All I had been hearing all summer was how it couldn’t be done. “Oh you can’t do that, X couldn’t ever do it and he was a really good hiker.” I had never met X but I could tell you one thing. I did not really give a shit whether he had done something or not. Someone else’s failures would not stop me from doing any trip. As you may be able to tell from my writings, meager successes and failures, I am fairly ambitious and have some lofty goals. But I’d much rather try and fail, then sit around musing about other people’s journeys. The mission was the summit of Snowden Mountain. Snowden sits in the Dietrich River valley 40 miles to the north of Coldfoot. At ~6,400 feet, it towers over everything in the near vicinity. A friend and I were planning on making an attempt at one point, but were turned away due to wildfire smoke.
Snowden represented much more than a mountain to me. It was a mental hurdle. By this point in the summer, mid-July, I was largely dissatisfied with what I had achieved in the hiking and packrafting domain. Sure, I had done more and been out more, than everyone else in the area. Enough that people were coming up with stories about what I’d done that weren’t even true. It was like a scene from the Wild West, where a basic event eventually turns into an incredible and unbelievable yarn. All this was very flattering, but I tried to downplay it as much as possible. Because for me, and for who I was trying to be, what I was doing was nothing. Thinking about people I looked up to for inspiration in the outdoor world, like Luc Mehl and Roman Dial, put my situation in perspective. It was peanuts. That is certainly fine, but I wanted to do more. I wanted to be more.
It is with all that in mind that I prepared to make an attempt on Snowden. My friend was way too busy with work. This would be something that I had to do alone, as it should be. By the middle of July, I could procrastinate no longer. One clear evening, I hopped in the van and made my way along the Haul Road to that familiar spot. As mentioned in the previous post. I had received beta from a local and had studied the route on topographic maps quite extensively. I would start on the north side of the mountain, just off the road, edging my way along the northern face until I hit the summit ridge that would lead me directly to the top. It wouldn’t be as straightforward as it sounds, I’d be gaining over 5,000 feet in the process and travelling over 12 miles total while attempting to navigate around the various rock formations on this massive mountain.
Soon I had begun my journey, navigating through the dwarf birch and tussocks of the spruce forest. One step in front of the other, I slowly made my way uphill. After fighting my way through a dense patch of willows, I finally found myself above tree-line and onto the firmer tundra. Low growing vegetation interspersed with various rocks lay beneath my feet. I quickly ascended to the base of one of the “molars” of the rock formation that’s locally known as the wolf’s jaw. Leaving the grass and mosses behind, I stumbled over rock and lichen, paralleling the rock formation up to the canine, or the highest protruding rock. The process was slow, as I moved across steep talus fields, picking my way so as I would not tumble down, unlike some of the rocks I was setting loose. Moving along, I reached an opening in the rock formation, gaining my first glimpse of the summit while on the mountain. I had a long way to go, as I gazed up at the jagged limestone formations on the main western face. Not long after this grand view, I stumbled across a sheep trail. Those high mountain dwellers had established a narrow, well maintained single track trail that followed right underneath the wolf’s jaw. I quickly left the jumbled talus fields behind, electing to follow the path well traveled. My pace drastically increased, as I was able to move quickly along the established path, stopping every so often to pick up the trail again wherever it went faint.
Eventually, the trail ended at a scree field consisting of thing shale rocks. These rocks lay between me and where I wanted to be, so there was no other path but to follow them up to the top of the wolf’s jaw. It was a lengthy process. Not only was I travelling up a steeper slope, but for every two steps forward, the talus seemed to cause me to sink one foot back. Slowly and surely, I found my way to the top of this section, atop the wolf’s jaw. And what a view lay ahead! I was taller than most mountains in the vicinity that allowed me to have quite the view of the region. I looked south down the Dietrich Valley towards Dillon Mt. and Sukapak. North, east and west lay innumerable lofty mountain peaks protruding into the clear, never ending summer “night” sky of the Arctic. While the view may have been glorious, the route ahead did not. I had ascended most of the elevation necessary to achieve the summit, yet distance wise I likely only remained just beyond halfway. The immediate route ahead wasn’t promising. It looked as if I would have to traverse a very narrow ridge (potentially non-existent) ridge to a steep colouir. Whether or not I could get across the colouir to the summit ridge was unknown. Scanning the area, I noticed that if instead, I had taken the creek north of where I started, it would have led me to a more gradual ridge that eventually connected with the ridge leading to the top. I pondered what my options were. I could consider as planned, although that route wasn’t likely to go. The other route that I spotted, looked like it would, but that would involve descending, then ascending yet again.
I stared into the metaphorical abyss. This felt like it could be a point of the transformation. Into the person that I wanted to be and knew I was. I knew the route. I was almost 100% confident that it would work. But what would I choose? The easy retreat? Back down the scree and into the easy comforts of civilization? Or would I transform, moving forward, doing what I know what I could accomplish, yet undergoing some sort of pain on the way. Definitely mental, possibly physical as well. For whatever reason, I once again stepped away from the edge, convincing myself to retreat down the mountain. Quickly, descending via the scree back to where I started. What had taken five hours to reach and ascend, only required an hour and a half to follow back down. A lump in my stomach remained. I knew how close I was to the other side, but for whatever reason I didn’t continue. This may not have been the time, but I am there. I feel as if I am on the edge of a breakthrough of some kind, whether it is just physical or of my character remains to be seen. My Snowden journey awaits. I don’t know when, but I will stand on the summit, crossing to the other side.