Storms and Snowbaths

High on the East Ridge of Logan

In the North West of Canada, close to Alaska, lies the Yukon territory. This is the home of some wild and remote Alpine country. Huge snowy peaks stretch for hundreds of miles, stranded in vast seas of ice. The largest mountain in the area, and in Canada too, is Mt Logan.

Its summit plateau stretches for several kilometers. Our objective was the East Ridge, a sinuous snowy ridge ascending some 8000 ft to the summit plateau.

	Text and photos by Andy Scrase

Andy Williams, resident pilot at Kluane Lake, flew the four of us into the Hubbard Glacier. Surrounded by huge peaks, and with the nearest road a 100 km away, we felt pretty isolated. The East Ridge of Logan lay directly in front of our Base Camp at the landing strip. We buried some supplies (including two beers per person for a whole month!) and set up a Base Camp. The next day we set off for the base of the climb on skis, dragging our huge loads behind us on sledges.

Team members L to R - Bob Koen, Andy Scrase, Graham Rowbotham. Photo by 4th member Tony Hunter.

The ascent of this mountain was going to be slow. We had to ascend slowly in order to acclimatise. 20,000 ft at this latitude was equivalent, we were told, to 24,000 ft in the Himalayas. The style of climbing was to ascend to a camp, make a food and gear cache, and then to return to the previous camp. It was a slow and laborious process, and in the end we spent 19 days on the mountain.

After three days we were on the first crux of the route, the first 'knife edge'. This was an exposed and scary traverse on a razor back of unconsolidated snow, with huge drops either side.

We established a comfortable campsite after the knife edge. This was just as well. The weather turned bad and we were tent bound for two and a half days. In the tents we occupied ourselves with paperback books that we shared by ripping in two and passing around. Despite the incessant howl of the wind, sleep came easily.

Graham cooking in a crevasse

When the weather cleared we had a fair dump of snow which made climbing conditions slow and hazardous. A second and more airy knife edge was traversed, and some deep snow further on left us grovelling in a self-made trench. It was hard work. Another spell of bad weather had us tentbound again for most of a day, and yet more snow fell. Tony made the most of the clearing by taking a snow bath, a bracing experience at this altitude! ( I was later to better this on Mt McArthur).

From here the climbing was hell. A long section of deep snow forced us to ascend by the lead man digging a trench with a snow shovel, dropping back to pick up his sack while the next volunteer took lead shovel duties. Not only was it back-breaking work, it was exposing us to some fairly horrendous avalanche risk. When we got to 4250m we established Camp 3.

This was a nice little spot below some cornices, one of which unfortunately broke off in the middle of the night and partially buried Tony & me in our tent. Awaking from a deep sleep, I couldn't work out why our tent was half its previous volume. Much digging and cursing later, we rescued the tent and fixed the two broken poles and ripped groundsheet. It could have been a lot worse.

By now we had been on the mountain for over two weeks. Feeling acclimatised we decided to push on from here 'Alpine Style', taking five days food and fuel and not descending for load carries as we had been doing. We pushed on towards the plateau. More deep snow slowed our progress, but the going got easier as the ridge broadened into a wide shoulder. We were rewarded with superb views as we climbed onto the plateau. Fantastic peaks, many unclimbed, stretched for miles, stopped only by the coastline of the Alaskan Panhandle. We found a good broad campsite at 5050m, just below the East Summit of Logan. Although slightly lower than the main summit, most people climbing the East Ridge top out on the East Peak, as it is quite a bit closer than the main one. After such a long and magnificent ridge, both peaks seem a little bit of an afterthought, 1000m bumps in a huge plateau.

Plateau camp (4) - storm clearing.

The next day I didn't feel so good. The ascent to Camp 4 had been rapid, and the altitude had taken its toll. I lay in my sleeping bag feeling sick. After a day of rest I was feeling good and the four of us set off in the morning for a summit attempt. We placed sticks, or 'wands', along the flat part of the route, in order to help us find our way back to the tents.
We were feeling good and made good progress up the easy gradient slopes.

Somewhere along the way we made the curious decision to go for the main summit, even though this involved a lot of traversing and a longer day. We ignored the slight build-up of cloud in the distant. Unfortunately, these were not good decisions. Our judgements had been affected by 'summit fever', a potent mixture of altitude and egotism.

As we approached the main summit, we saw a party standing on top. This was the guided party from Yamnuska, who had climbed the mountain by the King Trench route. We felt that the summit was ours now.
However, the Mountain Gods are cruel, and standing on the col just 250m from the summit, that cloud build-up that we had seen earlier materialised into a sudden and fierce storm. The wind whipped through the col. Snow battered our faces. We could hardly hear each other talk in the howl of the wind. One gust even lifted Graham off his feet. We had no choice but to retreat. There was nowhere to shelter and ascent was impossible.

On the summit plateau Mt McArthur in background

We struggled back in the strong winds. The bitter cold against my face was very painful. Clouds enveloped us and it was hard to see where to head down for our tents. Struggling across the snowy slopes was an ordeal far worse than the ascent. At one point Bob slipped and was held by Graham's quick-witted rope handling.

Fumbling downwards we tried to retrace our steps, but the wind had covered over our footprints, and the compass wasn't much help. Eventually we reached the welcome flat of the plateau, and an easing of the wind. The whiteout and dusk, however, left us with practically zero visibility.
We had, it seemed, descended in the wrong place. We realised that we were lost on the Logan plateau, at 17,000ft, with no food and no sleeping bags. Things did not look good. The four of us roped together and moved abreast, using the compass and altimeter in an attempt to navigate across this featureless terrain. Exhaustion and dehydration threatened to get the better of us as we swaggered in the semi-darkness.

Eventually, after hours of peering into the void, I stumbled across a wand. Never have I been so glad to see a wooden stick! A few meters away lay our tents. Covered in snow after the storm, they were barely visible. We dug them out and crawled into our sleeping bags, very glad to be there.

When we awoke from our slumbers, the weather Gods at first teased us with clear blue skies. We had no energy to go anywhere. Then, the next day, we were once again thwarted by another storm lashing against the tent walls. We now were down to our last bit of food and fuel, and in order to conserve it we went onto half rations, in the vain hope we would get another crack at the summit.
This, however, was not to be. The storm continued for two whole days, and left us with dangerously low supplies. We had no choice but to descend. On the way down we met several other parties who had been following in our footsteps. They all ended up making routine ascents of the mountain, with weather and conditions on their sides.

The descent back to Base Camp took only two days. The worst part was the final slope to the foot of the route, which had become horrendously soft and avalanche-prone in the weeks we had been away. Several nerve-wracking rappels through waist-deep snow saw us at the foot of the climb, where we were greeted by the guides from the Yamnuska party with a much welcomed hot drink.
Their tale of the summit storm on the other side of the peak was just as epic as ours, and we all felt glad to be down and smiling together.

The 'Empire Ridge' on McArthur.

Rest at Base Camp was a brief affair. Time was running short and we wanted to grab the first ascent of the East Peak of McArthur. It was an impressive looking mountain - steeper than Logan - but only a stone's throw from our Camp. After day's rest we set off for the base of the mountain. We had spotted a line which looked reasonable. A long snow gully followed by a snowy ridge appeared to lead almost directly to the summit.

Still early in the morning, we started cramponing up the gully. Although well frozen, the runnels in the snow showed us what we could expect when the sun hit the face. It was a long gully, and we spent longer than we had hoped in this dangerous place. As the suns rays started melting the ice and snow on the gully walls, rocks whistled past us, and the snow became soft and deep. Topping out of the gully was a relief, and we were all tired and dehydrated. We found a good flat campsite below the ridge leading to the summit, and replenished our bodies with much needed food and drink.

Andy Scrase celebrates the first ascent of the East Peak in a typically idiosyncratic style

Early the next morning we set off up the ridge. This was a stark contrast to the gully. A beautiful and photogenic line, its snow was firm and provided for a quick ascent. We called it the 'Empire Ridge', after our official expedition name 'The Empire Kicks Back'.

A short pitch of technical climbing near the top lead to the summit ridge, and then onto the summit itself. As we reached the top together, on a completely still, sunny day, we felt elated. On the other side of the valley we could see the summit of Logan, and the scene of our previous epic.

Pausing for summit photos wasn't enough for me. What better place to be a bit crazy and freshen up with a snow bath at the same time! We camped on the way down. The next day, rappelling and weaving our way through crevasses, we arrived at Base Camp early evening. Quickly consuming our single can of beer, we got on the radio to Andy Williams. We were out of there just in time before the weather, once again, closed in.

© Andy Scrase 1999