Entries By ben luedtke

August 13, 3036 7:37 pm

Welcome back once again! Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, people of all ages, the Hunt ended due to technical difficulties...we're kidding. It is with great congratulations that we award this team with the official summit of Glacier Peak. The hunt was successful, the views were beautiful, and the rope legs were real. Sasquatch, however, is yet to be found. Thank you one and all for tuning in to our program, Alas!! We are not done yet. Tomorrow we venture towards home, where the grass isn't greener but the toilets have seats. Until then our friends.

-Your 2026 Glacier Hunters

August 13, 2026 11:00 am

100% Summit Success. Ben & Team just called from the summit of Glacier peak with the entire team on top!

Augsut 12, 2026

Thank you for that brief, day long commercial break, we are back on Glacier Hunters and boy howdy do we have a story for you. Last night, the wind howled loudly over and through our tents, covering us in a film of fine silt but it didn't ruin our (questionably) healthy game of euchre. We rose early in the clouds wondering if sasquatch was preparing to pounce. No dinner bells on us, so we think we're safe. We then climbed through the mist of water vapor mixed with smoke to our high camp. We called out to the marmots along the way, enticing them with tuna time, but had no success. They must have been sleeping in.

Suddenly, there was a break in the clouds. "Glacier peak, is that you?" The broken mist made it hard to tell. To prep for our continued hunt, we waddled out to school like a bunch of penguins and played on the dry shores of the white chuck glacier. Refreshed by some of the high-quality H20 it had to offer, we returned to camp.

"There it is!" We're sure of it. A silhouette of Glacier Peak hangs in the distance. Tonight we rest. This is it. Tomorrow we will climb. Will our nerves keep us in check? Do we have the courage to complete the hunt? Does this volcano have what it takes to give us a shot? Sure does. Don't go anywhere because we'll be right back after another break with the results of this journey.

-Your 2026

Glacier (Demon K-pop) Hunters

August 10, 2026

Hello one and all and welcome to another episode of Glacier Hunters (copyright infringement expected).

This week, we journey once again in search for the infamous, desolate, and awe-inspiring volcano known as Glacier Peak. "Did I pack enough food? Where's your extra pair of underwear? Why is there only one blue bag in my blue bag? Is this where sasquatch lives?"

These are the questions we've been asking ourselves from the start. Last night, 9 of us met as total strangers (mostly), 3 of them rummaged through everyone else's stuff like it was Christmas morning (gear check), and then we all met this morning at a remote location (trailhead). As the team made their way to camp 1 of the trip, it was beautiful, and then it was hot. It was easy and then was all uphill. It was conversational, and then it was quiet (not really).

Will this group become friends? Will they find sasquatch or the missing pair of underwear? Will the hunt for Glacier Peak end in success?

As we sit at camp eating freeze dried macaroni, rice, and other unknown substances, we hope you'll stay tuned to find out. Anything could happen.

Goodnight.

-Your 2026 RMI Glacier Hunters

Luedtke and team enjoyed a successful ascent on Mt. Shuksan via the Fisher Chimneys. The team had 100% summit success on a blue bird day, nice work!

Sunday, July 19 - 9:40pm PST

Luedtke and team made it to the summit of Mt Baker for a sunset climb, with 100% of the team at the top. 

Great work team!

RMI's four-day climb, led by guides Nikki Champion and Ben Luedtke, reached the summit of Mount Rainier this morning at 6:30 a.m. The team reported high winds on the mountain, so they tagged the summit and promptly began their descent toward Camp Muir at 7:00 a.m.

After regrouping at camp, they'll continue their descent to Paradise and return to Ashford later today.

Congratulations to all the climbers and guides on a successful summit!

Tuesday, June 30, 2026 - 9:37 pm PT

Hey daily blog readers,

For whoever you are reading this blog for… well now is the time to call them. Ring them. Yes now. 

They have a story for you. 

Thanks for following along ✌️

That’s a wrap. 

❤️

RMI Climber Devon Levesque

Monday, June 29th

It’s been 3 days since we touched the summit of Denali. Yesterday we dreamt of burgers and beers in Talkeetna—we should be sitting at the bar right now. But today it is still a dream. 

Last night we left 14K camp at 8pm to make the 12-hour descent to the glacial airstrip at 7K, where we hoped to hop on a 9am plane to Talkeetna this morning. The same frozen airstrip we landed on nearly 3 weeks ago; though 3 weeks of warm summer rain have surely changed the shape, image and safety of the Kahiltna glacier. 

By 2am we made it to camp 1 at 7.8K feet, where we first slept on June 11th, still 5.5 miles and 4 hours away from the airstrip. It was a total whiteout in a freezing rain storm. Navigating was nearly impossible and the temperature was too warm to cross the lower glacier due to the risk of breaking through a crevasse. 

Our guides made the right decision to bunker down and pitch our tents for a few hours, with the hopes of waking us at 5am, giving the glacier a few more hours to refreeze. Warm whiteout conditions persisted all night and all morning. I write this at 3pm, weary, wet, dehydrated and tired; we’ve been resting and waiting in the tents all day. 

Last night’s march from 14K to 7.8K was a true test of patience, resilience and will. We each pulled heavy sleds and carried heavier packs loaded with 3 weeks of gear, garbage, extra food, dirty clothes and full poop buckets. Freezing rain stuck to our glasses and made the trail hard to navigate in our snowshoes. The snow was deep yet our steps felt firm and slippery; it was too wet to make a snowman, but not yet slush. The night was dark and white. We wandered in procession, 11 people deep, for endless hours. Our spines ached, our shoulders burned, and our toes tried to punch through the front of our boots. I must say, the air tasted delicious, heavy, and nourishing. Though it felt like we’d never reach our destination. 

But we pressed on, motivated by the dream of loading up the plane and flying toward a hot shower and cheeseburger. We had visions of beer and salads, clean clothes and haircuts, familiar routines and comfy beds. Unfortunately, that dream is delayed. For now, we sit in the tents in a white out and wait indefinitely. The seconds feel like hours and the hours feel like days. We’re munching on the stale snacks that we avoided eating for the last 19 days. We call this point of the trip our “Shackleton” era. This mountain is a mental battle as much as it is a physical one. Today might be the most challenging test yet. 

We achieved our goal, but our mission is far from complete.

A 5.5 mile, 4 hour trek awaits as soon as the weather gives us a window. We are ready at a moment’s notice. Then, shortly after we hope a plane can meet us at the glacial base camp and bring us back to the real world. 

We are close but we are not done yet. We miss you and we cannot wait to celebrate with you soon. 

Love from a rainy tent somewhere on the lower Kahiltna glacier, 

- RMI Climber Jimmy D 

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.

 - RMI Climber Hudson
 

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
 

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, 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!