The Flames.

Ryan Marsters · 7 hours ago · Unknown Hometown · Joined Jan 2011 ·


`

A lot of non-starts due to wind or route conditions, but the last major bail was probably 11,300 in the Ruth Gorge this past spring.

We had a group of three with no meaningful Alaska experience between us. Well, one guy tried Moose's Tooth the week before so he was our sage.

We're cheap. Our weather guru is a friend and a former pilot. We figure that's better than shelling out a couple hundred for a meteorologist. Our first day, forecasted as horrendous, is spent idling at camp under blue bird skies. Good enough weather to gawk at Huntington's mile high face and impressive serac falls which would cover our tents in an inch of snow dust. Each of us shitting bricks with each boom and roar but nervously laughing in a manly fashion.

The following day, our weather guru says go time. Two days of beauty. A third maybe. Out we go, high angle swimming through two feet of sugar atop dry old snowpack. We can see another party's tracks on the descent route high above. A steady trench terminating in a mile-long avalanche scarp. Distances are deceptive here. The pair told us earlier the avalanches were no big deal. They were roped and at the crown, snowstorm obscuring just how big it ripped below.

We keep swimming. No ice. Lots of sugar excavating and easy ridge split by 50 ft cruxes. With a party of two, no problem. Simul it out and cruise on through. But we had a party of three and twin ropes. And pretty much zero experience switching between three person simul and short pitching with any resemblance of efficiency. We had hoped to make it to the Thumb, but the cruiser snow slopes just below were riddled with avalanche crowns and the morning's two feet of sugar were now white frosting and sticking to our crampons like yeti feet.

We decide to camp at the first col and let the slope firm up overnight. Great views. The kind of place you could almost forget it takes a solid ten minutes to strip off layers just to use the bathroom. We ruin the experience by shoving the three of us into a 2 person Firstlight, promptly tearing the corners. Sardines in a can with three rounds of Mountain House thrown in for flavor. I can't even turn away to avoid friendly fire.

Anyways, our weather guru hits us with bad news. We have one day of okay weather followed by a "stare at the tent walls for a week" storm. Eight feet predicted. Sh#t, At our pace, we'd probably make it to the summit before the storm hits. Then sardines in a damaged can and quarter rations of mountain house before running the mega avalanche slope and stuck rope rappel gauntlet descent. We want to bail but again, what kind of guy wants to say it first?

Luckily, an earthquake hits that night. Small one. Enough to get the col camp swaying and a staccato serac drop on all sides. A mansion-sized serac drops three thousand feet off Huntington and a few trailer homes drop off the Rooster Comb. The valley below looks like a scene from The Mummy. Beautiful. Well, until a little squall hits. I think only six inches in an hour.

We mobilize to see the anchors and slopes are sheathed in white. Slough avalanches lazily drifting on down the fluted slopes. I'm not sure if the word "bail" is ever actually uttered, but we're all moving and generally in the downwards direction. Bailing still takes a dozen single rope rappels, having learned our lesson turning doubles into a spaghetti fest, and a couple nut donations. Luckily, most of the stations are fixed and we know a party bailed just a couple days prior during another storm. I think it takes us five hours, brushing off anchors, searching around, simuling where we can.

We flew out just before stormageddon hit, glad we dodged a bullet. Our pilot, with the last name of Sheldon, knows a thing or two about those mountains and the weather patterns. "Oh, they say it's supposed to be nasty tomorrow. But I don't think it'll amount to much."