More Neacola Photos

Mount Chakachamna at the Head of the Glacier

("C" on the map)

It snowed about 3 feet the 1st 48 hours we were there. This made for very unstable conditions especially on North facing aspects. Fortunately East and South set up much better.

In the Snowcave / Kitchen / Bar

Let's see some of those Ruby Mountain shots!

- Ezra Lieberman

Neacola Photos

It's time to start getting more Neacola photos up in here, up in here. I'll try to get a few up every couple of days.

A 41° skinner: notice how we all spread out and practice safe travel

"Superior in the Sky" Not for me, but Tom & Stefan got it

Check out the bergshrund (10-20') followed by about 8 crevices

The view from the Beaver

The weather forecast looks good up here for the long weekend. I'll be sending it all over South Central AK and fishing for King Salmon betweens beers.

- Colonel Dax

Mid-Atlantic Update

Just got back from sussing out Maryland. Looks epic. These must be the same mountains they road-tripped to in "The Deer Hunter."

- Nick Chevotarevich

KNEE-B DEEP ON NEEB-O

^Leaving AltA, at 630 am alpenglow was off the charts

Mt. Nebo stands at 11.928, the highest peak in the Wasatch Range. Accessible from Mona, UT, majestic Mt. Nebo is a true gem. You approach via 4×4 road which you drive to the snow line. The climb is big 5-6,000 feet, so what better time to start hiking than 10am. The weather called for cloudy conditions so we were banking on that to aid our ascent and safe ski decent. We got our hands on a truck, with one kicker, it had summer tires. We made it up the steep 4×4 road then got shut down at the first inch of snow. We parked having no idea how far away from Nebo we were. We packed up our gear and expected the worst, potentially a massive approach on a muddy road. We walked for about 10 minutes and realized there was alot of snow on the road at this point. We put our skins on and our hopes blossomed.

^Jake starts skiing up the slide path we stayed next to to gain the upper ridgeline

^grandaddy of slide paths

^epic scenery made a long hike easy

^will split boarding up the never ending wooded ridgeline

We arrived at the base of the slide path we followed to the ridge line. We were in this gully for about 5 minutes then headed for the glade on the side of the path. This path is massive. It went from really hot, to cloudy and chilly. Head down, skinning through the woods, can create an incredible rate of time passage. Before I knew it we could see the top of the slide path where it met the ridge. Here again the sun came out for 2 minutes, and that was enough to send tons of roller balls down on us. We were discussing dropping in and getting out of there and yet again the clouds came in thick and it started to snow.


^the couloirs show themselves, we ended up skiing the left one


^summit ridgeline

We stopped for a snack and to put some layers on, it went from 70 degrees with the sun out to about 25 and snowing. The snow let up, and it looked like it was going to clear. This was amazing because we had clear travels nearly all the way to the summit. We were able to take in the ridiculous surroundings we got ourselves into. I set a traverse across a massive hanging snowfield that I would have never put in if it wasn’t mid may and 8 inches under the new snow was a fat layer of impenetrable hard pack and rocks. This traverse allowed us to gain the summit ridge line.

^view towards mt nebos summit

^the couloir we ended up skiing, skinning by it on the way to the summit i was able to get this photo before it went to white out. We are officially renaming this couloir "hair raiser couloir" the northwest couloirs are too boring.

About 6 hours it took us to summit. Here is where the epic adventure gets insane. Jake and I are on the peak, total whiteout blizzard. I snapped this summit photo, and thought I heard the sound of my water bottle pressurizing. Like a crackling plastic sound. I could also hear the noise coming from my jacket, my backpack, and my ski poles planted in the ground were also making that noise. I pushed them over, and they stopped. I had no idea what it was but wrote it off as being dehydrated and exhausted. This is while Jake is yelling into the whiteout for will who was a few minutes behind. I heard Jake holler “Will get up here, we are on the top”. Will replied, Jake thought he said “I couldn’t see” Jake says something along the lines of “yea none of us can see, get up here” Will yelled again at us ELECTRICITY! Just as Jake turned around and dropped to the ground I felt the air go massively thick, I could have cut the air with my skis, it was even hard to move. Then the skin on the back of my neck felt like someone was picking me up by my neck and we both dove off the peak into the abyss. We had gotten charged for contact, I have read stories of people getting struck by lighning, and if you feel what we felt, it usually ends in a lightning strike. There was no flash, no thunder, no warning. It went from partly sunny to blizzard white out to electrical cloud in less than 5 minutes. We waited a few minutes off the summit, crawled back up and got our gear clicked in and slid down to the thinner, more eastern couloir, and dropped in. At this point the clicking stopped, all three of us got that feeling on our necks moments prior.

We regained composure running off mother natures electricity and our own adrenaline, we dropped in I made a few cautions cuts and let go of a few 8″ deep mini slabs, that disapeared into the void. Then I started skiing and it was heavenly. DEEP cream to blower. Skiing an unreal couloir in whiteout blizzard and its May 13th. We stuck close together so we didn’t lose sight of anyone. As we worked our way down the couloir snow rates were easily 2 inches an hour. One of the slabs we released, caused the chute to clean its self entirely. We could now confidently ski this thing. We skied the super soft debris, or dip to the side and get some turns in the blower. The clouds were lifting. The snow depth in the chute was shocking. We figured 20-30 inches of fresh cream. Never did we hit one patch of questionable snow.




^boyz hide in a safe zone for a break

^will sending

^buffalo sending

^mother nature sending intense snowfall

^buffalo nearing the apron

^boyz conquering something fierce, charged up from mother nature!

We got to the apron, and made endless powder turns all the way to the basin. The apron is massive on this thing. We all looked at each other at the bottom wondering all of that really just happened……. Incredible highs of summiting Mt. Nebo turned to possibly a near death experience, then turned into some of the most divine skiing any of us had ever encountered on any date let alone MAY 13TH. Still feeling mother nature’s charge (even today) we exited out down into the Vermont style slush woods. The whole all of the way back to the road, and the walk back down the road still wondering, did that really just happen?

Majestic Mt. Nebo in beautiful Mona, UT

Raina: May 8, 2010

The Chugach never gets tired of putting you in your place.  When you end up throwing rocks at your skis, something probably went wrong.

I got a wild hair up my ass, and finally decided to check out Falling Water Valley above Eagle River.  Despite some last minute calls, this was to be a solo mission.  New member, DBass, had spent some time up there last year and had the inside line.  Raina Peak, 6,795', has 2 NE couloirs to chose from.  DBass said the 2nd couloir was the route to the summit.

The trailhead is at 1,500' in a rapidly greening neighborhood.  One hour later, I was able to start skinning.  I followed the creek to the toe of the "glacier."  Five miles from the vehicle, I reached the bottom of the chute at the head of the valley.  The booter was straight-forward: 1,500', 37-40 degrees. I wish I had a Beattie.  Near the ridge, the cornice looked intimidating.  Skirting it to the right through a tiny finger of snow seemed like the route.  I'll just get up the finger then traverse to the ridge and on to the summit. Easy.

Near the Top (The Finger is Hidden)

It got steep.  It got rocky.  It got thin.  My route became 3" of fresh on blue ice.  I backed down and got into another finger that looked like it'd go.  It didn't.  The rocks were loose and the ice was hard.  I started to chip out my Tuckerman's style ledge to click in.  With the flexibility of a pole dancer, the skins were off, the boots were tight, and it was time to move.  But wait!  I think I see a way up.  Yeah, I got this.  Tough but doable.  I put my skis and poles above me and made some moves through a rocky section and was through the crux.  The gear was now below me and would required that flexibility that was so useful earlier.  While reaching down, I let loose a rock that caught a ski that sent down and around the corner.  Nice!  Getting the other equipment was well beyond my ability since my fluster factor was pegged at 11.  

I reassessed and came up with a plan that was just as bad as the one the got me into this situation: leave the gear, gain the ridge, find a rock that I could use to glissade, and jump off the cornice, and climb back up to my gear.  Before ascending, I began to throw loose rocks at the remaining ski and poles in the hopes of sending them down the finger to make recovery easier.  Whiff, airball, not even close, bulls-eye!  Watch the top-sheet!  The climb to the ridge was no gimme, but without skis and poles it went quick.  The summit was only 200' above.  Go for it or get going with the shit-show?  The incoming fog made the decision easy.  Two days in a row, the only cloud in the state found me.  On the descent down the ridge, I found a perfect glissading rock and quickly exchanged it for a better one.  This was no Hemingway.  This was the real deal. 

At the the launching point, I zipped up, sat down on my fanny, worked on my glissading form, and realized it wasn't as steep as it looked.  I think I can just boot down.  Thank God, I have no idea how to glissade.  I put my chest to the snow and simply walked down.  This would make a great ascent route! 

The Down-Climb and Back to the Finger

 I intersected the original booter and saw the first ski to go "free-range" was right above me. Got it!  Back into the finger.  I must have been quite frightened the 1st time because the booter was sweet.  I grabbed the gear, booted down, and clicked in.  Finally!  The snow was nice but the light was unforgiving.  I didn't ski it like the Boyz, but I did ski like a scared little boy.  Does that count?

Looking Back Up the Couloir

The five miles out was nice.  This time of year, I don't like to take off my skis.  I don't want to accept that the winter is over.  My string of questionable decision continued throughout the descent.  Tundra. Check. Mud. Check. Gravel, rocks, willows, creeks.  Check and check.  I finally gave up on a dusty gravel road.  Summer is here.  Only 4 more months to powder.  

Trailhead:

(This applies to Ram Valley as well)

Head towards the Eagle River Nature Center.  Just before the Nature Center:

- Left on Prudhoe Bay

- Left on Delores

- Right on Mariah

- Just before a switchback there is a parking area for 2 vehicles (at Dead End sign)

- Park and walk up the road to the telephone pole

- Head up the small path at next to the pole

- The path turns right onto another pole line - follow these poles to the end

- The power line ends at a gravel road - go right on the road

- After 5 minutes you come to the Ram Valley trailhead, the sign is facing the wrong way

- Head up the trail, Falling Water is straight ahead, bear right for Ram Valley

Parking Area 

Note Telephone Pole and Dead End Sign

Big Map

Click on the map to see more detail

Neacola: Choosing the Spot

The Neacola Mountains have been an obsession since I moved to Alaska 3 years ago. They are highly visible on the drive into Anchorage from the South. Cold and clear sunsets throughout the dead of winter make for spectacular visuals. Often seen, always overlooked. Most folks in Anchorage couldn't find these hills on a map even though they can see them from their porch.

Neacola trip reports are few and far between, but they all have similarities. The mountains are not small. The range is skiable. The snow is plentiful. The scenery is surreal.

When choosing a location I had 3 criteria:

1. Close to Alaska West Air's home base in Nikiski to minimize flight cost. Time is money especially when your talking $650/hour.



2. Big vertical: no yoyo-ing 1200' shots all day.



3. Unexplored: a blank spot on the map.

I found my spot on a tee shaped glacier at about 3,500' surrounded by peaks climbing to 7,500'. There were no trip reports, no aerials, and the satellite photos were too grainy to make out features. Perfect.

Despite having found the spot, it was still just an educated guess. The pilot had never been to this glacier before so he insisted we fly a Super-Cub to the proposed landing zone. Just me and Doug. Stefan, Emilie, and Tom would be a few minutes behind in a Beaver. Insert juvenile (yet hilarious) joke here. The plan was to maintain radio contact between the planes so I could relay what I saw back to the Beaver, thus having some discussion with the final go or no-go. The back-up plan was a nearby glacier that Fred Beckey was quite fond of.


As luck would have it, the alternator was out on the Super-Cub, so there would be no contact with the rest of the team. Actually no contact with the pilot either because of the noise of the engine. Forty-five minutes of introverted thinking. Normally I enjoy being left alone, but I was making the decision for 5 other people that all had put their trust in me.

No Alternator Means Your Starting It by Hand

It took about 20 minutes to get to the mountains. Then the eye candy can into view. Google-earth, USGS images, aerials photos all became real. The peaks towered above the Cub as we slipped between narrow passes with sheer wall. It got real.

Blockade Glacier and Blockade Lake

"Nunatak" Couloir


The SW Ridge of Chakachamna (Backside of Peak A to Peak C)

Over a year of planning had led up to this moment. I picked out Mt. Chakachamna on the horizon. We were close. Over the pass, and there it was: the "T" glacier.

Damn, it looks steep. Damn, my proposed LZ is an icefall. Damn, this is intimidating terrain. Doug turns around yells back to me: "You guys are going to have a lot of fun back here." Maybe he's right. Lots of snow: check. Big relief, skiable terrain, safe landing zone: check, check, check. "This'll work."

Looking Up the SW Lobe of the "T" to "Superior in the Sky"

NE Lobe of the "T"

We circled the drainage a couple of times and he put it down into some deep powder. "I claim this glacier in the name of Skier Boyz!" Doug went to work setting up some flagging for the landing strip for the Beaver. Did I make the right decision? What will they think? The drone of the 2nd plane began to echo around the vertical walls. The mountains dwarfed the plane. After a few circles, they were down. "Beattie like." "This is sick."

Big Peak, Little Plane (Superior in the Sky)

Everyone was psyched on the terrain. What a relief. Over the course of our stay, it became apparent, that there should be additional considerations when choosing a location. Add these to the selection criteria:

• Variety of aspects and slope angles: we had a golf course butted up to slopes that started at 40°. Slopes in the high 20s/low 30s would have been nice after multiple feet of snow. Fortunately we had 360° of aspects to work with.



• Escape route: never count on the weather in Alaska. Be prepared to walk out or at least move camp. Weather forced us to move our camp in order to facilitate a pick up; it would have been much easier had we planned for this contingency

Neacola Preview

We have returned from this "small" range in the Northern Aleutians. The trip, like the ridges, high dizzying highs followed by gut wrenching lows. Up and down. Snow and sun. Wind and rain. Wet and burnt. Avalanches, rockfalls, and seracs, oh my! It was touch and go for a while but an inspired escape brought us back to civilization.

Here are a few photos to wet your appetite. Much, much more to come.

The Henry Mountains; Strange Range

With the coming of spring the call to leave our home range of the Wasatch and head south traditionally comes loud and clear for Salt Lake City Skier Boyz. We desire to leave the comfort of something that is both amazing and common to us and we seek out that which is strange.

On our ever present quest for that which is new, that which is strange, Dave Coyne and I found ourselves driving into the heart of South Central Utah, to the small hamlet of Hanksville with hopes to find the strange.

After driving 19 miles on a dirt road from Hanksville, we found the road snow packed and muddy. We opted for skins- a mode of travel we are comfortable with rather than combining the rubber of our tires with the sloppy passages of Mt. Ellen's foothills. We skinned and walked for three miles through the desert to gain the foot of Mt. Ellen at Dandelion Flats and the Lonesome Beaver Campground. From there, it was an easy bushwhack to gain the snowy south facing slopes of Mt. Ellen.

We summited Mt. Ellen and then spent about two hours exploring the ridgeline while we waited for the sun to soften the snow on the south facing slopes. I have skied in many desert ranges in the past, but the Henry's were the most striking. The landscape transitioned almost immediately from redrock desert, unlike the Lasals or San Francisco Peaks, which at least have small transition zone between redrock and alpine. Looking into the expanse of desert in all directions could have entertained me for several hours longer but the snow started to soften. We opted to ski the a direct and classic south facing line and the conditions were perfect.

The skiing was as amazing as the setting in which it took place. It's not every day that a strange range provides this well- AML