Byron Peak Attempt

2/8/25

After a few days of good skiing on Tincan Proper and Eddies, the green lights persisted even if the snow quality was deteriorating due to powder being blown off of desirable faces. I had heard rumors that the big lines in Girdwood were skiing rather poorly due to firm and sometimes hardly edgeable snow. These reports seemed to be coming from open faces where it was easy for wind to scour the runs, so when a clearing in the skies above Portage showed up on the weather forecasts, I figured it would be a good time to try and ski Byron peak. With steep valley walls surrounding the peak, I hoped we could find good snow everywhere but ridge tops. Skiing off of the peak was a pipe dream knowing the conditions that existed nearby, but you don’t know if you don’t go. 

When I called up Brian to rope him into the plan, he was immediately interested and hopeful that we’d ski off the peak, even after reading Mike Records’s trip report where he describes skiing the headwall in firm conditions as “sliding over the edge of a bowling ball.” I’ve found an ambitious Brian to be one of the most valuable partners I’ve had in the mountains. He wants to push to achieve our goals, but never gets too caught up with summit fever. When the mountains are talking, he listens, but when it makes sense to keep moving, he makes sure we are doing just that.

As we drove into Portage, we found that we were not the only group gunning for an early morning, just the only group silly enough to be skiing on such a beautiful day; nearly everyone else was partaking in their yearly pilgrimage to skate Portage Lake. In the Byron Glacier parking lot, we had to negotiate with a moose who had decided the lot was a good place to sleep, but after shooing the majestic giant away, we were out of the car and to the trail. The trail to the toe of the permanent snowfield was fast, but once we reached the dying remnants of the glacier progress came to a crawl. 

Where the permanent snow field lives in the summertime, we found nonstop avalanche debris. In a valley so tight and with such steep walls, it wasn’t a surprise to see so much debris, but the two of us had underestimated how much it would slow us down. Instead of searching for a place to side hill above the debris, we put our noses down and trudged through it; we were slipping and sliding on our skins, constantly focused on keeping our skis out of the frustrating seams between blocks of debris. After a fair bit of effort, we were above the bulk of the debris and to the base of the mountain.

The whole approach was spent observing the two routes to the top so we could make a timely decision when we reached the base of the climb, so by the time we passed the piles of debris we had already chatted through our thought process. The semi-standard route up the mountain involves climbing to a col in the ridge and then following that same ridge to the peak. This climb keeps you out of the way of looming cornices and rather puts you on top of them. Even with a notable account of a climber breaking off a cornice and plummeting to their demise, this route is the obvious choice when the objective hazards feel a little too much like russian roulette. Luckily for us though, the cornices along the ridge were close to non-existent, and with hopes to ski as of the headwall as possible, we decided we would rather take a direct line up the face of the mountain to allow us to feel out the snow and ditch our skis to continue climbing without them at any point that the snow became too firm to ride. While this line did involve more complicated glacial navigation and the risk of being underneath a massive headwall for some time, the stability and lack of cornicing informed our decision to boot up the face.

As we approached the first icefall, I could not help but be in disbelief. We were an hour outside of Anchorage and navigating what felt like big-mountain terrain. I wonder how many people move to Denver expecting to have access similar to ours…

The first icefall came down a slope with a tongue that petered out on either side, and where the climber’s right side of the tongue contacted the rocky slope adjacent to it there seemed to be a solid ramp of ice. It’s hard to say if there were big cracks deep beneath us, but to me it felt like we might have been walking up a freshly deglaciated corner system with the icefall trending the other direction. One way or the other, we booted our way up the weakness in the icefall without trouble and enjoyed the presence of the towers of blue ice that observed our every step up their shoulder. 

At the top of the lower icefall, we left our skis on our backs and continued booting up the increasingly firm snow. Looking down-valley we saw sun illuminating the hundreds of ice skaters on Portage Lake, but thick and turbulent clouds shrouded us in. I had to wonder if anyone saw us up there having a far different experience than those on the lake.

After a bit more walking we found ourselves navigating the first crevasses of the second icefall, but the brunt of it still remained above us. We decided that before we tackle the likely crux of the climb we would take a break, so we found a spot between two crevasses and enjoyed our snacks as the clouds continued to move in around us. The conditions were deteriorating quickly and we agreed if it got much worse we would turn around. 

By the time we were finishing out break, the top of the peak was being consumed by the fast moving clouds, but we continued onward, hoping the clouds would roll through. Within a minute of starting off, Brian made an announcement to me that we in fact had not parked underneath a crevasse but rather a large glide crack. With that knowledge, we examined some summer photos and realized we were on a slab that had recently lost all of it’s permanent ice and came to the conclusion that all of the cracks around us were not crevasses but instead glide cracks. Between the clouds moving in and the objective hazards of moving up a slope riddled with glide cracks just waiting for their moment to go, we decided it was time to turn around.

Feeling comfortable with the descent, we packed the rope away and ripped our skins. While touring up the firm snow was a delight, we both knew skiing it wasnt going to be the most fun ski of the season. Brian took off towards the top of the lower icefall first and managed to find a few inches of ski penetration. I followed and found myself skiing with a smile on my face knowing we made the right call in turning around. From the top of the icefall, I watched Brian descend the corridor we had climbed, going from skiing firm but edgeable snow to exposed glacier ice. For how challenging the skiing was, he made it look like a cake walk.

I skied behind him, and the moment one of my 125mm underfoot ski hit the blue ice, it decided to prerelease and go running down the ice fall. In retrospect, taking out a brand new setup on such an adventurous day was a questionable call, particularly when the dins were previously set for a much narrower ski. Luckily, the corridor wasn’t too steep so I was able to easily side slip my way through the ice sections and connect turns on one ski when the snow was decent. One of the benefits of such fat skis is when you lose one, you can still get powder turns on the other. After a few joyful single-ski turns, I reunited with my lost ski and got ready for the rest of the descent. 

If we continued to ski the fall-line we would lead ourselves into the debris-filled valley floor, so instead we began to traverse the skiers left side of the valley. We traveled over a few slide paths, but it was far easier to make it over the paths high on the side of the slope instead of where the debris piled up down lower. Once we had gotten ourselves within range of the well-used trail, we descended to the valley floor and carried our speed all the way back to the car. From the car, we could see the the Bryon valley was the only drainage in all of Portage to capture any clouds.

Each trip into the Chugach, I find myself leaving with a deeper appreciation and understanding of the mountains that I have the privilege of calling home. Portage is an ephemeral land of tight weather windows and quickly-changing conditions. While I wish the clouds could have waited a few hours to roll in, I am happy to have gotten on the mountain and given it an honest attempt. Having to turn around can be tough in the mountains, but making it home safely is all the feedback I need to know we made the correct decision. We learned a lot about the area and feel more prepared for our next try at the beautiful, backyard ski mountaineering objective.