Stewart MapStewart is a small town in Northern BC, based at the beginning of a narrow ocean inlet. The town gets a ridiculous amount of snow and would be more well known if it didn't have such persistently poor weather. Dave Treadway had first been to Stewart in 2008. It was a place he had been recommended to discover while driving on his way up to Alaska, by his oldest brother Dan. Dave had a good trip into the back country in '08, (he proposed to his wife on a peak there) but didn't have the strong ski crew he needed to safely go after the many big lines he spotted. Upon returning home from the Chugach, where he eventually ended up that year, he started planning the '09 trip back to the Stewart backcountry. The peaks he saw marinated in his mind for a year and when he finally got back there he went after it.
By April 1 2009, Dave had his bags packed and was ready to leave at a moments notice for the Stewart area. The weather is such a factor there that it was pointless to go until there was dominant high pressure system over the area. Several people were on the fence about joining Dave but all he needed was one committed partner. This crucial link to the big line equation took the form of his brother Daryl. Daryl, who after completing his teaching degree at university had committed to five years of pursuing the ski life, was at the end of this tenure. With a 2 year plan to go to Venezula and teach already committed to (leaving that summer), he knew this would be one of his last ski trips in a while.
This Stewart trip was by no means the first big, peak bagging trip of the season for these guys. Daryl and Dave, along with the other members of the Pemberton Big Mountain Hunting Club had been killing it all season. (http://www.biglines.com/articles/pemberton-big-mountain-hunting-club )Both brothers, together on many trips but also on separate trips, had managed to ski several notable peaks in the coast range. They did this by pioneering sled routes to the bases of these peaks and then climbing up them and shredding down. This also proved to be the format for the Stewart trip. While several other invites were sent out to qualified others to join the brothers on the Stewart trip, nobody ended up making the voyage. Nobody but me that is. To say I was in a different state of mind to these accomplished guys last season would be correct. The 2009 season was not exactly stellar for me in terms of getting after it. With a new child, a new business (biglines.com) and lots of other stuff on the go, I wasn't exactly in the mind space to push it. I had also resigned myself to pull back in general in the big mountains after the birth of my daughter. My biggest accomplishment on this trip was actually just going on it. There's always reasons to not go, but I sucked it up and went to meet my friends and I've never regretted that decision. I'm lucky to have accomplished enough in the big mountains in the past that I can tag along on a trip like this and fit in.
sick peak: skied by Dave TreadwayDave and Daryl skied some pretty amazing lines. The gnarliest ones occurred before I got to the zone ( see Daryl's descriptions below). Dave skied one of the wildest lines I've ever seen and it must be considered as one of the most amazing lines pioneered in 2009. The peak, which has no name that we know of, sticks up prominently in the zone. It's North and North East face is big, exposed and remote and considering all these factors, this has got to be one of the most notable big mountain first descents of 2009. I am claiming the title 'first descent,' so squawk at me and not Dave if it isn't true. We don't actually know if anybody has skied this line in the past, but I suspect nobody has. The fact that Daryl and Dave have done so little to promote themselves from this trip is a testament to their personalities and intentions. They did this trip for themselves and no one else. They committed to going on the trip with only each other. Each one of them was armed with only a point and shoot still camera and until I came along, no video was shot. Considering that both these guys are 'pro' skiers, which means that they spend a lot of time waiting around for the cameras to be taken out, they paid very little attention to this aspect during this trip. I really respect them both for not professionalizing this trip, although if they would have waited even just a few moments longer for me to take out my camera, there would be several more shots that are less shaky in this video! Thanks for nothin suckas. When you're in the big mountains with these two and they have their game faces on, it's all you can do to keep up, let alone try to document it.
I'm happy to say that the trip ended with all of us getting out safely and satisfied. As Daryl mentions in his report, this trip is seared into his memory and Dave called it the trip of a lifetime. For me, it was a good kick in the butt to get back in the game. Something that I'm inching closer to. The big mountains can be scary places and one can never forget that. On the boy's final line of the trip, a very spooky slough hit them while they were fixing a rappel station. Daryl probably broke his finger when he plunged his ice axe in to stabilize himself. But as he says in the vid, 'I'll take this injury out of that anytime." Pushing it in the big mountains is not a safe career path. I've been there before; I've had times in my life when I looked for the steepest, most exposed lines to ski and it's such a special time when you accomplish those goals. For Daryl and Dave, this was that kind of trip for them and it was rad to witness.
Written by Daryl Treadway: Written in December 2009
It is December again ... a long time since May’s snowmobile ski trip in Hyder Alaska with my bro Dave. So much has happened in those 7 months that is seems like a world away. As I cut off the last of my disfigured finger nail, which I smashed while getting pounded by wet slough from overhead cliffs, I realize the depth to which those AK lines have been burned in my memory, my personality, my attitude ... in me. I have since relapsed into many tense and exhilarating flashbacks of specific lines.
Dave and I dedicated April to watching satellite imagery of Stewart BC/Hyder AK, ready to move when and if the weather broke. With an average of one week of sun per winter this international sled ski Mecca requires perfect timing of blue skies combined with proper temperatures and wind conditions, which our patience rewarded us with.
Loaded sleds: sleds and toboggans loaded for the trip.With 500 litres of high octane gas in tow, enough food for ten days and hopefully enough mountaineering equipment, we rode 40 km to a trapper’s cabin whose roof barely broke through the snow’s surface.
After two days and 20 000 feet of my life’s best skiing, we felt it was time to approach the fringe of our comfort zone. The day plan was to ski two peaks, both with chutes starting at the top and running 3000 feet to crevasse laden glaciers. These slopes were pretty steep ... ok, really steep; but our perception of steep had become drastically altered during the first two adrenaline filled days.
We sledded up the backside of the first peak and hiked to the top, where we found a weather tower/cabin perched on a cliff. We climbed onto the roof and were able to see the ocean. Then I roped up and slid into the ‘curve ball’ couloir on the North face. Snow stability felt good, and the snow conditions were good enough, so I unhitched from the rope and dropped in … 3000 feet later I arrived at the sled; my legs screaming with lactic acid, and heart pounding out of my chest from the long, steep run.
Dave’s Fisher Price radio that didn’t work all season still didn’t work in Alaska, so without knowing snow conditions, he skied fall line down a 2000 foot hanging spine, then hopped into the chute when the snow ran out, completing the gnarliest line I have ever witnessed. Watching Dave ski the exposed spine with such grace was a very scary yet beautiful moment. He claims it was the line of his life. Not a bad warm up run; now it was time to really get at it.
The rowdy peak skied by Dave. He hit the sunlit face to the rib and then into the coulior.
ridiculous line: skied by Dave and Daryl. It had 2 mandatory rappels.During a recon mission of the seemingly endless glaciers, I spotted a big rock peak with a vein of snow wiggling its way from top to bottom. This was the most difficult looking ski descent that included a rappel through an icefall half way down, and we were unsure if the line was even accessible.
Our first approach up the climber’s right side proved unsuccessful as we ended up at the base of a cliff that led to the top, and at the same time, on top of a 500 foot cliff that dropped off the backside. We had hoped to find a route up the back, but the entire south side of the mountain was a sheer cliff that fell away to a crevassed glacier. At the foot of this glacier was the site of a 1960s iron ore mine, but the entire mine and village had been wiped out by a massive avalanche. From this remote mine, ore was hauled under the mountains and glaciers 16 miles in a tunnel to Happy Valley, where our cabin was built on the old town site. A quick mental trip into history, and Dave and I, who were feeling like true explorers, were humbled by the men that walked these hills a generation previous.
out there: Dave following Daryl's lead on a gnarly climb and ski.As wet snow sloughed off the south wall, we snapped back into the reality that we were sitting below a huge cliff, and above a huge cliff, and we quickly retreated. By sledding around the west side, we were able to ride within 100 vertical feet of the top, but it was a technical ride with sled-ending consequences for any mistakes. Once the route was packed in, we dropped one sled at the bottom and went for the tandem ascent. It started by pinning the sled across the glacier at a near vertical 200 foot wall where our skis never touched the snow, then weaving around crevasses and again pinning it up another steep pitch where we had to jump across a crevasse half way up, veer right before the top of the ridge that dropped away to nothingness, and side hill above ceracs, then pin it again for a bench below the summit. It was tense, but in a weird way, fun.
Despite being so close to the top, we still were not sure if we could get to the entrance of the line. With crampons and ice axes we tried a couple routes, only to be cliffed-out at the top. At one point I could see into the chute, but I was on a wall that looked down 300 feet at it; at least I was able to catch a glimpse of the entrance which was skiable. Feeling defeated, we tried the south side, where a ribbon of snow attached itself to the huge cliff. Anchoring off rocks, we leap-frogged one another along this ribbon of rotten, isothermic schmoo, praying it would continue to hold. Thirty nervous minutes later we were peering down our line, legs trembling from what we had just experienced, and also from the look of our line.
The top of the chute was a wall of super steep spines with gripable snow, which was a relief as neither of us wanted to retrace our tracks.We built an anchor, and I roped up for the initial pitch. We decided that it was better to ski with our ice axes instead of poles as our up-hill hand would be against the snow, and we may need to dig in to stop; and our downhill pole plant would be non-existent as the slope was too steep to reach with a pole. Another reason for having the axes in hand was for the ice-cliff half way down the line, where I would have to stop as close as possible to the top and dig in an anchor to rappel down. The axes would help me stop if I hit ice and started to slide, and also serve as a temporary anchor as I set up the rappel.
I jump turned down the first pitch and off the end of the rope, making slow rhythmic turns, each one drawing my full attention to all aspects of each move. A fall on this one was out of the question, and the skiing was as steep as anything I could fathom snow sticking to. The conditions changed from old, dry, sloughing snow, to hard spines where all the snow had been wiped out by the typical sloughage that continually funnels down chutes. I was glad I had my axes, and I used them regularly, but had to be careful not to lean into the slope as I could easily lose an edge and begin to slip.
A few hundred feet down the chute I found an indentation in the cliff that I skied into, and anchored myself, allowing Dave to ski down and past me without being hit by his slough. As he approached, one controlled turn at a time, we exchanged a focused glance and he kept his rhythm past me and around the corner, where he hollered up that it I was good to go.
I didn’t really want to leave my ‘safe’anchor, but I was well past the point of letting fear and common-sense determine my path, so I followed Dave’s tracks, making figure eights to keep my skis landing on fresh snow. There was one point where Dave had warned me about, which was an icy fluted spot that had fractured and created a 2 foot drop. Because of the steepness it required a jump turn where I dropped 10 feet before landing, and linking a few quick turns to control my speed. That is one of the turns that still continues to randomly flash through my mind.
I skied past Dave to the edge of the cliff and began preparing my anchor.It was a pretty gripping place to be, and my body had long since switched to auto pilot, survival mode. As I was digging, Dave, who had been quietly waiting said, ‘That hot tub is sure going to feel good’. His comment broke my concentration long enough to tell him to keep quiet unless he had some life-or-death information for me. I later learned that he was starting to trip-out a bit, and needed some comforting thought to escape the reality of our situation; I guess that is part of our brains survival mode. I rappelled down, waited for Dave, and continued towards the looming crevasses. There was one more critical air, again relatively small, but none the less intense. This time the landing had good snow, and I kept my momentum linking turns out the chute, around crevasses, and back to the sled.
Dave pulled up shortly after and we slapped high-fives, and taking care not to stab one another with our ice axes, had a good brotherly hug; excited about the success on our most accomplished ski ascent / decent that we conquered as a team.
After another tense sled-tandem over a growing crevasse gap to retrieve the sled at the top, we cruised at a relaxed speed over the miles of glaciers in the setting sun back to our refuge. We were pleasantly surprised to be greeted by Tim Grey, who soloed in with celebratory beers. As Dave and I took turns describing our day, Tim, a fellow Christian, asked if we prayed at the top of any of the runs – something that is often reserved for a few peaks per year. We did indeed pray. We prayed before every run we skied up there, and most of the way down that last one. We called that chute ‘God’s Hands’,because that is really where we felt we were. We felt prepared and confident, but it was with His blessing that we made it out the bottom with our skis on, and slippery side down.
Photos from the trip - please note, we are working on the formatting of these pics
Loaded Truck: Turning up the AK highwayZone: First views of the zone.hut: stayed in a tiny little hut. Could have used a sink.Treadway park job: This is normal in Dave's world.
sick line: another sick line that we skiedburly line: ski line with mandatory rappel in it.burly line from bottom: shot from the bottom.bear: we scared this bear out of his hole while skiing.Sled wheely: Dave Treadway doing what Dave does best. Get rad.
relaxing: Daryl Treadway relaxingThrough creavases: zig zagging through seracs and crevasses on the sled.Dave Climbing: ascent up a peak.
So Im stuck with a job in Ketchikan wishing I still lived in Girdwood. Hyder seems close with sick lines. Can you post some route beta with approaches? Is there any good riding to be done without using a sled, just skinning from the road? Are there goods on the AK side?
Nice TR!
Sick footage and story....nice work boys!
Tim, I can't stand it. You
Tim, I can't stand it. You need to go again this spring and ski. With me.
Daryl and Dave, right on brothers. That was raaaaaad.
potential first descent name on the salmon: "Juicy Fish Taco"
So Im stuck with a job in Ketchikan wishing I still lived in Girdwood. Hyder seems close with sick lines. Can you post some route beta with approaches? Is there any good riding to be done without using a sled, just skinning from the road? Are there goods on the AK side?