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Wrangell - St. Elias National Park
Our crew of three instructors (Galen, Darcy, and Winter) and eleven students from around the United States arrived in the little town of Palmer, AK after plane flights and journeys of all sorts. There we were, 14 people who had never met, joining together to trust one another with our lives as we trekked across glaciated mountains in the most vast national park in our country—Wrangell St. Elias. Over the next month we would experience zero degree temperatures and snowstorms that had us waking in the night to dig out our buried tent. I remember saying to Dave with a smile, “It is good to be among other nuts who actually think this stuff is fun.”
Our first day was spent issuing gear and packing our food for the month-long journey. Among our ration was 33 lbs of brown sugar and 66 pounds of chocolate chips. Unbelievable! About week three I was wishing for a few more pounds of these sweet caloric delights. We gathered the food into separate rations for which our pilot, Dave, would deliver to us at the times requested.

We make the five hour bus ride from Palmer to the Wrangells and stop at a tiny airport to leave our food with bush pilot Dave. He is adorned in a flannel shirt, blue jeans, sandals, and a heavy set of aviator’s sunglasses. This is the same apparel he would be wearing a few days later when he emerged from his plane and stepped onto the frozen glacier at 5am where we were swaddled in three layers of Mountain Hardware clothing. He is always in story-telling mode. The current one involves his flying Sean Penn yesterday to the remote filming sight of a movie. Look for a movie about John Krakeur’s “Into the Wild.”
Upon arrival at the bank of the Copper River, we load our gear into a raft and begin to ferry the river in loads of three or four. We are about 20 miles from the base of our mountain, Mt. Sanford. It towers in the distance adorned with a wispy cape-like lenticular cloud at its 16,000 ft summit. The sun is shining and the temperature is warm. I reach the other side and find Winter (one of our three instructors) shirtless and bathing in the black volcanic sand of the riverbank. Several comments on Winter’s spontaneous sun-bathing coin the phrase used for the rest of our journey—expedition South Beach. This was a particularly hilarious memory two weeks later when we were battling frostbite near the summit of Mt. Sanford.
Our first meal, prepared under the recommendation of our instructors left me quite impressed and filled to the brim. I might actually be able to gain weight on this expedition, I thought. NOLS does food right.
Our traveling only 5 ½ miles as the crow flies today had us hiking from 9:30am till 8:30 this evening. Guided only by our origin on the map and a tiny “x” for our intended destination, we trudged through marsh, forest, and stands of Alder nearly impenetrable with a pack on. You can imagine our pace was less than speedy, but the mind continued to argue that we had gone farther than logic said we had. Our hiking group, Ryan, Eric, Darcy, and I were the only group that actually made it to the “x” by nightfall. And nightfall hardly falls in Alaskan summertime. The sun sets around 11:30 or 12:00. It was a very long day and quite taxing on body and spirit.
Because the rest of our team did not make it to the intended destination, we all had to make due with the food and tent pieces each of us had. Our four-man tent with three-man poles required lots of duck tape. It is comedic only thanks to warm dry weather. Mountain hardware has got to see this one.

We would speak of the tundra like it was the promised land.
As we menotenously trudged through a boggy snow-melted ravine Kelly thoughtfully asked, “How are the pictures Paul?” I responded with radiant joy, “I am doing what I was made to do.”
Mt Sanford looms in the distance

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