Each time I drove away from the Black Canyon I would slow down, straining my neck trying to catch a quick glimpse of this 700-ft granite spire. This was going to be the year.

On many "To-Do" lists but seldom ascended—the Needle had been on my "To-Do" for a few years as well. But the logistics and access quickly became complex. The beta on Mountain Project for the route was a bit old, maybe even unreliable. Or maybe that’s just the nature of climbing in the Black Canyon. We didn’t have half ropes to make the rappels, and I didn’t have a watercraft to approach the river crossing.

But I was determined to touch that rock this year, so I got to work. Let’s check off all the excuses first.

I reached out to the lovely folks at Alpacka Raft in Mancos, Colorado. I knew they were Colorado-based, but was so pleasantly surprised to learn that they operate and make everything out of Mancos! I drive through the town regularly on my way to Bears Ears, and the small, rural town is akin to ours in the San Luis Valley. I never knew such a rad business was crankin’ it out in a place like this. So cool. The Alpacka folks were kind enough to equip me with a loaner packraft—a nice big Mule that could handle all the climbing gear.

Oh crap, there’s a raptor closure ‘til July 15! Okay, let’s wait this out…

Shoot, so you really DO need two 60ms to rappel! Screw it, we’ll just bring two fat singles. Oh wait – Bluewater Ropes is hooking it up with a pair of beautiful half ropes? Righteous, thanks Bluewater!

Rad, the raptor closures ended. No more excuses left. Find a partner, and let’s go!

…another Rain check. A partner bail. Reschedule. More bad weather. This trip was a nightmare to plan, and my poor little heart crumbled every other week. So much bailing before we even started!

But the stars eventually aligned, as they do… and the right people showed up at the right time. Out of nowhere there were six of us set to wake up the trailhead. 

Team 1: Me and my work/life partner, Wes O’Rourke. 

Team 2: Homies Cristina “Goose” Guzman from La Sportiva and Dr. Christian Quijano in New Mexico. 

Team 3: Skyeler Congdon, our former Sol Mountain Farm Apprentice, and our local San Luis Valley friend, Allen Law. That’s right – three parties of two!

The only thing was – Skyeler wasn’t there in the morning, and neither was his minivan. “I can’t believe he bailed! Seriously, a no call-no show?! Wtf!” As the words “I might never climb with him again” left my mouth, a familiar dirtbag poked his head out from the rocks near the overlook. “No way, there he is!” Wes shouted. Turns out, he was in a different car and was bivvy’ed over the ledge… classic. Thanks for the heart attack, Skye!

Rack, ropes, paddles, watercrafts, oh my!

Allen, Goose, and I were pretty stoked to have packrafts to keep our loads light on the first half of the approach. Wes and Skyeler’s two SUP bags were totally stuffed; a huge 4” barrel pump topped off Wes’ pack at 62lbs. Woof.

Luckily, the two-mile hike down to the water felt casual in the early morning. A light spring in everyone’s steps. The group stoke was high, the scenery was stunning, and there was a LOT of rock to drool over. After crossing some rad bridges and the numerous pauses scoping some potential lines, we finally arrived at the beach put-in.

The Curecanti Needle stands across the river from this alcove, where we inflated the watercrafts and loaded up the ropes and gear. One by one, the teams launched onto the water. Our group’s excited chatter quieted down with each vessel floating out of the alcove onto the river proper. The dammed river in the morning hour was so peaceful and green, the sun casting off the surface and shattering into a million glistening sparkles. We were in the Black Canyon, and on one of the largest tributaries to the Colorado River. A memorable approach indeed.

We anchored our boats at the base of the Needle and racked up on the talus. Skyeler and Allen headed up first onto some loose terrain. Skye kissed the death block for good luck and disappeared up the ledge, and Allen started up on his first ever multi-pitch trad climb (way to go Allen!).

Goose and Christian headed up, then Wes and I followed. Once Wes disappeared out of my sight, I was the last one left on the talus beach with a team of empty boats. I couldn’t help but giggle at the sight—we were finally doing it! And with so many friends in a back-to-back team of three! It sure wasn’t how I imagined it to go, but the size of our group added a level of goofiness to the whole experience. I cherish those moments of lightness.

The Northwest Rib route isn’t supposed to be any harder than 5.9+. The overall route wasn’t going to the most stellar climbing of our lives or anything, we already knew that. It was more about the adventure of the whole mission… so let’s get through the loose stuff and onto the headwall pitches with the sweet splitter 5.9 hand cracks.

But off the bat, we saw some unexpected stars on pitch 1. I was super stoked to see the rope going up a short but sweet, steep off-fingers crack, which probably goes at 5.10. So cool! Wes and I continued to swap leads up some loose, ledgy pitches to get to the good stuff, trying to manage the awful rope drag. I remember placing just two extended cams in one 30-meter pitch, and the rope drag was still quite heinous!

The approach pitches provided for some fun side-by-side climbing with the homies, though. Normally my experience on most multi-pitch terrain is being ~alone on the wall~ or with just Wes. But seeing Goose a few feet away, climbing together with the green river sparkling below you and the beautiful canyon looming as far as the eyes can see—now those are some special moments.

I caught up to Goose and Christian at yet another huge belay ledge when I looked up and saw the splitter going up the headwall. DAMN! Instead of combining the headwall into one megapitch, I decided to pitch it out so Wes could get some action on the money pitches too. That was some sweet finger-to-thin-hands crack climbing, my friends. It was super cool to see some POV karate chop handjam footage (see video below). But to be frank, I felt like a total bro climbing with a goBro on my helmet.

Being the last team of the group paid off. The crew stood on the upper tier and watched us climb the headwall pitches. Skyeler pointed out a sweet thin-to-wide splitter on the right side of the original line. Wes opted for the variation and we had a blast getting on some more 5.10 terrain mixed into a day of moderate loose climbing.

Another moderate pitch of simul climbing brought us to the summit. Quijano shared some lovely words with the group before releasing the ashes of his dog, Shadow, into the wind. We reveled in the views and danced to Tone Ranger—all six of us on top of the Needle.

The ugly bits? The rappels were god-awful, ropes were nearly stuck multiple times, and a massive death block almost killed Wes during the final rap. It was hot as hell when we got to the base, and the scree/talus hike down to the boats was some of the loosest terrain of the day. Thankfully the skinny dips in the cold river and a couple of cliff jumps cooled us right off.

After the cool-down, we floated our gear off back at the beach alcove and set out for some recreational floating on the river. The vibes were high, and we paddled around on the water at the base of the Needle, exploring up and down the canyon. You could imagine a pretty typical climbers-on-boats experience… “look at THAT line!” and “oh, look at THAT splitter, it totally goes!”.

Remember when I said the morning hike felt casual? I had felt like the approach maybe took us 45-minutes or something… but I guess too much stoke can really impair your perception. The 2-mile deproach out took us 2 grueling, hot, sweaty hours without any water.

We returned to the rim and enjoyed each other's company over dinner, drinks, stories, and beautiful shooting stars.

It wasn’t like we got totally hardcore or super sendy climbing some classic six-star line and pushing our limits… but dang, that was a proper adventure. One thing I’ve learned, is that you could be on the most classic line in the most beautiful place, but still have a terrible time if you and your partner aren’t getting along. For me, a big part of the magic in climbing lies in the relationships and connection with others. We are the company we keep, and strong bonds ought to be cherished and cultivated. A moderate climb, some loose granite, splitter cracks, a few packrafts and good friends in a very special place—made for an unforgettable time in the Black Canyon. Thank you, my friends.

Want to see more? Check out the film from the trip, including the POV karate chop handjam footage mentioned above. 

La Sportiva climber, Angela Lee, uses packrafts to access the Curecanti Needle in the upper Black Canyon of Colorado.

Climbing the Curecanti Needle

Copy by: Huw Oliver
Photos by: Huw Oliver & Annie Le

Huw Oliver and Annie Le took a trip to the Outer Hebrides, off the west coast of mainland Scotland. Their trip combined packrafts and bikes for a fun and beautiful adventure. Check out this great photo essay that Huw put together highlighting the trip. Dont miss the film and additional article at the end.

Interested in reading more about this trip? The duo shared shared a longer article and film about the trip with Bikerafting.com. Take a look at the links.

Huw Oliver and Annie Le took a trip to the Outer Hebrides, off the west coast of mainland Scotland with packrafts and bikes in tow.

Bikerafting the Outer Hebrides, Scotland

Story: Bjorn Dihle | Photos: Glen Aronson

Bristol Bay may be most famous for having the world’s biggest run of sockeye and unparalleled fishing opportunities. Its watersheds also have incredible adventure opportunities — everything from day trips to epic Bilbo Baggins’ sort of journeys. A while back, my friend Glen Aronson was taking time off from work and decided to do the Savonoski Loop—an 80-mile lake and river paddle that begins and ends at Brooks Camp on Naknek Lake. It’s named for Savonoski Village, a Native settlement at the mouth of the Savonoski River that was destroyed in 1912 eruption that formed the volcano Novarupta and Valley of Ten Thousand Smokes. Considered the biggest eruption in the 20th century, Novarupta unleashed three cubic miles of magma and ash and covered more than three thousand square miles in ash more than a foot deep.

“From what I had heard, the Savonoski Loop seemed like a totally manageable solo trip,” Glen said.

Glen had bought an Alpacka packraft the spring before. Weighing just six pounds and packing down to the size of a sleeping bag, packrafts are a gamechanger when it comes to backcountry wanders. Glen had taken care to learn the basics of packrafting. He started with practicing capsizing and getting back into his packraft on a lake, paddling rivers close to town and then, paddling the Tlikikila River, which drains into Lake Clark National Park and Preserve. He even took a whitewater packrafting class. 

In July, Glen set out to do the Savonoski Loop. He flew from King Salmon to Brooks Camp, where upwards of three hundred people visit during peak season to photograph brown bears at Brooks Falls. 

“The place was at capacity. It was this strange improvised human settlement with bear highways running through it,” Glen said.

A ranger immediately gave him a bear safety talk. Afterward Glen asked if they had any information on the Savonoski Loop. The ranger told him, ‘Nope, but a guy died a couple weeks ago on nearby American Creek because the water is super high.’ 

Glen, surrounded by incredulous, staring tourists, paddled away that afternoon. Naknek Lake is notorious for dangerous winds that come on suddenly. The wind picked up soon after Glen began a two-mile crossing and blew him off course. He made a point to camp on small islands and follow strict protocol with his food to avoid attracting bears. The days turned into a simple routine. He saw neither people nor wildlife as he paddled to Fure’s Cabin, where there’s a 1.5-mile portage trail to Lake Grosvenor. 

“Lake Grosvenor is like a fjord and had a darker energy. The mountains seem taller, and the woods felt darker,” Glen said. 

He made camp on a bank on the southern end of Lake Grosvenor near where it meets the Savonoski River. The forecast called for a lot of rain to begin the following night. Knowing how high the water already was, Glen was eager to be done with the river before it got any bigger. That night he awoke to the sound of something big coming up to his tent. Instead of making contact, the animal leapt off the bank and cannon-balled into the lake. 

The following morning was beautiful but extremely windy. The blue sky was hidden in the ash left over from Novarupta. When Glen paddled out onto ash-filled Savonoski River, the chaos he met was more than anything he was prepared for.

“The river was bleeding into the forest. Sweepers and strainers were everywhere. Currents were super strong and very conflicted, and I couldn’t read them. I don’t spend my life doing this sort of stuff. I sit at a desk. I’m used to being able to say, okay, this can stop now. I can press a button to abort,” Glen said.

After 10-minutes of extreme panic, Glen fell into a rhythm. There are no real rapids on the twelve miles of the Savonoski River, but even at mid or low water it’s not easy to paddle with powerful currents and obstacles of logs and debris. On the lower half of the river, the paddling began to mellow. Brown bears fishing for salmon began to appear. Glen, scared he was not making smart decisions, decided to take a break on a tiny island. As he neared the shore, a big bear stepped out on the only place he could land his packraft. At the mouth of the river where it drains into the Iluk Arm of Naknek Lake, there seemed to be bears fishing everywhere. It’s common to see 20-30 bears on this section of river, often at close distances. Glen carefully paddled by, noting that the bears were only interested in salmon. At a “safe” camp spot covered in bear scat, he made a big fire and, full of self-described male energy, celebrated being alive. 

After being out for a week, Glen made it back to Brooks Camp feeling like a lone survivor of a crazy adventure. Thankfully, the lodge had plenty of beer. He spent a few days decompressing and seeing what Brooks Falls and nearby Valley of Ten Thousand Smokes were all about. 

“I don’t think the Savonoski Loop gets done much,” Glen said, offering some final thoughts. “I’m glad I did it. For sure. I wouldn’t do it alone again. I’ve thought a lot about that day on the river. If I did it one hundred times, I’m convinced that 10 times I wouldn’t have made it. Don’t trust the guidebooks. The potential to have a real screwup is high.”

Bjorn Dhile is an accomplished journalist and has also written a few additional stories on this blog. He also writes for Pride of Bristol Bay is a free column written by Bjorn Dihle and provided by its namesake, a fisherman direct seafood marketer that specializes in delivering the highest quality of sustainably caught wild salmon from Bristol Bay to your doorstep.

Bristol Bay may be most famous for having the world’s biggest run of sockeye and unparalleled fishing opportunities. Its watersheds also have incredible adventure opportunities — everything from day trips to epic Bilbo Baggins’ sort of journeys. 

Solo Adventure on the Savonoski Loop

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