Alaska 2024: Walls, Dickeys and Peanut Butter
The Great Wall, south face of Mt. Dickey.
Alaska’s reputation precedes it but, like a Great White shark, it’s not always in a good way. Impressive, bulking mountains rise from flat glaciers, which are relatively easy to access from a ski plane. Squeaky névé and bomber ice can give dreamy alpine pitches. However, you might find rotten snow, bitter cold and week-long storms. Camping in such environments is rarely pleasant. It’s always an adventure climbing in ‘The Last Frontier.’
When I was 25 years old, I rented a room in Llanberis, north Wales, from Owen Samuel and Rocio Siemens. I eagerly consumed their stack of Alpinist magazines. ‘The Spice Factory’ was an article about Maxime Turgeon and L.P. Menard climbing on Mt. Bradley, and there, on the opening page, was the Ruth Gorge in all its glory. Holy shit! I remember thinking. One day, I have to go there.
Gašper Pintar (‘Pinti’) is a quiet, direct man from Slovenia. The definition of an undercover crusher, he probably wouldn’t like me saying he’s a ‘wad’ (British slang for a top climber, and not the American word for dickwad!). He’s not on social media. He might not even like me mentioning some of his achievements, but I’ll write it anyway because I think he’s impressive: he’s made a winter solo of Čop on Triglav and redpointed 9a, amongst many other routes.
We’ve climbed together enough to know our partnership worked well, and I admire his pure style, ethics, and attitude to alpinism. He accepted my invitation to Alaska’s Ruth Gorge this April.
***
Paul Roderick slowed the Otter plane and we landed in a whoosh of snow. Pinti and I chucked all our stuff onto the Ruth glacier and Paul, ever cool, flicked the peace sign with his fingers. “Good luck, see you in a month!” He said. The Otter’s engine echoed around the mountains, then faded until it was only us and silence, seemingly in the middle of nowhere.
Between pitching our tents, we stared at Mts. Dickey, Bradley, Wake, Johnson, Grosvenor and Church. It seemed unreal to see such impressive peaks stacked one after the other, like a line-up of monsters. Alpine climbing in Alaska is world-class. The granite peaks appeared to float, adrift on clouds and gentle snowfall. Their faces either glowed in the sunlight or were ominous in deep shadows. “Wow…!” we were transfixed. When the clouds cleared further, we stopped shovelling entirely. Our gazes turned to intrigue and concern as we saw the full view of the mountains. “Oooh…” we said, the icy words hanging in the air.
Bitter cold and short glimpses of sunshine didn’t make life too easy in the first ten days of our trip. It was like living in a freezer - except one where snow blows in every night, so you have to dig it out every morning. Exposed skin protested in the temperatures, drying, cracking or even blistering. “It’s not normally like this - it’s usually a lot warmer!” I explained to Pinti, as we stamped our feet and waited for the sun to hit our tents at around 11am.
Whilst Pinti brewed rocket-strength coffee, I hacked a frozen apple into a can of frozen beans, then chipped away at an ‘American sized’ tub of peanut butter. We can over three kilograms for about three weeks. Our noses were numb, steam from mugs of tea making them suddenly run. “Tom,” Pinti said one morning.
“Hmmm…?” I was still scooping peanut butter into my overflowing breakfast bowl. We weren’t here to lose weight, after all.
“Look,” Pinti pointed with a gloved hand.
“Hm?” I added a sixth spoon of peanut butter.
“The sun! It’s here.” I looked up, noticing the tent fabric had brightened, and smiled. Comfort was coming; in a few minutes we’d be outside, unzipping down jackets, free from the petrol smell of the tent’s stoves, facing the sun and absorbing the light like solar panels.
The walls of snow around our camp only seemed to only encourage wind-blown snow to collect on our tents, rather than protect them. “How big do the bloody walls need to be?” we joked. “We could put a wall on a wall, then igloo ourselves into the glacier!” I had heard Donald Trump talking about ‘building a wall,’ so mocked him by repeating, “I’m gonna build a great waaaall.”
It was hard to know what conditions were like because the faces were plastered white from recent storms, but we were enticed by the east face of Mt. Dickey (2909m).
***
Attempting a direct start to ‘Ruth Gorge Grinder,’ I climbed sixty metres of névé and shouted down to Pinti. “I have no gear or a belay…”
“Well, I’m not soloing,” came the reply. I had an ice screw in névé, but doubted it would hold a large fall. I wondered how strong it would be and if anyone had tested this - without wanting to find out for myself. Pinti’s answer was simple. Fair point, I thought. With no ice in sight, we either committed to simul-soloing steep ground, or I reversed. I began down climbing in that the awkward, arse-out, swing-from-the-shoulder way. We were still able to joke: “it’s only when we lift our arms above our head do we realise how bad we smell!”
‘Blood From The Stone’ was not in condition either. The route was a hollow version of the photos that Rob Smith had showed me, during his ascent with Sam Hennessy and Matt Cornell in 2023. We also attempted the west face of Peak 7400, following a beautiful line of névé and ice… until it ran out.
Back in camp, we re-assessed whilst shovelling out the tents again. Sometimes blaming the conditions is an easy excuse, but here, they seemed important. Whenever the névé steepened to vertical, it became rotten and sugary snow. It collapsed under our weight, shrugging us off, leaving us puzzled about how to climb such shite. We encouraged each other on, trying hard, but sometimes the only thing was to bail. Without ice, we also had no gear. No ice, no dice, I thought.
To keep spirits up and ward off the cold, we ate fatty dishes on rest days: ‘cheese product’ bagels fried in butter; quesadillas with pesto; reconstituted meat containing turkey, beef and pork… wait, what?! In fact, it was a bad idea to look at the ingredients. After studying one packet with a concerned eye, Pinti calmly announced, “we’re fucked!” The meal contained 96% of our daily salt intake, and we joked our next trip would be to a health centre. Again, the mornings passed slowly as we waited for the first breath from the east; the sudden illumination inside the tent, the knowledge of the sun’s warmth soon to arrive.
During our third week on the glacier the weather forecast improved, and we investigated the south face of Mt. Dickey. Since arriving, we’d been drawn to a big couloir high on the face and wondered if we could reach it via some ‘crazy slabs.’ I mean, imagine if we could get to that couloir… how cool would that be? we pondered.
We spent a day climbing the first few pitches, pleasantly surprised there were cracks for gear and hooks. At the top of a right-facing corner, with the sun casting shadows across the slabs, I swung across to a snowfield and then Pinti came over. We fixed three ropes as we rapped to the ground. Maybe, just maybe, this route could work! I thought as we skinned back to base camp. Pinti seemed as strong and psyched as ever.
On our second day we followed a subtle traversing line through the crazy slabs. Pinti led a memorable steep pitch with hard dry tooling. He looked solid (you know he’s climbed 9a?). I remember aiding through a boomy overlap and then climbing a run-out ramp of crunchy rock; a pitch which was best if you didn’t think too much.
In the middle of the face, after climbing ice bulges, we squashed into a little cave to bivy, cradling the hot freeze dried meals and capturing all their energy, every particle of heat and spoon of food.
For breakfast we ate Lyo evening meals (“more calories,” explained Pinti as he packed his, and I certainly wasn’t going to take less food than him. Beef Stroganoff is surprisingly good for breakfast.)
We zig-zagged higher as snow fell (or rather, rose in the constant updraft and clouds). “I guess the forecast is wrong,” we agreed. We finally got our little slice of Alaskan heaven with a long pitch of real ice, complete with reliable screws for protection.
Many pitches looked like they wouldn’t go, but we’d always find a way to sneak through - with a fight. I wish I’d taken a photo as Pinti made a pendulum from a mixed section back into the couloir at the end of the third day, silhouetted against the cloud. But the cold, spindrift, snowfall and intense belay kept me gripping the ropes.
Later, we found a plush bivy on a snow arête, and Pinti smoked his last cigarettes. The morning brought Chicken Tikka Masala for breakfast, and a short section of overhanging névé between heavy spindrifts. A storm was forecast to arrived that evening, so we spent only a few blustery minutes on the summit before stomping down the west face.
Back in camp, we feasted, killed ourselves with salt, and joked about Dickeys. ‘Big Dickey, Big Problems!’ ‘Hickey on the Dickey!’ The route name we finally chose (‘The Great Wall’) is meant to be a joke. Yes, in our opinion, the south face of Mt. Dickey is a cool wall. But we also spent a lot of time in base camp wishing we had a suitable wall to stop our tents constantly being buried with snow, and I spent a lot of time mocking Trump!
***
In our last week the weather finally improved; the sun arrived as early as 9:42am! Although fatigued, our motivation encouraged us to make the most of the sunshine.
We attempted Mt. Bradley, but a huge snow mushroom fell, taking the energy out of us. We hid like mice until the shade arrived, then turned tail. We also tried ‘Ruth Gorge Grinder’ on Mt. Dickey, but when we reached the couloir on our second day, it was simply steep névé and only protected by dubious screws. Would they hold a fall? Were we being bold, scared, or stupid to keep climbing? Or should we be braver? We both took a turn to lead thirty metres up the couloir, pushing it… before down climbing again. “Fuck!” Was all that we could muster.
We returned to base camp mentally tired. Soon we were teleported back to Talkeetna, getting sunburnt and drunk on a beer at the bar. The sudden environment change was a shock: from the mountain and glacier life of constant attention and discipline, to relaxation and rest. Had it all been real? Was it a dream? Did we really eat three kilos of peanut butter in twenty-three days?
***
With the passing of time, the solidification of memories, and with the help of some photos, I’m now sure it was real. I thoroughly enjoyed the trip with Pinti, feeling like our motivations, attitudes and humour matched. It was easy to pass a month living in a freezer with him, and I’m very satisfied that we made the most of the mixed weather and conditions. This was my fourth trip to the Central Alaska Range and I could happily return. The Ruth Gorge continues to offer a lifetime’s worth of high-quality alpine climbing (and we haven’t even visited the Buckskin glacier yet!).
Summary:
The Great Wall, Mount Dickey (2909m), Alaska. Gašper Pintar and Tom Livingstone. 14-17 April 2024.
We think our route starts close to an Italian route from 1991 (a big wall climbed in summer), but I believe the two are independent.
