Since moving to Anchorage a decade ago, the East Fork Eklutna valley has held a place in my mind and tugged at me. Over the years we've explored the peaks around the yawning mouth of the drainage, but the upper basin has waited out of reach. With a scheduled traverse from Seward to Homer kiboshed by uncertain weather and my tight work schedule, Nyssa, Heather, Lars and I "compromised" with a loop through the dramatic gorges of the towering B Peaks.
The trip started on a sunny Saturday morning in the Eklutna parking lot where we swung on our loaded packs and skated onto the lake. Days of spring sun and clear nights had metamorphosed the surface into a hard and fast crust which we cruised across as Chad and his smiling golden retriever skated laps around us..jpg)
At the east end of the lake we chased the crust upstream until the skating became a contact sport. Then, we crashed through the scarred deadfall remains of the old wildfire until crawling out onto the road at the East Fork trailhead. We skinned over exposed rocks and walked along the melted-out dirt of the spring trail as the shady walls of the giant gorge closed in above us.
We had ventured into this giant canyon several times, but it seemed even more breathtaking than before. Perhaps it was the intention to pass through it that had me seeing the length of the valley and truly experiencing the scale of the beast.
From high on the cliff walls above us, we could see goats perched on impossibly small ledges. Turned to the scale of moving white dots by the mountains that they inhabit, it felt like we'd entered another world. 
As the gorge opened into a deep valley, we started to gain elevation towards the glaciated shoulders of Bounty Peak.
Here, our gloriously fast travel was slowed by impressive glopping that had us hitting our skis against themselves, our poles, and or anything available in a futile attempt to beat the heavy slurpee of snowy glue off of them. A snapped carbon ski pole was a quick reminder that some of us should not own carbon things.
By evening we were at the nunatak under Bounty where we shoveled out a protected camp under a rock wall splashed with the saturated colors of lichen. With camp established, there wasn't time to summit Bounty, so we decided to do a recon tour towards the north couloir.
Approaching the base of the peak, the clouds that had been hanging around the valley lowered and engulfed us. With all contrast stolen by the dark fog, it was nearly impossible to see the bergschrunds or massive blocks of cornice-fall around us. We called it a day, and cautiously picked our way back to camp.
Sunday morning dawned with beautiful blue skies highlighted by a little cap cloud sitting on top of Boisterous. As we retraced our steps from last night, it was comical how much easier it was when we could see where we were going.
Crossing the deep gash of bergschrund took about 20 minutes of zig zagging back and forth as we probed for a supportable bridge over the abyss. Above the cracks, the chute steepened and we started to boot up the deep snow.
At some point in the climb, the chute bifurcated, and the decision was made to take the lookers right fork. Unfortunately, this side did not go to the summit or summit ridge and instead deposited us on an airy perch high on the north face of the peak.
At this point, Lars and Heather wisely stopped, while Nyssa and I chased a snowy ridge across a very steep face towards the peak. Hacking through a cornice, we clawed our way onto the west ridge where we were greeted by a biting north wind.
To our south, the high peaks of the Girdwood were caked in snow and dripping spines.
Whitecrown:
We could see a likely route to the summit through gullies tucked between cliffs of rime, but the mojo was gone and we decided to descend.
Having no desire to retrace our steps through steep exposed terrain, we descended the west ridge until we could safely return to the East Fork drainage. The south face of Bounty is big, steep, rocky, and wind ravaged. It was a long way down to the Whiteout Glacier as we descended the ridge.
At a break in the cornice, we skied through sloughy powder littered with jagged seracs of ice.
We rejoined forces with Heather and Lars and coasted to camp where it was time to pack up and keep moving.
Next, we broke a winding skin track through big crevasses covered in sagging snowbridges towards Booty Peak.
We skinned up the west bowl of the peak to reach the ridge separating Booty from the Troublesome Glacier.
From high on the ridge, the peaks of the Knik dwarfed us. Despite its relative proximity to Anchorage, its hard to get a view of this zone in the winter, and I was awestruck. Covered in glaciers and seracs, some of these huge peaks rise over 10,000 feet from their roots and completely overwhelm the scale of our local mountains.
Heather was having trouble with her skins, so she and Lars moseyed north along the ridge while Nyssa and I ran over to Booty's summit. We skied a quick lap of sloughy turns down the west bowl and across the bergschrund before grabbing our skinner and hopelessly chasing after the speed demons.
Back on the ridge, we watched a tiny speck on the glacier as they skinned away from their plane. I'm looking forward to doing this.
We caught up with Heather and Lars who were waiting for us at the top of the Troublesome and skied down the glacier together. The run was several miles long and had enough pitch to turn or coast down.
It was a treat to hop in and out of each others tracks as we bounced down the long glacier together.
Past Brittle Peak, we stopped to make water in the sun, then starting the climb to the divide to Hunter Creek.
As we climbed above the Troublesome, we drooled over heli ski tracks on Worrisome Peak, and other peaks that deserved tracks.
We gazed beyond our little snow globe at the heart of the Chugach.
At the pass, cliffs, cornices, and windswept ice and rock guarded the entrance to Hunter Creek. We poked back and forth for an entrance to an acceptable line then skied a rib into the drainage.
Lurking in the rain shadow and battered by wind, Hunter Creek felt like a different world from the Troublesome. The thin snow only partially covered the dirty ice of the glacier and the sharp rocks of its moraines.
Descending this glacier from Mordor was a lesson in trying not to leave too much P-Tex behind. At the end of the glacier we peered down-valley at a gnarly gorge nestled between walls of windswept rock and scree. It was extremely unappealing. Reviewing our maps, we identified a potential ski line on the far side of the Siwash ridge. It was a gamble, and the tired evening sun was already kissing the tips of the peaks with golden purple light. If we were wrong then we'd be retracing our steps down the refrozen death cookies on the south side of the ridge at dusk.
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Everyone was motivated to give it a go and we ripped up the gully. On top in the soft purple-pink light of dusk, we peered into a perfect north facing ramp. It looked like there was a twin run to the left as too. Perched in the little nest above Hunter Creek, our eyes lifted towards the giants towering above us stretching from Baleful to Hunter Peak to Troublesome Peak:
It was a perfect spot to drink in the views and hard to leave the magic, but we we needed to find a camp and eat. I watched the posse gobble up the dinner appetizers of old settled pow, savored the view, then chased after them.
As the soft starlight replaced the saturated colors of alpenglow, we set up camp under Siwash and crawled in for the night.
As the rising sun climbed over Troublesome Peak and bathed our camp in warm morning light we skinned back up the valley to ski the twin to the last night's line. Like the other one, old heli-ski tracks were poking through the new snow. We were glad to have these snowpack stability data points in such an unknown and thin zone.
Today's breakfast lap was maybe a bit wider and longer than last night's lap but was the same theme. While vertical cliffs rose next to us to the summit of Siwash, we skinned to the top of the moderate pitch.
From the top, we compared the views in morning light to the previous evening, then ripped back to camp.
Lars:
Packing up camp in the late morning warmth was wonderful, and with our loaded packs we skied down valley towards Boisterous.
Siwash:
Descending into the lower elevations of the valley floor, we descended into spring, bushes, and adventure skiing.
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As we inspected the loping tracks of a pair of wolves along the creek, Adam flew above us in his Cessna. The wolves might have been so close - perhaps watching us from behind a bush or a rock. It was awesome to be so near yet so far from civilization.
Low in Hunter Creek, we started the long climb out of the drainage. Melting in the strong spring sun, the climb was gloppy and punchy. Feisty mating ptarmigan waddled and squawked around us as we climbed to the base of Boisterous.
Higher up, we watched a pair of young rams who were probably as curious about the weird apes in their mountains as we were of them.
By 4:30 PM, we had reached the bottom of the Boisterous Couloir. A discussion ensued as to whether we should try to summit or head for the car. Lars thought a Boisterous summit would mean a midnight arrival at the parking lot. I erroneously, but typically, predicted four hours to the car.
Eventually, Heather and Nyssa convinced us to go for the summit and up we went. The trail breaking was deep and I felt lucky to have such a strong crew to lean on.
Nearing the top, we followed Heather and Nyssa as they climbed to the left. In 2019 we had gone to the right at this point - that worked fine, but we ran out of snow several hundred feet below the summit. This time, going left, there was continuous skiable snow within feet of the summit. It was great.
On top of Boisterous, we checked in with Miles, who had a question about a piton that he was examining on the north face of Pioneer, took in our surroundings, and prepped for our next descent. I love the view from up here: to the north and seven thousand feet below us, the Knik was snow free like summer juxtaposed to the south by Bashful was still draped in winter.
The Knik River Valley:
Bashful:
To the east, we surveyed our tracks, camp, and the possibilities of Hunter Creek. I think skiing off the summit of Hunters Peak might be above my paygrade, but I'd like to give Troublesome a go.
Thousands of feet straight below us we peered into the deep gorge we'd avoided in Hunters Creek - I'm glad we didn't get drawn into an epic in there!
It was 8:30 before we started to descend and I finally realized that it was indeed going to be a late night, but the skiing was great. In the time since I'd been up here last, I'd almost forgotten what a great line this is.
The top is great powder skiing. The middle is steep, tight, and much like Mount Pleasant, accented by an incredible ice bulge.
And, the bottom is an majestic amphitheater highlighting where you've just been. Lars:
Heather:
Nyssa:
Done with the Boisterous Couloir, we grabbed our stashed camping gear, and skedaddled towards Hunter Pass.
Hunter Pass was a mix of impenetrable boilerplate, bare ground, cackling ptarmigan, and windswept scree. We looked behind us at our tracks on the upper snowfield of Boisterous in the refracting purple and gold of the setting sun.
As the sun set over the Tordrillo Mountains was scratched our way to the top of the pass to see Bold Peak, Bold Valley, and Eklutna Lake far below.
Scanning the steep snow and vertical rock that make up the north face of Bold, it was hard to imagine a ski line tucked in there. It's been years now since I've skied that, and with each passing year and new story, I realize just how lucky Jake and I were to get it in skiable, let alone safe conditions.
The descent from the pass to the lake was a comical parody of how many of our ski adventures end: with nasty snow, failing light, bushwhacking, and inevitably, being late for dinner.
By the time we were skating across the lake and towards the parking lot, the northern lights were dancing in the sky above us.
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