Entries By raymond holt

Wednesday, June 3, 2026 - 7:57 pm PT

UGH, IT’S SO DAMN HOT
MILK WAS A BAD CHOICE THIS MORNING

I believe this variation of an Anchorman quote captures our cache carry to 14k Camp today perfectly after our granola breakfast with condensed milk before we started our day in the Denali heat. The morning started off cold as we ditched our snowshoes and toboggans and donned crampons as we marched onward and upward, inching closer to our ultimate objective of the summit. The snow and ice creaked and groaned under the stabs of our technical gear, and the ice glistened with a beautiful blue hue as colorful as the sky above us.

Little by little, we attacked this section meticulously making it up Motorcycle Hill, Squirrel Hill, across the Polo Fields, and finally around the bend at Windy Corner. The views were spectacular, breathtaking, with a horizon that stretched for hundreds of miles. The team still had some fuel in the tank and we pushed upward towards 14k Camp electing to cache higher vs lower. This stretch proved the most challenging for many as the midday heat baked and redlined our bodies. Arriving at camp was a godsend for many as we cached our gear and returned back down to 11k camp.  

I’m so damn proud and happy to be part of a cohesive and high performing team with knowledgeable, expert guides. As the demands on the mountain continue to increase, the team and guides increasingly continue to gel together- teammates lending a helping hand to one another with self care provisions, dinner banter continuing well past the meal is finished, and collective respect being earned as we witness each other’s grit and determination on the mountain to achieve our ultimate goal. We have Ricky- the ultra athlete who continues to impress me with his cool as a cucumber attitude, Matt- the gruff Utah SAR mountain man, Dave and Peter- the team’s muscle men Mr Universe personas (Schwarzenegger would be proud), Pattie- the IronWoman athlete, and Lizzie- the award winning author and qualified wilderness fire fighter. Our guides- Jackson, Lacie, and Ray who are consummate professionals, funny and lighthearted- push the team in all the right ways to make us better climbers and help us achieve our prized goal of a successful, safe summit of Denali. 

To our 12 readers of the RMI blog post, we’re safe and sound back at 11k camp, ready to treat ourselves to clean base layers as we transition phases on the mountain. Hormel meat snack marketing- if you’re reading this, Ray says to call him. A wet wipe bath beckons my name now and the Brolonso hair flow is in full effect after a day of wetting my hair with wet snow to cool my head.

HEY, EVERYONE, COME SEE HOW GOOD I LOOK.

RMI Climber / Aviator Alonso 

Tuesday, June 2, 2026 – 8:57 pm PT 
On May 26th, the RMI Denali team was waiting for a person to walk through arrivals who was aiming to be the youngest woman from her country to claim all seven summits. They waited at the Anchorage airport for minutes, then hours, eagerly watching for her to walk through the arrivals gate.

She never did.

Instead, it was I that showed up, knock-kneed and nervously shrill, a meager replacement Instead of an international overachiever, this will just be one missive from one woman trying desperately to conquer one summit, breaking no records in the process whatsoever. The lawn will have to wait another three weeks. 

I wish I could tell you that I’ve been strong and tough and loving this experience so far, but it would be truly embarrassing to tell you the number of hours I’ve wasted fantasizing about having a strong man here who volunteers to carry my heaviest things for me. Feminism, I will sell you down the river in exchange for a lighter sled and a fresh veggie tray. 

As a woman whose personality is better suited to all inclusive resorts in tropical locales with five star spas attached, I have felt a growing sense of dread and fear. After all, having to buy equipment from a store called ‘40 Below’ does not bode well for my internal body temperature, which hovers barely above hypothermic during an Arizona heat wave. Although I do think the down camp booties will look rather flattering next to my Pomchi back home. 

I was delighted to discover that dragging a sled is just like staggering home drunk from the bar. I can do this! I exclaimed to myself, I’ve been training my whole life for this. The lopsided jerking of the sled with each slow step reminiscent of brooklyn all nighters, of which I am a pro. Perhaps this mountain won’t be too bad after all. 

But then the mountain laughed at me and called my bluff. A gentle breeze turned into a personal crisis, as I found myself pulling on my summit parka at 10,000 feet, less than halfway to said summit. Setting up tents at the airstrip took us just under six minutes. Here, it took all hands on deck and just under two hours before we were tucked into our nylon ice caves. Just think of this as a cold plunge, I told myself, it’s good for your lymphatic system. 

The sauna relief didn’t arrive until 12 hours later, when our tents transformed into sweat lodges and we took the opportunity to do alpine laundry, taking full advantage of a rest day by stuffing ourselves with highly processed carbs. Forget the summit, leave me here forever, please and thank you. Perhaps later on I will even treat myself to half a wet wipe and a daydream about indoor plumbing. 

RMI Climber Patty

Monday, June 1st - 10:40PM PST

To the 12 readers of this blog following the journey of an unlikely, but wholly likable, group of adventurers, we welcome you to day 5 - The Journey to Camp Two! Today’s harrowing tale sees our hearty heroes punching a trail they climbed two days ago to where we cached gear, and then climbing on to camp 2. The climb today felt totally different from the first time - the blue bird sky and clear vistas were replaced with low clouds, and a few inches of new snow. We heard from other teams that it cleared up once you got closer to camp 2. And boy did it! Clear skies graced us yet again along with much colder temperatures and high winds. This is the first time it really feel like we are on the mountain. Picking up our cached gear along with way puts us in an ideal position to continue up the mountain as long as the weather holds, but the added weight made a hard climb seem REALLY hard. But, we all made it in good spirits to our goal, and I’m sure the extra effort will pay dividends in the days to come.

Now the last few days of blog posts have been amazing, am I right? (Pauses for applause) but don’t think that it’s all lofty introspection out here. Many times we end up telling dad jokes to pass the time. So here is my silly list of nominations based on what I know about people so far (please note: these are subject to change by the end of the trip. The author may in no way be held liable for the accuracy of these nominations.)

Ricky: least likely to get sunburned. Don’t prove me wrong!

Alonzo: Most likely to climb all seven summits, we’re rooting for you, brother!

Matt: Most likely to become a bush pilot.

Lizzie and Pattie: most likely to be mistaken for a married couple on their next adventure (I hear SCUBA diving may be next - at least somewhere warm)

Peter: most likely to be ready, willing, and able to help a brother (or sister) out when in need.

Ray: Most likely to entertain you with lively conversation and great stories if you are lucky enough
to be walking within earshot.

Lacie: Most likely to have a shockingly good impression of everyone by the end of the trip (ooh ooh do me first!) ��

And last but certainly not least, Jackson: Most likely to get us to the top of Denali (and back down) safe and sound!

Oh, and me. I’m the most likely to try and dodge writing the daily blog even after I sort of volunteered��

To make this blog more interactive and to let you know that we read all of the comments, I want to let our dear readers know that Pattie is just as concerned about her lawn maintenance as you are and will eagerly tackle that chore just as soon as she is done submitting this beast of a mountain.

Now for the fun part: audience participation!

1. Please nominate a climber to write tomorrow’s blog. Must be someone that hasn’t written so far. Available people are Pattie, Alonzo, and Matt. First comment wins.
2. We missed the answer to last nights trivia. Can someone please let us know how many claps there are total in the Friends theme song? 

We love all of your support. Now show some love to the RMI Team and Like, comment and subscribe!

- RMI Climber Dave
 

Sunday, May 31st - 8:30PM PST

We awoke at 7am to 4” of fresh snow blanketing the camp. Since then, it has continued to fall at a steady pace. Temperatures are just below freezing. Little to no wind. Visibility is much reduced compared to the last 3 days, but still a good 3/4 mi.

There was potential we would move camp today, leapfrogging where we buried our cache yesterday and continuing on to Camp 2. However, Jackson warned us that the mild conditions at our current 7,800’ can be dramatically magnified above at 11,000’. Heeding this, decision was made to take our first rest day. A time to relax, take care of ourselves, and recharge the physical stores we would desperately need in the coming weeks. (Note: as of 12:35pm “Camp 2 just reported 2’ of snow since last night!”)

While the body, pushed hard over the last two days of hauling heavy loads, certainly welcomed this respite, I knew the mind could be more finicky. Since landing in Alaska, we’ve been hyper focused on travel, gear lists, packing, re-packing, logistics, learning new skills, meeting new people, adapting to our life on the mountain, and then hours of step by step by step to reach Camp 1. Now it seemed we have nothing to fixate on besides sitting in our tents and…thinking.

We inevitably start asking ourselves those questions. Why the hell are we here? On paper, the entire endeavor makes no sense. Each of us has voluntarily left our boyfriends, girlfriends, husbands, wives, children, pets, friends, and family to spend weeks slogging up into one of the most remote, desolate, and entirely hostile places on Earth. Thousands of dollars. All of our paid time off. Bruises, blisters, headaches, and countless other torments. Temperatures lower than you thought physically possible. Our cozy beds replaced with -40 degree sleeping bags on lumpy snow and ice. Our kitchen tables replaced with benches and counters cut 6’ down into the packed snow. Our bathrooms replaced with a Ziploc bag of wet wipes and a literal bucket. To any rational person, this is madness. Why then?

But here, everyone knows. No bewildered looks from a co-worker as you try to explain. We all innately understand the desire to be in this place. We come here to find the things that are so rare in the modern world. Adventure. Simplicity. Persevering over physical hardship. Proving that who we were will never stop us from becoming who we are. Standing in awe of nature, both in its breathtaking beauty, and in horror of the enormity of its sheer power. Feeling truly mortal. A small speck in a vast system that we cannot fully comprehend. Letting go of our pride, our hubris, our fear of relying on others. Connection. Bonds that can only be forged through shared sweat, trials and tears. Knowing that there really are other people out there as crazy as we are. That is why we came. And that is why we will remain here together, taking on each day as it comes.

-RMI Climber Peter

Saturday, May 30th 8:30PM PST

Today we pulled our sleds from camp 1 to establish a cache just below camp 2. This was our first real elevation gain, and it feels like we’re nearing a turning point where in the coming days, the challenge of hauling loads and staying cool in the heat of the day will transition to hauling mostly just ourselves and keeping warm.

I’ve taken a hundred of photos already, but every time I return from a new place, I scan through my photos and realize that, in looking for a wider and wider angle lens thinking I could capture everything about that place, in fact I capture very little of what it’s like to be there. I feel this already here. The sky is deepest blue and the snow brilliant white, but our days are spent focused on the tiniest details which no photo will capture. The way the rope cuts a groove in the snow as it slides the length of each step. The texture of sunscreen layered on sunscreen layered on sweat. Tiny adjustments to backpack straps which cut either into our hips or into our shoulders. Analyzing every twitch of our guide’s arm to see if it signals the next rest break.

I struggle to conceptualize the innumerable tiny tasks and footsteps separating us from our goal next to the scale of the mountains which surround us. The mountains still seem impossibly big to me and, in alternating waves, oddly small. Glaciers stretch on for miles and seracs the size of houses hang thousands of feet above our heads. But houses align into city blocks, city blocks cluster into neighborhoods, and what hiker would think twice about passing through a few neighborhoods to get to the other side of town? I rationalize to myself that the next turn in the track is only as far away as the next stop light.

So too, the whoops of exuberance and sighs of commiseration between teammates stack into shared experiences, and these shared experiences stack into friendships. I’m grateful for these new friendships and for the opportunity to be here, even if it’s accompanied by separation from everyone back home and a certain amount of discomfort and trepidation.

5/29 - We left Kahiltna Base camp just after 9 a.m., passing out of the mountain shadow and into the full sun. The day glittered around us, sunshine glinting off the snow and washing over the surrounding peaks. The previous night, a park ranger had warned us that it had been a challenging season. Only a few people had managed to summit. But the day we flew onto the glacier had brought the best weather he’d seen since March. Perhaps the misery that had haunted other climbers — coined a “lovely hell” in an earlier blog post — was finally passing.

We marched forward, saddled with heavy packs and even heavier plastic sleds. We carried the essentials, like fuel and climbing gear and “clean mountain cans” — their sanitary name failing to convey their unsanitary purpose: to carry out all of our poop. But we also carried the ineffable, the comfort those items brought worth more than their use. A beloved red beanie, an iPad with 48 hours of movies, including Interstellar, and 300+ gummy bears. (Harbaro, the good kind.) A blue towel, honey-covered macadamia nuts and, in a single pack, 60 packets of instant coffee. (Might need to call in a mental health check on that climber.) Smoked salmon from cousins in Anchorage and two blocks of cheddar cheese that weren’t from Wisconsin, though it would’ve been better if they were. Nice headphones. A best friend. Knitting needles and yarn. Twelve premiere Belgian waffles. More than five pounds of cookie dough.

We were different ages — 33, 35, 38, 40, 41 — and called different places home. Salt Lake City, Oakland Philadelphia, Denver, Bellingham, Kyiv. We hailed from cybersecurity, the military, journalism, entrepreneurship and business. We probably never would have met in the “real” world. (Who even knows what that world will look like when we return.) But we were creating our own little world, the climb a uniting force. We needed each other to cover the heaviest five-and-a-half miles toward the mountain — and onward, hopefully to its very top — tethered together by rope and carabiner. Our footsteps crunched over the glacial rolls, and sweat tie-dyed our shirts. Our hiking poles stabbed pinpricks of blue light in the snow, the thick ice — nearly 2,000 to 3,000 feet deep at points — shining up at us from below.

Soon enough we’d pull into camp. (The smallest member of the group was in disbelief that she’d managed to carry a load that weighed nearly as much as her.) We’d build a neighborhood of red-and-blue tents and listen to the whoosh of the cookstove, snowmelt turning to drinking water. We’d talk and laugh and prepare to climb Ski Hill the next morning to cache food near Kahiltna Pass.

But for now, there was only the long and grueling climb, both a torture and a revelation. Ahead of us, Denali stood on the horizon, cloaked in a sifting haze of clouds. Visible one moment, it was gone in the next.

Daily recap:
Mileage: 5.64 miles
Total time: 5:25:49
Elevation gain: 1,129 feet
Pace: 57:48/mile

RMI Climber Lizzy

Note from the author: All my love and gratitude to Kyiv, Omaha and Anchorage. You know who you are. (And big hugs to little Claire and Emma.)

Thursday, May 28, 2026, 9:21 p.m. PDT

Day 1

Today we awoke to blue skies, so we rushed to the hangar, where we played the ‘hurry up and wait’ game. We got the text around 11 a.m. that we were flying on! We all rushed back to the hangar and lathered ourselves in sunscreen and smiles. We had moments of doubt about flying on, but climber Patti insisted we all share a piece of her Kendal Mint Bar. This famous candy delight was brought to London with the intention of being consumed before Denali. The treat is a ritual Patti practices for every climb. Alas, we are here at the airstrip, where we will sleep for the night. While enjoying our expansive views and the roars of the mountain, we enjoyed a delicious pad Thai dinner. Tomorrow, we plan to make our first big move to Camp 1!

RMI Guide Jackson Breen & Team

Tuesday, May, 26, 2026 - 11:05 pm PT

A perfect first day to our trip!

Everyone was on time and ready to go at the Anchorage airport. After a nice drive from Anchorage to Talkeetna with a short stop in Wasilla for some last minute fresh food purchases we moved into the K2 Aviation hanger and into our hotel rooms at the Swiss Alaska inn. We had a team dinner at Denali Brew Pub and talked about our busy day to follow. With full stomachs and open minds we look forward to everything tomorrow brings as we lay down for bed!

RMI Guide Jackson Breen

Hi team, it's my turn to write this blog from afar. For say goodby and thank you. I am so happy because we achieved our goal, and I'm not just talking about the summit. In my first blog, I asked myself why we come to the mountains, and I discovered it was to find challenges. Well, Aconcagua was a great challenge for everyone. I met amazing, strong people and a very united group. That's not easy, and we did it. I truly enjoyed the days we shared, guiding and speaking English. I just want to say thank you, and I hope you enjoy the asado and vino in Mendoza. Writing in English isn't easy for me, so it's not a very long blog, but it's from the heart. 

A big hug and after so much adventure, I hope your return to home will be tranqui panki.

Grajales and RMI Guide Batti 

Why do we do this?

No showers, marginal nutrition, bitter cold, stifling heat. Don't forget the heavy packs tired legs, strong winds, and thin air. As our minds wander, step after step, I think it's the dichotomies of climbing that keep is coming back. Always yearning for the next far away peak. The calm within the chaos, the humbling yet empowering nature of the mountain, the isolation and the strongest connections a group of people can make. Mountaineering is the greatest team sport I have found in my short but varied 25 years on this earth. People from all walks of life coming together for a common goal. Summit or not it is a fast track to making friends for life. I would be mistaken if I didn't recognize the people along the way who made this journey possible. I am grateful for our team of climbers who were brave enough to try, my fellow guides , Ben and Batti, who supported the team every step of the way, the kind and organized staff of RMI and Grajales expeditions, Shane and Jonny, our friends and families back at home, and most importantly Aconcagua herself. I love this shit.
PLG

- RH (RMI Guide Ray Holt)
P.S. Happy Birthday Andrew!