Eklutna Ski Traverse
April 15th - 19th , 2006
By Adrienne Sherred
I woke up from a dazed sleep and slowly peeled my face off the airplane window as I heard the words, "Please bring your seats to their full, upright positions. We are now beginning our descent into Anchorage." I rubbed my tired eyes and squinted through the double pained window into the midnight sky. As my vision came into focus, I felt as if I must still be dreaming as I looked into a sea of peaks, glowing in the light of a full moon. I elbowed Kat to make sure I wasn't hallucinating in my exhausted state. She peered over my lap and confirmed what I wanted to know; I had finally made it to Alaska.
Alaska is one of those mystical, far away places that has intrigued me for years. Although it is technically part of the United States, my mind placed it in a category all it's own. For some reason Alaska seemed like a place that I would end up just dreaming about. It wasn't until I met Caroline, who was born and raised there, that I realized Alaska was a mere three-hour 
plane ride away. After a couple of convincing emails, I gathered two of my girlfriends and made plans to meet up with Caroline to do a five-day ski traverse in the heart of the Chugach Mountains.
The sun greeted us in all its glory as we prepared for our first day of the traverse. The familiar sound of ripping ski skins and clicking buckles filled my ears as we finished stuffing our packs with sleeping bags, shovels, warm clothes and lots of food. We threw our comfy shoes in the truck and waved goodbye as it bounced down the road and out of view.
Our destination that day was Rosie's Roost, a small A-frame hut located on a rocky knoll overlooking the expansive Whiteout Glacier. We shouldered our packs and began the humdrum rhythm of skinning. A cold wind accompanied bright blue sky, motivating us to take short breaks and move at a quick clip. After a few hours of skinning, a steep 45-degree slope known as the Raven Headwall broke our rhythmic pace. We threw our skis on our packs and took turns breaking trail through the thigh deep powder, drenching ourselves in sweat. We were blasted by an icy wind at the top of the headwall that turned our beads of sweat into strands of ice. It didn't take long before we had skins off, jackets on and were heading down the Eagle Glacier to the protection of Rosie's Roost.
Our plan for the next day was to ski the slopes around the hut while we waited for two members of our group who were meeting up with us. A wall of thick, dark clouds was quickly engulfing our blue skies. One ski run in flat light and high winds made us retreat back to eating trail mix and playing cards in the hut.
Our friends showed up just as the first snowflakes began to fall. Little did I know I was about to experience my first Alaskan storm. The first blast of wind slammed into the hut around midnight, shaking the walls and arousing everyone from their sleep. The wind sounded like a freight train roaring up the valley, heading straight for our exposed shelter that now seemed precariously placed on this tiny perch. I reassured myself with the fact that the hut had been there since the mid 1960's, however I still ended up cowering in my sleeping bag every time I heard the wind building momentum.
After a sleepless night, we awoke to blustery conditions that forced us to hunker down for another day. We spent our time drinking tea, digging out the doorway, and going for short walks to stay warm. That evening the weather gods decided to give us a break, the wind 
died down, the snow subsided and the clouds began to part. We grabbed our skis and rushed to the top of the knoll, just as the alpenglow began to paint the mountains in a spectrum of orange and red.
The following morning found us antsy after two days of being stuck in the hut. The weather was perfect so we decided to put in a long 17-mile day in order to get safely off the glaciers and into tree line. The views were spectacular as we trudged across wide, flat glaciers surrounded by steep, rugged peaks. We eventually reached the toe of the Eklutna glacier, picking our way through a maze of blue ice and large crevasses that ended in a cave of ice and rock. We were able to 
sneak to the left side of the cave and drop onto the frozen streambed below, which eventually took us to the Lake Serene Cabin.
We sat that evening in the warmth of a wood burning stove, relaxing worn out feet and sore muscles. We were content in knowing that a short skate ski out the lake the following morning, would bring us to our vehicle where cold beers awaited. I slept soundly that night, knowing that the mountains I had once only dreamed about were now vivid memories that I would have forever.
