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The first time I ever saw Peak 7601 was a number of years ago while flying by in a helicopter. My reaction was immediate and visceral: “What is that!”
Peak 7601 viewed from the air.
It turned out that one of my guides at the time (Kerstin Kremer from Valdez Heli Ski Guides) had been part of the guide crew when the peak was done by Terje Haakonson for the film “First Descent”.
Whether it was actually the first descent is open to some debate, since quite a bit of stuff gets done in Alaska without those involved talking it up much. (Jerry Hance, now guiding with BlackOps is a likely candidate for having done it before Terje). At any rate, I’d never seen or heard about it before and found it really mesmerizing, even from the few brief glimpses of it I’d gotten.
For several seasons thereafter, the only look I got at the peak was from bad angles and a long way away.
View of 7601 in the distance, seen from the south cirque of Mt. Dimond.
Most of these views weren’t exactly what you’d call “inviting”. In spite of this, I was still interested in taking a shot at it (at least the lower face, if not the peak) but for a variety of reasons (usually weather and snowpack related) it wasn’t on the menu. Finally this year, the stars aligned enough so that I would at least have a chance to give it a closer look and perhaps try and get a ways up the thing.
This was made possible by a combination of snow pack and wind conditions that made it seem reasonable to at least go take a look at it, combined with the possibility to work with Pete Lowney, a Valdez local sledneck, mountaineer, snowboarder, speed flyer and all around badass.
Pete Lowney on top of Saphire
Pete’s website: https://proudline.wordpress.com/
The day started at the 19-mile compound where Pete and a revolving cast of characters hang out when not skiing, sledding or flying insubstantial bits of fabric in the surrounding mountains. The compound provides classic Alaskan ambiance, featuring as accommodations a yurt, an old school bus, a parked airstream and a treehouse (really, a treehouse). Lawn ornaments include various dead or dying vehicles slowly rusting back into the earth, fuel tanks, storage sheds, a collection of sleds, skis, and snowboards and a huge dog that looks like something leftover from the Pleistocene (a “woolly” something for sure).
Stuff that might come in handy someday.
Yes, a treehouse.
Pleistocene dog.
7601 is fairly far from the nearest road (around thirteen miles out by the most direct route) as such, a sled bump to the base was necessary. Sled access to many areas this season was complicated by a number of warm spells earlier in the season that had left low lying areas with limited coverage and the crevasse fields of many glaciers poorly bridged, but the approach route to 7601 is higher than many others, making sled access viable (if not completely unproblematic). Another member of the 19-mile crew (Zach, an ex-Baker ski patroller) joined us for the trip to the base and to provide backup in case of problems. He was unfortunately in for a much longer day than any of us had envisioned.
Arriving at the cirque, we found that the face looked pretty good while the peak looked, well, sporty.
Thar she blows!
Lower face looking good.
Peak looking, well…
Pete at least seems psyched.
Heading up the face, we found a mostly consolidated base covered with a few inches of dense surface snow. This made for quick climbing and promised good skiing with little avi risk.
Ways to go yet.
Good climbing conditions though.
Approaching the top of the face, the pitch became quite steep and we got our first close look at the conditions on the peak proper as well as a look at the ridge at the top of the face.
After looking up at the peak Pete still seems enthusiastic (don’t know why exactly).
Looking back down from the top of the face.
I had been told in the past by various heli-guides that it wasn’t possible to land the ridge at the top of face. Given some of the places I’ve seen helis drop people off up there, I found this rather surprising until I got a look at this ridge. On the other (lee) side of the ridge were huge, poorly anchored cornices, reaching in some cases twenty to thirty feet past their closest anchor point. Since the windward side of the face at the top is also very steep, a heli-landing there would have required a toe-in so high that one would have probably been climbing out directly onto the cornice itself.
Well, that explains why nobody lands it.
Peak 7601 viewed from the air.
It turned out that one of my guides at the time (Kerstin Kremer from Valdez Heli Ski Guides) had been part of the guide crew when the peak was done by Terje Haakonson for the film “First Descent”.
Whether it was actually the first descent is open to some debate, since quite a bit of stuff gets done in Alaska without those involved talking it up much. (Jerry Hance, now guiding with BlackOps is a likely candidate for having done it before Terje). At any rate, I’d never seen or heard about it before and found it really mesmerizing, even from the few brief glimpses of it I’d gotten.
For several seasons thereafter, the only look I got at the peak was from bad angles and a long way away.
View of 7601 in the distance, seen from the south cirque of Mt. Dimond.
Most of these views weren’t exactly what you’d call “inviting”. In spite of this, I was still interested in taking a shot at it (at least the lower face, if not the peak) but for a variety of reasons (usually weather and snowpack related) it wasn’t on the menu. Finally this year, the stars aligned enough so that I would at least have a chance to give it a closer look and perhaps try and get a ways up the thing.
This was made possible by a combination of snow pack and wind conditions that made it seem reasonable to at least go take a look at it, combined with the possibility to work with Pete Lowney, a Valdez local sledneck, mountaineer, snowboarder, speed flyer and all around badass.
Pete Lowney on top of Saphire
Pete’s website: https://proudline.wordpress.com/
The day started at the 19-mile compound where Pete and a revolving cast of characters hang out when not skiing, sledding or flying insubstantial bits of fabric in the surrounding mountains. The compound provides classic Alaskan ambiance, featuring as accommodations a yurt, an old school bus, a parked airstream and a treehouse (really, a treehouse). Lawn ornaments include various dead or dying vehicles slowly rusting back into the earth, fuel tanks, storage sheds, a collection of sleds, skis, and snowboards and a huge dog that looks like something leftover from the Pleistocene (a “woolly” something for sure).
Stuff that might come in handy someday.
Yes, a treehouse.
Pleistocene dog.
7601 is fairly far from the nearest road (around thirteen miles out by the most direct route) as such, a sled bump to the base was necessary. Sled access to many areas this season was complicated by a number of warm spells earlier in the season that had left low lying areas with limited coverage and the crevasse fields of many glaciers poorly bridged, but the approach route to 7601 is higher than many others, making sled access viable (if not completely unproblematic). Another member of the 19-mile crew (Zach, an ex-Baker ski patroller) joined us for the trip to the base and to provide backup in case of problems. He was unfortunately in for a much longer day than any of us had envisioned.
Arriving at the cirque, we found that the face looked pretty good while the peak looked, well, sporty.
Thar she blows!
Lower face looking good.
Peak looking, well…
Pete at least seems psyched.
Heading up the face, we found a mostly consolidated base covered with a few inches of dense surface snow. This made for quick climbing and promised good skiing with little avi risk.
Ways to go yet.
Good climbing conditions though.
Approaching the top of the face, the pitch became quite steep and we got our first close look at the conditions on the peak proper as well as a look at the ridge at the top of the face.
After looking up at the peak Pete still seems enthusiastic (don’t know why exactly).
Looking back down from the top of the face.
I had been told in the past by various heli-guides that it wasn’t possible to land the ridge at the top of face. Given some of the places I’ve seen helis drop people off up there, I found this rather surprising until I got a look at this ridge. On the other (lee) side of the ridge were huge, poorly anchored cornices, reaching in some cases twenty to thirty feet past their closest anchor point. Since the windward side of the face at the top is also very steep, a heli-landing there would have required a toe-in so high that one would have probably been climbing out directly onto the cornice itself.
Well, that explains why nobody lands it.
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