Surviving the Chilkoot

Watch the video or read the blog post below about my challenging Chilkoot adventure!

Alaska, October of 1995.

My best friend, John, and I were reaching the end of an epic 2-month backpacking tour across Alaska. At the time, we were lugging our heavy backpacks along the infamous Chilkoot Trail, a dangerous route crossing the rugged coastal mountains to reach the Canadian highlands. This was the same route that thousands of wide-eyed gold rushers took back in the late 1890’s and now established officially as the Klondike Gold Rush National Historic Park. It was pouring down rain and we had both become fatigued by the cold weather. Once we had encountered a warm-up shelter, we decided to spend the night inside the safety of the heavy walls. We had planned on staying in our 2-person tent, but reconsidered after spotting monstrous bear tracks that were freshly planted along the swamped trail.

We walked inside and barred the door closed. After changing into dry thermals and eating a quick meal, we went off to our respective corners of the cabin and crawled into our sleeping bags. As I rested with my eyes closed, my mind drifted through the pages of memories that led me there. I had realized that after 6 weeks of backpacking through the rugged wilderness, I was developing a sense of confidence. It felt good to feel safe in my own abilities, but overconfidence has a way to attract the fates and to crack reality over one’s own illusions.

The park rangers did their best to warn us of the frequent hazards of Chilkoot Pass. They soberly and directly consulted us about enormous brown bears that had been recently behaving badly, of the relentless downpours of rain, and of the sudden winter storms that explode without warning. They told morbid tales of tragic deaths and of missing persons. They questioned our abilities and our intentions, but we were confident that our previous experiences were a good measure of our abilities. In truth, our previous experiences left us even more unprepared for the Chilkoot if for no other reason than confidence.

I slept well that night, considering I was resting on a very hard wooden floor with the possibility of a giant killer bear outside. The morning came around and I was up with the sun. It wasn’t raining as hard as the previous day and my mind drifted from the thoughts of giant bears to the tough day ahead. My clothes were still damp, but I wasn’t about to risk wearing my dry thermal underwear out in the rain forest. I packed away my dry stuff and slumped into the damp clothing that sent shocks of shivers through my bones.

Just as we began hiking, the sky burst wide open and we were again quickly drenched from head to toe. We slopped through the mud and flooding waters into a dark and magical place. The forest floor was carpeted with thick green moss hiding the rugged terrain and boulders from view. The tree limbs supported strange leafy and mossy ecosystems of their own and the canopy high above us blocked out much of the sun. As the miles passed, the rugged terrain and sharp boulders slowly crawled from their mossy blanket as the trees began to give way to mountainous slopes. The rain became colder and our breath belched into heavy clouds of steam. We finally reached a canvas warm-up shelter at the historic Sheep Camp and decided to call it a day.

This was just our second day of packing and we were already behind schedule. We had planned on trekking a 100-mile loop from Taiya Inlet into the Canadian highlands beyond Bennett Lake and then returning to Skagway via the Deadhorse Trail. However, the weather made our already worn bodies ache with an arthritic tone and the increasing mud and poor visibility slowed our progress considerably. Sure, we could have hiked longer and further, but our spirits were clouded over from the miserable weather and our morale for hiking was beginning to slip. Besides, I hadn’t mentioned that for our 6 weeks of backpacking other parts of the great northwest, we had encountered rain for at least 5 solid weeks. Schedules were just a loose formality anyway, so we gave in to our aches and pains.

The next day, the soft glow of the morning light brought me out of the depths of a paralyzing slumber. My eyes opened but my body was still heavy and tired. 6 weeks of backpacking has a way of heaping loads of exhaustion on the body. My ears slowly tuned into the sounds of the rain pattering on the canvas roof and then to the tinny sounds of hot cereal stirring in a thin walled camp pot. After taking a deep breath and stretching the sludge out of my muscles, I climbed out of the warmth and out into the damp cold air. I tiptoed across the frigid floor and quickly pulled on my damp wool socks. After just a few minutes my feet began to feel better as I slowly and regretfully pulled on my damp cold clothing. John had already started preparing the oatmeal. So, we ate our hearty breakfast and washed it down with cold water.

As we stepped outside, the rain was pouring down large cold drops, but we had expected the drenching. I wanted to put on my gloves, but couldn’t find my waterproof shells. It turned out that in my confidence I had ignored the wisdom of consulting my checklist and had accidentally left them behind at the truck. So I pulled on my fleece gloves with hopes that they would work as advertised – to keep my fingers warm even when wet. This, however, was not the case.

John and I hiked up and up on the trail until we crossed the tree line. The rocks turned into boulders and the boulders got bigger and bigger until hiking turned into climbing and crawling around piles of VW-sized monoliths. External frame packs weren’t meant for bouldering and we were reminded of that with every climb. Bending, stretching, or twisting required mental preparation for appropriate counterbalance. So there we were strapped onto our rigid frame packs awkwardly tripping, slipping, and picking our way around the boulder field like a couple of drunks on Saint Patrick’s Day. We came to a full stop several times until we could catch our breath and renew our energy. To make matters worse, my gloves were drenched from the frigid rain and my hands became uncomfortably cold and stiff. I could barely muster enough strength in my hands to grip onto the wet rocks. After pushing, pulling, falling, and climbing, we finally scrambled to more manageable ground. By this time the rains had eased up, but the air was much colder with occasional sheets of sleet blowing with the intermittent gusts of wind. White puffs of breath were radiating from our mouths and steam was rolling from our drenched bodies.

Despite the miserable flashes of cold sleet, we kept hiking up the trail over the rocky terrain until we reached the end of the gorge at a spot where the mountain ridge formed a horseshoe around us. Just ahead was a sign stating that we had reached Chilkoot Pass. It went on warning of the dangers of severe weather conditions that frequented the area and as if cued by the reading of those words the rain and sleet turned to blowing snow. Regardless of our soaked state and the worsening conditions, we marched toward the toughest section of the trail just ahead of us. With hundreds of feet of steep mountain to still climb, we scrambled up.

It was a strange and eerie experience as we climbed over boulders hiding bones, rusty steel tools, and scraps of cloth left to wither from over 100 years ago. I was curious to know if the occasional bones were human or from the pack animals, but I just ignored the temptation to check. I thought it was bad karma to be digging around remains. Wet snow began covering the rocks as we climbed higher and higher. It was already difficult to maneuver with the rigid external frame packs, but the steep slippery terrain was becoming dangerous. Meanwhile, the temperature was plummeting and the wind was increasing. My fingers became increasingly stiff from the cold making scrambling that much more difficult.

Finally, as we rounded the top of the pass, we saw an abandoned warm-up shelter that was perched just above the trail. At just 4000 feet in elevation the weather was churning up a winter storm. This time we were not about to let our determination for keeping the scheduled distance fail. The weather was still deteriorating as snow started falling hard with the wind whipping across the cold rocks, but we marched into the storm toward the next shelter at Happy Camp. The route was more difficult to follow from the Canadian highlands. It was far less traveled and lacked soil that would mark a trail with compaction and the rocky terrain was easily confused with man-made cairns, especially since everything was disappearing under a thin blanket of snow. Many small ponds were along the trail and they were crystal clear and magical like the waters of the Caribbean with some so deep that we couldn’t see the bottom. We kept trudging through the storm until we finally reached the shelter at Happy Camp.

John and I walked around to the small porch to find the door hanging wide open. When we entered the empty shelter I tried to close the door, but the floor was so badly buckled that it prevented the door from closing the entire way. I pushed the door nearly closed with all of my might wedging the door into the floor until it came to a stop leaving about 4 inches of gap for the wind to howl through.

Even though my sleeping bag was really good quality, the wind blowing in through the door made for a chilly night. At some point, I pulled the drawstring to the hood of my sleeping bag so tight that it enveloped my entire head leaving only the tip of my nose and mouth exposed to the outside air. If the weather wasn’t bad enough, the floor helped to increase the misery. I tossed and turned all night long with the buckled planks digging into my back.

By the time the chill of the morning snapped me from my slumber, there was a small snowdrift forming inside the cabin at the foot of the door. This was most certainly cause for concern considering that we were not at all prepared to be dealing with true winter conditions. Neither of us had snowshoes, skis, or even gaiters for that matter. I immediately woke John up and pointed out the arctic dune making its way across the cabin floor.

Along these coastal mountains, a storm could drop several feet of snow very rapidly and unexpectedly leaving us completely stranded and unable to go anywhere for weeks. We immediately began discussing our options. Our original plan was to hike a giant loop, but we had only completed a small portion of the trip. It snowed about six inches that night, and the snow was still falling without any signs of letting up. If we were to continue our journey along the original route, it would take another three days of less rugged hiking to complete, as long as the snow storm stopped.

The problem was that if it were to continue snowing, we could be in serious trouble. If the snow were to pile up above our thighs, we would have to hunker down and wait it out; if not, the trip could still take two or three days longer through unbroken snow. Either way, we would run out of food and water. Besides starving, even more dangerous situations could arise. I imagined us hiking along knee-deep snow then falling through into one of those deep blue ponds never to be seen from again. Our other option was to backtrack and evacuate immediately.

Backtracking sounded good at first, but the dangerous mountainside that we had hiked up the day before was now covered in God knows how much snow. An attempt at making a descent could be deadly if we were to slip. To make matters worse for considering backtracking, it may have already snowed several feet over the area of the rainforest and our evacuation route would turn into a calamity. So the choices were possibly descending an icy mountainside and possibly encountering heavier snow or dealing with the current snow conditions, but possibly becoming stranded even further from civilization. We decided to make a go for a quick evacuation back down the steep Chilkoot Pass hoping that the lower elevations had less snowfall due to warmer temperatures.

I climbed out of my nice warm sleeping bag and received a shocking slap from the cold air. I scrambled across the icy floor to retrieve my clothes only to find them all completely frozen! I usually saved my thermal underwear for sleeping at night, but considering the circumstances, wearing thermal underwear under frozen clothing didn’t sound like such a bad idea. I knocked the ice from my clothes and shook out the frost. I was also disappointed to find that I had left my wool hat back in the truck. After dressing myself from head to toe in the icy clothing, I began doing jumping jacks to regain my heat. My stiff clothes loosened up and started to feel warm again.

Skipping breakfast, we began our retreat. John took the lead hiking at a pace that made my heart pound. The fast walking with the heavy pack helped me to warm up and I thought everything would be ok. We pushed and pushed as fast as we could go for only the first five or ten minutes. The slippery snow-covered terrain was too difficult for us to maintain such a fast pace and we yielded to our fatigue.

It didn’t take long for the snow to blow into another storm. Little by little that initial warmth brought on by the fast hiking faded away. My now wet gloves were freezing my fingertips, so I removed them to find that the air outside was just as cold. I put my gloves back on to realize that my gloves lost what little heat they had, then took them off again to realize the wetness from my gloves made my hands feel even colder without them on!

This went on and on. I just couldn’t keep my hands warm. Meanwhile, my scalp became drenched with snow and a skullcap of ice was crusting the top of my head. A strong ice-cream-headache was setting in, so I asked John to take a break as I dug through my backpack looking for my not quite so waterproof rain jacket. I found it completely frozen – of course. I ruffled it and shook the ice off then pulled it on over my now wet down jacket. The down jacket was uncomfortably chilly before trying to put on the rain jacket, but since the rain jacket was much smaller than the big puffy down jacket, it squeezed the cold moisture out through my thermal underwear and onto my skin. The end result was a down jacket without any loft and therefore quite cold. The cold wet water trickled down my back and chest. My usually toasty thermal underwear was now completely soaked. Still, I was convinced that since I now had a hood and wearing my trusty thermals, I would warm up again.

We continued hiking, but unfortunately my warmth never returned. This was perhaps the most miserable experience that I ever had. John wasn’t doing much better. He was also soaked to the bone, but the one thing that kept him just slightly less miserable was an old heavy synthetic sweater and wool cap.

After hiking for several minutes, I realized that my tight rain jacket was killing me; there just wasn’t enough loft to hold in any heat. My head felt slightly warmer with it on, but the rest of me was absolutely freezing. So, we stopped again just long enough for me to take off my rain jacket and stuff it into my pack. This too seemed like a mistake as my down jacket expanded taking in a deep breath of the cold air from the outside! This made matters much worse. My cold head became even colder from the blowing snow, but I was convinced that in a few minutes, I would feel warmer.

We started hiking again, but the warmth that I promised myself wasn’t coming around. We had only hiked for about five minutes when I decided that I was really much warmer with my rain jacket on. So we stopped just in time for us to lose more heat as I put my rain jacket on under my down jacket. I was convinced that this was the solution. John and I continued hiking, but again, I was still no warmer than before.

This time, there was no stopping. We marched on and on through the blowing snow feeling colder and colder. I was developing a headache even with my hood on, but there was nothing that I could do. My feet were aching and my fingers were stinging, but still we marched on. It didn’t take long for me to start shivering and my teeth to start chattering. That cold misery was almost unbearable. After some time had passed, our pace had slowed. My legs felt cold and clumsy as I walked over the wintery terrain. My mind stopped thinking and we stopped talking. We only hiked forward, marching step after step in a mindless trance.

After an unknown amount of time passed, I asked John if we could take a break. I felt almost too tired to keep hiking. I stopped, but he kept hiking then slowed to a stop ahead of me. The break felt good. For some reason when I stopped hiking, my warmth seemed to return. Fatigue engulfed my body and I became tired. It felt as though gravity was pulling me down.

After just a brief time, John started hiking again and I slowly followed behind. With moving, the extreme cold again overran my body, so I requested another break. John stopped and turned around. Again, my warmth seemed to return upon stopping and a wave of extreme exhaustion washed over me. My legs were almost too heavy to lift, so I removed my backpack and sat down in the surprisingly warm snow. My misery faded and my mind became clouded. As I drifted into a hypnotic state the reality of this world seemed to merge with the reality of the great beyond. At that brief instant the universe, God, and the earth around me seemed to become one and the same. It didn’t matter to me if I drifted off toward death or awoke from my stupor; I just wanted to escape the misery.

Something snapped me back into reality as I became fully aware of my misery again. “Get up and start hiking!” It was John. I was too exhausted to reply and too entranced by the misery to care.

He started hiking away and at that moment something inside of me awakened. Without a bit of strength or concern I stood up onto my feet, shouldered my backpack, and started to hike after him without a thought in my mind. With the hiking again came the sensation of being extremely cold; it started slowly at my shoulders then eventually overcame my entire body. The overwhelming misery didn’t stop me. I just kept putting one foot in front of the other while clumsily hiking in a meaningless daze. I considered dying in the snow. The thought somehow comforted me. It wouldn’t have been so bad to just sit down in the warm snow again and drift off from the cold, but there was no way for me to break that subconscious methodical marching. I was now no more than a cow following behind another cow. I eventually had no thoughts at all and all that I could comprehend was the reality of the cold stinging from the snow on my face and the cold water trickling down my skin; for some reason even my own misery faded away into some empty part of my mind. Nothing had meaning and it was as if I only kept walking because I had already started to do so.

We hiked in a slow methodical death march until we finally reached the Chilkoot Pass. The sight of reaching the warm-up shelter was enough to snap me out of that daze with a thump from my heart and start thinking more consciously again. With the new task of descending ahead of us, my mind quickly snapped into multiple scenarios of how to make it back. The wind was howling and the snow was still falling as we just stood there staring at the small wooden building. The warm-up shelter perched above the trail was too tempting to pass by. So without saying a word, we both headed inside.

The cabin was clean and empty. There was no wood and no stove, but the air was calm and welcoming. John quickly shut the door to keep the wind out as I started to remove my wet clothing. It seemed ridiculously difficult to take my backpack off. After letting it fall to the floor, I tried to take off my down jacket, but for some reason I had a hard time finding the zipper. Once I found the zipper, I couldn’t move my fingers enough to grip the zipper-pull! I tried time and time again to squeeze my fingers together, but they just couldn’t move. I then clamped my wrists together with desperation squeezing the zipper-pull and pulled down hard. It unzipped about two inches before it slipped out from my wrists. I did the same thing over and over until my zipper was undone. It must have taken me fifteen minutes of fumbling until I had my wet clothing off. The air felt surprisingly warm. I sat down and sipped at the freezing cold water bottle as I ate a few handfuls of dry trail mix. Using my hands became too awkward, so I just gave up eating and drinking altogether. It was difficult to think and even more difficult to talk. I was just too tired.

After sitting there struggling to stimulate my mind to conjure up a plan, I tried getting another drink, but my hands couldn’t grip the bottle anymore. That’s when the thought of frostbite and perhaps losing my fingers and toes first crossed my mind. My heart began pounding and I seemed to get a second wind. I muttered out a few words to John about just that subject. He was cold and slow, but I realized that I was worse off than him. We sat there muttering words back and forth until we came up with a plan. We would get dressed, shoulder our packs, and hike without stopping until we reached the Canyon City warm up shelter where we had stayed our first night of hiking along the trail. It was going to be a hell of a hike, but we had hopes of finding wood and starting up the old pot-bellied stove inside. After discussing the plan, we slowly stood up and started dressing and assembling our gear. A good twenty minutes had passed until we finally had our hip belts buckled. We opened the door with renewed purpose and ventured clumsily out into the mountain storm.

The outside air and wind didn’t seem to affect me anymore. I was already as cold and miserable as a person could get. Our movements were slow and awkward, but we started our decent of the Chilkoot Pass with care. After just a few minutes, the going got tough. It became almost too difficult to descend while fighting against gravity, slowly stepping down from one rock to the other with controlled movements taking great strength to keep our balance. My knees were killing me. John and I climbed around many boulders and difficult terrain, but about a quarter of the way down, my frozen bootlaces snapped! I went on descending the mountain, but I almost fell several times. As I stopped, I noticed that I wasn’t nearly as cold and miserable as I had been just a few minutes before. All of that physical exertion from the climb down helped to reheat my body.

I removed my backpack and pulled out an old deformed roll of duck tape. I wrapped my boot tightly so that it stayed on tight, then threw the tape back in my pack and shouldered the load for more descending. Just after a few more minutes of climbing down, I heard a pop and saw John swaying to and fro groaning as his pack flopped all over the place. I don’t know how he avoided falling, but he somehow gained control and dropped to his knees. His left shoulder strap broke. The frozen straps and cords became too brittle to withstand the stress. We stopped and I pulled out an extra strap that I brought along as John threw his pack to the ground. We struggled to jerry-rig that strap to hold the weight, but it was still difficult for us to move our fingers. After several minutes had passed the fix was complete. That was the last incident while descending the steepest part of the mountain. We eventually made our way back to the trail at the base of the pass.

After quickly getting a drink of water, we resumed our decent. The trail was much easier now, but the cold wind sucked the heat right out of us. The snow was thinning out at about two or three inches deep, so it looked as though we wouldn’t have to worry about getting stranded in deep snow. We just kept hiking and hiking without saying a word. Our exhaustion and misery from the cold made doing anything but putting one foot in front of the other almost impossible.

Before we knew it, the snow was turning over to rain and the ground was only frosted with a light slush. We struggled over cold wet boulders and around large rocks as we continued our hike down toward the snow-free tree line. Little by little I felt less and less miserable. The rain felt so warm compared to the extreme weather on top of the mountain. The numbness in my hands led to a painful burning then eventually my stiff fingers became more and more relaxed and useful. I could finally feel my fingers again, despite the fact they were still very cold.

We slowly made it to the broken tree line and were hiking mindlessly when we saw a cabin just ahead. It was the Warden’s Station. We completely forgot about that place, but we thought it would be a good place to stay for the night. We had only hiked five miles to this point, but it felt more like fifteen. John and I walked up onto the porch and tried to open the door, but it was locked! We tried to jimmy the door open, but it was no use. That thing was locked solid. We removed our packs and decided to have a quick lunch break while we talked over what we needed to do. After stopping, the cold air chilled my sopping wet clothing until I felt miserable again. I decided enough was enough and took off all of my wet stuff until I was standing there in just my underwear. I actually felt warmer being half naked.

Steam rolled off of my body like a resting steam train. John removed his hat and billows of steam rose into the air. We ate our lunch and discussed our plan. It looked as though our initial plan of hiking fourteen miles to the Canyon City warm-up shelter was the only way that we could possibly have a fire to dry our things and to get warm again. If we wouldn’t have a fire, we thought it would at least be warmer due to the change in elevation. I took one last gulp of water and then pulled on my extremely cold clothes. The cold shock and the miserable sensation that followed made me regret ever taking off my clothes in the first place. John wasn’t quite ready to hike yet, but I quickly shouldered my pack and started hiking to generate warmth.

We both limped along down the trail in pain from our respective equipment failures. My feet were sore and aching from my loose wobbly boots. This triggered an ergonomic chain reaction that led to sore knees that throbbed with pain then to aching hips and finally an aching back. Every step became a conscious initiative disregarding the consequences. If I wanted to make it to the shelter I had to endure the pain. The pain made it miserable to take another step, but I just had to over and over again.

Meanwhile, the rains became heavy again. The cold torrent poured over us like an icy waterfall, but the giant trees and moss covered forest floor helped to distract us from our misery. My boot began flopping around even worse, but I was far too exhausted to wrap it up with more duck tape. John’s backpack was leaning heavily to one side, but we had already tried our best to remedy the situation. A s the day wore on, our marching slowed until we hiked at a snail’s pace. It was difficult to continue walking in such exhaustion, but for some reason we couldn’t stop either. After backpacking over fifteen miles of rugged mountain terrain in complete and utter misery, we finally reached the Canyon City warm-up shelter late in the evening.

I was far too exhausted to let the feelings of thankfulness erupt from my tired body. Our emotionless figures just passed through the entrance of the cabin and shut the door behind. We said a few words to each other, but it was if they had no meaning. We were working independently from each other, but in a strange synchronization. John and I dropped our packs to the floor at the same time then we started to take off our wet clothing. I stood there expressionless in just my underwear and my wool socks - the situation smacked of humor. We broke out into uncontrollable laughter as I found myself falling to the floor in a state of hilarium. The intense laughing gradually subsided. I wiped the tears from my eyes and coughed out a few spells until our attention turned to finding a way to heat the place up.

We were disappointed at first to realize there was no wood in the cabin, but then a large plywood shelf caught my eye. It was obviously not a part of the original cabin and it was only set temporarily across two brackets. I lifted the heavy unfinished plank from its resting place and leaned it against the sturdy wall. I adjusted the angle and gave it a strong kick at its weakest point, but it flexed without splitting. John gave it a go with the same results. The scene soon transformed into what appeared to be a studio-wrestling match between two skinny half naked hillbillies and a piece of plywood. The wood seamed to own the upper hand, but determination and superior intellect became no match for the stubborn inanimate object. After several exhausting minutes of battering and slamming, the plywood finally started to splinter. I continued breaking it away piece by piece as John tore a few pages from his book to use as a fire starter.

We carefully assembled some of the smaller splinters over the paper in the center of the potbelly stove. I lit the paper causing it to burn brightly and to our relief, it took just a few seconds to hear the crackle of fire. We carefully stacked more and more splinters on the flames until we had a nice healthy fire burning inside the stove. I closed the hatch and put my stiff hands over the warming iron body. My hands quickly regained their feeling and the cabin started losing its chill. We went around the cabin hanging up our wet clothing placing our most essential items closest to the stove. We pulled up a couple of chairs and spent the evening sitting in an exhausted silence by the warm fire while keeping the potbelly stoked. Late in the evening when the cabin was nice and toasty, I set the last piece of wood into the stove for the night, laid out my sleeping bag, and passed out in the warmth of the cozy cocoon.

It seemed like only a few minutes had passed by the time the soft blue sunlight of dawn passed through the windows. I was so tired and my entire body seemed like it weighed a thousand pounds. I passed back and forth from dreaming and consciousness to find myself becoming more and more awake. My body felt sick from exhaustion, but my hunger and thirst was enough to stir me from my sleep. I reluctantly crawled out of my sleeping bag and tip-toed over to where I had hung my clothing. As I touched my socks, I took a deep sigh of relief. All of my clothing was dry. I hurriedly dressed to escape the morning chill then began heating some water. I was as hungry as I was exhausted. I made twice as much oatmeal that morning than usual, but not one spoonful went to waste. John rustled around restlessly in his sleeping bag then eventually poked his head up to find out what I was doing. He too felt like garbage, but could no longer sleep. So there we were, two spent souls eating heaps of oatmeal in the dull light of the morning.

We weren’t in any kind of hurry; it was only a seven-mile hike from there to the truck. Light rain pattered on the roof as we slowly packed our bags. I stretched out my sore and stiff muscles before pulling on my near worthless boots. I wrapped them tight with duct tape and then stood up and shouldered my backpack for the hike out.

We left the cabin behind and marched out into the rain. Each step was again slow and painful, but we returned to our parked pickup truck safe and sound.