Devils Thumb Aurora

Aurora borealis over Devils Thumb in the Alaska Range, near Black Rapids.

Devils Thumb is a prominent rock feature that juts out from the north side of the ridge between Trims Creek and Castner Glacier in the Alaska Range. (Not to be confused with the mountain of the same name in Southeast Alaska which contains some of the craziest rock faces on the planet.) After looking at the thumb from afar for a couple years I realized it would make an interesting foreground subject in an aurora image—even more so if I could find someone to climb it. Grant, my friend who accompanied me on my recent traverse from Black Rapids to Healy, thought the idea sounded cool and brought his rock climbing buddy Matt along for the adventure. We weren’t sure if the rock quality would support safe climbing, but there was only one way to find out.

We started hiking late in the day and reached Devils Thumb well after sunset. My companions’ eyes widened when they saw the rock up close for the first time—it was a lot bigger than they expected from the pictures I had sent them from a previous scouting trip. We scrambled down a short section of snow-covered rock and walked along the narrow spur leading to the thumb’s base where we dropped our heavy packs. Grant and Matt immediately began preparing their climbing gear as the moon crept over the mountains to the east. The rock readily crumbled away as they inspected it, but Grant tried climbing it, anyway. There were holds everywhere but Grant struggled to find any that were stable, and he couldn’t find any cracks to place protection. I snapped a few photos of him climbing in the dark with his (too) bright headlamp while keeping my eye on the faint band of aurora developing over the northeast horizon.

Grant climbing Devils Thumb in the dark with Matt belaying. The rising moon is casting a warm glow on the mountains.

Grant and Matt light up Devils Thumb with their headlamps as the aurora rises.

After testing another route Grant finally found a crack and pounded in a piton, then continued up with Matt belaying from below. By this time I was busy looking at aurora data on my phone, so I was startled when I heard one or perhaps both of them shout. I looked up and saw Grant falling, watching as his headlamp flashed around the base of the rock. He landed on the scree slope next to Matt and slid a short way down before coming to a stop. His piton ripped out during the fall, but luckily the landing wasn’t bad and he survived mostly unscathed. Grant tried scrambling up one more time but slipped on loose rock and half-fell, half-ran back down the thumb without incident.

It was clear my companions weren’t going to find a safe route up Devils Thumb in the cold and dark, so we set up the winter tent we brought and waited for the aurora to brighten. The aurora remained dull and low on the horizon for a short time until an arc suddenly rose over the thumb and stretched across the mountains to the northeast. Even though the arc wasn’t that bright or impressive, I quickly took several different compositions just in case this was the best I was going to get.

However, the aurora soon brightened and treated us to an unexpectedly brilliant show that lasted two hours. Streaks of vivid pink flashed fleetingly across the sky while green arcs twisted into wild shapes and oscillated in brightness. During its peak intensity the aurora spread into the southern sky, doing battle with the mostly full moon over the peaks of the eastern Alaska Range. There’s no better place to view the aurora than a mountain on a moonlit night; you can easily forget your attachment to civilization while you stand overwhelmed by the scale of everything surrounding you—the landscape, the aurora, the stars in space…

Grant hiked farther up the ridge to take photographs with the lens I loaned him while Matt watched the aurora near the tent until he succumbed to sleep some time after midnight. I photographed from the narrow confines of the spur and had to be careful not to let my gear roll down the steep slopes on either side of me.

Matt watches the aurora next to Devils Thumb and our tent.

An intensely bright and fast-moving aurora display over Item Peak and Trims Glacier. The aurora details came out blurry even though this was a relatively short 2-second exposure.

Aurora and the moon in the sky with our tracks on the spur in the foreground. Grant is visible as a small black dot on the rightmost false summit.

After the aurora began to fade I went to find Grant. I spotted his headlamp on top of the nearest false summit along the ridge and caught him walking back about half-way in between. The aurora flared up one last time while we watched from the ridge, but it grew quiet after that and I gladly crawled into the warm tent where I stole a few hours of sleep.

We packed up our gear in the morning and began descending the ridge back to the highway. Several caribou were grazing in the morning sunshine off to our left as we quickly dropped elevation. Once we reached the brush we perplexingly spent more time bushwhacking than we did on the way up. We reached the highway before noon, then stopped at JB’s Thai in Delta Junction for lunch before the boys left for Fairbanks.

I think Grant and Matt want another attempt on Devils Thumb but I’m guessing they’ll wait until next summer. The cold temperatures and short daylight hours of winter are quickly approaching so shots like these will become significantly harder to undertake. Shooting the aurora from the backcountry requires significant physical effort, outdoor skills and extra gear, but it also requires the right conditions to nail a shot, including weather, moon phase, auroral activity, time of year, etc., which vastly limits the number of opportunities I have to attempt shots like these.

Hiking and glissading back to the highway. Devils Thumb is peeking over the ridge between Grant (left) and Matt (right).

For tips on photographing the aurora, see my Aurora Photography Guide.
I also offer Aurora Borealis Photography Tours.

Black Rapids To Healy Traverse Part II: Trident Glacier to East Fork Little Delta River

Crossing Hayes Glacier. The base of Mt. Hayes is at right.

This is the second entry in a series covering my traverse from Black Rapids to Healy in early August 2018. Read Part I.

After three days of hiking we found ourselves about one day behind our estimated schedule for reaching our first food drop, which was waiting for us at an airstrip along the East Fork Little Delta River. We all had enough food to stretch an extra day but our pace was going to be slowed by another set of glacier crossings. Trident Glacier was the next obstacle in front of us, almost two miles wide with no clear path to the opposite side.

Day 4:

Threatening clouds loomed in the distance as we scrambled onto Trident Glacier. Everyone was exhausted from the physical and mental stress of the previous day, and starting the morning off with a rugged glacier crossing didn’t aid in our recovery. But when we passed a captivating bulge of rock-free ice everyone stopped to marvel and take pictures, briefly forgetting the continuous need to cover ground. These were the sights we came for, and we were going to enjoy them no matter how tired we were.

Steep, winding ice slopes and meltwater canyons forced us to take a circuitous path across the moraine of Trident Glacier. Climbing over hill after hill on a glacier like this is always slow-going and frustrating, especially with a heavy pack.

After crossing the Trident we reached a wide creek bed. The clouds were quickly lowering and we knew we were going to lose visibility again soon. We crossed a small braided stream and waded through marshy grass, which took some time because most of the team changed footwear to keep their hiking shoes dry. As we continued up the creek bed we spotted a caribou and two—people? They were presumably hunters dropped off by a bush plane, and they must have been surprised to see us pass by. We then climbed up a short, steep ridge following a game trail which led us onto a tundra plain full of squishy tussocks…and back into the fog. We navigated for another few miles without being able to see much, and we ultimately camped beside a small puddle that provided water for cooking. Several caribou passed our camp that night and the next morning.

Day 5:

In the morning we could see the bottom half of Mt. Hayes but the summit remained obscured. We hiked across tundra to the eastern branch of Hayes Glacier, then opted to walk along the vegetation-covered moraine of the glacier for a short distance until we were in position to cross to the foot of Mount Hayes on the opposite side.

Everyone’s mood lifted as we began crossing Hayes Glacier and the scale of the mountains unfolded before us, overcast skies notwithstanding. I could get lost for weeks in a spot like this. From here you could easily walk right up to the base of the unnamed 10,000+ foot peak in this shot, or to the bottom of the 8,000-foot northeast face of Mount Hayes.

Finding water on a glacier in the summer is never a challenge. After taking a break here to fill up on water and eat lunch, we finished crossing the eastern branch of Hayes Glacier and stopped by two decaying cabins next to the foot of Mount Hayes. Ground squirrels had taken over the cabins (wood floors in the Alaska Range are asking for trouble) and a grizzly bear had left its mark in one of them. We actually bumped into the owner of the cabins a day later, who said he hadn’t been there in years. What a waste…

It’s odd how glaciers are all so unique, even two as close together as the east and west branches of Hayes Glacier, which originate from opposite sides of Mount Hayes and eventually intersect. On the western branch there are several giant boulders propped up on pedestals of ice which have been insulated from the sun, probably more than I’ve seen on any other glacier I’ve hiked on. There are also moulons everywhere on this branch, ranging from rabbit hole-sized to subway tunnel-sized. For some reason, the bare ice on the western branch of Hayes Glacier is also more slippery than every other glacier I’ve hiked on—so slippery I would have preferred using a pair of Microspikes for traction, which I normally don’t need. It was a little too slippery for my companions, so we hugged the rocks as much as we could until we hopped off the glacier onto the adjacent hillside, which was annoyingly brushy considering we were still over 4000 feet elevation. We set up camp just before rain started falling again.

Day 6:

Route finding from Whistler Creek (seen here flowing into the East Fork Little Delta River) to our first food drop was difficult. The brush was dense in between, and it was unclear if following gravel bars would be easier due to the high water conditions. Rain began falling as we reached Whistler Creek, which was swollen from the previous days’ rain and breaching its bank in places. The water didn’t appear that deep but it was flowing incredibly swiftly and was unquestionably dangerous. The creek was not very braided where we intersected it, so we hiked upstream to find a better crossing, though nothing looked very safe. The two guys in our group with the most Alaska backcountry experience crossed first and successfully reached the far side, but two others in our group lost their footing as they crossed together and were swept a short distance downstream. They were lucky they weren’t injured, although one lost his hiking poles.

At first I tried to cross solo but I quickly realized the water was eating away the gravel under my feet, making it difficult to resist the force of the water. I was still holding my boots in my hands and decided I should put them away to be safe, so I stepped back onto the gravel bar before I became committed to crossing. One of the two other guys still waiting to cross was very apprehensive after watching the two others fall into the creek, so the three of us decided to cross together in a line facing upstream, one behind the other. I was in back, and as we crossed I could feel the weight of the two men in front of me being pushed back by the creek. I found a boulder with my right foot and braced myself against it, propping them up so they could move laterally without being forced downstream. We successfully made it to the other side, where some of us changed footwear and put on dry clothes. If I were to do this again, I would take the long way and bushwhack downstream until I found a more braided spot to cross. It’s just not worth the risk.

The water in the creek was so powerful it was sending big rocks hurtling downstream. A couple of guys received some nasty cuts and bruises on their shins. Thankfully, I had people in front of me to block any rocks coming at me. The rest of the way to the airstrip was a complete slog in the rain through flooded forest and soggy tundra. The blueberries were great, though.

From left to right: me, Peter, Mike, John, Tim, Decker, Phillip, and Grant. John (in red) had a family emergency and had to depart when we finally reached the airstrip. The sun shined briefly as we took this group shot before he flew away, then it promptly disappeared for another three days. Tim and Decker had only planned to hike part of the way and both were set to fly out the next day. The next morning while everyone was still in their tents, Mike, who had been struggling to keep up at the end of each day, began a speech informing us his body just couldn’t handle the strain and he was calling it quits. He expressed concern about us continuing with the water levels so high, especially crossing the West Fork Little Delta River, and he listed cabin locations where we could find shelter if necessary. When he finished, Peter said he came to traverse the eastern Alaska Range and was prepared to continue by himself if need be, and I expressed my desire to complete the traverse as well. The brothers Phillip and Grant chimed in and said they were ready to keep going, too.

Just like that, we were down to four people with about 80 miles left to go. Read Part III & Part IV.