Tea

Approach“There’s the Alaskan Alps Guys!” screamed the pilot. He pointed vigorously towards a cluster of small jagged peaks down to our left. The din of the engine was overpowering and I struggled to hear him through the aged headphones strapped to my head. I peered over the nosecone and noticed a clutch of peaks dwarfed by the monsters of the Alaska Range which surrounded us with their towers of ice and snow, stretching as far as the eye could see. In moments they were gone. Only half an hour ago we had left the sugar-coated pines of Talkeetna behind us and now we were dodging the mountain tops heading for the Kahiltna Glacier. I was wedged in the co-pilots seat of a four-seat Cessna ski plane and my feet were pushing my knees up almost into my chin. I rattled from top to bottom as the plane buffeted along and before me dials galore confused my eyes with their needles whizzing round. Behind me were Steve and Ant, crammed side by side into the tail section with the climbing gear and supplies. “How’s it going lads?” I shouted, but there was no reply. They were busy staring out of the windows and anyway, it was too loud to hear me. I turned back to do some staring myself but inside I felt tired and queasy. I’d suffered a long night lying in my bunk. Jet lag kept me awake and I’d coughed the house down from my dry, wheezy chest. I’d thrown some tablets down my throat and managed a few hours precious sleep before I had to force myself out of bed. I had risen early to take my last shower, knowing that on my return the classic climbing odour of stale sweat and caked on food would have taken its hold.Suddenly the mountains parted and below us lay the Kahiltna Glacier. Burning sunlight beamed up from the snow but in the distance I could just make out a small cluster of dots on the ice. It was base camp. The pilot threw the stick forward and right and swooped down at a near vertical angle for the runway. I hate flying in these little cans and detest landing but I wasn’t going to admit it. I gripped the seat and clenched my teeth. ‘Some bloody climber I am,’ I thought. The plane leveled off and we began our approach onto the ice. Outside it was a near perfect day and I noticed a lonely windsock flapping in the breeze. Seconds later we hit the ice with a reassuring bump, shot up the slope, did a handbrake turn and stopped. “Here we are guys, it’s all yours,” the pilot said comically. The roller coaster ride was over. To him this was just a normal day in the office.I pulled the door open to be hit with the fresh, biting cold mountain air. My cheeks tightened and my breath clouded as I jumped out onto the iron like ice. “Thank God that’s over”, I whispered. I was a bit shaken, but not stirred. I knew the flight home would do the same to me but that was weeks away and my mind had more important things to consider. Steve and Ant bundled themselves out and began tossing kit out onto the ice. There were 120lbs of food, tents, climbing gear and equipment for each of us to carry. From this moment on we had to be self-sufficient until our return to the town of Talkeetna, three weeks climbing and forty minutes flight time away.In the corner of my eye I noticed a little bundled figure bounding down the slope towards us. She waved her arms with joy and screamed “Hi guys! I’m Annie; I’m the ranger here. Welcome to Camp!” She was based on the glacier to register climbing groups on and off the range and was always glad to see a few new faces. Her face was deeply tanned but I could see little else of her under all the layers of fleece and down. What did shine out was her personality. She was a bundle of fun and obviously loved being on camp. She lived in a plastic cabin just off the runway with a view out the front door to die for. Mts. Foraker and Hunter stared right in her face. They soared above the glacier with a perfect blue sky to silhouette them against the snow.The air was now silent save for the distant buzz of the Cessna and Annie said, “There’s a good camping spot already dug out if you want it.” Before any of us could get a word in she was tearing off up the slope to our prospective home for the night. We dragged the bags up the snow to a large flat terrace which had been dug deep into the snowy bank. “It only wants a bit of tidying up lads and we’re in,” said Steve in a happy voice. A dump of fresh snow had recently fallen making it an easy job to square off the walls and make our nightly home. We had more gear to come but it was delayed until late afternoon, so we pitched the tents and set about cutting ice blocks to build a wall around camp. The weather in the Alaska Range can be fierce. Winds in excess of 100mph and storms lasting for days at a time are not uncommon, even at base camp. If you leave your tent exposed in such conditions the wind will pick it up and roll it down the glacier, complete with you and all your kit in it. It would be like watching a paper bag blow around a field.I walked down towards Annie’s hut and grabbed four gallons of white gas and three sledges. I had never towed a sledge before as on my previous climbing exploits we had used porters. Up here, you’re on your own - what you take, you carry. This is what makes McKinley such an epic challenge. Steve loaded his kitbag onto a sledge, roped it onto his harness and tried a pull. After only a few feet it had rolled over, tumbled down the slope and dragged him staggering behind it. Ant and myself sniggered like a couple of school lads. We tried the same and Steve had his laugh. There is nothing worse than looking like a bunch of idiots before a group of people, particularly climbers. You are supposed to know exactly what you are doing at all times and look calm and collected. Bravado can soon take over. A few choice words were said but after a couple of hours we had mastered the art of sledge pulling. One thing did worry me though. I’d heard horror stories of sledge pulling on McKinley. It was the one thing you never forgot. The constant drag of it behind you and the fear of falling into a crevasse with it dragging you down niggled at the back of my mind but there was nothing I could do about it.
The camp was up, kit was packed and there was nothing to do. Boredom began to creep in. “I could take a wander around camp and see who else is here,” I thought to myself. I grabbed my cup of tea and stood up straight to scan the clusters of stationary tents. The scene was reminiscent of the trenches in World War I. Shelters were dug deep into the snow and equipment was lying around drying under the sun. The few people who were around dodged the cold shadows and ran from tent to tent. I hardly said a word to anyone and wandered along with my thoughts.Shade began to cloak the valley and I felt the cold begin to bite. I walked back to camp, pulled on my down jacket and got inside the tent. The stoves were roaring away as Ant boiled pans of water for a brew. I always find the sound of a stove reassuring. If you can brew up then all is usually fine with the world and it is almost physically impossible to drink too much tea, coffee and hot chocolate when you’re on a mountain. Ant rattled the cooking pans and served up our first meal of the trip. Mashed potato, beef jerky and a special Ant sauce. It was marvelous. When everything around you is frozen solid, the warm feeling that food gives you inside is a dream. Ant had a large bag of spices hidden away in the gear and he intended to use a good dose of them in every meal. Expedition food has the reputation of being very dull, but not with Ant. He was an excellent and imaginative cook. With every bite I could feel my throat tingle but the aftertaste kept me burping all evening.Within the hour we had eaten up, cleaned up, and were huddled inside our sleeping bags trying to keep what little warmth we had inside us. “Don’t worry lads, I’ll keep you warm” cried Ant. I looked across to his tent and saw an outstretched hand clutching a bottle of whisky. “Here, try a spot of this!” Ever since I had known Ant he had always been a bit of a lad and as ever he had come prepared. Drinking alcohol in the cold doesn’t warm you up at all but the bravado between the three of us had got its way and we all threw a large dram down our throats. I felt it burn reassuringly as it sank into my stomach and I coughed like a barking hound. My throat was still sore.I laid back and stared up at the tent roof. I breathed out and watched the cloud of mist turn into millions of tiny ice crystals. They were stationary for only a moment before I felt them rain cold down on my face and melt into my ski