Edgecumbe

There was a loud thud and a sharp crack as the boat was lowered off the trailer into the ice covered harbor. My breath entered the morning air like appalachian fog; thick and moist. It was around 25 degrees. I grabbed one of the oars and began to drive it's head over and over again through the frozen mass surrounding the Cattywampus. Brian muttered something about once the engine was running the boat would break through just fine. Shari just stood on the dock smiling, her cheeks bright red from the cold; a cup of steaming coffee cuddled tightly inside her small palms. We piled our packs and survival gear into the skiff, and, after a few more swings at the ice with the oar, pushed off and were on our way. It was 8:47 am.

Breaking through the ice ended up not being all that difficult; but, the 1000 feet of frozen harbor certainly made for an interesting beginning to our expedition. We were heading for Kruzof Island; a body of land across the sound from Sitka. Filled with grizzly bear, black tail deer, and bald eagle, Kruzof is also the home of Mt. Edgecumbe; a dormant volcano that dominates the western skyline and looms large over the entire region. When I first arrived in Sitka I became enthralled with the mountain and made it a goal to reach it's summit. Sometime last week Brian suggested that we scale it's south ridge and snowboard down it's eastern face. I was all in. After an unsuccessful attempt on Sunday, we decided to bring along one of Brian's friends, a girl named Shari, who, presumably, new the route up the mountain and where the survival shelter was located. Shari heartily agreed to make the trek with us, stating that "it was one of her life goals to ski down Edgecumbe". So, here we all were, crossing the Sitka Sound on a cold, clear, Thursday morning, embarking on quite possibly the greatest adventure of our lives.

The sky was Carolina blue. The water was glassy and calm. The air was cold and crisp. We made it across the sound to Kruzof in about an hour, beached the Cattywampus, and proceeded to push it about 100 ft up into the snow. After a quick snackaroo and drink of icy water, we headed into the woods. It is 7 miles from our landing shore to the summit of Edgecumbe. Easy right? Not so much. On the beach there was a foot of snow, at mile 3 there was 4 ft, and by the actual base of the mountain there was 7 ft of snow; with drifts exceeding 12 ft. If you have ever tried to maneuver through that much snow then you know that it's no easy task. A half mile in I was already drenched in sweat; I was sinking up to my knees with every step. It was at this point that Brian looked back at me and uttered "snowshoe time". I grunted like a disgruntled moose, thinking that "snowshoe time" should have been the moment we got off the boat. Oh well, at least I learned what it felt like to move 100 yards in a half hour (it was depressing), drowning in snow with every step. Brian and I strapped on our snowshoes and Shari her cross-country skies, and we continued to break trail. Now that hunting season was over, no one had probably even been on the island of Kruzof in weeks, and certainly (according to the Sitka Rec. Dept.) no one had been up Mt. Edgecumbe this entire winter. We were moving through virgin snow and territory that hadn't been touched by humans in months, possibly years. There weren't even animal footprints in the snow, all life was in hibernation. It was desolate; for 30 miles in every direction we were alone.

Being alone is sometimes nice though. It was just us, the trees, the snow, and the mountain. The entire trek was, though exhausting, very peaceful. We didn't talk much, but instead focused on the summit ahead, which moved closer and closer with every step. Because most of Kruzof was at one time a giant ash and lava field there aren't many forests on it. The majority of the island is comprised of muskeg; wet, marshy, fields of moss and low lying shrubs. This time of year, of course, the muskeg are covered in several feet of snow, but, I'm told that they are pretty neat during the summer months. We continued to trudge through the snow, in and out of muskeg after muskeg; finally arriving at the forest service survival shelter; 3 miles from the summit. After dropping the majority of our gear at the shelter, we plowed on toward Edgecumbe. It was 2:45 pm.

Because the sky was clear the temperature stayed around 25 degrees; which was great for moving through the snow. This all changed once we began the actual climb up the mountain. There is about a 1500 ft climb in elevation from the beach to mile 6.5, which, is a nice steady increase, but nothing too bad. The last half mile of the trek gains over 2000 ft - allowing for over a brutally steep grade. Darkness began to set in and with every step the temperature plummeted. We continued up the steep slope, stopping every 50 ft or so just to catch our breath. If any one of us had offered a convincing excuse to head back to the shelter, we would have all heartily agreed. But, thankfully, we are all just a little too stubborn to let pain get the best of us, so, we pressed on.

The sun was sinking over the horizon, and as it did, a red alpine glow was cast against the snow and on the peaks in the distance. It was one of the more beautiful scenes I have ever witnessed. We reached the summit at 5:30 pm, just as the last glimpse of sunshine disappeared in the distance. We stayed there for about 15 minutes; observing the jaw dropping majesty of the mountain and Alaska. The crater at the summit proved to be over 1000 ft deep and nearly a mile in diameter. The whole experience being on top of the mountain was awe-inspiring. It was cold though; -15 degrees at the summit. So, after layering up in all the clothing I had with me, I unhooked my snowboard from my pack, and strapped my boots into the board's bindings. It was pitch dark now. The only light was from the stars, which, because of the lack of light pollution, came out immediately. We commenced down the slope; Brian and Shari on their skies and me on my board. I led the way, cutting and carving through the powder, down the steep slope. After about 15 minutes of riding we dropped down into a lava shoot and road for another 20 minutes; out of the alpine and through the trees. Finally, after nearly 40 minutes of continuous, joyous riding, we unstrapped and trudged another 1.5 miles to the shelter. It was, by far, the longest continuous ride on a snowboard I have ever experienced. The fresh, deep powder was a delight to carve through; it was pure. There were times when I was riding and the snow was up to my knees, but, since it was powder on top of powder, it didn't slow me down a bit. Unless I (and other people that actually know these things) am mistaken, we were the first people to ski or snowboard Edgecumbe at night, ever.

That night we arrived back at the shelter around 8:15. And, after a hearty dinner of halibut, sausage, and curried-rice we sank into our sleeping bags and fell asleep. It was a cold night for sure, as the temperature hovered around zero all night long. I got minor frostbite on one of my toes and on the tips of 2 of my fingers; but, all is well, as it should heal up pretty good after a couple of weeks. The next day, after oatmeal and tea, we set off for home. It was a little sad, as we marched back through our tracks and Edgecumbe sank smaller and smaller behind us, it had been a really amazing trip and I didn't want to see it end. We arrived at the beach, loaded up the Cattywampus, and set off for town. I walked into my house that afternoon around 3:00, unpacked, and took a long, hot shower. Man did that shower feel good.