AK Dreams – Even better than Powder

The staggering Mount Spurr volcano (3,374 meters) jutted above the surrounding peaks and crevasses glowed in the late evening sun, taunting us with its majesty. My eyes lit up as I spotted a huge spine off of an unknown peak. "Jason, we need to come back," I shouted to my ski partner through the headset in the Super Cub, a tiny single-engine monoplane. Our pilot with Sportsman's Air Service, Jake Soplanda, had brought us along for a reconnaissance flight from our base camp on the Capps Glacier to scope ski lines in the Tordrillo Mountain Range. We had spent the last six days climbing the grand summits, long hours of steep approaches for minutes of skiing down the deep snow faces.

Tonight we cheated – Jake shouted over the headset, "Where do you want to ski?" Alpenglow now painted the immense peaks. After a smooth landing on a nearby plateau summit, we exited the plane and clipped into our skis. Smiles crept across our faces as we admired the vast landscape and the kindness of Alaskan folk. The alarm beeped 10:00 a.m. I turned my head out of my -30 degrees Celsius sleeping bag as a drop of water hit me in the face. It was finally warm enough to rise and make some coffee. Martha Burley, a telemark skier from Fernie, British Columbia was already cooking a hearty breakfast of eggs and sausages in the kitchen tent, earning her nickname of 'master chef' for this expedition.

After our morning meal and essential caffeine, we packed our equipment and provisions for the day and were finally ready to go at 1:00 p.m. We ski toured down the Capps Glacier and across to the east towards the unknown peak Jason and I had spotted on our one lucky flight the night before. Three hours of touring and crossing the first bergschrund we switched to boot packing to ascend the last 600 meters. "Its here, the spines!" I shouted, jubilant that I had found the lines we were looking for. After skiing my most memorable run in Alaska, it was Martha's turn. She paused at the top of a steep couloir as Jason readied his camera for the shot. Two turns into her line Martha screamed, "My knee!"

We regrouped to assess the situation, deciding to help Martha sideslip over 1,000 meters off of the peak. She was in pain and could not bear weight on her right leg. Once on the Capps Glacier below, Jason scurried ahead to prepare us some much needed food and water. As Martha and I approached our camp, suddenly a huge ball of orange flame burst out of the kitchen tent. With Martha limping, we quickened our pace. I entered the tent with the satellite phone and a first aid kit just as Jason was dousing the lingering flames from his jacket. "I'm making the call, let's fly back to Anchorage," I said. Two days later, Jason and I picked up another friend from the Anchorage International Airport.

Whistler/Blackcomb ski patroller James McSkimming had come to fulfill his own Alaskan dream of powder descents. "Welcome to AK, we're in a bit of a hurry," I said as we piled his gear into an already overstuffed car. We were heading to Valdez for a 7:00 pm orientation with a heli company – our access to camp deep into the Chugach Range. As we drove across the Thompson Pass our car was shaken by 120 km/h winds. We arrived at heli guide Mike Hamilton's house in time for a barbecue with his friends. "We'll take you guys up tomorrow morning and show you the goods. Meteorite, The Books, The Tusk, you name it and we'll take you there," said our host. Our crew was more than excited to explore the Chugach and ski its famous terrain.

The intense winds did not let up the next day, grounding all heli flights. With our new recruit, James, desperate to ski Alaskan powder, we looked for an alternative way to access the massive peaks. To the rescue was the Alaskan natives Greg and Joe. We had made friends with them at the barbecue after displaying our major "stoke" for AK powder. They had snowmobiles to transport us 35 kilometers to the Glacier Masonry Club's remote base camp in the Chugach Mountains. With winds whipping us at 900 meters elevation, we dug in deep and pitched our tents. After three days, the heavy wind and snowfall finally cleared. With the typical late start of 10:00 a.m., I boiled water in the kitchen tent and made a quick breakfast of instant oatmeal and coffee.

We had lost our "master chef" Martha due to the injury. We packed our typical gear, this time with ascent plates for crampons, radios and a stove. We recovered our ice axes, which had been used as makeshift tent anchors. At 2:00 p.m. we ski toured towards the Woodworth Glacier. Skinning almost 20 kilometers over the crevassed terrain, we arrived at the base of legendary Pontoon Peak. Donning our ascent plates, we crossed the first bergschrund, skirted crevasses and jogged seracs. I reached the daunting final ascent, a 58-degree slope coated in firm snow. Shivering on the summit, James smoked a hand-rolled cigarette. He watched the Gulf of Alaska while he waited for me. I quickly transitioned.

We pole tapped (a skier's high five) and James descended the wind hammered snow to Jason photographing below. Thick clouds rolled in; the beginning of another six-day storm with over three meters of snow. As we ascended the opposite glacier dodging crevasses in a full white out, my radio squawked. It was Greg checking in from base camp, concerned about our human-powered mission running out of daylight. James led the charge into the descending darkness armed with a powerful headlamp. It was now 10:00 p.m. My pace slowed and my stomach began to growl. Heavy snowflakes were falling and Jason questioned if we should bivouac camp for the night. As we skined over our hoped-for pass, we spotted a piercing beam of light shining in the distance.

The Alaskan native Joe was waiting for us on the ridge, a welcome sight as he was less than ten minutes from camp. The others played Texas Hold'em poker and drank Jack Daniel's whiskey as we entered the kitchen tent. "That's the worst condition I have ever seen Pontoon skied," said Greg, recalling his years experience in the Chugach Range. I shrugged. We failed at achieving our AK dreams of powder that day but impressed the natives. Joe fed us leftover beef stew. Greg then poured us a round of whiskey and I smiled – we had discovered the hospitality of the locals.