Eagle Glacier

Denali-Zach (“Zach”) and I schemed to do *something* in the mountains from March 22-24th.  We batted around a few ideas, but after hearing snow coverage on Portage Glacier was thinner than average, Zach’s idea to stay at Rosie’s Roost for a few nights won out over another probably-pointless attempt on Carpathian.

I haven’t gone proper mountaineering since Denali.  Zach, Emre and I went up Byron Peak last summer, but the hazards associated with summer mountaineering are less intense than spring/winter objectives.  We didn’t have to deal with heavy packs, cold temperatures, or limited daylight in July.  The 2026 winter had been long and deeply cold, so my pack was heavy as I did not fail to bring anything I thought I might want.

I picked up Zach at 8AM on Sunday the 22nd, informing him I had already fucked up and forgot my whippet, so we immediately had to go back to my place.  We rolled out of Anchorage before 9AM and were skiing towards Goat Ridge by 10:10AM.  I’ve eyed this area with some interest, as in the summer this route could theoretically access the groomed ski trails at the top of the Eagle Glacier (maintained by the Nordic Ski Center).  The price for access to the Eagle Glacier was a helicopter ticket or climbing nearly a mile of vertical feet over a mere three horizontal miles.  The approach is less bushwacky and more straightforward when there’s snow but required us to follow a creek in an avalanche runout zone, so we didn’t dawdle on the lower part of the approach.  We were happy to find a skintrack that let us gain the ridge. The snow on the lower slopes gave us some reason for caution, about a foot or so of fresh snow had fallen a few days beforehand after an extended cold snap; we found a layer of hoar frost was buried under the new snow.  We analysied an old snow pit and dug a few hand pits to test the strength of the bond between layers.  Feeling confident we could ascend safely, we scurried up to the spine of the ridge without incident.  

The folks who put in the skintrack had navigated around an existing small snow slide, though we were unsure whether it were natural or human-caused.  Around this point the skintrack vanished and we traded our skis for crampons and ascended the ridge until the tameness of the slope allowed us to ski again. 

The ridge traverse was glorious in the wavering sunlight, we had a grand view of the entire Girdwood valley and the north face of Alyeska.  However, clouds lingered at the top of our ridge and the Eagle Glacier was socked in without a doubt.   This was the first time the thought of turning around entered my mind and I held the thought as lightly as our plans to reach Rosie’s.  Adaptability is a quality I’ve been cultivating in myself through the difficult task of of inevitably acccepting change.

Once the ridge steepened, we again switched to crampons and I led up the crux, a steep gully with thin snow and loose rock.  I stuck to the left side of the gully, as the slopes to the right were steeper and had deep snow.  I did not like this ascent and was so focused on getting up I could not figure out how to surmount the exposed steep section at the top…until Zach pointed out we could simply walk around it by going right.  Embarrassing. 

Nothing of note occurred for the rest of the ascent to the Eagle Glacier, except that Zach’s newfangled lightweight Blue Ice crampons fell off because the dynema connecting the heel to the toe bits stretched just enough for them to pop off. We considered bailing constantly after the crux because the weather was cloudy, verging on stormy.  Trace snow fell as we neared the top of the ridge.  We decided if we couldn’t see down the glacier, we’d turn back and enjoy playing video games for the few days we had off work.  Unfortunately for those lazier prospects, we had a clear view down the glacier once we topped out and began our descent after texting our ladies.  At this point we had skied and climbed 3 miles up and still had 4.5 miles ahead of us, thankfully downhill.

Once we were out of a bowl near the edge of the glacier, we roped up and continued north.  On Denali I hadn’t waxed my skis for years, so this time I put on a single ironed-on layer of all-purpose wax, assuming it would raise my ability to glide.  It did, but the increase was inconsequential compared with Zach’s multiple-hour application of racing wax—I found myself once again double-poling downhill on a glacier while Zach struggled to reign in his speed.  We remained roped up long after it was necessary, after we passed some shrubbery we decided the terrain was likely not glaciated and untied.  I took in the rope as Zach skied ahead.  

As we planned our route down into a valley, I thought I spied the hut far away and was despirited but glad to have an expectation. A few seconds more skinning and the actual hut came into sight suddenly, much closer than I anticiated, and we skied down the small valley and up to the hut plateau.  Both of us had been neglecting food since Goat Ridge and Zach hastily dug out the door of the hut, which had been drifted over with snow.

“I AM A CREATURE ENTIRELY OF HUNGER” I announced as I arrived at the hut.
“Yeah man, your pack’s huge”
“Well, I think I need everything I brought.  My gear is old and bulky and I need it all.”

We boiled dinner water and got to bed around 10:30PM, exhausted.  I was able to text Claire via inreach that we made it safely.  I was glad to rest, as this had been my biggest day of climbing with a heavy pack since Denali and it was hard work.  Zach and I slept fitfully, tossing and turning, and the hut grew remarkably cold with only two people to warm it and the frigid winter clinging on through late March.

We awoke around 8:45AM, not in any rush but later than was prudent for slaying.  Our objective, Rook Peak, was within 3 miles of the hut, which seemed relatively close.  We skinned away from the hut two hours later in lovely daylight, not quite hot or cold enough to be miserable.  Zach and I attempted to communicate potential lines we could ascend after realizing the line we drew from Google Earth imagery was impractically steep.  We failed to understand where the other indicated and, despite our best attempts, this succeeded in flustering my climbing partner and amusing me.  Zach and I have an older/younger brother dynamic…except that I take the role of the younger brother despite being 5 years Zach’s senior.  I’m not sure how this dynamic formed, but it’s a combination of him being taller, more easily aggitated, and more experienced with steep terrain and rope management than I am. I learn whenever I climb with him, much like with Rick, except Zach insults me constantly. It’s great!

We skied adjacent to the West Fork Glacier on terrain that was ice 30 years ago (google earth has very good imagery from September 1996 for Eagle and Eklutna Glaciers). 

As we skied up to actual glaciated terrain, we spied some crevasses and a potential snow bridge to cross but decided to ski further and potentially avoid them all-together.  We roped up once on ice and I traversed around a large depression.  I cut towards Rook Peak a little to early and had to turn our track 90 degrees left when some cracks came into view.  Retrospectively looking at satelite imagery, I actually took the best possible line to cross crevasses perpendicularly; cutting across a glacier is always tricky because it pust one’s direction of travel paralell to cracks.  Thankfully all but the worst were quite buried.  

We started up the hill on the other side of the glacier, but Zach didn’t like my awesome switchbacks because it made rope managemen difficult, so he took over trailbreaking with a sinuous track.  I took over trailbreaking again as the hill became less steep and led us up to the headwall.  I told Zach a while back I saw a bergshrund on the headwall but he denied seeing it.

“There’s two diagonal lines, high on the right dropping to the left, I think it’s the bergshrund.”
“I dunno, I think it’s an avalanche path”
“Are you sure?  It looks like a depression that cuts across the entire slope”
“I don’t see a depression.  Maybe my glasses are too dark.”
“It’s really obvious. You seriously don’t see that?”
“I believe that you see what YOU THINK is the bergshrund, but….”
“WOOOOW okay”

(I took a photo of our track later and, indeed, there’s a bergshrund)

I lead up the headwall towards the steep snow ramp and entered the shade.  Without the warming effect of the sun the temperature immediately dropped 40 degrees.  The snow in the Eagle drainage had been much better quality than on Goat Ridge and was fairly untouched by the wind. This area must be protected.  Once we got to steeper slopes, the softness of the snow became a footning problem. It started to sluff away if we weighted it too much as there was little cohesion on the top layer.

“Where are you going?” Zach asked as I traversed away from our ascent line.
“I’ve got a plan to cross the bergshrund in one big traverse”

I was intent on not bootpacking across the bergshrund.  I had skied very far to the right of the face, planning to make one big cut across the bergshrund, which was there whether Zach could see it or not.  As I got closer it became hard to see where the crack was, as it was covered by a significant amount of snow.  I was fairly certain I barely made it across by the time the steep snow started crumbling under my feet, halting progress.  I had no intention of sliding down the slope and it was getting too steep to skin anyway.  I decided we had skied far enough and, after Zach was unable to ski past me, we switched to crampons and ascent plates. 

Zach took over leading up the steep snow and plowed an impressive path upward.  He warned me the snow transitioned to nevve then to ice for a dozen feet, so I was happy to swap my ski pole for an ice axe and bury it each step for safety.  For whatever reason, climbing on exposed slopes doesn’t bother me. I follow the rules of soloing–move one apendage at a time.  This makes progress slow but significantly safer.  By the time we topped out on some rocks at the top of the snowfield and removed our ascent plates, I was grateful I had been doing calf raises all winter.  Zach mentioned he’d be happy if this were our high point.  As we hiked upwards, I found the idea taking root.

It was a short ascent to reach the south summit of the Rook massif, a subpeak 300′ shorter than Rook proper.  It was 3PM and the sun was comfortably warm, especially after the sudden cold of the shade.  I found myself hesitant to endorse climbing further: the ridge was a half mile long, with 300′ of elevation loss to a col, then 600′ of elevation gain to the summit.  I’ve stood at one of these points before, back in 2015 when Grant, Rick, and I weighed climbing from the Sphinx on Triangle Peak to the top.  That time it was the end of February, half a mile and 1,000′ of elevation gain, but the decision-making process followed similar paths in my mind that I learned from that trip.

The ridge was mostly straightforward, but there was less snow in the area than usual (according to Zach) and there were a few steeper sections with snow ramps that would require negociation.  At the most I estimated it might take 4 hours to attain the summt and reverse our path, which put us at this point at 7PM, a not particularly attractive option.  The sun would have left the valley and we would be racing dusk back to Rosies Roost, which wouldn’t we wouldn’t reach until 8:30 or 9PM.  This would leave us a few hours to make dinner and prepare to leave early the following morning, without getting 8 hours of rest.  The fact we were both already fatigued from our efforts Sunday and today weighed on our decision-making.  Zach expressed his desire to climb Rook Peak but said it didn’t have to be today and after explaining my thoughts he suggested we turn around here.  It felt right and I appreciated his adaptability in the face of summit fever. South Rook isn’t labeled on the map, but it’s more distinct than “South Raven” so that’s how I’ll be referring.

We had a debate over leaving the next day via Raven Pass and descending over Crow Pass on Tuesday, but decided because the route was untraveled since the last snowfall, the danger of new terrain outweighed the dangers of retracing our path up Eagle Glacier and down Goat Ridge.  The slopes we would have to traverse from Crow Pass to the truck were all in avalanche terrain with bad runouts and that worried me.  The coolness-factor of making the trip a loop, and the lower amount of elevation gain required to reach Raven Pass, were the arguments in favor.  Especially now that I’m married and will hopefully have a kid within a year, my judgement leans towards conservative and heading back now and preparing to leave the way we came was the safest option.  Zach grudgingly agreed, bitching about my conservative judgement.  

“First I took Rook Peak from you, then I took Raven Pass.  What else will I take from you, Zach?”

The humor Zach and I share together is caustic, rarely serious, and mostly unprintable.  A lot of saying extremely offensive things to get the other person to laugh. On this trip we both mentioned how we never wanted to end up the subject in an ADN article involving a climbing accident.  We batted around various fictional headlines we sought to avoid, like “Local Climbers Missing on Eagle Glacier” and “Recently-Married Mountaineer Leaves Behind Pregnant Wife” (Claire wasn’t pregnant at the time, but she could have been).  Zach mentioned how much clout my blog would get if I died mountaineering, as if either of us cared about notoriety. “That’s not the type of attention I want.” 

Zach’s crampons fell off as we were descending to the top of our ascent snowfield.  I went down first and the icy section wasn’t nearly as long as I remembered.  Once in deep snow it was easy to walk backwards down the hill until we could turn around and traverse over to our skis. 

We both stripped our skins and clicked in, dropping into the slope in the best powder I’d skied in years!  My legs were quickly exhausted by the turns I executed and I was reminded all my training recently was for endurance, not strength.  Zach followed and took the lead on the descent as I waited for the lactic acid to leave my quads.  Eventually I joined him on the glacier, yelling obscenities for the pain but also thrilled at the high quality of skiing. 

We double poled our way back down our track, reapplying our skins at the base of the uphill section before the hut.  We arrived around 2 hours after leaving south Rook peak and had a pleasant evening eating and bullshitting.

While we made dinner and ate snacks, I told Zach about the cocoa shortage and that Neslie has been substituting it with palm oil and sugar.  A few of his candy bars had cocoa as the last ingredient, though they still tasted good with the kind of appetite only mountaineering creates.  He estimated he ate 4,000 calories that day and he shared some of his mashed potatoes with me when I realized the chicken curry Peak Ascent dinner I had grabbed contained a measely 540 calories instead of the proper 830 calories.  

“I wish I had brought butter and cheese on this trip, but cheese is so heavy”

“Wayne, you didn’t bring cheese?  Who are you?”

My pack was large compared with Zach’s 35L bag.  Somehow, through sheer force of will (and heavy discounts from working at AMH), he had shoved two nights worth of stuff into it.  I had a 60L bag and was pushing the limit of the pack.  To be fair, my gear is old, heavy, and doesn’t pack down easily.  And my camera+case adds a fair amount of space on top.  The only piece of clothing I didn’t use on the trip was my thick fleece buff, as the winds didn’t merit such protection.  I probably could have left my wool leggings, as wearing my puffy pants and gortex bibgs at night was a fair substitute.

Zach and I woke up at 5:30 and I immediately climbed downstairs and started the white gas lantern.  We realized the previous night it was just sitting there…unused…and these lanterns actually put off a fair amount of heat.  Zach was busy perfecting the best way to warm his boot liners, which is to fill two nalgenes with hot water and shove them inside, lay them on their side, and tilt the toebox upward.  I attemped to replicate this process with one water bottle but even after keeping my liners in my sleeping bag all night, I skied away from the hut with cold feet. 

The ascent up the Eagle Glacier took about 4 hours and was the coldest part of our trip.  Once the sun reached us, we were surpised to find we didn’t warm up much.  After a discussion, we decided against roping up for the glacier, as the skintrack we were on was very hard and we were moving at different paces.  Zach finally put an extra layer on because the warmth we were expecting from movement never materialized—the cold air that flowed down the glacier absorbed any warmth our bodies produced.

Finally, as we neared the Goat Mountain massif, the sun became warm.  We skied around a large scenic well around the base of Goat Mountain as we moved towards the access ridge. Zach was further ahead of me as I began the ascent back up to the top of Goat Ridge.  I followed the switchbacks up the mountain as the soft snow thinned.

Everything was going well but the snow was getting harder and more akin to ice the higher I skied, to the point I was barely able to cut my ski edges into it when—suddenly I was on my side sliding downward.  Having never fallen in the mountains, my first reactions were to swear and attempt to grab my whippet’s handle.  Had I not had a whippet, I don’t know how far I would have slid or what would have caused me to stop.  Thankfully, I only slid a few dozen feet before the whippet’s pick slowed and eventually arrested my fall.  Continuing to swear, I got to my feet and attempted to shuffle over towards some rocks I saw where I could remove my skis and switch to crampons.  I fell again, this time self-arresting faster.  Now I was pissed!

“This isn’t fucking ski terrain,” I grumbled over and over.  I realized what had happened: Zach was able to bite into the snice with ease because he had sharpened his ski edges, whereas mine have never been sharpened.

Taking some time, I switched over to crampons and angily ate some Swedish Fish.  Once I was upright and crunching snow I caught up to Zach who had been waiting with impatience.

“What took you so long?”
“I fucking fell twice, man.”
“I’m sorry. I thought you were lagging taking photos.”

Which…I was, but I also fell and that’s what took so long. Zach’s ability to express empathy while still being an asshole is part of his charm.

We made it over the top of the little summit on Goat ridge and downclimbing felt fairly intense due to the altitude and nearby exposure, though the climbing was easy and the exposure was relatively distant. Progress down the ridge was quick, except that Zach’s crampons continued to fall off as we descended.

Once we reached the crux, we did a bit of exploration for the descent. Instead of retracing our steps from the top of the ridge and down the left side of the gully, we dropped off the ridge early and lost some elevation by traversing to the right side of the gully. Over the edge of the small cliff, the snow was heaped and loaded on this side, whereas the left side the snow was thin and shitty. We decided downclimbing would be the best way down and since Zach was heavier he should go first. There was a brief discussion of rapelling or free climbing down, but Zach said “nah man, we’re mountaineers” and so I used the right side of the gully as an anchor to belay him as he downclimbed. If he fell, the ridge would take most of his weight. The snow was very steep (70 degrees or more) but also quite stable. Zach made it down and I noticed a lone mountain goat watched us from above. When it was my turn, Zach pulled in all the slack and put me on belay. Without an anchor above me, Zach could only keep me on body belay, so I was careful not to fall with every step. I regretted not using my mountaineering axe, but by the time I wanted it I could not safely get it from my pack so I punched my fists deeply into the snow to anchor myself. I made it down quickly with the goat watching in wonder.

We scurried as quickly as we could down the ridge, avoiding putting skis on for the flat section and nothing of note happened. Once the ridge rolled over we put on our skis and slowly descended the way we skied up. I took a nice fall, completely summersaulting, and landed back on my skis with a face full of snow. After we reached the base of the valley, we continued skiing down the drainage and into the worst possible spring skiing conditions. Roughly an inch of crust had formed on top of the snow since we climbed up the ridge, making the descent slow and tedious with our heavy packs weighing down our already-exhausted legs. I’m sure I destroyed a good chunk of the skintrack, but I really didn’t have a choice.

Eventually we arrived back at my truck, picked up some pizza, and drove back to town. As I was reporting a natural avalanche off Goat Ridge a few days later, I saw the avalanche risk was relatively high when we headed up Goat Ridge. If we had that information we probably wouldn’t have gone out, but Zach and I made good decisions the entire trip.
Risks can be managed, warnings are not absolute truths.