Aleutian Picture Project

The Aleutian Islands are a chain of 14 large volcanic islands, and 55 smaller ones extending in an arc westward 1,200 miles from the Alaskan Peninsula towards the Kamchatka Peninsula. It is a gnarly world of strong wind, heavy rain, ubiquitous fog, and people that probably aren't like you.

In my early 30s, I spent 5 years working on contaminated site cleanup projects in the Aleutians. Now I work on coastal engineering projects there; sometimes we even visit for fun. Like the Prince William Sound and Kanuti Picture Projects, this post is made up of unique and memorable moments that stand out. 

The islands are a punishing land, but a place of abundance. They are a major breeding ground for seabirds who nest on steep cliffs and rely on the rich marine environment for food. During the summer months, the archipelago becomes a vital stop for migratory species traveling between North America and Asia. The Aleutian cackling goose is an endemic subspecies of the Canada goose, notable for its smaller size and adapted to the harsh world of the Aleutians. Raptors including peregrine falcons, eagles, and hawks also call these windswept rocks home. The islands are affected by introduced species including cattle, caribou, foxes, and rats: the ecosystems and animals are visibly different on islands with introduced mammals.  


Aboard the C/V Miss Alyssa on the passage from Dutch Harbor to a project on Unalga Island, we encountered something unusual for the Aleutians: blue skies, light winds and calm seas. Dutch Harbor averages 80 inches of rain, 250 rainy days, and 150 days of fog per year. Meanwhile, powerful Pacific storms batter the islands throughout the year with gale-force winds, typhoons, and dangerous storm surges.


With the exception of some stunted willows, the vast majority of the chain is devoid of native trees. On some of the islands, there are a few coniferous trees left over from the Russians. Aleutian conifers, some up to two hundred years old, rarely reach even 10 feet tall because the winds here like to snap off anything taller.

Aniakchak Packraft Traverse - July 2018

Saturday morning started with the buzz of our little plane as we flew over the lakes, rivers, and volcanoes of the Alaska Peninsula. We were on the way to Port Heiden to traverse to Chignik Lagoon. I wondered about the odometer on the dashboard. 25,000 hours. How far is that? 250,000 miles? Or 10 times around the earth. Or, 2000 times as long as our traverse.


We stopped briefly in Ugashik to drop off two elders on the way. It was a quiet day at the post office there:


The old plane bounced back into the sky and over wandering caribou, ponds ornamented with pairs of swans, and ground broken by the ice polygons of permafrost. 45 minutes later, Port Heiden's gravel airstrip came into focus thru the coastal mist. Hopping out, Grant's Village Agent Billie was waiting for us. At the Post Office we said "hi" to Meg, Dan, and Gavin then crawled back into Billie's van for the taxi service to the end of the road. At the river we started hiking towards the caldera.

Mount Iliamna Ski - April 2017

When April rolled around we started looking for a weather window for a fly-in trip. Where to go was the next question - despite great local skiing all winter, the snowpack was thin in the high peaks. The Pitchfork was at the top of the list, but we couldn't justify gambling on an expensive and committing trip to the dry side of the Neacolas.

So, when our weather window arrived, we mustered the troops, crammed into Seth's truck, and drove toward Doug Brewer's airstrip in Nikiski. The plan was to setup a base camp, climb and ski Iliamna, then crank laps near base camp until the weather deteriorated.

Rolling onto the runway, it was hard to believe that it could be winter anywhere.


As the plane climbed steeply above the Cook Inlet, winter came into sight. Mount Spur to the north - this one is going to be a nice weekend adventure.


Mount Redoubt. This is right next to the Pitchfork and the Malignant Couloir at the top of the Wish List.