The Slotterhouse

Since winter had blessed Eastern Tyrol with lots of snow that year, I fully focused on my home country. I did not really think about any ski trips. At least not before a warm weather front decided to settle in the area in late March. I started researching where I could still find good skiing conditions. Suddenly the phone rang. One of my sponsors called me and wanted to know whether I'd be interested in a trip to Alaska. The word "Alaska" was enough to answer with a quick "yes". At that point, I really did not know what to expect – neither did I know that a long-desired dream would finally come true. I did not get a lot of information.

All I knew was that I would meet the Powderwhore crew – Jonah and Noah Howell, Andrew Mclean and photographer Garrett Groove – in Anchorage, and I received a packing list for a two-week "heavy camping trip". I was also told that we would depart Anchorage on a plane to the Wrangell Mountains (St. Elias Range). Well, ok! But what the hell does "heavy camping trip" mean? And then – camping in Alaska?? After a few mails between Andrew Mclean and me, I knew that our basecamp wouldn't be far from the landing strip and that the weight of the equipment wasn't an issue. I was supposed to take enough stuff for life far away from civilization since the plane wouldn't return for two weeks.

They also told me to imagine camping on ice and snow like camping in summer... except that it would be winter... This short briefing puzzled me quite a bit. I knew how to prepare for one or two days in a bivouac, but two weeks in a tent at -20 degrees Celsius and hiking a different summit every day? Where would I dry my wet clothes or my boots? Once I had arrived in Anchorage, I met the guys. We bought groceries and beverages and stowed everything in a van. Suddenly I understood the meaning of "heavy camping trip": four tents including a large dome tent, a stove, camping chairs and table, toaster, pots, several bottles of whiskey – and moist toilet paper.

After a five-hour drive, we unloaded everything at a small landing strip near Chitina and loaded it back into Paul's plane. He shook his head and said: "More beer than Jeremy Jones and more whiskey than the Russians." After a one-hour flight over never-ending mountain ranges, we touched down on a frozen lake in an area that Andrew Mclean called "The Slotterhouse". The mountains were hiding behind clouds when we set up our basecamp on a small ridge above the lake. We carefully placed the stove inside the tent and cut a round hole into the tarp for the chimney. When we had our welcome drink, the sun came out. What a view! Breathtaking! Our camp was located directly in front of two adjacent valleys with glaciers.

The summits were glistening in the golden sunlight and reaching into the skies like sharp knives. Andrew told us enthusiastically what to expect. Unfortunately, the sun was gone the next day. Whiteout. We decided to explore the surroundings and checked the snow stability, which turned out to be not good at all. The snow layers weren't connected at all, which translated into high avalanche danger. We were able to ski two very rewarding couloirs before Alaska showed its ugly face: Snow storms and icy temperatures around -15 degrees Celsius kept us hiding inside our sleeping bags. We waited desperately for a weather window, and when it finally arrived, we skinned to Valley One in perfect powder.

Due to the avalanche situation, we stayed in rather flat terrain, where we skied some humongous glacier slopes. When we reached the highest point of our tour, we realized for the first time where we were. Wherever we looked, we were surrounded by nothing but mountains, giant ice fields, and silence. Indescribable! While the weather remained stable, we found unbelievable possibilities in the other valleys. We had almost gotten used to our new playground and thought that we had a good feeling for the dangers of the terrain, when it suddenly happened as we skinned up a big slope. There was no indication of tension in the snow cover, no disturbing layers in the snow profile.

I was standing behind a rock when I heard a loud bang, followed immediately by giant ice floes pushing me down to the ground. I managed somehow to hold on to the rock, but Garrett, who stood behind me, disappeared over the cliff. Right next to me, an area the size of a football field started to move. And suddenly silence and a huge cloud of dust. I shouted out loud but received no answer. Then I finally heard their voices, telling me that everybody was fine. Noah wasn't dragged along too far. Jonah was also standing behind a cliff, and Andrew stood above the crack line of the avalanche. Only Garrett was tossed down the entire mountain flank and across two large cliffs. Like a miracle, he wasn't hurt except for a bleeding nose and a broken binding.

We were more than lucky! After this experience, our motivation hit rock bottom, additionally intensified by the bad weather that rolled in. We relaxed, got sorted out, and emptied a few bottles. Then it got warm and as soon as the snow settled, we dared another attempt to hike Valley One's large couloirs. Even though we weren't too worried about avalanches anymore, Noah and I had a queasy feeling when we hiked up the mountain. Andrew had chosen a different chute next to ours. It felt good to be back on skis, because the shock was still in our systems. After a rather quick run down the mountain, we set out for another couloir. We returned quite exhausted to the camp after a total of more than 2,500 vertical meters.

Skiing one great line after another in Valley Four, our last day turned out to be pretty amazing. Unfortunately, there were many self-triggered avalanches that day, which forced us to stay on one of the smaller mountains. Andrew and I ended the day with a 1,000-vertical couloir right at Valley Four's entrance – the couloir that we had seen every single day from camp. We had pretty much adjusted to life in camp when we had to pack because Paul, our pilot, was supposed to pick us up at 10 am. Exactly on time, we heard something very strange cutting through the peaceful silence – the noise of an engine.

The conditions may not have been the best and we may have had to scale down our ski plans a bit, nevertheless this trip into this fantastic wild region will be unforgettable. Experiencing nature in its purest form was already worth the journey. And yes, it's true: glacier camping is just like camping in summer – but in winter.