The Mountaineer -- The Mountaineer 1970 Cover Photo: Caribou on the move in the Arctic Wildlife Range­ Wilbur M. Mills Entered as second-class matter, April 8, 1922, at Post Office, Seattle, Wash­ ingt-0n, under the Act of March 3, 1879. Published monthly and semi-monthly during June by The Mountaineers, P.O. Box 122, Seattle, Washington, 98111. Clubroom is at 719Vz Pike Street, Seattle. Subscription price monthly Bulletin and Annual, $5.00 per year. EDITORIAL STAFF: Alice Thorn, editor; Mary Cox, assistant editor; Loretta Slater, Joan Firey. Material and photographs should be submitted to The Mountaineers, at above address, before February 1, 1971, for consideration. Photographs should be black and white glossy prints, 5x7, with caption and photographer's name on back. Manuscripts should be typed doublespaced and include writer's name, address and phone number. Manuscripts cannot be returned. Properly identified photos will be returned sometime around June. The Mountaineers To explore and study the rrwuntains, forests, and watercourses of the Northwest; To gather into permanent form the history and traditions of this region; To preserve by the encouragement of pro­ tective Legislation or otherwise the natural beauty of Northwest America; To make expeditions into these regions in fulfillment of the above purposes; To encourage a spirit of good fellowship arrwng an Lovers of outdoor Life. Fireweed (Epilobium angustifolium) is the Yukon Territorial Flower-Mickey Lammers The Mountaineer Vol. 64, No. 12, October 1970-0rganized 1906-Incorporated 1913 CONTENTS Yukon Days, John Lammers . 6 Climbing in the Yukon, M. E. Alford 29 The Last Great Wilderness, Wilbur M. Mills 35 1969 Mountaineer Outings . 44 Neruokpuk Lakes-Brooks Range 45 Suggestions For Planning Your Trip to the Arctic 59 Hannegan Pass to Diablo Outing, Florence Ochsner and Lela Quickstad 63 A Visit to the High Solitaries, Larry Lewin 65 The Bowron Lake Outing, Alice Thorn . 70 Oh, British Columbia! Fred Beckey . 85 Mountaineering Notes and Technical Climbs 100 A Himalayan Journey, Michael D. Clarke 113 Administration· Reports 120 Financial Statements 135 ,. I I Yukon Days By JOHN LAMMERS The sun barely rises above the horizon and the days are cold, so cold that your breath hisses when it leaves your mouth in a great plume, seemingly quite out of proportion to the air you exhale. The smoke from the cabin chimney goes straight up and all is still and pure. The Whiskeyjacks are not very lively. They try to make use of even the slightest difference in temperature and sit on the low branches of the aspen in front of the riverbank to catch the rays of the sun. Dozing, they resemble furry balls, only tails and primary feathers protruding, white hoarfrost rim­ ming their heads. Only the chickadees are active all day long, feverishly gathering food to fuel their quicker metabolism. The river continues to drop, and the ice, descending with the water level, gives great thunderclaps as it cracks when buckling downward under its own weight. Then the cold begins to let up a little; the ravens, more active now, punctuate their patrols up and down the river with many raucus calls. Once in a while in the middle of the day, they forget themselves by prematurely giving the tinkling mating song that sounds like icicles falling on a frozen surface. Crossbills, wax­ wings and grosbeaks begin to make their slow, tree to tree swing through the coniferous forests North. There comes a day in March when the sun has a little warmth to it, and the brown of the foothills is shining through the white here and there when we say, "Hush," and listen. From across the river comes the sound of a small motor starting up, slowly at first, then accelerating to an abrupt stop; a ruffed grouse drum­ ming . soon answered by another downstream. And in the early mornings when the hillsides are still veiled in mist the faint hoots of the sharp-tailed grouse mating dance drifts down to us from the higher elevations. Soon the drumming goes on day and night as life is awakening to the call of early spring. There is snow on the ledges of the rock bluffs on the shadow-side where the golden eagle nest is, a great mass of Copyright 1970 by author. Please do not quote without permission from the author. Yukon Days 7 branches in a strategic spot. One sunny afternoon we see the eagles back from the coast doing their acrobatics on the air currents around mountainsides and sparring with each other. We watch the nest; the eagles are inspecting it, each sitting on one side, then staring out in our direction, then bending over into it and straightening out its furniture. We now keep daily watch to see their progress. The snow on the hillsides melts still more and wildflowers pop up almos.t overnight, pasqueflowers first, rapidly dotting open spots. During the daytime warm breezes turn the river ice into a watery blue and open leads begin to form where the current skirts the cutbanks and sandbars. Snow buntings in shiny white flocks and all kinds of sparrows in disjointed bands flit every­ where; yellowshafted flickers serenade us in the mornings with a tattoo on the cabin roof re-establishing the territory of_ their nesting area in the hollow aspens on the island. We hope that the mountain bluebirds will make up their minds about the nest box on the antenna pole before the tree swallows arrive and chase them off. Any day now someone will come home with reports of fresh tracks of a bear chased out of his den by pangs of hunger and a dripping roof .. ..Mourning cloak butterflies which over­ winter as adults dance through the days. Then comes May with the great migration and spring sym­ phony. Robins return in number to sing their hearts out while building nests; woodpeckers ratatat wherever they find a vibrat­ ing branch handy; frogs hold nightly concerts in the shallow ponds back of the sloughs while grouse provide background drums. Overhead, huge flocks of lesser sandhill cranes wheel in the thermal currents to gain altitude, filling the air with their raucous call.When they reach altitude the leader gives a longer, whistling sound and the circling birds form a long vee as if pulled by an invisible string, wings spread out rigidly, slowly gliding to the next updraft to repeat their performance. At night they plane down for a rest on the sandbars where they stand on one leg, head tucked in wings, like some giant grey plants, occasion­ ally breaking out in excited spurts of sound when something alarms them.Geese, ducks and swan come in for brief rests in the ponds on the riverbars or in the sloughs and sometimes stay over for a few days. The eagles have decorated the rim of their nest with fresh spruceboughs, a sure sign that they are seriously plan­ ning a family. 8 The Mountaineer Tree and violet-green swallows congregate on the antenna wire and succeed in driving away the bluebirds again; all kinds of sparrows are furtively rustling around in the undergrowth trying to hide their nesting activities on the forest floor. At dusk the hermit thrush sounds its mysterious little note. Then the creeks have gathered enough meltwater from the hills to overflow their banks and, pouring into the river, lift up the icesheet, breaking it up and sending it crashing down the valley, jamming, causing the water to rise, the pressure break­ ing the jam, rushing downstream again and jamming once more until the whole valley has flushed itself and the river again runs free. Then the boats come out and summer has begun. Now the warm weather starts in earnest. The little creeks become torrents and soon the river rises, filling every slough and channel with silt-laden water, constantly picking up logs and deadwood from upstream only to deposit it again on a bend or back-eddy lower down, scouring the riverbars clean, undercutting the banks unti.l moss hangs over the edges in great blankets, sending large pieces of soil with trees still rooted in them perpen­ dicularly down the silt-bluffs to be washed clean in the flood. The trees, exposed roots sticking up like masts, are like strange vessels set adrift to sail the river until they too run aground, to lay the foundation for a new driftpile. The aspens burst into leaf almost overnight and on the now bare hillsides large patches of vivid colour betray the blooming of many alpine flowers. In the valley wild roses are in bloom everywhere. An odd grouse family with many chicks gives itself away by mother's anxious clucking and on the Yukon a moose and calf swim the river just when we pass by. The eagles are taking turns on the nest; it is hot in the sun's reflection off the rockface. They seem to be hunting more actively, following the contours of the hills, close to the ground, their shadows racing ahead of them; the piercing call of ground squirrels-their prey-sometimes drifting down to us. Then two little white spooks show over the edge of the nest--eaglets-and the same day we see the parents bringing home leafy aspen branches to put up a fence and provide shade. Now it is time again for the drama of the salmon migration, when the king salmon come all the way from the Bering Sea, back to the rivers and creeks where they first saw life, to spawn. The sun is already past its highest point of the summer solstice but the nights are still so short that it seems to be light all the time.