Characterizing the Effect of Elevation on Climate Records in Denali National Park, Alaska

A Research Grant Report

by: Inga Kindstedt, PhD Student in Earth and Climate Sciences (University of Maine); Liam Kirkpatrick, Dartmouth College '22, PhD Student in Earth and Space Science (University of Washington) 

*This report has been lightly edited for clarity

Our field camp on the summit plateau of Begguya (13,000 ft). Photo credit: Emma Erwin.

The American Alpine Club supports scientific endeavors in mountains and crags around the world through our Research Grants. Landscapes and ecosystems are a vital part of climbing. We believe in the importance of funding projects that enrich our understanding of these places, contribute vital knowledge to the management of climbing environments, and improve the health and sustainability of the climbing community.

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Definitions:

• Ice cores are cylinders of ice drilled from ice sheets or glaciers that are essentially frozen time capsules that scientists can use to reconstruct climate far into the past.
• Firn is snow at least one year old that has survived one melt season without becoming glacial ice.
• Isotopes are used to measure past climate properties

Ten miles south of North America's highest peak lies Begguya (Mt. Hunter), or "Denali's Child" in the Dena'ina language. To climbers, Begguya is known for its extremely committing and technical routes; only a handful of teams attempt it each season, compared to the hundreds on Denali. To our team of four researchers, Begguya is also known as the site where researchers recovered two surface-to-bedrock ice cores* in 2013.

The 2013 Begguya cores likely contain at least ten thousand years of the region's climate history, including records of snow accumulation, wildfire, and atmospheric pollution. Still, the interpretation of chemical signals in the ice can be challenging. This information is also supplemented by a firn* core recovered on the mountain's summit plateau in 2019.

Drilling and processing firn cores on the plateau. Photo credit: Emma Erwin.

In May of 2022, our team traveled to the Alaska Range with dual purposes: 1) to recover surface snow samples covering a span of elevations and 2) to recover another firn core from the Begguya summit plateau. We spent the first leg of our season on Denali's West Buttress, ascending to 11,200 ft. On the way, we collected surface snow samples for isotope* analysis. Our goal with these samples was to examine the relationship between elevation and the isotope signal recorded in the snowpack, thereby providing regional context for the isotope signal measured in the Begguya cores.

The climb also allowed us to acclimate before being transported via helicopter to the Begguya summit plateau (13,000 ft), where we spent the remaining two to three weeks of our season. Our objective on the plateau was to recover two 18m firn cores containing a climate record from the past several years, bringing the existing record to the present and allowing us to assess the impact of COVID-19 on atmospheric pollution recorded in the ice. 

Liam’s graduation day on the plateau. Photo credit: Emma Erwin.

During our time in the field, we successfully recovered both surface snow samples on the West Buttress and two firn cores on the plateau. We returned one core intact frozen to Dartmouth College for analysis and sampled the other in the field to transport back melted in vials. It was a remarkably successful field season—we even celebrated Liam's graduation from Dartmouth on the plateau! 

The Dartmouth Ice, Climate, and Environment Lab melted the intact core months after our return from the field. Some measurements (e.g., electrical conductivity, dust) were available in real-time as the ice melted. Both electrical conductivity and dust show distinct seasonal cycles, helping us develop a depth-age scale for the core. However, most of the meltwater was collected in vials, which have been sent to labs across the country to measure a wide range of chemical proxies.

We look forward to receiving back a variety of measurements, which will address topics ranging from pollution levels and sources to wildfire activity to plankton productivity in the North Pacific. 

Learn more about the impact of this research here. 

-Inga Kindstedt

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Our fieldwork was conducted on the native lands of the Dena'ina peoples under a Denali National Park permit. It would not have been possible without the support of Denali National Park Rangers and Talkeetna Air Taxi. In addition to the financial support provided by the American Alpine Club, funding for this project was provided by the Sturgis Exploration Fund, the University of Maine Graduate Student Government, Maine Space Grants, the Dartmouth Outing Club, the John Sloan Dickey Center for International Understanding, and NOLS. 

Journey to Mount Ritter: A Story From the Live Your Dream Grant

Provided by: Erik Hamilton

"Throw the damn axe!" I beckoned Alanna as the once infrangible glacial ice deteriorated into slush, quickly becoming a four-inch-deep, wet avalanche under our twelve-point crampons. As the seconds ticked by and dawn grew near, the conditions were growing perilously unfavorable. That morning on the southeast face of Mount Ritter, at 10,600 feet, it took every ounce of practice, patience, and know-how to retreat safely down the mountain."

After receiving the Live Your Dream Grant, Erik Hamilton and his partner Alanna set off on a journey traveling from the forested mountains of the East Coast to the majestic Sierra Nevada’s of California, intent on climbing Mount Ritter. Hamilton reflects on the meditative nature of being in the mountains and what he truly finds important while traveling through the Western United States.

Come along for a scenic ride of Mount Ritter, by reading the story below…

The Live Your Dream Grant is Powered By:

Four New Routes on Baffin Island, Canada

Noah Besen Climbing. Photo by James Klemmensen.

A Story from the 2023 Cutting Edge Grant

By: Sierra McGivney

Noah Besen didn't expect to find the Atlantic Ocean frozen in the middle of July outside of Qikiqtarjuaq, a hamlet on Broughton Island, in the Nunavut territory of Canada, off the coast of Baffin Island.

Billy Arnaquq, a local outfitter and guide, remarked, that there was a lot more sea ice than normal for this time of year. The plan had been to kayak to Coronation Glacier, about 75 or 80 kilometers from town, and then hike up and into the glacier. From there, they would attempt to ascend granite walls accessible from the glacier. Besen and the rest of the team, James Klemmensen, Shira Biner, and Amanda Bischke, wanted the expedition to be as human-powered as possible, but there were apparent limitations. They couldn't unfreeze the ocean…And they had about 1,000 pounds of gear. 

About 20 kilometers south of town, the ice was beginning to break up, so the trip was still very much within reach. Arnaquq snowmobiled them out with a big load of their gear to the southern limit, where they stashed their equipment on a little island. They wanted to start the expedition with a human-powered effort, even if it meant changing their original plan. He snowmobiled them back, and they began their journey, walking across the sun-pocketed ice with day packs back to their stashed gear, seals and icebergs lining the way. 

“That was the first big crux,” said Besen. 

Noah Besen in the front and Shira Biner in the back of the boat. Photos by James Klemmensen.

Once on the island, they decided to wait out the ice breakup, thinking it would only take a couple of days. A week passed, so they took matters into their own hands and planned a “staged gear shuttle.” The 24-hour sun poured over them as they dragged their gear to the ice's edge. Dry suits on and boats packed, they individually heaved their boats until the ice cracked and they plopped in. Four days later, they saw the Coronation Glacier flowing into the ocean.

Ten kilometers up the Coronation Glacier, they made their basecamp, where the glacier splits into two forks, surrounded by huge rock cliffs. They would stay on the glacier for 20 days. Now, the climbing would begin.

The team spent days on the glacier with binoculars in hand, scouting out different possible rock climbs and sometimes hiking for hours to get a better angle on certain features. Klemmensen and Besen found a route near their base camp and “just went for it.” 

“We brought enough stuff that we're like—if it doesn't make sense, we have what we need to … just epic back down,” said Besen. 

Twenty hours of climbing on multicolored alpine granite later, the two put up a new route, Salami Exchange Commission (800m, V 5.10). They slept on the top of the wall and spent the next day returning to base camp. 

Photo by James Klemmensen.

Blank chossy walls near camp stymied Bischke and Biner, so they decided to venture to another section of the glacier. Four thousand-foot walls loomed over them as they searched for a choss-free wall to climb. A lower feature snagged their attention. Psyched, they put up a new route, The Big G (350m, III 5.8 ).  

Storm clouds gathered, and rain descended on the team, staying for a week. The days drizzled by. Once the week was up, the rain cleared, and the walls dried. Besen and Klemmensen started another epic.

From far away, Escape from Azkaban looked heinous; blocky rocks and blank faces seemed to greet the two, but once up closer, perfect splitter cracks formed the route. The route was 650 meters and had the most challenging climbing on the trip, with the grade of IV 5.10+.

“It proved to be the best alpine rock I've ever climbed in my whole life,” said Besen. 

The journey back was the inspiration for the name. After topping out, they descended an easier-looking route involving some scrambling. They popped out on a side glacier that connected to the main Coronation Glacier that their base camp was on. Glaciers are constantly moving, creating, and ever-changing. This side glacier had carved out a canyon with raging river rapids, between 60 and 70 feet deep, completely impassable.

At three in the morning, the two ate the last food, mulling over their unfortunate circumstances. The sun hovered on the horizon—all hours normally considered night appearing like sunset—allowing endless daylight hours for their epics. They journeyed around the river and onto a boulder field with water running underneath it. 

“The name came from us feeling trapped and needing to escape,” said Besen. 

Photo by James Klemmensen.

Bischke, Biner and Besen attempted another route, but unfortunately, had to bail. The rock had become very loose, so they decided to put in a couple of bolts and abandon the project. After returning, both groups finished the trip together on one last attempt.

Cerulean water pooled on the sides of the glacier, forming deep, bottomless basins in between the bedrock and the glacier. Besen, Bischke, Biner, and Klemmensen stared down at the water, the rock on the other side just out of reach, but they started to get to work. Besen had brought his dry suit on the glacier in case they might have to ford a raging river. They constructed an anchor using ice screws and lowered Besen into the water. 

“I didn't have to swim that much. I got into about my chest, and I was able to lean, reach, and scurry up,” said Besen. 

From there, they built a Tyrolean traverse and shuttled across and soon found themselves at the base of a cliff. The crux of their climb brought them to a steep hand crack. They topped out farther from the ocean than their previous climbs, seeing the Penny Ice Cap stretch across the expanse. They called the climb Raise the Drawbridge (400m, III 5.10-).

They rappeled down in the dark; it was the first time Besen had experienced true night the whole trip. The season was changing. Their journey was coming to an end but was not over yet.

Photo by James Klemmensen.

By the time they reached the rock that bordered the glacier, the sun began to rise. They still had one more crux: the glacial basins. Crossing back onto the glacier, the ice was tilted upwards, forcing Besen and the team to climb out of the water. Besen had only brought Crocs with him besides his mountaineering boots. There was only one real solution. Besen donned his Crocs, fitting his crampons to them, and shimmied up the other side. He set up a zipline for the others to come down. 

They strolled into basecamp, the glacial ice gleaming, and watched an unbelievable sunrise.

“It was a beautiful moment, too, because we all had this awesome success on this route together,” said Besen. 

The way back was quiet save for laborious gear shuttles and near encounters with polar bears. Big polar bear footprints were left in the sand at their camp near Qikiqtarjuaq. Luckily, Arnaquq had spotted the polar bear 300 meters from their camp and warned them to go uphill. Nothing was destroyed or taken, just a clear path the bear had taken through camp. Once they made it to Qikiqtarjuaq, the group camped and waited out their delayed flights. 

From right to left Noah Besen, Shira Biner, Amanda Bischke. Photo by James Klemmensen.

“For a lot of climbers, us included, Baffin Island has taken on this sort of mythical sense,” said Besen. 

Recent films featuring climbing adventures on Baffin Island, like Sean Villanueva O'Driscoll’s Asgard Jamming and Dodo‘s Delight, inspired the group. After Googling, they stumbled upon a painting by the late Corey Trepanier of the Coronation Glacier. They studied his reference photo, noting the large granite walls surrounding the mass of ice. From there, the idea of this trip started to take form. 

There is still so much potential for exploration on Baffin Island. “This area is really special. I think that more teams or even stronger teams—because we're not pro athletes by any stretch—should go and check it out because we didn't even do the biggest, craziest things at all. There's a lot more to be done,” said Besen.

If you have a cutting edge idea, apply to the Cutting Edge grant today! 

New Route on The Northeast Face of Pik Alpinist, Kyrgyzstan

Photo by Jared Vilhauer.

A Story from the 2023 Cutting Edge Grant Recipients

By: Sierra McGivney

Dane Steadman (25), Jared Vilhauer (42), and Seth Timpano (41) traveled to the Western Kokshaal-Too in the Tien Shan Mountains of Kyrgyzstan in September 2023, powered by the American Alpine Club's Cutting Edge Grant to attempt three possible objectives. 

Vilhauer and Timpano had known each other since 2010, when they met in Antarctica. The two had climbed quite a bit together: two trips to Alaska, two trips to India, and a lot of ice climbing over the years. The trip was originally just the two of them, but they decided to bring on Steadman to have three people on the trip.

"He's young and keen, and Jared and I are in our 40s, and it's always good to have some younger energy there just to keep it going," said Timpano. 

Each brought something to the team: Timpano has a lot of experience at altitude and climbing steep ice, Jared is an ultrarunner, and Dane is the strongest mixed climber. Each climber had their own strengths, making a well-rounded team. As summer faded into falling leaves and cooler temperatures, they were soon headed for Kyrgyzstan. 

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In Seth's Words:

Photo by Jared Vilhauer.

We chose this timeframe based on two factors: 

1) The temperatures are significantly cooler than mid-summer and, therefore, better for ice climbing objectives.

2) The weather seems more stable with less afternoon convective build-up and precipitation. 

However, when winter does come early to the Tien Shan, it can make travel into and out of the region challenging, and most people said we should be out of there before October.  

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The East Face of Pik Alpinist was a pipe dream, the least likely of the three objectives they had set their sights on. The photos used for their trip planning showed that the ice up the face of Pik Alpinist was not continuous. The trip as a whole was nebulous, an idea dependent on exploration. They didn't know what they would face until they were in Kyrgyzstan. 

After a week of travel— flying halfway across the world, then driving over bumpy roads deep in the Tien Shen Mountains—the three stood looking at Pik Alpinist. They got excited. Unexpectedly, the ice was in. The other two objectives were explored but were not viable for this season. They would attempt to climb Pik Alpinist. 

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In Seth's Words:

After ten days of acclimating and window shopping for different objectives, we set our sights on an elegant and sustained ice line on the Northeast Face of Pik Alpinist (5482m). Given the steep ice climbing on the route, we determined our best strategy was to attempt the route without carrying bivy gear. We left our bivy at the base of the wall at 3 a.m. and crossed the bergschrund (the terminal crevasse), or 'schrund, shortly after that. Using 70m ropes, we made 16 pitches, many of which required 10+m of simul-climbing through difficulties up to AI4 on the steeper pitches and 60+m of simul-climbing on the lower angle sections. 

Dane in the red puffy. Photo by Seth Timpano.

Dane in the Yellow; Olan's musk (our mascot) is the name of the marco polo sheep horns. Photo by Seth Timpano

Jared climbing below. Photo by Dane Steadman.

Dane in the yellow jacket, Seth in the blue jacket. Photo by Jared Vilhauer.

Photo by Seth Timpano.

Photo by Jared Vilhauer.

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"[It] was some of the best ice I've ever climbed in the big mountains," said Timpano.

Seth in the blue with white pack. Photo by Dane Steadman.

This was due to the freeze-melt cycle that mimics waterfall ice. The ice was similar to what a climber would find in Montana, Wyoming, or Colorado, sticky and good enough quality for V-threads. However, the rock–compact limestone—proved hard to protect. The crack systems in the wall were brittle and shattered, so they mainly relied on ice anchors. 

As the team ascended, pulling past the mixed crux, the sun began to descend, illuminating the Taklamakan Desert, one of the harshest deserts in the world. All of the days put in planning, scouting, trekking, and traveling for two days of climbing—for this—were coming to a head. They knew they were in for a long night, but the summit was within reach. 

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In Seth's Words:

Dane with the red backpack. Photo by Jared Vilhauer.

We gained the summit ridge at 8:15 p.m. and stood on the summit in the dark at 8:30 p.m. on September 24. We simul-climbed down the upper part of the route and then made 18 rappels using our 70m ropes on mostly V-thread anchors. The limestone rock was particularly compact and made rock anchors challenging, both on the way up and down. However, we did leave a few stoppers and piton anchors when the ice was too thin or nonexistent for safe ice anchors. We crossed the 'schrund 26 hours later, making for a 27-hour round trip time on this objective.

Alpine climbing is inherently tricky to grade due to the number of factors that can affect the perceived difficulties (acclimation, health, weather, etc.). Nonetheless, we are calling our new route Trophy Hunt (AI5+, M5, 1100m 'schrund to summit height).

Generally, we found good weather and cold enough temperatures for most objectives, except for those facing due south. We snuck out just before a winter storm covered the roads in snow on September 30.

Finally, we would like to thank the American Alpine Club for supporting this expedition through a Cutting Edge Grant.

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"I've received a handful of these over the years, and it's an honor to get it, but it also makes it possible for us, non-sponsored climbers, to do a rad trip," said Timpano.

This grant is made possible by Black Diamond. We encourage all climbers who are pursuing cutting edge ascents to apply for the Cutting Edge Grant, which is open from now until December 31, 2023.

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The American Alpine Club Announces 2022 Cutting Edge Grant Recipients

PC: Priti Wright, K6 Central

March 2022

The American Alpine Club and Black Diamond Equipment are pleased to announce the 2022 Cutting Edge Grant recipients. The Cutting Edge Grant continues the Club's 100-year tradition and seeks to fund individuals planning expeditions to remote areas featuring unexplored mountain ranges, unclimbed peaks, difficult new routes, first free ascents, or similar world-class pursuits. Four recipients have been awarded a total of $37,000 for this cycle, with objectives featuring a low-impact style and leave-no-trace mentality being looked upon with favor. Black Diamond Equipment is a proud sponsor of the Cutting Edge Grant and a key partner in supporting cutting-edge alpinism.

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PC: JThompson

Chantel Astorga will receive a grant for $10,000 to attempt a new route on Lunag Ri (6,895m) in Nepal. Chantel, alongside Anne Gilbert Chase & Jason Thompson will hope to establish a new line on Lunag Ri in alpine style. Chantel recently grabbed the first female solo ascent of the Cassin Ridge in under 15 hours on Denali in 2021. Anne, Jason, and Chantel established a new route on the unclimbed SW Face, Mount Nilkantha (6,500m), India in 2017.

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Jerome Sullivan will receive a grant for $10,000 to attempt the first ascent of Pumari Chhish East (6,850m) in the Pakistani Karakoram. Pumari Chhish East is one of the major unclimbed technical summits of Karakoram. Located on the Hispar glacier, it presents three characteristic granite pillars and a 2,000m face. Jerome will attempt the climb alongside Martin Elias, Victor Saucede, and Jeremy Stagnetto. Recently the team climbed K13 west by the new route Harvest Moon. Jerome & Jeremy did the first ascent of the southeast ridge of Cerro Murallon (Patagonia) and the first ascent of Pyramid Peak in the Revelation Range (Alaska).

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Alan Rousseau will receive $10,000 to attempt an alpine style ascent of the North Face of Jannu (7,710m) in Nepal. Given its aspect, elevation, and sheer scale (3,200 vertical meters), Jannu is considered one of the most complex alpine objectives in the world. The upper north face headwall has yet to see an alpine style ascent. Jackson Marvell will join Alan on this attempt. Jackson & Alan climbed a new route on the east face of Mount Dickey Ruth Gorge Grinder (1,600m, M7, AI6+) and repeated Trailer Park on London Tower (3,000' WI6, M6), both located in the Ruth Gorge of the Alaska Range.

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Priti Wright will receive $7,000 to attempt a new route on K7 in the Pakistani Karakoram. Priti & Jeffrey Wright will attempt the unclimbed peak K7 Central (6,858m) by establishing an entirely new technical route in alpine style. During Priti and Jeff's first Karakoram expedition, they were successful in establishing the first ascent of K6 Central (7,155m) in 2020.

FA of K6 Central, Priti and Jeff Wright. PC: Jeff Wright.

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The American Alpine Club has inspired and supported cutting-edge climbing achievements for over 100 years. From funding the first ascent of Mt. Logan in 1925 and the exploration of the Karakoram in 1938 to the 2006 first ascent of Nanga Parbat's Rupal Face, and the countless expeditions in between, the AAC has stood to encourage climbers to push their physical and mental limits, supported their pursuits, and celebrated their accomplishments.

The Cutting Edge Grant continues this tradition, aiming to fund advanced climbing athletes in pursuit of world-class climbing and mountaineering objectives.

The Cutting Edge Grant is sponsored by Black Diamond Equipment, whose equipment has helped climbers and alpinists to reach their summits for decades. Black Diamond Equipment is an integral partner in supporting climbers of all abilities and disciplines, with a long history of supporting climbers and their dreams through grants like the Cutting Edge Grant.

Applications for the Cutting Edge Grant are accepted each year from October 1 through November 30.

Contact:

Shane Johnson, Chief Marketing Officer: [email protected]
Eddie Espinosa, Community Programs Director: [email protected]

About American Alpine Club

The American Alpine Club is a 501(c)(3) charitable organization whose vision is a united community of competent climbers and healthy climbing landscapes. Together with our members, the AAC advocates for American climbers domestically and around the world; provides grants and volunteer opportunities to protect and conserve the places we climb; hosts local and national climbing festivals and events; publishes two of the world's most sought-after climbing annuals, the American Alpine Journal and Accidents in North American Climbing; cares for the world's leading climbing library and country's leading mountaineering museum; manages the Hueco Rock Ranch, New River Gorge Campground, Samuel F. Pryor Shawangunk Gateway Campground, and Grand Teton Climbers' Ranch as part of a larger lodging network for climbers; and annually gives $100,000+ toward climbing, conservation, and research grants that fund adventurers who travel the world. Learn about additional programs and become a member
at americanalpineclub.org.

A Trip To Remember: A Story From the Catalyst Grant

Adapted from the 2021 trip report written by Adrien Costa.

The Catalyst Grant awards funds to individuals and teams who face barriers in accessing the climbing community and identify with an underrepresented group.

I free-wheeled down the tree-lined road, shaking out the legs that had just taken me up and over Tioga Pass from Lee Vining on yet another 5+ hour training ride. Up high, much higher than the tallest pines, loomed the world’s most famous granite wall. And up on El Cap, one could make out tiny dots stubbornly inching their way up, giving massive scale to the wall. At night, the dots turned into a constellation of stars, almost indistinguishable from the night sky. How I longed to be one of those dots, to feel the air and the wind below my feet, to see the trees in the meadow below as little crowns of broccoli, to have no concerns more pressing than scaling this cliff. But I had other things to do with my life. It was only 2014. My dream of becoming a professional road cyclist was turning closer to reality every day. All I had to do was keep pedaling. This improbable, half-insane climbing desire could find a resting place, for now, in the deepest corners of my brain.  

Seven years later, I whipped my truck into the small pullout below the boulder and scree field leading up to El Cap’s shorter, but ridiculously steep, southeast face. The clock reads 4:46 AM. I step out and stand on one leg of bone and flesh, the other of metal and hydraulics. I am no longer a professional road cyclist. I no longer have two legs. Looking up at the dark  outline of El Cap, I wonder whose life I am now living. I sure as hell never expected mine to look like this.  

Adrien on a previous climbing adventure.

The universe has this rather bothersome tendency to remind us that the only constant is  change, the only sure thing is that nothing is certain. I learned this the hard way. Us humans fight this, often subconsciously. We try to fight change by controlling everything we can, including our accomplishments and our material possessions. It can quickly become dangerously difficult to parse the imagined from the real, the tangible from the illusion.

I felt that I needed an adventure to shake myself out of the daze of daily life I found myself trapped in. I wanted to see if I could find a sliver of peace or wisdom up there. But I mostly just wanted to simplify my existence. It would be just me, my gear, and this rock. No illusions. Only, as I was about to find out, a whole lot of work.  

Climbing a full-length, Grade VI route on El Capitan, by myself, was my big goal for the second half of my rock climbing season. I see and feel, on a daily basis, how much assumption goes on in the climbing world around ability and disability. I wanted to shatter this paradigm; to prove that, with the right support, anybody can accomplish anything they put their heart and soul into. I wanted this climb to be a call for much-needed inclusion and open-mindedness in our climbing community.  

For me personally, this climb represented a big stepping-stone in my climbing, moving towards more committing, more involved multi-day objectives as I seek to continue developing myself as a versatile climber, comfortable in all media.  

Zodiac, Adrien’s original plan, was too wet.

I finished shuttling my two loads to the base just as the sun was rising. My original plan was to climb Zodiac (C3), a 16-pitch route of moderate, clean aid that has frequently been referred to as a good introduction to “real aid” on El Cap. But a recent storm had soaked the first few pitches of the route, and I didn’t want to start a 4-day odyssey soaking wet. Luckily, I had a topo and gear for the nearby Tangerine Trip (5.9 C3+), which appeared steep enough to be completely dry. Between its consistent overhang, a huge traverse on the fifth pitch, and the fact that this route sees a bit less traffic than Zodiac, it was all starting to feel much more committing, and exciting, than my original plan.

I decided to start the trip via the first pitch of Lost in America, shown as “C3F Bad Fall” in the  topo, which proved to be one of the cruxes of the route. I built my first anchor, cloved off a couple pieces low, and started up the pitch. My last piece of good protection was only 20 feet off the ground was well aware that blowing any piece on this first pitch could result in a ground fall. Very gingerly I inched my way up, breathing a huge sigh of relief upon regaining moderate terrain. I looked at my phone and realized that close to two hours had gone by. The next couple leads took some time as I got back in the rhythm of “real” aid climbing. I got my ropes fixed to the top of pitch 4, and having found a small ledge system below, decided to bivy there. It was a bit demoralizing to be just a couple hundred feet off the ground after a very long  day of work, but I set my alarm for early and tried to enjoy the opportunity to rest.  

The next morning, I broke down the portaledge, sipped my coffee, pooped in a homemade WAG bag, and jugged and hauled to my high point. Here, I finally joined Tangerine Trip proper for the committing 160-foot leftward traverse pitch. The lead was fine, albeit long, but rapping the lead line, and then cleaning the pitch, was as demanding as leading itself. The next couple pitches went well, but still slower than I would’ve liked.  

I forced down some plain ramen for dinner, and was stoked to be able to hang my prosthetic leg with me inside my small portaledge’s fly to charge its battery for the night. This is something I have to keep tabs on during any overnight adventure, and is something I have paid the cost of being complacent with.  

By the end of the following day, I was really starting to feel the stress simmering. A stuck tag line had cost me a lot of time and mental energy earlier in the day. I was also running out of water and knew I needed to top out the next day. But in order to do this, I’d need to fix one more pitch in the dark. The issue was that my headlamp was running out of juice, and my spare batteries were already dead. The stress and pressure was compounding. I had to act.

So I set off, keeping my headlamp as dim as possible, and hoping I wouldn’t get led astray. I tried to climb as efficiently as possible. It turns out that this pitch is also the route’s chossiest. It’s hard to believe there could be any loose rock up there, but I found it in spades as I quested upwards, always upwards, into the dark.  

This was by far the mental crux of the climb. I felt so alone, so vulnerable, so close yet so far from the top, with very little margin for error. I cannot describe the relief that swept through my body once I could faintly make out the line of bolts of the anchor.  

I tucked into my sleeping bag just before midnight, but was stoked on a good day of work, and confident that I’d be standing on top the next day.  

I definitely had not anticipated the nonstop focus that I had to endure for four days straight. It wore me down, but by the last day I found a good rhythm, and started letting my body move on autopilot through the steps. Stack haul line. Stack tag line. Set up lead anchor. Select gear for pitch. Put on GriGri and Microtrax. Climb the pitch. Tag up anchor and haul kit. Fix lead and haul lines. Rap the pitch. Release the bags. Clean the anchor. Jug and clean the pitch. Haul. And repeat. And repeat. And repeat.

While free-climbing on the last couple pitches, I finally let myself have dreams of pizza.  Touching the tree on top was surreal, and walking felt foreign, but more pressing at that moment were water, food, and figuring out how to get my 100+ lbs of gear, sprawled into various growing piles, off the mountain in one load.  

What ensued was hell. With my haulbag on my back, a light backpack on my chest, a trekking pole in one hand and my portaledge in another, I stumbled and yardsaled my way down the East Ledges descent. I broke my prosthetic foot on the descent—under so much weight, the carbon fiber splintered from nothing more than a little trip. I could still walk (or hobble), but I could hear the fibers crackling with every step.  

Four hours after leaving the tree on top, I walked in disbelief into the El Cap picnic area. The Trip was complete. 

Looking back, I realize that aid soloing is a lot like pressing the fast-forward button on life. Every minute action, every decision you make has consequences that are felt, and must be dealt with, without delay. And these consequences range from a minor inconvenience, and time wasted, to time not really existing anymore for you. The constant low grade stress for days on end was exhausting, and yet there was no room for fear, nor any time to sit back. Only action could push my ropes further up the wall. Perhaps this is indeed an apt metaphor for life.  

I have also come to realize that we have no option but to embrace change and make the most of the circumstances we are presented with. Life has taken me in directions I could never have envisioned as that fresh-faced boy riding his bike through the Valley. But by adapting and trusting the process, I was able to become, for a short little while, one of those tiny dots on that big, big wall.  

A Note of Thanks:

To see the AAC come out with the Catalyst Grant, promoting inclusion and diversity in a sport which needs it so desperately, was incredibly meaningful and motivating. I deeply value what results when we invite more diverse folks into our community. When we do, we strengthen and deepen the human connections we share while recreating in the natural world we all love.  

And I can honestly say that the folks at High-Fives Foundation are changing lives. Their work greatly decreases the barriers to adaptive athletes’ participation in our favorite outdoor sports. Having worked in the adaptive sports world, I cannot overstate the importance of the sense of agency, independence, and community that sport can bring an individual, and how these experiences can transform the course of someone’s life. Rock on!

From Ocean to Peak: A Story from the Live Your Dream Grant

Sinclair is a dramatic, 6,800-ft granite peak rising above the Lynn Canal, across the water from Haines, AK. Reaching the top involves kayaking across the canal, landing on the beach by Yaldagalga Creek, bushwhacking to the back of the valley, and scrambling to the ridge where the technical climbing begins.

In this exhibit, Ceri Godinez shares the story of her ascent of Sinclair through the Live Your Dream Grant. The epic pictures will have you begging to climb it yourself.

The Live Your Dream Grant is powered by The North Face.

All the Sweeter: A Story from the Jones Backcountry Adventure Grant

A misty morning bike ride to camp. The remains of an earlier avalanche to keep you on your toes. The whisper of a rogue bear roaming the Park...

Backcountry snowboarding in Glacier National Park never felt so good.

In 2018, amateur splitboarders Jaimie Vincent and team members Kaitlyn, Bryant, and Amanda were able to tour Glacier National Park (GNP) via bike and splitboard, thanks to the Jones Live Like Liz Award. Explore epic images and a thoughtful retelling of their adventure below.

*This story is best told with the help of vibrant and dynamic photography. Dive into this Spark Exhibit to see these photos come alive alongside this story.