The Icefield Ranges Of The St. Elias Mountains

by T. H. Smith

It had always been one of my ambitions to join an expedition and explore uncharted territory, but where could I go with only three weeks at my disposal? I had been to Switzerland, Austria, Italy, France, Corsica and Norway and although I had enjoyed all those holidays, there was still a yearning inside me to travel further afield.

At last the great opportunity came, Hamish Macaulay, an old friend who had been studying at McGill University, suggested that I should join him for a holiday motoring up the Alaska Highway. This certainly seemed a rash idea, but the thought of having everything laid on, including a tremendous old Chrysler, seemed too good to be true.

I at once cabled that I would very much like to go with him and later suggested that a reconnaisance trip into the St. Elias mountain ranges surrounding Mount Logan, the highest mountain in Canada (19,850 ft.), might prove rewarding. I therefore wrote to the American Alpine Club^[1], who were most helpful and amongst other things suggested that I should approach Dr. Walter Wood, President of the American Geographical Society and Governor of the Arctic Institute of North America, as he is the greatest authority on the region we intended to visit.

Hamish made a special trip to New York to meet Dr. Wood and to his amazement found that the latter was organising a fully equipped scientific expedition which was to have a high altitude base camp right in the centre of the icefield ranges of the St. Elias mountains. He also told Hamish that his team would be only too pleased to collaborate with us, especially in the case of an emergency. This was most welcome news as it meant that a small party of three or four could explore the inner reaches of these vast snowfields in comparative safety.

After studying maps and photographs of the St. Elias Range, which is situated on the Canada/Alaska border, and was only recently described as the last unexplored region in North America, we decided to try and organise a small party. The difficulties of forming an expedition at short notice soon became apparent, for who would want to travel half way round the world to join a team such as ours, with no particular aims in view other than exploration work, the hope of making the first ascent of Pinnacle Peak and possibly one or two other unclimbed peaks and the intention to do and see as much as possible on a short holiday.

At the end of several frustrating weeks of letter writing and cabling a party of four emerged, polar equipment was ordered and food lists prepared; in fact everything seemed to be working out surprisingly well considering that the proposed members of the party were literally scattered all over the world. However our luck soon ran out as one member had to retire for business reasons, then, only three weeks before we were due to meet in Whitehorse the third member, a Norwegian, gave backword for no apparent reason. This was really serious and left me with a big decision to make, whether it would really be worth while to continue with my original plan. I didn’t want to let Hamish down and as it had in any case been our intention to motor up the Highway together I decided to carry on. There was still a faint hope that Hamish might find a third member to join our team.

To save time and avoid my motoring both up and down the full length of the Alaskan Highway, I arranged to fly straight up to Whitehorse. Hamish decided to travel up from Nassau in the Bahamas via Montreal, so that he could pick up my equipment which had already been shipped over there. He planned to arrive in the Yukon at least a week before I did so that he could buy food, make last minute arrangements and possibly meet some of the members of the Arctic Institute and the American Geographical Society’s Expedition.

I left home at 11.30 a.m. on Tuesday, 7th August. After a 3-hour wait in London Airport, having flown from Manchester, I set off again at 6.15 p.m., arrived in Winnipeg at 8.15 p.m., passed through Customs and, after a 2-hour wait for re-fuelling, went on to Edmonton, arriving there at 9.30 p.m. the same evening, local time (5.30 a.m. next day G.M.T.).

Soon after my arrival at the Macdonald Hotel Hamish rang up to tell me that everything was under control. He had met a few of the scientists on the expedition, and an air drop had been arranged for the coming dawn, weather permitting. He finished by saying that the mountains were just fantastic.

I was away again at 8.00 a.m.; we flew over miles of prairie followed by vast areas of forests and lakes; we changed planes at Fort St. John and then flew over range after range of mountains. We landed in Whitehorse at 11.30 a.m. after a total of 13 hours’ flying time and, as far as local time was concerned, just over 24 hours after leaving home. This seemed unbelievable and I could not help marvelling at the wonders of modern jet travel. There is in fact a difference of 8 hours between the Yukon and G.M.T. and of 10 hours when you cross into Alaska.

Hamish came rushing over to greet me and told me all about his mammoth drive of over 7,000 miles in 13 days, the last thousand of which had been along the most apalling dirt roads. This was certainly a feat of endurance, especially bearing in mind that he had either bought or collected all the expedition’s food and equipment en route, including a fibre-glass sledge in Philadelphia, freeze-dried foods and specially made air-dropping bags in New York, Mishakawa thermo-ply high-altitude rubber boots in Indiana, snow-shoes, moccasins and thermo-underwear in Montreal, ropes, marker-canes, butane containers and other essential camping equipment in Ottawa, and additional clothing and food in Edmonton and Dawson Creek. On top of all this, during the nights he had spent at motels, he had divided all the food into man/ day rations and packed it into polythene bags.

Hamish had arrived in the Yukon the previous week and had made contact with the leader of the scientific expedition, who very kindly offered to fly us up to their glacier high base camp from their lower base on Lake Kluane. He had then visited the Royal Canadian Mounted Police Headquarters and called at the Territorial Offices in Whitehorse where he was introduced to Monty Alford, a renowned mountaineer who is in charge of all the water reserves and natural resources in the Yukon. Alford very kindly gave Hamish all the information he needed about the area we intended to visit and paved the way for various necessary interviews: with the head of the Game and Fishing Department as the area was a Game Reserve; with the Secretary of Government Lands who issued him with an explorer’s licence; with the Department of Mines and Technical Surveys who supplied us with maps and finally with the Commissioner of the Yukon Territory himself who handed him a most elaborate certificate with a gold seal. A final clearance from the Royal Canadian Mounted Police at Haines Junction, 120 miles north of Whitehorse, was needed before the air-drop could take place. Our lists of food and equipment were carefully scrutinised, our dropping zones and intended routes were noted, details of rescue arrangements and addresses of next-of-kin were recorded. Everything was found to be in order and we were wished “Bon Voyage”. Everybody had been most helpful and showed the keenest interest in our project, especially as no attempt had hitherto been made to ascend Pinnacle Peak. We should like to take this opportunity of thanking everyone concerned for the courtesy and kindness shown to us.

The air-drop had actually taken place while I was flying up from Edmonton and Hamish told me it had been a complete success. The little Beaver aircraft which they used was based on the Yukon River at Whitehorse and was of course fitted with floats. It was quite an experience taking off down river, first skimming along on two floats then suddenly swinging on to one as a bend approached and finally leaping into the air and missing the trees by inches.

After some two hours’ flying the pilot was winding his way up huge glaciated valleys looking for Pinnacle Peak, a mountain of extraordinarily beautiful proportions. He was getting a little concerned as the weather was far from being settled but Hamish calmed his nerves and with a little persuasion they continued on their way. Suddenly, straight ahead, standing majestically out of the clouds, was the unmistakable outline of the peak we had come to climb. They circled round and luckily the glacier running up to the South Col was free from cloud. With some difficulty Hamish succeeded in heaving out the five heavy kit-bags, the last of which fell just short of the col, which would have made a fine site for our own high base camp.

In view of the bad weather conditions there was no question of a reconnaisance over Mount Logan so they flew down the South Arm of the Kaskawulsh Glacier and dropped some emergency rations at the junction of the main glacier in case we might have to make a walk-out. Then they went on up the upper arm of the Kaskawulsh Glacier to the large ice-plateau near the foot of Mount Queen Mary. It was in the centre of this huge desert of snow that the scientists on the Icefield Research Project had made their high base camp, and it was from here that we intended to start our walk into our own high base camp just over 32 miles away. Weather conditions by this time had become rather critical but they were lucky in spotting through a hole in the clouds the tiny cluster of tents huddled together in the centre of this 200 square mile basin of snow. They dived down and dropped the three remaining bags containing 8 days’ food and other items essential for our walk-in. They got back to Whitehorse a few minutes before my arrival, having taken just over 4 hours to complete their mission.

After being entertained to lunch in Whitehorse by Phil Upton, the Expedition pilot, and his wife, we set off in the car up the Alaska Highway. With us was the third member of our party, a student friend who had come north with Hamish. This highway was built in just over 8 months during the 39/45 war and runs for 1,520 miles from Dawson Creek to Fairbanks. I soon mastered the finer technique of driving flat out along the most atrocious road surfaces but the hazards were nerve racking, tremendous clouds of dust enveloped huge waggons trundling along at well over 60 m.p.h.; overtaking was terrifying. It was even worse after it had been raining when the road was covered with two or three inches of mud and very slippery. The scenery was magnificent, hundreds of lakes and rivers that would fulfil a fisherman’s wildest dream.

At last we arrived at the expedition’s lower base camp, situated between Silver Creek and the Slims River Bridge at Mile 1054. The sun was setting and the view of the little cluster of tents on the shore of Lake Kluane was an unforgettable sight. My first impression on arrival was one of surprise for instead of being greeted by a gang of bearded scientists, we were welcomed by a jolly crowd of clean-shaven men, with their wives and children. I was taken into the mess tent, introduced to all the members of the expedition and their families and joined them for an excellent dinner of chicken, fresh vegetables and wine, a pleasant change from the rather scanty meals provided on the various aircraft during the previous 36 hours.

After a most enjoyable evening we erected our tent and 1 was mightily relieved to get some sleep. I was awakened early next morning by mumbling noises just outside our tent. I whipped up the zipp of our door and flashed it down again shouting “Indians!” Hamish roared with laughter, “No need to worry,’ he said, “they are camping just across the road in the forest, we will pay them a visit one day.”

We were up by 6 a.m. helping Phil Upton to refuel his aircraft, it was a really glorious morning. All was ready for takeoff at 7 a.m. so we radioed the high base camp asking them to stand by and to our astonishment were told that it was snowing heavily, hopeless as far as flying was concerned. This was disappointing and we feared lest our air-drops might get buried. Anxiety increased as, every three hours, we contacted ‘Glacier’ and after two days things became serious. There was no question of our walking in up the Slims River Valley since all our essential equipment had been dumped at the scientists’ high base camp. There was nothing to do but wait until the weather improved.

To pass the time I wandered over to the Indian encampment. A charming young Indian girl came slowly forward to welcome me, told me her name was Miss Tommy Smith and led me to her tent where she introduced me to her mother, younger brothers and sisters. They could not understand how I, a white man from far across the sea, came to have the same name as they, There were three families in the camp, Mr. and Mrs. Tommy Smith, Mr. and Mrs. Tommy Joe and Mr. and Mrs. Isaac Moose, but I lost count of all the children. Mrs. Moose very kindly offered to make me some attractive moose skin boots and gloves which she said I could wear when I went back to London. She carefully measured my hands and feet by drawing round them and told me to come back and collect them in a few days time. The workmanship was magnificent but the smell was appalling!

The third day came and there was still no report of the weather improving, though it was gloriously hot and sunny in the valley. In desperation, rather than hang about base camp, we set trail up Bullion Creek in search of gold. The scenery in this creek was the finest and most spectacular we had yet come across. Armed with picks, shovels and pans we waded across a raging torrent no less than four times before we saw any signs of ‘Bed Rock’, a heavy black kind of clay where the gold is supposed to settle. We then passed an old, decrepit prospectors’ shack and decided that this was the obvious place to start digging, so dig we did. It did not occur to us that we might have been digging someone else’s claim.

We had only been at work for a few minutes when an ancient bearded figure appeared from nowhere, came over to us and told us that he hadn’t seen anybody up here for years. When I told him that I had come all the way over from England for a three weeks holiday he nearly collapsed. We spent a most interesting afternoon with him learning how to pan, a laborious proceeding. The history of the Yukon was unfolded and we learnt that he had been working up this creek for over thirty years, a hard life indeed, and from outward appearances not very remunerative.

I actually found a very small nugget after panning for only twenty minutes. This was lucky because the Expedition’s aircraft then flew low overhead waggling its wings to indicate that all was well for a fly-in. We ran four miles down the creek, during which I fell right into the torrent and nearly got swept away, and after a hectic drive got back to base to find the aircraft already waiting for us. After a hasty meal we plunged into the back of the plane, surrounded by our kit, had a rather exciting take-off and circled over Lake Kluane to gain as much height as possible before heading up the Slims River Valley.

Twenty minutes later we had our first glimpse of the great terminal moraines of the Kaskawulsh Glacier which drains into the Pacific by way of the Kaskawulsh and Alsek Rivers and into the Arctic by the Slims and Yukon Rivers. We swung sharply to the right and followed the huge glacier which is about 45 miles long and varies in width from two to five miles. At last the major peaks swept into view, a truly fantastic and awe-inspiring sight. The sun was setting and the long evening shadows with their spiky outlines emphasised the tremendous difficulties we would have encountered had we been working our way on foot up the valley thousands of feet below.

Contact was made with Glacier Camp who told us that there was a low layer of cloud sweeping across our landing area. Our spirits sank to a low ebb as, so near and yet so far, we circled for half an hour and then, as it was getting late, had no alternative but to fly regretfully back to base. Next day a further unsuccessful attempt was made to fly us in, then, on top of all our other worries we learnt that, due to clutch failures, three out of the four snow-travellers were out of action. This meant that we should have to haul our own sledge manually for 30 miles in deep powder snow.

Fortunately Monday dawned fine and at the second attempt we landed successfully at the scientists’ high base camp. Dozens of men seemed to appear from nowhere as the plane taxied in: this was indeed an important occasion, not only were we acting as mail carriers but we were loaded with fresh meat and vegetables, the first flight for five days. The pilot introduced us to Dick Ragle, the leader of the scientific party, and the rest of his team and we were shown down into their experimental Styrofoam insulated plywood shelter, specially designed for high polar work. It had been above ground the previous year but owing to heavy snowfalls was now 20 feet under.

A cup of tea was very welcome, we had been circling at 12,000 ft. for more than an hour waiting for the clouds to clear and it was cold. The scientists had seen Hamish making the air-drop and had retrieved the three kit-bags; we unpacked them and loaded up our sledge, sorted out the harnesses and climbing ropes, had a quick meal and were ready for off. Before leaving we presented the scientists with two bottles of whisky.

We plodded slowly across the huge accumulation of snow which is drained in a star-like pattern by five of the longest glaciers in the world outside the polar regions. They are: —

The Hubbard, 75 miles, draining south to the Pacific.
The Walsh, 60 miles, west to the Copper River in Alaska.
The Donjek, 35 miles, north into the Yukon.
The Kluane, 30 miles, also north to the Yukon.
The Kaskawulsh, 45 miles, east into the Alsek and Yukon.

We hauled the sledge about 8 miles during the heat of the day and since we were at 10,000 ft. this proved to be quite enough. Even during our comparatively short haul we quickly learnt the meaning of ‘glacier fatigue’, the scenery had not altered one little bit; the scale of these mountains has to be seen to be believed. We pitched the tent in the late afternoon and while we were unpacking the equipment the expedition’s aircraft flew low overhead. The pre-arranged signal was displayed to say that all was well, the pilot waggled his wings and the plane disappeared into the distance.

With the whole evening before us we set to work to sort out our gear and found to our dismay that five per cent of all the tins had burst open, all the matches had exploded and the biscuits had been reduced to crumbs. Apart from that everything else seemed to have withstood the buffeting of the drop extremely well. Most of the tins were bent, but all the Butane containers, apart from one fitted into our Bleuet stove, were all right. These containers had been very carefully packed in special tubes, a fact worth remembering by anybody planning an air-drop

After a rather mixed meal prepared from the remnants of smashed up tins, we settled down in our sleeping bags. The ice growled beneath us but Hamish and I slept soundly on our air beds; the third member of our party claimed that he spent the night holding the crevasses together so that we could sleep undisturbed. Owing to lack of sleep and the inevitable high altitude sickness which followed, he did not feel at all well next morning. Since I also did not feel too fit, we decided that it would be foolish to attempt a traverse of the huge crevassed area caused by the coalescing of the upper and lower arms of the Kaskawulsh Glacier which lay only a short distance ahead. The outcome of a lengthy discussion was that we left the bulk of our food and equipment at Camp One and struggled back to the scientists’ high base camp, where we relaxed for two days. However, even after this period of rest, the condition of our companion had slightly worsened and arrangements had to be made to fly him out. This was a great disappointment since it virtually meant the end of any serious mountaineering for us.

Hamish and I decided to accept the scientists’ kind invitation to stay at their camp for a further week so that we could see what was going on and at least have an opportunity to try out some of our polar equipment. The area surrounding the high base camp offered wide scope for scientific research in a number of subjects, the main ones being glaciology, meteorology and topography. The primary objectives of the project were to encourage undergraduate and graduate students to gain practical field experience and to make a study of a glaciered area in terms of its total environment.

Glaciered high mountain ranges are by their nature unsympathetic to human invasion. In the St. Elias mountains trails are non-existent and the scale of all the elements is so vast that air transport is the only key to these remote areas if any scientific work is to be achieved. It was for this reason that a Helio Courier H 391B aeroplane was selected as it had a low landing and take-off speed up to an altitude of 12,000 ft., it was also capable of carrying a pay load of 1,500 lbs. Polaris Model B57 Snow Travellers powered by 5.75 H.P. gasoline engines were used for ferrying goods around the camp and were found to be most efficient. A useful load of 250 lbs. and a man on skis could be towed without difficulty and on one occasion a sledge of 600 lbs. and five men on skis were towed without undue strain over a hard snow surface. These vehicles could also be comfortably accommodated, already assembled, in the aircraft.

During our short stay we helped to dig pits and take borings of the snow so that the cores could be examined. We also helped to record ablation measurements and weather reports; forecasts were made every six hours and we took our turns on the radio.

All members of the expedition working at the high base camp gathered in the underground hut for breakfast and dinner and we took it in turns to cook for a whole day. On an unforgettable occasion 1 found myself cooking for seventeen people. One morning Hamish and I skied down to Camp One to collect the food and equipment which we had left there. The snow was hard and crisp and we got there in less than three quarters of an hour, but as soon as the sun rose we sank thigh deep into the snow. We staggered back up the steep slopes wearing snow-shoes and pulling our heavy sledge behind us. The last hour and a half across the snow plateau was done in whiteout conditions and we were glad that we had had the foresight to mark our trail every quarter mile with orange marker flags which saved a lot of time and much anxiety. Unfortunately weather conditions during our stay of ten days at the glacier camp were far from satisfactory and it was only during the early morning or late evening hours that we saw any real sunshine. The maximum temperature recorded during August was 5° C. and the minimum —15°C.

As it was impossible for us to do any climbing we decided to do a lightning tour of Alaska during my remaining week’s holiday. The problem was how to get down to Kluane as the weather was very bad. Fortunately at midday the aircraft appeared overhead and circled round; I was able to talk him down through a small hole in the clouds. We unloaded the plane and Phil Upton said it was his wedding anniversary and he wanted to get back to the low base camp for a celebration party. The weather deteriorated in the afternoon and there was no significant improvement till 7 p.m. when a minute patch of blue sky appeared on the horizon. We jumped into the plane and revved up the engine, but the aircraft was well and truly frozen into the snow. Everybody within sight rushed over and swung on the wings, rocking the plane furiously; we lurched suddenly forward and after a few yards sank deeper into soft powder snow; we taxied for about five miles but could not get off the ground. We retraced our tracks, beating down the snow and at the second attempt, after one of the longest runs I have ever had to endure, we leapt into space.

We made for a little hole in the clouds and burst through it into brilliant sunshine, only the summits of four or five peaks were visible, they must have been about 17,000 ft. The hard truth suddenly hit me that I was supposed to be doing the navigating and the hole through which we had escaped had disappeared. I had to align the pilot over the Kaskawulsh Valley into which we were to make our descent. As instructed I kept an eye out below and down we went; the clouds cleared and there we were almost exactly on course, but now we had clouds above, clouds below and mountains on each side. Down we went again and, after a few anxious moments, we levelled off 50 feet or so above the glacier. We landed at the lower base camp in more or less pitch darkness on an unlit runway. What a celebration we had that night!

Hamish and I set off next day after lunch on a 2,000 mile trip round Alaska. We visited, amongst other places, Dawson City the scene of the historic gold rush in 1897. Although we met a number of rare old characters it could only be described as a ghost town and hardly worth a detour of 650 miles. The scenery between Dawson City and Tetlin Junction was very spectacular but the road consisted of no more than a mud track. The McKinley National Park is well worth a visit and the drive over the Denali Highway was simply wonderful. It is difficult to describe the vastness of this country where everything is on such a huge scale, for instance one of the valleys through which we passed was more than 50 miles wide. Several times bears or moose charged across the road right in front of us.

Our main reason for visiting Alaska was to photograph Mt. McKinley, one of the most imposing mountain massifs in the world, towering almost 17,000 ft. over the surrounding lowlands. Our mission, however, was in vain, the mountain was cloaked in a mantle of cloud; a disappointment after motoring almost continuously for two days and nights. To make up we spent an enjoyable evening at Camp Denali, a collection of quaint little rustic cabins on a steep mountain side overlooking Wonder Lake; a marvellous wilderness retreat to which I long to return.

The appalling weather continued next morning so we decided to return to Kluane and at least climb a small peak a few miles behind the low base camp. We hoped to get a chance to photograph the true St. Elias Range in the distance. We motored all that day and most of the next night, 836 miles, arriving back at the camp at 4.30 a.m. and dropping off to sleep the moment we crawled into our sleeping bags.

At 7.0 a.m. we were awakened to be told that Sir Edmund Hillary and his family had arrived unexpectedly and no doubt we would like to have breakfast with them. Sir Edmund told us that he had seen a most spectacular peak just off the road about 150 miles back up the highway. We had not spotted it ourselves as we had passed it in the dark; we were not even sure whether it had ever been climbed before.

We decided to set off that afternoon and get the car as near the peak as possible, which meant motoring several miles up a river bed, but we were told that some prospectors were working up the creek and that a rough track would have been beaten out. However, after motoring only five or six miles up the creek we knocked the sump off the hydraulic gear box. I was due to fly home three days later and this mishap meant that we would not have time both to climb our peak, which was still ten miles away, and to have the car towed out. Luck, however, was with us. A decrepit old waggon appeared from nowhere literally seconds after our misfortune; it could not tow us out as its driver was in a great hurry but he gave the third member of our party a lift back to the highway where he managed to persuade a drunken fellow in a roadside saloon to pull us out at 11.30 p.m. Next morning, thanks to a kindhearted army sergeant whose hobby was welding, we were on our way back to Kluane after only two hours’ delay. We had a farewell lunch with the scientists and then set off down the Alaska Highway to Dawson Creek, a total of 1,054 miles which we accomplished in just over 28 hours.

I flew home the next day after a simply wonderful holiday. Never before had I done or seen so much in such a short time. In the not too distant future it ought to be possible for a club to charter an aeroplane and visit such regions. Three weeks is long enough but four would make the expedition really worthwhile.

My own feelings about this strange country, even after so short a visit and so many frustrations when we tried to do any serious mountaineering, are perhaps best expressed by a quotation from The Spell of the Yukon, by Robert W. Service:

There’s a land where the mountains are nameless
and the rivers all run God knows where;
There are lives that are erring and aimless,
and deaths that just hang by a hair;
There are hardships that nobody reckons;
there are valleys unpeopled and still;
There’s a land—oh it beckons and beckons,
and I want to go back—and I will.

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