The Evolution of a Revolution By Eli Potter photos by Andrew McGarry

Eli Potter, Karen Hilton and Scott Morley kiting across the Bagley Ice Field. Mt St Elias in the backdrop.

Mediating this battle of kite against wind can be a challenge. Sometimes I lose. If you’ve ever had whiplash, you know the pain. It’s the harsh reality that snow-kiting is a sport that has risk. My partners are here to lessen this risk. But in this terrain, safety in numbers seems ancient in its defense. Sometimes my partners are in earshot, and other times they are small dots against the surreal glacier landscape. Each of us are alone. As we kite into the alpenglow of one of the world’s largest mountain ranges the the St Elias range, I am reminded to be humble. After all, this is Alaska.

Eli Potter and Scott Morley flying into the St Elias range, Alaska

The east end of the Bagley Icefield. Mt Vancouver and Mt Cook in the backdrop.

Snow-kiting the ice-fields is a sport full of objective hazard. Crevasse falls would almost certainly be fatal. All of my glacier travel experience tells me to wear a goddamn rope. When used as a safety line to catch a team member in the event of a crevasse fall, I love the rope. But try skiing with one on, then connect to your partners who are connected to a kite. Love will definitely not be the first four letter word that comes out of my mouth. But, the beauty of kiting the ice-fields is that, for most of the time, a rope is not needed. Because ice-fields lack a large gradient, they are relatively flat. Their stillness and utter vastness of uninterrupted ice minimizes any frictional stresses that create highly crevassed terrain. They are by no means safe, just safer for us to roam free.

Andrew McGarry kiting across the Bagley Icefield.

After 70 miles or so each of us have developed our own styles. All four of us come from different backgrounds. Karen and I are the Alaskans. We have a well-honed, pig headed thoroughness to our camping and traveling systems that comes from a great deal of time spent in the mountains. We see kiting as a way to access impossible distances in our frozen northern home. Style is just a footnote. For us, snow kiting equals quick access in the bigger picture of ski mountaineering.   Scott and Andrew are a pair of diehard Jackson Hole skiers. They use the frozen lakes and the meadows of northern Wyoming as their kiting playground. In a style paralleling that of water kiting, they seek out radical terrain and focus on catching big air. Relatively new to kiting as an expedition tool, their perspective is fresh. Scott puts forth innovations as we travel that are sometimes revolutionary, sometimes comical. One thing Scott is especially good at doing, besides inventing, is coming up with names for his devices. On this trip he lashed two plastic kiddy sleds side by side, tied a roped onto it and promptly dubbed it “the Puck.” On days when he had to haul it any further than 10 feet, his mantra quickly became “f*** the puck!” But on the days when the wind was up, Scott and Andrew attach their pucks to the power point of their kites, and the 150lb sleds became an afterthought. Karen and I stick to the time honored method of hauling just one sled. Our system was prone to flipping under speed but much easier to pull when slogging on foot.

Karen and scott assemble the pieces for travel.

By the end of our trip, we realize just how much we were blessed to have walked only a total of 9 miles in 20 days. Sleds are a must for an expedition of this commitment level. Since we are self supported, they are our means to transport food, fuel, tents, cook gear, safety equipment, and our quiver of kites. By the time we reach the western boarder of the Chugach mountians, we will have kited across the third largest ice-field in the world.

Karen, Scott and Eli kiting across the Bagley Icefield. Mt St Elias in the backdrop.

Scott and Karen mid traverse on the Bagley Icefield.

Eli setting up camp after a late katabatic kite session.

Eli Potter kiting across the bagley Icefield.

The weather in this part of the world is infamous. The Pacific Ocean runs all the way from Japan in an uninterrupted arc to the Gulf of Alaska, which is flanked by the St Elias mountain range to the north and the east. This range juts up at an astounding 18,000 feet in just 12 miles from the salt water, making it the largest vertical relief of any mountains on earth. Moist ocean air forced to rise and dry out that quickly can result in a lot of precipitation and wind. Even in the absence of big frontal systems, the glacier’s cooling and warming cycles result in localized wind events called katabatics. Universal to glaciated terrain, these winds are fairly predictable and pleasantly manageable. Averaging 10-15 miles an hour, much of our trip is flown on the katabatic flow. As we stir in our sleeping bags each morning, we gauge the wind speed just by listening to the flapping of our tent. If the tent is silent, you can roll back over. If it’s shaking apart, we know the day will be good. There is only one day when the winds are too strong to ride……

Eli and Karen on the day the winds became too strong.

The evening before our big day, the barometer plummets and the easterly winds ravage our nylon homes, keeping us awake all night. By breakfast time, the anemometer reads 30 mph and continues to climb. Unlike conditions on previous days, the lower glacier has been ripped of all powder. Ice and firm snow make for hell-uv-a crash. Psyched up for an adventurous flight, we decide to make a go of it, hoping to cover significant ground. It will be our final downwind venture. Tomorrow, the glacier begins to rise in elevation and the katabatic winds will blow directly into our faces.

Eli reels in a 12m kite. Wind speed 35mph+

A mere twenty minutes into flight, and we are completely scattered. Scott is thrown down while filming and run over by his puck. Karen loses her load and in the process gets her kite impossibly tangled. Andrew and I rendezvous in the lead barely able to control our kites in the stall position. A good hour passes until we reunite, just in time for a snow storm to brew. We slowly begin loosing all visibility. We make an attempt to navigate the unknown terrain without sight, but the end result is half hearted with smaller 6m kites. Finally, we are forced to resort to the prudent vote of waiting it out. We still have lots of time.

Eli, Karen and Scott build snow walls and set up camp.

In the French Alps there is a Glacial Basin named La mer du Glace, The Sea of Ice. It is a mockery of this ice plateau we have just crossed. The Columbia has ill-defined borders and the limits of where you can travel are equally as grey. Every unnamed valley beckons with undulating hills and gentle sastrugi that promises wind. The kiting, skiing, and climbing possibilities are endless here.

Scott Morley Kiting across the St Elias Mountains, Alaska.

The 20 day trip is now over. We have traveled over 150 miles across an ocean of ice. I help load the airplane with a weary sense of accomplishment. The path we have traveled is not a new one. It has been crossed by other hardy individuals, each in their own style. There is a tendency in Alaskan mountaineering to keep your mouth shut and let your accomplishments speak for themselves. I have tried this crossing before without success. There is so much to be said for the proper partners and right circumstances.

Paul Clause and his turbo Otter.

Sub peak on Mt Stellar, St Elias range.

Looking around at our team, I finally realize what we have accomplished. We have each brought together the accumulation of four active lives in the mountains and have applied a perfect style to the St Elias traverse. A first. In researching the pioneers who have traveled out here, the prevailing theme seems to be hardship.

Scott Morley raps rope. Mt Vancouver in the backdrop.

Ours was an arduous trip but I would never call it hard. If the wind wasn’t up, we simply made some shade and waited – playing cards, napping, and planning future trips. All of these past times seemed like much better ideas than the old solution of suffering. Some traditionalists would call us lazy. I simply see it as using the best technology available as it evolves. What is a man but a monkey that has evolved?

Andrew McGarry kiting on the Bagley Icefield. St Elias Mountains, Alaska.