Mazama members John Frieh and Brad Farra, along with Jason Stuckey, tackled Mt. Huntington’s Northwest Ridge in the Alaska Range in early March. This climb marks the first winter ascent of this route and only the third winter ascent of Mt. Huntington ever.
First Winter Ascent: Mt. Huntington’s French (NW Ridge), by Brad Farra
Finally, we gained the ridge at just over 10,000 feet after spending most of the day wallowing in deep snow on the slopes above the Tokositna glacier. As we considered our route on the ridge beyond, we realized what a committing route we were attempting and decided to bivouac. It was probable that we would not be able to reach another bivvy point before it became dark.
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Jason Stuckey and Brad Farra ready
for their flight to the Tokositna Glacier
with Talkeetna Air Taxi. Photo: John Frieh |
That morning, Saturday, March 1, we met with our pilot, Paul of Talketa Air Taxi, at about 10 a.m. and left shortly thereafter for the Tokositna Glacier. Our intentions were to climb light and fast in an alpine style for our attempt of the French (NW) Ridge of Mt. Huntington (12,240 feet), which lies in the central range of Alaska. Before our departure from Talketna we discussed, “How many pickets and ice screws? Do we want snow shoes? How much stove fuel? How much webbing would we need for the rappel down the West Face Couloir?” We speculated about the condition of the ridge based on the last two weeks’ weather reports. Decisions were made and weight was distributed across team members, John Frieh and I from Portland, and Jason Stuckey of Fairbanks, Alaska.
Mt. Huntington had seen two previous winter ascents, both via the West Face Couloir; 2011 by Frieh and Stuckey and first by Haley and Brown in 2007. John and Jason’s familiarity with our descent route would prove helpful in getting us down quickly without route finding difficulty.
Our chosen route up the mountain was first done in May of 1964, in expedition style by the great French alpinist Lionel Terray and a team of eight. There is no easy line up Mt. Huntington and the ephemeral nature of the French ridge has not allowed for many ascents over the years.
Paul dropped us off on the Tokositna glacier at 11 a.m. on Saturday, March 1. We immediately began climbing from the cirque below the West face. Ascending to the ridge proper was slow and arduous. We had underestimated what it would take to gain the ridge. Most of the first day of climbing was shin to chest deep powder. We sought out sections of mixed climbing up to M5 just to avoid the strenuous snow plowing, which felt a like digging a trench at times. An occasional step or two of ice was nothing more than a tease.
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| Photo: Bob Butterfield |
We were on the move again by 8 a.m. on Sunday morning and making our way up the ridge. The ridge proper was absolutely beautiful. An Alaska sized ridgeline with large cornices, steep snow and ice steps, and traversing slopes steeper than 50-degrees at times. We alternated between simul-climbing and belaying a few of the more technical pitches. We moved at a solid pace and worked well together, but the ridge was long and the day was cold, very cold. John climbed in all the clothing he had and still did not overheat while on the move. The simul-climbing was helpful to keep us moving and generating heat. The sun began to get close to the horizon, which was a stunning jagged skyline consisting of Mt. Hunter and Denali. As the afternoon wore on, we realized that we would not reach the summit before dark.
We decided that the climbing and route finding would allow us to continue to travel in the dark. Headlamps were removed from warm pockets and placed on helmets. Temperatures dropped as the sun set, but we continued climbing for hours. The theme of the day was the statement, repeated multiple times, ‘it’s not as hard as it looks’. Again and again, we approached and climbed multiple vertical ‘looking’ pitches, which turned out to be less steep than their appearance from a distance.
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| John Frieh |
There were several pitches of grade 3-4 ice with small bulges of vertical or overhanging snow to overcome to get to the slope above. It was classic alpine climbing. No one had cleaned the snow off the top of these pitches for us and good technique was needed to transition from the steep ice to snow.
We climbed on into the dark night for hours. It was dark, really dark. Unlike spring in the Alaska range that allows you to almost forego the headlamp completely, we could not even completely make out the ridgeline ahead.
Just after 11 p.m. we approached another steep looking pitch that we thought would give us access to the summit ridge. We decided to belay this one, as it had a sizeable looking overhanging bulge at the top. I approached the steep ice on lead and quickly realized this one was just as steep as it looked. About 15 feet from the top of this 30 foot vertical section of ice with an overhanging snow bulge above, my headlamp gave a flicker or two and then went completely out. After a few expletives, one very loud one in particular, I had the undivided attention of John and Jason. They quickly realized what I was worked up about and cranked up the power on their headlamps and shined them on the face I was climbing. This was critical and gave me enough light to choose the best path to the bulge.
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Brad Farra and Jason Stuckey on the slopes above the
Tokositna Glacier before on the ridge. Photo: John Frieh. |
While swinging the tools through the eternally long dark seconds that it took John and Jason to light up the face, I realized it’s possible to climb ice quite well without light. Ice climbers rely on the way a swing into the ice feels and sounds more than what the ice looks like. Here the ice wasn’t good everywhere I swung; there were often patches of snow and bad ice on this vertical face. I had just placed an ice screw that I felt wasn’t worth the time I took to place it.
The light from the headlamps below allowed me to choose the best tool placements with minimal swinging. I reached the overhanging snow at the top and realized that this was the crux of the entire ridge. At 12,000 feet of altitude and nearly 16 hours of straight climbing, I was a bit fatigued. I relied on my feet to push up into the snow bulge and get a tool over the top. While the light from John and Jason helped with the face, it did nothing for me once my tools were over the top.
It was snow on top, but I went by feel and got some solid placements to move my feet up and over. I used the light on my cell phone to build an anchor and belayed John and Jason onto the summit ridge. With my headlamp dead, Jason led us to the summit and I climbed next to John. It was nearly midnight and we made camp just below the summit. We were all exhausted, especially John.
John had been suffering from a cold virus and a cough all day long. Throughout the day he displayed an amazing level of determination on this very committing route. One of the most amazing displays of mental muscle I have seen. As Jason cranked up the stove, I stomped out a tent platform. Hot water bottles and a hot meal provided some warmth to the frigid night. We crammed into the two man tent for the second night in a row and tried to stay warm for some much needed rest.
We got going at about 8:30 a.m. on Monday morning and had a fairly uneventful descent down the west face couloir. About 12 rappels, using V-threads and rock anchors, and some down climbing took us to the glacier just above the landing strip that Paul had dropped us on just 50 hours earlier. We roped up for a short section of glacier travel, in preparation to pass the bergschrund and several large crevasses before reaching the flat portion of the Tokositna glacier. Jason led us down and we put the big guy in the back as a nice moveable anchor, a service John had expertly provided the day prior during our travel along the ridge.
We passed the bergschrund and approached some large crevasses just above the flat glacier. I followed Jason’s steps across several obvious snow bridges that made themselves clear by creating depressions in the snow. As I stepped out on one, it broke. My left foot broke through as my right foot remained on the lip behind. I fell on to the front lip of the crevasse with my forearms holding me up. I quickly put my left foot on the crevasse lip with my right foot and I bridged the gap from feet to forearms in a plank like position. As I peered into an extremely large crevasse, hundreds of feet deep and more than 50 feet wide below me, I thought to myself that it was probably a good thing that I did all of those planks in training and that I should start doing them with a 35-pound pack on my back.
I told Jason, who was 40 feet down slope, to pull tension on the rope and I carefully allowed my feet to come off the back lip of the crevasse to hang below me. A bit of a mantle and I put one foot up and rolled out of the gaper without a scratch. John thanked me for showing him the weak snow bridge as he leaped across the opening.
At last, we walked across the Tokositna for pickup from Talkeetna Air Taxi. About 54 total hours in the range and a first winter ascent of an absolutely stunning ridge line on one of the most spectacular peaks in Alaska. As John likes to say, “Long live the three-day weekend.”
Brad Farra was introduced to climbing while in high school. His brother dragged him up his first rock route. In 2001 Brad got more serious about climbing and started mountaineering. He was heading to the crags around the Northwest and getting in the mountains whenever he could. He added ice climbing to the mix when he realized he needed more of these skills for the harder routes he wanted to do in the mountains. In 2008 Brad took ASI and in 2009 took AR. These classes helped his rope handling, gear, and anchor knowledge base. Brad continues to find ways to improve his climbing skills and conditioning. His future goals include difficult routes that involve steep snow, ice, rock, and mixed climbing.
The Ram’s Head Randonee is an uphill-downhill ski race, complete with demos, a vendor village, prizes, and after party. It’s a day filled with good people, good fun, and it’s all for a good cause! Maybe you’ve heard of the Northwest Avalanche Center? They are the awesome folk that tell us when it’s safe to go adventuring in the PNW mountains, and they do so on a non-profit, shoestring budget. Proceeds from this event will go to support NWAC and all they do to keep us safe in the mountains.
This year the challenge has been cranked up a notch or two. The course now gains over 1,900 feet of vertical, and includes a boot pack section. Strap on your skis at the base of Stadium, then skin all the way up, around Ram’s Head, and back down.
