Trip Report: Finding Silver Linings
Photos and Words by Christian Johansen, FOW
First sun on Denali's western slopes. Alaska Range, AK.
It ain’t always a summit that’s most memorable.
It’s -20ºF in the tent with a chorus of 40 knot winds outside — when a friend brings you a hot drink so you don’t have to leave your sleeping bag. Maybe they share a bit of hidden chocolate they’d been saving. In our tent in the snow on Denali, the Snow Leopard* and I shared small swigs of botanical infused vodka – spirits as he called them – from a small plastic bottle.
If it’s eye-catching, cinematic moments that compel an audience, it’s in-between, interpersonal moments that compel participants; where the story is most rich. Smiles connect a team, as do tears, and imagined “trip ending” disagreements can — ultimately — make things more agreeable.
*Snow Leopard is an award for climbing the tallest peaks in the former Soviet Union, received by our teammate, Andrei.
Traversing to Windy Corner. Alaska Range, AK.
A friend once told me that the arc of a team’s dynamic on an expedition is thus: forming, storming, norming, performing. That is to say: the team gathers (forms), a cultural issue develops (storm), you collaborate to establish new ground rules, normalizing new culture (norm), then ultimately operate more effectively because of it (perform). In short, the ebbs give way to the flows. And as the in-betweens create the through line, stuff that goes wrong ultimately leads to a whole lot of right.
Sometimes, “storming” is figurative – someone is upset, or otherwise emotionally out of whack. And sometimes, “storming” is literal.
Tent time. Alaska Range, AK.
We spent 30 days on Denali’s western slopes, during a climbing season that boasted the worst weather, highest frost-bite rates, and lowest summit percentages since the ‘70s, according to the National Park Service. To put it plainly, the storms kept coming. One of the greatest alpinists alive, Colin Haley – who holds solo speed records on Denali, as well as her sister peaks Sultana and Beguya – left early because he’d been skunked by limited weather windows, and didn’t see it improving. He left with a smile, good cheer, and gave us his tent, covered in graffiti from his past expeditions (pictured).
We spent 14 days at 14000’, waiting out the weather. Limited visibility, high winds, and temperatures between 0ºF and -20ºF kept us hunkered in our tents – making the one Colin gave us welcome, bonus, sacred space. Day after day in a tent either breeds one of two things: ingenuity or insanity. It’s kind of up to you. We played hearts, traveled to neighboring camps to play Uno or Yahtzee, and made elaborate meals. Some write, some draw, and all deepen relationships.
On the summit ridge, around 20,100 feet. Alaska Range, AK.
By the 24th day on the mountain, we managed a summit via the West Buttress, and conditions allowed a ski descent. Summiting is a notable feat, but admittedly I didn’t realize the clout that skiing off the summit had until we were off mountain at the Fairview Inn, where a duo of Talkeetna locals – who’d grown up seeing thousands of climbers come through their tiny town – expressed their excitement at the act making turns down such a big hill.
Clout aside, it was frustrating to not have the opportunity to attempt a second push, and a potential FKT – fastest known time, for those not speed obsessed — for our teammate Meredith. This was the overall goal of the trip, after all, and the reason we came. But this frustration was misguided and quickly dispelled.
Meredith Edwards around 15,000 feet. Alaska Range, AK.
Classically, climbing mountains is associated with a conqueror's mindset: tame the dragon, defeat the beast, etc. However, it seems that the more time one spends in austere places, or in big mountains, the more one comes to realize that the conquistador mentality is flawed, short sighted, and indeed dangerous. Summit fever is a true affliction. The fact of the matter is that we are in communion with these places, and the land dictates everything we do. Or at least it should. The value in climbing mountains comes not from a summit or FKT, but from the privilege of being there. The goal is accomplished by being lucky enough to walk among giants in one of the world’s great ranges.
Everything else is a bonus.
Descending the Rescue Gulley. Alaska Range, AK.
We didn’t get an FKT, but we got a whole lot. For these storms that masked our way to the summit, left behind snow. The winds that kept us tent ridden, blew the snow into pockets of powder. Meaning in the few nice weather windows we had? Bliss. There’s nothing quite like making a quality turn or two at an altitude with less than half the oxygen than sea level, when you’ve walked ~13000’ to get there. Pow turns at 20,000 feet don’t hurt.
Was the snow perfect? Far from it – in between pockets of snow there were wind exposed rocks, trampoline size patches of exposed blue ice, and cracks in the glacier that could swallow a car. But hey, you’re on the tallest mountain on the continent, skiing. Life is alright.
Jumping the bergschrund. Alaska Range, AK.
Skiing down to camp at 14,000 feet. Alaska Range, AK.
Silver linings wind through our days. Noticing and naming them is not blind optimism or a matter of ignoring truths. Rather, it’s seeing these truths, refusing to give in to despair, and adapting. It’s bearing witness to reality, yet maintaining belief in better, and yielding the energy to contribute to better. Hope, is not naïveté*, and experience is not what happens to you; it’s what you do what happens to you.*
A moment with FOW Amanda Hankison, who we bumped into at 14,000 feet. Alaska Range, AK.
*paraphrased from Bernice King: “Hope and truth are connected. Hope is not naïveté. It is bearing witness to truth, still believing in better and yielding the energy to contribute to better.”
*https://hr.mit.edu/learning-topics/teams/articles/stages-development