Across a Glacier
When you leave Base Camp for the higher camps on Denali, packing
your gear becomes an art in reduction. And yet as a film crew
shooting in High Definition (a high-resolution picture designed for
large TV screens), our camera, batteries, lenses, and tapes have
tipped the scale towards the ridiculous. The satellite phone,
digital cameras, laptop, and spare batteries — which allow us
to transmit the images and content for this site—would be
considered a single sled load for a climber moving up the mountain.
And that doesn't include the food, clothing, tents, and equipment
needed to survive in Denali's arctic surroundings.
Travel across a glacier should never be taken lightly; the ground we
perceive as firm below our feet is a shifting and constantly
changing river of frozen yet still flowing ice. On snowshoes and
skis we wear a harness and clip into a rope that connects us to our
teammates. Our first day at Base Camp,
Colby Coombs and
Caitlin Palmer took
us out to a crevasse where we learned how to extract ourselves from
deep within. Through a series of anchors and a Z pulley system, we
should be able to rescue each other if the need arises. We travel by
two- and three-person rope teams to maximize our maneuverability.
The move out of camp on Sunday began at 10 p.m., with the sun just
slipping behind Mount Crosson. Half of us were on snowshoes, the
other half on skis. Crisscrossing
the route
was a seemingly endless number of hidden crevasses. We chose to move
at night, when the snow freezes into a hard crust. The danger is
that at any moment, the crusted snow can give way underfoot, sending
you plunging deep inside a cold cavern. We've been told that, if the
conditions are right for it, there's no way to avoid a crevasse
fall. But a climber can survive the fall if she is roped to another
teammate and wears proper equipment.
With backpacks fully loaded, and dragging sleds behind us, we
carried what we could of our gear. Backpacks are clipped into the
rope and sleds are tethered off from behind to prevent them from
hitting us on the head should we fall into a crevasse. A rope called
a prussik hangs from a locking D carabiner on our harnesses to act
as a braking foothold on the rope if we have to climb out from a
fall. We finally moved out of camp in single file, prepared for the
terrain that lay ahead.
It was a quiet, windless night as we slogged five miles up the
Kahiltna Glacier to our camp at the base of
Ski Hill.
The northern sun took its time dipping below the horizon, bathing
the peaks in an extraordinary alpine glow for the duration of the
climb. At this latitude, the sun grazes the horizon for hours,
barely disappearing before appearing again for another cycle of
infinite sunrise to infinite sunset. Although the temperature was
about 10°F, our bodies were pumping hard against the slight
upsloping terrain and heavy loads we carried. A stop for more than a
few minutes in the slight breeze, however, meant taking off our
packs to put on a down parka to prevent hypothermia and freezing
fingers. We realize just how fragile we are in this extreme
environment. "The only warm thing out here is your body," warned
Coombs.
Astronaut
John Grunsfeld,
having swallowed a thermister pill, recorded a core body temperature
that exceeded 100°F during the climb, with frequent dips below
normal during the brief rest stops taken for food and fuel. At 1:30
a.m., we reached camp and began digging our tent sites out of the
white expanse of snow.
Read on for a report from Grunsfeld on his core body temperature
readings as he moves up to 11,000 feet.
Location: Ski Hill Camp
Altitude: 7,800 feet
Air Temp: 36°F
Windspeed: 4 mph
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