Yukla has been on my radar since I moved to Anchorage from Portland. I heard about it in the worst way possible. Another Portland climber, Dasan Marshall, had died climbing it in January of 2015.
The first thing I did was google the mountain and look upon all of the gnarly mixed ice routes on its west and north faces. I quickly decided this mountain was "not for me". I satiated my thirst for high places with pedestrian Chugach hikes, punctuated with trips to the lower 48 to grapple alpine rock in the Wind River Range and the Sierra.
Then, in the early days of COVID, when we were being told to limit any and all "risky" activity, Abbey and I took a leisurely hike to Echo Bend and saw an incredible, snowy view of the mountain.
I decided to probe a little bit deeper, and eventually found there were some far easier ways up it.
I'm not sure what this route is called. Northeast gully? Northeast Face? Twinsicle Pass? Anyway, the line we took goes up from Twin Falls, up the Twinsicle Glacier, through the pass, and corkscrews around to the NE side of the peak.
We had foolishly penciled in Yukla for the 3-day Memorial Day weekend because, that's how weather works, right?
It looked like the forecast was going to improve so we decided to give it a go. Worst-case scenario, we would have a soggy and secluded backcountry camping experience.
We headed out Sunday around noon. The hike from Eagle River Nature center on the maintained trail to the Twin Falls area was mostly uneventful and felt quick.
We reached the creek where it was time to branch off and up into the Twinsicle drainage and...we saw an adorable squirrel. Dead. In the creek. It looked so peaceful. It looked pristine and holy, like it was just taking a nap. More weird Yukla omens, yay.
A little less than 6 hours after setting off for camp, we were at the iconic boulder that most folks seem to camp near. (not to be confused with the iconic/infamous "boulder bivy" in Icicle Creek, one drainage over!) We found the flattest spot, cracked open some beers (my first time bringing my canned homebrew on a Chugach 120 mission!), and setup camp.
We went to bed about 8pm for a planned alpine-ish start of 4:30 am.
It felt like I had just begun to fall asleep when...I was being shaken awake? The shaking then continued. And continued. Eventually I realized it was an earthquake. Abbey had also woken up. We heard rockfall. Having had two near-miss/bad-fall/thought-I-was-dying experiences in the mountains, all I could think of in my drowsy state was "let it come." If the mountains wanted to unceremoniously smush me in a tent while I was asleep, that seemed fine for some reason. Abbey peaked out of the tent and notified me that none of the rockfall seemed to be coming near us as I was drifting back to sleep.
The weather was fine. We decided to wake up and see if we could get up this thing.
We started trudging up the snow towards Twinsicle Pass, it was also fine. There was no post-holing, but a little bit of softness made every step take a smidge more energy that if the snow were firm Styrofoam.
Eventually we reached the start of the glacier (according to the old scanned USGS topo maps, we had our doubts). We were greeted by a prompt Pika. It was having the time of its life screaming at us. We continued up, and stayed center-left, basing our path on previous trip reports we had read. We chose not to rope up as the snow grew firmer the closer we got to the pass. Any exposed cracks we could see were very small and easily avoided.
At the pass, the wind picked up and the clouds rolled in. I suddenly had most of my summit motivation blown clear off of me. I didn't want to dampen Abbey's spirits, so I didn't say anything. I then left the shelter of Abbey's great kick steps, and started corkscrewing us around the mountain onto the NE side.
There was a faint but obvious boot pack from the many folks that had been up Yukla in the sunnier days before. Eventually we stopped side-hilling and were going up mostly firm snow with our crampons, axes, and whippets.
We went up the false summit and down-climbed it on the other side, facing-in. As we made our way closer to the true summit, the clouds continued to clear. At last we were on what was unmistakably the true summit.
Brutal exposure fell off the west side. From this point one can really see the stark contrast between the two faces of Chugach State Park: the public-facing "dense green growth on brown slopes snaked by braided rivers" and the glacial "land of always winter".
When we got back to camp it started drizzling, because of course it did. We took some big swigs of plastic-flasked Scotch and tried to delay packing up the tent for as long as we could.
Besides the intense tenderization of our feet from far too much time in rigid boots, the hike out was largely uneventful. Moose's Tooth pizza and beer were had, with time to spare. It really felt like we pulled one over on the Chugach. read more