Low Camps

Like any major mountain, our Denali expedition began with permits and a briefing at the ranger station in Talkeetna. The meeting lasted about 30 minutes and focused mostly on environmental rules and the risks we would face on the mountain.

We discussed everything from how deep our snow caches needed to be buried to current weather and crevasse conditions, along with the less glamorous subject of how we would remove our own waste from the mountain.

The expectation was that everyone there already knew how to climb. This wasn’t a class on how to summit Denali; it was a final briefing before we were turned loose on the mountain.

The climbing season was just beginning when we arrived. Thirty-nine climbers had already completed their expeditions, and only eleven of them had reached the summit. Seeing those numbers certainly didn’t make Denali feel any less intimidating.

At this point my biggest fear was frostbite—or worse—from Denali’s extreme cold. I’d heard enough horror stories about climbers losing fingers, limbs, and even their lives that the temperature worried me more than almost anything else.

After the briefing we headed to K2 Aviation, loaded our gear into small planes, and prepared to land directly on the glacier.

The wait wasn’t very long, but I remember feeling extremely anxious. I had been intimidated by Denali for years. Now I was finally going to stop imagining what the mountain might be like and actually face it.

The flight from Talkeetna passed over some of the most beautiful mountain scenery I had ever seen. I’d flown over mountains plenty of times before, but never anything like this—nothing but enormous mountains of ice and rock.

Once we reached a certain elevation, all signs of vegetation and wildlife disappeared. There were only white mountains stretching as far as I could see.

The flight lasted around 40 minutes before dropping us onto the Kahiltna Glacier. I remember thinking that even if I somehow never made it beyond 10,000 feet on Denali, the scenery I’d already witnessed had made the expedition worthwhile.

The moment we landed, the work began.

I remembered a National Geographic documentary I’d once seen about newly born honey bees beginning to work almost immediately after birth. That seemed like an appropriate description of Denali. Only seconds after being dropped off, we were already unloading gear and scrambling to establish camp.

Fortunately, our first day’s workload wasn’t particularly difficult. We unloaded the plane and set up our tents in reasonable time.

Then the aircraft took off and disappeared into the sky, leaving us standing alone on the glacier.

The higher you go on Denali, the more important it becomes to protect your camp from the weather. At Base Camp, simply leveling the snow and doing some basic preparation around the tents was usually enough.

Most expeditions leave Base Camp the next day anyway, so there wasn’t much reason to build the enormous snow walls we’d need later.

While we were there, someone approached our tent and asked us to participate in a survey about our experience and expectations. One question asked what chance I thought I had of reaching the summit.

I circled 75 percent.

When asked directly whether I expected to summit, I answered yes.

I knew success rates on Denali could be low even for climbers who were well trained and prepared, but I felt optimistic. I’d spent more than a year training, completed an eight-day preparation course, and had already climbed higher mountains.

My biggest concern wasn’t whether I was physically capable. It was whether Denali’s weather would simply shut us down.

Most of my fears about Denali had focused on the dangers higher than 10,000 feet.

Only a few hours after landing, the mountain reminded me that serious things could happen anywhere.

A loud rumbling sound like thunder echoed through the valley. Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked up. In the distance, a large avalanche came down the mountain.

It was far enough away that we weren’t in danger, but it was an impressive reminder of where we were.

Base Camp to Camp I

On Day 2, we packed up our tents and began moving toward Camp I with all our gear.

Denali’s Base Camp sits at roughly 7,200 feet (2,200 meters). The route initially loses about 400 feet descending Heartbreak Hill before gradually climbing toward Camp I at roughly 7,800 feet (2,380 meters).

The route to Camp I was long but mostly flat, with only gradual climbing toward the end.

The terrain wasn’t what made it difficult. The weight was.

Between my backpack and sled, I was moving an enormous amount of equipment, and despite all my training I found the day extremely strenuous.

Another surprise was the heat.

During June, the sun barely sets this far north, and some expeditions travel at night to avoid the heat on the lower glacier. Since we were climbing in mid-May, we started around 2 p.m.

With sunlight reflecting off the snow and surrounding mountains, it felt like an oven. This was not what I had expected from Denali. On only my second day I found myself hot, sweaty, and dehydrated.

Crevasses were a constant concern on the lower glacier, so we traveled roped together.

After descending Heartbreak Hill and traveling another couple of hours, we finally got our first real look at Denali’s summit. Fast-moving clouds wrapped around the top of the mountain, hinting at the winds raging far above us.

It took us around five hours to reach Camp I, although conditions can change that dramatically.

Carrying essentially everything in one load made this one of the hardest days I’d experienced so far. Some teams split their gear into multiple carries, but I was glad to get it over with in one brutal trip.

Cache Carries

Camp I sits directly below Ski Hill, which would be our first significant incline on Denali.

Day 2 had been exhausting, but Denali doesn’t give you many rest days when the weather is good. If the mountain gives you a chance to move, you take it.

So on Day 3 we woke up and carried roughly half our gear toward 10,000 feet, where we buried a cache for later.

Once the gear was safely buried, we tied the empty sleds onto our packs and walked back down to Camp I with far less weight.

Things were moving quickly. We were constantly working, climbing, carrying, digging, or organizing equipment, and there wasn’t much time to sit around.

Before I knew it, Day 4 had arrived and we were packing up Camp I and moving toward Camp II.

Kahiltna Pass sits around 10,000 feet. The day before, we’d buried our cache just above this area.

Since we were already carrying roughly half our total load, we left the cache buried and continued toward Camp II. Trying to carry everything at once this high on the mountain would have made an already difficult day unnecessarily brutal.

The higher we climbed, the more important recovery became. Breaking the loads into multiple carries made far more sense than destroying ourselves in a single trip.

After a long day we finally reached Camp II at roughly 11,200 feet and dropped our packs and sleds.

On just about every other mountain I’d climbed, reaching camp would mean the day was finished.

Not on Denali.

Grab a shovel and a snow saw. Now spend another couple of hours fortifying camp.

We spent three nights at Camp II before moving toward Advanced Base Camp. It was nice to finally stay somewhere long enough that we didn’t have to tear everything down the morning after arriving.

On Day 5 we descended to retrieve our earlier cache and carried it back to Camp II. On Day 6 we made another cache carry higher on the mountain, leaving roughly 65 pounds of food and equipment around 13,500 feet (4,100 meters).

The cache days were challenging, but nothing compared with that first move out of Base Camp. We were now carrying only half loads, and the distances were shorter.

Since we were staying for several nights, we even took the time to build a small latrine.

My climbing partner during the expedition was also a friend of mine. He was a great guy and an extremely cautious climber. Later on Denali, when he began showing signs of serious altitude problems, he didn’t take unnecessary chances and descended.

Sadly, two years later he died during another trip while ice climbing.

My friend and I talked about how beautiful Denali was becoming now that we were above 11,000 feet.

I remember looking at the enormous glacier hanging above us and feeling uneasy. It looked like we were climbing underneath a giant icy slide with a building-sized piece of ice hanging over us, ready to break loose.

A few years after my climb, I read about several Japanese climbers being killed by an avalanche around this elevation. I have no way of knowing whether it involved the same piece of ice that had worried me, but the story immediately brought that moment back.

On a mountain this large, there are always things completely beyond your control.