude 11. According to this page, that means the camera captured about 200x as many stars as are visible to the naked eye.

To estimate the number of stars visible here, I took 100×100 pixel samples of the image and counted the stars in each of those little boxes. Tedious, yes.

100×100 pixel samples for star counting

The density of stars varies tremendously across the sky, from the very rich regions looking into the plane of the Milky Way, around Cygnus, to the sparser regions around Pisces, looking about 60 degrees out of the galactic plane.

The full image is about 80 megapixels, and by dividing it roughly into regions by density of stars and then plugging the sample counts into a spreadsheet… results in an estimate of about 1 million stars in this image. Not bad! But still only 1/500,000th of the estimated 100-1000 billion stars in our galaxy.

Humans have been mapping the stars for thousands of years, well before the invention of the telescope. The classic work is the famous Almagest, written by the Greek scholar Ptolemy in the 2nd century AD, and contains a catalogue of 1022 stars.

The Royal Observatory, in Greenwich, England was founded in 1675 with the purpose of measuring the celestial longitude (east/west angle) and declination (north/south angle) of stars for use in maritime navigation. The Atlas Coelestis was published in 1729 and contained over 3000 stars.

A 44-year long project by the Bonn Observatory in Germany from 1859 to 1903 resulted in the Donner Durchmusterung (BD) catalog containing approximately 325,000 stars.

The first satellite-based star survey mission was Hipparcos, launched in 1989 and in operation until 1993, which resulted in a catalog of over 2.5 million stars published in 2000.

The successor to the the Hipparcos mission is the Gaia satellite, which was launched in December 2013 and is designed to measure the location, distance and proper motion (velocity of the star within the galaxy) of 1 billion stars. The accuracy of measurement is astonishing, with the brighter stars being located to the width of a hair at 1000km!

Planetary Nebulas

The completely-misnamed planetary nebulae have nothing to do with planets at all, but are actually the remnants of stellar explosions, and usually appear small, round and faintly coloured; hence looking like a planet in small telescopes.

Planetary Nebulae

Messier 27, the Dumbbell Nebula, was captured clearly in these exposures. It was the first planetary nebula to be discovered, by Charles Messier in 1764, and is one of the youngest deep-sky objects, between 10,000 and 48,000 years old.

NGC 6826 (Cygnus right arm) and NGC 7662 (Pegasus north) are much smaller and dimmer nebulas, barely visible in this image, but both have the same green/cyan colour. With much bigger optics than a 50mm lens, their true nature as massive stellar explosions is revealed.

M27 Dumbbell nebula in a 90cm telescope. Credit: Michael Joner, David Laney and Robert Gendler

Composite of Chandra X-ray image and Hubble optical image

The green colour is ionized oxygen (double-ionized actually), from the deeper parts of the original star, where oxygen was created through a variety of nuclear reactions that start with the fusion of hydrogen, the most basic element.

It is this stellar nuclear fusion that is responsible for the creation of all the heavier (than hydrogen) elements. These elements are then blown out into space during a nova or supernova explosion, and seed the Universe for the next generation of stars and solar system formation.

You and I, the oxygen we breath, the food we eat, and everything else around us was formed in the heart of stars that died billions of years ago; one of the most astounding revelations of modern physics!

Galaxies

Galactic neighbours, equal scale and brightness

Around the constellation of Andromeda are three of our galactic neighbours. The largest and most easily visible is M31, the Andromeda galaxy, a truly magnificent spiral galaxy with roughly twice as many stars (1000 billion) as our Milky Way (100-400 billion). At 260,000 light-years, it is also roughly 2.5x as wide as our galaxy, although according to a recent study, the Milky Way is thought to have roughly the same mass, apparently containing more dark matter.

M31, Credit: Adam Block and Tim Puckett

Orbiting the great Andromeda galaxy is a satellite galaxy, M110, the faint smudge to the right in the above image. It is an elliptical galaxy, 15,000 light years in diameter, only 1/20 the size of Andromeda.

A much “deeper” image (22 hour exposure instead of only 3 minutes!) reveals the vastness of this whirlpool of 1000 billion stars. Galaxies, made of billions of stars, look like hazy fog for the same reason that clouds do, which are made of billions of water droplets.

M33 Credit: Robert Gendler, with data from Subaru Telescope

Both physically and visually smaller is Messier 33, the Triangulum galaxy. About 50,000 light-years in diameter, it is about half the size of our own Milky Way, and the third-largest galaxy in our local group of galaxies, after Andromeda and the Milky Way. With “only” 40 billion stars, it is considered a small (but not dwarf) galaxy, but because it’s relatively close to us and angled nicely, it is much-studied and imaged by professional and amateurs alike.

Our solar system sits about 1/2 way from center of the Milky Way, which is why it appears as a hazy band across the sky: we are looking into the pancake.

Until the 1920s it was not clear whether the other spiral-shaped nebula visible in the sky were within our galaxy or outside of it, a great debate on the nature of the universe which was resolved in 1925 when Edwin Hubble was able to measure the distance to the Andromeda Galaxy and determined that it was much further away than any of the stars in our galaxy, thus proving that it was it’s own “island universe”.

Unlike star catalogs, we only started making galactic catalogs in the 1960s, with the first catalog containing over 29,000 galaxies. The currently running Galaxy Zoo project, launched in 2007, is a crowd-sourced effort to classify galaxies that were imaged as part of the Sloan Digital Sky Survey, and has over 50 million galaxies in their database to date.

Hubble Ultra Deep Field

The total number of galaxies in the Universe is truly mind-boggling, and by staring a dark patch of sky for a long time, the Universe reveals itself. This summer, July 2014, NASA released an update to the Hubble Ultra Deep Field image, containing around 5500 galaxies from a patch of sky that is much, much smaller than the moon. The total exposure time was 2 million seconds (over 555 hours!) taken over 10 years by the Hubble telescope. And each one of those fuzzy spots is a galaxy containing billions of stars…

A view into the (nearly) infinite!

- Darren Foltinek, 2014

Takakkaw Falls from iceline trail

No matter how many times I have seen Takakkaw Falls, the magnitude, beauty and roar of it always amaze me. I climbed the rock route next to it earlier this year, a fun and stunning route, and we talk about the quality of Rockies rock while getting ready in the parking lot in Yoho Valley.

We hike up the Iceline Trail to Little Yoho Valley to the Stanley Mitchell hut. The day is warm and beautiful, with a few puffy cumulus clouds in the sky, and the Iceline trail gives us spectacular views of Takakkaw falls and the Waputik icefields that feed it.

Stanley Mitchell hut

We get to the hut just before 5:00, and it’s full of fun folk, with a big group of 14, and then my long-lost friends Char and Francois show up with their kids. Julia is cooking up a giant pot of borsch that will end up feeding her, and everybody else in the valley, for the next 5 days.

Saturday Evening Stars

Sunset over Little Yoho Valley

My main goal for the weekend is to capture the magnificent Milky Way above the President Range. I’ve been in this valley before and scoped out the view, and this weekend the moon will be below the horizon, ensuring very dark skies. Of course, the weather is the big unknown. It’s been questionable all week, but the forecast improved towards the end of the week and the Friday forecast was for clear skies, both from the excellent Mountain Forecast and Clear Dark Skies websites.

I’ve hauled all 10lbs of night-photography gear in to Stanley Mitchell hut, so have been keeping a keen eye on the sky all day, watching the clouds come and go. This evening the sky is about 30% cloud, but they are small cumulus clouds, which I’m hoping are just the result of the daily accumulation of moisture in the atmosphere from solar heating.

Crescent moon heading behind President summit

In a entire year, there really are only about two good weeks for photographing the very rich southern Milky Way in Canada. During the dark winter months the southern Milky Way (around Sagittarius) is far below the horizon, and during the spring and early summer the sky is too bright (due to the long days at our northern latitude) and often rainy. Each month has only about one week on either side of the new moon to provide nice dark skies. Add in the variable weather and social, work or other commitments that conspire to keep one from getting outside. Fortunately it all comes together in September, when we often have nice clear weather, the sky has been cleared of dust by the first snow falls, and the summer haze from forest-fires is gone.

The plan is to hike up a trail north of the hut, into the moraines towards Isolated Col, to get a good perspective on the President and Vice President peaks, with the southern Milky Way soaring above. But there’s no point going up there if the sky is not going to clear!

Sunset on the Louise Group of peaks

7:00 is my decision time, and I’m off up the trail behind the hut, with a pack full of camera and bivy gear. The sky still has a few remnant cumulus clouds but I’m hoping they will clear as it cools off after sunset. Hoof up the good trail through the forest towards the col under a gorgeous sky that is still 30% cloud, now glowing brilliant yellow. Should have left an hour earlier to enjoy the sunset! From the hut it’s only about 35 minutes to treeline, and I decide to stop at a closer knoll rather than go for a higher rocky bench, so as to still capture the tail end of the sunset. Take a couple shots with the big lens and then setup the fisheye lens and shoot a time lapse of the darkening sky, from about 7:50 to 9:00.

The evening cools off quickly, and by 8:45 I have all my clothes on, including heavy long underwear and a big puffy jacket. The bivy bag is setup, with a thick air mattress and warm down sleeping bag, and is wonderful to lie on while studying the sky above, getting darker and richer with stars by the minute.

By 9:30 the sky is fully dark, with no residual glow of daylight visible in the 15-second exposures and I stop the time lapse. Then I decide to do a some “selfies” with the headlamp beaming out into the universe. Futzing around with this takes another 1/2 hour, by which point the Milky Way has moved quite a bit to the west and is no longer close to the Presidents. There is also a fair amount of glow in the sky tonight, filling the sky near the horizon with a greenish / yellow light. Annoying for photography, but it’s a natural phenomena, caused by the ionization of oxygen (green) or sodium (yellow) in the atmosphere.

Under 100 billion stars

The sky glow does not fade and the day-time moisture, evidenced by the cumulous clouds in the afternoon, is constantly condensing on the camera lens. Frustrated by both these issues, I pack it in around 12, with the Milky Way still straight overhead, a glowing band stretching from horizon to horizon. The constellation of Cygnus, the swan, is slowly rotating to the north and setting, while in the east, Pleiades appears over the ridge. I crawl into the bag and get some sleep. Sleeping out under the stars can be a little chilly, but the astounding beauty makes it an amazing experience. Whenever you open your eyes while drifting off to sleep, there, in glowing spender, are the billions of stars that make up our home galaxy!

Orion, Taurus and the Pleiades in the 4:00 am sky

After a few hours of solid sleep, I wake up at 3ish to the sight of Orion, Taurus and the Pleiades soaring high over the Presidents! Despite the cold and my delirious state from lack of sleep know that I will have too get up and capture this. But first another quick bit of shut eye… Wake up again at quarter to 4 and those three gorgeous constellations are still there, now hanging just a bit further to the west. Shake myself awake and get mentally prepared to crawl out of the bag into the cold.

From 10:00 until 4:00 the sky has rotated 90 degrees, and now the northern Milky Way is situated to the south-east. The summer sky has dropped below the horizon and been replaced by the familiar constellations of the winter sky.

Drinking a thermos of tea tastes and feels fantastic, and helps me wake up as well as warm up. I’d guess it’s about -5C. Setup the tripod and star tracker again, which I had put away inside the backpack to keep from getting frosty overnight, then get the camera out and start shooting. The air is still humid, and the lens gets a thin coating of water on it by the end of even a one-minute exposure, so after every shot and repositioning of the camera I dry the lens off with a clean shirt before taking the next exposure. Becomes a tedious exercise, and I’m hoping the dew will not wreck the images. I could be sleeping instead of fighting with this most-annoying moisture that constantly clouds the lens…

The eastern sky starts to brighten as dawn approaches, and over the course of close an hour slowly turns different shades of blue as the stars disappear. Watching the transition from night to dawn to sunrises is one of the incredibly beautiful experiences life has to offer, especially out here, surrounded by spectacular wilderness.

Dawn over the Presidents

Still delirious from lack of sleep, but excited and wide awake by the incredible beauty I’ve just witnessed, I stuff all the frozen and frosty gear back into the bag for the hike back down to the hut.

It’s nice to get back to the hut, see the place busy with all the folks, drink more tea and have some breakfast! Chatting with Char and Francois and their kids, Julia, and some of the others, I load up with a peanut butter bagel and a hunk of Francois’ banana bread and one of Julia’s donuts, down a bunch of warm tea and promptly pass out on the bench, the lack of sleep suddenly feeling overwhelming. The hut is a hurricane of activity, with the group of 14 also having breakfast and getting packed to hike out, but I manage to sleep through it all.

Sunday, Kiwetinok Pass and Mt. Pollinger

Layered shale

Folded geology at the toe of the President Glacier

After everybody is gone, Julia and I go for hike up to Kwitinok pass, turn right at the lake and head up towards Mt. Pollinger, an easy scramble. My energy is just gone, and I’m lagging behind as we hike up to the lake. Around the lake and up big boulders of a mixture of limestone and shale, layered in patterns that when weathered reveal beautiful contours. Beautiful rocks, but it’s tedious picking our way among the car-to-house-sized boulders. Working slowly, energy low, we finally get up the ridge.

President glacier. Ski tourers, note the crevasses!

The peak is to the east along the broad ridge of very funky shaped limestone, and we decide not to push on, but stop at a false summit with fantastic views all around. To the north is a group of heavily glaciated peaks, which we later identify as the Mummary Group. Pick our way slowly down and are back at the hut by 4. The sky has remained stunningly clear, a deep blue, with no clouds to be seen on any horizon. I’m excited about this opportunity to go shooting again tonight, but also a dreading it a bit as I’m so tired!

We talk about ideas for tomorrow and come up with the plan that I’ll go up to the higher viewing location, with all my gear, spend the night and then Julia will come up and join me in the morning so we can hike Whaleback. That’s going to be some work, hauling my heavy pack up 600m to the ridge, but the views hiking the 2km of the Whaleback should be worth it.

Julia has made an enormous pot of borsch, enough to feed her for at least a week, and I have no choice but to put down three bowls for dinner in the hut. Yum! But now I have to haul my dinner for tonight out, instead of eating it! Fortunately we have three new guests, Tom, Sue and Sharon, and I overhear them say they forgot their pasta. Well, do I have a deal for you! Of course, they all get bowls of borsch as well. I wish I could hang around and chat with them – fun folks, and the wine is starting to flow – but by 6:30 I’ve packed all my stuff into the bag and am heading up the trail again. One slow step at a time up the trail towards Isolated Col, and somehow the bag feels even heavier than it did on Saturday.

Sunday night, more stars

After and hour and a half of heading up the trail towards Isolated Col, I’ve found a nice viewpoint, across the stream and up and over a lateral moraine to the edge of flat spot. There’s a grand view of the Presidents and a decent view south, with a long ridge to the west. The flat spot looks like it occasionally catches water, and is perfectly flat, which will make a great place to sleep and a excellent place to set up the tripod, but it is fairly exposed, about 200m higher than last night, and a bit windy. Going to be cold! Unload the pack and put every piece of clothing I have on: thin and thick long underwear, fresh warm socks, three shirts, one soft shell jacket, a toque, and a puffy jacket over top. The atmosphere seems much drier today, and I am hoping that the condensation problems, that were such a nuisance last night, will be better tonight. Also yesterday’s sky glow is much reduced tonight. I have no idea why the sky glow varies from night-to-night.

Once the camera gear and bivy bag are setup it’s about 8:30 and time for a nap while the sky turns fully dark. Lay down on top of the bag and get about 15 minutes of sleep, then wake up feeling much better. Start writing this journal while the sky continues to darken, then focus the camera and start shooting the Milky Way over the Presidents, the shot I did not get last night!

Click to zoom into the high-resolution mosaic. Frames are 2-minute exposures, 28mm lens at f4.5, ISO 1000.

It’s come together tonight: the weather, the location and the season! The setup here on the edge of the moraine is perfect, with a great sitting rock right behind the tripod so I can be writing this journal on the iPad or gazing up at the sky while the camera and Astrotrac whirl and capture the universe above. As hoped, the air is dry and there are no condensation issues at all tonight! Perfect conditions!

The multiple 28mm lens frames assembled here cover roughly 110 degrees horizontally, east-to-west, and maybe 120 degrees vertically, south-to-north.

Deep Sky Objects

I had two main photographic goals this trip: first to capture a large chunk of the night sky over the big peaks in the Yoho valley, and second to capture the Sagittarius region at the core of the Milky Way, which is best observed (in Canada) in late August and September.

Sagittarius region

The Sagittarius region is incredibly rich in nebulosity and clusters, with 19 objects in Messier’s classic catalog visible here, and more below the horizon.

Of the dozens of deep-sky objects in this image, I was able to just capture two fascinating ones that were barely above the horizon. Orbiting around the bulge at the centre of our galaxy – a bulge that is clearly visible here as the bright, wide part of the Milky Way at the horizon – are well over 100 globular clusters. These ancient balls of stars are typically nearly as old as the Universe itself, and contain around 100,000 stars packed into a tight sphere. And because they orbit fairly close to the centre of our galaxy, most of the brightest ones are in the southern sky.

Messier 55 globular cluster. Credit: ESO/J. Emerson/VISTA. Acknowledgment: Cambridge Astronomical Survey Unit

Messier 55 is an globular cluster of about 100,000 stars who’s age is estimated at 12.7 billion years. It is just barely visible above the west ridge of the President, in the constellation Sagittarius. One of the most detailed images of this stellar gem is shown above, from the European Southern Observatory.

Helix Nebula, composite image by Hubble Space Telescope and the Cerro Tololo Inter-American Observatory in Chile.

The Helix nebula is also barely visible as a fairly large, dim fuzzy spot to the left of the Vice President, below the constellation Aquarius. This unimpressive little fuzz-spot is actually a massive shell of gas ejected by a dying star, and is expanding into space between 30 and 40 kilometers per second (over 100,000km/h). Best viewed from a safe distance.

For me, this is what is so fascinating about astronomy – it is infinitely deep! The big picture; the full expanse of the sky on a dark night, is absolutely stunning! And the closer and harder you look, with more equipment and more energy and effort, the more detail you see, and the more beauty and complexity is revealed. It’s a true look in to the infinite.

Cassiopeia and neighbours

After finishing capturing the southern sky, I switch lenses and overhead targets and move to the high eastern sky, where Cassiopeia and Andromeda are suspended in the midst of the northern Milky Way. This is also a very rich region of the sky, with the large and (relatively) nearby Andromeda and Triangulum galaxies easily captured by the 50mm lens.

Cassiopeia and Andromeda

Daily trivia: the Andromeda galaxy is the closest major galaxy to our own and, at 2.3 million light-years, the farthest object that you can easily see with your naked eye.

Nearby to Andromeda is another of our galactic neighbours, the Triangulum galaxy, M33. At 50,000 light-years in diameter, it is about half the size of our own Milky Way, and the third-largest galaxy in our local group of galaxies, after Andromeda and the Milky Way.

Hiking out Whaleback

Moraine bivy site at dawn

The experience of waking up high in the alpine is amazing! Watching the sky slowly brighten and the “golden hour” of light sweep across the land and cast long shadows is incredibly beautiful. By around 9 in the morning I’m all packed up and Julia has hiked up from the hut to meet me and hike out over Whaleback Ridge.

Hiking up toward Whaleback, with Isolated glacier behind

First light on the glacier east of the Vice President

There are two normal routes to Stanley Mitchell hut in the Little Yoho valley. The valley trail is quick, direct and easy, while the very popular Iceline Trail climbs up above treeline on the south side of the valley to a high bench and wanders through recently de-glaciated terrain and past some remnant glaciers before dropping through moraines. The third route is not an official hiking trail, but a scramble route up steep terrain on the north side of the valley that gains the crest of Whaleback Ridge and follows it most of the way to Isolated Col and then down to the hut. It adds an extra 600m vertical to the regular route, but offers superb views south to the Presidents, west to Isolated Peak, and north to the peaks of the Wapta Icefields, Yoho Peak, Collie, Rhonda and Gordon.

Julia photographing the valley cloud rolling in

As we hike along the ridge, thin high clouds come streaming from the SW around mid-morning, then puffy valley cloud rolls into the Little Yoho valley up from the main valley. At the end of the ridge you need to scramble down steep, loose, vertically-tilted strata to get to the hiking trail. A bit of obstacle, but I’d highly recommend the route, if you’re comfortable with steep scrambling, as a longer but super-scenic alternative out from Stanley Mitchell!

Thanks for the fun weekend Julia!

Darren Foltinek, 2014.

We rent kayaks and safety gear from Above and Beyond Alaska, who are very helpful in assisting us with trip planning. We have two double boats for four of us, which comfortably hold all our gear and food for five days of camping.

Drop Off at South Sawyer Glacier

Tracy Arm is a two-pronged fjord roughly 100km SE of Juneau, and access is by boat only. We get up at 5:30, load up the car and get down to the wharf to get the kayaks ready for a 7:15 pickup by Adventure Bound for the 3.5 hour boat ride out to the end of Tracy Arm.

It’s raining in the morning and the sky is thick and heavy with cloud, with fog right down to the water. We are unimpressed with the weather and everybody is a little glum and not terribly excited, despite heading out on what should be an amazing trip to a stunning area. We carry the kayaks down to the wharf and stuff them full of our gear. When the ship, the Captain Cook, arrives, we haul the very heavy kayaks off the wharf and up over the railing on the boat and lash them to the stern of the ship, not an easy task. And then we are off, heading out into the fog. All the sightseeing guests are inside and we four paddlers are out on the back deck, and Captain Steve is gunning the boat, doing over 20 knots. It’s cold and windy and raining, and we aren’t talking much, just trying to stay optimistic in the face of this miserable weather. Can’t get much worse, right?

After about 1/2 hour we venture into the cabin, which is a vast improvement from the back deck, and start chatting with the other passengers and crew. Some of guests are really curious, and ask us all about what we are doing, what gear we have, how long we will be out there for, how do we deal with the cold water, etc. Lots of fun. We go up into the bridge and chat with Captain Steve, who makes sure we understand where the pick up locations are.

Bergs in the mist

Low clouds in the fjord

Entering Tracy Arm we cruise past Harbour Island, and there are some big, spectacular icebergs, very blue, some grounded on the sea floor and some floating. There is a navigation buoy in the channel that is being pulled hard by the tidal current, and we talk to Steve about when and how to paddle through this channel to get to Harbour Island. Because the weather is so bad, we also talk to Steve about the possibility of a pickup one day early, in case we get completely sick of being wet and cold.

Waterfalls streaming down the walls

Bergs in the mist

As we cruise up Tracy Arm, we pull up to various icebergs for a closer look, circling around the bergs at a respectful distance. The deep blue colour is striking!

We also pull up to Jake Falls, mid-way up Tracy Arm, which the crew say is as big as they have ever seen it due to the torrential rainfall over the last few days. The falls is really roaring, and the captain puts the nose of the boat almost right into it, telling jokes to everybody about the results of getting cold and wet. Everybody laughs.

The Captain Cook, a seal and the glacier

Launching the 2nd kayak

We continue cruising up the fjord, still encased in thick fog and with the rain only rarely letting up, pull around a corner and suddenly there it is: the massive, chaotically fractured, brilliant blue wall of the South Sawyer glacier, in a bay full of icebergs. There are seals all around, many of them up on the icebergs, but we don’t have time for photos as we are getting ready for the drop off.

We haul one kayak off the back railing and put it on the side railing, slinging ropes around it to lower it to the water, about 2m below. Robert is the first to get in, and is given very strict instructions by Steve how to move from the boat to the kayak. I am next, and then we are handed our paddles and drift away. Next are Andie and Julia, and then the four of us are floating in the bay, surrounded by icebergs and waving goodbye and thanks to Steve and the crew.

Paddling through the icebergs at South Sawyer glacier

Robert and Darren and the South Sawyer glacier

As we paddle away from the ship, the glacier starts to groan, a couple fridge-sized blocks fall in, and then there is a roar and an entire section of the ice wall, perhaps 30x20m (although very hard to estimate because there’s nothing for scale) drops in, creating a large wave that slowly spreads out towards us. We are 100s of meters away, but turn around and paddle further away. By the time the wave catches us it has dissipated into a very low amplitude but immense swell, and we are lifted perhaps half a meter as the wave passes under us. The entire surface of the bay rises and falls as the wave passes underneath us and bounces off the walls. A intense introduction to Tracy Arm!

Andie and Julia and a misty green wall

We paddled slowly around the bergs at the head of the bay, moving away from the glacial face, and discuss plans for the afternoon. Steve told us that the five days we have here is a long time, and most parties only take three days to paddle from the head of Tracy Arm out to Harbour Island. He suggests that we spend two nights at the first campsite, Sawyer Island, which is at the junction of two branches, both with glaciers at their ends.

The clouds and fog are lifting, and we decide to head to the island and set up camp during this window of good weather, so that everything stays dry. After paddling around the island looking at the different options for landing the kayaks we settle on the south side of the island, where the map says the camping is. The island is solid rock right to waters edge, no beaches at all, and we find a low-angle patch of rock to land on, bracing one kayak with the other while folks carefully get out.

Waterfall on the north side of Sawyer Island

Julia with kayaks on the rocks

We unload the boats and move all of our gear up to a relatively flat patch of rock on top of the small island, perhaps 10m above the high tide line. Andie and Julia then volunteer to go fetch water from across the channel, as there’s no water on our little island. They paddle across the channel to the wall on the south side, where there are several waterfalls cascading down to the ocean. The bigger falls are too wet, so they get the boat up close to a small trickle coming down the vertical rock and fill up our 20 litre jug. When they get back we haul the boats further up onto the rocks, well above the high-tide line, finish setting up camp and get dinner going.

Robert, Andie and Julia in our Sawyer Island kitchen

The sky is clearing, and we let out whoops of joy when the sun briefly appears. As the afternoon turns into evening, the sun drops slowly into the western end of the fjord, staying just above the ridge of a peak soaring 1000m above us. The waters around us are full of icebergs, and seals are regular visitors to the island, looking up at us with curiosity as they swim around just off shore.

Evening light on falls north of Sawyer Island

As we are eating dinner Andie sees one porpoise and then another go by, and we are all just in awe of the stunning surroundings and our good fortune with the weather.

Icebergs in the evening

There are waterfalls pouring off the surrounding peaks, four to the south and another four on the wall towering above us to the north, and as the sun pokes out from behind clouds it lights up the wet walls and icebergs beautifully. The icebergs slowly drift west, down the fjord as the tide goes out.

By 9 everybody is asleep and I am left alone to enjoy the solitude and stillness of this magical place, writing up this journal outside on the rocks. The glacier rumbles in the distance and the icebergs float slowly around in the calm waters around our camp.

Campsite on Sawyer Island, with South Sawyer glacier on the horizon

North Sawyer Glacier

Captain Steve cruising by Sawyer Island

A relaxed morning, we wake up at 8:00 after going to bed last night at 10; nothing like a solid 10 hours of sleep, or rather, nothing like 10 hours of fitful sleep listening to intermittent rain showers pass through. The morning is cool and overcast, and as we make breakfast (good old bagels and peanut butter) and tea a couple more showers come through, which does not fill us with enthusiasm for getting out on the water. The low tide in the morning has exposed a good-sized group of rocks below our kayaks, smooth granite covered with sea weed and other incredibly slippery plants, and would make getting the boats into the water a major chore, so we have an even more relaxed morning and put into the water around 1:00.

Julia and Andie paddling up the North Arm

Julia and Andie paddling around Sawyer Island

The tides here are large, perhaps 5-6m, and the difference they make to the shoreline is dramatic. The weather is clearing, and we have some actual sun as we paddle around the west end of Sawyer Island and up towards North Sawyer Glacier. Our spirits soar as the sun comes out!

Julia and Andie below “Twin Falls”

Left side of the “twin falls” towards North Sawyer

The sea is beautifully calm and the walls of wet, grey granite towering over us glisten in the sun, with numerous waterfalls cascading down to empty into the fjord. Absolutely stunning, and we are all in absolute awe of the majesty of this place, especially now that the clouds have cleared and we are enjoying the warmth of the sun. I am paddling with Robert today, and he has taken the back seat of the kayak, the end most responsible for controlling the boat, which gives me the luxury of being able to occasionally put my paddle up and take pictures.

Captain Cook visiting falls

Unexpectedly, the Captain Cook boat appears, cruising up the North Arm. The big cruise ships do not sail into this narrow channel, but for small boats like this one it’s no problem. We wave hi as they go past, and then we are again alone in this spectacular place, and keep paddling north up the arm.

Waterfall in the North Sawyer arm

The water is glassy smooth and Robert and I both feel comfortable taking our SLR cameras out of their dry bags to capture the incredible beauty around us. Because Robert is driving the kayak I have lots of time to do that. Awesome! We work our way slowly up the north arm and the scenery continues to amaze, with waterfalls every few 100m on both sides, and the rock changing colour, from gray to a malt-chocolate brown to bright orange, interspersed with light fractures and dikes.

Darren and Robert among small icebergs

The water is full of ice, mostly small bergs of less then a square meter, but occasionally large ones, bigger than a house or small office building, which we give wide clearance to. Captain Steve recommends giving the bergs three times their height in clearance, and we give them at least that. We did see some bergs rolling and flipping, off Sawyer island, and while they seem to roll very slowly we are not taking any chances, this far from help.

In front of “Cliff Camp” falls, Julia and Andie

Approaching the North Sawyer glacier

As we approach the end of the north arm the face of the glacier comes into view, a stunning wall of brilliant white and intense blue glowing in the sun. The fractured ice plunges right down to the calm, quiet water. Above the glacial wall are two mountains with a broad valley in between, and two separate glaciers, from either side of these mountains, have merged at this point before ending abruptly at the sea.

Julia and Andie approaching North Sawyer

The glacier regularly makes deep rumbling and booming noises, and occasionally chunks, perhaps car-sized, drop into the water. Without anything for reference, it is very difficult to judge the height or width of the terminal wall, or even our distance to it, but looking at the map later we estimate that we are at least 500m away.

Darren and Robert in front of North Sawyer Glacier

Photographers shooting each other, Darren and Robert

The sky remains a mix of sun and clouds, which paints the overwhelming scene in front of us with constantly changing patches of light. The fractured face of the glacier glows a brilliant white and blue and we are in photographic paradise.

Julia and Andie in front of the fractured blue wall

Paddling around the fjord in front of North Sawyer glacier

Boom, splash!

Julia and Andie

We simply hang out in front of the glacier, for close to an hour, mesmerized at this incredible scene, taking photos and just staring. Cruising back and forth, we take turns going towards the face but always keeping a very respectful distance from the massive, unstable wall. Feeling very fortunate to have this sunny day in this incredible location!

Julia and Andie and the blue wall

We are also waiting for a big chunk of ice to fall off! Despite the north arm being full of icebergs, the glacier here today is not as active as the South Sawyer was yesterday. There are not any seals hanging out on the ice around here, either.

Eventually a good-sized piece on the left side does collapse into the water with a roar and a splash. It must have been significantly smaller than the one we saw fall yesterday, as there is hardly any wave sent out across the water.

Lunch break at Twin Falls

Eventually we decide that we can’t possibly take any more photos and so turn around and slowly paddle back towards the island, taking a lunch break at the rocky beach by Twin Falls. The plan is to head up to the South Sawyer again, since we still have time and the sun is out.

Tour boats heading towards South Sawyer glacier

Heading up towards the south Sawyer glacier, we are passed by a huge cruise ship, the third we have seen in the arm today, and we give the immense floating hotel a lot of space. Fortunately they steam very slowly up the fjord, and we hardly notice the wake. Once the massive ship is ahead of us it pretty much dominates the view of the glacier, and we turn around to make it back to our island while the tide is still high enough that we don’t have a problem landing the boats on the rocky shoreline.

As we are now paddling with the outgoing tide and the katabatic wind flowing off the glacier, we make very good time and are back at our island camp around 5:15.

Cruise ships at Sawyer Island

Two more massive cruise ships sail up the fjord while we are cleaning up and having dinner, and while their size is impressive, their presence greatly diminishes the otherwise very remote feel and majesty of this place, and the plume of smoke spewing from the stacks definitely casts a pall over the unspoiled wilderness around us.

Dinner is Pad Thai with an appetizer of soup, and we discuss the cruise ships. On the downside having these floating hotels cruising up and down the fjord takes away the sense of remoteness, pollutes the air, and they are so big that they dominate the otherwise incredible view. On the plus side it is a relatively low impact way of bringing a lot of people into spectacular areas like this and thereby hopefully increasing the awareness and appreciation of nature, and the desperate need for conservation of wild places. And of course the real reason they come up here is the amount of money all those people bring to the city. We have dessert out on the rocks, watching for seals and occasional groups of porpoises who swim by as the icebergs float west with the outgoing tide.

Sawyer Island to Elbow Camp

Darren checking a berg stranded by the low tide

Sawyer Island and morning icebergs

High tide is in the early afternoon today so we have another relaxed morning, eating breakfast before packing up camp, and are ready to go around 1:00. The channels are full of icebergs this morning, and there is even a Smart-car sized one stranded on the low-tide rocks, plus numerous softball-to-microwave sized ice blocks scattered around the rocks.

Waiting for the tide at Sawyer Island

Andie and Robert on the way to Elbow Camp

The view west towards Elbow Camp

The goal today is to get part way out the fjord to one of two camps to the west of us. The far camp is almost twice the distance, and we’ll see how far get. Once we are in the water there is no dawdling, and we get to the first one, Valley Camp, in about two hours. The valley is beautiful but the rain has returned and we still have time, so we decide to push on for Elbow Camp, which will put us within easy range of a pickup by Capt Steve.

Kayaking in the mist

Expecting dinosaurs in this valley

Paddling today has a tremendously primeval feel. Out in the fjord we are surrounded by huge walls covered in mist, vegetation and waterfalls. The rain drizzles down and low lying clouds and fog are draped over everything. The only sound is water cascading down the rock, there is no wind and the air is heavy, thick and rich. Beneath us the fjord is 100s of metres deep and we sit, in our tiny kayaks, surrounded by calm, heavy immensity. Water, in a variety of forms, completely dominates and defines this world.

Except for one giant cruise ship and a couple of small boats we are alone in the fjord today. The dark, wet granite walls tower above us, and every crack in the wall is filled with vegetation that forms a series of green pathways across the otherwise blank walls. Any gully or depression in the walls has a stream, ranging in size from trickles to torrents, cascading down towards the ocean.

We have some trouble finding Elbow Camp, as the location marked on the map is not very accurate, and it takes us about 40 minutes of paddling up and down the shore to find it – a broad rocky beach with two bright yellow kayaks tucked up behind big logs at the high tide line. We have paddled 30km in about 4 hours today. In camp we meet Christine, a park warden, and Tim, from Georgia, up here for a summer job maintaining trails and cabins. It’s still raining as we setup the tents in the rich forest with a lush carpet of moss and quickly eat dinner, clean up, hang the food in a tree, and get to bed by about 11:30. We have not decided yet what to do tomorrow, but a pickup by Steve could be welcome if it keeps raining like this.

Elbow Camp and Pickup

Robert jumping the stream on the way back from the kitchen spot

Andie by the kitchen stream

It rains all night. It’s raining in the morning. The sky is heavy with cloud and the ocean covered in fog. My tent has leaked and I wake up with my head in a puddle. After about 30 seconds of discussion over breakfast we make the unanimous decision to call the captain on the radio for a pickup and go back to Juneau today.

Stream at Elbow Camp

Carrying the kayak down the beach

Because of the steep rock walls in Tracy Arm, there are very few campsites, and those few are primitive, no facilities at all. Elbow Camp spot is a beautiful spot, with a creek tumbling down through the rich, mossy rain forest and a big, broad rocky beach that makes landing and launching the kayaks very easy. Christine and Tim are packing up early and heading up the fjord today, and we say goodbye and wish them better weather.

Pickup by Adventure Bound

Paddling past stunning valleys in mist

After breakfast call Capt Steve for a pickup at a location an hour or two paddle away, then we pack up our wet tents, put on our wet paddling gear and get back on the water. We are trying hard to “embrace the wet” since you certainly can’t fight it! Once the boats are loaded we paddle up the fjord, the way we came down yesterday, a very relaxed cruise along the shoreline, and get to the pickup spot with an hour to so to wait.

I’m sure we made quite an impression on the boat passengers, appearing out of no where like we did. We chat with some of them on the way back and answer fun questions like “did you sleep out here?”. Steve and the crew were a lot of fun too; they had bet that we would last only three days out of the original plan of five, and were surprised that we had made it to day number four.

On the way back to Juneau we we spot some humpback whales and stop to get a closer look, before continuing on the hour or so of relatively quick travel north to the city.

Thanks for a spectacular kayaking trip, and special thanks to Above and Beyond Alaska for their equipment, advice and help and Adventure Bound for providing us with boat transport out and back, and lots of great advice!

- Darren Foltinek, 2014

Upon arriving in Haines Junction the previous night, we checked in at the airport about the possibility of a flight tour of Kluane Park. By incredible good luck, the forecast for Thursday was very good and Alex at Kluane Glacier Air Tours is available to fly!

Haines Junction airport. What a stunning morning!

We get to the airport just after 8:00 and our pilot Alex is getting the plane ready as we chat excitedly about the flight and the perfect weather this morning. The plane, a Cessna 207, has five seats out of the normal eight, three having been removed for gear, and the back seat windows have had small photography portals installed. I sit there and my brother Kevin gets the front seat in the dual-control cockpit next to Alex. We warm up the plane, de-fog the windows that are wet with morning dew, taxi to the end of the gravel runway, and take off at a speed of 60 knots. Destination: Kluane National Park.

Klaune National Park

At just over 22,000 square kilometres, Kluane National Park and Preserve is one of Canada’s largest wild areas and forms the very south-west corner of the Yukon. It is a mountainous wonderland, with just over 80% of its area being mountains and glaciers, the cornerstone of which is Canada’s highest peak, Mt. Logan at 5959m.

Kluane borders with the Alaskan National parks of Wrangell-St. Elias and Glacier Bay, plus Tatshenshini-Alsek provincial park in British Columbia, and the entire 130,000 km² was declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1994. The region is the largest non-polar icefield in the world and, by virtue of it’s wide range of climatic zones and enormous elevation range, includes a great variety of ecosystems including coastal coniferous, northern coniferous and alpine tundra. In this diverse set of ecosystems live a great variety of fauna including carnivores wolves, foxes, lynx, large ungulates moose and caribou in the lower elevations and mountain goats and Dall sheep at higher elevations.

From the UNESCO Statement of Significance: This is one of the few places remaining in the world where ecological processes are governed by natural stresses and the evolutionary changes in a glacial and ecological continuum.

Rivers and Forest and Tundra

Dezadeash river

Drainage north of Snowshoe Peak

Drainage NE of Mt. Maxwell

We are barely off the ground and the flight is already stunning, as we turn south up the Dezadeash River, covered in morning fog and then east up the Kaskawulsh River. The forest below us has suffered a severe outbreak of spruce beetles, and is mostly dead. Alex informs us that Kluane Park has not had a forest fire in over 500 years, and as an unmanaged preserve, all natural processes are left alone, meaning that nothing will be done about the beetles or the trees, and the forest will be left to recover on it’s own.

Along the way, Alex points out some tiny white dots on a ridge, which are Dall sheep.

Kaskawulsh Glacier

Kaskawulsh Glacier

Junction of north and south arms of Kaskawulsh Glacier

Our first introduction to the huge icefields is when we turn right past Observation Peak and are suddenly presented with the terminus of the immense river of ice that is the Kaskawulsh Glacier. On the surface of the glacier are a series of curved, parallel streams of rocky debris. Each of these medial moraines are formed when two tributary glaciers merge into one. The lateral moraines, formed at the edge of each glacier from rocks falling from adjacent peaks, merge to become a medial moraine. The Kaskawulsh glacier is immense, over 300km long, and formed from the merger of numerous smaller glaciers, each one contributing two stripes of lateral moraine debris to the main glacier as they flow down valley.

Junction of north and central arms of Kaskawulsh. On the right horizon is Mt. Vancouver, 55km away.

Stairway N4 peak on the Kaskawulsh glacier

As we fly up the glacier we pass several major junctions where smaller glaciers join the main Kaskawulsh. The scale of the glacial landscape we are flying over is breathtaking, with valleys filled with long tributary glaciers, each a complicated and beautiful river of ice flowing down between jagged, rocky peaks.

Stairway glacier joining the Kaskawulsh

Ridges of Mt. Sannikov, looking SSE towards Kaslowhub, Pinnacle and Alverstone on the horizon.

Less than 10km past the junction of the north and south arms of the Kaskawulsh we fly over the firn line on the glacier, and from now on the bare ice is covered in snow and we enter a region of fantastic natural sculptures. Mountain faces are covered in fluted snow, vast sheets of ice are broken by sharp points and ribs of rock; nunataks, the summits of buried peaks poking through the ice surface, and fields of curved and criss-crossing crevasses.

We are entering the land of the giants: massive peaks that overwhelm the normal sense of scale, and smaller peaks by the dozens, like islands in an ocean of ice.

Mt. Vancouver (right horizon) Hubbard Glacier (center) and Alverstone/Kennedy (left horizon)

The huge Hubbard Glacier appears to the south, starting below Queen Mary (off the image to the right) and flowing 120km to the Pacific Ocean. Mt. Vancouver dominates the horizon on the right.

Mt. Vancouver and Queen Mary

Nub on ridge from Discovery Peak, looking towards Mt. Vancouver

Looking forward in the plane, the first of the massive icefield peaks we come to is Queen Mary, topping out at 3928m, around 2000m above the rolling surface of the icefield. Sitting in the back, I don’t get that view, so my first big peak view is of Mt. Vancouver, much farther to our south but at 4812m almost 1km taller than Mary. Wow. Struggling to keep my jaw off the floor.

Glacier camp and airplane north of Queen Mary

The first and only sign of anything human in this vast landscape is a straight line packed into the snow on a flat, smooth part of the glacier with a tiny airplane parked next to what appears to be a dismantled campsite. We later learn that this is the Icefield Discovery Camp, a remote camp designed to provide a comfortable base for people wanting to explore the Kluane icefields area. That plane has come to pick up the gear and people, as today (Aug 21), the camp is finished for the season.

Crevasse field north Queen Mary

As we continue up the glacier the peaks around us have gotten taller, more rugged and more glaciated, and we are heading for the north side of Queen Mary, with the massive bulk of Mt Logan straight ahead. The glacier north and below Queen Mary is tremendously crevassed, and the scale of any of these massive fractures is very hard to judge from the plane, but I’m estimating the big ones are over 1000m long and 10s of metres wide.

Queen Mary, at far right, looking south toward Alverstone and Kennedy on the left horizon

Mt. Lucania and Mt. Steele

As we turn left around the northern slopes of Queen Mary, another vast mass of peaks swings into view to the north-west. In the foreground the icefield has been broken into a scattered maze of crevasses as if flows over a mound of rock hidden under the ice. Surrounding this crevasse maze are countless peaks, with much bare rock showing on their sun-exposed south faces, smaller at first but rising up to a series of giant peaks that sit on the horizon, about 50km away.

Mts. Lucania, Steele and Harrison

On the left is Mt. Lucania, the third-highest mountain in Canada. It is the 3rd tallest peak in Canada, and most sources put its elevation at 5226m, but others quote 5240m or even 5260m. It was first climbed in 1937 in an epic adventure by Bradford Washburn and Robert Bates, a trip that turned in a 240km struggle for survival and was the subject of the book Escape from Lucania. Washburn was a renowned mountaineer, photographer and scientist and Bates went on to lead two expeditions to K2 in the early 1950s. Here’s a great writeup of the 1937 trip plus a video with excellent photos. The peak was not climbed again for 30 years.

Part of the same massif, and connected to Mt. Lucania by a long ridge, is Mount Steele, the 5th highest peak in Canada at 5073m. It was first climbed in 1935 and saw its 2nd ascent only two years later by Washburn and Bates during their Lucania ascent. In 2007, Mt. Steele suffered a massive rock and ice avalanche in which debris fell over 2000m down the mountain and impacted on the Steele glacier with the force equivalent to a magnitude 5.2 earthquake.

To the south (left side of photo) is a region of smaller peaks (3500-3820m) all named after the provinces of Canada. Surprisingly, these peaks are not in any list of “highest peaks in Canada” that I could find, but are clearly labeled in Google Maps.

Mt. Vancouver and King George

Mt. King George (left front), Mt. Vancouver (center) and Mt. Cook at far right

Mt. Vancouver is a huge peak, 4812m, sitting on the Yukon / Alaska border and rising over 3000m above the icefield. First climbed in 1949, it went from 1977 to 2003 without another ascent, and has only had five or six total, including this probable first ski ascent and descent. Over 3000 vertical metres… that’s a lot of turns!

A ridge of Wood Peak (foreground) with Mt. Vancouver (left) and Mt. Cook center-right

Coming around the north side of Queen Mary we fly over one of the ridges sprawling out from Wood Peak, a sub-peak on the east side of the Logan Massif. Anywhere else in the world all these subsidiary peaks, rising well over 1000m above the glacier, would have names, but here in Kluane the only name I can find for this skeleton-like ridge is the highest point, Wood Peak, about 3600m and 1600m above the icefield. Past the ridge and across the icefield Mt. Vancouver (4812m) and Mt. Cook (4274m) dominate the horizon.

Mt. Vancouver (left) and Mt. Cook, right. Hubsew peak east ridge in foreground.

A long, jagged finger of mountains forms a 30km chain of rock, running from the eastern flanks of Mt. Logan SSE to Mt. Vancouver, and separates the Seward Glacier, to the south (right), from the Hubbard Glacier to the north (left). The beautiful, snow and ice sculpted ridge in the foreground is the East Ridge of Hubsew peak, a subsidiary peak on the eastern flank of Mt. Logan.

Mt. Logan

Mt. Logan is beyond big. It is the largest non-volcanic mountain in the world by mass, and the largest massif in the world by circumference. To steal a quote from Mark Smiley, saying that Logan is big is like saying there are many stars in the sky – it just does not do justice to the reality.

Mt. Logan massif

Logan East Ridge, base detail

Just ENE of the overwhelming bulk of Mt. Logan sits Wood Peak, part of a long, sinuous ridge coming down from the Logan East Summit, a ridge that includes Catenary Peak and McArthur Peak. We fly to the west of Wood Peak and cross over the 20km long east ridge of McArthur, and suddenly, filling the entire window, is the classic East Ridge of Logan. First climbed in 1950, the East Ridge first ascent team included a 60-year old Norman Read, who was also part of Albert MacCarthy’s 1925 expedition of Logan.

I am sitting on the left side of the plane, and the view forward is blocked by our pilot Alex, my brother Kevin and the engine, and I can really only see clearly to the left and right of the plane. As a result, I can’t really see where we are heading, and I’ve been so engrossed taking pictures of everything else that I’m surprised to be here at Logan already! How could the biggest mountain on Earth sneak up on me like this?

However, the windows by the back seat are equipped with small photography portals that open to allow clear views for the camera, without having to shoot through the plexiglass windows, and being further behind the wings allows for better views of massive things that tower above us. Like Mt. Logan!

Mt. Logan East Ridge (centre) and Catenary Peak (right). Hubsew ridge at bottom left.

South east face of Mt. Logan

Chain of peaks running east from Hubsew, Mt Logan massif.

The Logan East Ridge is jammed in the middle of a huge gorge formed by Catenary Peak and McArthur to the north and Hubsew Peak to the south and rises, like a jagged blade, spectacularly up out of the broken ice.

We are so close to Logan that it completely fills the view out the window, and I ask Alex if he could lift the right wing so I can get a clear view of the whole line to the east summit. Quickly switch from a 50mm lens to the 28mm to capture this stunning ridge as we cruise past at about 200km/h, and then it’s gone, hidden from view behind the Hubsew east ridge.

Meanwhile, to the west snakes the stunning chain of peaks dividing the Hubbard (left) and Seward (right) glaciers, with the break in the chain that allows access between the two icefields clearly visible.

The south-east face of Logan is over 2500m high and meets the East Ridge route at the summit plateau, and until it was climbed in 2010 it was the tallest unclimbed wall in North America. The route was put up, alpine-style, by Yasushi Okada and Katsutaka Yokoyama, two visionary Japanese climbers who then continued on to summit the East Peak and finally descended the East Ridge, an incredibly impressive ascent!

We fly around to the south face of Logan, but are so close that the massive peak completely fills the view out the window. We are flying at about 3700m above sea level, which means that the summit is still more than 2km above us and the glacier nearly 2km below us.

Logan Warbler Ridge

… and I feel very, very small, hanging in space in a tiny aluminum box in front of this immense wall of rock and ice, surrounded by one of the largest icefields in the world.

Mt. Logan is the highest peak in Canada, and surprisingly, its height, 5959m, was not precisely measured until 1992, when a Royal Canadian Geographic Society expedition took GPS equipment to the summit. The peak was named after Sir William Edmond Logan, who in 1842 established the Geological Survey of Canada.

I’m running out of superlatives trying to describe the magnitude and beauty of this mountain. On the western edge of the south-east face is the Warbler Ridge, first climbed in 1977 by David P. Jones, Fred Thiessen, Frank Baumann, Rene Bucher and Jay Page, and was the first direct route to the main summit of Logan. It has also never been climbed again, according to any source that I could find, and was the sight of a tragedy in 1978 on an attempted 2nd ascent due to a cornice collapsing with their camp and three members of the party on it.

East side of south face of Mt. Logan, with Hummingbird Ridge in center-left.

Turning to the south, across the Seward glacier and toward Mt. St. Elias, puts some distance between us and Mt. Logan and enables big-picture views of the massif. First to come are great views of the incredible and notorious Hummingbird Ridge, snaking roughly 15km south from the main summit as it drops 4000m to the glacier.

The Hummingbird Ridge has a legendary status in the alpine climbing world, first being climbed in 1965, and making the list of 50 Classic Climbs in North America, co-written by Allen Steck, who was on first ascent team. The original route has never been repeated, and several world-class alpinists have died in the attempt, including Dave Cheesemond and Catherine Freer in 1987. That does not stop people from trying, and here’s a fantastic article on an attempt in June of 2014. The Thunderbird Variation, which bypasses the extremely dangerous cornices of the “shovel traverse” section on Hummingbird, was established in 1991.

South face Mt. Logan and Seward Glacier. King Peak on the far left, the main summit of Logan center, and Wood Peak at far right.

As we fly further south across the Seward Glacier, most of the Logan Massif becomes visible, 15km from King Peak on the west (left in picture) to the main summit (centre in picture). The 5000m high summit plateau is 20km wide and the base of the massif is 40km wide. Measured by base circumference it is the largest mountain in the world. My jaw is on the floor, I am babbling incoherently and taking pictures as fast as possible… and feeling incredibly fortunate to be able to see one of the great mountains of the world in absolutely perfect weather!

For much more information, route descriptions and climbing stories of this amazing peak, Alpinist Magazine #31 has an excellent Mountain Profile on the Logan Massif, well worth the $10 download. They also have a story on Expedition Diaries from Mt. Logan, full of great quotes and photos.

Seward Glacier and Mt. St. Elias

Looking south across the Seward Glacier, with Hummingbird Ridge at lower left

The view south over the Seward Glacier, flying over the ends of the long southern ridges coming off Mt. Logan. The distance straight across to Mt. Malaspina is about 23km.

Mt. St. Elias and Seward Glacier looking west into Alaska

Seward Glacier

The Yukon portion of the Seward glacier is 1200 square kilometers, and fills the huge basin between Mt. Logan to the north, St. Elias to the south and Vancouver and Cook to the east. The icefield continues west past St. Elias into Alaska for a total length of around 200km and a width of up to 30km. It is truly an ocean of ice!

Mt. St. Elias is a massive boundary peak, topping out at 5489m. Here, the north side rises about 3000m above the glacier, but on it’s south side it drops all the way to the ocean in just over 19km. It was the first of the giant Alaskan mountains to be climbed, in 1897, in an epic expedition led by the Duke of Abruzzi. Starting from sea level on the Malaspina glacier with 1400kg of supplies, including 90kg of camera gear (!), they climbed all 5489m and walked over 200km from July 1 to August 11.

East end of Mt. Logan south face and chain of peaks at eastern edge of Seward Glacier.

We are now flying east, and have grand views of the Logan massif, now 30km NW of us, including the chain of minor peaks stretching to the east (right) that form the NE boundary of the Seward glacier.

Mt. Augusta and Malaspina Glacier

Mt. Augusta north ridge

Mt. Augusta and Mt. Eaton. Malaspina Glacier, flowing out to the Pacific Ocean

We are flying east, to the south of Mt. Vancouver, and away from Logan and St. Elias. The Pacific Ocean is on the right, about 80km away, and we just see it on the horizon. Mt. Augusta, at 4289m, is one of the large “boundary peaks” that sit along the U.S. / Canada border. Relative to the giants around it, it does not have huge prominence, rising “only” 2500m on north side, above the Seward Glacier, but on the south side it drops all the way to the Pacific Ocean.

Just to the east of Mt. Augusta is Mt. Eaton, and there the Seward glacier breaks through a large gap in the St. Elias range, between Mt. Eaton and Mt. Cook, and drops rapidly to the Pacific Ocean, becoming the Malaspina Glacier.

Mt. Eaton (right) and Malaspina glacier

Most large glaciers flow along (and have carved) U-shaped valleys that constrain them on left and right, forcing them to become long and narrow rivers of ice, but the Malaspina Glacier has no such constraints, and becomes a piedmont glacier as it flows out of the icefields onto a huge mud flat. There it forms a vast pancake of ice approximately 55km in diameter, up to 600m thick, pushing down 300m below sea level.

The Malaspina Glacier is best viewed from the south, and is so big that a much higher altitude than our 3600m is needed to see it clearly. This fantastic photo shows this vast ice pancake, the largest piedmont glacier in the world, as well as the big peaks of the St. Elias, from just that vantage point. Awesome!

Mt. Cook

Mt. Cook and Malaspina Glacier

Mt. Cook north face detail

To the east of the Malaspina glacier, the Seward glacier wraps around the massive bulk of Mt. Cook as it flows south towards the ocean. At 4196m, Mt. Cook is one of the big boundary peaks along the Canada / US border, and was first climbed in 1953. The fantastic expedition story is available from the American Alpine Club Journal.

Mt. Cook NW4, North ridge

Like other peaks on the south side of the Seward Glacier, the south side of Mt. Cook (invisible to us) has an enormous vertical drop, falling 3048m to the Marvine Glacier, with Disenchantment Bay (sea level), about 29km from the summit.

The north face of Cook is incredibly impressive, with a thick, relatively low-angled blanket of ice ending at a long, dramatic wall of seracs and ice-tongues that drip down the steeper lower half of the mounain. The face is full of fantastic details, and one of the challenges of photographing everything on this flight is switching between a wide-angle lens (28mm) to capture the big picture, a 50mm lens which usually provides a good perspective, or a 100+mm telephoto zoom, which allows me to get up close and personal with the crazy ice formations.

There are incredible views in all directions, we are moving at over 200km/h, and swapping lenses takes a bit of time. Not a bad problem to have, and big fun in this huge landscape!

Mt. Cook North Face

Seward Glacier and surrounding peaks

The Mt. Vancouver side of the chain of peaks separating Seward and Hubbard glaciers

Meanwhile, out the left window (north), Logan is retreating behind us and the south face of Vancouver is coming up quickly, with the fantastic chain of peaks separating the Seward and Hubbard glaciers stretching out between Logan and Vancouver. This chain of peaks is around 25km long and is one of the most stunning geological features I’ve seen.

Hubbard Glacier and Disenchantment Bay

Looking towards Mt. Foresta and Disenchantment Bay from south of Mt. Vancouver

Hubbard glacier, flowing south-west into Disenchantment Bay

Hubbard glacier is an immense ice sheet, starting NE of the Logan and Vancouver massifs and terminating in Disenchantment Bay in Alaska, with a total length of around 120km. It is one of several “surging” glaciers in the St. Elias mountains, glaciers which occasionally flow much quicker than their usual pace and push out far beyond their normal limit.

In 2002, the Hubbard Glacier surged, blocking off Russell Fjord from the sea and turning the fjord in to a temporary lake. Melt-water from the surrounding glaciers and streams caused the lake level to rise 18.6m over 2 1/2 months before breaking the dam and draining into the sea. The USGS has a great description and photos of this amazing event, which was the 2nd-largest glacial lake outburst in historical times.

Looking towards Disenchantment Bay from just south of Mt. Vancouver

Crevasses and glacial lake south of Mt. Vancouver

Looking back at Logan

As we round the south side of Mt. Vancouver, Mt. Logan appears again, at the far end of the Hubbard Glacier which flows between Mt. Vancouver and Mt. King George. Despite being 60km away, Logan completely dominates the horizon and towers over neighbouring peaks, the summit sitting 4000m above the Hubbard glacier.

Mt. Logan and Hubbard Glacier

Both of these images, taken a few minutes apart, show the east side of Logan. The peak on the far right is Wood Peak, and the colour image, the East Ridge is just visible slicing up out of the Hubbard glacier to the left of Wood Peak.

To give a sense of scale, Wood Peak tops out at roughly 3600m, rising 1800m above the Hubbard glacier, which is roughly as much relief as most peaks of the Canadian Rockies. The summit of Logan towers another 2300m above that…

Mt. Logan and Hubbard Glacier

Mt. Alverstone and Mt. Kennedy

Ridge detail on Alverstone NW4

Mt. Alverstone NW4, North face detail

Mt. Alverstone, 4420m, is another of the big boundary peaks along the Alaska/Yukon border, and is part of the massif that includes Kennedy and Hubbard. It was named for Richard Webster, 1st Viscount of Alverstone, a British politician and judge who cast the deciding vote, against Canada, in the arbitration that decided the border in the 1903 Alaska boundary dispute.

The peak was first climbed in a 1951 expedition that climbed both Mt. Alverstone and Mt. Hubbard. Like many early adventures up here, it makes great reading.

If you take a look at Google Maps, you will notice that many of the sub-peaks of the St. Elias are either unnamed, or are named relative to the main summit of the massif. Mt. Alverstone is one of them, having what are otherwise fully independent peaks on its massif named simply “Alverstone NW4″ and “Alverstone NE5″.

Mt. Kennedy north ridge

Mt. Kennedy, North glacier detail

Mt. Kennedy has some interesting history to it, as it was the highest unclimbed peak in North America when it was named in honour of U.S. President John F. Kennedy and first climbed in 1965. The party was led by Jim Whittaker and included Robert F. Kennedy, who placed memorial items on its 4250m summit in honour of his brother. It was a very big deal at the time, and made the cover of Life magazine.

Kennedy has a beautiful, clean north ridge dropping straight down from the summit that was first climbed in 1968, with a second ascent in 1978. There’s a good chance that it’s still awaiting a third ascent.

Lowell Glacier

Lowell and Hubbard glaciers and Hubbard massif

Looking west up the Lowell Glacier

The Lowell Glacier starts just north of Mt. Alverstone and is another massive river of ice, flowing east for 65km and ending at Alsek lake. Flying east and following the glacier downhill, we cross the firn-line, where the snow ends and the glacier below us is now naked ice, a impassable maze of criss-crossing crevasses.

Lakes and streams on Lowell Glacier

Glacier lakes on the Lowell

We are out of the land of giants, and the mountains surrounding us now appear more “regular” sized, rising 1000-1500m above the glacier-filled valley. The peaks are no longer covered in heavy snow and immense blankets of ice, but do still support a good variety of glaciers on their northern aspects. The crevasses and small, deep-blue glacial lakes are numerous and now clearly visible on the ice below us. In some areas the lakes have drained, leaving behind a field of small craters in the ice.

Crevasses on the Lowell glacier

The Lowell Glacier is also a surging glacier, and has advanced rapidly five times in the last 100 years. According to the Yukon Geological Survey, over the last 3000 years the glacier has repeatedly surged far enough that it blocks the valley, damming the Alsek River and creating a lake as far north as the current location of Haines Junction. This formation of Neoglacial Lake Alsek occurred most recently in 1850.

According to this USGS paper, during normal times, the Lowell glacier moves down-valley at between 0.04 – 0.34 metres / day. During the glacier surge of 1983, that speed increased more than 100x, to between 12 and 45 metres / day, and the terminus advanced 2km into the lake. The glacier also surged in 2010. See this report for much more information, including a picture of the glacier during the 2010 surge.

Lowell glacier and Hubbard Peak

Back to Haines Junction

Mt. Martha Black

One last view of the giants

Once past the Lowell Glacier we fly north along the Alsek River and back to Haines Junction. The tour is almost over, but not before getting a great view of the very colourful Mt. Martha Black and one final view of the giant icefield peaks.

Dezadeash river and old lake shore lines (top center)

As we fly out the braided Dezadeash River, there are signs of old shorelines of Neoglacial Lake Alsek on the sides of the valley.

Photography Notes

Mt Foresta and Disenchantment Bay, thin strip of a vertical panorama

For you photo geeks (you know who you are), one feature on my camera that I have to admit I didn’t know about until yesterday was that it includes a built-in GPS. The GPS uses a fair bit of battery power, and uses it continuously, even with the camera turned off, resulting in a dead battery after a few days unless you turn it off, but it was tremendously useful in identifying the names of peaks and glaciers to have exact coordinates of all 650 (!) photos from this spectacular flight.

Map of photo locations in Lightroom

This geo-tagging functionality is integrated into Adobe Lightroom, resulting in a map of the location of each photo being only a mouse-click away while organizing, naming and processing the RAW photos. I am generally jaded and burned-out from technology overload these days, but this was very cool!

We were incredibly lucky to get perfect weather on this flight over some of the most spectacular mountains in the world. There’s a reason there are huge icefields here, and it’s not because of the great weather!

In order to capture the vastness of the place, I shot many panoramic images, rotating the camera and taking three or four frames, covering the roughly 60 degree field of view between the airplane wing and the tail. Those frames need to be stitched together to form a continuous image. However, any side-to-side movement of the camera between frames results in parallax error, where the objects closer to the viewer move relative to objects farther away. When shooting from a plane flying at over 200km/h this introduces unavoidable error in the resulting panoramic images, which made the stitching process a lot more work than usual… but I just love the resulting wide-field, high-resolution images!

All photos were shot in RAW format and then processed for colour or black and white. I’ve always been inspired by the pioneering mountain photography of Bradford Washburn, and when the scene warrants it I like to display the image “old school”, in high-contrast black and white.

The more climbing I do, the more I realize that the reason I climb is to capture the intense beauty and feeling of joy (and fear!) that I experience out there in the high and wild places. And of all the days in the mountains I’ve had, this was one of the most spectacular. I filled a 16GB memory card with over 650 images on this two-hour flight, and would have shot more if I could have changed lenses faster…

… and if we had been able to go see that peak over there, and the huge glaciers flowing west, the north side of Logan, and down towards the ocean, and, and, and!

Flight Notes

Flight path over Kluane

We both carried hand-held Garmin GPS units on this flight, and the above track of the flight was visualized by the excellent GPS Visualizer website.

I have to once more thank Alex at Kluane Glacier Air Tours for his enthusiasm, great guiding, excellent flying, flexible schedule and for giving us the opportunity to see Kluane at its best, one of the most incredible places on our planet.

Darren and Kevin

Having photography ports (small windows that opened) installed in the plexiglas windows of the Cessna 207A enabled clear, sharp photography, and Alex was good enough to lift a wing now and then to get a better view!

History and Climbing Stories

Part of the fun of writing up these blogs is diving deeper into a trip, after the fact, by exploring the history and stories from the area. Here are some that I enjoyed discovering.

Not only was Branford Washburn a pioneering photographer, but also a pioneering explorer, surveyor, and climber. The story of the epic 1937 first ascent of Lucania, a 5260m peak some 50km north of Logan, is astonishing, a 32-day trip with Robert Bates, which also included the second ascent of Mt. Steel (5073m) and a total of 251km of walking, after being forced to walk out. The trip is also the subject of the book Escape from Lucania.

The 1925 MacCarthy expedition up Logan is another epic effort in the pioneering days of climbing, involving an 8600kg cache of of supplies, 140km by horse and mule train and then 70-80km of glacier travel just to get them to the Logan massif. And then pioneer a route up the King Trench. And walk back.

The 1897 first ascent of Mt. St. Elias was an epic expedition led by the Duke of Abruzzi. Starting from sea level on the Malaspina glacier with 1400kg of supplies, including 90kg of camera gear (!), they climbed all 5489m and walked over 200km from July 1 to August 11.

And folks have not stopped doing ridiculously long, high-suffering trips! Here’s a self-supported traverse of Logan that started at the ocean, approached Logan for 125 miles, summited the peak, and finished in McCarthy, Alaska. Grand total of 370 miles and 19,551 vertical feet over 30 days. Towing boats across the icefield. And surviving a big avalanche. Epic.

Trying to repeat 50-year old routes: here’s a great article detailing a 2014 attempt on Hummingbird Ridge.

Or of course, pushing the limit and setting up new routes: the first ascent of the south-east face of Logan in 2010.

To high and wild places!

- Darren Foltinek, 2014

The classic Haute Route, Chamonix to Zermatt

Sunday May 4th: To Refuge d’Argentière

Argentière to Champex

Marc, Mel and Andrea about to ski down to the Argentière Glacier

Everything is last minute today! Marc was working last minute on his thesis this morning, we both few into Germany yesterday, the huts on this route are all closing this week, and this is the last day that the Argentière ski resort is open, with a crucial lift out of the deep valley. We get to Chamonix at about 1:45, meet Andrea and try and find ski crampons, which a store in town claims to have in the size I need. None if the stores open until 2:30, and we run around the beautiful town trying to find some, but no luck. We race up to Argentière to catch the Grand Montet gondola, which closes at 4:00. No line at the bottom, but a big lineup at the midstation and we are all stressed about missing the last gondola. Options in case we miss it are a chairlift and then a big traverse or a bunch more climbing.

Skiing across the Argentière Glacier

Mel and Andrea on the Argentière Glacier

But we make it, just catching the 2nd last gondola at 3:45. Gaining 700m on the first lift and then 1300m from the mid station to the top of the grand Montet is an ear-popping ride and quickly takes us from the warm valley bottom to another world. As the gondola enters a band of cloud the world goes all white, then it pops out above the cloud to a roaring end-of-season party at the top station (3275m). We work our way through the dancing crowd with our packs covered in crampons and ice axes and rope, heading for a stairway that descends to a big east-facing glacier where an off-piste ski run drops 600m onto the Glacier d’Argentière. The skiing down is challenging, with frozen tracks and wind crust, and winds down between two heavily crevassed areas. Pretty crazy to be skiing in such crevassed terrain, but the slope is heavily skied and down we go.

The snow at the bottom of the slope is warmer and a little softer, and ski quality improves for a bit before we hit the flat glacier and put on the skins for the quick trip across the valley to Refuge d’Argentière.

Run Mel run! The powder cloud explodes across the glacier

Serac avalache onto the Argentiere Glacier

Half way across the glacier an avalanche roars down the steep granite wall on our right and explodes in a powder cloud that spreads across the valley and at first appears to threaten to over-run Mel, who is ahead of the rest of us. Mel turns around and skis quickly back down the gentle slope away from the approaching cloud, but there is no problem and the cloud dissipates several 100m before reaching her.

Once across the glacier it’s a quick climb up to the hut, which has funky architecture and is very comfortable, with a dinning area with big windows that over look the stunning valley. Dinner is served at 6:30, rice and chicken and lentils with a soup appetizer.

Valley cloud spilling across the Argentiere glacier in the late afternoon

The cloud has been moving up and down the valley all afternoon, providing beautiful, atmospheric views of the big granite spires that line this stunning valley, and in the evening it clears out and the first stars appear.

Evening at the Refuge d’Argentiere, looking across the Argentiere Glacier at the Aiguille Verte and Les Droites

Much as I enjoy hanging out with friends inside after dinner, sitting around chatting, the incredible beauty and peacefulness of the evening always compels me to get outside with the camera and capture these stunning places during the “magic hour” of light around sunset.

Clear night sky over Refuge d’Argentiere

Despite having only 4 hours sleep last night because of being confused with jet lag, the clear sky forces me to stay up late to take some night photos. I’m hauling a tripod and heavy SLR camera along on this traverse for just these occasions! The sky darkens and the stars come out while the quarter moon, hanging low in the sky over Chamonix, lights up the valley beautifully.

A beautiful, exciting and atmospheric day followed by a stunning, peaceful night – what a fantastic start to our week!

Monday May 5th: Refuge d’Argentière to Champex

Argentière to Champex

Because this is the last week that the huts are open for the season, we are rather pressed for time on this traverse. Today we need to double-up and ski from Refuge d’Argentière past the Cabane du Trient and down to the town of Champex, for a total of about 1000m climb and 640m plus 1730m (!) descent.

Going past an icefall towards the Col du Chardonnet above the refuge d’Argentiere

Gaining the Col du Chardonnet above the refuge d’Argentiere. The Aigille Verte is behind us, and the glacier ski run from the Grand Montet starts at the col on the right-hand side of the rocky ridge.

The morning starts at 7:30 with a scary hike down from the hut on hard frozen snow, with very slippery, icy steps and a good sized drop below. After that’s over we put on the skis and skitter down the hard snow to the glacier and then head up the Col du Chardonnet. The snow is still hard and icy and the skin track gets quite steep so I take the skis off and put on boot crampons.

Towards Col du Chardonnet

The Col du Chardonnet in front of us is beautiful, and the view back across the valley to the big granite wall of Aiguille Verte, now in full sun, is stunning. Skiing with great friends under brilliant blue skies, surrounded by granite spires and glaciers, what a day!

Mel rappeling down the back of the Col du Chardonnet

Andrea rapelling down the Col du Chardonnet

The back side of the Col du Chardonnet is a steep gully, perhaps 60+ degrees, with a rappel anchor at the top. We go down one at a time on our 50m rope, needing to stop at a 2nd anchor, which is just a block slung with some cord and a locking carabiner that someone has left there. Given the popularity of this ski tour I’m surprised that there is not a more permanent anchor here. From the 2nd anchor it’s a short rappel and then down climb the remainder of the gully. Nice soft ski turns from the base of the gully down to the glacier are followed by a long, high-speed traverse left around the Grand Fourche.

Andrea skiing down the Col du Chardonett

Getting all four of us down the two-pitch rappel has taken a long time and now it is noon, the sun is straight overhead. The direct and reflected radiation is intense as we round the corner of the Grand Fourche.

On route to the Fenêtre de Saleina

Marc climbing the Fenêtre de Saleina

The 2nd climb of the day is approaching, up the Fenêtre de Saleina, which is baking in the sun at the end of a south-facing bowl. We ski perhaps half way up the couloir and then boot pack the remainder as the route becomes too steep to ski. The heat, altitude and weight of the pack combine to just flatten me and I’m reduced to five steps followed by 10 panting breaths by the time we top out at 3267m.

Mel through the Fenêtre de Saleina, Aiguilles Dorees

Last climb of the day, up the Col des Ecandies

Descending the glacier to the Col des Ecandies

Break time at the Col des Ecandies, Marc and Mel with the Trient Glacier behind

Once through the Fenêtre we head across the large, flat Trient Glacier towards a ridge dropping north from the Petite Pointe d’Orny. It’s a fun high-speed traverse across the glacier before descending 200m of wind slab and refrozen snow (fun?), searching for the couloir on our right that will provide us passage up and over the long ridge of steep spires.

On the traverse to the base of the col we cross some really nice north-aspect powder snow, protected by the shade of a rock wall, but don’t have the time or energy to take a run. Same story as every other col – ski up as far as possible, then put the skis on the pack and kick steps to the top. Upon reaching the top its time for a snack and some water, enjoying the view back towards the broken icefall on the Trient Glacier.

Mel skiing sweet spring snow towards Champex

Ski as far as possible! Mel in the meadows just above Champex

The descent from the col starts with a traverse away from the col followed by a nice fall-line ski down on the best quality show we have had so far, creamy soft on a 30 degree slope. After that is a long, low-angle traversing descent where we all do high speed giant-slalom turns along the edge of the valley on increasingly soft but still creamy snow. We are aiming for the end of the valley, where a road runs through a collection of small farmhouses scattered in a meadow.

Walking through the meadows down to Champex

As we drop down and the snow gets thinner the game is to find and follow little ribbons of snow as far as possible, to avoid walking, which means occasionally skiing across grass and flowers to hop from one strip of snow to the next.

Beer time in Champex! Mel and Marc.

Evening in Champex

Once we have skied the last possible metre of snow the skis go on the backpack and we walk through beautiful flowering meadows, past summer farm houses and then down the road through the small ski resort and into the town of Champex. The ski resort is closed for the season and the town is very quiet as we stroll through it, looking for the Au Club Alpin that Andrea booked for us. It feels almost like summer down here as we sit on the patio by the lake, enjoying a beverage in the sun!

Tuesday 6th: Champex to Cabane de Valsorey

Champex to Valsorey

Taxi from Champex to Bourg St. Pierre

We catch a taxi from Champex at 7:00. The drive is stunning, losing perhaps 500m as we drop from the hanging valley into the main valley down a series of steep switchbacks with views into the lush valley far below. Thanks to the late season, our super-helpful taxi driver is able to drive us up a single lane farm road and then a dirt road perhaps 300m above Bourg St Pierre, stopping at the point where a small avalanche has blocked the road. He was willing to back his vehicle down the dirt road (!), but we find a small wide spot in the single-lane road and help him turn around.

Walking up the road from Bourg St. Pierre

Still walking up the valley towards Cabane Valsorey

We start walking up the road at about 8:15, passing two old farm houses on the way. There are some flowers already poking out of the grass between the snow patches and also a couple of marmots and an Ibix. A cuckoo bird in the valley calls out with it’s famous minor-third interval!

Soon we leave the road for a hiking trail that winds up and around some steep slopes before dropping back down to a creek where we finally put on the skis after over an hour of hiking. The clouds forecast for today are just moving in, which we are happy with as they should keep the snow for getting too hot and soft on the steep slopes up to Valsorey.

The marmots are out to say hi on the way to Valsorey

Taking the weight of skis off the back is a relief and after a snack and some water we cross the stream and start working our way up a big slope, perhaps 300m high, next to a moraine and steep drainage. There is a bit of wind blown snow filling in the existing ski-track and the fresh snow provides welcome traction on what would otherwise be an icy track. Once again I’m OK without ski crampons, barely! We leave the up track early and move onto the crest of the moraine, realizing at that point that we have climbed perhaps 100m too high. Ski skins come off and we get a good steep run down the side of the moraine on snow that has softened nicely.

Mel and Andrea on the climb to Valsorey

Another snack and water break at the bottom by a little creek before putting on the skins for the final push 600m up to the Cabane Valsorey, perched on a rock buttress at 3030m in the middle of big, steep terrain. We scope out a route up to the hut that avoids a large bowl threatened from above and a small gully that is full of wet snow avalanche debris from a day or two ago. Today, the clouds are keeping the sun from heating things up too badly and we are not concerned about wet snow avalanches, but it’s always worth choosing the safer route.

Andrea and Darren enjoying a cold one at Valsorey

The slog up is strenuous and despite the cloud the sun is now very hot. I’m eating snow and putting snow under my hat to cool down but the final 200m of vertical is a real struggle. Finally reach the hut at 1:30 and collapse on the patio before collecting melt water from the roof and guzzle at least a litre to rehydrate. Next comes a beer, only 5 Swiss francs, a real bargain and we all agree that it’s a critical part of recovering from ski exhaustion!

Andrea and Marc enjoying the view at Cabane Valsorey

We have hours to lounge around on the patio under reasonably warm but cloudy skies enjoying the stunning views of the Mt. Blanc massif across the big valley. We study the glaciated north face of Mt. Velán, and identify what looks to be a fantastic 1000m ski run from the summit to the valley.

Mt Blanc Massif across the valley

The clouds that came in today are the beginning of a forecast storm system, and to prepare for the complicated terrain we need to go through tomorrow we spend an hour programming the GPS with waypoints taken from the excellent route map.

Wednesday 7th: Valsorey to Chanrion

Valsorey to Chanrion to Vignettes

Climbing to plateau du Couloir above Valsorey

Departing Valsorey into the storm

We leave Valsorey at 7:00 with very light snow falling on perhaps 2cm of new snow overnight. The route goes straight up behind the Cabane, climbing 600m to the col at Plateau du Couloir. About half the climb is on skis up an existing track, where the new snow provides some good traction. At a steep, exposed point we take the skis off and put crampons on the boots to continue up. The stormy weather mostly obscures the views, but during occasional clear breaks the views are tremendous across to Mt. Velán and neighbours.

Below the south face of the Grand Combine

The high point at Plateau du Couloir, 3650m

The col is high, 3650m, and the last 100m is steep and cold, with strong winds and limited visibility. Getting over the col we take shelter behind a rock for some food and water, and wait for a clearing in the clouds to give us enough visibility to navigate the very big terrain below the Grand Combin. When the sky gifts us with visibility and we can see the terrain around us it is impressive and intimidating, with big, steep glaciated slopes below and the main peak towering above us. The ski quality is good as we carefully descend from the col to a broad plateau during the brief weather window. On the plateau the huge south face of the Grand Combin towers above us as we stop to put the skins back on. The climb to the Col du Sonadon (3505m) is quick and easy, and we take another weather break just over the col to wait for visibility before dropping into more complex, steep, glaciated terrain on the other side.

At Plateau du Coliour, waiting for some visibility

The snow is good and the visibility not bad as we drop and traverse, following a series of GPS waypoints that we entered last night to guide us around the crevassed areas and avoid cliff bands. One waypoint directs us to turn right above a cliff band, traverse for a kilometre, and then drop on the skiers right of an icefall. The ski quality is quite good, with warm soft snow over a hard sun crust, and we are suckered down, past our waypoint, until suddenly below the rolling slope there appear three large rock buttresses marking the top of a cliff band. All stop! We have to boot pack back up the 30 degree slope and start the correct traverse above the cliffs, whoops.

Navigating big terrain during the Grand Combine descent

In the cloud en route to Chanrion

More big, intimidating terrain in marginal visibility as we traverse steep slopes above the cliffs, but the snow pack is solid and there are no avalanche concerns. We ski around the cliff and down on the right side, traversing around and getting cloudy views back of the big cliffs we just toured around. We wait again at the top of the next big descent for the cloud to clear, then drop down into undulating glacial moraine during the next weather window, a really nice run.

Down through the fog, enroute to Chanrion

Navigating the moraine is a bit of a challenge, as the terrain tries to pull you down left, into the deep valley, but we need to stay far right and finally climb back up and over a ridge to avoid dropping into the canyon far below.

Lost in the storm?

Heading into the fog

The GPS waypoints and excellent map are both critical in navigating though this big, complex terrain in today’s stormy weather. The terrain in the valley constantly tries to pull us down into a canyon but we contour and climb up the side to eventually get up and over a ridge for the final, correct, descent to the valley bottom, downstream of the canyon. Here we encounter the first big avalanche debris we have seen, a slide that ran to ground and covered fresh-looking ski tracks. By now we are getting close to today’s low point of 2236m, a big drop from the high point of 3650m, and the snow is very soft and warm.

The days total climb was 930m and decent 1500m, and most of it was good skiing on warm spring snow, with some heavy fresh up high from the storm, all sitting on a solid melt/freeze crust. Good fun despite the mental weight of navigating in the bad weather! Stormy days like today add drama to a trip, and make you really appreciate good weather. They also make you appreciate modern navigation technology! When a brief window opens up in the cloud there’s a feeling of relief and excitement, and challenging weather like this provides a yin/yang balance to a trip.

Arrival at Chanrion after a long day in the cloud

Wet snow avalanche covering tracks below Chanrion

All that is left now is a brief climb up from the valley to the Cabane Chanrion. There’s a building just ahead, and we are all excited to see how close the cabin appears to be, but upon getting there it turns out to be an inn that is still closed. Further ahead is another small building, but that too is a “false hut”, and the true Chanrion finally appears another 15 minutes up the hill, a beautiful three story stone building from 1938.

The full service hut system here in the Alps is excellent, with good meals, beer, wine, liquor and snacks, comfortable duvet beds, and a decent breakfast, but it’s expensive, at about 75€ per night and some annoying things like 6€ for 1.5l of bottled water and similar for hot tea water. The folks in the this hut are a mixture of Swiss German and French, including a group of 6 who we met in Valsorey.

Thursday 8th: Chanrion to Vignettes

Valsorey to Chanrion to Vignettes

Dawn is arriving above Chanrion

Milky Way over Chanrion, 4am

It was storming hard last night when we went to bed, wet snow and strong wind. Wake up at 4:00 for an outhouse trip and notice that the storm is over and the stars are out and brilliant, so I have no choice but to go back inside, put on more clothes, grab the big camera and tripod that have been a brick in my pack for the last four days, and head out into the pre-dawn darkness to take some photos.

The sky is gorgeous, with the Milky Way (La Voi L’actée) shining above the peaks out the front door. Walking around the hut looking for a place to set up I notice that the sky is just starting to show a hint of blue in the east. Shoot two panoramas behind the hut and another in the front as the sky steadily brightens and the stars fade out while the mountains start to glow against the sky. Stunning, and worth losing sleep to experience and capture this magic beauty! Back to bed just after 5:00 and lay awake until 5:30 when everybody is getting up.

Skiing up the Glacier du Brenay above Chanrion hut

Skiing over the moraines above Chanrion

We start skiing just after 7:00 and head up behind the hut, working our way over and around rolling terrain, turning right and dropping a bit into a broad valley edged with big lateral moraines. We climb slowly and steadily towards the crux, a large headwall with a big, complex icefall on lookers right and a narrow, fun looking climb up snow gullies zigzagging between rock on the left.

Towards the icefall on Glacier du Brenay

The glacier du Brenay

Below the icefall is some debris from serac fall which we give wide clearance to before skiing up a broad fan covered in old wet snow avalanche debris. When that slope gets too steep the skis are once again strapped to the pack and crampons put on the boots and we start hiking. The climbing is comfortable, no more than 45 degrees and involving a short gully of loose rock with a bit of hard ice under the snow. After the gully we traverse right before continuing straight up in boot-deep snow. The icefall in all it’s broken, chaotic complexity makes a stunning backdrop but is far enough away to be of no danger to us.

Climbing route around icefall on Glacier du Brenay

Marc climbs up Glacier du Brenay

Above us towers a peak that has been basking in the sun for hours now, and we move as quickly as possible, regularly swapping the lead position, the one who kicks the steps into the snow. Hard work when the snow is knee-deep in places! This continues up the 40 degree slope for about 250m vertical before the slope angle eases off enough that we can put the skis back on. The glacier angle continues to relax as we continue up on skis towards the broad col in the distance. The sun has been on us now since the middle of the boot pack, there is no wind and the heat is quite intense, considering how high we are.

Marc and Mel above the icefall on the Glacier du Brenay

I’m experimenting with breathing techniques to gain some energy as we slowly approach the col, passing 3200 then 3400m. One breath per step becomes three breathes for two steps then two quick breathes per step, which helps pick up the pace a bit. Also try one hard, deep breath per step, which also helps move oxygen from the thinning atmosphere into the blood.

We get to the Col du Brenay at 3639m and then turn gently right towards another col between our destination, Pigne d’Arolla and a rocky ridge farther right. The wind is strong at the final saddle where we drop the packs and ski up hard, wind-packed snow to the summit at 3790m. The views in all directions are tremendous, and once on the summit ridge a tall peak with a famous profile appears on the horizon – the Matterhorn!

Descent from Pigne d’Arolla, with Matterhorn in the background

Marc skiing down from Pigne d’Arolla

We don’t spend long at the summit because of the wind, and after snapping some summit photos we ski back down to the saddle, pick up the packs and then continue east. The route drops down a fantastic 600m slope of heavy, challenging powder with amazing views across the valley of Mt. Collon and the Matterhorn.

Cabane des Vignettes

We are following tracks that lead down and left, searching for the Cabane des Vignettes, and upon turning left around a rocky shoulder there it is, a large, four story stone building perched magnificently at 3160m on the very edge of a cliff, with a sharp rocky ridge rising behind it, an unbelievable setting! Getting there requires a steep, descending traverse followed by a short boot pack across a narrow ridge spanning the valley.

Vignette entry hallway

We are fully exhausted as we stagger through the glass doors and into the bright stone and glass boot and ski storage hallway. Total today: 1360m up and 660m descent. The first Cabane des Vignettes was built here in 1924, a new one built in 1946, and then a major renovation and enlargement took place in 2008. This Cabane, like all the others we have visited, is full service, and has ski, boots and gear storage on the first floor, 2nd floor dining (breakfast and dinner provided, beer and wine available), and 3rd floor sleeping quarters and washrooms. Hut shoes, duvets and pillows are provided, but you need to bring your own sleeping sheet.

Friday 9th: Vignettes to Zermatt

Vignettes to Zermatt

Departing Vignettes into the fog

Up the glacier through the fog

Wake up at 5:00, along with the rest of the hut, for a very good breakfast, served at 5:30: eggs and bacon with bread and jam, plus tea and coffee. Because we are at the very end of ski touring season, the hut is not full, but with everybody on the same schedule the hallways are crowded with people stuffing their packs and getting their boots on and skis ready – it’s madness and I can’t imagine what it would be like with a full hut. We are out the door and skiing by 6:30, into a complete white-out of cloud and a bit of snow. We traverse back the way we came across the narrow ridge and then turn left, skiing across the Col de Charmotane, a broad, gently rolling glacier.

Waiting for a clearing before descending Col de l’Evêque

Andrea doing some GPS navigation

Still in a whiteout, we put on the rope before starting the low-angle climb towards the Col de l’Evêque at 3377m. There are a few rope teams on the glacier, including two guided parties of perhaps 8 people each. Skiing in this crowd of people feels strange to me, and talking to Andrea about it we have been very lucky to have had so few people on the traverse until now. We break our own trail and separate from the line of marching ants to gain the col, and are once again alone in the foggy, white world. We joke that with all these people, it is no wonder that ski mountaineering racing got it’s start here in the Alps!

At the col we again meet up with the herd, but we have gotten there first and start the descent ahead of them, entering Italy as we ski down into the mist. We drop about 450m past the towering SE face of l’Evêque, returning to Switzerland in the process. There are no breaks in the weather, and all around us is pure white as we carefully navigate, around crevasse fields and terrain features we cannot see, using GPS waypoints programmed in last night. Tricky and spooky, and once again the GPS and excellent maps from Swiss Topo are critical to finding our way in the cloud. Note: the two maps needed for this tour are 282S Martigny and 283S Arolla.

Ice tongue above us on the Glacier d’Arolla

On Glacier d’Arolla heading for the 2nd col of the day

The Spanish following us across the Glacier d’Arolla

There’s finally a break in the cloud as we swing around a ridge into a broad cirque on the north side of Mont Brulé, with glacier tongues flowing off the peak above us. Ahead of us are two cols, and we aim for the left-hand one, the Col du Mont Brulé, a moderate-angle boot pack covered in old avalanche debris. With ski crampons Andrea manages to ski to the top, but the rest of us strap the skis on the pack and walk up. We stop for a quick snack and water break at the top and are met by a group of Spanish guys who have caught up to us.

The weather is good now, and ahead of us we see our route down and across the Glacier de Tsa de Tsan, and then our up a broad slope for the final climb of the trip!

Descending the Glacier de Tsa de Tsan

From the Col du Mont Brulé we are back in Italy and the weather is still good, with mostly sun and a few clouds blowing through.

Crossing the Haut Glacier de Tsa de Tsan

We drop and traverse left down the Haut Glacier de Tsa de Tsan above the edge where the glacier drops into the valley on our right. The view to the south is stunning, with glaciers coming off the long summit ridge of the Punta Margherita and flowing down towards the valley 2000m below. After crossing the flats we start the gradual 2km climb up to our final col of the trip, the Col de Valpelline at 3554m. The sun is out but the wind is quite strong, which is helpful in keeping us from overheating as we climb 450m of left, breath, right, breath, repeat, repeat, repeat up the gentle slope.

Almost two hours later we are approaching the col and a spectacular vista is emerging as the sharp, rocky summits of the Dent d’Hérens and Matterhorn poke above the smooth rounded snow at the pass.

At the Col de Valpelline. Marc, Darren, Andrea, Mel and the Matterhorn

Upon reaching the broad col we enter back into Switzerland and gaze in wonder at the huge, glaciated north face of the Dent d’Hérens, the world-famous profile of the Matterhorn and the other massive peaks towering above the valley. Time for a little celebration of water and chocolate at surmounting the last climb of this amazing traverse before starting the long descent, over 1500m, into Zermatt.

Descending the Sockjigletscher with the Matterhorn and Dent d’Herrens towering overhead

The ski down is fantastic, with challenging snow conditions at first that improve to nice spring snow as we work our way down the glacier, weaving around crevasse fields and cliffs. And the views are truly incredible! Perhaps the most beautiful ski descent of all time.

Walking towards Zermatt

Once most of the vertical descent is finished we work our way around glacially carved mounds, traversing the lower slopes of a large lateral morraine running along the lower flanks of the Matterhorn, known as Monte Cervino in Italian, now towering some 2200m above us.

Hamlet above Zermatt

Houses in the alpine meadows above Zermatt

As we descend into the valley eventually the snow runs out and we end up walking down a road past a couple very cute hamlets and houses scattered throughout the valley. We are all pretty tired now, with sore feet, and are aiming for the Furi gondola, which will save us several kilometers and 100s of vertical meters of walking down into the main town of Zermatt.

We make it to the gondola and coast down into town, stumbling around in our ski boots looking for the hostel. We find it, check in, dump the packs, get out of the stinky clothes, clean up and go for dinner. Dinner starts with the Swiss specialty of raclette, melted cheese in this case served with pickles and onions on the side.

View of the Matterhorn out the window

Walking around the beautiful town is nice way to end the trip. The town is a mixture of new, fancy and expensive condos and hotels with beautiful older hotels and houses. The historic part of town contains farm houses and buildings dating back to the 16th century. The old grain storage buildings are built on very unique rock pedestals, looking like wood and stone mushrooms, a brilliant design to keep rodents out.

Farm building in old Zermatt

We are staying at the Zermatt Youth Hostel, which is clean, well organized, reasonably priced, full of friendly folks, and has an amazing view out the window!

The next day we take the amazing Glacier Express train from Zermatt down to Visp, then change trains a few times to get back to Chamonix to pick up the vehicles.

Thanks for a fantastic trip, Marc and Mel for your hospitality and especially to Andrea, who organized the route and booked the huts for us!

Darren Foltinek, 2014