Entries from Alaska

Sunday, June 28 - 9:15PM PST

Sleep came easily for most of us last night. What had been a few hours at 17 was closer to 10 at 14, and we rolled like cats in the sun when Ben called us to breakfast at a leisurely 9am.

Rations have run low, and breakfast burritos are a distant memory. Faced with the choice between granola, oatmeal, and mountain house meals we swore to never eat again we chose freeze-dried, splitting biscuits and gravy and a breakfast scramble.

Kitchens are gathering places the world round, and here is no different. We lingered around the warm stoves and laughed about memories from the summit.

Soon it was noon and we gathered all of our remaining rations for a picnic lunch. Some were down to shredded pop tarts, others *cough Jimmy* still had ten pounds of food to spare. We traded, tasted, and Mike hoarded pounds of candy for the hopeful hike out.

Then games, music, movies and laughs as the snow gently drifted through the tent door. Ben told us the hope is to hike out through the night, but we’ll have to see about the weather.

That uncertainty has become the mark of this mountain and our trip.

There were a half dozen times as we pushed to the summit that Ben almost turned around. Avalanche risks were a-plenty, even 150 feet from the summit. If we did turn, that would have been the right decision.

So we could hike out tonight, or tomorrow. There may be more avalanche risk, or there may not. Our bodies could feel strong, or weak. The winds may be calm, or pick up. The glacier could be frozen when we cross overnight, or it may have cracks that add hours to rain at the airfield until the clouds clear.

This could be our last day eating gas station food, or it may be longer than that. As I turn 40 this year that’s the thing I keep thinking about - delays.

Many of us fashion our lives to take the straight line from this to that. We’re at 14 camp and thinking about Talkeetna. I often want to be someplace other than here.

The lesson I’m being invited to learn is that all of life is here in front of me. What’s more, the interruptions and detours are not only the spice but the substance of life.

(Please know - there is also tragedy, suffering, and injustice unequally distributed in the world. Those things aren’t fair and shouldn’t be wished on anyone).

But I do wish bad weather, on me and on you. That’s what refines our character, holds us still while our roots grow deep, and leads us from comfort to greater adventure. It can’t always be sunny out, we equally need the night.

I guess what I’m saying is that, while I need a summit (or airfield) as a heading, I want my heart to be where my feet are, especially when it’s not what I would have chosen.

That's the only way I would have learned that crampons can be trusted on ice. It’s how, as a 100-degree-Texan, I learned that life in the snow isn’t what I feared and that cloud cover keeps us warm. As an only-child and introvert, I learned that I can live in a tent the size of an elevator with two grown men for 20 days.

We should celebrate when life goes well and smoothly (like our first week here). And when our flight’s canceled, business slows, relationship ends, or we feel adrift I hope to remember that the interruptions, storms, and false summits have a gift that I wouldn’t find any other way That’s doubly true when you have a friend, sibling, spouse, climbing partner, or fellow guide to find the mystery in the moment.

I’m excited to get home, and grateful it will take a few more days than we expected.

— —

I woke up early this morning after the first good sleep in a few nights and the frost-coating on the tent wall fell over our boots and sleeping pads as I eased into the crisp morning air.

Yesterday, we awoke fitfully at 17 after summit day, and almost universally felt ill. There was nausea, headaches, loss of appetite, aching muscles, raspy coughs, and - equally - a cheerful determination to start our hike home.

So, in parkas and mittens we forced down oatmeal, packed tents, and turned our faces towards the gentle snowfall. Dear reader, the hike to 14 is no joke. We first navigate the west buttress ridge, affixed with running belay to hold us to the mountain while tap dancing over narrow ledges and frozen shelves. Our intrepid guides make the ropes short, then long. They go ahead, then follow behind - all to ensure our safety where a misstep has 1,000 foot consequences. “Anchor,” “climbing,” became our mantra and our prayer.

Then we’re at the fixed lines, a long stretch of carefully secured rope for steep terrain. On the way up, we use a tool that holds us securely. On the way down, you wrap your arm around the rope, step carefully, and hope for the best.

 - RMI Guide Hudson
 

Sunday, June 28 - 9:30PM PST

Forecasts suggested we’d get a little break from the snowstorm this morning, so we were up early. It is tough, this far up the mountain, to be up before the sun makes its way around, but we were motivated. We set out climbing at 8AM and the clouds and snow came back in about then. We went uphill anyway, in the hope that things would change for the better before we got on the fixed rope section. Two hours took us to 15,300ft but the weather got no better. We were in a swirling snowstorm with very little visibility or contrast. We figured it wouldn’t work to take on the more technical terrain above. So we turned around… the carry of food and fuel could wait. We got excellent exercise, we broke Sidd’s altitude record, we got out of our tents for a few hours… it wasn’t a bad day. But we’d still love to get that full carry in tomorrow.

- RMI Guide Dave Hahn

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
 

Saturday, June 27 - 9:30PM PST

The latest storm moved in slowly this morning. For a time we thought we might sneak in a carry, but it was not to be.  Clouds and light, but persistent snow swallowed up the mountain.  Luckily, there hasn’t been wind to accompany all the moisture.  We stretched out breakfast and then everybody found a few chores to do outside, moving snow blocks around here and there. Most of the day, we did the Denali Hang, sitting in our tents - reading and napping. It was great to have RMI Guides Ben, Mike and Avery come out of the fog at midday with their successful summit teams. They set up camp not far away to wait out the snowy days.  Miles and Jack prepared a big jambalaya pot of dinner to cap off a quiet day and the team ate every morsel in our now familiar dining tent.

- RMI Guide Dave Hahn

Friday, June 26, 2026 10:44pm PDT

Certainly, colder up here at 14K. We ate breakfast in the shadows before the sun came around the mountain at 9:20.That made it a lot easier to prepare for our 10:15 mission to reclaim our cache at Windy Corner. It was a pleasant walk down, naturally -with light packs. The Ravens had not disturbed our carefully buried supplies. We loaded up and set ourselves to the two-hour workout to get back up to camp. The weather was perfect with clear skies and no wind, and we were happy to hear Ben’s RMI team on the radio, heading toward the summit. The rest of our day was. Spent resting, rehydrating, and training for a climb on the fixed rope section of the West Buttress tomorrow.

RMI Guide Dave Hahn & Team

1/11 Denali Team 7 dispatch.

Friday June 26, 2026 11:45pm PST

To those who visit the slopes of Denali: Be ready. Be prepared. Be patient. Climbing a mountain can mean a lot of different things for every single one of us. A mountain like Denali can draw us in by sight, it can draw us in with curiosity, or it can draw us in by the challenge it represents. What it won't tell you, however, is why. That is on our own to figure out or understand. Some things to consider:

1. Who will you meet? Whether arriving alone or with friends, we are sure to leave this place with a bond that will never fade. We need each other out here just to survive.

2. What will you learn? No matter your skill set, Denali will become your teacher. You will develop a whole new set of understanding of what it means to be a mountaineer.

3. How will I make it?! Well, that will take a lot of MDeal, a sprinkle of Farkle, cooking on high heat (always), some light yoga, a few walks down Main Street at 14k, and probably a dash of good luck when it comes to the weather.

4. What will I tell others? Tell them the truth. It is f-ing hard climbing this mountain. Right out of the gate, we drag sleds loaded with 22 days of food, fuel, and gear to live in an inhospitable place. We climb everything from 8,000 feet to 16,200 feet twice to make it all happen. All this, and then we wait. Sometimes longer than we want to, but we wait for the mountain to say "OK." It's a roller coaster of emotions. You freeze or fry; there's no in between. You worry. You wonder. You pace. You run through every possible scenario in your head. And then, if Denali says "go," you push yourself to a limit you never thought existed. If all goes well, finally, you stand at the highest point in North America.

And that's what we did. A HUGE congratulations to this team for sticking it out, working their asses off, and standing on top of Denali. We will walk away from this climb knowing that we did something extremely difficult. We are grateful. Grateful for the opportunity. And best of all, a Twinkie never tasted so good over 20,000 feet, but only one of us got to see what the inside of a glacier looks like up close.

RMI Guides Ben, Mike, Avery, and Team.

Thursday, June 25 10PM PST

We got our chance and took advantage today.  It was a sunny, calm day from start to finish. We got going up motorcycle hill at 9AM with packs and sleds. Luckily, several teams came down the mountain in the night, which plowed a trail for us through the recent snow. Our climb today was plenty hard but would certainly have been harder if we’d been breaking trail.  From our previous high point at Windy Corner, we simply added two more hour long climbs.  It was exciting to get around the Corner as the views are incredible.  It is tempting to look at the thousand or more peaks stretching to the horizon, it is tempting to look wayyyy back down to the  Kahiltna Glacier, far below.  Rounding the corner, one comes face to face with Denali’s South Peak and there is plenty to look at there too.  But of course the corner itself can be tricky climbing which means you can’t really stare at all those views.  We got into 14 Camp after 6 hrs and twenty minutes, which was fine.  Building camp took a few hours as usual, perhaps because we kept stopping to stare at the rock, the ice, and the scale of it all.  Tomorrow we’ll drop briefly down to retrieve our cache.

- RMI Guide Dave Hahn
 

Thursday, June 25, 2026 - 12:55 am PT

Denali Dispatch 6/24/26

Thoughts on Patience:

As Ben says, if this mountain teaches you anything it’s patience.

Patience with the weather, with the conditions and with each other. It’s easy to forget on the days of warm sun, calm winds and endless views that Denali isn’t always this way. That she can change her mind in a moments notice and have you walking in circles from whiteout conditions and cursing her tent rattling winds as you try and sleep.

But one way or another patience always pays off. To remeber that the sun is always shining somewhere above the clouds and that these glaciers and rocks have been here long before us patiently observing each passerby. Our time on this mountain is short in the grand scheme of things and I know everyone here will soon miss the simplicity of life on Denali. The rhythm we have found over leisurely breakfast conversation, camp walks, reading, writing and excess games of M-deal. Our time here is utterly human- working as a team to do what we need to survive.

So as today marks day 8 of being at 14,000' Camp and waiting to see when the mountain will invite us higher. We once again practice patience. Waiting in this jaw dropping alpine amphitheater for the mountain to tell us we have been patient long enough and it’s our turn to try and touch the top.

So as we get excited and motivated to move higher. We must remeber to move at rhythm of the mountain slow and steady. Observing, listening and being. Always remembering that in a moments notice she can decide to test our patience once again.

It is such a privilege to be among these echoing cliffs and snowy spines and I’m so proud of our team for keeping their spirits high among the waiting game. There is so much time to still be had here and I feel lucky I get to practice my patience with each and every one of you. 

Now let’s patiently wait to see what tomorrow brings!

With love from 14k camp,

RMI Guide Avery Stolte and team!

Wednesday, June 24, 2026 - 9:44 pm PT

Well the storm was still around today but it got done piling snow on our tents by 5AM.  We ended up getting a pretty sunny calm day. There were still clouds everywhere but not on us. Having received at least a foot of new snow in a relatively short time, we needed the slopes to cook and settle in the sunshine to cut down on avalanche possibilities. They seemed to be doing just that.  Will Ambler gave a master class in snow/avalanche science to our assembled climbing team this afternoon.  We’ve now got our eyes on a move up to 14,000' tomorrow morning in what should be good weather.

RMI Guide Dave Hahn

Tuesday, June 23, 2026 - 11:34 pm PT

Egg muffins kicked off our snowy day,

and Farkle helped pass the time away.

With plenty of group talks in the den,

and camp strolls now and then,

We rested while weather held sway.

Monopoly Deal took the lead,

And castle walls got what they need.

Now we wait and we see,

What weather will be,

And hope for summit bound speed.

RMI Climber Ethan