Alaska 2016 Part 2: North Face of Pioneer Peak (6,398') with a descent of the Southeast Ridge
Dad, Paul, and I took a gamble by flying out the Alaska Range a bit early in search of better climbing conditions. It paid off with a ~40 hour adventure climb on one of the "little" peaks of the Chugach that rise above Anchorage, Pioneer Peak.
We flew out of the Alaska Range with only vague plans. On the drive in to Talkeetna nine days earlier, our shuttle driver Joe had pointed out a peak with a magnificent north face, Pioneer Peak. We knew decent weather was coming, and since he happened to be our shuttle driver for the trip back to Anchorage, we pressed him for all he knew. Turns out, he didn't know much, and neither did anyone else, really.
A bit of Internet research on my phone turned up a couple old trip reports from 10 or more years ago, and a brief description of the cruxes from the Coombs purple Alaska Climbing guidebook. It seemed within our capability as long as the route was in decent shape, and everyone talked about it so casually, so we penciled it in for Friday.
Pioneer Peak (6,398') from the west on the drive back to Anchorage. The North Face is the face visible just to the right of the lefthand skyline ridge.
Photo: Paul Kaster
The thing is, Pioneer Peak is
big.
I mean,
really big
. Its summit is only 100' higher than that of Mt Washington in my home state of New Hampshire, but what people forget to mention is that the trailhead begins pretty much at sea level (or 100' below sea level if you trusted my altimeter watch, which you shouldn't). It shouldn't have surprised me, really. I'd learned that everything in Alaska was big: the mosquitos, the moose, the portion sizes, the bug repellent that came in 5 gallon jugs, the 3-foot-diameter heads of lettuce...it makes sense that the North Face of this "little" Alaskan peak would rise over 6000 vertical feet in 1.8 miles. Most of that climbing is technical to some extent.
We flew out of the Alaska Range on a Tuesday, and were planning to climb on Friday so we had a bit of time to kill. His Colonelness, Paul secured us lodging at the Elmendorf Air Force Base just North of Anchorage. This was cool for a lot of reasons, not least of which were the nearby F-22s nor the fact I could say "return to base" without irony. The next two days were spent resting, eating, showering, shopping, and gathering beta on the route however we could. On Thursday we also took a drive down the Seward Highway toward Alyeska Ski Area to do some tourist stuff.
Scoping out and plotting our line up the North Face of Pioneer Peak from the Knik River Flats
Driving South along the Seward Highway
The Chugach mountain range surrounds the Cook Inlet, making a very pretty combination of mountain and sea
A short hike near Alyeska led us to a hand-tram gorge crossing. A lot of fun was had sending people back and forth across the gorge.
The Climb: May 27th 2016 to May 28th, 2016
The main consideration for climbing this face was snow condition. We debated the merits of each individual starting time and which would give us the most time on firm snow. Since we were only a couple weeks away from the summer solstice, there was a lot more daylight to go around than night. This is both good and bad: 1) it gives you a lot of climbing time in any given day, but 2) it doesn't leave much time for the radiant cooling of night to firm up the snow and make it easy to climb. Paul gave us a very convincing demonstration of the calculus of sun hit on north facing slopes using a bunch of hand waving and karate chops, so from that we decided to start at 6am. Another nice thing about this peak is that the approach is about as short as you can get. You park in a pullout immediately before the North Face, walk across the road, and start climbing.
Knik River at 6am
Hiking up the initial scree gully
The scree gully was still partially frozen, and that allowed us to gain elevation in a hurry. After about an hour and 1100' or so, we hit the first major obstacle we'd identified during our recon mission: a 150' waterfall, which is normally climbed as a nice pitch of WI2 when done during the winter. We opted to climb a nasty gully choked with Slide Alder and Devil's Club to bypass it on the right.
Approaching the waterfall and bypass gully
Photo: Paul Kaster
Entering the gully and still smiling
Class 4 mud and scree
Photo: Paul Kaster
Class 4 "forestineering"
This pitch went at about 5.tree
We finally climbed out of the gully with the help of an old fixed rope left behind by a previous party. It was hard to tell if they left the rope there as a handline to get up, which is what we used it for, or as a rap line to get down. Since we were in serious danger of knocking rocks down on each other the whole time, I was less than psyched to have to rap back down that gully, especially on an old rope.
Once past the waterfall, we had another couple hundred feet of scree before we hit continuous snow at about 2000'. Just 4400' feet to go!
First look at the North Face from above the waterfall
Finally some continuous snow at about 2000'
The next 2100 or 2200' went by pretty quickly. The sun hadn't had much of a chance to warm up the snow yet, and so it was still reasonably firm. We switched to crampons but left our rope in the pack and booted up through winding, lower angle snow gullies to reach the 2nd major obstacle, a huge rock band that splits the face at 4100'. This is where things got interesting.
The guidebook mentions an ice route that goes up a gully somewhere near the center of the rock band, but at this time of year it was just another waterfall. From the river, we'd spied another, discontinuous snow gully that lanced off to the right, and it looked like we could climb through the rockband mostly on snow.
Booting up the first couple thousand feet of snow, heading for the rock band that splits the face
Around 3800', looking up at the rock band. We took the snow gully leading up to the right rather than climb the waterfall in the center, which is what folks would do in the winter.
Looking back at Paul and the Knik River, 4000' below
Wildflowers on the rock band were distractingly pretty
We were correct in our assessment from below that our snowy sneak route around the rock band was not continuous, and we climbed ever steepening snow up to the base of a ~30 foot section of rock. It looked a lot easier than it was. So easy, in fact, that I didn't bother to stop and put on my harness or dig out the rope or take off my crampons, opting instead to solo the short rock face. This made things much more exciting that I really wanted. The climbing itself went about 5.6 or 5.7, but the rock quality was absolute shit. A hand hold might just fall out of the rock into your hand, and then crumble into gravel at the lightest touch. It took a lot of concentration to move safely up that rock pitch, especially with the added pressure of crampons on the rock.
Steepening snow leading up to the rock band
Photo: Paul Kaster
Myself about to make the transition from snow to rock
Photo: Jim Hasse
The delicate and tenuous climbing was very mentally demanding.
Photo: Jim Hasse
This was definitely the route's technical crux
Photo: Jim Hasse
Things took a turn for the serious from here on out. I was carrying my harness and some stuff to build an anchor, but Dad had the rope. He couldn't easily get it to me, which meant that he had to climb the pitch unroped as well. He managed with style, and we got an anchor set up and tossed the rope down to Paul so he could climb it with a belay.
From here, the snow got steeper and a bit more challenging. The snow had a breakable crust with soft snow underneath, meaning the leader often had to kick several times to create a decent foothold for himself. We continued roped up, placing pickets as protection for a running belay for another 1000' or so. We were about half way up the main rock band, and a little more than half way up the face total.
We traversed back left and exited the rock band via another steep snow gully, then headed for the main couloir of the North Face leading to the summit ridge. Things slowed down a lot here. As the snow steepened, the condition didn't improve. We'd only brought 3 snow pickets with us, but the snow was steep enough that we felt we needed to pitch things out. Even with a 70 meter rope, that translated to about 150' per pitch, and we had around 2000' to go. Leading was slow and exhausting as well, due to the step kicking issue I mentioned earlier.
Dad topping out on the rock crux
Leading steeper snow out from the top of the rock band
Photo: Paul Kaster
Looking back at Dad and Paul following a pitch
Traversing toward the exit to the rock band
Getting closer to the main couloir leading to the summit ridge
About to enter the main couloir, 5100'
Dad and Paul following a pitch in the main couloir
Dad checking out the possible exits to the summit ridge, still 3 or 4 pitches away
Photo: Paul Kaster
Paul following the final pitch to the summit ridge
Finally, 17 hours after we'd left the car, we topped out on the summit ridge. The last 2000' had been very slow, mostly due to the unfavorable snow conditions. The snow wasn't firm enough to make climbing easy, and it wasn't easy to protect. Since we only brought three pickets, each pitch consisted of a picket deadman anchor at the top and bottom, and one picket about halfway up. In this case, the leader was potentially looking at a 35m fall in some places, necessitating a very deliberate approach to climbing. On the other hand, once the leader established the boot track, the 2nds had it much, much easier.
Dad enjoying the sunset colors while belaying Paul up the final pitch, 17 hours after we'd started that morning.
Looking over the other side of the summit ridge at the sunlit Chugach range
11:15pm, and the sun was dipping below the horizon behind Foraker, Hunter, and Denali, the Big 3 of the Alaska Range
From here, we only had about 100' to go to the summit. Unfortunately, it was 100' of somewhat exposed and unprotectable climbing up the same shit rock that the rest of the mountain was made of.
We thought we probably wouldn't need the rope again
Photo: Paul Kaster
Dad starting up the last 100' or so of climbing
Paul following the final pitch along the ridge to the summit.
Boy did we underestimate the difficulty of climbing exposed, shitty rock when you're tired and with little daylight. Almost 2 hours later, we were standing on the summit. It was 1:00am, 19 hours after we'd left the car and we still had 6000+' to descend down the Southeast Ridge, about 1000' of which was exposed class 3/4 scrambling. Given that by that point I had the mental faculties of a tomato, I lobbied to bivy right there on the summit. We didn't have bivy gear save for the typical emergency kit, no tents nor sleeping bags. This made the prospect a little more real. No matter what, we'd be shivering through our stop. Still, the prospect of a bit of shivering sleep was much better than facing an exposed ridge covered in shit rock at that point. We bivied.
I put on all the clothes I brought with me, plus the Emergency Medical Kits E-bivy sack that I carry for emergencies and conked right out
Photo: Jim Hasse
Paul managed to make it look a bit more comfy than I did
In a situation like this, food is your savior. As tired as we were, we fell asleep quickly, but it didn't last long. Soon you'd wake up shivering as your body burned through it's remaining calories in an effort to keep warm. If you had some food on hand, you could eat a bit of it and then catch another half hour of dozing or so before doing everything again.
We went on like that for a little less than 3 hours, at which point the Alaskan night was pretty much over and the sun again rose above the horizon. It was remarkable how transformative the whole experience was. I went to sleep barely able to remember my own name, and I woke up ready to take on this descent. Sure, it was cold, but I've always wanted to do an unplanned bivy and there really was no sexier time or place than this.
Brewing up as the sun returns to the north
Survived-my-first-unplanned-bivy-selfie! Wooo!
A decent summit shot!
Photo: Paul Kaster('s camera)
We took a bit of time to brew water and rehydrate, as well as eat and warm up a bit before leaving the summit at 7am. We didn't have to go far before we got a look at what was in store.
Gulp.
The ridge looked
scary
. It was jagged and the knifeyest of knife edge's I'd seen in a long time. And of course, it was too much to hope that the rock suddenly became solid. I mean, what the hell was holding this mountain together? Our choices were exposed, shitty rock on the ridge crest, or exposed, shitty snow a ways beneath the ridge crest. We opted to traverse the snow, since it's a bit more forgiving in the event of a fall. There's a prayer you might be able to self arrest, especially with how soft it was.
Descending the first steep snow gully to get around some gendarmes on the ridge. Another great thing about this ridge descent was that we'd have to climb back up and over South Pioneer Peak eventually, seen there in the distance
Photo: Paul Kaster
Contemplating the life choices that had led me to this situation
Photo: Paul Kaster
Looking back at Paul making the final ascent to the saddle between Pioneer Peak and South Pioneer Peak. This perspective on the ridge makes it look even more intimidating
Charging up the last 800' or so to the summit of South Pioneer Peak
Dad nearing the summit of South Pioneer Peak
Summit of South Pioneer Peak
Photo: Paul Kaster
We made the summit of South Pioneer Peak about 8 hours after we'd left the summit. At this point, we hadn't even lost any elevation to show for it, either. Still over 6000' left to go. Thankfully, things were about to get much easier.
Remarkably, when we summited South Pioneer Peak and dropped down the South Ridge, we stepped from Alaska to Colorado. Suddenly it was warm, there was hardly any snow, and we had a lot of dry, class 2/3 scrambling for about 1000' back to easy trail. I relaxed almost immediately, the subtle mental tension that accompanies tense climbing evaporated. Not only is this kind of thing familiar, this is something I'm
good
at. I recall Dad laughing at me as I bounded across an exposed gully on small holds, my ski poles dangling from a single relaxed hand, and I said "Man, it sure is nice to be on terrain where you can mentally relax." A bit absurd, given my situation and how most people would feel.
Leaving the summit of South Pioneer Peak down the South Ridge
Even some friends from CO decided to join us
It didn't take us long, maybe an hour or so, to descend the 1000' of scrambling back to the easy trail. We were nowhere near done yet, though. It had been almost 9 hours since we left the summit, and 34 hours since we'd left the car. We still had 5000' to descend with aching, tired feet.
Dad on the last bit of ridge before the tundra. The climbing felt like CO, but the views were definitely Alaskan
5000' of rolling trail to go
Hangry-Mike selfie, 4000' to go
With somewhere around 3000' left to go back to the car we ran into a picnic table, of all things. If I hadn't vaguely recalled reading about one in a trip report, I'd have thought I was hallucinating.
Finally, after another 5.5 hours and a lot of pain later, we made it back to the trailhead at 9:30pm, 14.5 hours after we'd left the summit and 39.5 hours after we'd left the car. Dad quickly got situated to go hitch hike and get the car, while Paul collapsed on the ground and looked like he'd given up on life. I was irrationally angry at the stupid and useless map they had built into the trailhead. It absolutely did not in any way convey the seriousness of the "hike" up the Southeast Ridge
Stupid and useless map
Dad got a ride pretty quickly, and returned with the car soon after. Unfortunately the day was far from over, especially for me. My flight back to Seattle was to leave Anchorage at 8:00am the next morning. By the time we got some food and returned to base, it was nearly midnight. I still had to pack and eat before leaving for the airport at 5am. Oh yeah, sometime during that fiasco I managed to lock myself out of my room with no ID, no phone, and no shoes. Military lodging is decidedly less forgiving about those things than regular hotels. Luckily, Paul was already wearing his grumpy pants and the young woman behind the information desk got me another key quickly after he vouched for me.
As Dad later said: our time in the Alaska Range was fun, but this was resume material. This was by far the biggest and baddest alpine climbing I've ever done. There are only a handful of times I've done more vertical in a day, and those were all hiking days in New Hampshire. I'd never done anything technical for this long. I'm also psyched about our bivy. Not only was it for sure the right choice, given the difficulty of the descent down the Southeast Ridge, but there were no other suitable bivy spots until South Pioneer Peak. The commitment factor knowing we weren't going to be able to easily reverse our climb through the vegetated gully around the waterfall meant that we had to keep going up, no matter what.
I'd make a couple notes for anyone doing this in the future. First, we were a bit too late in the season. It would have been loads easier, probably would have shaved more than 10 hours off our time had the snow been firm for front pointing and step kicking. If you didn't have to mess around with vegetation and scree down low, opting instead to climb the ice cruxes, it would likely go faster. Second, I'd bring a few more pickets. We only had three, but if we'd had six we could likely have done the top pitches as running belays instead of pitching them out, and that would have saved several hours as well. Lastly, I'd seriously consider bringing two tools per person, especially if you're planning to climb the ice cruxes. We had only an ice ax and a whippet per person, which worked OK due to the plunging nature of the snow. It would have been a lot scarier without a real second tool if the snow was more firm.
