From the summit of Mammoth Mountain Ski resort, Mount Ritter stands strikingly beautiful among the steep rocky cliffs of the Minarets. My good friend and fellow skier Miles had been working at Mammoth Mountain for the last two winter seasons, staring out at the skyline nearly every day from his ‘office.’ When I saw the view from the top of the resort, it was easy to see why he wanted to ski the peak. Two massive chutes (narrow, snow filled gullies surrounded by steep rock walls) lead from the summit bowl down to a glacier below, and wide open, low angle slopes lead into the beautiful valleys below.
We would set out on May 2nd, make camp around Ediza Lake, and head for the summit the next morning. Then we would have the day to summit, ski back to camp, and relax before heading back toward our cars the third day. It would be a slow-paced, mellow tour, as each of us had fairly limited experience with winter camping to that point. I had attempted King’s Peak in Utah a couple weeks prior, ill-equipped for a chilly -20F night. I was not afraid of the cold nights at a mere +20F forecasted for Ediza, but it would still be only my third overnight ski trip. I still had plenty to learn!
The days leading up to the trip, I was not feeling well, having been struggling to get over a head cold that was lingering far longer than it should have. The warm weather and rock climbing in Bishop, California helped, and we spent some time in the Alabama Hills ticking off some classic climbs and sleeping under star-filled skies.
One of my social media posts from the Alabama Hills got the attention of a former MICA Guide, Danny Dresher, whom I had met only briefly in Alaska the summer before. Danny had worked for MICA before my time there, but had stopped by to visit before his summer job as a ranger in Lake Clark National Park. He immediately struck me as an incredibly friendly guy, super sincere, and pretty much anyone who has worked (and been invited back) with MICA Guides is likely to be a pretty cool person.
So, though not knowing Danny very well, when he commented on a post of mine that he, too, was visiting the Eastern Sierra and had some free days, we decided to plan at the very least a day to ski together. I text him something sarcastic about heading out on a three day trip which, if I survived (referring to the cold I was suffering from), would leave me open the few days after for some climbing and/or skiing. When we learned our schedules lined up almost too well, I invited Danny out to ski Mt Ritter with us. He eagerly accepted, despite my warning him of our ski mountaineering abilities and my physical fitness (or lack of both). Danny, I knew, was an accomplished climber and ski mountaineer, having done many long trips in crazy remote areas of Alaska. This would be a walk in the park for him, something he would likely do in a day and still have time to make it to Happy Hour. Miles and I would be traveling slow and taking plenty of breaks.
Danny, though, was not dissuaded, even joking about me really ‘selling’ the trip with the added “if I survive” bit. Danny was the kind of guy who was just happy to be outside and enjoying life. He didn’t need to conquer the craziest summit or ski the gnarliest line, though his climbing partners will say he did a lot of both! He was always just out to have a good time and be around like-minded people.
When the three of us set off downhill – yes, the route starts high and heads down into the valley between Mammoth and Ritter – it was clear Danny had a lot more experience skiing with a pack than Miles or myself. Still, we all made good time skiing down the road, closed to vehicles for winter, covered in snow. Soon we ran into dry asphalt where we would take our skis off and walk to the next patch of snow. The rest of the road and much of the trail after would be spent this way, alternating between skiing and walking.
Soon, we donned our climbing skins (basically a layer of material stuck to the bottom of skis to give traction uphill), and began moving up in elevation once again. We would follow the valley a while, then cross the relatively flat meadow to Shadow Creek where the trail to Ritter really started to gain altitude. Chaos ensued as our trio worked it’s way across the half-snow half-melted meadow with stream crossings, downed trees, and plenty of mud.
River crossings were frequent. It was spring time alright!
At every transition from one mode to the other, Danny would be waiting on me and Miles. Every hiking section, he would end up way out in front, only to be waiting at the next corner or transition for us to catch up. Whenever one of us would try to apologize or rush ourselves to keep up, though, Danny would have none of it. “Hey man, no worries, I’m just enjoying the scenery.” And “No rush, take your time.”
It was humbling to see how well he excelled at what we pretended to know, but how modest and friendly he was about everything. He offered several small bits of advice, especially to me, to help me speed things up or just struggle a bit less. It was always in good nature, though and well received.
Across the meadow, it was nice to know we would be in the sun a while and could keep skis on our packs for a while to hike. Actually, the skis-on-the-pack hiking was terrible, making my bag so heavy I thought my shoulders and hips would give out. It was just nice to know we wouldn’t have to make a thousand transitions or skin through more mud for a while.
Even so, it was nice to see snow again and begin skinning, despite a few more mud and river crossings.
Once we made it as high as Shadow Lake, things were more reliably frozen and we made much better time with skis back on our feet.
Now traveling much more efficiently, we gained some distance for once, moving quickly up to Ediza Lake. We crossed the frozen lake and soon found a gorgeous campsite complete with nearby river briefly appearing from below the snow. Our drinking water for the next two days would come straight from this river, unfiltered, freezing cold and spectacularly delicious.
We had made the decision before hand to bring along two tents, Miles’ two-person tent and my new lightweight one-person shelter. Danny and Miles could share the weight of the larger tent, and mine was small enough to not be too much of a bother. Despite carrying at least half the weight and bulk of Mile’s tent, Danny decided to sleep outside, in a shallow snow pit so he would be out of the wind but still able to enjoy the stars overhead. He promised to join Miles in the tent in the unlikely event of rain.
We ate dinner on a nearby rocky outcrop and Danny shared stories of a few of his Alaskan ski adventures, many with his good friend Malcom, who had started at MICA the same season Danny had. The two had become great friends and often shared a rope or snow cave in the mountains.
Miles shared some local history of the mountain we would summit the next afternoon, and the surrounding areas. It was the famous John Muir whois believed to have first summited Ritter (in 1872), estimating it’s height purely by educated guess and from knowledge of the Sierras to be roughly 13,100 ft. It’s height measured by the U.S. Geologic Survey comes in at 13,300 ft. Not a bad estimate for an unclimbed peak.
Muir had summited the mountain while out guiding a journalist and a painter through the remote parts of Muir’s Tuolumne Meadows. He left the group alone, telling them if he weren’t back in three day’s time to go back without him. He wandered off toward the distant Mt. Ritter in classic Muir fashion – with no more than some dried bread in his pocket and the clothes on his back. No need to “burden” himself with so much as a coat.
Back at Ediza Lake, the three of us awoke the next morning to a wonderful sight of the sun lighting up Mt Ritter and the Minarets to the West. From then on, the sight of our goal far ahead would welcome us. The summit of Ritter is even more striking from below, it’s near-perfect pyramid shape standing out among surrounding peaks.
Movement uphill was slow but steady, always with Danny breaking trail – much more work than simply following someone else’s tracks. Still, it seemed every time I looked up, he was patiently waiting for us to catch up, then effortlessly steaming ahead to wait some more. It was inspiring to see him basically just out for a leisurely walk while I was breathing heavier than ever and sweating like a pig in the hot sun.
The views only got better as we approached the peak. Finally, below the two chutes we stood (at least on the map) near the toe of the Southeast Glacier. The USGS no longer recognizes Mt. Ritter Glacier as an active glacier, having been reverted to a ‘permanent snowfield’ or ice patch. The difference? An active glacier flows downhill under it’s own weight, whereas a “dead” glacier or snowfield, whichever category it now fits into, does not move. Despite losing it’s actual glacier status, the still-not-renamed Southeast Glacier still plays a vital role in the ecosystem below. The sheltered area below Mt. Ritter holds a large deposit of snow, blow in by wind and shaded from the sun for much of the day.
Long into the summer, the snow and ice deposited here will slowly melt, providing valuable water to plants and animals downstream.
From the toe of the ‘Glacier’ we opted for the steeper but more direct chute toward the summit. Skis once again were strapped to our packs and we began “boot packing” our way up snow too steep for skins to hold traction.
Soon snow gave way to unexpected blue ice. We donned our crampons and Miles got his first taste of ice climbing. Though certainly not vertical (maybe 35-40 degrees), the ice was bulletproof and the exposure intimidating. With lots of experience on glacier ice, Danny and I felt right at home, and had no trouble with the ice. I was concerned about Miles as he had not done much, if anything, on steep ice before, but as a solid rock climber, he had no trouble translating the skills and coaxing he crampons into moving him up the short bit of ice.
Above the chute, a large bowl of snow was softening up in the sun. It made uphill movement more exhausting as our feet sank deeper into snow, which was still a bit steep to be able to climb with skins. Feeling discouraged by the distance that still loomed overhead, I remember taking my pack off for a quick snack and water break while the other two pushed on ahead.
Within minutes, Danny was nearly topping out on the summit, which was actually much closer than it looked from where I sat. I threw my pack back on, feeling silly for stopping only a few hundred vertical feet below our goal. Until I saw Danny walking over the rocks near the summit, my mind had told me they were three or four times further above me than they really were.
We took a few photos from the top, had some snacks and signed the summit register.
Miles recognized a few names from people he knew in town. There were only a handful of entries since September, and there were hundreds each month during the summer. We had the place to ourselves, never seeing another person in the entire three days out. During the summer months, Miles reported, you’d be hard pressed to find this sort of solitude anywhere around here!
Finally, we clipped back into our skis and prepared for the ride back to camp. Miles set up for some ski photos, having carried his large DSLR camera all the way up. I had opted to leave mine in the truck, carrying only a cell phone for capturing photos. I guess it was a good thing I had left the extra weight behind – I was still the slowest of the group by far!
Hoping to avoid the ice we had climbed over on the way up, we aimed for the further chute. We had seen from below there were rocks through the middle of the chute, and Danny suggested he go first to see if it were possible to down-climb the rocks. If it weren’t he would hike back up to us and we could all traverse back to the chute we climbed up. Miles and I gladly accepted his proposal, and this time it was the two of us that waited for Danny for a change.
He quickly reported the rocks much easier to pass than we had expected from below, so Miles and I started down the chute toward him, skis strapped to our packs once again. The down-climb was indeed no trouble for any of us, and we soon clicked back into our skis. Danny went first, having a great time and hollering about it all the way down. I went second and made 5 or six turns in the tight gully before I hit something with my right ski. I still don’t know if I skied over a rock or stump just under the snow, or maybe my tip hit the rock wall in front of my as I initiated a turn with it still hidden under snow, but the ski immediately popped off, resulting in my sliding on my back, upside down, without any skis or poles. I dug my elbow into the snow to turn myself around just in time to kick off an approaching rock with my feet and continue my unplanned but slow-speed glissade all the way out the bottom of the chute. No doubt it was quite comical to Danny and Miles watching the fiasco.
One ski managed to roll its way down far enough I could retrieve it, and the poles were quickly located as well. My other ski, however had hung up somewhere in the rocks on the way down. I shouted up to Miles that I was missing something, and he was able to locate the ski on his way down. He tossed the ski my way, the steep slope granting the dang thing just enough momentum that the brakes became useless. The ski rocketed past me, just out of reach. I watched two rooster-tails of snow shoot up behind the brakes while they did little to actually slow down the runaway ski. I looked below me at the skis current trajectory. It didn’t look good. The snow quickly got steeper, over a slope we had chosen to avoid on the way up in lieu of a lower angle slope to one side.
Danny, far below me, immediately sprang into action. Both of us knew if he couldn’t catch it, I would be walking not just down that slope, but probably all the way back to our tents before the crucial piece of gear came to a stop on its own. Danny skated his way across the slope and managed to intercept the ski not a moment too soon, as he only just had time to stop himself before the slope steepened greatly. I was super embarrassed as I walked down to him, but Danny quickly dismissed it as if it were no big deal, saying something along the lines of “yeah, been there!”
Once I calmed my nerves, the rest of the ski back to camp was super fun on slushy, spring snow. We shared more stories back on our rock perch as we watched another sunset. The next morning we would pack up, and make several more transitions from skis to boots and back before arriving back at the parking area. Danny would head out the next day, and Miles and I would go on to ski and climb for a few more days before I started my annual drive north toward Alaska.
I had no idea at the time, but this would be the last time I would see Danny. Almost exactly one year later, he would pass during a climbing incident in Alaska with his best friend Malcom. In April, 2019, while scrambling on rocky terrain, a large boulder would dislodge under his step and drop him over 500 feet. He was 25 years old.
His death was a sobering reminder that life is all too short, and playing in the mountains is always dangerous. Anyone who spent time outdoors with Danny knew he was one of the best. Extremely capable but reserved enough to stay well within the limits of his ability, no one who knew him would ever accuse Danny of being an adrenaline junkie or pushing the limits. It was a tragic accident of geologic odds, something that can never be controlled in the mountains. To truly be “safe,” and the only way to never expose yourself to this kind of risk, means to never experience life at all. And that just wasn’t Danny’s style.