Mount Spurr Skiing & Hiking - 7.4.2025

Updated below to include another great day in 2026 on the flanks of Mount Spurr.

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.

July 2026 Update:
Memories of the ash flows draining Mount Spurr have remained vivid and prominent in my gray matter since last July's incredible ski of Crater Peak.

Ever since, I've been dreaming of continuing to explore this volcanic paradise. Last fall, we had time for a quick after-work hike on Capps Ridge, but the late-September evening was short, and the sharp fall air only whetted my appetite to return. In July 2026, we finally made it back for a full day of exploring this east ridge of Spurr dwarfed by its giant parent.

From the strip, we climbed to the top of the ridge and followed it west in the direction of the peak. There's not a lot of reasons for animals to be here, but just like last time, there were a few wandering tracks of wolves and bears - I hope they enjoyed this magical place as much as we did.


At some level, I actually think Capps Ridge is more spectacular farther away from the volcano because there are better views of the peak itself before it becomes hidden behind its shoulders in the foreground.

Photo: Nyssa Landres

Farther along, steep spines dropped from the ridge, cut by huge waterfalls tumbling off overhanging cliffs. It was a wet July in the Cook Inlet, and I suspect these falls may not always be quite this powerful. We felt lucky to experience them while they were flowing fast and strong.






As we continued west, the width of the ridge tightened from that of a plateau to just the width of our feet. 


Thousands of feet above the glacier, there were rounded rocks perched on the crest of the ridge. Smoothed by rock tumblers of ice, these stones were relics from a time when this ridge was abutted by or under glaciers.


Having walked seven miles from where we started, we came to a steep headwall of cliffs and loose rock. It was oh-so-tempting to scramble and claw our way up the climb to see what kind of paradise was hidden above. But, knowing the consequences of a slip here, we decided to make this gateway our high point and turned around. Maybe someday, if we're lucky, we'll get to explore the glacier-polished bedrock benches that I can only imagine are up there.


Turning east, our attention shifted from the summits rising above us to the glacier and valleys flowing below us. 


We looked down at the moraines and terminal toe of the Capps Glacier, painted in a spectrum of orange, brown, purple, and gray by rocks that the river of ice has been slowly grinding from the sides of the peaks of its birth.


Jogging back to the landing strip a couple hours later, the peaks of the Mount Spurr complex had reappeared from where they had been hiding behind their foothills. One of the coolest aspects of this place is that the views are actually the best before you even start walking - anyone who can get here gets the best part without having to trudge, posthole, and bushwhack for hours as is so often the case in AK. 


Standing in a field of blooming purple lupines, I looked at these incredible peaks, ridges, glaciers, and wildflower-filled fields at the southern edge of the Alaska Range, and could not get over the scale and beauty of this spot that is so close to our home.


Not sure when we would return, and not wanting to leave, we dragged our feet before checking the wind and the strip, buckling up, and lifting off for home.