Sunday, June 28 - 12:10pm PST

The day after the summit.

Yesterday we stood on the top of North America. Today we feel like shit. But no, that doesn’t begin to describe the feeling. The day after summit day is a mood all of its own. Joy, relief, exhaustion, confusion, fullness.

Last night, we got back to 17’ camp at 9:15pm, 12 hrs after embarking on an epic summit day. In a daze, we ate Mountain House meals from the warmth of our tents. Sleeping at 17,200’ is a challenge of its own. Snoozes are regularly interrupted by snores, sneezes, coughs, aches, and residual adrenaline. It’s best not to look at your sleep score, “body battery,” or any other wearable metric in such conditions—unless you’re the special one being studied by University of Montana researchers.

We woke up to the sun breaking through a white haze that moved in overnight. Our summit window really was just that. Two days of sunshine sandwiched between rolling snow storms. We looked back up at the Autobahn in the light snowfall, grateful it would now be at ours backs, and saluted Denali’s treacherous gateway.

As altitude headaches slowly subsided, aided by coffee, water, renewed adrenaline (and maybe a pop of Dex), we roped up for the climb  down the West Buttress ridge. One rope team after another, we moved down the running belays, regaining oxygen with each pitch. This time, my mind did not wonder; my only thoughts were about placing my next foothold, maintaining the rope interval, and moving clips efficiently at each anchor. At each pause, I watched the team behind us emerge from the white fog and the team in front of us disappear into it.

At times, it felt disorienting, moving away from the pinnacle we spent so long pursuing. The day after summit day is always bittersweet. And because everything is bigger on Denali, today hit like a wall. The banter at the breaks was notably lacking, but we all now share something that does not need to be and really can’t be put into words.

The fixed lines were the final challenge between us and 14’ camp. We steered ourselves down the ropes over the steep icy slope disguised by a foot of new snow. My crampons dug into the ice with all 24 points. After climbing over the bergshrund at the bottom of the fixed lines, we moved swiftly down slope as snow sloughing off the top fed into the crack. The “walk” back to camp took all we had left, plunging into deep snow for a half hour before the red tents emerged from the white out. Home! We made it back home to our cozy oasis at 14,200’.

As much as we are ready to go back to our real homes, we are also bracing for the culture shock of returning to those lives that have felt fairly distant for 17 days. I’m amazed by how adaptable we are living out here in the elements. It strips life down to the basics. Much of our days are doing the work required just to meet our basic needs: eat, get dress, sleep, poop, stay warm, hydrate, eat. If we’re talking in terms of Maslow’s Hierarchy, we do those things in pursuit of something that could be positioned at the top or bottom of the pyramid: some sort of higher enlightenment or the most basic of needs. I’ve realized that that’s so something we all share. Time in the mountains is not just about self actualization, it is fundamental to who we are. The mountains sustain us. And though Denali took a lot out of us, she gave back to us magnitudes more.

So here we are, sitting back at 14’ camp and where the summit now feels like a fever dream. Maybe it just hasn’t sunk in yet. Maybe it will forever live as a dreamscape in my memory. The day after summit day invites the question, what comes after the summit? We sit slurping down warm ramen, mending crampon punctures, comparing new face wrinkles, probably avoiding the question. I began by describing the feeling of fullness. But there’s also a looming emptiness that often follows achieving a major goal. Most of us will put another summit on the horizon to keep feeding our appetite. But Denali was about much more than the summit. In this spectacular corner of the Alaska Range, this mountain teaches you diligence, patience, teamwork, guts, gratitude, awe—and when your lungs and legs are about to give out on Pig “Hill,” just take one more step. That’s what I’m carrying back down the day after summit day. 

 - RMI Climber Amanda from 14 camp