Upper South Fork Eagle River Ski

5/24/25-5/25/25

With a summer between the time of writing and the trip itself, I cannot for the life of me recall what exactly spurred the idea to head out to Eagle and Symphony Lakes for May skiing. What I can assure you is that my partner, Andrew, and I are two of the countless fanatical skiers within Anchorage that will go to extreme lengths to find snow as the seasons begin to shift towards warmer and longer days. Andrew had spent plenty of summer nights in the upper reaches of the South Fork valley, while I had a newly found infatuation with the valley after countless spring days spent skiing North Bowl and Harp Peak. Between Andrew’s knowledge and my curiosity, we made plans to head up towards Symphony Lake to set up camp to get eyes on some future objectives and enjoy a little skiing along the way.

We met on Saturday morning and in no time were exiting the car to start the walk towards the lake. As we began down the well-maintained summer trail, I was sure to appreciate the soft dirt underneath my hiking boots. The extra weight of bringing both hiking boots and ski boots can feel unnecessary, but the joys of comfortable miles before squeezing into ski boots makes the weight well worth it. As we made fast progress down the trail, I took the time to get to know the third and most important member of our trip, Nala. Nala is Andrew’s dog, a beautiful and energetic village dog that brought a welcome sense of curiosity and fun to the trip.

The trip out to the lakes took us a couple of hours with our heavier-than-most packs. As we neared the lakes, every other party around was sure to ask where we thought we’d be skiing, and the answer remained the same to everyone: “Back there somewhere on snow.” With a half-dozen tents set up on Eagle Lake, we were certain that we’d be setting up on Symphony lake, so we followed the medial moraine pile until reaching a favorite campsite of Andrew’s. We set up camp, moved in, and enjoyed some calories before leaving behind the camp in ski boots ready to see what we could find. 

Curious on the feasibility of skiing Calliope, I pitched heading up the old glacier tongue that follows the long west ridge of Cantata. From below, the route seemed mostly continuous with snow, and it would allow us a vantage point looking directly up the steep west face of Cantata and the entire north face of Calliope. We began off and within minutes we had already found excitement.

As we booted up a boulder field, Andrew yelled at me to stop and get ahold of Nala. I wasn’t sure what was possibly going on, but the urgency in his voice made it clear he was not joking. He then hastily explained there was a wolverine just a few feet in front of me and while I was out of view, Andrew and the wolverine were having an intense stare down. Holding onto Nala, I curiously worked up a bit more to get a view of the wolverine which was enough to spook the beautiful creature off of the snow patch that contrasted its dark brown and cinnamon body. As the wolverine climbed through the rock garden and found a high point 20 feet away from us to observe our intentions, two cubs emerged from the pile of Chugach choss. They looked towards their mother for guidance, and joined her in holding an unbreaking gaze in our direction. Without a word, Andrew and I both knew it was time to give the wildlife that we had accidentally encroached on the space they deserved. We traversed away from the probable den and made sure to clear the area by a wide margin before unleashing Nala. The moment was both intense and beautiful at the same time; to see a wolverine can be a once in a lifetime moment, but to see three in such close proximity to us felt truly special and is something neither of us will be forgetting anytime soon.

As we continued up-slope, we acknowledged that the highlight of our trip was now behind us. We quickly made it over the west ridge of Cantata and followed the shallow valley carved by an old glacier towards a col leading to the bowl underneath the west face of Cantata. We dropped our skis here and continued along the west ridge until reaching a high point that unlocked views of Calliope. Standing underneath both Chugach giants brought a wave of appreciation for our backyard; we had not traveled very far from home and were in some serious mountains. Cantata’s west face is steep, chossy, and riddled with cliffs while Calliope’s north face has multiple possible ski descents. Cantata’s west face was black and ominous while Calliope’s north face was white with plenty of permanent snow remaining. While the two mountains share so much in common, they somehow prove to be two very different beasts.

After collecting our photos and chatting about the different ski lines down Calliope, dinner was calling our name. We walked down the ridge until reaching the col where we had left our skis, and prepared to ski back to our camp. From the top of the col, we had an enjoyable pitch of skiing partially ruined by sticky snow, but after a few hundred feet of skiing the snow began to improve into delightful corn. Our dreams of a continuous ski were shattered on the way up when we had to walk through multiple patches of tundra to reach our destination, but the midwest skier in me was confident the downhill would be better than the uphill. We approached the patches of dry tundra and I elected to keep the skis on and gently navigate the dry slope. I wanted to not only protect my skis, but also the delicate tundra we were on. After some convincing, Andrew followed me with a big grin on his face. I wanted to keep the skis on the entire descent, but eventually we hit a patch of tundra so long and so riddled with rocks that it necessitated removing the skis. We descended the dry slope in a sunny and quick hail storm. Luckily, we were gifted one final pitch of snow which turned out to be the softest corn we skied all day. From the bottom of this pitch, we were within a hundred feet of our camp. Promptly, we started our stove and began cooking dinner.

Exhausted from the day, we crawled into our tent with the summer sun lingering overhead late into the night. We woke in the morning to the sound of rain on our tent, but we were hopeful it would burn off as we cooked our breakfast. Unfortunately the opposite happened, and the rain only intensified. The snow was marginal and sticky before the rain, so as the precipitation increased our hopes of skiing decreased. Between this and the fact that all of the lines we wanted to ski required a creek crossing, we elected to take the easy route and hike back to our cars that morning. We packed our gear up and began making our way down-valley on the popular trail, sure to point out our tracks to everyone who asked where we were skiing. In no time, we were back at the car where we were able to laugh at the fact that we hauled so much gear out for such a quick trip. While we did not ski anything remarkable, getting eyes on Calliope will hopefully prove valuable within the next few winters, and seeing the wolverines so close is something I do not expect to ever experience again in my life.