The Disappearing Act
High altitude researchers simulate an expedition on Freshfields Glacier in the Canadian Rockies
Written by Alex Mackenzie
Photos by Alex Mackenzie
You like magic? Well, what's more magical than disappearing to a camp on a remote icefield in the Canadian Rockies, surrounded by snowy summits with a team of high-altitude researchers? I may be biased, but I'd say it was one of the wildest and most surreal places I’ve experienced to date. Plus, we even had a surprise "disappearing act" in the latter part of our trip… more on that shortly.
Proof-of-concept
Last month our team of twenty researchers, scientists, guides and mountain enthusiasts (aka willing research participants) ran a proof-of-concept camp on the Freshfields Glacier. This was a test run for what's shaping up to be the biggest adventure of my career: a high-altitude research expedition and ascent of Mount Logan in 2027.
Our team had three goals: vibe-check on logistics, simulate Logan's cold-windy-glaciated conditions, and dial in expedition skills like sled rigging plus our setup for power, research equipment, and cooking. My own goal was to manage my Raynaud's at nearly 3,000m and overnight temperatures around -20°C. I brought Zenbivy's -5°F quilt and bed setup with a winter expedition mat. Though I hadn't tested it yet, the rating gave me confidence and the whole kit packed into one pack liner which was super helpful given our baggage limits.
The approach
We flew into the icefield from Golden, BC, in one of the largest helicopters I've ever seen: a 14-person aircraft. It set us down at 2,950m with views of the Rockies and Columbia mountains all the way back to Glacier National Park. "Is this REAL?!” Easily the most incredible base camp location and views I've ever seen.
We got to work organizing gear, digging tent pits, and setting up the base camp dome: a hefty structure with more poles and tension points than I could count, and lines dug deep into the snow. "Pretty much bombproof," someone said. File that one away for later.
On the field
The next day were spoiled with bluebird conditions, and sun warm enough to ease the cold as we headed off touring. At our first transition I dropped into some of the most buttery smooth turns of my life on untouched terrain. "Buddy, those are some quality squiggles!" my friend said at the bottom. It felt really good. We carried on to skin up to a summit with brilliant views of the icefield, Freshfield Mountain in the distance, and an epic backdrop of Nanga Parbat for a high-stoked photo op. That afternoon we ran crevasse rescue practice and pulled out research equipment to demonstrate and play with. I had a new toy: a handheld heart ultrasound as the resident cardiac specialist.
The next day’s conditions weren't quite as kind: increasing winds and super low visibility made it feel like we were really marching into the abyss. Despite that, we learned how to rig and pull gear sleds (something we'll all be doing on Logan), then went up to the col between two nearby summits for a quick rip down one of the aspects. Admittedly I was feeling some nerves skiing with zero visibility, but with some less-cute turns than the day prior, I made it down.
That evening we wrapped another productive day with some logistics talk and looked ahead to our plans for the next few days. The weather models were showing a storm rolling in ahead of our planned departure, so we decided it would be best to beat that and fly the day after next. The models suggested the next day would be clearer and the winds would calm overnight…
The disappearing act
I woke around 01:00 to my tent hitting my head and feet as wind ripped through camp. We were dug in deep, at least four feet down, but the tent was still swaying like a sail. I briefly wondered about the dome but didn't hear anything concerning, so did my best to pass out.
Around 06:00, I heard one of the calmest people on the team open the zip on his tent and say, "oh, holy ****." I scavenged my layers and crawled out to see a crater where the base camp had been. It was totally gone. Snapped lines in the snow, equipment scattered down the field where the dome had presumably rolled off. Quite the magic trick, hey?
This wasn't a drill, but it was a great test: nobody freaked out. A few of us gathered what was scattered while others built a wind shelter around the stove. Three of our strongest took a sled out to find the dome. It was almost like we'd all been through this before and knew how to kick into calm, collective action. An hour later they emerged over the rise hauling the remains of the tent in a sled behind them, *cue the Indiana Jones music*.
Thankfully we were able to get helicopters confirmed an hour out. After packing up, the team passed the waiting time with handstand competitions, an impromptu Taylor Swift sing-along, and a Fruit by the Foot race. I mean, come on, this team is gold.
Concept proved
We may have lost two days on the icefield, and the dome temporarily, but I'd still call this trip a massive success. The team nailed the vibe check, simulated the conditions and terrain, and beefed up our skillsets. A little more refining and practice leading into next spring will do us all well.
As for my personal goals: fingers and toes were intact, plus nailed an impassively comfy sleep with the Zenbivy setup in an environment I’d normally expect to barely sleep at all. All a happy relief if I'm honest.
Now it's onward and upward to Logan 2027.
