20,310 ft
Back from Denali. In fact much earlier than we planned. Why? It went too well! Our weather window was historic. Endless high pressure made for constant movement and no storm delays. I’ll try to share a story here and there but largely let the photos do the talking. In a month or so I hope to release a short video as well.
First let’s meet the Teton Tickler crew
Tim Westmark - a badass Midwest flat-lander turned alpine crusher. No need to live in the West. He visits regularly, climbs the peaks with ease, and goes home like its nothing. Scientists are still uncovering how he does it.
Tanner Wenzel - Fix an engine, build a deck, do Teton Picnics, ski a couloir. Excelling at all, Tanner keeps a full smile and bellowing laugh while wearing hella pink and, if he finds it, the famous cow hat. How he dominates the alpine without seemingly training at all is beyond us.
Neil Moore - just me
Our first view of “the high one”. Goal in sight while flying from Talkeetna to the Kahiltna glacier
flight porn
Goal 1 - get to 14k camp
3.5 days of each dragging 130lbs of gear via sleds and backpacks
Mostly roped-up for crevasse safety, we encountered our first ski turns plus white-out conditions around windy corner. All the while learning frustrating lessons on how to climb and ski with a sled. Similar to a haul bag on big wall, I nicknamed mine “the pig”
The darkest sky we’d see for almost two weeks. 14k camp sits with a striking view of Mt. Foraker
Settled at 14k, it was time to make the place home. We cut out blocks of ice and snow to dig a kitchen and then used those to form wind walls around our tents. All the while comfy-wumphy in our pink camp booties. Made by 40 Below these became crucial to our camp survival and were the first pink models produced. Get some.
“Beach days” we called them. 14k camp saw endless high pressure and low winds. Mid-day temps rose to the 20s yet direct sun exposure left us sweating in t-shirts thinking it was 60 degrees. Shirtless labor was not uncommon.
Flags from around the world flew high and proud - Ukraine, South Korea, Poland, Germany, China, and Japan to name a few. Forgetting the stars and stripes and the Wyoming buffalo, we Ticklers flew a hummus flag. Yup. Not a weird made up country, but a shoutout to our buddy Tyler who recently started Happy Hungry Hummus. Ya, we are sponsored athletes. Equipped with two tubs of sweet potato hummus, we scavenged for appropriate snacks to dip in this dank spread. Try it. You’ll never f*ck with Sabra again. Happyhungryfoods.com
We socialized around camp sharing stories and beta, albeit sometimes in broken english with foreigners.
The ridge after the fixed lines. Heading to 17k camp - one of my favorite sections of the mountain
Tim skiing some of the better snow we found - fixed lines down to 14k camp. Anything higher though, proceed with caution.
Our acclimation day became a ski adventure from 17k camp. Rescue Gully connects 17k to 14k. Guides at the higher camps scrambled onto nearby cliffs to watch us boot our way down the narrow chute attempting to find a place to clip in. We should have taken warning if guides wanted to watch us attempt this feat.
It was trash. A blue-ice field awaited us along with several small crevasses. What proceeded were some of the worst turns we’ve ever made. Little did we know a massive audience of onlookers watched us from 14k including rangers with spotting scopes.
We became known as “those guys that tried to ski rescue gully”. I think we single handedly proved to the current climbers that the upper mountain wasn’t in ski shape. An unfortunate result of the high pressure we were otherwise happy to have. I write this like I hated it. Quite the opposite. It was an adventure and I couldn’t be happier we tried it. Plus it gave us crucial beta for the days ahead.
Summit Push 1 - with a brief acclimation day and following “beach day” to rest, we set our sights on the summit. Most parties would move to 17k, sleep a night to acclimate, and push to the top from there. Seeking lighter packs and wanting to avoid the more heinous nighttime conditions at 17k camp, we attempted a push from 14k. A much bigger day but 6k vert has never fazed us in the past.
Temperatures were cold on the fixed lines after our 3am departure. We donned overboots and down layers even for steep uphills where overheating should be the norm. Tanner lost feeling in his feet. An unfortunate lifelong struggle increased by past frostbite events. No peak or adventure is worth losing toes over. He had to turn around. Separating the group at 16k was difficult. To this point we were a team. A team that did everything together. But it was the smart move. Tim and I pushed on.
Tim and I wouldn’t have called ourselves acclimated. Above 18k, we were hurting. 20 steps, catch your breath. 20 more, catch it again. Not catching our breath because our legs were tired. But to rest our brains. The headaches were real. But we went slow and rallied each other. It was an awesome team effort. Tim reminded us “we need to think about our “why”.” It helped tremendously. Hours later we stood on the top of North America. Falling onto the summit marker in pure happiness and exhaustion, tears came to our eyes. It was windy and cold. We still had a lot of work to get down so we savored our 10 minutes alone on the summit together and began the descent.
We paused at 17k camp to rest, refuel, and boil water. Plus I had to poop. Which means carrying it down in a biodegradable bag to throw in our poop can at 14k or the dedicated “poop crevasse”. This was a low point mentally for the day. We were tired, dehydrated, and hungry plus our heads still somewhat hurt and we had 3k left to descend. Plus I had poop in my backpack.
But suddenly our buddies Andy, Caleb, and Dan came to rescue! We met these Anchorage based chillers at 14k and currently they were at 17k to camp and attempt the summit the next day. They saw us and offered powdered apple cider and coffee plus chocolate and frozen butter. It was amazing. They turned what would have been a slog down to camp into an enjoyable, energetic down climb.
Summit Push 2 - Arriving back to camp after the summit, Tim and I were ready for rest and Tanner was ready to climb. So the next day Tanner and I bumped our way to 17k. Sleeping there a night would let us better acclimate. Plus it would offer us a shorter summit push so we could sleep in and move during warmer temperatures.
To say we were better acclimated after that night is an understatement. The following day Tanner and I cruised to the summit feeling barely more than a little winded. It was magical. The highlight was almost no wind on top plus no other parties. On the top of North America where exposed skin can often frostbite terrifyingly fast, Tanner and I could comfortably stand without gloves, buff, parka, or a hat.
Rad made it up on both summit days as well. We miss and love you so much buddy.
Tanner and I cruised back to Tim at 14k that day. We were ready to rest, get warm, and chill. But also celebrate. We had a 100% team success rate for the summit. Remember Caleb, Dan, and Andy? They were back at 14k sharing the same success rate. Only they knew how to celebrate way better than us.
Along with their own gear and food for three weeks, our Anchorage brothers carried some alcohol and 200 extra pounds of a portable, wood-fired sauna. You read that right. Tanner and I tromped into camp to see three dudes in their underwear slide out of a mini-tent steaming. Tim had happily joined them in celebration all day. We all joined for a late night sauna session or two while others at 14k camp sat cold and bundled in parkas. It was heaven on a glacier and the last place I ever thought I’d sauna.
June 1st. Our final day on the mountain. It felt weird to break down camp at 14k. Destroying our igloo-like snow walls, we loaded sleds for the first time in several days. Oh crap, here we go again with the sleds. We said goodbye to any of our international friends still there as well as several American crews nearby.
Dalton and Gabe were two rad college students in Fairbanks that we hope to run into again. Our boys from Anchorage luckily left the same day so we figured we’d catch them at basecamp. The same terrain that took us 3-4 days to climb up would take only 7 hours to descend on skis. Though the first several were frustrating as we learned the technique and art form of skiing downhill all three sleds and people roped together.
Cresting the final hill to basecamp a worry struck. Caleb, Dan, and Andy arrived several hours before us and possibly in time to catch a plane out that evening. Would we miss one last night with our sauna-addicted homies? I gained first views of camp. Peering amongst the skittle-colored array of North Face, Black Diamond, and Marmot tents, I saw in the back corner a familiar small red cube. Wood smoke billowed out the side and it could only mean one thing.
“MOBIBA!!” I screamed across the camp. Mobiba is the sauna manufacturer and team-name of course for the Alaskans. Caleb looked across at the three of us and responded “TETON TICKLERS!” Nearby climbers gazed on with confusion as our two groups hustled to each other exchanging hugs and stoke that we all made it safely. The Mobiba crew even had beers that had sat cached underneath snow at basecamp their entire trip.
Little did we know as we skinned into camp, our Mobiba friends had been meeting and chatting with an instagram-famous skier/model. As nice as she was, she was clearly used to attention and enjoyed it.
Now we Teton Ticklers are nothing special at all. Just three random dudes that like mountains. Yet our connection with Mobiba left them disregarding her to turn to us to yell, laugh, hangout and tell stories. She was left likely confused on who the crap we were and why she no longer got the attention. It was low-key pretty hilarious. We all bring a different vibe, energy, and approach to the mountain environment. We’ll just leave it at her vibe didn’t exactly align with our own.
I think we are allowed to call the trip a day hike. Though it took 11 revolutions around the sun, the sun never fully set. So the whole trip was made in the “day”.
The following morning Talkeetna Air Taxi flew us off the mountain. After seeing three helicopter rescues during the trip, multiple frostbite cases, and several groups bailing due to poor acclimation, we felt fortunate to leave with nothing more than some goggle tans.
Back in Anchorage it was joyous. We gorged ourselves, kicked it with Mobiba, and called loved ones. Back in the lower 48 it was also joyous. We reunited with friends, washed smelly clothes, and finally took a shower.
But it took me several days to readjust fully. I knew this would happen as it happens on most big adventures. Even 1-2 day epics such as the big walls with my brother this spring.
I think it stems from two things. One, these trips are so emotionally charged and I run on such a high that it’s difficult to recall what day-to-day life should feel like. I want that high all the time. Hence the name of this blog and purpose of the year.
Second, I love when life is simple. I understand the gear, techniques, etc. required on these missions may not seem simple. But at the core what matters on these trips is really just food, water, and shelter. There are no distractions from phones, news alerts, emails and the like. You just survive and have fun. I agree we can’t do that forever because it wouldn’t really benefit society. Plus we have to work. But simplicity is what I cherish during these missions.
On Denali my stresses didn’t grow far from “where are the crevasses?” and “do I have enough hot chocolate packets left for tonight?”. Simple is great. That said, it is so nice to be home. I missed everyone a ton. But if I seemed off the first couple days it was simply my readjusting phase. And I’ll likely have a lot more as I continue chasing these momentary highs.
Thanks Denali. That was truly epic. And we’ll likely be back very soon.
