A Dance with Denali

A Dance with Denali

Denali, or “The Great One”, as it translates, is the highest mountain in North America, located in Alaska. With a greater bulk and rise than Mount Everest, it was a daunting prospect but one that I undertook in June 2009 with great excitement combined with a degree of nerves. I was in the midst of trying to become the youngest Briton to climb the real Seven Summits, the highest mountain on each of the seven continents. Denali was to be number four for me, having already climbed the highest in Africa, Europe and South America.

From a personal perspective, the expedition seemed ill-fated to say the least. Two weeks prior to leaving I got tonsillitis, was in hospital for two nights attached to an intravenous drip and was told by doctors that I would be unable to face the challenge. I managed to recover in time but having the airline lose my luggage somewhere between Detroit and Anchorage only darkened my prospects further. All of these though were subsidiary when compared to finding out that my grandmother had sadly passed away the day before I left. I was told this whilst packing my down jacket and salopettes. It was a major setback. I confided in friends about my fears for the ensuing expedition and how this might affect me in such a harsh and remote environment. My father however assured me that my grandmother would have been proud of what I was undertaking and that I should go ahead and climb the mountain for her. A climb is a personal goal that you set yourself, but there is no doubt that her passing gave me an extra motivation to reach the summit.

I was at Eton College aged 16 when I set myself the aim of climbing the Seven Summits, inspired in part by hearing tales at school of famous old boys that had achieved great feats and from listening to speakers who visited the school. It was only in my gap year that I had earned enough money to pursue this challenge. In that time I funded expeditions to become one of the youngest Britons ever to climb Aconcagua in South America at the age of 18, before organising a solo ascent of Kilimanjaro which I summitted on my 19th birthday and finally climbing Mount Elbrus in Russia in August. After my first year at The University of St Andrews, I had booked my trip to Alaska to attempt Denali; the most challenging undertaking yet but one I felt I was well prepared for.

Heidi, my American guide, recounted to us a saying about the mountain before we left in our Twin Otter plane to the glacier. “You can dance with Denali, so long as you let her lead.” Denali is a mountain where your chances of success are more heavily influenced by parameters that are outside your control, namely the unpredictability of the weather, and it should therefore be treated with respect. On arrival at Talkeetna, the last town before the glacier, we were informed that the summit success rate for the season was just over 50%. It was impossible not to look around and question ‘would I be in that favourable half?’

I was to be in a team of 12, including 3 guides. The common phrase ‘it’s the people that make the party’ is particularly relevant when climbing at 20,000 ft. I was in an incredibly diverse group of people from all walks of life and it was this diversity that made the trip quite so memorable. They ranged from a Polish-American former Special Forces solider, a past European karate champion now turned deep sea diver, to a highly successful Canadian entrepreneur who owns the biggest adult store in Canada. It was a group that I will never forget.

It was on the flight from Talkeetna that we got out first climpse of Denali. The Great One seemed a fitting title, as it rose majestically above the clouds and the surrounding peaks of Alaska. It is not often that one lands on a glacier but it was a great experience and getting out onto the snow for the first time was a wonderful sensation. The expedition had been booked for over 8 months so it was a huge relief to know that after such a long time we finally had the objective in view. Straight away it was down to work with the arduous process of flattening out a surface so that a night’s sleep, albeit for only one night on this occasion, would be achievable.

Of the four Brits on the trip, two had rowed the Atlantic together. One of that pair, Scott, had climbed Everest in 2006, a feat he would probably regret if he knew quite how much I would interrogate him on the subject. Jaysen was the final Brit and would become my tent mate for the ensuing two weeks. We met at Heathrow airport, both easily recognisable at the check-in with our knee high, brightly coloured high altitude boots. He had similar altitude experience to me and his easy going nature would be hugely appreciated as well as his ability to smile, nod and agree when I went on one my renowned rants about anything and everything ranging from the person on the plane next to me to the inconvenience caused by lorry drivers overtaking on the motorway.

The contrast to my usual working routine was evident when Heidi informed us we would be departing at 3 am to cross the glacier and move to Camp 1, a mere 600 feet rise from Base Camp at 7,300 ft. This horribly early departure was because of the crevasse hazard on the glacier that becomes more prominent during the heat of the day. One of the distinctive things about a Denali expedition is the use of sleds to carry loads up the mountains. Dragging sleds was not as bad as I had anticipated; in fact it was a welcome relief to lighten the punishing load from my back. Well, that was my original thought. My lesson was brutally learnt during the descent when the sled continually tipped over and slid down in front of me. It really did seem to have a mind of its own yet it served a crucial purpose on the lower glacier. From the first step away from Base Camp to the very last on the way back down, we were roped together in three teams, a guide leading each, for protection against the dangerous crevasses on the lower glacier and then when going along some stunning narrow ridges higher up the mountain. This meant some crevasse travel training and some sled rigging at Base Camp. It was this sort of experience that helped create the team ethic that is so crucial on the side of a mountain at high altitude, because we had to move and climb as a group the whole time.

Having established Camp 1 after a great day of glacier travel, due to a foot of recent snow, I felt like we were well and truly underway. Knowing that, after flattening our tent site, digging our boot hole in our vestibule and making a temporary loo, we were to be spending more than one night in the same place was refreshing. The following day we cached the food, fuel and clothing needed for higher altitude at 9,500ft, before returning to Camp 1 for one final night. The move to Camp 2 at 11,200ft was to take place after, hopefully, a good night’s sleep. This process of “climbing high, sleeping low” is used to move all our equipment to higher camps as well as acclimatising. On the summit of Denali, as a result of its latitude and altitude, there is under 50% as much oxygen than as at sea level, and it is therefore necessary to adapt to this as one progresses up the mountain. This is why an expedition takes so long and why one cannot go straight from Camp 1 to Camp 2 and so forth until the summit – the human body simply cannot acclimatise that quickly. The move the next day was under clear blue skies, which would be a theme from then on, and we made camp at 11,200ft at the base of Motorcycle Hill, ringed by huge ice cliffs and seracs. Instead of a taking a complete rest the following day, we had an “active rest day” in which we spent 30 minutes descending to pick up our cache and another hour or so to climb back up.

The next few days were spent climbing high; first to 13,500ft to leave a cache before returning the next day to move up to the stunning 14,200ft Camp. This move included climbing up Motorcycle Hill and then another moderate ascent called Squirrel Hill. We moved around Windy Corner and collected our cache left the day before; at this point we had dumped our sleds which meant a particularly heavy carry of about 80lbs from then on. “14” camp is surrounded by huge and iconic faces such as the Messner Couloir, the Orient Express, the Upper West Rib and the Rescue Gully. For me, however, it was the first and only time I felt any form of discomfort on the trip. A dreadful combination of altitude, dehydration and sunstroke combined to form a headache, lack of appetite (a particularly bad sign bearing in mind the vast quantities I had been eating at this point) and nausea at dinner. I continue to apologise to Scott and Stina, a lovely Danish lady who climbed Vinson in Antarctica last year, for the effects of this. Fortunately, I managed a full recovery and felt absolutely one hundred percent by the next morning.

At this point Heidi displayed exactly why she is so well respected. She has a brilliant climbing CV, with climbs worldwide from the Himalayas to the Andes, but her experience is predominantly on Denali. Her enthusiasm, optimism, cooking abilities, humour and love of the mountains were infectious to say the least and I owe a lot of my enjoyment of the trip to her. She assured me that I would both acclimatise and summit which was a welcome boost to my confidence and much appreciated. Something that has stuck with me came from a climber named Jim Bridwell, who said that “doubt is the enemy of success.” For some reason, this struck a chord and is something that I have come to believe in completely. I believe that mental strength is what drags you up a mountain, especially when the chips are down. I also believe that anyone who attempts a serious climb needs complete belief in their own ability, call it self-confidence, sometimes verging on arrogance. I think it is necessary and although I never questioned my ability to get to the top, Heidi’s backing made a big difference to me.

The beauty about the West Buttress approach on Denali is that the higher one climbs, the more exciting the route gets. Above 14,200ft there is another moderate snow slope before reaching the “headwall.” This is a steep 600ft ice face on which fixed lines are in place for climbers to use mechanical ascenders to avoid a slip. After my swift recovery from the previous evening, I felt more determined than ever to prove that I was on good form and thankfully this belief solidified as the climb progressed. Climbing the headwall was hugely enjoyable and we left a cache at the top of it before heading back down.

This was to be our last night in a tent of just two people and a final good night’s sleep was going to be hugely appreciated. My stint in a two man tent with Jaysen was at an end, for the time being at least, and I would be moving into a three man tent with Scott and Neil. It was also going to be our last night with the luxury of a mess tent which we had become extremely fond of. It was the focal point of our camp, where we all met as a team, chatted, laughed and of course, ate. The calorie intake at altitude is crucial, the toll on the body doing exercise at this height is huge and weight loss was inevitable. I was the youngest of the group at 20 and because of my fast metabolism eating a lot was a task I was more than happy to undertake. One of the culinary highlights at 14,000ft was ice cream made from fresh snow, vanilla extract and condensed milk which is something I highly recommend, although one that is hard to recreate back at home.

The differences between the English and ‘American’ languages were a constant source of amusement. I also managed to attain a new, very accommodating, set of parents. America’s drinking laws deny anyone under the age of 21 the chance of a celebratory drink, supposing we made the summit unless a legal guardian was present, so we launched an ambitious plan to evade the system. I now had a mother, a mere fourteen years my senior; tall, blonde, Danish and a Carlsberg employee married to my non-biological Canadian, adult store owning step father. It was a long shot but a welcome distraction to call Stina and Shawn ‘mom’ and ‘dad’ every now and then.

The move to high camp was back up the headwall and then along an absolutely stunning ridge. The ridge weaves in and out of some rocky sections; we clipped in and out of snow pickets driven into the ice for protection and around a steep fixed line section named Washburn’s Thumb, after the man who first ascended the great mountain via the West Buttress route in 1951. We took a rest day after that tough move and we prepared to summit on the 6th July. That night, however, Denali took the lead in our dance. The weather was the worst we had experienced on the trip so it was called off before we had even drunk our morning hot chocolate. The team before us had waited nine nights at ‘14’ before a break in the weather allowed them to move up to high camp – a battle that Denali had well and truly won and we could but hope that the same wouldn’t happen to us. The day was spent reinforcing the wall of ice blocks that had been established around our four tents as well as staying hydrated, ready for the next day for which the forecast was more optimistic.

7th July 2009 was a date I will never forget as the weather cleared and the summit became a possibility. An enjoyable disagreement with Heidi ensued as she saw the summit as a nice cherry on top, i.e. a fine finish to a good day’s climbing whereas I saw it as the purpose of the trip. This is a debate that still continues as I maintain that the summit is what counts, but as the saying goes, agree to disagree. After a three hour long traverse in the really rather chilly shady section, it was sunshine from then on. Up Denali Pass, beyond Arch Deacons tower, along the Football Field and the summit was within our grasp after one final push, up Pig Hill. We were again split into three rope teams, mine being the first led brilliantly by our Chilean guide, Seba. We made it up Pig Hill leaving only the beautiful summit ridge to contend with. All this time, thanks to my tent mate Scott, I had the pleasure, a real living hell, of having the song ‘Is this the way to Amarillo?’ stuck in my head. This is something that I simply cannot forgive him for and has made the song completely unlistenable, not that it was anywhere near my iPod anyway. Thankfully he then changed to ‘Here Comes the Sun’ by The Beatles.

After a slow march up the ridge, the summit belonged to us five…we had reached the highest point in North America after an eight hour ascent. To see for hundreds of miles with completely clear skies, stood next to four friends, was an unforgettable moment. Luckily the other seven members of our team joined us about twenty minutes later and that was it, all 12 of us had summitted. Despite all the difficulties encountered individually and as a group we had come together, as a team, and achieved something momentous. Our guide said it was the best weather she had ever experienced and we appeared to be an extremely lucky group. Shawn said on Day 1 that he believed our team was blessed. Having made the top with such stunning weather, here was the evidence.

From a personal perspective, although reaching the summit was something I had set myself months, even years, before, when I got there my overwhelming emotions were one of both relief and sadness. Photos were taken and videos were shot but after the initial enjoyment of reaching the summit had passed I couldn’t help but sit alone and cry. It was a personal challenge but over the trip it had become more than that. Everest was planned for the following spring, sponsors were expecting; I had placed a lot of pressure on myself to make the top. Most importantly though, I could not help thinking about my grandmother. I dedicated the summit to her, and I wanted to show that the summit meant more to me than just a climb.

The descent, however, is where most accidents take place and I was all too well aware of this. Exposure to high altitude for an extended period of time, the excitement of getting to the top and exhaustion are all common causes for descent accidents. Back along the ridge we went though, back across the Football Field and eventually, after an 11 hour 56 minute summit day we were safely back at high camp, ready to snuggle into our sleeping bags.

After two weeks climbing up the mountain, it took a mere two days to descend. We carried heavy loads as everything we took onto the mountain, and more, had to be taken back down. This meant a grand and emotional reunion with the damned sled back at 11,000ft; I hasten to add that I’m sure the feeling was mutual. afa

We travelled through the night to cross the lower glacier but the crevasse danger was far more prominent than before. We climbed late on in the season and because of this the snow had began to melt from continued sun exposure. This meant crossing snow bridges that appeared precarious to say the least. Crevasse crossing is not something I enjoy in any shape or form. You look across and see a gaping chasm of darkness and cold that appears to go on endlessly; I just hope that I never have to experience the inside of one.

Finally, at 7 am we made it back to Base Camp after the small ascent of Heartbreak Hill, named precisely because any form of ascent is the last thing one wants to see after hours of going down. After a few hours wait the Twin Otter thankfully returned to us and back to civilisation we flew. Leaving a mountain on which you have spent a considerable amount of time and experienced such contrasting emotions is a bizarre experience because, despite loving being on the mountain and everything that goes with it (the phenomenal views, the poor sanitation, tent lifestyle, the summit to aim for) all one wants to do after making the top is get as far away from it as possible. Back to Talkeetna we went in time for an enormously indulgent but thoroughly deserved brunch. We then drove to Anchorage and the expedition was almost over. About five showers after settling down in the hotel we all just about felt refreshed. The lingering scent of Jaysen’s socks will, I’m sure, remain but the shock of the hustle and bustle of daily life was upon us once again after weeks of remote existence.

Having summitted earlier than expected, we had a tough time trying to arrange earlier return flights but eventually this was sorted and after two celebratory nights in Anchorage I flew back to Britain’s green and pleasant land. Serious sleep deprivation was evident on the flight as the team collapsed very early on in the journey, helped by the fact that it was the first time we had seen darkness in three weeks. At Heathrow I passed customs unscathed, collected my rucksack and finally made it through arrivals to a very relieved mother, and my biological one at that.

Alaska is an extraordinary place. The state is hugely proud of everything about it; its moose, its bears, its fishing and of course its mountains. From the moment we touched down on the glacier, I knew it was a special location and huge efforts are made so that that it remains unspoilt. There are no Starbucks, no McDonalds, no cars and very little communication to the outside world except the odd use of a satellite phone. It provided me with great memories and a wonderful change of perspective and lifestyle from what I had become accustomed to at home.

In the spring of 2010 I hope to become one the youngest ever Britons to climb Mount Everest and look forward to celebrating my 21st birthday whilst attempting to climb the highest mountain in the world. Everest has been a dream for many years and I will be climbing the Tibetan Northeast ridge route. This route is more technically challenging than the more frequently used Southeast ridge and is the same one used by George Mallory and Andrew Irvine during their infamous 1924 expedition.