Just before his death, I wrote him a letter saying, “My dear friend, I will miss you, but I will never forget you. Today you got to see your Cape buffalo skull. [It has just arrived from the African taxidermist.] Tomorrow I will honor your request to hunt an Alaskan brown bear for you knowing that you and the constellation Orion will be watching.”

On September 1, my son Peter and I took off to honor this pledge. We met Gary Gray, the outfitter, in Yakutat and boarded a bushplane for the 45 minute flight to Gray’s Alsek Lodge, located just inside Glacier Bay National Park. The comfortable lodge sits on the bank of the Alsek River with white chunks of glacier ice the size of cars floating by and white mountain goats the size of dust specks high on the peaks above. Peter brought the rifles—his CZ .375 H&H and my Savage .348 WinMag—and I brought my bow, which was delayed by TSA in Seattle and hence didn’t arrive until a day later. With rifles sighted in, we boarded our faithful 4-wheelers in the dark for the 15 mile ride to the primary bear hunting area. The two-track road had many low spots that became small lakes with heavy rain and one stream to cross that was always at least up to my calf. I should note that we often made the round trip twice a day thus becoming “expert” ATV riders though we were never able to keep up with Gary. Though the short walk to the river through thick bush in the dawning light was like a walk in the park to Gary, it had our neophyte hearts pounding with the thought of 10 foot grizzly bears searching for food. When the river came into sight so did our first bear, a nice boar fishing for the hundreds of spawning salmon. He was not a “shooter” but certainly whetted our appetites. We took a seat on well-traveled bear trail strewn with salmon remains, knowing that huge bears might appear at any moment. After 4 hours watching the salmon in the gin-clear water, no bears came. We straddled our 4-wheelers and returned to the lodge for some lunch and hopefully my bow.

With so much sign on the river, we returned for an afternoon hunt a bit downstream from the morning site. On the way there we saw what we thought was a shooter bear, but it scented us before Peter could get a rifle shot. As we sat down, Gary told us that often bears come splashing up the river so be ready. And a couple of hours later, the splashing came. In seconds an 8 ½ footer magically appeared 15 yards from us in a frenzy to catch a salmon. When it did, it climbed into the bushes where we could hear it munching. I was shaking like an aspen leaf in a windstorm. In reflection, I pride myself in having taken deep breaths to gain control of the adrenalin rush. After a few minutes, the monster popped out of the bushes not 10 yards away. I instinctively drew the bow as he stepped to within 7 yards, but not clear of the bush we were behind. Fortunately for him and unfortunately for me, he sensed something was amiss, wheeled, and disappeared as fast as he arrived. My heart is pounding just reflecting on it. It was back to camp in the dark with 3 bears now sighted on the first day and with near shot opportunities for both of us. A morning sit in the same area produced 2 more sightings, but no shots so we headed for a location farther downstream. Gary knew the high bank on the opposite side of the river to be a major highway for big boars. We heard a sow and cubs fighting over salmon, but saw nothing until the 30 minutes of light. Then a huge 9 ½ footer stepped into the river about 75 yards away. Peter instantly had his .375 on him as Gary said shoot. The perfect shotdropped the bear in his tracks, but Peter didn’t move until Gary said the fact that his nose had been in the water for several minutes meant he was definitely dead. As we approached the bear, neither of us could comprehend his mass. With dwindling light we wanted to get pictures, but the three of us could not do much to re-position the 1000 pound grizzly. Finally Peter and I realized what we had accomplished. We hugged, looked up, and said “This bear’s for Dave.” Tears welled in my eyes and I remembered my good friend and the many similar moments we had shared together. I knew he was there. Then the worked started as the three of us capped the enormous boar still in the water. By the time we had the 90 pounds of hide and skull stuffed into the dry-bag equipped with shoulder straps, it was pitch black. Peter’s strength from guiding peaks like Mt. McKinley were put to the test as he staggered under the weight of the heavy rucksack and walked a mile, mostly in the river, back to the ATVs. In the light at the lodge, we could really inspect the fingerlength claws, worn down teeth, and skull that measured nearly 27 inches (length plus width).

After hours of fleshing the hide the next day, we were off again in search of a bow shot. That evening we watched at least 15 grizzlies chase salmon. The star of the show was “Blondie,” a 4 year old sow, who caught salmon-after-salmon, fed on some and tossed others into the air as if to say “I’ve figured out how to fish.” Another young sow and cub came within 15 feet of where I was standing in the bushes providing another adrenalin rush but no shot! Over the next 6 days we saw dozens more bears (we estimated a total of 60 during the hunt). On the last night, I got a shot at a 8 ½ boar which reared up 25 yards away giving me only a chest shot. Knowing the arrow had gotten just one lung, we waited 30 minutes before pursuing him. As we approached the spruce thicket where he disappeared, a deep growl and moan sent us backpedaling. Unfortunately, pouring rain during the night washed away all sign so that three of us searching fo seven hours didn’t even turn up a hair.

One evening while camping on a sand dune with waves crashing on to the west and bears feeding to the east, Peter and I looked into the star-filled sky to find Orion. I said I was sure Dave was looking down at us, but Peter was more insightful. “No Dad, this is Dave.”

For the rest of the hunt and ever since, I’ve stopped thinking that Dave is watching from somewhere else. Instead, during those quiet moments on a horse, casting to a fish, hearing an elk, or enjoying a Montana sunset, I know, “this is Dave.” -SMG Guest Author, Terry L. Anderson

Remember to ask your reputable guide service, “Are your guides fully AMGA accredited, certified, and registered?” At SMG, our guides maintain numerous AMGA affiliations. These rigorous standards help assure that your guide has had way too much time for training, has plenty of dough to throw at certifications, and not too much experience.

SHOUT OUT TO SAR!

Due to the fact that Sentinel Mountain Guides has consistently utilized 37% of Search and Rescue (SAR) budgets in areas we guide from epics induced by our guides, SMG would like to send a general shout-out THANK YOU to SAR around the world. Thank you to anyone who has helped with a search or rescue or belongs to a team, especially if you have helped save SMG butt. Mucho apreciada.

SAR for heart attack patient on Denali at 15,450 ft.

Many people do not realize the dedication put forth by almost exclusively volunteer teams around this nation. Every year they spend their time training and putting forth incredible devotion to the search and rescue of our friends and families. Again, most are volunteers. It is so easy for us to be critical of SAR operations as armchair quarterbacks. We all need to remember that most of us do not donate our time or money to SAR, nor do we want to pay more in taxes for increased service offerings such as paid hasty teams or other assets. With this in mind, please be mindful of the vast situations we ask our SAR units to face and refrain from passing judgements. That being said, nothing excuses gross negligence which can happen to anyone…afterall, we are human.

SARing it up!

 THANK YOU FOR SAVING US FROM OUR OWN STUPID EPICS! -From all SMG guides and clients.

Smoke signals work?

Backside of the Broken Tooth and Moose's Tooth massifs.

 In 2004 I came to Alaska for my first time to the state to guide the highest point in North America before even seeing it. Having climbed in the Himalaya on some of it’s most impressive gems including Ama Dablam, I did not expect the Alaska range to grab a hold of me as it has. And, I certainly did not think the range would impress me as much as it has in terms of depth, scope, remoteness, and beauty.

Working with Jeff Ward’s leadership and knowledge as a fully certified guide on that first trip, I learned a lot and despite my own anxiety successfully led a rope team to the summit of Denali at 20,320 feet. I have returned every year since that time with the good fortune of leading 6 more expeditions to the summit. This summer I returned to the range for my 12th expedition, or maybe more aptly, my 12th adventure.

Not a bad view from base camp!

 For the second time, I returned to a little known glacier off of the Broken Tooth to lead a six day mountaineering course with the Alaska Mountaineering School (www.climbalaska.org). I worked with rockin’ guide Caitlin Hague and a fabulous group of guests.

Climbing on an unnamed and possible unclimbed peak with the Buckskin Glacier in the background.

Denali lurking in the background.

Enjoying sunshine in the Range.

The view from our Talkeetna Air Taxi DeHaviland Otter inbound for Base Camp

Well, I returned to the Alaska Range in mid May to join my assistant and six climbers to lead my 7th expedition to Denali’s summit of 20,320 feet. We spent days packing our 500+ pounds of supplies to be hauled up the mountain. Finally, after the prep work was completed and loved ones called, our team launched to Denali’s basecamp on the mighty Kahiltna glacier. With one of the strongest teams I have ever had on the mountain, we worked our way up from camp to camp. Ominously I noted the ever present wind on Denali’s summit. Even weeks after departing, I had yet to see a true summit day…or one that looked even close to reasonable. Our team was physically strong, but this trip in particular proved to me that the mental mash of Denali can keep people from achieving their dreams and potential as climbers. While this trip was relatively uneventful (this is the first year in 7 that no one has died while I have been on the mountain), we witnessed a European soloist come very close to death as he slid off of the West Butress only to be stopped by a rock in his path. This near tragedy, coupled with a lengthy trip ended up taking its toll on our team. Once we did get a reasonable chance at the summit, only two of our six guests were able to summit. Every year I learn a lesson on Denali. This year I learned that in less than perfect weather, and on a long trip, mental preparation and endurance are as critical to success as any one physical component. While I was very saddened to not see our whole team on the summit, I was proud of our teamwork over the 21 days it took for us to reach the summit of North America  and most important, return home from the range unscathed. The power and strenth of Denali to overcome one’s physical and mental abilities is endless. This is in part what makes the Alaska Range so alluring and challenging.

Mt. Hunter from Denali's 14,200' Camp

Kenyattamondatta

After an incredibly bumpy cross country bus ride of seven hours to the Kenyan capital of Nairobi, I couldn’t help but remember the city’s nickname Nairobery as I jumped off the bus in the middle of the city. Standing out with my pale Montana skin and naïve country boy look, I was scared of the city and decided to just keep moving. After walking a few aimless blocks, I knew that I was not accomplishing anything. I had come to Nairobi to garner support for advanced wilderness medicine training for guides and to introduce guides to the material. However, in the chaos of a big city, I could hardly imagine achieving such a goal. As a mountain guide and Montanan, I knew there was only one thing to do-Get Out. I quickly found a cab and negotiated a price to get to the outskirts. I knew that the African bush was not far away. I awoke early the next morning after a lonely night at the cheapest hotel (if you could call it that) I could find in preparation for a long journey into the Kenyan bush.

A snapshot of Nairobi before I quickly shoved my camera in my pack and kept moving.

Via email, I had arranged to meet with a few safari companies over the next few days and was told to be ready at eight o’clock. I sat ready to go with my small backpack as my own culturally biased mind kept forcing me to look at my watch. Eight fifteen passed, and I did not worry as I was in Africa after all. Then nine and ten passed without a sign of anyone who might want anything to do with me. I let my mind wander to the possibility that I might be looking at creating a few day vacation out of my ill prepared adventure. I also couldn’t help but think about my near empty wallet with only emergency money remaining. About that time, a green land rover pulled up with five local safari guides piling out to introduce themselves and invite me onboard. Happy that my plans were coming together, I jumped in. As we started driving, I they informed me that they needed some money for gas. As we pulled up to the gas station, I emptied my wallet of Kenyan Shillings and saw them disappear into the gas tank in the form and smell of diesel.

Masai town in the Rift Valley

Driving away from the gas station, I was happy and excited for our adventure. But, not more than a mile from there, the vehicle lost all power. We pulled toward the side of the road as Matatus (local taxi vans) whizzed by honking. Then the power would return and we would venture back onto the busy road. But, again the car lost power. We repeated the process for about a mile before stopping and getting out to take a look. The car’s owner reported that while getting his shocks fixed, the mechanic has accidently damaged the fuel line and the car had never been the same. He pulled out his cell phone and spoke some rapid Swahili to a local mechanic he knew. I sat back on the side of the road watching them inspect the engine as every passing car gawked at my white skin wondering what I was doing with the dilapidated car and crew of passengers. I couldn’t help but wonder the same thing.

A local greeting party.

Soon after, another car pulled up with two apparent mechanics jumping out in one piece jumpsuits, tools in hand. After rapid Swahili dialogue, considerable inspection, mouth to fuel line blowing, and tweaking of the accelerator couplings, the mechanics were certain the problem was fixed. After revving the engine and hearing a distinct change in performance, we all piled in. Thinking we were finally on the road now that it was well afternoon, I sat back in my seat, but soon noticed that we were heading back to where we started. I was confused when we returned to the gas station. I asked the guys what the problem was as we had just filled the tank not more than 10 kilometers ago. They replied, “Relax, this is Africa…and it is Tusker time.” Again realizing my time focused bias as an American, I finally gave into the fact that we may not get to the bush after all. To help me lose my American rigidity, the guys kept the Tuskers coming in my direction. As my own intoxication grew, I realized that I was falling behind the pace of our driver, and the owner of the Land Rover. “OK, finish them off and let’s go” they said, and we piled back into the car. I wondered at my own judgment getting into the car with six hours of driving ahead of us on African roads with a heavily buzzed, if not drunk, driver behind the wheel. I knew this could be a fatal mistake, but also believe that some of the most rewarding experiences in life come with higher risks. After all, I have worked for many years as a mountain climbing guide and flight nurse – two of the most dangerous jobs in the US.

On the road again...

Sitting shotgun was a guide who made the driver seem completely sober. He was assigned the front seat to talk to police if needed. I wondered how well that would work given that I could smell his alcohol breath, even in the very back of the vehicle. We wound our way through busy streets with him leaning halfway out the window yelling at Matatu and motorbike drivers who’s driving left much to be desired. While I could not understand exactly what he was saying, it was clearly the obnoxious cursing of any drunk passenger around the world. As we bumped down the road past our breakdown site, we all joked that progress was being made and that we might make it to the bush after all. The turbo Land Rover purred with power, even with it’s full load.

WHOAAA Boy, your fight's not with me!

After an hour or so on the road, the cursing stopped and he quickly passed out with his head bobbing so forcefully with every bump that I felt a bit badly for the whiplash he was surely getting. Not wanting to be the needy American, I held my tongue as my bladder continue to fill as my body processed the Tusker beer. Thankfully, when I thought I could not hold it any longer, one of the other guides spoke to the driver in Swahili and I clearly understood “leak” in the middle of the sentence. We pulled over and all piled out into the bush to water the trees. I was reminded to “look before you leak” as we were now far enough into the bush to be in Lion and Leopard country. I looked back at the car and noticed our shotgun passenger hadn’t moved from his slumped position, dead to the world.

Students (including Park Rangers) and Peter at a Tanzania/Kenya border.

The hours dragged on as the road continued to worsen. My head was beginning to clear, and I felt better knowing that our driver’s head would also be clearing. However, we soon arrived in a bustling Massai town and pulled over at a favorite goat and beef barbecue restaurant. We ventured into the dark, smoke filled joint and sat at a table to feast. Tusker’s arrived with twho whole goat legs barbequed to perfection. The server made quick work of butchering the leg into bite sized chunks of meat and we all attacked the meat like the predatorss of the bush would do to a fresh kill.

A Cape Buffalo watches us cautiously while snacking.

When we emerged from the restaurant, the sun had set and we continued on our journey. A bottle of vodka was passed around the car. Fortunately the driver resisted temptation and I in my Tusker induced stupor I felt the depression of past Africa trips from seeing the level of alcohism so rampant in so many locals. I couldn’t help think back to the high rates of alcoholism I had seen in Australian aborigines and in Montana’s Native American population. As a white person, I can’t help but feel guilt for our ancestors introducing alcohol so abruptly into native populations’ lives.

Lioness and Cub in the Masai Mara

Poorly maintained highways turned to partially paved roads. These roads turned to dirt, and we were eventually on a four wheel drive track winding through the bush and across freshly filled riverbeds. The car had gotten quiet, but there was a brief flurry of activity as everyone sent there last text messages as we disappeared from areas with cell service.

View of the Masai Mara and Tanzania's Serengeti from camp.

Shortly thereafter, a Masai warrior appeared in the road, and I driver said we had reached camp. Because it was low season, the camp was empty and I was given my own fancy canvas tent and quickly fell asleep despite the foreign sounds of the bush. I fell asleep happy to be alive and back in the bush… the most wild place in the world I can imagine.

Sunsets of Africa are like none other.

 

Peter looking his best in Africa while teaching

Just over one year ago, Aerie Backcountry Medicine taught their first course in Tanzania, sending me, Aerie’s Assistant Director, and one of our most qualified lead instructors and Mentoring Manager, Darcy Chenoweth. In less than one month, we taught nearly 100 local safari guides, driver guides, and Mt. Kilimanjaro guides. The eagerness, attentiveness, and appreciation of the students was overwhelming as they pursued taking their professionalism as guides to a new level.

The lush African Environments' Office

Historically, East Africa has been served by very few such courses. In fact, Tanzania was accustom to only having such an offering once every two years. With Aerie’s commitment to service, I was eager to help create an expectation of wilderness medicine education every year. As I met with our founder and Director, David McEvoy, following last year’s course, he asked, “Is this going to be sustainable and even possible to pull off every year?” I understood his concerns, especially as the world was in the midst of a serious economic recession. However, with the spirit of the Tanzanian guides in mind, I felt confident that we could make an East African courses work well into the future. This confidence was also founded in our developing relationship with African Environments, a local guide service committed to supporting the professional development of Tanzanian guides, and the prospect of developing a local instructor with Alex Lemunge, an incredibly experienced guide and guide mentor. 

The Rainy Season nearly overcomes the classroom

As 2009 continued, I communicated back and forth with one of African Environment’s Directors hoping that we could bring wilderness medicine back to Tanzania this spring. Even as Christmas approached, he was uncertain that it was going to work. However, with African Environment’s dedication, coupled with Alex’s eagerness to become an instructor and bring this much needed education to Africa, I received an email in late January of this year saying, “Buy your ticket!” The very next day, I booked my flights. As Aerie continues to develop internationally in Mexico, Costa Rica, and now Tanzania, this experience made it clear to us that our success lays in the efforts of LOCAL supporters such as Alex Lemunge and African Environments.

Mount Meru (Africa's 3rd tallest peak) in the evening light keeping watch over Arusha

As my departure date loomed ominously close, I received another email saying that over 30 guides were now on board for an intensive Wilderness First Responder. I battled within my own head about maintaining quality while also letting in as many eager students as possible. However, I knew that with the support of Alex Lemunge’s language skills, experience, and past medical training we could pull it off. I also contacted a past student from Kenya, and an experienced National Outdoor Leadership School (NOLS) Instructor, Shikuku Ooko. With this strong support, I encouraged the course to grow. As I left the US, I received word that the course had reached 35 students. When I arrived, on the first day of class, there were two more students asking to get into the course. I could not deny these eager students such an opportunity.

Peter in the "Bumblebee" Land Rover 109 - ca. 1960s

The course went incredibly well, especially with the steep learning curve of last year under my belt. While I would love to take credit for the success, again I must give credit to the support of African Environments, Alex, and Shikuku. I can only imagine the intimidation and challenge felt by students being taught by an instructor from such a different culture and background. Like any Wilderness First Responder with reputable quality, some of the students did not pass the course, and I could not help but feel their pain and frustration. That being said, as we ended the course with a certificate ceremony, the students, with or without passing, could see that no one could take away from them the knowledge they had so diligently pursued. As we shook hands and took photos, I was nearly in tears at the level of appreciation and respect given to me. Despite my exhaustion, in the back of my head, I knew that beyond the success of this individual course, we had created an annual program that will continue to grow into the future.

Teaching in Progress

As my boarding time looms near, I can’t help but think toward next year. Working with African Environments, we are looking to provide two complete WFR-Refresher courses, a Wilderness First Aid (WFA) course, a full WFR, Kilimanjaro mountain training, and a new course offering for managers, directors, and owners of wilderness program operators. While next year seems so far away, I cannot help but let my mind wander forward to what adventures will lie ahead next year, and I encourage any potential students to consider joining me in the spring of 2011 for another adventure in East Africa. The last boarding call has just been announced, and I hesitantly save this note, close my computer, and breath in the unique air of Africa knowing that they will not be my last in this truly special place.

Tanzania WFR class photo

Aerospatiale SA-315B Lama on a rescue from Denali

OK, so maybe most people don’t love Helicopter as much as SMG Founder Peter Anderson, but you still might want to check out these images.

USAF CH-47D Chinook equipped for snow landing

Lama helicopter plucks climber from 14,200 ft on Denali

USAF Chinook rescues a SMG group from Mt. Sentinel

SMG helicopter practices Leave No Trace

Homeland Security Black Hawk stops to question SMG guides illegally crossing the border

Oso Feo at the base of pitch 62

On a recent visit from Mexico, Oso Feo traveled to Montana to attempt a new route on Mt. Sentinel. While Oso had never swung ice tools before, he borrowed them from SMG. He was also armed with 63 pitons, 7 hammers, many old hexcentrics, nuts to 4 inches, and 3,000 feet of 11 mm fixed line. In true light and fast alpine style, Oso made a first ascent of Mt. Sentinel’s North Face. While one other route on Sentel’s North Face has been climbed, this is the first attempt on the North Face in over 27 years. This bold, creative ascent linked numerous gullies, runnels, and chutes together for a total of 89 pitches, or rope lengths. Oso Feo provided a rating for the climb of Grade VI, WI 5.5, AI 4.3, A4+, 5.12 x. Keep in mind, Oso is known around the world for his sand-bagged rating. Sand bagging is the art of rating a climb much softer than it really is. Thus, only a trained professional should even consider a repeat attempt of this route. Oso has named the route Oscilating Oso because of how badly he was shaking on the 5.12 x pitch. Oso will be submitting this climb to Eddie Bauer’s First Ascent Line of clothing in hope of the company providing him a comlimentary Ford Explorer Eddie Bauer Edition. Often climbers call route information ‘beta’. However, at SMG, we believe route information for this hard of a grade should be called ‘theta’. Please contact Oso Feo at osofeo@sentinelmountainguides.com for further theta.

An happy, but cold Oso Feo nearing the top of his new route

Gear used on the first ascent

SMG's progress toward aquiring rotor wing transportation

At SMG, safety and the easiest way up any mountain is paramount. With that in mind, SMG utilizes helicopters in rescues and also to ferry guides to the summit. OK, so we don’t have it yet, but SMG is looking to obtain a helicopter to add to its fleet. While SMG is looking for an entire helicopter, we have started our progress toward a faster mode transportation to the top of hills with the purchase of a drive shaft for a helicopter. While we are still determining what model helicopter it comes from, SMG is confident that with future purchases and donations a flightworthy helicopter will emerge. Thus, we are now in the process of recruiting and hiring a Chief Pilot, Assistant Chief Pilot First Officer, and Chief Mechanic. No flying experience necessary and even lawn mower mechanics will be considered.