A moment in the Alaska Range

Last month, I pushed the limits of my risk tolerance and ended up skiing the rowdiest line I’ve skied yet.

Wind rustled the material of our tent. As I left the warmth of my sleeping bag and slid down into the vestibule, I was greeted by grey skies and light snow fall. Darker clouds were building behind Mt. Dickey. Pushing my trepidation about the weather aside, I shuffled to the cook tent. We made a quick breakfast, geared up, and were soon zipping away down our little corner of the Ruth Amphitheater. Our path wove over snow bridges and crevasses, gradually making our way to The Gateway. Aptly named, The Gateway is a section of the Ruth Glacier that lies between Mt. Barrille and London Tower that affords a breathtaking view of the Ruth Gorge on a clear day.

We continued southwards until we reached the base of our climb: the Japanese couloir. A test piece for bigger climbs like Ham and Eggs on the Moose’s Tooth, Japanese couloir is one of the easier climbs in this corner of the Alaska Range. We worked our way over some more gnarly crevasses and skinned as far as we could up the avalanche cone. Here, we debated about whether or not we should risk the bad vis, or postpone our climb. After half an hour of deliberation, we said “fuck it, we ball”, strapped our skis to our packs, and began our 2760 ft. ascent of Mt. Barrille via Japanese couloir. The climb itself consisted entirely of steep snow. Luke and I simul-climbed the whole thing, with Luke placing gear every 70 meters or so. About half way up, we ran into a friend we had met climbing in El Potrero Chico in December of last year, which was absolutely nucking futz. We topped out on the col, did a sketchy down climb/traverse, and were then on our way to the summit ridge.

The south side of Mt. Barrille and our route: the Japanese Couloir

We topped out and were met with an absolutely stunning view of what I imagine the inside of a grey ping pong ball looks like. Bad news for our plans to ski the north face of Barrille. With the many large seracs, crevasses, and bergschrund to navigate, we didn’t feel comfortable skiing unless we had a clear view of our line. The clouds had drifted in and out throughout our climb, and we had been blessed with a few windows of sunshine. As we sat on the summit, I held tightly onto the hope that another clearing would appear. We waited an hour, which then turned into 2, and then 2 and a half. Then, just as we were packing our bags and preparing for what would have been a harrowing rappel, the clouds began to clear. Our moment had come.

With quivering hands, I took my crampons off, ripped skins, and tightened my boots down to ski mode. We clamored a short way down the ridge, cornice to our left, snow ramp to 2000 ft. cliff on our right. As I situated myself at the top of our line and put my skis on, I could feel my heart in my throat. Luke and I had decided: I would go first, do a ski cut, and then make a few jump turns to assess the quality of snow. We had skied on the same aspect the day before, and the snowpack seemed bomber aside from some wet loose concerns. Luckily the snow was relatively dry, thanks to the overcast skies.

With my skis on and my butthole puckered tighter than I was death gripping my ice tool in case I needed to self arrest, I began my ski cut. Slowly sliding, jumping slightly trying to get something to trigger, and just a little sluff. Nothing else. The cornice did not come crashing down (as I had half expected), and the slope did not slide out from underneath me. First jump turn: good. Second jump turn: still good. Third jump turn: fuck yes. I stopped and yelled up to Luke “I think she goes!” He let out a hoot, and then I was off, floating on the most blower pow I’ve skied in a while, traversing leftwards to the top of the ridge that we had decided was our first rendezvous point. I stopped, gestured to Luke, and then he was off making beautiful turns and throwing pow. He continued past me, down the ridge and then leftwards into the chute. I followed. As I skied down the ridge, the sluff from our turns rushed down the gulley to my right, moving fast down and over a 200 ft. cliff and into the bergschrund. I paused for a moment to watch, endlessly grateful that I was on the ridge and not in the gulley, and then followed Luke’s tracks down into the chute. We met up there, then Luke was off again, skirting the bergschrund and then traversing hard right to avoid the obvious crevasses. Once we met up again, we party skied until we reached a crevasse field. After carefully navigating a few crevasses, we were back to the skin track and home free.

A very small Kyleen on the first pitch of skiing on the north face of Barrille. In the distance on the glacier below: our camp.

Standing at the base of our line, breathing hard, with my system maxed out on adrenaline, Luke and I high-fived, hugged, and hollered. I couldn’t stop laughing. The feeling that welled in me as I stood at the base of Mt. Barrille, looking up at the lines that we had just painted on its north face is something that will stay with me for the rest of my life. In that moment, I felt empowered, full of bliss, and proud. I marveled at the fact that my little body had brought me (and my skis) all the way up and down this 7,650 ft. chunk of rock, ice, and snow in the Alaska Range, and felt so much love for her. I felt so grateful for the good conditions, the solid snow pack, for the clearing in the clouds that lasted just long enough for us to ski down, and of course for Luke, love of my life and my partner in crime.

As we put our skins back on, the clouds drifted back in, blanketing us in a heavy fog. We skinned 15 minutes back to camp and were greeted by an ecstatic Alex. We ate some salami, cooked some mac and cheese, drank some bengal spice tea, and crawled back into our tent for some much needed rest.