James Binkley weaving through Aspens

We work the winter trade shows in Salt Lake City and Denver, setting up early, talking shop late, and cram in as many days of skiing as humanly possible, because that’s what we do. With OR finished, we rushed directly towards the Wasatch Mountains. It’d been dumping while we’d slung packs in the SLC convention center, and plowed to a near-standstill, like a boat dragging anchor, in two hours of 8am Sunday stop and go traffic threading its slow way toward LCC. Clearly we weren’t locals, and neither was anybody else in line. As we reached the closed  mouth of the avy-controlled canyon, we turned around, like everyone else, and drove to BCC with hundreds, hopefully not thousands, of rippers several steps ahead of us, already parked on the road near Solitude and hiking to the ticket window. A solid three hour approach for out of towners to get some skiing showed us how far 20 or so miles can sometimes be, when one’s trying to flee the city for the mountains. 11 am came early: but our ratpack of 5 worked its way to the summit lift, was in line just after opening, and found  that light, blower, luscious Utah powder that clings in your brain.  The extreme avalanche danger kept ski patrol from opening the Solitude slack country, but somehow the crowds were light, and we swallowed lift-served pow all day.

James looking for a safe, speedy path through an Aspen grove

The sun found its way out Monday morning, but 4 feet of snow lurked on top of a terrible weak layer.  This combination resulted in 23 reported avalanches in the Salt Lake region over the weekend. Short on cash for a second day at the resort, we took to low angle backcountry skiing.  Big Cottonwood Canyon is lathered with moderate angle, aspen infested pitches fresh for our choosing. We found some lines.

Taking a turn on an untouched shoulder in front of Solitude

The stability tests we performed on the snowpack aligned with the forecast, consistently terrible,  so we packed the camper that afternoon and motored for Colorado to prep for the SIA (Ski Industry Association) tradeshow in Denver.

Of course, on the way to Denver is the little town of Crested Butte, with more snow and bluebird skies, but again unsettling conditions lurked in the snowpack, the new snow/old snow interface weak, the avalanche danger high. Did I mention we trailered sleds the whole trip? We stayed prudent though, confined ourselves to skiing only the base of the highest peaks, drooling over the possibilities in the higher lines. We used the snowmobiles to lap short lines and small cliffs void of avalanche danger, then packed again, not ready to test our luck further in another unfamiliar snowpack, fired up the camper, and drove to the biggest skiing party in Colorado.

The X-Games. Aspen. Two days, a Friday night. We did absolutely no skiing. Instead, a hearty effort was put into supporting the athletes who have trained hard to compete professionally, and figured the best way to do this was to take advantage of the sponsor companies throwing the parties. In Belly Up we were greeted with an open bar and catered lunch. We used several hours of this as motivation to make our way 5 miles to the events at Buttermilk. Do five matching backpacks makes us look like professional media? We stood just down from the packed bus stop, and in mere seconds a van pulled out of traffic to the side of the road asking if we were with ESPN and offered us a ride. The hesitation in our response and no credentials foiled this plan, but the second vehicle fell for our plot and gave us a ride. Two hours of witnessing ridiculous tricks sent us right back to the bars in Aspen. A few ridiculously caffeinated cocktails played a small, but key, role in closing down the bars. 9am meetings in Denver would be something. And on we went.

Myself on the Hollywood Headwall

Last Friday, five of us met at the Daily Bread parking lot at 5:30 AM for dawn patrol.   Kyle had made it up to Frazier Basin on Wednesday, they found stable conditions and the skiing excellent.  Once I heard the possibility of going up on Friday, especially since Kyle has access to two snowmobiles slashing the multi-hour skin to Frazier Basin to less than a 30 minute tow- I was in.  This was my first time to Frazier and I must say I was blown away.  The North Bridgers have so many aesthetic looking couloirs- it is like God himself has carved each mountain vertically with a giant fork.

The red glow of the sunrise hit us just as we made it to the saddle, we then prepared ourselves for our descent into the basin.  One at a time we skied down the North facing access bowl making huge GS turns.  The snow was soft, fast  and predictable, this entrance into the basin was the perfect indication that it was going to be a great day.  Because we went in on sleds, and the nature of the lines we intended to ski, we all had brought our “heavy” alpine gear- well one of us was on teles.  Kyle and I had brought Alpine Trekkers and skins which made the jaunt across the bottom of the basin to access the main lines much easier than the other option which was post-holing across the basin.  Once across the basin the real boot packing began.

There had been a couple inches of snow between when Kyle was there on Wednesday and this had conveniently covered up the boot pack making progress slow on the first lap.  Once on the ridge, quads burning,  we made it over to the aptly named Hollywood Headwall.  The Hollywood Headwall looks like something that is in Alaska or Canada, not Montana due to some obvious fluted features.

Johnny on the lower part of Hollywood Headwall

Johnny dropped in first and cruised through the cliffs and chutes below.  I was up next, I picked a line that was just right of Johnny’s, the first turns through the flutes were fantastic.  Then I met up with Johnny’s line exiting through an anemic chute.  What a classic!  I was psyched.  This instantly gave me more fuel- I was up for another lap- Johnny was also up for another.  So I kicked my way up the boot pack with the uber aesthetic Red Couloir in my mind.

Heidi slashing a turn.

Kyle, Heidi and Blake made their way over to Red Couloir while Johnny and I were on our way up.  I could hear them hoot and holler as they made their way down.  This was going to be good.   I quickly made it across the ridge  to the entrance.  The couloir’s skier’s left side has a bright red overhanging cliff that gives the couloir it’s name- so aesthetic and slightly ominous.  I scan the entrance with my ski tips hung over the edge and drop in.  The snow was certainly variable the left side under the cliff is crusty and the right side was soft and supple.  I let my skis go, making long GS turns speed increasing as I descend.  Near the bottom I see what looks like a little roller.  For some reason I decide it would be a great idea to hit it.  As I closed in it turned out to be a rock barely covered by some snow… it was too late.  My right ski kicked out and at that moment I thought, no I knew, I was finished.  This was one of those times when you don’t know how you landed it- but you did.  I was relieved because by that point I  just flying out of the chute.   At this point I had to decide whether  to call it a day or catch up to the others and squeeze out another lap.  I made it over to the boot pack and started ascending- I guess I am a masochist.   I met up with the group right when they were dropping in to one of the first lines you come to when you get to the ridge.  We dropped in one at a time.

Blake working down the last line of the day.

This line was narrow, but not too narrow and the snow was soft and creamy.  This was a great line to end the day.  To exit the basin we kicked steps back up to the saddle that we entered on.  When we reached the saddle we all took one last look at the lines we had just skied and made our way out to the truck.

The author sampling some silky pow.

After Outdoor Retailer Dave Downing and I, plus 4 others, one dog and a ridiculous amount of gear strategically stuffed ourselves into a minivan and set off toward Carbondale, CO. Carbondale is where I grew up and I was excited to revisit after about a 10 year hiatus. Dave and I had planned to ski some of the backcountry outside of Marble, which is about an hour drive outside of Carbondale. Unfortunately avalanche conditions turned from bad to worse when a strong Southern storm dropped about 3 feet of fluff in 2-3 days. Our suspicions of instability were vindicated once we had heard reports of large slides being remotely triggered in Marble. We immediately opted for a whole new approach for our days in Colorado.

Dave looking good as always.

Low angle slopes and snowmobiling on safe open meadows was the obvious and reliable option- and the best remedy for my cabin fever. One area in particular, a local standby when conditions are questionable near Sunlight Ski Resort called Willie’s proved to have great skiing.

Yours truly hucking a small cornice

With only around 1200′ of vertical multiple laps are possible and with little traffic and plenty of pow to go around. Even on these slopes we still saw evidence in the snow of instability with lots of cracking and other signs of movement. Curious to see how unstable things really were, I stomped a cornice off very easily and was given a little scare when it rocked up under my downhill edge and lifted my leg in the air. The large block then proceeded to careen into a tree at the end of the short 50′ slope. To mix things up on another day we traveled to the top of McClure Pass and rode snowmobiles West back to a friend’s cabin.

Dave getting the tow.

After playing around on the snowmobiles a bit we threw our skis on and towed each other across the powder fields. It was like water skiing on glass accept with a touch more control. I experienced an excellent crash when my skis tips discovered a rock beneath the surface and I double ejected from my bindings sailing through the air and somehow ended up unscathed.

Skinning up with Mount Sopris in the background.

Our final day was a beauty and with little time we did a little skinning right outside of town and of course the views of Mt. Sopris were superb. That afternoon Dave and I reluctantly jumped into our next ride this one to Denver for SIA.

Jeff Christenson drops into the Alpental backcountry

It’s the end of December in the Northwest and it’s been 6 weeks since we have released a skiing blog. It’s not because we aren’t getting out and it’s not because we’re slacking. There just isn’t any snow to write about. The east cost and mid west have teamed up to steal December’s allotment of precipitation. I’ve been in Seattle for two weeks and we have accumulated 2 inches of snow at the pass. For an area that boasts 6” of precipitation through the month of December we have fallen well short. As it stands, I have skied two days in a resort this season, with none of them in Washington. It just isn’t worth skidding down an ice slope on rock skis. The boards I have reserved for the thin snow pack haven’t touched a file or a grind stone in over 5 years. With several separated edges and chunks of core littered on rocks in the northwest it’s not the first season these skis have been classified in the rock category. With ample coverage thanks to a large November storm we headed to the backcountry two take advantage of the wind distributed facets. A quick hike into the Alpental backcountry brought my brother, sister and me to wind loaded pockets of snow over a sun crust.

Slashing a turn on the tooth

With light fading fast, Tracy set up for a shot on a ridge in front of The Tooth. It was not her first photo shoot and she nailed her one turn down the shoulder with dust on crust to a spectacular finish in a tree. With the sun behind the peak and no more chances for stopping action we wrapped up for holiday events.

Hike to Chair Peak

The high pressure system held strong, with clear days and cold nights producing new snow in the form of facets. To ensure a smooth transition between family events, my mom scheduled a morning off before hosting her side of the family. My brother and I jumped at the opportunity and were out of the house by 5 am. My father who was aware of our plan the night before laughed at the idea of an icy dawn patrol. While racing the sun, we skinned as far as we could but resorted to boot packing when the relentless icy slopes would not allow for uphill travel.

Kicking up Snow

Chair Peak became the background for the sunrise and we quickly manufactured turns on a sunny wind loaded shoulder. We skied as long as the light held then turned back to the iced southeast face toward the car. The pictures we earned did not reflect the same morning my dad experienced at Alpental. Four hours late and just down the ridge my father took advantage of firm corduroy.

Hucking the first run

What can I say about backpack hunting that would fully describe it to the uninitiated? Nothing, it is one of those gloriously miserable experiences that requires boots on the ground and gear on the back. There is something very rewarding and fulfilling, in retrospect of course, about carrying everything you need to not only survive but to insistently make you body do task it is not accustomed to. Since at the time I am asking myself why do I torture my middle aged body so? The answer to that is I am sort of a masochist I guess. In continual need to push and test myself, do I know why, heck no. My wife and family think I am crazy and I really can’t argue. Sure upon initially meeting me you would think I am just like most guys in my mid 30’s, family, career and just trying to find my way in general. Now I am very fortunate to have an amazing wife and kids, good job and generally a fantastic life. But there is always this little voice, no not literally a voice I am not that crazy, time to go and stretch your legs a little.

When I am out there in the middle of it just soaking up every pain, ache and generally uncomfortable sensation that would normally cause bitching and complaints I feel like I am truly livin. And I am a firm believer that guys and I mean than in a gender neutral term, need to get out and live to fulfill that deeply rooted primal, instinctual, hunter, gatherer, nomadic quality that homo sapiens historically are know for. But enough of my touch feely ranting lets get to the meat and potatoes of livin 2009.

My partner in crime and myself do an annual hunting trip in Alaska since 2003. In the past we have done all Moose hunts, mostly fly in fly out or fly in raft out. Great trips see lots of country and generally have a good week in the bush. But for 2009 we wanted to do something a little different. So we came up with a backpack in pack raft out caribou hunt. Sounds great in theory doesn’t it? We will hike in with our gear bag a couple of caribou then jump in the river on our trusty pack rafts and comfortable float out our trophies and gear to the take out point. We did our research planed our infiltration route, gear needed and the dates. After going over the gear list and throwing together what I had and estimating the weight of what I did not have 80 lbs was the pack weight I would have to haul.

Therefore based on the total weight and the odd shape and size of the gear I would have to carry I began my search for a pack that would best fit this application. Since it was immediately clear my current pack would probably blow up either during my training (best case) or during the trip (worse case).

Then I stumbled on to the Mystery Ranch web site. Can’t really remember how I found it but I like to think it was divine intervention from above. The more I looked them more I fell in love. But this was no time to jump to conclusions without some research. So the more I dug and read reviews the more I was convinced this would be the pack for me. Sent a quick email to Mystery Ranch to help finalize my pack selection, which ended up being the NICE 6500 and that was that.

So have a plan and a vague idea of what would be required of my physically speaking and started my training regime 3 months out hauling my loaded back pack around the neighbor hood. I don’t know who else has done this but you get a lot of strange looks when doing so. Starting out around 40 lbs and eventually working my way up to 80. Which wasn’t that bad once my office body became accustomed to it. Once it was departure time I was feeling pretty good about the tasks before me and my preparations thus far.

Not to bore anyone more than I already have with the long monotonous details of reaching our kick off point but there we were day break in Alaska. All the planets aligned my gear made the long trip from the gulf coast to Anchorage no worse for wear and I didn’t injure myself during training in any way that would impede me thus far. All of our planning and preparation has lead us to this moment, don’t know why but I get really worked up and excited at moments like this. Game time, leave it all on the field. Did the final load out of the pack strapped everything in place and sling it on and strap it tight. Hmmmm I trained with 80 lbs, this doesn’t feel like 80 lbs. This is heavier. Well no one likes a puss man up and get on your way.

It was immediately obvious that my pack could handle a much heavier load than myself. Which is fine by me, I hate being limited by my equipment. Off we go on our trip that some think we are crazy to attempt other think we will come running home crying that we couldn’t handle it and had to abort. One thing about me any my Alaska hunting buddy we will finish the trip with bloody stumps before quitting. I would call it being tuff more stupidly. I really don’t think we are smart enough know when to stop.

Let me get something off my chest here. I HATE hiking in the tundra. Now we are making the blazing pace of about 1 mph on this lovely cross country or cross tundra hike. We defiantly are not a couple of highly conditioned Olympic class athletes but we aren’t in that bad of shape, this was a little blow on our moral. But as the old saying back home goes “It is what it is” so once we accepted our pace and just went to that little happy place in your mind that you go to when you have hours on mind numbing, leg burning, lung exploding grinding to do. Hey look at that just a short 6 hours later we reached our camp site. On the positive side we were seeing more and more caribou during our torture session which was a great motivator. All in all the pack was great I didn’t have any sore or tender spots and all my gear made it. At this point in the trip I was feeling great about my pack selection.

Setting up camp was easy enough, throw up a couple of tents get our camp kitchen set up and cook some viddles. We are in severe need of caloric intake we just asked serious questions of our bodies that thank goodness it was able to answer but now it was time for reciprocity. Freeze dried food never tasted so delicious.

No rest for the wicked time to track down some game, off we go. To sum up the hunting my buddy bagged his caribou the first evening. It was a nice bull in full velvet which did not shed, very sweet looking. Then two days later I put my bull down with a 250 gr Nosler Partition tap via one of Mr. Weatherby’s brilliant offspring.

Well with the easy part over now we had a lot of packing to do. There was all of our gear plus two caribou to pack down to the river 2 miles away. The one good thing about multiple trips, at least the pack is light during one leg of the hike. No complaints on the pack in regards to hauling out the caribou. There was plenty of room for meat and lashing points for tying large caribou antlers to. Half a day later we had our camp moved and our animals down to the river. Alright pack, you can rest now, this here pack raft is going to do the work from here on out.

Let me say I am not a rafting person. Until I started hunting in Alaska I had never been in raft. My rafting experience consist of two previous trips, on one that I rafted alone. Also a pack raft is a little on the small side hence there pack ability. In comparison about the size of the top of a desk. So I had about 85 lbs of gear, caribou quarters, antlers and myself to fit in this water craft. Well no worries, should only be class I and II rapids here and there. I generally understate things when I talk about them but I guarantee we went thru at least a dozen class III sections of rapids. Did I mention I am not a rafter? I have never been so cold in my life. I have a new found appreciation and respect for the boys that put themselves thru BUDS training. How do they do that day in and day out? We were basically sitting in 40 ish degree water for 8 hrs while navigating to our take out point. Stage 2 hypothermia was reached. The water stopped feeling cold and talking was labored. Troy apologized several times thru his chattering teeth since it was his job to research the river conditions.

We did reach our take out point at dark of course and I stripped immediately. Modesty be dammed I am tired of being wet. Troy caught a ride to his truck and we were heading back home within a couple of hours of hitting the beach.

All in all the gear I selected for this trip performed as expected or better. My NICE 6500 hauled everything I could throw in or strap onto it. It is none the worse for wear even after acting as my wave breaker for 8 hours. Looks like new and ready for the next adventure. Absolutely a well built pack made to take more punishment than this ole boy can dish out.

We are already planning to do the same trip again. I told you we weren’t smart.

As luck would have it, I tagged out on a beautiful bull elk on the fourth week of this year’s archery season.  With eight more weeks of hunting, I had the opportunity to broaden my horizons and focus hard on finding myself and two others some wall hanging bucks.

October 25^th, opening morning of the Montana rifle season, friend and co-worker, Kyle Christenson and I trudged through knee deep snow and headed into high country.  At first shooting light we were surrounded by mule deer.  We saw eight bucks that morning but never took a shot.  Two weeks later, we went back to the same vicinity and Kyle took a gorgeous whitetail.  It was his first big game animal, one he’ll have a hard time topping.

The next week, friend and roommate, Sean Schroff and I went in search of mule deer. Frigid temps and inclement weather pushed some of the larger bucks down into the lower elevations offering us some great opportunities.  Sean was able to reach out and touch his first mule deer.

With seven days left in the season it was my turn to give it a go.  I went to an area that I had run into some good deer during archery season.  At first light I saw two decent bucks under a cliff band a half mile above me.  Off to my left on a steep hillside were four does. With them was a worthy looking buck.  His head was down and neck was thick.  This boy was rutting hard!

In an attempt to close the gap on this buck I jumped a doe which then spooked the buck.  He bounded up the steep hillside and went out of sight.  I hiked as fast as I could up the hill hoping to spot him on the other side.  The buck was gone.  I sat down, pulled out the binos and glassed some neighboring hillsides.  I spotted a small buck a half mile out.  He was moving my direction.

The buck managed to close the distance between him and I to about 300 yards before abruptly stopping.  He fixed his eyes on something above him and then began raking a tree.  Higher up, running down the hill was a dominant buck.  The two greeted each other violently!  Antlers clashed!  As the fight ensued, I ran up to a small knob, un-noticed, and dropped to the ground to get ready for a shot. The smaller buck was quickly defeated.  The winner stood tall and was swollen with pride.  I rested my crosshairs slightly above his back and squeezed off a shot, making a quick clean kill.

2 hours after the shot I had the head plate removed and the quarters, loins, and back straps in game bags ready to be hauled out in my Crew Cab.

With the meat and antlers secured, I strapped on my rifle and got ready for the big haul.

After a good struggle I stood up with the pack, cinched down my waist belt and was on my way.  At 135 pounds, the 150 pound load was surprisingly comfortable.

Two hours later I capped off my 2009 hunting season by flopping my Mystery Ranch Crew Cab, laden with an entire mule deer, onto my Ford Ranger’s tail gate.

So, I know a lot of you have been waiting a while to get your hands on the bag, but I have finalized the design and bags will be going into production by the beginning of January.  I thought we would be able to expedite this process and get the bags out sooner, but we are just so busy right now that this is not feasible.  I apologize to those whom I told the bag would be available sooner, but I assure you that the wait will be well worth it!  We are a small homegrown company that builds the most durable gear on the market, and because of this our bags are immensely labor intensive.  We have the highest quality standards fo backpacks on the market today both in our construction and inspection of our bags, and are privileged enough to employ Montanans to do so.  Designing the Golf Mahal is only a part of what I do here at the Mystery Ranch as most of my prior experience lies in pre-production, inspection, and finishing of products.  I now also train new employees how to sew and use the other various machines we utilize.  It is through a combination of this experience, as well as over ten years of playing disc golf, that the Golf Mahal was able to come to fruition.  Here is an update on the newly added features, color availability, and general look of the bag you will hopefully soon own.  Hope you dig it.

As you can see, the basic design is quite similar to the original, but there are some new tricks as well as some revamped aspects.  As far as outright changes, the bag has been downsized a touch from its original behemoth status, though still retains an ample amount of storage.  It should be noted that the small outermost side pockets are only slightly different from the originals, and are subject to change only slightly from those pictured.  Regardless, they will excel at holding cell phones, keys, snacks and the like and will be outfitted with waterproof zipper as seen here.  The umbrella slot on the side has been improved so as to sit higher over the head while wearing the bag with a deployed umbrella.  I am about 5′9″ and have over a foot of space over my head, so unless you’re over 6′9″ I think you’ll fit comfortably underneath any standard large sized umbrella.   Furthermore, the lid and putter rain fly (aka Darth Vader Mask) now roll up and Velcro closed at the top of the main opening of the bag as promised, and now cups front of the bag eliminating the need for the buckle at the bottom.  With the amount of pockets and shear storage space on the bag, as well as the desire to keep the price of the bag down, I have also eliminated the score card pocket promised in the previous article.  I seriously doubt you will notice.  I’ve included pictures of the finalized model so that you can see how the large side compartments compress , immensely slimming down the width of the bag.  Note that these contain waterproof zippers and you can compress these compartments all the way down or only partially, allowing for a variety of different size combinations.

The bag will initially come in 2 different colors:  the green and grey as pictured here and a multi-cam camouflage pattern (note this camouflage pattern is pictured on other packs on the website).  Color combinations will change periodically and will most likely include a digital camouflage as well as some brighter colors in the future.  The price will be right around $285, and like all the rest of our packs will include a lifetime warranty.  I will try to keep the blog as up to date as possible, and if you have any specific questions you can email me at levibuckingham@mysteryranch.com.  Thanks for the continued interest and patience – I can’t wait to get you rocking the Golf Mahal!

I am lying in the tent at high camp on Denali and staring at the bright yellow nylon walls and although it looks sunny outside and feels warm in the tent, I know outside the storm is still going strong. I know, because for the past four days I have fallen for the trick countless times, sticking my head out of the tent only to find a grey sky and blowing snow. The barometer too has been holding steady and giving no encouragement of a change in the weather. We have two more days of food after today which means tomorrow is our last chance at a summit. 

Our expedition went very smoothly for the first ten days and we rode the good weather into our camp at 14,000 feet to take a well-deserved break. The main challenge for our team was communication. My seven clients were all from Japan and did not speak much if any English. To complicate things, I did not speak any Japanese nor have I ever been to Japan. For the guides this made for some frustrating situations since we could not communicate easily with our clients. We overcame this obstacle using a mixture of communication methods such as drawings, diagrams, and charades. Communication was a slow process and we came to expect that not everyone in the group would understand us and that we would have to explain ourselves all over again, often in rather stressful situations. For example when we traveled on the glaciers, our clients had the habit of unclipping from the rope to wander away in search of a bathroom! Despite the un-roped glacier travel, we all arrived at the our cozy camp at the base of the Messner Couloir at 14,000 feet and were ready to continue up to high camp after our rest day. 

On the day we planned to move to high camp at 17,000 feet there were clouds blowing around the summit and it seemed the weather was changing for the worse. When you see those weather indicators on your move day it is worth reconsidering the move. The team could wait out the bad weather in the protection of 14 camp rather than the exposed location of high camp. But we had something else to consider. Another team working with the same guide service was moving down today and wanted to swap camps with us if we were moving up. In a camp swap, two team can trade tents, stoves, fuel, food, and various other items by leaving the camp set up and one team moving up and the other down and into each other’s camps. The benefit of not having to move the weight of camp up to high camp was very appealing and the chance would not come again if we waited for the weather to improve. After deliberating for several hours and talking with the team at high camp via radio we decided to go for it. We packed our things and headed up. We climbed into the weather as we headed for our high camp. The wind picked up and it began to snow, making progress slow. We spent 9 hours climbing to high camp. We were glad to move into the tents left for us by the other team. We spent another 6 hours helping everyone move into camp, make water and eventually dinner. All the while the weather was settling in and the snow was coming down with out a break, but we were safely moved into our camp and I could rest. 

The next morning I awoke at 7am. The walls of the tent were covered with frost and it was too cold and miserable to get out of the sleeping bag. Every time I moved I would inadvertently shake the walls of the tent and be showered with bits of frost. With considerable effort, I poked my head out of the tent and took a look around. I was greeted to an arctic snowstorm! It was plain to see that a weather system had moved onto the mountain and settled in to stay. With the other teams we anxiously made radio calls to get a weather forecast. By the afternoon it was clear the storm would get worse in the next 48 hours and then begin to clear. We couldn’t help but feel trapped. After inventorying our food and fuel supplies I decided we could stay for five nights or six days. We would be able to summit on the fifth day and then descend back to camp 14 on the sixth. There would be more food and fuel at the 14 camp buried in our cache to support us during our escape from the mountain. That was the best we could hope for.

For the next couple of days we went about reinforcing our camp to keep us safe from the storm. We built a second layer of snow blocks around the already existing snow walls that surrounded our tents. We used saws and shovels to cut and remove the blocks from the ground and then stacked them one on top of the other. Inside the walls the wind was blocked and things felt relatively comfortable, but the snow managed to find its way in and began to fill in the spaces around the tents. Every morning we would wake, after spending the previous day holed up in our tents, to the same overcast skies, blowing wind and snow for four days. But on the evening of the fourth day it was evident that storm was taking a turn for the better! It was hard not to get excited at the possibility of a summit day, but we had been let down every morning since our arrival at high camp. We prepared anyway. Packing our lunches and organizing the gear we would need, and topping off water bottles in order to be ready in case the weather did brake for us. Every one was in their sleeping bags and the sun was still shinning on high camp at 10pm. Illuminating the yellow walls of our tents and giving us the last bit of warmth before the cold of 17,000 feet settled in for the night. It was at this moment, lying in my sleeping bag and staring at the brightly back-lit walls of the tent, that I acutely felt all the preparation and work that had gone into putting us in a position to make a summit attempt. I thought back to the hot tarmac in Talkeetna and all our gear and provisions organized on the runway waiting to be loaded into planes for the flight onto the glacier. I thought about how many times we had packed and repacked and organized the food during this expedition. I thought of the heavy loads and the holes we dug for our caches. I thought of all the snow we melted into water to keep us hydrated and all the meals we had made to keep us moving up the mountain. And how many times we had set up and taken down camp and packed and unpacked our backpacks. All this work and effort we had made over the course of the past two and a half weeks and now a mere ten hours was all that was left before we would be on our way to the summit! The satisfaction of having accomplished this moment was thrilling and I could not imagine how I would sleep through the night. 

Of course I did sleep that night and the morning came with clear skies and a summit push. Lots of hard physical work and the mental toughness to be patient when it counts is what it takes to climb a big mountain like Denali. Damn, it feels good!

James Binkley with his Alaskan moose

With only five days left on both our moose and sheep tags, the elusive Dall sheep was too tempting to pass up.  With an abundance of pilots throughout Alaska, my brother Wade and I called a friend who had told us about a small lake, deep in the White Mountains, that he could fly us into.  Our plans were quickly diminished when we learned that his plane was grounded for routine maintenance.  Without enough time left in the season to make the long trek into sheep country we opted for a quick moose hunt up the shallow, braided Salcha River.

Our shallow draft jet boat makes access a breeze to any stream or river over six inches in depth. We reconfigured our plan to include our uncle’s cabin and a case of beer… not too bad for our second choice. With a short jaunt up the highway we launched the boat and cruised 60 miles upstream to a small cabin.

Sunset from the tree stand

Hunting began before sunrise with the set-up of a stand in a spruce tree. With Wade perched 50 feet off the deck, I exercised the practice of cow calling and tree shaking. My attempts to mimic a bull’s horns scraping through trees were futile as nothing moved through the above average heat. 60 degrees is rare in September, so moose were beaded down for the afternoon. By evening the temperatures had cooled down, but still no luck.

Wade in his stand near the top of the center tree

Another predawn start put us on the trail by 5:30, hoping to catch something before the heat. Wade was sitting in the stand as the sun breached the horizon. I employed a similar tactic to the day before, but used grass instead of trees. My extra-tuf’s tromped through the swamp and grass in a noisy random manner. I didn’t travel 100 yards before a bull let out a grunt. Wade then saw a bull moose walk out of the woods into a marshy area on the side of the swamp.  He waited with hopes of the moose moving to an area with solid ground, but lost his shot before it could happen.  Once I finally saw the bull, he was walking through the trees about 100 yards in front of me.  As I was following him through my scope he stopped directly between two trees and looked over at me.  He had only one brow tine on the side of the rack that I could see, I paused for a second…only to loose the shot.  Upset with myself for not immediately taking the shot I started to jog as quietly as I could through the woods with hopes of catching the moose on the other side before he took off.  With no luck finding him Wade and I met up at the bottom of the stand to have lunch and formulate a new plan.  Not wanting to leave after all the excitement we sat in and by the stand the rest of the day with high hopes of the bull returning.  As the sun was starting to set we both had already replayed the missed opportunity so many times in our head that it was starting to take its toll so we decided to call it a day.  As we were packing up our gear we both stopped as we heard branches cracking somewhere in the area.  Wade climbed back up the tree to check it out only to see a cow moose sitting in the middle of the swamp.  With darkness upon us we made our way quietly back to the boat hoping that we wouldn’t scare off the cow.

Tuesday morning, and the final day of moose season, we woke up even earlier with high hopes that a bull had been hanging around the cow the night before and was still in the area.  We pulled up in the boat with barely enough light to see our trail through the woods.  As we were walking up to the stand we both heard a loud crash and something running through the woods.  Not knowing how far away it was we kept walking and started calling.  We immediately heard a response to our right and could see a large figure behind some spruce trees.  Not knowing if it was a bull or not Wade moved to the stand and I turned towards our sighting.  Once again the moose spooked started running, but this time it took off towards Wade. I stood and listened to his antlers rubbing on trees as he passed.  He stopped about 75 feet in front of me in a position that I could glass his antlers, but not take a shot.  I slowly moved towards a clearing to get a better shot, but didn’t have to go far when he doubled back right into my line of sight.  I set up with a clear path and anticipated his next move. He walked directly into my corridor at 50 feet and I took the shot.  He responded by running in the opposite direction. My stomach dropped, as I in disbelief missed a 50 foot shot on a 1,400lb beast. When I approached the area where the shot was taken I was extremely relieved to see that he had just fallen over into a small stream just outside my line of sight.

Wade next to the moose with the sun still on the horizon

Adrenaline quickly faded into reality as we calculated the logistics of getting the moose out of this stream.  Three hours, one broken come-along, and a couple broken ropes later we successfully had the moose on dry ground.

We dressed the moose out and got the first quarter off with no problem. We had already decided to carry out the quarters as they came so we could save a little time by having one person carrying and one cutting. The idea was to load a quarter onto the frame and hump it out. The only problem was that the quarter was huge! We bounced around the idea that if it can fit on the load sling then we will carry it…so we removed the crew-cab from the frame and adjusted the load sling for the massive load. To our amazement the load sling straps barely fit around this enormous hunk of meet and bone.  As we stood there in disbelief, with my adrenaline pumping again I eyeballed the largest load I have ever seen. Like a good brother Wade told me to saddle up as he helped lift the load to my back. I synched down my load straps and began the tedious journey through the black spruce forest and back to the boat.

Pulling the moose to dry ground

Myself hauling the first quarter

Wade hauling out the second quarter

It took me 30 minutes with many rest stops to cover the ¼ mile to the boat. With one load down, Wade stood up with the slightly smaller quarter number two and wrestled his biggest load back to the boat.

Switching to the crew cab for the bulky, but lighter 120lbs load with a 46” rack

Well deserved beers with all the meat on the boat!

190 lbs is a large chunk of meat!

In total it took 13 hours and several more 120lbs loads before we could settle down with our PBR in the boat. Back in Fairbanks we hoisted the quarters out of the boat with a forklift and a scale to find the weight of the first and second quarters, which were 190 and 150 lbs respectively and a total of 580lbs of meat and bone from just one moose.

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