MacKeith Hut

Directions to MacKeith Hut are available via the Alaska Alpine Club’s website and the Delta Range guide by Stan Justice, available at Beaver Sports in Fairbanks. For advice on locating MacKeith Hut & avoiding nearby crevasses, see this video.
Looking for guided tours of Canwell Glacier? See Black Rapids Tours.

Panoramic view of MacKeith Hut above Canwell Glacier. Icefall Peak & the Moore Icefall are in the background.

I finally visited MacKeith Hut earlier this week, the last of the four mountain huts in the “Deltas” I had left to check out. MacKeith Hut sits above Canwell Glacier in the eastern Alaska Range, about 10 miles from the glacier’s terminus and four or five miles up the glacier from the Lower Canwell Hut, which I’ve stayed at previously. Except for a propensity to lean over time due to its placement on unstable ground, MacKeith Hut is more comfortable than the other huts, and it has been so well maintained (and free of marmots, squirrels, and grizzlies) that you wouldn’t guess it’s been there nearly 50 years. And over those almost 50 years it seems few photographers have been to the hut, even though the nearby scenery is absolutely amazing.

I started hiking to the hut on a hot afternoon following the ATV trail along the lateral moraine above Canwell Glacier. While driving through Red Rock Canyon on the way to the “trailhead”, I startled a grizzly bear in the road and it bolted into the brush, so I scanned the hillside carefully as I walked. I leaped across a roaring creek after a few miles, then left the trail behind as I descended to the glacier.

ATV trail beside Canwell Glacier. The Lower Canwell Hut is visible as a tiny speck on the green hillside across the glacier near the very left edge of the image.

When I reached bare ice I strapped a pair of Microspikes to my hiking boots, which made walking up the glacier a total breeze. I marveled at dozens of moulins and the ice spilling down Institute Peak as I quickly strolled up the glacier. Near the base of Minya Peak, I spotted MacKeith Hut a couple miles ahead. About a half-mile away I began aiming toward the slope beneath the hut, but I ran into crevasse after crevasse which greatly slowed my pace. I realized it would be faster and safer if I returned to the center of the glacier and continued until I was parallel with the hut. I avoided crevasses the rest of the way and hopped off the edge of the glacier onto the slope below the hut, anxious to drop my heavy pack full of photography equipment. I ascended the slope and reached the hut around 1 a.m., where I watched the waning gibbous moon rise over Yeti Pass farther up Canwell Glacier after I settled in for the night.

View of Mount Shand & Mount Moffit looking down Canwell Glacier at sunset.

While the sun crept over the mountains after sunrise, wildfire smoke crept up the glacier. For once I hoped the wind would pick up and blow the smoke away. The view looking up Canwell Glacier from the hut was stunning with the Moore Icefall stealing the scene, but I knew it would look just as good or better near sunset.

View looking over Canwell Glacier after sunrise from behind MacKeith Hut.

Looking down glacier the night before I had been able to see the mountains across the Delta River and even Mount Shand and Mount Moffit towering far in the distance, but in the morning I couldn’t see much past Institute Peak through the smoke. After photographing the sunrise I decided to catch a little sleep in the hut.

MacKeith Hut at sunrise with wildfire smoke in the background.

The interior of the hut is plain but functional. There are two large picture windows with beautiful views, and they allow plenty of sunshine in which keeps the hut bright and warm. (By comparison, Thayer Hut is pretty dim even in the middle of the day, and it takes awhile to warm up in the morning.) The hut log is an entertaining read, with stories of mountaineering adventures big and small and the many efforts to level the hut over the years. I was surprised to find edible food stored in the hut (for emergencies) and more surprised to see there had been another party at the hut just a week prior, and another in June.

View of the icefall NW of MacKeith Hut through the front window. The door & frame are painted University of Alaska Fairbanks colors.

The smoke seemed to be retreating by afternoon and the massive icefall northwest of the hut was calling my name. I meandered over the rocky slopes across a few snow patches toward the icefall while scouting locations where I could photograph MacKeith Hut at sunset. The weather couldn’t get any better.

The icefall NW of MacKeith Hut.

After eating my dinner of cheese, peanuts and chocolate chips, a bagel, and a high protein bar, I ventured out to photograph the sunset. In a location like this with so many great vantage points it’s hard to pick which shots to execute and which to forego. I shot as many different images as I could while scurrying around the mountain slope until the light faded, then returned to the hut ready to sleep in past sunrise.

MacKeith Hut at sunset with the Moore Icefall in the background.

The next morning dawned clear and sunny again, and the smoke was still lingering farther down glacier. I ate some oatmeal, packed up, swept the floor, then tied the door latch and said goodbye to the hut. I enjoyed my time there and didn’t come close to exploring everywhere I wanted to, so I’m sure I’ll be back again soon, if not by the end of this summer.

I expected clouds and rain later in the day so I hiked quickly down Canwell Glacier. After a mile or two the smoke made big landscape photos worthless, but I did see a number of cool sights on the ice including a narrow rectangular boulder sticking straight up on its end, a dead and half-frozen hawk, a brown-colored animal bone that seemed to be quite old, and several gaping moulins. I also found someone’s Nalgene water bottle near the base of Minya Peak, probably dropped by one of the parties mentioned above.

A boulder impersonating a tombstone on Canwell Glacier. The bottom of Minya Peak is at upper left.

After regaining the ATV trail above the glacier I caught a ride with a man from Fairbanks who had been riding the trail in his 1976 Toyota Land Cruiser, which sported some giant tires and some rather Alaskan modifications. It was nice to skip the last couple miles of walking, easy as it was. We traded stories about the area as the weather quickly deteriorated, and I made it back to my car in time to avoid the rain.

Alaskan hitchhiking at its finest.

During the trip I shot 4K video with my DSLR which I edited into a 3-minute movie of my trip. It’s not totally professional since I was working without lenses, tripods, gimbals, etc. designed for video, and I didn’t spend much time retouching the video clips, but it’s good enough to post, especially since you won’t find another video about MacKeith Hut anywhere. I also didn’t get all the shots I wanted to include because I needed to conserve my camera batteries for photography. It’s embedded from YouTube below. Enjoy!

Whistler Creek June 2017

Those abs aren't photoshopped.

A heat wave arrived in Interior Alaska last week, so I decided to find cooler temperatures in the Alaska Range. I wanted to explore the interesting rock spires and colorful cliffs above Whistler Creek, intending to visit them before heading to higher elevation, perhaps all the way to the Jarvis Glacier headwall if conditions permitted. I planned to break up the hike by camping overnight, sacrificing my tent to keep my pack light.

Whistler Creek was a raging torrent when I arrived, fueled by rapidly melting snow and ice. I started hiking up the creek, hoping to avoid wading through the ice-cold water as it narrowed into a canyon about a mile ahead. The creek eventually pinched against a small cliff, so I started scrambling up the steep slope on the north side of the creek to bypass it. The loose rock beneath my feet was tenuously glued together by mud, and it held well enough for me to gain some exposure, then promptly started giving out under my weight. I found myself clinging to the side of the slope with my camera still dangling around my neck, unable to find a decent foothold by digging in with the edges of my boots. I resorted to scraping footholds and handholds with a rock, cutting perpendicular into the slope as deep as possible and trying to keep my weight evenly distributed as I desperately reached for some vegetation and safety a few yards away. I was almost there when my lens brushed against the slope, detaching the lens cap. I watched helplessly as the lens cap tumbled down to the creek. For a brief moment, I saw it lying against a rock in shallow water, but the current quickly swept it away. 

Climbing a steep ridge above Whistler Creek.

I finally made it to the brush above the cliff, sweating profusely. From there, I followed a steep scree slope toward the first cluster of rock spires above, stepping in sheep tracks and steadying myself with the branches along the edge of the slope. When I reached the rock spires, I initially tried to weave my way through them, but hard rock under loose scree made for dangerous footing, and the rotten rock composing the spires themselves didn't offer any security. I circumvented the spires, eventually reaching a ridge where I could finally climb on stable ground. The ridge wasn't without its own difficulties, though. I had to backtrack a couple times when I found myself with no safe route forward, staring down over rocky drops with barely enough room to turn around. I passed a few more interesting columns of rock, but I knew there was a better one waiting higher up.

Finally, the biggest of all the rock spires came into view, guarded on all sides by steep terrain. I carefully hiked along an exposed section of the ridge to the base of the spire, but it was impassable. To continue going up, I would have had to climb down 500 feet and cut over to the ridge on the south edge of Boulder Creek. Instead, I set up camp in a protected spot on the ridge where a rock outcropping had split in half, forming the perfect spot for a bed.

My bivouac site above Whistler Creek.

The impassable rock spire.

I settled in and waited for sunset, observing nature as I ate the last half of the sub sandwich I bought earlier at the IGA in Delta Junction. Dall sheep grazed on the hills below. An eagle circled overhead. A bumblebee buzzed between the tiny purple mountain saxifrage flowers blooming in the alpine rocks alongside vividly colored lichen. Wolf spiders scurried from crevice to crevice. And, of course, the mosquitoes harassed me constantly. A few lights along the highway reminded me I was still within a few miles of other people, but it didn't ruin the mountain wilderness vibe.

Sunset arrived just before midnight. After the color started to fade, I slipped into my lightweight sleeping bag, pulling it tight over my head to keep out the mosquitoes. For the first time ever I found my sleeping bag too warm, and I wasn't even using a sleeping pad. (So much for escaping the heat.) I woke up to check on the sunrise at 3:45 a.m., but I wasn't impressed and went back to sleep without taking any pictures.

I woke up again around 9 a.m. With my head still wrapped inside my sleeping bag, I heard a few birds land on the rocks next to me, only to immediately fly away when they noticed me lying there. The sound of mosquitoes buzzing around my head had faded now that the sun was beating down on the ridge. Beginning to feel uncomfortably warm, I crawled out of my sleeping bag and sat in the shade, eating some Life cereal and Colby Jack cheese for breakfast. I could tell it was going to be even hotter than the day before.

I packed up my gear and surveyed my hiking options. A large bowl below the rock spire descended uninterrupted to Whistler Creek below, and while the bowl was steep, I could see the entire route was easily manageable, so I chose to start hiking down it. Half-way down, I heard the sound of rushing water coming from a stream running beneath the cliffs to my left. I was completely out of water and quickly becoming dehydrated in the hot sun, so I veered toward the stream, which dropped over a series of waterfalls as it flowed toward Whistler Creek below. I hopped down to the first waterfall to collect water and ran my head underneath the stream to cool off. 

Trying to cool down in the splash from a small waterfall.

Waterfall along Whistler Creek.

I followed the stream the rest of the way to Whistler Creek. Naturally, there was a crux: the stream took a dive into a tunnel it had carved beneath old avalanche debris, and I had to make a risky hop over the hole. When I reached Whistler Creek I started hiking downstream, staying close to the rushing water because it cooled the surrounding air. I hadn't gone far before I was forced to cross the creek. The freezing water stung my calves as I shuffled across, and the current was so strong that it felt like it might sweep me off my feet if I wasn't careful, though it was only knee-high. After crossing, I hugged the south edge of the creek as it wound through a lengthy narrow section, scrambling over boulders and side-hilling over steep terrain where a misstep would have meant sliding directly into the turbulent water below. 

I finally reached the spot where I left the creek the day before and crossed to the other side. I stopped to dry my socks and boots while I ate a partially-melted Snickers bar, lying against a rock in the afternoon sun thinking it was about as hot as lying on the beach in Florida. As I readied to start walking the final mile or so to my car, an acquaintance from the Lodge at Black Rapids came hiking up the creek with his dog. We talked about hiking in the area like we usually do, and I left him to decide if he would try going any further with his dog. I began walking the easy home stretch, keeping alert for moose and bears even though I expected them all to be napping in the shade. When I arrived at my car, I glanced back at the ridge above Whistler Creek through binoculars one more time, feeling like I missed a chance to experience T-shirt weather at 7000 feet elevation in the Alaska Range. Oh well, maybe next time. I turned the A/C on full blast and started driving home.

Want to go hiking here? Check out my Black Rapids Tours summer offerings.