Kahiltna Basecamp Tweets

As we move into 'late winter,' thoughts drift to spring projects and Alaskan expeditions. Last spring, I made my first trip to the Last Frontier with the objective to tick as many classic moderate routes as we could (thanks, Joe Puryear - Alaska Climbing).

What did I learn in Alaska? What did I take away from the experience? The first words that jump into my mind are big and cold, but I suppose those are intuitively obvious. As for the climbing, Mark Miller and I took advantage of great weather in our nine-day window, ticking Shaken Not Stirred, Mini-moonflower, and Mt. Barrill via the Japanese Couloir. (you can see Barrill on the left).


Mark and I spent a lot of energy preparing for the climbing: ropes, crampons, extra picks, first aid kit, climbing gear planned down to every camelot and ice screw. We also spent hours planning for basecamp: tents, snow-stakes, sleeping bags, clothing, and food; but somehow it was the living part that I was least prepared for as I arrived.

For those of you planning your own trips this spring.... A few things I wish I had packed:

• An Exped mattress (or rather, a working exped)
• Pencils (did I mention the cold? Really cold? As in, too cold for pens.)
  
• Bacon (Mark is a vegan)
  

And conversely, things I'm glad I packed:

• A backup Thermarest (see Exped debacle)
  
• Pee funnel (it may not be worth sexual reassignment, but I can't say how much better it is to pee standing up)
  
• Bailey's Irish cream (although I must admit it wasn't a satisfactory substitute for bacon)
  

Anyway, there were many stories and lessons learned each and every day. I wouldn't nominate myself for MVP of Alaska, but maybe Most Improved.

Got time for a quick story?

So Mark and I were in Kahiltna Basecamp, alone (it was mid-April, no rangers, no basecamp manager... no one). We were waiting for our flight to bump over to the Ruth Gorge the next day. I heard a plane flying low and went outside to check it out.

I’m no expert, but I knew something was odd the moment I stepped outside. This small plane (a Cessna 152) was flying low with his flaps down, as if it were landing. But it didn’t land. Passing the snowy landing strip, the plane dipped down, banked to the right, climbed as it turned towards Mt. Hunter (see photo), and then.... gone. No sound. No plane. Just eerie silence and one confused chick standing on the glacier.

To make a long story short, the plane did in fact crash; having lost too much speed and lacking the power to turn and climb. The young pilot and his passenger (both unhurt) snowshoed to our camp, where we called TAT to give them a ride out. As they waited, the poor pilot kept muttering that he could have just straightened out and landed the plane. Can you guess the very first thing out of Paul's mouth when he arrived to pick them up? Yep, 'Too bad you didn't just land.'

One of the last things I heard the passenger say was ‘man, this would be the best Tweet ever!’

Does social networking change how we experience things? Instead of taking pictures or writing journals, have we evolved to experience our adventures through our ability to share them with our friends and followers?

As climbers, social networking provides a means to draw an already-small, but dispersed climbing community even closer. We now have a way to find partners, to locate empty couches, to share our adventures from all over the world - whether it's sending hard routes in Nepal or crashing a plane in Denali National Park!

Am I returning to Alaska this spring? Don't know yet, but I've got the Spantiks and a new deluxe Exped ready for the journey!