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This post is a featured excerpt from Mountain Voices: The Mountain Legacy Project and a Century of Change in Western Canada (November 2025), edited by Eric Higgs, Zac Robinson, Mary Sanseverino, and Kristen Walsh. This collection is the latest book in our Canadian History and Environment series with University of Calgary Press, which is edited by Alan MacEachern. This excerpt is published in collaboration with the Alpine Club of Canada.
Skiing down off the summit of Mount Logan in 2016, and back across its long, expansive upper plateau to where we had made our high camp, I felt my feet slowly freezing. I had never cut corners so close that I was left with a decision like this one: Do I accept the creep of frostbite digging deeper into my toes in order to get off the mountain fast, or do we stop at our high camp and risk getting stuck in the impending storm at altitude indefinitely, with only one day’s worth of food? I chose frostbite. I have worked in Antarctica and the high Arctic drilling ice cores for half my life, priding myself on the ability not only to study these frozen corners of the Earth, but to move through them safely. Something about Mount Logan caused me to push my margin of error dangerously thin. I have never felt so defeated standing on top of a high peak as I have on Mount Logan, even as every glint within my scope of view—from the swirling Malaspina Glacier where it greets the Gulf of Alaska to the south, to Mount Lucania and the spread of the Saint Elias to the north—filled me with joy.
Back at our high camp near the Prospector’s-Russell Col (PR Col), the decision to descend was heavy with commitment. To get off the plateau, one must go back up to get down. By some confluence of factors—glacial geomorphology, erosion history, uplift rates, Earth’s cunning—one must re-gain elevation to reach the smaller Prospector’s-AINA Col, the narrow access point to our descent route down the long King Trench. I had a cellular-level sinking sense that I did not, in that very spot, have the upper hand. And that climb, back up and over the Prospector’s-AINA Col, it was what did my feet in. I told myself I would never go back.
But I did go back—again in 2021 and 2022, this time in the name of science. As an ice core scientist and high-altitude mountaineer, the thought of drilling an ice core near PR Col on Mount Logan’s summit plateau called me strongly, despite my previous declaration of not wishing to stand at “that spot” ever again. It utilized my niche scientific and athletic background and pushed my limits on both sides. The new ice core from Mount Logan’s summit plateau contains secrets of past North Pacific climate variability, helping us to better understand the role of coastal mountain ranges and glaciers in the regional and global climate system. The years of work after an ice-coring initiative like this, turning ice ever-so-carefully into data, can feel like an uphill battle on both ends, too. One, like climbing Logan itself, that is endlessly rewarding, and somehow always calls you back for one more round.
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- Prospector’s-Russell Col, Mount Logan - November 6, 2025