Crater Peak Ski - 7.4.2025

Under the threat of supposedly imminent eruption, Mount Spurr has been on the minds of most Anchoraginos this year. While an eruption never happened, it did point the eye of Sauron at what to do with the stratovolcano dominating the south end of the Tordillos. 

Eventually, I realized that Crater Peak in summer corn could be a perfect way of avoiding the avalanche hazard created by 5,000 vertical feet of angle of repose slopes covered in terrain traps and sitting on the edge of a giant wind tunnel. The next step was waiting for the Crater Strip to melt out, the wind to let off, and the sun to come out. Somehow, all those things lined up on July 4th instead of 10 years from now as they so often do.

Landing on the strip involved clearing a hill on short final with a gusting a crosswind, little trees growing up into the strip, then a quick transition to an uphill landing. It was a perfect summer morning when we left the strip behind and hiked through soft, smooth tundra towards Crater Peak. 


Walking through beautiful lupine meadows on the low flanks of the peak, the first thing I noticed and what kept coming back to me throughout the day was the scale of this place. I couldn't get over just how big all the peaks, ridges, glaciers, and gorges were. Here we were looking straight up 5,000 feet at a peak that was not only several thousand feet shorter than its neighbors, but also surrounded on three sides by huge glaciers draining off these high peaks.

At first, travel on the tundra was fast and easy, but as we gained elevation and the pitch of the mountain ramped up, we left the vegetation behind to be replaced by loose ash. The steepening ash was a treadmill where one step forward meant 0.999 steps sliding back down. It was time to switch to booting up the snow - I'm not sure how realistic it would be to climb Crater in late summer when the seasonal snow gluing everything in place is melted out.




Booting on the snow was the right decision, and we quickly gained elevation while the huge lava flows and the Chakachatna River Valley shrank below us. 


Nearing the summit, we crossed over the starting zones of one of the massive ravines draining the entire vertical elevation of the peak. Feeling the tickle of thousands upon thousands upon thousands of feet of empty space below, I was again reminded of the crazy scale of this place, and really glad to be standing on summer snow instead of whatever forms of sketchy windboard and unpleasant sastrugi inhabit this place all winter.


Past the huge ravines draining the south side, the climb mellowed out as we neared the summit of wind scoured lava.


The summit was awesome. Just to the north, the top of Spurr was hidden by the cap of a lenticular cloud as the glaciated peak caught the upper level winds streaming over the spine of the Alaska Range. Just out of reach, huge seracs and crevasses spilled down out of these clouds.


The rivers of ice then flowed past and under us into rapids of frozen water making icefalls draining the peaks. 






To the south, we looked past our crumbling caldera of ash, across the Chakachatna River, down the gray waters of the Cook Inlet stretching to Kodiak and the Alaska Peninsula, and into the craggy peaks of the Neacolas.


We would have loved to peer into Crater Peak's summit pit, but it was well guarded by teetering giant overhanging and dripping cornices. Having flown over recently, we knew the crater was frozen and not a hot tub like its been in the past. Thanks for Billy Finley for resurrecting memories, pictures, and words from those times, included in the next three pictures, below. Our friend Ben Americus says that day was the pinnacle of his dad's life. I can see why.

John Crater Collection



John Crater Collection

It was fun to imagine what it must have been like then and dream about that volcanic spa returning sometime in the future - fingers crossed. I could have stayed on the top forever taking in the world of giants and crumbling rock and ice around us.

We knocked snow and ash out of our bindings and boots, clipped in, and slid off the summit. These upper turns weren't even summer snow yet, just quality corn more like what we used to ski in Colorado in April and May. What a difference going 1,500 miles north makes. Nyssa:




These first turns were so cool. As the angle of the slope increased with each turn, the snow dropped away below us, making the Kidazgeni Glacier's jumbled chunks of ice the horizon line just ahead of our skis.

Photo: Nyssa Landres

As the terrain steepened over the edge and out of sight towards the Kidazgeni, we traversed from the east slopes of the peak to the south side. 


With this change in aspect and drop in elevation, the snow transitioned to the compact summer snow you'd expect to find in July. It was still smooth and fast, and we relished the chance to be surrounded by glaciers and gorges without having to deal with the hazards that usually come with them.




Lower down, the snow turned sticky goo clinging to our P-Tex bases, and we lurched our way down the last 500 vertical feet of snow to summer.


With our skis back on our packs and the snow above us, we savored this incredible experience in this unparalleled place. The lenticular clouds clung to the peaks as winds continued to rage on the summits. We stopped to rinse off and feel alive in a refreshing waterfall tumbling from overhanging columnar basalt. Then, we bounced down the soft summer tundra towards the strip with jumbled masses of ice flowing down the mountainsides just a half mile away.




This is an all-time day that I'll remember forever; hopefully we get to come back sometime. Maybe if we're really lucky there will be hot springs to swim in too.