Edward Whymper – Scrambles Amongst the Alps
May 23-Sitting Out a Snowstorm
Poor weather greeted us as we arose from our slumber. It was cold, windy and snowing. During the night, sleep was difficult because of the racket caused by the wind, which rattled the fabric of the tent so that it sounded like a machine gun. I would experience that racket throughout our expedition, but eventually grew used to it.
Snow had covered our tent and Dennis and I had to shake it off from inside. We got up for breakfast, and found that it had snowed about twelve inches. Our plan was to carry gear and supplies up to 11,000 feet today, but when Phil assessed the weather conditions, he announced that we had better stay put until it improved.
The general theory for climbing Denali is to move in poor weather on the lower part of the mountain, if it is not too bad, but to wait for good weather to proceed on the upper part. However, we were now experiencing nearly whiteout conditions, and it looked too dangerous to go anywhere, so we stayed put. After breakfast, we helped clear snow from our camp area using the snow shovels and our feet to stomp it down. We saw some other climbers slowly moving up the mountain past our camp site. “Hardy souls,” I thought, appreciating the fact that we were staying in camp as I saw them struggle against the blustery snow and wind.
There was not much else to do, so we went back to our tents to wait out the weather. At first, it felt great to return to the warmth of my sleeping bag. Dennis and I talked for a while, then read and listened to our tiny radios, which were hard to hear because of the static. Dennis explained that as we got higher up the mountain where the signals would not be blocked by the surrounding rock walls, our radio reception would improve. Thus, we passed time this way, occasionally leaving the tent to attend to bodily functions, to dig snow that had accumulated around our tents, or to visit the cook tent. It was snowing like crazy, and I was surprised by how rapidly it accumulated. Condemned to our tents for the day, all of us were bored stiff.
Going to the bathroom is a huge problem. To go out of the tent, one must bundle up. If you stay out too long “taking care of business,” exposed body parts become numb from the cold and lose all feeling. Imagine what it is like to use frozen fingers to wipe a numb backside. I promise you, it is no fun.
Built about twenty feet from the tents, our latrine on Denali consisted of a trash bag-lined hole in the snow. Walls built of snow blocks provided a modicum of privacy. When we moved our camp, we took the bag, sealed it, and threw it into a designated large crevasse. Since it is difficult to get up and dress to go out of the tent to urinate at night, we resorted to using “pee-bottles” for that purpose. For the males, this process is easy. Although I have no personal knowledge, I understood that the females had to use a type of funnel when using the pee-bottles. Of course, those bottles were clearly marked so that we did not confuse them with the drinking water.
Dennis had a thermometer, and checked the temperature inside the tent each night. As I curled up in my warm bag, he told me that it was twenty below zero. I knew it was awfully cold, but had no idea it was that bad. That was the last time that he looked at that thermometer.
Great things are done when men and mountains meet; This is not done by jostling in the street.
William Blake – Gnomic Verses
May 24-Fried by the Sun
The weather had improved by the next morning. It stopped snowing and warmed considerably. Phil announced that we would make a carry of gear up to about 11,000 feet, and, after a breakfast of Cheerios, bagels, and coffee, we happily set out. Since the weather was warmer, we were comfortable wearing only long johns while we hiked, although it was cold when we stopped for breaks. Remembering what Dennis had told me about "never being so hot, and never being so cold," I was again experiencing the hot part. I was sweating profusely, which annoyingly caused the sun screen to drip down my face into my eyes and mouth.
We all laughed at Mike. He had cut up the empty Cheerios box and, using part of the cut-out cardboard, fashioned a shield for his nose by attaching it to his sunglasses. Although it might have been effective for a while, it continued to slip down and didn’t last long.
During breaks, we drank water, snacked on salami, cheese, crackers and candy, replenished sun screen, and put sun block on our lips. Our exposed skin, particularly on our faces and hands, became chapped and sunburned quickly in the dry, cold and windy environment. The worst spot was always the bottom of our noses. Snot constantly ran from our noses, and the reflection of the sun from the glacial ice and snow magnified upward onto that exposed area. The bottom of my nose was constantly red and sore.
Despite all precautions, our faces continued to be reddened by the wind, cold and sun. We wore dark sunglasses or ski goggles all the time on the mountain, whether it was cloudy or clear. Ultraviolet radiation levels increase with altitude, and at heights above 13,000 feet, it can result in serious damage to the eyes. Our glasses and goggles did a great job of protecting our eyes from the effects of the sun reflecting off the brilliantly white snow, but we all wound up with a case of “raccoon eyes,” with the protected white skin around our eyes striking out in stark contrast to the red sunburned skin of our faces.
Sitting on my pack while enjoying our respite, I nearly broke a tooth when I bit down hard on my frozen candy bar. I should have known better. This was a continual problem throughout the expedition-trying to keep candies in a place where they would not freeze or melt inside my pack.
As we approached 11,000 feet, the scenery was spectacular. Nearby, sharp cliffs and snow-covered mountain peaks glowed brilliantly in the sunshine. Lush green of the distant flat, forested lands spread out below. What a remarkably magnificent place.
I noticed that it had also grown progressively colder, and the wind had increased. We soon had to put on heavier clothing to stay warm. We stopped and placed a cache in an open area that was free of crevasses, placing food and other gear into a couple of large duffel bags, then burying them in the snow. We then placed a few bamboo wands with small flags on them into the snow to mark our cache. We asked Phil if anyone would steal our goods. "No," he said, "climbers mind their own business, and this won't be disturbed unless it’s an emergency." After securing the cache, we began the hike back down to our camp at 9,000 feet to spend the night there, hoping to return up here the next day. The climb down, without heavy loads, was easy and it felt good to travel at a quicker pace.
Mountains are not fair or unfair, they are just dangerous.
Reinhold Messner – All Fourteen 8000ers
May 25-Denali Turns Deadly
We were greeted by a steady snowfall and brisk winds as we arose. Judging from the accumulation, it must have snowed all night. Phil assessed the weather, and told us that we would have to sit out the storm before moving. Waiting out the weather seemed to affect the morale of everyone in our group. We were anxious to move up the mountain, and it seemed as if each day detained at this relatively low altitude was truly useless. We again occupied ourselves by clearing snow around our tents and camp site, eating, conversing, reading and listening to radios. I spent a large part of my time in the comfort of my cocoon, wrapped tightly inside my sleeping bag, dropping in and out of sleep as the hours dragged on.
We heard from some climbers descending the mountain that search parties were attempting to locate some missing climbers. They said that a Canadian climber had slipped and fallen from the ridge line near the 16,000 foot level, and a ranger, who was on the ridge near him, went to search for the fallen climber. Both the climber and the ranger had disappeared.
Yesterday, when the weather was not storming, we heard helicopters far above us on the mountain. It was almost constant, the sound of choppers too distant to see. Phil told us that they were probably searching for missing climbers. We felt starved for information, and eagerly approached those descending climbers who paused to speak with us, gleaning bits of knowledge from each. However, from speaking with them, we learned little more than what we already k
new.
As we gathered for dinner in the cook tent, the mood was comparatively somber. The snow continued, but it did appear as if it was starting to clear. “It sure takes a lot of patience to climb this mountain,” I announced, rather philosophically. Phil said, “That’s right,” looking at me as if I had come to some significant revelation. The others nodded in assent. Although not very profound, I knew that was really a true statement, and if I could avoid becoming impatient, it would help.
After we had eaten, we bagged up our trash. As most of the commercial guides do, Phil encouraged us to practice “clean climbing.” This meant that we did not leave any trash or debris on the mountain. Our empty gas cans, boxes, paper wrappers, everything was bagged up and carried back off the mountain. Our poop was bagged and deposited into nearby large crevasses, to be ground into bits by the constantly moving glaciers. Rarely did we encounter other climbers’ garbage on the mountain, but if we did, we picked it up and carried it with us.
Although he had maintained communication at the beginning of the expedition, Mike tried several times to contact his class with his satellite phone, but it was not working properly. He was extremely disappointed that he could not communicate with his students and knew that they would be very concerned and worried when they hadn’t heard from him. He also had a cell phone, and he decided to call them once we got higher up the mountain where it might transmit without interference from the surrounding mountain walls.
Climbing is the lazy man’s way to enlightenment. It forces you to pay attention, because if you don’t, you won’t succeed, which is minor--or you may get hurt, which is major. Instead of years of meditation, you have this activity that forces you to relax and monitor your breathing and tread the line between living and dying. When you climb, you always are confronted with the edge. Hey, if it was just like climbing a ladder, we would have quit a long time ago.
Duncan Ferguson
May 26-Climbing into a Whiteout
I have never seen so much snow. As a child growing up in New Jersey, we had snowstorms and I have witnessed some deep snow, but that was nothing compared to this. It was unbelievable how much it had snowed during the past day and night. The door of our tent was nearly covered and we spent a considerable amount of time digging the tents out.
It was very cloudy, the sky was leaden and hazy, and visibility was extremely poor. The wind was blowing very strongly, making it difficult to walk about, but it was not snowing, so we decided to pack up and go.
We were glad to start moving from the 9,000 foot camp even though the snow was deep, which made travel very slow and difficult. Phil, using skis, was in the lead, and I was on the rope behind him, plodding along in snowshoes. Mike was behind me, then Meegan, Dennis and Chris, which was our usual lineup. Chris, like Phil, wore skis, while the others wore snowshoes. We were having a difficult time, as even with the assistance of the skis and snowshoes, we sank into the deep snow with each step that we took. Often, I dropped all the way down until the snow was over my knees. Walking was exhausting work. I thought that those behind me had a slightly easier time of it because Phil and I were clearing the way, but when I looked back, I saw that they were struggling as well.
Then it began to snow. Between the snow, wind and clouds, visibility became increasingly worse. It reached the point where we could barely see the person in front or in back of us. Although it was not a blizzard, the wind was whipping up the snow in blinding sheets. We were experiencing a white-out. If any climbers had preceded us, their trail had been quickly covered over by the drifting snow. Phil told us that had we been higher up on the mountain, we would not be moving under these conditions. He focused all of his attention on route finding. Other climbing parties had placed bamboo wands along the route, each wand having a small colored strip of material attached. As we proceeded slowly along, we all joined in searching for these wands.
Hiking in these conditions reminded me of my first climb on Mt. Rainier several years before this expedition. As a first-time climber, I was obviously very nervous. It was a large group of mostly novice climbers, and Phil led the climb, assisted by several junior guides. We packed up our gear, put on our backpacks and left the hut at Paradise, where the parking lot, hotel and facilities are located. We began climbing up the Muir snowfield, a long, upward sloping incline. Although the weather was fairly good at the start, it got progressively worse. Eventually, we were in a full-blown snowstorm. It was overcast, windy, snowing and cold. Our group had spread out, some faster ones with Phil up ahead, and some slower ones with assistant guides behind. I was about in the middle.
The guides began shouting at us to put our crampons on. Before this, I had no training or experience with crampons. As a matter of fact, I had no idea of how to put them on. I sat down on my pack, and a guide came along to assist me. Clumsily, with freezing fingers, I worked the straps around my feet and ankles, and eventually got the crampons secured to my boots. By then, the visibility was horrible.
I stood up, and saw no one in front of me. I looked back, and saw no one there either. I decided to go forward, and anxiously rambled onward as fast as I could go. After what seemed like an eternity, I spotted someone ahead of me. I quickened my pace and caught up, recognizing it as one of the climbers in our group. Soon, the slope steepened and I saw above me our destination for the day, the hut at Camp Muir. Breathing heavily from the physical effort and nervousness, as I approached the hut, I saw Phil standing at the door. I looked at him as I entered, and saw long icicles dangling from his mustache. I was never so happy to see a frozen face.
As we continued our ascent of Denali, Phil had a G.P.S. device, and he often stopped to use it to orient ourselves. We then set off again in the right direction. Once, when we stopped to search for a wand, we spotted something dark in the snow ahead of us. Thinking it was a wand, we approached only to find a small gray bird lying dead in the snow. Apparently, it had frozen to death. We saw several more of these unfortunate creatures during the day, causing Meegan to wonder aloud, “It’s hard to believe that these birds would be here even in good weather.”
Later in the day, the white-out conditions improved, the wind subsided and the skies cleared, and we found the going much better. As we took one of our breaks, Phil complimented us on how well we had done under difficult conditions. Not only was the climbing physically demanding because of the deep snow, it was difficult because of the poor visibility. There were times during the day when I wondered if we would be lost. Several times Phil had stopped and conferred with Chris outside of our hearing, and they appeared clearly concerned. What if we had wandered off track and gotten lost? What if we meandered into a crevasse? Although I had these frightening thoughts, I had great confidence in Phil and Chris. I wouldn’t have chosen anyone else to lead us, at that time or at any other during our expedition.
Other climbers passed us as they descended. We overheard one of the guides talking with Phil. He said that one group had spent seven days at a camp at 11,000 feet and then given up, returning to the Base Camp to go home. Obviously, that was very disturbing news for us.
Most of the day our route had risen gradually, but as we approached 11,000 feet, it inclined abruptly. Although the climbing became more difficult, we were rewarded with spectacular views. The weather had cleared, and we arrived at the relatively flat area where we had previously placed our cache. To our left rose the bulk of Denali’s West Buttress and, hidden from view, the summit. To the right, the mountain dropped off, with white clouds streaming in the invisible wind below. Further off, we saw the flat, open Alaskan countryside we had flown over on our way to Denali, with a narrow ribbon of a river winding its way through the forested lands before disappearing in the distance. Mike and I took out our cameras and snapped photographs. I was so enthralled with the view that I had not noticed that the rest of the group was busy setting up camp.
We placed our tents near the trail by our cache. When we finished setting up camp, I felt hungry and exhausted. Chris set up
the stove and soon had a pot of boiling water ready. As usual, the first order of business was a cup of hot soup. After that we enjoyed a hearty meal and hot drinks. We all ate until we were stuffed and, since there were some leftovers, Chris encouraged us to finish it up. As usual, Mike and I were the only takers. After a difficult day, it felt good to climb into the tent for the evening. If the weather permitted, we would carry a load of supplies to cache higher up the mountain, perhaps up to 14,000 feet. While we ate, we discussed the fact that many climbers had left the higher camps to return to the Base Camp. How depressing it must be, we agreed, to reach that altitude only to be turned back by bad weather.
As we turned in for the night, we again heard the sound of helicopters flying above us. Apparently, the search for the missing Canadian climber and the ranger was continuing. It was unsettling to hear this, but we were all well aware of the risks and did not dwell on thoughts of our own possible misfortunes.
Many months after our expedition, sitting in an easy chair in the comfort of my home, I learned what had happened. Deteriorating weather conditions had forced two Canadian climbers to abandon their summit attempt and descend from the 17,200-foot High Camp on May 24. Mike Vanderbeek and Tim Hurtado, two National Park Service volunteer patrol members, who are called “rangers,” were also at the High Camp. They descended on the same route shortly after the Canadian pair, and soon overtook them. Winds were steady at 30 mph, with gusts up to 60-70 mph, so they proceeded carefully. The rangers stopped from time to time to keep an eye on the Canadian climbers.
On a steep section of the ridgeline, one of the Canadian climbers slipped and fell. The rangers were about 100 feet further down the route, and were able to see the fallen climber 50 feet below the ridge crest, catapulting downward. The rangers radioed for assistance, and then went to the aid of the fallen Canadian climber.
Tears in the Wind Page 7