Mt. Whitney 14,496'

When viewed from highway 395, 14,496′ Mt. Whitney and neighboring Day and Keeler Needles hardly stand out amidst their neighboring peaks.  In fact, from some places the surrounding peaks look higher and many passersby would never know that this jagged chunk of granite is the highest peak in the lower 48!  Nor would they know that it’s got a rich climbing history and two classic Sierra Nevada rock climbs scale it’s massive east face.

To be honest, Whitney first hit my list because it was just one of those “It’s in my backyard and it’s the highest in peak in the lower 48 so I might as well do it” climbs.  I’d heard the stories of the crowded summit, the lottery and trail quota hassle, and the trail to the top and it just didn’t sound like my kind of climbing.  However, as the winter snows fell, feet got strapped back into their plastic cocoons, and I started reading up on the peak I started to get intrigued.  Betcha the crowds don’t climb it in the winter.  Betcha the skiing in the Mountaineer’s Route is good.  Wouldn’t it be cool to climb the East Buttress and then ski corn snow back to camp?  Those thoughts coupled with my buddy Jake being eager to get a climb in before we headed back to Alaska got the ball rolling.

First, some history.  During the 1860’s and 1870’s folks were confused about which peak in the Sierras was the highest.  Clarence King thought he spied it while surveying with the California Geological Survey, and set out to climb it.  When he topped out, he was disappointed to realize that he had climbed the wrong peak.  A second attempt resulted in failure, but finally on his third attempt he believed he’d made the first ascent.  Imagine his disappointment when a couple years later it was discovered that he’d actually climbed Mt. Langley which is a few hundred feet lower and 5 miles to the south of the summit of Mt. Whitney.  He raced out west from New York to reclaim his achievement, but he’d been beaten to it.

By the late 1920’s the mountain had a pretty good trail to the summit and was not a lonely place on a summer day.  All ascents to this point had been via the easier south and west sides of the mountain with one exception (that lasted for half a century).  John Muir climbed a narrow gully just north of the sheer eastern face in 1873.  Upon completing the climb Muir warned that “soft, succulent people should go the mule way”.  This route is known today as the Mountaineer’s Route and is actually a popular descent route off of the mountain.

The sheer East Face of the mountain was never even considered as a climb until 1931 when organized roped climbing made its debut in California.  It was then that some big names in early California climbing history scouted out and climbed the classic East Face Route.  In August of 1931, Robert Underhill, Jules Eichorn, Glen Dawson, and Norman Clyde scouted and climbed the route in a stunning 3 1/4 hours.  A time that is rarely equaled today.  Along the way they named the famous “Fresh Air Traverse” which in Clyde’s words was an area that “proved to be one requiring considerable steadiness, as the ledges were narrow and there was a thousand feet of fresh air below.”  Glen Dawson returned to Whitney in 1937 and with his brother Muir, Robert Brinton, and Howard Koster, became the first to climb the classic East Buttress route on the mountain.  This was a more sustained route than the East Face and Dawson was glad he’d worn tight fitting tennis shoes on the route.

Basecamp

So, setting out in the footsteps of some of the greats, Jake and I made our way to our base camp on the mountain.  It was fun to read the history of the area and try to picture ourselves back in the ’30’s contemplating climbing this chunk of rock for the first time ever.  As we ascended the Mountaineer’s Route, I tried to picture John Muir, his horse tied up in a meadow below, picking his way solo through the scree and boulders as he made his way up.  Upon reaching the summit, we found a different sort of history in the old Smithsonian Institute shelter; where researchers had been stationed to determine if there was any water vapor in the atmosphere of Mars. All in all a beautiful summit day and enjoyable climbing.

The day following our first ascent, we decided to climb the mountain again via the East Buttress Route.  It’s a classic Sierra climb.  1,000 vertical feet.  11 pitches.  Great exposure.  Great rock.  Rich history.  As I placed my cams, smeared with my ultra-sticky 5.10 rock shoes, and belayed with my kern-mantle dynamic climbing rope, I couldn’t help but think back, with huge respect, to the guys who first climbed this route with tennis shoes and hemp ropes, only placing 4 pitons on the entire route.  I clipped one of their pitons as we climbed by to honor their achievement.  Jake and I reached the top as the sun was dipping low in the sky and felt elated with completing the climb.

As we drove away, Whitney faded back into the surrounding mountains.  Our experience, however, won’t fade away for a long time.  With the spectacular setting and great climbing we were pleasantly surprised and I’m sure we’ll return some day.  Maybe the Fishook Arete on neighboring Mt. Russell…….

Topping out on the East Buttress

Matterhorn Peak

At 12,279 feet, Matterhorn Peak is the tallest peak in the jagged Sawtooth Range of the Eastern Sierra Nevadas.  This spectacular collection of sheer granite forms the northernmost boundary of Yosemite National Park.  In the winter, it boasts some of the Sierras’ finest ski mountaineering.  This was our destination.

Weather forecasts in late January of 2010 went crazy as a massive storm system approached the west coast.  NOAA’s weather website issued the full arsenal of hazardous weather warnings.  Copious amounts of rain were expected and snow levels were forecast to drop low into the valleys.  The high-level winds that powered this monster were expected to top 200 mph.  To me and my skiing buddies, fellow SEAG guide Dan Hernandez and Louis Rivara this seemed like the perfect weather for a camping trip.

Skiing in, we had perfect weather.  Sunny, warm, and still.  Only the high, wispy clouds provided a hint of the approaching storm.  We set up camp at about 9,200 feet and enjoyed a relaxing dinner before retiring for the night.  Sometime around 1am I awoke to a sound like a jet engine.  My first thought was “Man, Dan snores really loud!”  Still groggy with sleep, I grabbed my headlamp and peeked outside.  Snow was swirling on the wind, and the megamid we’d set up as a cook tent was being put through its paces by the powerful gusts of wind.  I was glad we’d taken the time to bury our deadman anchors deep.

Early the next morning, we wolfed down a quick breakfast and got ready to climb.  The storm was building in intensity and created an electric sense of excitement in the mountains.  We headed up into it, paying close attention to what the visibility was doing and assessing the rapidly changing snow conditions as we went.  Although the wind was howling, and the snow conditions were not great for skiing, there were smiles all around at the opportunity to be right in the thick of it.  At about 11,000 feet we cached our skis and continued with crampons and ice axes up the steep snow colouir that leads to the summit.  The wind was fierce and we were forced to pile rocks on top of our skis to keep them from blowing away.  Nearing the top of the colouir, I was buffeted by gusts of wind powerful enough to knock me down.  Maintaining 3 and even 4 points of contact with the snow was essential - but this is what we were here for.

Climbing the final colouir

Topping out in the coloir, the wind was ferocious.  We had to yell at each other to communicate and the blowing spindrift of snow poured over the ridge like a waterfall.  As the wind whipped through the nooks and crannies of rock, faint resonations, like a didgeridoo could be heard.  Very cool!  Experiencing the storm’s raw power head on like this was nothing short of exhilarating and in John Muir’s words “….never before did I enjoy so noble an exhilaration of motion.”.

As we skied back to camp, I couldn’t help but grin.  Chances were good that we were the only people for hundreds of miles to experience this storm in all its raw glory.  I could feel its energy in every fiber of my body.  Now I knew how John Muir felt……

It all started one day in July, fellow guides Nathan Spearing and Ben Wilcox came to me with a plan, “Let’s climb Pico de Orizaba this fall! Oh and we already booked our flights!” Pico de Orizaba is a stratovolcano located 75 miles inland from the port town of Veracruz and the Gulf Coast. It is the third highest peak in North America at 18,490 feet (5,636 meters). For some strange reason I was uncharacteristically hesitant to jump on board, but then, after a long night of McCarthy “shenanigans”, I realized I couldn’t let them go without me and booked my flight the next day. Mexico here we come!

Our trip started off in Mexico City; however two days before we were supposed to arrive I received a message from Ben. He had hit a deer while on a road trip in Colorado and totaled his car; ETA in Mexico City was now unknown…….but he said he’d be there. So Nathan and I headed south and met up in Mexico City, unsure and taking bets on when Ben might arrive. However, much to our surprise, some time around midnight, on his scheduled day of arrival, guess who walks through the door? A Mr. Ben Wilcox. Much to our amazement Ben found a rental car, drove over a thousand miles in one day and made it in time to catch his flight. So the adventure was on.

The next day we started our journey to the summit. We caught a bus to the small town of Tlachichuca. The town sits in the foothills of Orizaba and we spent two nights in town. There happened to be a festival that week and every night there were live bands, fireworks and 4 peso tacos. It was quite the experience. We then traveled by truck up to Piedra Grande Hut at 14,000ft. This is where we spent the next four days and it served as our “high camp” on Orizaba. Our first full day was spent acclimatizing by taking a hike up to about 15,800 feet. We went to bed early that night in hopes of a summit attempt the following morning. However, sleep at night was almost nonexistent; the wind was constant and up high on the mountain the clouds moved in. None the less we awoke at 2am and set out to give it ago. We reached the previous day’s high point of 15,800 feet and hunkered down till sunrise to see if the clouds would burn off. Unfortunately they didn’t, so we headed back down to the hutin hopes that it would be better weather the next day. We awoke the next morning, looked out the window and saw the same scene as the day before, nothing but clouds and wind up high. However a team that had summited the previous day told us that, although the weather wasn’t exactly pleasant, that it was still doable. So we saddled up and started upwards.

We set out 3am; visibility was clear until we hit about 16,000 feet. Once we entered the cloud layer, visibility dropped to around 10-15 yards. The wind was constant from the moment we left the hut. Winds speeds were averaging 40+ mph and gusting higher. As we climbed frost built up on our clothes and ice axes, but the team from the day before was right. It wasn’t exactly pleasant but it was doable, so we continued climbing, it kept us warm. Orizaba is a nontechnical climb, the altitude and the weather made it a mental battle. Once we got on the glacier the terrain steepened, and due to the low visibility it was difficult to tell how far we had come or how much we had left. We just kept trudging upwards knowing that every step brought us closer to the summit. At one point I glanced down at my altimeter and realized I was only 500 feet from the top. I stopped to catch my breath and as I looked around, the clouds parted. I grabbed my camera, snapped a few photos, and mentally psyched myself up for the last 500 feet. Ben was above me and had already summited. Nathan, unfortunately was headed down, his feet had become dangerously cold and was forced to turn around 700 feet from the summit. At around 9 am, on the 4^th of December Ben and I stood together on the summit. You could see 75 miles away to the Gulf of Mexico. We took a few photos, a video, and headed down. We met up with Nathan at the bottom of the glacier and the three of us headed down together.

While we waited for our ride to pick us up, we chatted about what to do with the week we had left. More climbing on another mountain? Or Coronas on the beach? Hmm… Tough call… Needless to say the Coronas won out. Cheers to Orizaba.

Just wanted to check in and say hey and that I’ve made it in.

Arrived in Kashmir, and the place is nuts. Thought I was dead about 20 times on the drive here from the port and the power just went out for the 27th time. Meanwhile, monstrous peaks abound. Everyone’s super friendly though many of them are carrying AK-47’s. I even have my own personal servant that brings meals and pickle-smoochings to my room. Ultimately, the local Kashmiris are so grateful for what we are trying to do for them, which is bring tourism to their mountains through establishing a local, self-sufficient ski patrol, without which they’d suffer heavy casualties. While we do arm them with first aid and evac skills, we (Brian, Gulmarg snowsafety director/friend and I) are here to teach them to manage avalanches. With terrain this consequential (4600ft of vertical, mostly above treeline), avalanche control demands the use of explosives, the recent acquisition of which was no easy task considering this is an historically troubled, military hot zone (both India and Pakistan claim Kashmir).

Arriving in Kashmir

Kashmir, the northern-most tip of India, is a deep, sweeping valley, rimmed by major mountains acting as the border with Pakistan to the west and north, and Tibet further to the east. Securing/riddling these borders/snowy ridgelines are army bases for as far as you can see. Towering above the valley and always demanding attention, 8000+ meter Nanga Parbat forms the girth of the western Himalaya.

Gulmarg, our mountain and town at its base, lies in the Pir Panjal Mountains –a splinter of western Himalaya on the northwestern edge of the valley. The resort is run by the Government, specifically the Office of Tourism. It’s much busier here in the summer when Indians come up from below to ride the gondola - the highest on earth at over 13,000ft - and catch a view and whiff of fresh from high up above the mung. It was installed for that reason, but then, in 2005, skiing became permitted from the top. The explosives weren’t procured until 2008, so there were a few years in there that control was limited to closing the mountain and granting it time to shed its snow naturally, or adjust to the weight of the newly fallen snow. The other way was to use ski-cutting and human weight to trigger the slides, a very risky practice (one basically unacceptable under certain, not uncommon conditions).

Gulmarg

Brian has really made the difference here. It is his third season in the valley (check it out). It was he who lobbied for and gained access to the bombs and you should see him bring every Bashear, Mehraj and Hamil into his bosom. They revere him and it’s pretty entertaining to see. He runs a weekly avalanche awareness talk at our hotel and has also put up a basic website with an avalanche advisory and weather forecast (click here). He just doled out new avalanche transceivers to all the local patrollers and has installed two beacon burial practice sites for them and the general public to hone their skills. New, large and colorful avi-advisory boards have just been hung at the lift terminals. His latest priority is to obtain the data that is being logged by numerous weather stations on and flanking Mt. Apherwat (the local highpoint) so that we can enjoy real time feed, and thus, forecast with more confidence.

This task may sound straightforward and you might expect it to come easy, but it is not and won’t. The weather stations are maintained by the military, and by whom, precisely, has been of some question. There are so many bodies employed by the government that false-leads and dead-ends can feel standard. Just today he has descended into the filmy inversion to Srinagar (the hub of Indian Kashmir) in search of contacts and hope. Once he finds the right person, he has then to prompt the office of tourism to appeal to this man and his branch of the army for access to this info. In other words, we can’t just depend on the office of tourism to find the right individual and make this happen. Instead, it takes someone from outside that can navigate their own bureaucratic channels better than they. Inefficiency, rank politics and the lack of infrastructure reign. I recently skied past a local floundering down the mountain in a patrol coat and later learned it was his first time skiing! How’d you like to see that roll up on your crumpled carcass? A random example of the blatant partiality endemic to these reaches. But that’s ok; most everyone is at ease here. To that regard the place is simple and happy. Patience is Muhammad. There’s no worrying over liability, mountain managers breathing down your crack, pressing you to clear the mountain to public, or first tracks before we open to pub. Get it, gut it, as much as you like and you’ll never hear the slightest gripe.

Fresh tracks at Gulmarg

While this region is renowned for its extraordinary amounts of snowfall, there strangely has hardly been any this year. In fact, before Sunday’s 20cm drop of fresh, these reaches hadn’t seen snow since early November! Needless to say, I appreciated the warm welcome gesture and went up for my debut exposure. The lowlands are generally socked in with smoggy filth (makes the Salt Lake Depression look like Aruba), but we are just above it, and this was a sunny day. Sure enough, the rumors materialized, and there, high above the congestion, were the open faces and endless fall lines, untracked. Because the snowpack is so thin, however, rocks are lurking everywhere and so I quickly learned to pull back the throttle. This slender cover is also cause for a bit of angst, as for when the snow really does arrive, we’ll be looking at a very unstable base layer. Hopefully, we’ll just get hammered with such a large load that all that new weight atop this weak snow will cause it to fail and clear off the mountain, allowing us to start anew. Shooting the moon. Once it does come, my responsibility is Army Ridge, the northern flank of the inbounds terrain. Peppered with rock reefs and military litter, this control route has plenty of suspect faces, chutes and pockets that should make for some decent results and an interesting time. With nothing but sun in the forecast, I frown to think I may not see action anytime soon. At least I have more time to study the route and condition myself. The terrain here is so massive, I’m guessing I’ll be a machine before long, though certainly not before I suffer for it. The chair has assured me of this…

Take all this high altitude exertion and combine it with a wicked spicy and tasty cuisine and I’m in an aggressive feeding pattern. Unexpectedly, my GI tract is still intact (knock on it). The tea is divine and overabundant (I’m already way beyond my annual quota), and you have to watch your chicken intake. The other day I had chicken for breakfast, lunch, snack and dinner.

On top of all this excitement, I enjoy occasional wifi (the only wave in town) in my room, but only at the expense of peace and quiet. I’m the closest of anybody (in town) to the router, but also with that comes the restaurant and lounge where music is blasted. All in all, I still feel connected to the world, with ample time to keep in touch and tend the biz.

There are so many other aspects, Kashmiri customs and nuances to be explored. In truth, you need to be here to understand the richness of the experience. Thanks for suffering my attempt to bring it to you. Clearly, I believe this unusual and stimulating setting needs to be spoken of…

Cheers!

TD

Don Sheldon Mountain House, Alaska

Every spring in early May we start off our season with a trip to the Don Sheldon Mountain House. In the heart of the Alaska Range, with views of Denali, Mt. Hunter, Mt. Barille, Mt. Dickey, the Moose’s Tooth, the Rooster Comb, and much more, this is a spectacular place to spend a week! The ski touring, ski mountaineering and technical cl

imbing in this area are all phenomenal, and best of all, you get to base it all out of the luxury of the Mountain House, a small hut balance on a little rock ridge in the middle of it all!

A fabulous client of ours, Wayne, created this video of his ski touring trip there in 2008. Check it out! You will notice that the skiers on this particular trip were relative beginners, and the trip is suitable for those with only basic skills, but there is also endless adventure to be had for those with honed skills in either skiing and climbing or both. The Don Sheldon Amphitheater and Ruth Gorge have something for everyone!

We extended the length of the Mountain House trip this year to 5 nights, 6 days to give just a little more time in this paradise. The trip begins on May 3rd with a pick-up in Anchorage, and returns the evening of the 8th. The cost is $2,550 per person. For more information, visit our website! Now’s the time to start booking your spring and summer adventures.

See you in Alaska!

El Pico de Orizaba

St. Elias Alpine Guide Miles Clark recounts his recent adventures on 18,490 ft El Pico de Orizaba in Mexico.  When he’s not climbing mountains in Mexico, Miles can be found strapped into a pair of skis, making ski films for Adventure Film Works……

I just got back from my Mexico climbing trip yesterday.  It ended up being a pretty intense-at-times/very-mellow-at-times trip.

The intensity was on day two on El Pico de Orizaba (18,701 ft.).  At around 15,700 feet, I had a client start feeling sick.  We were on a training hike and once we got back to camp, 14,000 feet, he felt worse.  I was monitoring his pulse, breathing rate, heart rate, and overall look and feeling closely.  Around 10pm at night I got confirmation that he had High Altitude Pulmonary Edema (HAPE)(The #1 killer at high altitude).  Emergency evacuation!

We ended up ridiculously lucky that a Mexican guide was at a nearby hut with his 4×4 truck.  Within 10 minutes of confirming my client’s HAPE we were in that truck and headed down the mountain.  Descent is the only medicine against HAPE and during the two hour descent from 14,000 ft to 9,000 ft my client improved markedly.  He continued to improve during the following days as we charged around checking out the fun, cultural side of Mexico.

Festival bull-whippers

The trip turned into a road trip.  Initially we stayed in the town of Tlachichua, at the base of the mountain, and went to an unreal revolution anniversary festival.  It blew my mind with guys in scary costumes having bull-whip fights, harassing the Mariachi band, and then ending it all with a amazing firework fight that involved a fake bull they held over there head that was burning with fireworks as they butted each other with it and ran around like crazy people!

The next morning we dropped 8,000 feet from Orizaba to Veracruz and the Gulf of Mexico.  Beers on the beach and body surfing were something completely unplanned on the trip but very welcome after our scare on the mountain.

Mariachi band at Veracruz

From the beach we cruised back up the to the plateau and stayed in Puebla.  Puebla may be the most gorgeous, interesting city that I’ve ever been to.  We had dinner on the beautiful central square under fancy umbrellas listening to a live saxophonist playing Frank Sinatra.

The next morning we jammed over and saw the Pyramids of Teotihuacan.  These pyramids are impressively huge and although we didn’t have much time we were able to charge up to the top of both pyramids and check out the surrounding temples.

We then spent our last night on the central square in Mexico City

Protesters in Mexico City

and enjoyed a military parade and the funky social aftermath.  Our final morning was comic with a 100,000 person protest and us having to carry all our gear through the crowd with a police escort 4 blocks just to get a cab to the airport.

It was an amazing trip, yet entirely not what I’d expected!

Our original plan was to backpack a section of the Pacific Crest Trail between two mountain passes.  It would be a journey of about 30 miles through moderate terrain.  A good 2-day trip with the boys.  Originally, we had assumed that the trail would be mostly snow free and though this was new territory, we could follow it with relatively little trouble.  However, as the weekend drew near some light snowfall changed things.  With the possibility of the trail being obscured by snow, out came the topo maps for a more detailed study of the route with map and compass navigation in mind.  Friday afternoon arrived and so did the troops.  Excited for the trip, we packed gear and food and made ready to leave early Saturday morning.  One of my friends, surprised us with gifts of small pocket harmonicas to play on the trip.  One last check of gear and food and somebody suggested checking the highway conditions report one last time to see if there had been any changes.  Alas, the highway that would provide access to our starting point had closed that day.  Out came the topo maps again, searching for an alternate route into the area we wanted to hike.  Finding none, it became clear that we needed to abandon our original plans and change our itinerary at the last minute.  We settled on another section of the PCT and got some rest.

As we hiked in early Saturday morning, we found the trail partially obscured with 2″ of fresh snow.  This was no problem and we made camp that afternoon within striking distance of the highest peak in the area; planning to climb it in the morning.  The night was cold, but harmonica music and the company of good friends warmed our camp.

Morning found us slipping and sliding up snow-covered granite boulders en route to the summit.  The thin layer of snow changed the character of the climb dramatically, especially with just our ice axes for traction.  One of my friends only has sight in one eye, and upon reaching the summit was extremely frustrated with the effect his impaired depth perception was having on his footing.  However, after a quick snack and a little harmonica music spirits were once again high, and we set out to traverse a high, thin ridgeline to a neighboring peak.  We quickly found ourselves precariously picking our way across the slippery, snow-covered granite of the ridge; usually a moderate scramble in the summer.  A meeting was called and our plan re-evaluated.  Though the ridge (with 500 foot drops in some places) was slightly unappealing, we decided that at that time of day it offered our best option.  We pushed on and after some airy 4th class+ terrain (including sections where we had to hoist our packs on a rope) we reached our second summit and lunch.  By this time, the middle of the day had passed, impaired depth perception continued to frustrate my friend, and the tedious snow-covered route was taking its toll.  Again, we re-evaluated our position.  We’d originally planned to hike from this ridge to a section of trail that would take us to a highway where we could hitch hike back to the car.  But, given the conditions, the possibilities of this were waning.

The descent from here was unfamiliar, but with the aid of a topo map we plotted a course off of the mountain.  By this time the sun was becoming low in the sky and we feared that soon the ever-present meltwater on the granite boulders would become ice, severely reducing our options.  We descended as quickly as the terrain allowed and, as is frequently the case in the wilderness, made much slower progress than expected; continually zigging and zagging and re-evaluating our route to avoid the worst of the snow and ice-covered granite slabs that surrounded us.  Our pace was cut in half, and when we finally reached the bottom, fatigue tugged at our limbs and the sun was well on its way to setting.  With 7 more miles to go to the car, we debated camping another night or pressing on.  In the end, after re-hydrating, snacking, and some more harmonica music, we decided to push on.  At that point we weren’t far from intersecting our trail from the previous day and if we could find our footprints before it got too dark, we’d be alright.  We topped off our water, added layers, and prepared to leave.  Re-energized we picked our way amongst frozen pools and granite benches.  Just as dark set in, we picked up our trail and settled in for the long trudge home by the light of our headlamps.  Stumbling wearily along in the snowy dark, it would have been easy to let our spirits sink.  But, once again some amateur harmonica music, GORP breaks, and a sky full of stars kept us going till we reached the car.

So, whether your adventures this winter take you far from home, or just outside of the backyard, stay flexible, stay tuned in, and choose your options carefully.  Oh yeah…………and don’t forget the harmonica.

Matt Vial - General Manager

-Matt Vial

General Manager

Each newsletter contains stories about past trips, featured guide biographies, helpful hints on things like gear, backcountry recipes, etc, and links to upcoming trips and specials. Don’t miss it!

Gilahina Railroad Tressle along the McCarthy Road, September

Glacier on the McCarthy Road, Wrangell-St. Elias National Park

It is like a different world out there in the heart of winter. The valley is quiet, and if it has snowed recently, noises are muffled by the fluffy white stuff hanging on every tree branch.

Winter in Kennecott, Wrangell-St. Elias

There could be anywhere from 20 to 60 people in the Kennicott Valley during the winter months, and everyone lives scattered throughout the valley, making it seem like even less. Most residents leave the state for at least a short time during the winter to escape the cold and dark and keep from getting a serious case of cabin feaver! No roads are plowed - people get around by snow-machine, skis or dogsled.

Sled dogs in Wrangell-St. Elias National Park