Part Forty Eight

     September 4th & 5th                Wind Rivers, WY                        (Go to Pt 1)

The wind calmed down sometime during the dark hours and I was able to get some sleep but by morning it was back again, racing across the plateau. Temperatures were below freezing and with the wind, I didn’t even want to get out of the tent to take a leak, let alone try and pack-up and move camp.

 We lit the stove inside the tent and made breakfast, letting the sun warm things up a bit and hoping for the wind to die down, which it slowly did as the air warmed. It was mid-morning by the time we hoisted the packs and set off, our pace shaky through the

Click on the map for a larger image

rocky terrain to start until we were able to find linking stretches of tundra between the rocks and boulders. 

Camp on Downs Mtn

 We angled down, off the plateau to a saddle below the north ridge of Yukon Peak where we stopped for a late morning granola bar, huddling in behind the boulders for wind shelter.  The wind wasn’t terribly bad, just constant and, until now, I guess I hadn’t really realized how much energy the relentless wind sapped away.

We pulled out the map for Yukon Peak and studied our route up the north ridge, which was straightforward on paper but a hugely daunting prospect

on the ground; up and through more steep, boulders leading along the ridge to the peak.

 By now, our packs were noticeably lighter, but this terrain would have been difficult with no pack at all, and at just under 13,000ft, the altitude, the pack loads, terrain and wind, worked together to create a fairly sizeable obstacle in our path.

 At this juncture, if we wanted to move forward along the Continental Divide as planned, we would have to climb the north ridge then descend the even longer and steeper south ridge to reach our next camp at Iceberg Lake.

Rusk in Boulders

It took us a couple of hours to climb the north ridge and traverse over to the south side.  By the time we reached the descent, we were both fatigued and, while trying to put a mask over it, Craig looked pained.

Rusk Iceberg Lake

From the top of the ridge we could see the lake down below and it was close, for a crow, but for us the next hundred yards looked rediculously far-off and the lake, as close as it was, was still a long way away.  I started working my way down through the boulders and when I finally stopped to look back for Craig, my gut sank.

Descending through these boulders was like coming down a jumbled-up set of stairs with the treads anywhere from two to four feet apart, sloped and cocked at all kinds of crazy angles, causing an awkward jolt to the legs and joints with each step.  As I watched Craig descend the boulderfield, working hard to catch-up to me, he certainly looked wobbly and his knee joints, even from a distance, looked like they were about to dislocate at times.

I waited often during the descent, not wanting to leave Craig behind and take-off for the lake, although I sure had the urge to do so, and when Craig did join me for the occasional rest, we mostly just commented on the spectacular scenery.  We finally worked our way down the last steep 

section of boulders then managed to find some swaths of tundra that helped get us the rest of the way to the lake.

Iceberg Lake

Iceberg lake indeed lived up to its name with huge chunks of glacial ice floating in the water. The lake’s setting, with the Sourdough Glacier calving off into the south end of the lake and Klondike Peak soaring up behind, was insanely spectacular.  This was everything we had dreamed about back in St. Louis and the magnitude of the surrounding mountains reached beyond what we had imagined.

The late afternoon sun was warm and the wind had mostly died out to where it was pleasant to sit on the rocks by the lake, and that’s just what we did, in awe of the scenery for quite some time before finally scouting out a tent site.

When we did start to look around for a place to set the tent, everything within range of the lake was either stone or bedrock so, for the second night in a row, we spent time clearing rocks away from rocks for a tent platform, then improvising the seventeen, stake points of the tent with stakes pinned behind big rocks and guy-lines tied off to bigger rocks.

Clearing Rocks

After that whole project was done, we set-up the cook gear and started water for soup, munching on lunch food that we hadn’t got around to eating while up in Yukon’s boulderfields.  The tinned chicken with instant rice, smothered in lots of margarine and seasoned salt, tasted almost gourmet in this setting.

Klondike Peak Sunset

​Then, while brewing hot drinks after supper, we watched the clouds behind Klondike Peak turn a brilliant, glowing orange as the sun slowly melted away, making for a cinematic sunset.  After which, and with no delay, the temperature turned frigid and we retreated to our warm, down sleeping bags to read and write.

September 5
Per our planning from a year ago, today was a scheduled rest day, and boy, did we pick a gem of a place for that!  I slept like the rocks I was sleeping on and in the morning I awoke to pristine silence. Not a sound, no wind, and a glance out the tent window revealed a deep, blue sky. ‘Yes!!’  I rolled over and went back to sleep.

We dozed until the sun had warmed the inside of the tent to a comfortable, t-shirt temperature then put on our warm clothes and ventured out into the sparkling, crystalline morning.  We were carrying dried pancake mix and brown sugar for rest days, so we proceeded to fix and feed on pancakes topped with squeezed margarine and brown sugar until our stomachs demanded a stop to that shit.

 After the pancake feed was done, we lazed around camp for a bit, digesting, then grabbed our cameras and began scouting out the basin.  All of the scenery was magnificent but by far the most dominate feature anywhere in sight was the north face of Klondike Peak, and the most striking feature on the north face of Klondike Peak was a 

Iceberg Basin

couloir running straight from the glacier to the summit, and it was just begging for someone to come over there and climb it.

NF Couloir on Klondike

 Around lunch time we rendezvoused back at the campsite and as we were eating lunch I mentioned to Craig “What do you think about climbing that couloir on Klondike?”  To which Craig started to laugh with a look that said, ‘are you fucking kidding me?’  “What??” he finally asked.

 “Yeah,” I replied “I mean it’s right there. We could be up and be back before dinner, don’t you think?” There was a pause before Craig flatly stated, “No way are we going to go climb that couloir” like ‘who goes climbing on a rest day?’  We continued to eat our lunch in silence.

Craig hadn’t considered going for a climb until I mentioned it, and then it must have gotten him to thinking because about ten minutes later he said “Okay, sure, let’s go climb that couloir”, suddenly stoked to go adventuring.

 With that, lunch was over and we set about gathering-up the still-to-be-used climbing equipment and throwing rain gear and water into our now cavernously empty packs.  Ten minutes later we were on the glacier heading for the couloir. Without any weight in my pack I felt incredibly light on my feet and even at a leisurely pace, we reached the bergschrund (crevasse) at the bottom of the couloir quickly.

  We stopped at the bottom to rope up and rack some hardware then I took the lead and climbed the steep headwall above the bergschrund out to easier mixed climbing (rock and ice) and finally up into the sweeping, 60 degree couloir.  I chopped out a stance in the frozen neve (glacier snow), set an anchor and belayed Craig up to my stance.

Hike to Couloir

Rusk Climbing Berschrund

Less than two hundred feet below the summit, Craig and I were at a belay stance getting slap happy about reaching the top, when there was a sudden flash, followed almost immediately by a tremendous boom of thunder. “Holyshit!” Craig exclaimed. ​

 The climbing above looked absolutely awesome but while scanning the upper mountain I also noticed clouds racing overhead, which I didn’t think much of at the time.

 For the next 300 feet Craig and I ventured up the couloir on mostly frozen neve but also the occasional stretch of blue ice. The climbing was amazing and our position, high on the north face of Klondike, was exhilarating as hell.  

Dunn on Climb

In the narrow crevice of the couloir we had been unable to see the storm bearing down on us from the west and that crack of lightning alerted us to dark, threatening clouds moving-in overhead.  Then another blinding flash, followed so closely by thunder that the lightening had to be almost on top of us, put us into panic mode.  
​
Holyshit was right, we were incredibly exposed at the top of the couloir, and with metal crampons strapped to our feet, metal ice axes in hand and metal climbing gear slung around our necks, we were suddenly nothing more than mobile lightning-rods. Over the top and, hopefully, down to some sort of rock shelter on the other side was our best shot at ‘safety’, putting us in a race to the summit against a lightning storm.

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Go to Part 49

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The CDTC was founded in 2012 by volunteers and recreationists hoping to provide a unified voice for the CDT. Working hand-in-hand with the U.S. Forest Service and other federal land management agencies, the CDTC is a non-profit partner supporting stewardship of the CDT. The mission of the CDTC is to complete, promote and protect the Continental Divide National Scenic Trail, a world-class national resource. For more information, please visit continentaldividetrail.org.

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