Malemute Peak

Route: East Couloir

Trailhead: Cathedral Lake

Distance: 6.75 miles

Vertical Gain: 3,500 feet

Time Elapsed: 5 hours, 38 minutes

Since it was Mother’s Day, Bill, Jessi, and I did what any dutiful children would do: we climbed a couloir. It’s what our moms would have wanted - especially since they all live out of state and couldn’t stop us.

Before launching this mission, I consulted my friend Brad (TakeMeToYourSummit), resident Elk Range expert. He pointed us toward Malemute’s east couloir, a line he had splitboarded years ago but that had never landed on my radar. It looked like a far better option than the cliffy labyrinth winding up Malemute’s north face. Brad also told us to watch for a distinctive rock feature he called “Middle Finger Spire,” so named because from above, it looks like it’s flipping you off. We made a mental note to find it.

The road to the Cathedral Lake Trailhead was mostly in good shape, with just one shallow mud puddle and a few lingering snow patches. Someone had even coaxed a Prius up there. We set off from the trailhead shortly after 5:00 AM under headlamp light, but it wasn’t long before alpenglow took over, illuminating the east face of Malemute. The Cathedral Lake Trail was in classic spring condition: dry in some spots, unavoidable snow in others, with just enough knee-deep postholes to keep things interesting and mildly irritating.

This was Bill’s fourth time on this trail, so he took the lead on navigation, guiding us to leave the main path around 1.7 miles in at 11,200 feet. From there, we angled southwest across the snowy basin toward the base of Malemute’s east face. The snow was mostly supportive at this early hour, and our snowshoes stayed on our packs.

We ditched our snowshoes on the apron and settled into rotating shifts to kick in a bootpack. Jessi volunteered to go first. Every now and then she’d luck into a supportive step, but more often, she sank calf-deep in soft snow. It was challenging, exhausting work that somehow made a short shift feel like a full eight-hour workday. When my stint ended, I gratefully dropped to the back of the line and followed in the steps Bill was setting. After his turn, he stubbornly refused to relinquish the lead to Jessi and pressed on, putting in not one but two overtime shifts at the posthole factory. We could only hope he knew the job was unpaid.

While simpler than the maze-like north face, this route still had a choose-your-own-adventure feel. But unlike in the books, there was no risk of leafing hopefully to your chosen page only to find a dreaded “THE END.” Pretty much all routes here lead to the summit, with those trending climber’s right offering steeper, more direct options.

At the first fork, we veered left up the wide, obvious branch instead of the steeper, narrower right-hand option. A sliver of shade gave us a few precious feet of firmer snow. Above that, the couloir forked again; we stepped over a small wind lip and stayed left. The saddle came into view above us, split by a rocky tower, and this time we took the right branch to gain it. The couloir held steady in the 35-40 degree range, with a few steps in the low 40s near the top.

Once at the saddle, our next choice was obvious. The summit was to our right, with a tower blocking the way. We did some dry crampon work before the snow resumed, leading us up and over the class 2 tower. As we crossed a snowy knife-edge on the other side, we peered down and there it was: the Middle Finger Spire, living up to Brad’s description and flipping us off in spectacular fashion.

Beyond the knife edge, we scrambled between two rocky sections, then traversed on snow to a thin strip that led to the summit. The snow was nearly melted out - just a shallow, icy layer clinging to the rocks.

We reached the surprisingly windy summit at 8:30 AM and paused just long enough to snap some photos of the snow-draped Elks beneath a flawless blue sky before retracing our steps down to the knife edge.

The Middle Finger Spire stood proudly and profanely below, a perfect parting shot from the mountain. As we stared down at it, an intrepid bird landed on its highest point, reinforcing the message with comical precision. There was no way we were leaving without taking a closer look, and we started down the steep couloir that paralleled our ascent route. Soft snow made for excellent plunge stepping, and we quickly rejoined our original tracks as the many forks of the couloir merged.

Soon, we arrived back at our snowshoes and strapped in to begin the exit from the basin. Even with flotation, we still managed to posthole. Some things are inevitable.

Happy Mother’s Day to my mom, who faithfully reads all of my ridiculous mountain write-ups. This one is for you.