BURSTIn the early evening of June 23, 1925, Albert H. MacCarthy, H.F. Lambart, Allen Carpé, Norman H. Read, W.W. Foster, and Andy Taylor stood atop Mount Logan, Canada’s highest peak at 5,959 metres. Their expedition, approach, summit, and return, had taken 65 days. Yet, long before setting out, they had spent months meticulously preparing for the climb. Here’s the full story of the first ascent of Mount Logan.
On Feb. 17, 1925, A. H. MacCarthy and his party departed from the Alaskan town of McCarthy with six horses and 21 dogs. Almost immediately, their difficulties began along the Kennecott River. It seemed that they had struck one of the “unusual years,” when conditions conspired against them, making progress slow and laborious. Yet by the end of the first day, they reached the junction of the Nizina with the Chitina River, 16 miles from McCarthy, safely negotiating the treacherous Nizina gorge without mishap.
By Feb. 27, having reached the forefoot of the Chitina Glacier with dog-teams and a double bob-sled load, MacCarthy’s party faced a critical decision: follow the north shore or the south shore for the first 25 miles of the glacier. The north shore was rough, bare in places, and nearly impossible to traverse with their heavy cargo. The south shore had unknown stretches, and a 1918 survey party had met with disaster there, abandoning the route after a short distance.
On Feb. 28, Atkinson and MacCarthy inspected a short stretch of the south leaving “Scotty” to continue reconnaissance to the head of the gorge, while MacCarthy broke trail down the ice channel, leaving signals to direct the teams to the south shore. Returning to camp at Hubricks, Atkinson reported success: the south shore could accommodate the dog-teams, provided ice bridges and side ledges held firm. The north line was hopeless, leaving no choice but to risk the south route, which they fittingly named the “Gorge of Fate.”
By March 5, through relays of horses and dogs, all their outfit, except the bare camp necessities, was advanced about four miles up the gorge. A log bridge was built to replace one lost ice-bridge. On March 6, Trim and Weyers departed with teams and bobs for McCarthy, while Taylor, Atkinson, Olsen, and MacCarthy pushed forward with dog-teams and camp equipment, securing a safe distance above the last narrow and dangerous points. The gorge’s narrowest spot, with walls just ten feet apart and an ice bridge spanning the rushing stream, was dubbed the “Devil’s Door.” Beyond it, alternative routes offered some security.
At roughly 6 miles above the portal, the gorge opened onto the shore side. Late that afternoon, the party pitched Gorge Camp, which would serve as their base for nine frigid and strenuous days. During the night, a violent storm and heavy snowfall brought down an avalanche of ice below the Devil’s Door, forming a ten-foot-deep lake and blocking the passage. Their camp and dogs were above the Door, while all other equipment was below, leaving their situation momentarily dire.
Leaving Henry to tend the dogs, Andy, Scotty, and MacCarthy spent five hours traversing the glacier on snowshoes, reaching their cache and confirming that transporting cargo over this detour was impossible. After securing essential supplies, 50 lbs. of rice and some tallow, they returned to the gorge and found the log-bridge intact. The ice dam from the avalanche had drained during their absence, reopening the Door.
The following day, in 12 hours, the party transported the entire cargo: each parcel was carried over the log-bridge, then over the avalanche pile, through the Devil’s Door, and cached at a safe point beyond a fragile upstream bridge. The final load crossed just minutes before the bridge collapsed. This left an open stretch of water across the gorge, but their primary objective had been achieved: the S. shore route was secure, allowing them to continue placing caches along the glacier toward the advance base camp.
From March 6 to March 31, the strain on men and dogs was extreme. The outfit was advanced in relays over 15 miles of difficult terrain, with frequent storms erasing trails painstakingly cut with ice-axe and shovel along the Logan Glacier’s shore and across Baldwin Glacier and its lateral moraines. On March 31, Ice Camp No. 1 was established on smooth stretches of the Logan Glacier. There, a wood stove and fuel were cached to be retrieved later. MacCarthy became accustomed to using two-burner gasoline stoves, occasionally supplemented with Primus stoves.
On smoother glacier stretches, progress improved considerably. The dogs, sensing urgency, occasionally carried loads of up to 150 lbs., a significant increase from the 50-lb half-loads typical on pioneer trips, without undue strain.
MacCarthy observed: “Little does the outside world realize how much credit is due to the Husky and the Malamut for the hard jobs that are done in the Northland; with but one meal a day of rice, or cornmeal and tallow, or lard, varied sometimes with a meal of dried fish served to him at the end of the day, he is then chained to his stake out on the snow-field for the night, where he curls up into a woolly ball and sleeps. And in the morning, with a vigorous shake to free himself of his blanket of snow, he is ready for another ten or twelve hours in harness…And yet those dogs simply adore their sometimes cruel masters and literally pull their hearts out to please them.”
The night of April 18 saw all caches placed, the advance base cache safely stowed under a heavy canvas tarpaulin on the Ogilvie Glacier, opposite the foot of Mussell Glacier, only six to eight miles from the advance base camp site. With the job finished, the party now faced the challenge of negotiating the dangerous north shore route and dashing down the Chitina before the river channel opened to block their retreat. Already, they were more than two weeks late for a safe passage.
Early on April 14, traveling with the lightest possible loads, the dogs flew down the 16-mile stretch of white ice. At the end of this day, the party finally had a touch of comfort: wood for fuel, warmth in the tent, and the pleasant crackle of a fire, offering relief from the pungent smell of the gas-jet.
Over the next five days of long, hard travel with light loads, save for a short 2-mile relay, the party averaged only four miles per day, demonstrating the wisdom of the desperate gamble they had taken in choosing the “Gorge of Fate” route for the advance of caches.
Again at Hubricks Camp on the 19th, the dogs rested for a day while the outfit was repaired. The following morning, amid a storm, the party set off down the treacherous Chitina, forced repeatedly to make long detours, sometimes deep into thick forest along the N. bank, to ensure a safe route for men and dogs. At noon on April 26, their caravan finally entered the main street of McCarthy, having taken seventy days to prepare the stage for the arrival of the climbing party.
On May 7, MacCarthy met the other members of the party at Cordova: Lambart, the assistant leader; Foster, the recorder; Carpe, representative of the American Alpine Club; Hall, Morgan, and Reade, who, with Andy Taylor and MacCarthy himself, comprised the climbing party; and Laing, the Dominion Government naturalist. The following day, they made a run up the Copper River and North-Western Railway to McCarthy.
It was a clear day of bright sunshine. The high mountain ranges in all directions stood out in brilliant array, impressing the men who were seeing this mystery-land for the first time. It was a fitting introduction to the grand panoramas they would later encounter.
By the noon of May 12, all preparations complete, the party set out from McCarthy with a pack train of ten horses under the care of Harry Boyden and Peter Brenwick. Aside from the usual difficulties of such a journey, the six days of travel up the Chitina passed without major incident, as this interval fell between the spring run-off and the summer flooding, each of which made travel on foot or horseback extremely hazardous.
On May 18, the pack-train left the party at the trail’s end, cutting off contact with the outside world for the next fifty-eight days. The next seven days of advance, first over extremely rough moraines and dirty glaciers, then up the Logan and Ogilvie Glaciers with their soft snow blankets, gave the new members a fair introduction to conditions on the higher levels. Although the packs should have averaged no more than 54 lbs., they often exceeded this, reaching a maximum of 101 lbs., far too heavy for the first days of an expedition.
Experience, however, proved more convincing than advice. Progressively, as the party advanced from one food cache to the next, items were discarded, moving through stages from “absolutely indispensable” to “worthless burdens.” This reduction of cargo continued even after reaching the Yukon sleds at the boundary cache, where packs were transferred to the sleds and pulled through soft snow.
At the 1,000-lb. cache at Turn Camp, at the junction of the Ogilvie and Logan Glaciers, reached on the 24th, the party found abundant food, fuel, two-burner gasoline stoves, and, most appreciated of all, individual pneumatic mattresses. These mattresses were immediately put into service and remained the greatest source of comfort until the expedition was completed.
On May 25, a five-tent camp was established at the main cache, about five miles up the Ogilvie. From here, the laborious work of sledding the outfit to the head of the Ogilvie Glacier, the site chosen for the advance base camp, began. The team now appreciated the advantage of having this cargo so near the action, rather than back-packing it over the arduous 52 miles of ice approach.
By May 27, Cascades Camp had been set up at the base of the ice-falls descending from the King Glacier onto the Ogilvie. By May 31, all equipment and two-thirds of the food supply had been transported, and a reconnaissance trip had been made to the lookout point at 10,200 ft., reached in 1924. This time, a clear view of the entire King Peak trench to the col was obtained, showing the route entirely feasible to that point.
This was gratifying, as the trench had been the only uncertain section on the map, with the rest of the route contoured from photographic survey. With good weather, the summit now seemed almost certain. MacCarthy, however, noted that a climb was not complete until one stood on the summit, and preferably returned safely to camp. He felt that full advantage should be taken of the favorable situation: a climbing party of eight, all in fair condition, with excellent equipment, two months’ supply of food and fuel, and six weeks of daylight, all these to cover 18 miles and ascend 12,000 ft. to the summit.
The expedition members, as MacCarthy observed, often drew divergent conclusions from the same facts: some wished to advance the bulk of the outfit to a camp near the col and establish fly camps along the plateau for a short dash to the summit; others insisted they should “stop this ridiculous work and go and climb the mountain.” While a dash of 18 miles over an unknown route involving 12,000 ft. of ascent was impossible, a seven-mile advance up the trench seemed achievable. Allowing for contingencies, they planned a twenty-eight-day campaign.
Each of 14 brown paraffined canvas bags was packed with two days’ rations for eight men, with meat rations in white canvas bags. Each bag, along with fuel and other parcels, weighed 34 to 40 lbs., convenient for back-packing. During the first two days of June, twenty-eight packs, plus other equipment and one Yukon sled (about 1,500 lbs. total), were cached on Quartz Ridge, approximately 1,000 ft. above camp and at the last significant rock outcrop along the ascent route.
On June 8, at 6:30 a.m., with a clear sky and brilliant sunshine on the high ridges, the party set out with heavy packs and light hearts. They left behind a month’s provisions to draw upon in case of need. The route to Observation Camp at 10,200 ft., although intricate with deep crevasses and steep side slopes, was familiar, and by evening of June 4, the sled and pack boards had brought them to the foot of the King Peak trench. That night brought the first of many violent storms, which threatened their tents but for the weight of their bodies on the strong canvas bottoms.
The next morning, with the route to prospect up to the col, the party set out on snowshoes in considerable fog, each man carrying about 35 lbs., while the leader carried bundles of willow switches, 2 to 3 ft. long and pencil-thick, to mark the trail at 100-ft. intervals. MacCarthy explained that these were “to make the route safe for work in all conditions of weather; for on a white background these dark willows can be seen for long distances, and, stuck a few inches into the snow, will wave and stand against all but the most violent gales.” After heavy snowfall, the switches would be lifted and reset.
The day’s trip up the trench proved trying. Constant sounding for crevasses and a raw wind from the col made progress difficult. By 3 p.m., at 18,200 ft., the party was forced to cache their packs and return to camp. Having started in fog, worked through a mild blizzard at zero temperature, and returned in brilliant sunshine with the trench and col again clear, it became evident that storms on Mt. Logan were highly local and unpredictable. MacCarthy determined that the trail must be carefully prospected, blazed, and maintained regardless of weather, a policy crucial to the eventual summit.
With the trail marked for several miles, the following morning, the team advanced a heavy sled-load with all eight members on tow-line and handlebars. In four hours, they had moved the load several miles to the foot of ice-falls a mile below the cache. Leaving the sled and part of the cargo, they back-packed the remainder to a point a mile above the cache and a mile below the col, the most favorable location for Col Camp.
Relieved of burdens, they rapidly ascended to the col to assess conditions. MacCarthy, perhaps the most pessimistic of the party, was taken aback: to the east, instead of the gradual slope shown on the map, there was a 1,200-ft. break filled with a jumble of broken ice slopes.
Just beyond the col, to the east, the plateau glacier plunged over cliffs for 7,000 ft. to the Seward Glacier below, and the upper reaches of the massif were hidden from view, only open to speculation. This sight was disheartening, and more than one member of the party felt confirmed in the belief that a systematic reconnaissance must be undertaken while transport work continued.
The expedition was now fully committed to this route for the year, and every effort was required to find a path through to the high plateau. Lambart returned to camp with the second rope, while MacCarthy, with Foster, Reade, and Morgan, ascended the east shoulder of King Peak to its crest, approximately 15,000 ft., from which they obtained a fair view across the trench of the slopes on the massif to around 16,000 ft., where a bold ice-face again obstructed their view, descending below a series of ice-falls to the eastward until it merged with the ice-faces above and east of the col.
It appeared that by attacking the slopes a mile or more below the col, a route might be worked through the ice jumble, potentially finding a vulnerable passage along the face of the parallel ice-cliff or rib. To the west, for a few moments in the last rays of the setting sun, the party was treated to perhaps the most magnificent spectacle of the entire expedition: to the south and 9,000 ft. below lay the Seward and Columbus Glaciers, with the Saint Elias range rising in the purple sky beyond, glimpses of the mighty Malaspina Glacier visible through its moraines, and the blue Pacific fringed along the crests. The view was universally recognized as ample reward for their heavy labours.
The following day, another sled-load of 650 lbs. was hauled to the base of the ice-falls and then back-packed to a tentative camp site at the base of the massif. Here, Lambart left Foster, Reade, and MacCarthy to rig camp and conduct reconnaissance, returning himself to Observation Camp to begin relaying the remainder of the outfit.
The Col Camp, situated at slightly over 14,000 ft., soon revealed the effects of altitude. Setting up tents on a snow-slope required digging and leveling, each shove of the long-handled shovel bringing rapid breathing and exhaustion. Movements became painfully slow for some, and at night, several suffered brief spells of suffocation, relieved only upon sitting up in their bunks. Despite these hardships, Foster efficiently tended to both medical and culinary needs, allowing the party to embark the next morning on their exploratory work.
The team began the day on snowshoes over the first steep slopes, soon switching to crampons on the wind-blown snow, which improved both speed and distance. Progress was slow among the ice jumble and occasional criss-crossed crevasses. Each stretch cleared raised questions of what traps lay ahead, forcing them to methodically navigate and mark the route. They steadily climbed diagonally toward the high plateau, passing under the “Diamond Serac,” around and over the “Dormer Window,” up the “Cork Screw,” and onto the “Hog Back.”
Upon dropping to the far side of the Hog Back, the party discovered to their dismay that the bold ice-face they had been following ended abruptly at an 800-ft. cliff descending to the Seward Glacier to the north of the col. Their intended route had vanished, forcing them to reassess. The cascades and ice-falls to the west were too steep to negotiate, seemingly forming a cul-de-sac. The setback dampened appetites, but they paused for a snack while examining the ice wall.
MacCarthy then noticed a line slightly above and beyond them along the ice wall that suggested a possible breach. Investigating, he found a split in the ice-rib with a ledge that seemed feasible for passage. Careful negotiation of this ledge, with a 10-ton ice slab overhanging the far end, revealed that the route was not as dangerous as it initially appeared. Several days later, when relayed through, the bottom had been filled in and packed with snow, making it much safer.
This route, later named “McCarthy’s Gap,” provided passage past the “Stage Coach,” up the “Avenue of Blocks” of massive rectangular ice, through “Tent City,” over “Glissade Hill,” then along the “Friendly Crevasse” to its one safe bridge, and on to the exposed slopes above the ice jumble. These slopes led to the lower end of an upper plateau trench, which, according to the map, ascended the main ridge to the high plateau on its north side.
The party continued up a succession of easier slopes until about 16,500 ft., gaining a good view of intervening slopes to roughly 17,000 ft., beyond which lay a short steep rise and, two miles farther, a high double peak on the ridge crest. A sheltered location near 17,000 ft. was deemed suitable for the next camp.
Heavy work was needed to cut steps on steep slopes, so the team retraced their route to Col Camp, arriving at 7 p.m. to find the remainder of the party with heavy packs already there, pleased with the reconnaissance report.
For the next two days, severe storms and soft snow slowed progress, with only four small packs advanced as far as the Hog Back while the balance was relayed from below.
On the 14th, clear weather allowed all members to depart at 6:30 a.m. on snowshoes, each carrying packs averaging 45 lbs. Deep snow, 4–24 inches in depth, combined with avalanche danger on steep slopes, required long diagonal traverses. At noon, the team reached the end of the willowed trail at a small cache on the Hog Back, distributed the contents among the ropes, and continued along the reconnaissance route using familiar landmarks. By 5:30 p.m., a heavy snowstorm forced them to camp at the base of Glissade Hill, around 15,800 ft., where the storm confined them through the night.
Early the next morning, they set out for the upper stretches, reaching the top of Glissade Hill in dense fog. From here, the route was obscured, navigated only by occasional glimpses of known ice-slopes, snow-banks, or crevasses, with the line carefully “willowed” as they advanced.
On this day, deep snow, heavy packs, and altitude took their toll. The party was forced to camp short of the intended site. While rigging camp, tensions were high; the men, hungry and exhausted, were on edge, yet a quiet suggestion to “rest a bit and then be men” restored morale.
They established Windy Camp, around 17,000 ft., approximately three miles below the double peak on the ridge. That night, temperatures dropped to 27° below zero, with the trip’s record 33° below zero (F.) reached during the night.
For the reconnaissance of June 17, MacCarthy’s diary recorded:
“In about five hours of easy but slow going, willowing the route, reached the steep stretches on the back side of the double peak and then its saddle at about 18,800 ft. and waited half an hour for view. Fog too dense, so returned to camp and turned in at 8 p.m. Undecided about next move, but probably another reconnaissance and relay of food as both needed.”
The following day, Lambart returned with the others for provisions and fuel, while Foster, Reade, and MacCarthy examined the southwest slopes along the double peak. They found no feasible route eastward. A storm blew so heavily that the men could barely stand, forced to lie prone and peer over the saddle’s crest, glimpsing only another double peak two to three miles ahead, with the intervening terrain hidden.
It became clear that the route could not proceed along the south side as some had hoped. The team decided to follow the original plan: over the main ridge to the northern slopes. Circling northwest around the “False Double Peak,” they passed well over a saddle in the main ridge at 18,500 ft., from which they could clearly see steep but smooth ice- and snow-slopes leading down to the north shoulder of “Double Peak.” This offered both a navigable route and a good campsite at its base.
No peak beyond this double peak was visible. Despite arguments to the contrary, MacCarthy believed the goal lay further on. Windy Camp was too remote for a summit attempt; at least one more camp was necessary, preferably at the north shoulder of Double Peak. That night, arriving at camp at 11 p.m., the thermometer read 32° below zero and remained at 25° below zero at 7 a.m. the next day, with heavy snowfall continuing until nearly noon.
The party set out, breaking trail down the slopes to meet others at “Stage Coach,” who were labouring upward under heavy loads. After a luncheon of ginger snaps and hot tea, packs were equalized, and they advanced up-grade, weary from the exhausting rhythm of two steps forward, one step back, with loads that buried them whenever footing was lost. Emerging from the protected trail to the exposed slopes above Glissade Hill, a piercing wind struck, threatening to turn them back. With no shelter ahead and Col Camp three times the distance of Windy Camp, they pressed forward, arriving at 10 p.m., exhausted but safe, except for Morgan, who suffered slight frostbite on his toes.
At this stage, it was clear that rubber or oiled-leather footwear had reached its limit. The team switched to dry-tanned moccasins with heavy felt insoles and four or five pairs of woollen socks, which they used until returning to Col Camp. The next morning, Morgan was deemed unfit to proceed; Hall volunteered to accompany him down after the heaviest load was transported to the new camp site.
June 20 dawned cold and stormy. The relay to the higher camp site did not start until 2 p.m., too late to reach the intended distance. Loads were cached at the rock-saddle of the main ridge at 18,500 ft., and the team returned to camp at 6:30 p.m. for a meal prepared by Morgan. Another stormy forenoon followed, with Hall and Morgan descending 150-ft. ropes, leaving the climbing party reduced to six. At 8 p.m., the wind ceased, the fog lifted, and warm sunshine returned. Camp was struck, and by 10 p.m., the party had supper in their two-tent Ridge Camp at 18,500 ft., “probably the highest regular camp ever established on the North American continent.” MacCarthy recorded:
“Day not lost, fine trip, a bit cold but comfortable and camp alongside food cache, but not close enough for final dash if at all possible to make one more camp, preferably beyond Double Peak.”
At this highest camp, altitude affected all members. Movements were slow and inefficient; even small exertions caused rapid breathing. MacCarthy noticed a metallic taste on deep inhalation, similar to an electric storm. Contrarily, he slept soundly, unlike at lower levels, and heavy gloves and mittens slowed morning operations, delaying departure until 11 a.m. with six men carrying nearly all provisions for three days.
The route down the snow and ice dome, later called “Hurricane Hill,” was negotiable until soft snow stretches slowed progress. By 2:30 p.m., after only three hours, Plateau Camp was established at 17,800 ft., immediately beset by a violent wind and driving snowstorm. MacCarthy noted:
“Had supper at 4 p.m., discussed plans with all hands and decided to take first good chance for mountain. Have 8 days’ grub and fuel for venture; could hold out for 10–12 days on grub available, but do not think strength of all members would last that long for task ahead, probably two peaks to make; must push and push fast as possible and then some more.”
“June 23 is the day we shall all long remember,” said MacCarthy, “for it saw the end of our doubts and our fears, even if not the finish of our labours and our troubles. We climbed our giant to its topmost pinnacle and nothing else mattered to us so long as all hands got down safely.”
Overnight storms raged, but morning brought soft snow and fog until sunshine broke through at 10 a.m. They set out on snowshoes on two ropes, with Foster leading, reaching the base of the final slopes to the saddle between the two domes an hour later where they put on crampons.
The western dome was climbed first, though the eastern summit was slightly higher. They zig-zagged the face, cutting steps where necessary, and reached the summit of Double Peak at 4:20 p.m. The panorama was breathtaking: hundreds of square miles of uncharted mountains to the northeast, the Saint Elias range to the southwest, and a spire-like summit to the southeast. The Abney Level (handheld surveying instrument) showed the eastern dome at least 100 ft. higher, and the team proceeded to climb it.
After rest, photos, and depositing a record, Foster, Carpe, and MacCarthy descended to the saddle on the main ridge, awaiting Lambart, Reade, and Taylor, who had cached packs on the trail and had to retrace the base of Double Peak. Snowshoes and unnecessary articles were cached at the saddle. By 5:40 p.m., amid light snow and raw wind, the final leg began.
The ridge had two summits: a level west end and a steep eastern peak. Snow conditions were ideal for crampons. After two hours, MacCarthy reached the north ridge and witnessed the “Spectre of the Brocken,” a rainbow circle around his reflection, visible to all members, crowning them with a halo of victory.
As MacCarthy said: “But there was no time now for us to tarry and experiment with it, for a sharp drop in the ridge still lay between us and the summit and might prove to be an impossible barrier, so I hastened on and was relieved to find the cleft opened towards our line of ascent from below, well filled in along the crest of the ridge, and by a sharp steep snow arete we quickly mounted to the final crest and our goal at 8 p.m., when there was a handshake and smile all around, for right then at least the joke was on the mountain instead of on any one of us.”
The descent began with Lambart leading. In dim light and blinding storm conditions, route-finding was difficult. White expanses obscured dangerous cliffs and slopes. Andy suggested digging snow caves for protection overnight. Conditions improved by noon the following day, but altitude and exposure required descent. By 2 p.m., all six were moving, Andy leading, navigating steep, deep snow with several near-falls, until Reade located a willow marker. Following it, they reached Plateau Camp safely, enjoying food, mattresses, and warm sleeping-bags. Andy prepared a fine meal, giving the team their first real rest in two days.
The next morning, after five hours of breakfast and preparation, the party abandoned Plateau Camp with unnecessary tents and equipment. From 11 a.m. until 1:30 a.m. the next morning, they endured an exhausting descent to Col Camp, battling snow-blindness, frost, and extreme exposure, supporting one another in turn. By 5 p.m., the team had cleared Hurricane Hill, and by 1:30 a.m., they reached Col Camp, finally enjoying Andy’s culinary skills in a combined meal of breakfast, lunch, and supper.
At Col Camp, the team found a fresh supply of pneumatic mattresses, sheepskins, Primus stoves, food, and fuel, and rested for thirty-six hours. MacCarthy’s diary notes:
“With Foster busy treating and bandaging frozen fingers and toes, my first joints frostbitten and turning black, Lambert’s toes frozen, Foster’s big toe and two fingers, Carpe two toes and two fingers, Andy one finger, soon after noon on the 28th we were again under way.”
Abandoning everything not essential for reaching the advance base camp, the party back-packed their outfit to the base of the ice-falls, where the Yukon sled had been cached, and shifted their burdens onto it. Using the sled, they made good time down their old trail, occasionally spotting willow markers still above the snow. Back-packing from the snow dome to the top of Quartz Ridge by 9 p.m., they came within sight of Cascade Camp, 1,000 ft. below.
Four weeks earlier, this same stretch had taken only 15 minutes while relaying supplies. This time, with avalanche-prone snow and fatigued muscles, it took three hours to reach the base. There, they found a note from Hall and Morgan announcing their safe arrival and contemplated departure after a day’s rest. Subsequent notes traced Hall and Morgan’s movements to Hubricks, from which they had left for McCarthy just hours before.
By slow stages, and with rests at Cascades and Turn Camps, the team descended the Ogilvie and Logan Glaciers, abandoning sleds and heavy equipment at the end of smooth ice near Point, then back-packed to the Baldwin-Frazier food cache, arriving at noon on July 4. To their disappointment, a bear or wolverine had opened the cans, leaving little to eat; the next cache at Turn Point suffered the same fate. Yet the joy of being back among running water, green vegetation, and life after forty-four days on the ice more than compensated for these losses.
The following day, the party traversed the long, rough stretch over the Chitina in about seven hours. Some cargo had to be abandoned, including unexposed films, as the weight became unbearable. On the north bank, Laing, the Dominion Government naturalist, had a good cache of food hung high on a cross-pole. By 9 p.m., the team turned in for a well-earned sleep after a meal of bacon, sausages, rice, sugar, butter, biscuits, and tea.
The next day, all members reunited at Hubricks, where Laing welcomed them after long solitary weeks among the animals. They luxuriated in baths, food, and rest. The question of returning to McCarthy, still 86 miles away, arose. Too weak to construct boats from lumber and eager to reach home, the party decided to descend the river on rafts.
Two rafts were made, three men each, but buoyancy was insufficient for the turbulent Chitina during flood conditions. Taylor, with great skill, kept his raft in the northerly channels, running 50 miles down to Rush Pond in about ten hours. The next day, he, Lambert, and Reade walked into McCarthy to send news of the ascent of Logan.
Foster, Carpe, and MacCarthy were less fortunate. Their raft was swept into the main channel. For an hour, they endured a dangerous ride over rapids, where even a touch of jagged rocks could have capsized them. Eventually, they cleared the hazards, swinging around a bend near the inside bank, when a short cross-stream dashed down, submerging the starboard side. They shifted to port, only for the starboard side to be washed completely under, capsizing the raft.
Carpe and MacCarthy surfaced immediately; Foster was thrown under but soon rejoined them atop the upturned raft, with their outfit lashed underneath. After grounding the raft at a gravel bar, they spent over an hour in icy water cutting loose gear and carrying it ashore. Using the upturned raft, they ferried across to the right bank and camped for the night some distance below Short River, about 70 miles from McCarthy.
The next morning, they cached all but the bare necessities and began the long tramp to McCarthy. By noon on July 15, the party reached the town just as a relief team, led by Andy Taylor, was about to search the Chitina Valley for them.
“And thus ended our interesting adventure on which Andy and I had spent exactly 180 days to assist in its accomplishment,” said MacCarthy.
Sources: Alpine Journal, Canadian Geographic, Canadian Alpine Journal.
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