Alaskan adventures: Part 4, A Dingy Glow.

We were uncomfortably awoken by the sun sometime the next afternoon. This was no time for slouching around. Proper recovery for athletes such as ourselves required attention and discipline. Tony's favorite between meal snack: a cracker, topped with a slab of butter, a slice of cheese, then salami, topped by another slab of butter. I found it could be improved by removing the cracker. It’s the little things that make a difference to performance.

As keen as we were to jump straight on another big route, a storm forecast for a couple of days, and the occasional ‘cloud of death’ tempered our enthusiasm, whereas the blue skies and sunshine we kept getting did wonders for our tans. For acclimatisation (well mostly just to shut me up) we went for a ski up the West Buttress route on Denali. We also kept seeing streams of people heading up that way from basecamp (over 1000 go a year), dragging heavy sleds and packs, so we wanted to see what the attraction was.

Well I didn’t see it. Long strings of people slogging up the glacier, taking 3 days to do what we did in 4 hours (up, 1.5 down). We passed most of them sitting down on their big packs, looking forlornly as we ski past with our small loads. Ok, we did only make it as far as the 11,000 foot camp, and I did have to snuggle up close to 2 smelly guys in our tiny Firstlight tent, shivering in my thin bag, the warm glow of smugness long having worn out, but you get my point.

So we get back down to basecamp, and no killer storm yet, this is getting annoying. To keep ourselves in peak condition, Viv and I head up Mt Frances, a peak directly behind our tent. Another sunny day and we declare ‘F**k the forecast, let’s go climbing’. The next day it starts snowing, we breath a sigh of relief, settle into the tent for several rounds of cards and fat accumulation. Just as we are about to break out the rum, the ranger knocks on our tent door and asks if we can help with the rescue of a climber with suspected heart attack from Ski Hill, on the West Butt route, halfway up to the 11,000 camp we visited earlier. Happy to help, it relieves the boredom and gets us in the good books of the ranger who we later impress with our ability to eat pancakes. More and more people show up at the basecamp, coming down from the hill, but unable to fly out due to the weather. When it clears they sit frustrated by the runway, waiting all day for planes that never come as we party away with music, donated beers and kids sleds to play on. A reporter talks to us, his hilarious story gets some facts wrong, but our (dingy?) essence pretty right.

Eventually the weather clears enough to fly, but not enough to get on Foraker. We ski up the glacier for a look at a last ditch effort on Hunter or mini-moonflower, but bad snow and warm temps make it too dangerous a prospect. It is time to pack up and go home.
(Viv's pics)