Retrospective

The Maroon Bells

Elk Mountain Range, Colorado

"Dude, please--they're called long-term bivy sacks."

-- A Mountain Rescue colleague who objected

to my use of the word "body bags"

"In my end, is the beginning."

-- Mary, Queen of Scots, 1542-1587

"When you die it negates the whole game: you haven't just fucked yourself, you've hurt lots of other people--that's when it becomes irresponsible and tragic."

-- Greg Child, famous Australian climber

We recently did a mission out here, a vanilla search and rescue for a missing skier.  They disappear all the time out in the Mt. Baker Wilderness, especially in autumn, winter, and spring.  This poor guy had skied up onto a cornice, and it had collapsed underneath him; his wife said that he was 20 meters from her and "just disappeared."   We found his body two days later.

Then there's the friend of my dad's, back in about 1977 or so.  He was a peak-bagger in Colorado, and more particularly, a bagger of 14'ers: someone who tries to summit every one of the 54 Colorado peaks that are higher than 14,000 feet.  One weekend, he'd topped out on one of the two Maroon Bells, which are renowned for their awful, crappy rock.  He was walking back down the trail, far past the difficult and dangerous sections, when the part of the trail that he was on sloughed off and slid down a vertical face, 1000 feet.

Trail in the Mt. Baker Wilderness,

in summer

A friend of mine was climbing a difficult route in Eldorado Springs and got off route.  Instead of downclimbing, she kept going, onto territory far out of her ability.  She told me later that she put in two pieces of protection, a good microcam (a kind of spring-loaded device that goes into parallel cracks), followed by a brassy (very small brass nut) in a suspect notch.  She climbed five feet higher, and then fell.  The brassy pulled out, spinning her sideways and upside-down, but the cam held.  She impacted the rock wall on her side, and her belayer reported on the 911 call that "she's unconscious and blood is streaming out of her helmet."  She survived that one.  Barely.

The worst climbing accident to ever happen to me occurred when I was ten years old.  I lived in a valley, and sandstone cliffs marked its boundaries.  A friend and I decided to friction up one side, which (looking back on it now) was an easy climb, but somewhat silly for a couple of preteens to attempt.  We got about halfway up when my friend started lobbing down loose rocks; one hit me on the forehead.  I said "OW!" and put my hand to my head; he looked down, freaked out, and took off.  I looked at my hand and saw blood all over it.  Funny, it didn't even really hurt.  I almost bled out that day, but managed to make it back to the house (and completely freak out my mother, for what it's worth).  Since then I've taken a lot of truly epic falls, but never been as badly injured as that.

Once, though, I almost walked off a cornice.  On a big peak.  I was leading the ropeline: me, my friend Bob, and my Colorado rock/ice climbing partner Gabrielle.  We were on the summit of a "little" peak in Ecuador: at a mere 19,500', it didn't really count for much as Andes peaks go.  There were really good views up there, or so I'm told: we were in a total white-out at the top.  We enjoyed our rest at the top, and then started for the first rappel.  It seemed like we walked for a long time, and I paused.  Bob called out "stop.  stop.  This is too far."  The fog and mist and blowing snow parted for a moment -- just a moment -- and I saw clouds below me, directly in front of me, not 20 feet away.  I was standing on a cornice, Bob was on the border, and Gabrielle was the only one on firm land.   We high-tailed it back, got our bearings, and made it off that mountain.

We think we've got things figured out, in our daily lives, but if there's one thing that these experiences have taught me, it's that we don't.  We just don't.  I suppose that's yet another reason why climbing is so vital and real to me:  it's a simple thing, to put a foot up another few inches and stand upon it, but in that motion lie some deep truths and pressing realities that are all too easy to lose sight of in the repetitious grind of daily life.

Be safe.