Monique is driven by the freedom of climbing and climbing solo is the ultimate freedom, which also bears the most risk. Monique shares her emotional and epic tale of tackling Mt. Logan, the tallest peak in Canada and second tallest peak in North America after Denali (19,551 ft/5959 m). In her words: "It was the culmination of all my ascents and expeditions to the four corners of the globe...in the most hostile conditions that I have encountered in my mountaineering life."
Photo: Gerald Holdsworth (NOAA).
Credit: Wikimedia Commons
This is the story of the climb that was the culmination of all my ascents and expeditions to the four corners of the globe. I found myself alone in front of this mountain, and alone in front of myself. I gave it the best of myself, in the most hostile conditions that I have encountered in my mountaineering life.
In 2017, Canada’s 150th anniversary, I tried to reach the summit of Mount Logan with a partner via the King’s Trench. We were able to reach the summit plateau but had to turn back for our own safety, as my partner was no longer able to continue the climb. I was disappointed that I had to abandon the dream of climbing my country’s highest peak, but the experience allowed me to become familiar with the mountain. I kept in mind the memories of an extraordinary place and an irresistible call to limitlessness.
It was then that I manifested a new plan, stimulated by my desire for freedom, solitude, and an opportunity to test myself like never before. Strengthened by my experience in 2017, the project to climb Logan – this time alone - grew in my mind and took shape. There was a certain apprehension, but my passion for the mountains was all-encompassing. I was ready for this adventure; I was going to face Mount Logan alone.
I was flown to base camp on May 15, 2018. When the plane disappeared, I took note of the unexpected and isolated situation in which I found myself. I was alone at Logan’s base camp! (2,713 m) The fact that no other parties were present, was probably due to it being the year after Canada’s 150th - a year when many teams tried to ascend Canada’s highest summit. Now, atop this immense glacier, I was overwhelmed by excitement and diving into a huge, unknown adventure.
My desire for freedom was going to be more than fulfilled. My solo project was going to be truly solitary. I loved the idea that no team would be in front of me during the ascent. I loved that I, alone, would trail blaze from basecamp to summit.
Then, on May 17th, before I left base camp, a team of two climbers were dropped off.
To maintain my solo expedition, I left basecamp as soon as possible for a first carry. Skiing alone, at my own pace, in symbiosis with the mountain and nature, gave me an unspeakable happiness. I was rehabilitating myself to my natural environment. Through that, I regained the feeling of simplicity and wholeness.
The weather was favorable, but frigid, and I was progressing well. My acclimatization was perfect and I felt good.
On May 20, I settled into camp 2, at 4,082 m. The sun was beautiful, the wind, intense. My camp was set up in the shadow of King's Peak, at the foot of the icefall that would be my next obstacle. This was a section that I feared, though I had crossed it several times in 2017.
Despite icy temperatures and frozen feet, the weather stood. To take advantage of the conditions, I started carrying equipment to camp 3. I was surrounded on all sides by a labyrinth of crevasses and seracs, without rope, without a companion – the normal things that protect an alpinist from these deadly features. I had to be vigilant. It was mentally exhausting, in addition to the physical effort required in this steep section.
Once the cache at camp 3 was established, I started back down to camp 2 to get the final supplies. A thick fog arrived suddenly and my anxiety increased when the visibility became null. I was in a total white out in this very difficult terrain. I resigned myself to descending almost blindly, zigzagging between the crevasses that surrounded me. At one point, the skins were no longer sticking, constantly coming off my skis. I removed them but my gliding speed became too fast for this minefield. I was forced to remove my skis for a short, delicate section, despite the risk involved. (Skis distribute a climber’s weight across the snow, reducing the risk of punching through the snow.)
After only a few steps, the snow collapsed beneath my feet! With immense horror, I smashed through the snow bridge that covered a crevasse. The skis I was carrying slipped from my hands, onto the ground, while I sank helplessly into the abyss. In a fraction of a second, I braced myself against the crevasse walls, managing to stop my fall.
My head was about 50 cm from the edge of the crevasse. A visceral fear consumed me... I was alone on Logan, in a crevasse, and nobody knew my position. I pushed with all my strength with my feet. My back leaned on the opposite wall. It was a fight for my life. I tried to pull myself out of the void with my ice axes, but the surface was friable and my axes could not bite. I realized the walls might collapse at any moment! But, in times of life and death, panic is not an option if you are to survive.
From the corner of my eye, I saw one of my skis just above me. Somehow, I managed to grip the ski and use it as an anchor to hoist myself out of this nightmare. I escaped the crevasse, horrified and shaken. My heart beating wildly, I was alive. But, I was still so far from the safety of my tent.
Once the cache at camp 3 was established, I started back down to camp 2 to get the final supplies. A thick fog arrived suddenly and my anxiety increased when the visibility became null. I was in a total white out in this very difficult terrain. I resigned myself to descending almost blindly, zigzagging between the crevasses that surrounded me. At one point, the skins were no longer sticking, constantly coming off my skis. I removed them but my gliding speed became too fast for this minefield. I was forced to remove my skis for a short, delicate section, despite the risk involved. (Skis distribute a climber’s weight across the snow, reducing the risk of punching through the snow.)
After only a few steps, the snow collapsed beneath my feet! With immense horror, I smashed through the snow bridge that covered a crevasse. The skis I was carrying slipped from my hands, onto the ground, while I sank helplessly into the abyss. In a fraction of a second, I braced myself against the crevasse walls, managing to stop my fall.
My head was about 50 cm from the edge of the crevasse. A visceral fear consumed me... I was alone on Logan, in a crevasse, and nobody knew my position. I pushed with all my strength with my feet. My back leaned on the opposite wall. It was a fight for my life. I tried to pull myself out of the void with my ice axes, but the surface was friable and my axes could not bite. I realized the walls might collapse at any moment! But, in times of life and death, panic is not an option if you are to survive.
From the corner of my eye, I saw one of my skis just above me. Somehow, I managed to grip the ski and use it as an anchor to hoist myself out of this nightmare. I escaped the crevasse, horrified and shaken. My heart beating wildly, I was alive. But, I was still so far from the safety of my tent.
Monique on a previous expedition with her ice axes. Ice axes are critical tools for the alpine.
As I continued my descent, it suddenly became impossible to keep going. At the last moment, something inside told me to STOP - just as the tips of my skis touched emptiness... I discovered it was impossible to go down, left, or right… and, because the icefall between camps 2 and 3 was such a dangerous maze, going back up was not an option either. Instead, I evaluated the height of the drop in front of me and concluded it would be best to jump. The terrain below appeared far less rugged and dangerous than the options to the left, right, and behind me.
First, I threw my skis across the open pit, hoping they would land and remain in a safe spot. Now, with a key piece of equipment waiting for me on the other side, I was absolutely committed. I took a good breath, gritted my teeth, and jumped. That moment seemed like an eternity, flying above the slopes of Mount Logan... Although the height was not too great, the landing was brutal. The shock of the impact projected me forward, my face against the icy snow. I was stunned, my face bruised, but incredibly relieved to be unharmed.
With immense relief, I finally reached and took refuge in my tent. I was shaken, hurting both physically and psychically... The reality of what I had just lived caught up to me and I burst into tears.
For two days I stayed in my tent to digest these difficult moments and to question the relevance of continuing this ascent. Little by little, though, I refocused on my objective, regrouped my senses, my vital energy, my motivation, and found the courage to overcome the doubts and the fear.
Then, the wind began to blow and the first flakes started falling. Logan was sending me its first storm. I knew what it meant and I had to resign myself to barricade in the shelter. I plunged into my down to wait for the end of the storm that lasted six days.
After the storm, I needed to leave the confines of the tent and set out again. Due to a very limited weather window, I adopted a “light and fast” strategy, still taking my high altitude boots with me because of the cold. I went up the icefall again, and at one point, barely avoided being dragged into an avalanche. But, finally, I set up camp 3, using a simple bivouac tent, at 4,838 m.
The bivy tent.
From there, I knew I would have to progress quickly because the weather window was limited. I skied away from camp 3, bypassed camp 4, crossed Prospector Col at 5,400 m, and carried on toward the camp 5 site (5,100 m), the last one before the summit.
Camp 5 is a new world, a new environment, very hostile. I quickly deployed my bivouac bag, boiled some water, had a meal and slipped into my sleeping bag, still wearing my down one-piece. The mercury dropped to far below zero and the wind was extreme. I was here, alone, on the summit plateau of Logan – not far from where my partner and I had to retreat in 2017. Just a few days ago, being alone was terrifying as I escaped from the crevasse. I questioned this choice during those two days of mental and emotional recovery in the tent. But now, in camp 5, even in this hostile setting, being alone sparked deep joy and reminded me of my coveted freedom.
On the morning of May 30, 2018, it was time to see if I could finally realize my dream. In fact, that morning, I was uncertain. I was tired physically. The temperature was freezing. I lacked sleep. My diet and hydration were marginal. But, my morale and motivation were still strong.
After a quick breakfast, it was with great difficulty that I managed to get my bruised feet into my frozen boots. I tried to take the road to the summit but the cold was intense. My feet froze. I had to turn back several times to camp to warm myself. It was a hard start, but after two and a half hours I was skiing hard towards the top of Mount Logan.
The climb took several hours and, finally, I arrived at the base of the last section towards the main Logan summit. At about 300 m from the summit, I took a break to evaluate the situation. To my astonishment, dismay, and disappointment, the summit was enveloped in clouds. I faced the greatest moment of doubt yet. Should I turn back? Will I have to give up Logan again?
I assessed things carefully because a storm or a whiteout could be fatal during the descent. But, currently, there was no wind. I took advantage of these stable conditions. The summit was before me; I go!
Adjusting my strategy again, I got rid of all the non-essential gear, lightening myself to the maximum. I made a cache with my equipment, including my skis, and all non-essentials. I started to climb with crampons and ice axe poles. Rather than making a detour to the crest (following the least steep path), I opted for a direct line to the summit, in alpine style. I climbed with all my energy, as quickly as possible. In this moment, I was in symbiosis, a state of grace. It was epic and the most intense 300 m of my life! It was a mystical moment, beyond time, beyond myself. I was in a flow state.
I began to believe the summit was possible.
At 2:38 pm, I reached the summit of Mount Logan. There was no sign of life for kilometers around. My heart exploded in this immensity. I was at the highest point of my beautiful country.
Camp 5 is a new world, a new environment, very hostile. I quickly deployed my bivouac bag, boiled some water, had a meal and slipped into my sleeping bag, still wearing my down one-piece. The mercury dropped to far below zero and the wind was extreme. I was here, alone, on the summit plateau of Logan – not far from where my partner and I had to retreat in 2017. Just a few days ago, being alone was terrifying as I escaped from the crevasse. I questioned this choice during those two days of mental and emotional recovery in the tent. But now, in camp 5, even in this hostile setting, being alone sparked deep joy and reminded me of my coveted freedom.
On the morning of May 30, 2018, it was time to see if I could finally realize my dream. In fact, that morning, I was uncertain. I was tired physically. The temperature was freezing. I lacked sleep. My diet and hydration were marginal. But, my morale and motivation were still strong.
After a quick breakfast, it was with great difficulty that I managed to get my bruised feet into my frozen boots. I tried to take the road to the summit but the cold was intense. My feet froze. I had to turn back several times to camp to warm myself. It was a hard start, but after two and a half hours I was skiing hard towards the top of Mount Logan.
The climb took several hours and, finally, I arrived at the base of the last section towards the main Logan summit. At about 300 m from the summit, I took a break to evaluate the situation. To my astonishment, dismay, and disappointment, the summit was enveloped in clouds. I faced the greatest moment of doubt yet. Should I turn back? Will I have to give up Logan again?
I assessed things carefully because a storm or a whiteout could be fatal during the descent. But, currently, there was no wind. I took advantage of these stable conditions. The summit was before me; I go!
Adjusting my strategy again, I got rid of all the non-essential gear, lightening myself to the maximum. I made a cache with my equipment, including my skis, and all non-essentials. I started to climb with crampons and ice axe poles. Rather than making a detour to the crest (following the least steep path), I opted for a direct line to the summit, in alpine style. I climbed with all my energy, as quickly as possible. In this moment, I was in symbiosis, a state of grace. It was epic and the most intense 300 m of my life! It was a mystical moment, beyond time, beyond myself. I was in a flow state.
I began to believe the summit was possible.
At 2:38 pm, I reached the summit of Mount Logan. There was no sign of life for kilometers around. My heart exploded in this immensity. I was at the highest point of my beautiful country.
Monique Richard, solo, on the summit of Mt. Logan, May 30, 2018.
I was ecstatic, jubilant. I cried with gratitude and joy. On Logan, I truly listened to myself. I drew on my experience to make decisions, trust my instincts, and make preparations.
Although I have summited several peaks in the Himalayas, Mt. Logan is an incredible, majestic mountain with a wild side and, my highest summit to date. To top it off, I arrived there alone.
After fully taking in the achievement, I knew that reaching the summit was only halfway. Quickly, I deployed the maple leaf, marked a GPS point, took a few selfies and videos, sent messages, and started my descent.
During the descent, I concentrated on skiing due to dangerous ice patches. As a result, I descended too low, realizing that I had to go up a 300 m sub-summit to find my tracks. My stress levels increased because another storm was approaching and the batteries of my GPS were nearly depleted.
I managed to find my way back to my tracks and, ultimately, to camp. On the day I reached the summit, I covered a total of 18 km in 14 hours at high altitude. At around 1:30 a.m., exhausted, I found my bivouac tent, but still had to spend hours melting snow and eating before rest.
The next day, I continued on to Prospector Col, still in a hurry to avoid the approaching storm. However, I was exhausted and the batteries in my GPS were now gone. I decided to take the time to recharge the batteries in my devices. After a few hours, I realized the cables were broken due to the cold – recharging was not going to happen. As evening approached, I spent the night near the Col, planning to leave early the next day. But, during the night, the weather worsened and I became stuck.
At this point, I realized that the situation was becoming critical and that continuing in the storm with zero visibility, without a GPS, while tired, would not be possible. I recognized a deteriorating situation and knew that continuing in these conditions would be reckless. I also could not escape the memory of that terrible night on Mt Rainier in 2016 when my dear friend Arvid died of hypothermia during a storm.
Before going past the point of no return, I made the difficult decision to call for help.
Due to my position on the mountain, the options available to the authorities were limited. They asked the two climbers, who were now at camp 3, to come and help me get back down to camp 4, where the evacuation would take place. When the climbers reached me, I was in my bivouac tent, tired, but conscious and responsive.
We managed to ski back to camp 4 where I was able to hydrate and eat. About 45 minutes later, a helicopter came to evacuate me, taking advantage of a brief opening in the weather. I was happy to have made this decision, and to have kept the flexibility and energy necessary to not be a burden to the rescuers. I was still alive and intact.
This flight allowed me to contemplate, from the air, the magnificent Mount Logan – that sublime and wild mountain that had been my battlefield for over the past two weeks. From above, the splendor of the Saint-Elias Mountains touched me and the view was extraordinary. I felt grateful, at peace, and alive.
I am very grateful to everyone who contributed to my evacuation, especially Stéphane Gagnon and his son Guillaume Gagnon, and the Parks Canada staff who coordinated and carried out the evacuation.
I would also like to thank and salute the audacity and vision of the Argentine mountaineer Natalia Martinez for the inspiration she gave me during her solo attempt on Mount Logan's East ridge in 2017.
I will always remember this as an epic expedition. I had to trail blaze from base camp to the summit and from summit to Prospector Col under hostile conditions. The exceptional isolation, the extreme cold, the terrain covered with crevasses and seracs, the risk of avalanche and terrible weather conditions, were all factors that tested me like never before.
Mount Logan is a beautiful, wild, immense, and hostile mountain and I was able to take the full measure of it during this solo expedition. This is the highlight of my entire mountaineering life to date. I went to the end of myself on this mountain, surpassing everything I had previously imagined. I also experienced humility, mystical exaltation, great happiness, and, above all, freedom. From this experience, I became convinced that passion can overcome doubts and fear.
Common Climber thanks Monique for sharing this very personal and emotional version of this record-setting expedition as the first woman to summit Mt Logan solo. A trip report on this solo expedition is also being published in the 2019 editions of the American Alpine Journal and the Canadian Alpine Journal.