Editor’s Note: This past summer Amaya Cherian-Hall, Claire Clarkson, Caleigh Warner and Sami Bierman spent 11 days traversing the Juneau Icefield from Juneau, AK to Atlin, BC. On the trip, they collected snow samples for the Juneau Icefields Research Program (JIRP), wrote, made art, pushed their personal limits while learning about themselves and the team.

This story of a self-propelled group of women traversing across the Juneau Icefield is an honest and inspiring read, and we hope it gets other women to plan big trips of their own well!

The trip was funded by the ACC Jen Higgins Grant for Young Women - more detail below.

It is hard to express feelings of gratitude and gratefulness, but that is where we must begin to reflect on our journey. We are grateful to those who so generously gave us their time, those who poured us coffee and shared their knowledge and personal histories, those who shared maps and pictures and homes and meals, those who argued and encouraged, those who supported and believed in us, and above all else, those who helped shepherd us along on our journey. In humble honesty, we could not have even aspired to begin this adventure if it wasn’t for them.

The steps towards an unforgettable adventure

We didn’t know Jen Higgins, the woman who’s memorial grant made our trip possible. Most of us were born after she passed away. We did, however, meet her sister serendipitously before we began our expedition. Deb Higgins joined us in Whitehorse on a sunny evening, where we sat across the table from her in the backyard. She told us about Jen’s adventurous nature, contagious energy and untamed spirit. As Deb recounted these stories, her face lit up. She also told us about her own exciting experience on the Juneau Icefield many years ago. This set the tone for the beginning of our trip, an eleven day and 120km ski traverse across the coast mountains from Juneau, AK to Atlin, BC.

The next morning we loaded the car with what seemed like too much gear to fit on our backs, and drove to Skagway. On the ferry, we set the stage for the adventure to come and rejoiced in feelings of excitement and anticipation of the beginning. The mountains got bigger and bigger as we descended the Alaskan coastline. In between ferry naps and snacks, we stood head-on in the wind, taking in the views while the seriousness and ruggedness of the mountains were in the back of our minds

In Juneau, we were greeted by a smiling crew of friendly connections. As we quickly learned, connections and friends-of-friends would come to shape our whole experience. We spent our remaining days and hours packing and unpacking our gear, eating meals, learning and practicing systems, running to the store, and running to the store again to buy forgotten parts and pieces. Once assembled, we accidentally hosted a party in our temporary Juneau home. Only the most prestigious people were invited (i.e a hodgepodge of people who had done the traverse). With the help of others, we managed to fill a room with an entire panel of icefield experts. We sat around a long dining table talking over maps, GPS waypoints, looking through photos and loading up on carbohydrates. Despite our months of preparing for the trip, the gaps that were filled by the local knowledge and generosity of the Juneau community and folks from the Juneau Icefield Research Program (JIRP) was crucial to getting us off the ground.

From sea to icefield

Bright and early the next morning with four extra volunteers who may not have fully known what they had signed up for, we started the hike up Blackerby ridge. The trail started at nearly sea level, on the side of the road in a Juneau neighborhood. We began the ascent up the densely forested trail, quickly gaining elevation as we scrambled up braided root systems and waded through marshes filled with skunk cabbages and early-blooming plants. Eventually we hit the ridge line and transitioned back and forth between skis and walking as the snow was patchy at this time of year. Our next objective, Cairn Peak, stared down at us in the distance.

We made our first camp that night on the saddle below Cairn Peak. Exhausted from the day’s haul, and the 1300m climb, we sat surrounded by colorful mounds of dry bags filled with food and gear. We ate some salty mashed potatoes, dipped into our first ration of chocolate and dozed off to sleep.

On day 2, we put our skis and gear on our backs, and scrambled to the summit of Cairn Peak. We topped out on Cairn Peak with our first haul of gear by noon and promptly turned around to do it again. By the time we had hauled all our gear to the top and then back down the other side, we stopped for lunch. Dehydrated peanut butter and jelly wraps at 19:00. Great. With relief, we settled into Camp 17 and prepared for our transition to skis. In the dark, we organized our bags, dried our gear and planned for the upcoming days.

On traverse time

From early on, we were given a new mentality for our traverse: we are on our own time, traverse time. We will go as far as we can every day, and that is our destination. That is our objective. The mountains taught us this lesson from the start, and once this sank in, there was a calmness and acceptance that whatever we had set out to do and whatever we would end up accomplishing was going to be enough.

In the early morning sun, we skied down the Lemon Glacier and navigated our first crevasses. We were learning how to work together as a team, how to navigate and how to ski alongside our pulks. Needless to say, we had to learn quickly.

The next few days gave us many opportunities to learn and grow individually, and as a team. We were challenged by poor visibility, route finding, mitigating risk, camping outside, and most of all, figuring out how to dry out gear every night. This was surely the stinkiest hazard we encountered on our trip.

Weather and technical challenges

On day 5, we woke up to slightly overcast skies, checked the weather report, had our morning meeting, packed up camp and by 4:00 began skinning towards the base of Nugget Mountain. The snow was crisp and wind-affected, so we traveled efficiently. At the base, we traded our skis for crampons and managed to tie everything to the outside of our packs. One step at a time, we kick-stepped our way up the mountain. As we got higher, we looked down upon Death Valley and got our first views of the Juneau Ice field. In the distance, we could see the enormous feature called Devil’s Paw, which marked the US and Canada border. We descended the ramp on backside of Nugget Mountain, navigating around the bergschrund and a giant moulin where we could hear the faint sounds of the movement of water deep beneath the hole. Navigating around the moulin, where water carves holes in the glacier, we transitioned back to skis and descended towards Death Valley. Before reaching the valley, conditions quickly deteriorated and we lost complete visibility. Low light made it impossible to perceive the hazards that were imminently sitting in front of us. We tied into rope teams and slowly probed our way past crevasses on our left and avalanche paths on our right. We were taken aback by the challenge of navigating crevasse terrain in low light, but were also amazed by how much we rely, and had been reliant on our visual senses. By the time we made it through the crevasses it was still early in the morning, the snow was hard and stable as we skied under large piles of debris from avalanches that had fallen from the towering peaks above.

Looking across Death Valley, which others had reassured us had been named for its heat and not for its danger, we could see the Norris Icefall. Half-way through our day, we aired our feet and re-applied sunscreen. We had seen dozens of pictures of the icefall before, yet in person it felt much more intimidating. Clouds moved overhead quickly, taking away our visibility and depth perception in a matter of seconds, so we waited in the open at the base of the ice fall for a weather window to blow our way. Once it did, everyone diligently packed their bags, flaked out the rope, and tied into our team. We took a deep breath before leaving. The seriousness of our task ahead was apparent to everyone.

Our journey through Echo pass and the Norris Icefall challenged our technical skiing abilities as well as our terrain navigation, decision-making abilities and teamwork skills. Focused, we travelled up the West side of the ice fall until we reached the top. The snow was soft and it was difficult to get purchase as we switchbacked up the steep route with our pulks pulling us downhill. The ice formed in whimsical shapes, as if it were an entire village of lopsided, icy skyscraper buildings. From the top, it appeared as a drop in the horizon, much like approaching an intimidating rapid on the river.

A taste of true traversing

The following days, we got a taste of true traversing. With flat, long, and deceiving horizons, it felt like we were tiny ants on a massive glacial treadmill. We were fortunate for the long sunny days with very little precipitation or wind.

Each camp was memorable and unique in its own way. Despite constant movement, we established our own routine. We sipped coffee in the crisp mornings, admiring the peaks around us. Because we were fully immersed in the mountains, we became very perceptive to changing conditions and other minute details.As we brushed our teeth we watched as snowy ridgelines glow in the evening light. Our bathroom often took the most scenic view at each camp and provided an opportunity to have a minute or two of ‘alone time’. We stopped in the afternoons to air our feet and stretch our legs. For entertainment we sat and watched avalanches and rockfall tearing down steep rocky faces, we wrote and sang songs in various keys of out-of-tune, we painted, and whenever possible, we danced.

When we neared the end of the trip, we were confronted with the decision to descend the Llewellyn Glacier or fly off via helicopter. The snowline was lower than we had hoped, and we felt that the task ahead surpassed our comfort zone as a group, meaning we were going to fly off the glacier. Making this decision meant that our trip would end sooner than expected and it suddenly felt like an abrupt finish. It was jolting because no one had been anticipating the end or had anxiously been awaiting the finish line. Our hearts did not feel ready to leave the Icefield, or separate from one another, as we were all experiencing a level of connectedness that is unparalleled in the ‘real world’. This feeling of apprehension to leave everything behind only sparked the desire to start planning for our next adventure together. We decided that descending the Llewellyn was not a risk we were willing to take as a group, or at least not yet.

Final reflection

The mountains aren’t fair or unfair, one of our ski mentors always told us. Why do we do head into the mountains? Why do we seek out risk? Why are we attracted to these kinds of challenges? These kinds of dangers? These are questions that came to mind when we encountered hazards or made challenging decisions.

One thing is for sure: playing in the mountains is not without risk. Throughout this trip, we have seen the impacts that this type of recreation can have on loved ones, friends and family members. We found ourselves constantly searching to define our reasons. We had to provide a rationale to those we loved so they could understand the risks we were taking. This caused us to frequently doubt and re-evaluate the legitimacy of our own reasons.

In the end though, standing among the rocks and moss at Camp 26, awaiting the helicopter and saying our final goodbyes to the icefield, we felt our reasons. Our bodies were filled with the water from the icefield, our feet rubbed raw from our boots, our faces scorched and blistered from the sun, our legs tired from the crossing. We felt everything. We felt the reasons we were out there with the greatest vibrancy and strength. Our reasons couldn’t be translated, only felt. And in that moment, it didn’t require justification to anyone.

We didn’t know Jen Higgins. Most of us were born after she passed away. We did, however, get to spend 11 days with a heightened enthusiasm for adventure and greater appreciation for life. And for that, we are forever grateful.

This trip report is written in honour of the lives of Jen Higgins and Arleigh William “Bill” Dean.

Acknowledgments

Special thanks to the Alpine Club of Canada for supporting this trip. We are grateful to the Juneau community and JIRP for welcoming us in, sharing information and gear, and to our friends and family for helping us throughout the whole journey. Also thanks to Ninja Suit for and to Stabilyze Bars for your generosity and support.

The Jen Higgins Grant for Young Women

The ACC is dedicated to helping young women pursue their adventure dreams with annual cash grants from the Jen Higgins Fund. Teams must include a young woman who is central to conceiving, developing and leading the trip.

The Jen Higgins Fund was established by friends and family to honour Jen Higgins after her death in 1997. Jen’s enthusiasm and generous spirit continue to live on by supporting young women in creative, self-propelled mountain adventures with this grant.

2020 Deadline: Jan 31st

Apply now

Traversing the Juneau Icefield | A trip supported by the Jen Higgins Grant