***
The Alpine followed Dr. Daniel’s track as fast as Jake could drive, which made for a less than pleasant ride for Susan and Lt. Richards, both of whom rode on the train of Nansen Sleds, which were being pulled by the Alpine. The sleds were named after the famed Norwegian explorer who nearly a century earlier had sledged across the Arctic. Exceptionally well suited to working in the Antarctic, they were everything except comfortable to ride on at high speed.
Jake had piled all the rescue equipment onto one sled, then attached three others in tandem, in the hope that the missing Russians could still be rescued and brought back to camp. Then he drove up the track to the work site to find the two. He called to them to get on the sled.
“Why?” Susan asked.
“I’ll tell you on the way.”
In most parts of Antarctica, the snow accumulates so little that tracks made in the sustrugi can remain for years. Dr. Daniels' outward track was like a highway for them to follow, and they moved rapidly over it with little fear of the untoward overtaking them while en route. They sped as rapidly as the conditions would allow, and in a matter of a couple of hours, they approached the area where the accident had occurred. Then they slowed down, picking their way through the hidden crevasses. They were soon able to see Daniels' caravan of sleds, at what must have been the lip of the crack, where the victims had fallen in. They arrived just in time to see the last of the three Russians, who were riding in the pulling vehicle, coming over the edge.
“Good to see you,” Daniels told them when the engine stopped. One didn’t spend as many years on the ice as he had without having acquired the skills to extract a victim who was within a climbing rope distance of the top of a crevasse. The three Russians were now on the surface, and Dr. Daniels' students were making a camp to get them warmed up and treated for their injuries as best as they could. Jake went to look them over as soon as the sled stopped.
“What do we have?” Lt. Richards asked of Dr. Daniels.
“Three apparent survivors. Two injured, not too seriously. One okay.” They looked at the three Russians, who looked back, but so far had said nothing though they looked relieved to be out of the ice.
“Survivors? Does that mean there are some who didn’t?” Susan asked.
“So it would appear. The pulling vehicle got wedged fifteen feet or so down. These three were in it. They were pulling a sledge that went in behind it. No sign of them. This one is deep,” Daniels told the three.
“How many on the sled?” Susan asked.
“Four.”
They walked cautiously to the edge and looked over at the wedged vehicle. The pure emptiness below it was all the evidence they needed to verify the story. Then they approached the Russians, and wasting no time on introductions Susan inquired, “Is there anything you can tell us about the others?”
Sokolov answered since the driver spoke nothing but Russian, and Gregore only knew a few words of English.
“Nothing. We tried to call, but there was no answer.”
“Did you hear anything during the crash - anything at all that might give some indication of how far down they went?” Susan asked.
“I am afraid not. Between our own impact and the sound of the engine, there was nothing,” Sokolov told them.
Jake thought for a moment, and then looked at Susan.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“It can’t go down forever,” she replied. “They’re there, somewhere.”
“True,” Jake agreed. “But how far?”
“The question is, how far can we go, before we have to turn back?”
“Exactly.”
“How much gear do we have?” Susan asked Jake.
“Depends,” Jake answered thoughtfully. “How much protection are we willing to live without on each rappel?”
“Wait a minute,” Lt. Richards said, realizing what they were talking about. “You’re not seriously thinking of going in there, are you? You can’t be.”
“I don’t see how we have much choice,” she answered. “Four men went down there. We may be able to save them.”
Jake hesitated while examining the Russians injuries for a moment, and watched Susan and the Lieutenant. He knew what the Lieutenant was thinking - had to be thinking - and felt sorry for him. He also felt relief that he didn’t have to feel that way, and silently congratulated himself on having the good sense to have avoided falling in love with Susan from the beginning. Then he considered for a moment, and knew it wouldn’t make any difference to him. What’s the point of being in love if you can’t descend into a bottomless crevasse on a daring rescue together? He knew that any relationship he was in that didn’t have that dynamic would be doomed from the onset anyway. Then again, just about any relationship he was in would be just as challenged.
“Say something, Jake,” the Lieutenant said.
Jake looked up and saw them both staring at him. He had stopped paying attention halfway through their discussion.
“About what?” he asked.
“Tell her that she can’t do this,” the Lieutenant said imploringly.
“Didn’t you already try that?” Jake said. He didn’t want to get in the middle of this and he knew better than to try and talk her out of it anyway. Besides, he needed her help. The victims needed her help. They had to at least try.
“Thank you,” Susan said. Then, turning to Lt. Richards, she said, “Don’t worry. We’re pretty good at this. We’ll be all right.”
Susan reached the bottom of the sixth rappel and twisted a hollow ice screw into the deep blue surface of the glacial ice. Since the walls of the crevasse were shear, smooth ice, there were no places they could find to stand for a moment and rest. This limited how far they were able to descend, since each rappel required a minimum of three screws, placed in what was known as an Abalakov, or V-Thread. If that were not the case and there were outcroppings of some kind to perch themselves on, they could use two screws per rappel, but since each placement was required to support the weight of both climbers, it just wasn’t possible.
The blackness of the dark was nearly complete. It was an odd situation made odder, due to the fact that she hadn’t known anything remotely close to darkness for weeks. The crack of light from the surface was just barely visible some three hundred feet above. There was still no sign of the sledge, and the walls were still smooth and straight. It seemed as if it could go on like that forever. When she was comfortable with the placement of the anchor, she hooked a carabineer to the screw, and looped an extra pair of webbing slings through the carabineers. While they were short of screws, there was no lack of slings, and she didn’t want the last seconds of her life to be spent in self-recrimination for being stupid. She attached herself to the slings, took her weight off the rope, and moved it onto the anchor. When that operation was complete, and she was satisfied that he had done everything correctly (she was perfectly aware that most climbing fatalities were due to simple mistakes), she called to Jake to begin his descent.
“How does it look?” Jake asked from above.
“About the same,” Susan answered.
When Jake got to where Susan was anchored, he went through the same procedure with the easy, fluid competence of someone who had performed the task countless times. She watched him work, trying not to flash him in the eyes with the beam from the light that was mounted on her climbing helmet, instead pointing it towards where he was working, adding the light to his own.
“Thanks,” he said when he was done.
“Don’t mention it, darling.”
Jake chuckled. “Save it. We’ll discuss all that later. Besides, I’m trying to be mad at you.”
“Of course you are,” Susan said, cajolingly. Despite the gravity of the situation, there was no avoiding the adrenalin driven thrill of descending into an environment few, if any, had ever been in. Again she was brought her back to her days of climbing in Boulder, when climbing for her was more a state of existence than an activity. Once
she was on the rope her senses became sharper, her awareness greater, almost euphoric, though controlled and channeled. And the conversation always took on a jocular, almost bravado tone, though uniformly light and humorous. It was easy to slip back into that mode.
Susan watched the light from Jake's helmet as he descended deeper into the chasm, listening to the tinkle of the metal tools knocking into each other. After a few moments, the chinking of the implements stopped and the light seemed to go out.
“Go ahead and come down,” she heard from below. “I’ve got something.”
She began rappelling down to where he was. When she was nearly there, she saw what Jake had found.
“Is there anyone in there?” she asked.
The sledge was wedged between the walls that began to narrow at that depth. It was upside down, and what was left of the tent portion was hanging from it.
“I can’t tell yet. Get situated so you can give me a belay.”
“Okay,” she said.
Susan used the last two screws to anchor herself. She then fed the rope out from her harness, which was the normal belay procedure, to Jake. If he were to fall, the stress would translate up the rope to Susan’s harness, and then to the screwed-in anchor. There is a chain of reliance: the anchor, the slings, the harness, the carabineers, the rope, the other person's harness. All of these must perform without fail. The climbers themselves are part of the chain, but mostly they provide the brains, or as Susan knew, the lack thereof.
“I’m going to try and walk out and look over the other side,” Jake said. “That seems to be where everything in there ended up. Keep the belay tight.”
“Got it. Belay-on.”
Jake leaned on the rope, letting Susan provide enough tension on it so he could walk almost vertically downward. When he got to where the tongue of the trailing sled was, he balanced gingerly on it, stepping from there onto the main platform. Then he let himself sink over the side of the sledge.
“Okay, hold there,” he shouted up.
Susan stopped letting out rope. “What do you see?”
For a minute, Jake didn’t answer, but Susan could hear him ruffling around in what was left of the canvas that was piled at that end.
“Nothing,” he said finally. “Coming back up.”
When he was standing back on the frame of the sled, he stood for a moment.
“They’re gone. Everything’s gone.”
“I guess we should start back up, then.”
There really wasn’t much else that could be said.
“Yeah, I guess so,” Jake agreed.
Jake started moving back over the framework. It was more difficult walking up on the frame; his crampons were slippery on the cold steel. There were braces on the frame where the points of the crampons could grab tenuous hold, and he took a long step to reach one. The sled must have been precariously balanced; the pressure of the step was enough to make it shift and Jake had not yet gained a firm foot placement on the metal. The settling movement of the sledge was enough to make him lose his balance and he began to fall.
“Falling!” he called out, which was the correct thing to do, though it was perfectly obvious to Susan who watched his every move. Susan instantly changed her posture from belaying to bracing, grasping the rope in both hands and driving them between her thighs. Squeezing her legs together as hard as she could, she prepared to take the impact before it came. When it did, her grip on the belay performed perfectly. The stress on the system worked its way back up the chain. The rope held. The figure-eight held. The harness held. The slings held. The screws did not.
The first one exploded out of the ice and caught her in the corner of her mouth. She could hear the tooth break under her lip. The weight then transferred to the second screw, much of the shock already having been absorbed by the first one, but not enough. By the time it broke free an instant later, Susan was able to assess the situation. Making sure that she had her feet square against the ice, she waited for the screw to give out before she pushed away from the wall with as much strength as she could apply. She saw that Jake had fallen on the same side of the sled as she was on, and that their only hope would be in her being able to launch herself over to the other side of the steel tongue of the sled. And to hope that it held.
She waved her arms like a long jumper, trying to hang in the air long enough to clear the tongue. She made it by bouncing off her rear end and somersaulting ass over teakettle to the far side. Though she was still falling, she knew that if she were to live long enough, she would regret that last maneuver. She grabbed the rope that held Jake, and hugged it. As quickly as she could she placed a carabineer over the rope on both sides to make sure that she didn’t get pulled over the top, and they were secure.
Susan and Jake hung without moving, catching their breath.
“You okay?” Jake called from below.
“Could be worse, I guess,” she answered. Her words were garbled from the blood in her mouth, but it was her hinder quarters that absorbed most of her attention. She would never again use the expression "pain in the ass," without serious consideration of what she was saying.
“Can you tie off the rope?” Jake asked.
“Hang on.” She anchored the rope that Jake was still hanging from and shimmied up the tongue until she was by the wall. The last two screws were still hanging from her harness. She twisted them into the ice and called for Jake to come up.
He climbed up the rope, using the Prussic loops that were attached to the rope. The Prussic maneuver is used to ascend a vertical rope. Two loops of small gauge rope are folded over themselves a couple of times, which makes a sling that tightens with pressure and loosens when freed. The climber who has fallen can use one loop on the rope to make a foothold. The other is attached to their harness. By shifting their weight back and forth, from the foot loop to the harness loop, a climber can ascend straight up the rope.
“You look beautiful,” Jake told her when he saw what the failing screw had done to her mouth. “Let me see what’s going on there.”
“I think it looks worse than it is. You can forget about examining me where it really hurts. I broke my ass on that sled.”
“I am the closest thing to a doctor there is around here, my dear,” Jake said, forgetting all about their current predicament, “and I’d be derelict in my duty not to make a thorough examination of any problems of that kind that arise.”
“Not going to happen. You ready to get out of here?”
Jake looked up. “Four hundred feet of pure vertical. This is starting to turn into a long day.”
“I would have felt bad if you didn’t get all you bargained for,” Susan said, glad to have the subject changed. “That was a pretty close one.”
“When it’s your time, it’s your time,” Jake said.
“Maybe it was your time, and I just happened to be attached to the other end of the rope.”
“Ah, a conundrum,” Jake said, amused. “If it’s my time and we are on the same rope, does your being there postpone my demise and cheat death, or do you get to come along for the ride?”
“I think you make your own time and I’m not interested in having you make mine,” Susan said. “Pay attention to what you’re doing, and let’s get going.”
“Very well, then,” Jake said. “Belay on.”
By the time they crested the lip of the crevasse, they were both too tired to joke.
The Pole of Inaccessibility Page 30