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Trip goal: Climb up Abra Cove and camp at the alpine lake behind Coleman bay (and Abra)
Trip outcome: Camped Abra Saddle, climbed to the Coleman Cirque and returned in one piece.
Elevation Gain: ~2200ft, 2ish miles.

 Day 1: 

I am writing this after climbing up all of Abra with Jack. Nick Von Schlegell and Nick Witherbee joined us for a section of the climb, but left early as to be able to return home and sleep in their own beds before work tomorrow. Jack is a true adventurer and will be starting his work day tomorrow with a Think! bar and a 2,000 foot sketchy down-climb and then 45 minute paddle back to the lodge to start his shift.

   The climb began around 6pm with a “little scramble” up a fairly sheer waterfall that I wasn’t 100% confident I could get down with my very heavy bag on. I had packed my backpack like shit (not sure why) and it was very difficult to climb in. I was feeling slow and tired but my stoke was high and carried my legs upwards. 

  After we finished the waterfall section the beta (climby shit) got a bit easier. We continued directly through 1000 feet of alder trees and salmon berry brush. My 4 inch short shorts protected my legs very nicely from the waist deep thorn bushes we were whacking our way through. (on the descent we realized the entire bushwhack was unnecessary.

  We sat at the top of a granite cliff and rested briefly, looking out over Aialik Glacier and the northern side of the bay. This is where we parted ways with Nick² and began the second half of the adventure. The rest of the climb looked pretty much completely insurmountable because of how far away the top was. But we pressed on. We reached the first saddle before the upper ridge and decided this would be camp, as to give us clearance to make an expedited decent the next day. After dropping our packs on the ridge and setting up a tent, we ran to the top of the ridgeline. 

  The ridge looked impossibly far away. But we made great time and found ourselves surrounded by gorgeous waterfalls and incredibly slippery snow. We chose to stick to the rock as the granite was sticky and proved to be mostly sturdy. The ridge was in our sights. The thing that had seemed so far away was actually in-front of us. I told Jack, “Im going to sprint to the top.” And began to run as fast as I could up the grassy meadowy hill, I stopped breathlessly after 10 steps and waited for Jack to catch up. As we reached the top of the ridgeline, I felt a sense of tremendous pride in my ability to plan and accomplish something like this. I prepared myself to peer over the summit and onto the other side of Abra Cove. My calves were tired, my legs were aching and I knew the pay off was near. We crested the ridge and saw it; 100 more feet of scrambling to get to the actual summit that was hidden behind where we were standing. It was a brilliant moment, standing there and admiring a wall of rock. There was a very trust worthy and stable goat path that led us up to where we wanted to be and now, finally, we could see over the Abra ridge line. It was honestly pretty cool and I realized this wasn’t a wash. That was a good moment. 

 Jack spotted the lake in the distance for the first time. It was very cool to see it from an angle that looked approachable (whereas the other time I have seen it, there was a crumbling cliff between us and it.) We admired a huge family of mountain goats clambering away from the ridge line and down towards the lake. There had to have been around 20 of them. The young goats yelped and cried for their mom and ran to meet with everyone else. We stood and watched the goats for a few minutes and then headed towards the lake. 

 The decent to the lake was very fine and manageable. The goats make nice trails for themselves. We got about 2/3 of the way to a nice viewpoint and figured the snow was not worth the pain of navigating and traversing it and decided to head back to camp. The view of the alpine lake still frozen over in late July was special though. It’s hard to celebrate accomplishments like that when you still have so much to do and so far to go and when your beer is in the bag you left behind. 

  We traversed slightly differently on the way back. I used my nearly bare butt cheeks as a sled to ride myself to our campsite, we arrived around 10pm. Cracking open a beer and cheer-sing over ramen and “tuna mac” we sat on the spongy meadow overlooking The Pederson Lagoon from up high. A flying fishes eye-view of the place we call home for the summers. The most remarkable place I know was now puny and smaller than me. I contemplated crushing such an insignificant thing with my now enormous fingers. I hesitated after imagining the mess it would leave. Too much to do, and in bear country it could be catastrophic. 

  After cleaning up dinner and loading up the bear canister I scouted for a suitable spot to rest it, far from camp and with all of our smellable belonging. The perfect spot shone itself to me like a burning bush, some mere 50 feet up the ridge line from our camp. I walked over and debated between two spots; one open and mossy, exposed. The other protected by the security of an alder tree. I placed the bear-can under the nearest branch, confidently. But the bear-can began to roll. I could do nothing but shout, “No! Please NO!” It continued to roll and tumble down a cliff . It was 11:30 at night. I ran to get my headlamp and Jack and I sent down the cliffs to try to retrieve it. Afterall, Jack’s Think! bar was in there (his entire breakfast) and he needs that make the descent tomorrow.

We found the bear-can about 150 feet down, rested on the flattest spot of the final ledge before a sheer drop to the bottom of the cirque. We felt grateful that this small ledge was here and that the bear can stopped rolling and did not explode. 

  After returning, I wrote this log in my tent. Too tired to blow up my mattress pad and too exhausted to sleep, awaiting whatever the fuck tomorrow was gonna look like. 

Day 2: 

After an abysmal night of sleep, thinking of every terrible scenario that could happen on this down climb and also karate chopping mosquitoes that were loaded with my blood, we awoke at 6:30am.  

  The night was beautiful, and Aialik bay was serene and calm. I watched the sun drop down and satellites pass over my head. It is finally getting dark for a few hours this time of year. There was a meteor shower, and the lack of artificial light meant that every piece of space rock disintegrating in the ozone layer was visible to my stupid eyes. A healing silence of this kind is an opportunity afforded to only those who seek it and found only in places like this.

 In the morning I poured some ice cold water into my “mountain house granola, blueberries and milk” and stirred. Sitting on a ledge I put my butt in the wet moss. Not caring if the bog would soak though my pants. After a few minutes of stirring I took a bite and savored the taste of the rancid dehydrated milk. I had owned this premade meal for probably three years now and decided to finally use it. Maybe thats just how these mountain house breakfasts taste but I couldn’t finish it. I ate some trail-mix instead. 

  Jack and I packed our bags really tightly. We started down the chutes and flatirons trusting only the rubber of our boots to carry us. Much like standing on a subway platform and imagining yourself being sliced in half under a train, I couldn’t help but imagine what it would feel like to tumble hundreds of feet down the granite like a bear canister. That is a good motivator to not fall. All things considered, the down climb was not that bad for the first 2/3rds. The bottom chunk was exposed, and bare and steep, but after some path finding and repeating the phrase “I don’t love it but it looks doable,” every 10 feet. We had now made it to the start of the route. I had not felt this relieved in awhile. We shuffled our gear into our boats after moving them 200 yards to the low tide line. We paddled out for home around 8:45am. 

In summary, definitely climb Abra. It will make you feel capable and inspired. It will make you feel terrified and humbled. It will challenge you to do moves you’ve never tried, with backpacks that are too large and on rock that might hold. Climb Abra if you are one of the people in the world that has whatever incurable sickness we had. The kind that makes you walk into brush, and shout at sleeping bears. It is one thing to go for a hike, its another thing to make a hike. Have fun out there.

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