Tears in the Wind

by Larry Semento

  Climbing down from the ridgeline, the rangers descended the steepening wall, encountering sections of hard ice in the process. They spotted patches of blood, and followed those downward. The rangers were not roped together. Realizing that he was in a predicament, having reached a huge section of steep, hard blue ice, with difficult footing and poor visibility, Tim Hurtado stopped and anchored himself to the wall. He maintained voice contact with the other ranger, Mike Vanderbeek, but soon heard the sound of “nylon on ice,” after which he lost contact with Vandeerbeek. Mike Vanderbeek had also fallen.

  Over the next four days, a major rescue effort ensued. Extreme weather hampered attempts for the first few days, and then it cleared. The Canadian climber’s body was recovered. Although they found his pack and many of his personal items, Mike Vanderbeek’s body was not located and was presumed lost in the bergschrund or a crevasse on the Peters Glacier far below.

  As we sat in our tent, I looked over at Dennis and saw that he was in pain. Dennis had been really struggling over the past two days. He had purchased new boots for this trip, and they continued to cut into his ankles, which were now painfully raw and bleeding. His situation had not improved today, and he told me that he was considering turning back. Dennis had a long talk with Phil and weighed his options. Since he was in obvious pain, and saw no hope of improvement, Dennis made the extremely difficult decision to return home.

  Chris volunteered to hike back down to Base Camp with Dennis, together with a climber from an RMI party who was also having difficulty. They would leave in the morning. Dennis and I discussed his leaving, and it was distressing for both of us. We had gotten to know each other very well, and had become good friends. Part of the joy of mountain climbing is the friendships that one develops, and Dennis was a true example of that. Undoubtedly, I would miss his company very much.

  Since he was returning to civilization, Dennis offered to take messages back home for us. Mike wanted Dennis to contact his students and tell them that the satellite phone was not operating properly, that everything was alright, and that he would try to contact them by cell phone once we were higher up the mountain. We all had messages for our families, telling them that we missed them, that they were in our thoughts constantly, and that we loved them very much.

  That night I had a strange dream. I dreamt that I had gone home from the mountain to spend the night there. In my dream, I was extremely anxious because I wanted to stay home, but I had to return to Denali early the next morning. Actually, this was the third night in a row that I had a dream similar to this one. Each time, I dreamt that I had gone home and worried about having to get back to the expedition. I dreamt of spending time at home with my family, but was consumed with anxiety about returning to my group on the mountain. Each dream was as vivid as real life. I woke up very distressed. I do not know whether it was the effects of our physical exertion or the increased altitude, but I truly felt that I was losing my mind. I told no one in my party about these dreams for fear that they would think my sanity had abandoned me. After the expedition, I learned that these dreams are not uncommon, and are probably the result of a high level of anxiety mixed with a low dose of oxygen.

  Eastward the dawn rose, ridge behind ridge into the morning, and vanished out of eyesight into guess; it was no more than a glimmer blending with the hem of the sky, but it spoke to them, out of memory and old tales, of the high and distant mountains.

  J.R.R. Tolkien – The Lord of the Rings

  May 27-A Very Windy Corner

  Again, there was a heavy snowfall last night, but the weather looked pretty good. As we ate breakfast this morning, we talked with Dennis about his impending departure. Although he was very disappointed to have to turn back on what was likely his last attempt at Denali, Dennis seemed to be relieved by the certainty of his decision to abandon the attempt. I am sure that he wondered whether he could have continued the expedition, and how the disability of his lacerated ankles may have impacted the rest of the group. In any event, his internal struggle had ended and it appeared that a burden had lifted from him, and I knew that he had made the right decision. Still, I was sad to see him go.

  As Chris and Dennis prepared to descend, we packed our gear for a carry up to 14,000 feet. After breakfast, we bid our final farewells to Dennis. It was heartbreaking to watch Dennis and Chris gradually fade in the distance as they marched downward, following our ascending footprints. In a way, though, I envied Dennis, because soon he would be returning to the comforts of home. We all dearly missed the typical substances of our daily lives we too often take for granted: hot showers, warm beds, cold beer, decent meals, and the companionship of friends and family.

  As we considered our plan for the day, I reflected on how I was doing so far. It was gratifying to realize that I was keeping up with the group and actually felt as if I was performing better than I anticipated. So far, so good.

  We packed up the gear that we would carry to the higher cache, which included food, fuel, and other items no longer needed at the lower camp. Lugging gear to leave in a cache was necessary but unsatisfying work. There was simply too much weight to carry safely on the steeper slopes we would encounter higher up on the mountain. We really had no other choice but to haul equipment up there and leave it until we were able to move up to retrieve it.

  Romulo and Ellen joined us. Since Chris was not there to assist Phil, they agreed to follow our rope team, which was now short two climbers. It was good to have their company.

  The route commenced with a climb up the steep Motorcycle Hill. The sun was shining and the weather was very good, and it actually became awfully warm as we ascended the sharp incline. For our efforts, we were rewarded with stunning views from the top of the hill. We continued on in our typical expedition fashion, proceeding slowly and meticulously, one step after another, taking short breaks for snacks and drinks every hour or so. After topping the hill, we crossed a broad plateau approaching the section of Denali known as Windy Corner.

  Aptly named Windy Corner is the point at the top of the plateau where the route turns abruptly around a corner created by the West Buttress, which rises sharply above. Winds are ferocious on this part of the mountain. Chris and Phil had warned us about Windy Corner, telling us that it was rarely without strong winds. When we ascended Motorcycle Hill and the plateau above it, we had gotten warm and stripped down to cool off. I was unaware that we were approaching Windy Corner. As we did, the winds were blowing and gusting, and it became incredibly cold. The snow underfoot had given way to blue ice, probably as a result of the incessant winds. We continued to move up slowly. As we did, we were pelted by hard bits of ice which were being shot across the slick slope by the wind. They stung as they hit my face, and it felt like bees were stinging me. The pain was intensified by the fierce cold. As the body struggles to maintain warmth in cold temperatures, blood is sacrificed from the extremities to keep the body’s core--the brain, heart and lungs--at a normal temperature. Thus, fingers, toes, ears and noses freeze first, and mine were getting mighty cold. While we had been rather warm a few moments earlier, now the force of the cold wind made us shiver, and we struggled to zip up jackets that were open and to pull hoods and hats over our heads.

  We surmounted Windy Corner and, since we had been climbing for most of the day and the group was tired, Phil elected to put our cache in at an altitude of 13,500 feet rather than to continue to push up to the camp at 14,200. Actually, it is not unusual to do that, as the 13,500 foot area provides a relatively safe and secure location. There were several other caches made there. We placed our duffel bags in an abandoned cache after first digging it out with our snow shovels.

  As we worked on placing our cache, I noticed that there was a tent set up nearby. After a while, two climbers emerged. They looked disheveled and dispirited. The climbers came over and spoke with us, explaining that they were Canadian, and that one of them had fallen into a crevasse just above this camp site. Although he was extracted from the crevasse without injury,
the pair had lost some essential equipment, including their stove and a sleeping bag. Unfortunately for them, their trip was over as they had to abandon their effort to scale McKinley. They were simply trying to muster the energy for a voyage back to Base Camp. There was nothing we could do for them, and we bid them good luck.

  Until we got higher up on the steeper part of the mountain, crevasses were a major concern. I recalled all too well reading about a deadly crevasse incident on Denali involving the renowned mountaineer, Jim Wickwire. An attorney from the State of Washington, Jim pursued an active and successful climbing career. In 1978, he became the first American to summit K2. Located in Pakistan, K2 is known as the “Savage Mountain” because of the difficulty of the ascent and its high fatality rate. On the descent, he was forced to take emergency shelter at an altitude of 27,750 feet, spending a bitterly cold night in a nylon bivouac sack. Although debilitated and miserable, he miraculously survived.

  To prepare for an expedition to Mt. Everest in 1981, Wickwire went to climb Denali with Chris Kerrebrock, a 25-year old guide on Mt. Rainier. Taking a different and more difficult route than the one that we were on, they were roped together with a sled carrying supplies tied between them, crossing the Peters Glacier. Glaciers appear flat and solid, but they are actually rippled and moving. The surface of the glacier will often rupture, creating a crack that can sometimes be hundreds of feet deep. Called crevasses, these fissures vary in width from a few inches to up to 65 feet. Often they are visible and easy to avoid. However, they are sometimes undetectable, hidden by snow or ice.

  As they crossed the Peters Glacier, Chris Kerrebrock suddenly toppled head first into an unseen crevasse. The sled behind him snapped into the gap behind him. Knocked off his feet, Jim Wickwire was also suddenly yanked into the crevasse. Chris was upside down, his body and heavy pack wedged between the walls of the crevasse, with the sled and Jim on top of him. It was impossible for Chris to move.

  Jim had broken a shoulder in the fall. With movement limited by the cramped space, Jim was able to dislodge the sled from on top of Chris, took off his snowshoes and put on his crampons. He realized that he had to extradite himself from the trap so that he could try to rescue Chris. Chipping indentations into the icy wall and using the points of his crampons, Wickwire was able to slowly climb out of the crevasse. In the meantime, Chris remained entombed in the crevasse, calling out for help.

  Jim spent hours and tried everything in his power to rescue Chris, but could not get him out. His attempts to radio for help were futile, because they were in such an isolated location. Finally, realizing that he could do no more and conceding that rescue was impossible, he stayed by the crevasse, where Chris slowly perished. Chris, an avid trumpet player, asked Jim to place the mouthpiece of his trumpet on the summit of Mt. Everest. Wickwire promised that if he did not do it, someone else would. Shivering in a nylon bivouac bag on the glacier, injured and racked with guilt and remorse, Jim heard Chris singing songs as he slowly passed away. Demonstrating the difficulty of the jam that Chris Kerrebrock was in, it took several rangers an entire day, chipping away at ice and using pulleys, to remove Chris’s body from its icy grave. A few years afterwards, Phil Ershler carried through on Wickwire’s promise and buried Chris Kerrebrock’s trumpet mouthpiece on the summit of Mt. Everest.

  Although Mike and Meegan seemed to share my feeling of sadness for the Canadian climbers we had just met, the Denali veterans, Phil and Chris, didn’t have much sympathy. This was something that I had observed throughout the expedition; while we clients were often concerned for the plight of other climbers, whether it be these guys or those many poor souls that had passed us descending the mountain because they were turned back by the weather, Phil, Chris, and the other guides we encountered took a more detached and matter of fact approach. They asked questions to learn as much information as they could about the trail or weather conditions, but did not become emotionally involved. I began to understand that they had to maintain this detached attitude during expeditions. Clearly, they had us and themselves to be concerned about, and could not be distracted by the difficulties of others.

  Regardless of their unemotional attitudes, the guides were quick to assist others who were in trouble. This was expected as general mountaineering protocol. If other climbers are in danger, the guides will readily jump to assist, regardless of whether it is a minor injury or a major search and rescue. Further, if there is trouble, we clients may have to help. This mountaineering etiquette is true on all mountains, not just on Denali.

  Our return to our camp at 11,000 feet was uneventful. Again, I was exhausted after a long day, and fell into a deep sleep.

  Hours slide by like minutes. The accumulated clutter of day-to-day existence--the lapses of conscience, the unpaid bills, the bungled opportunities, the dust under the couch, the inescapable prison of your genes--all of it is temporarily forgotten, crowded from your thoughts by an overpowering clarity of purpose by the seriousness of the task at hand.

  Jon Krakauer – Into the Wild

  May 28-Alone in a Tent

  I awoke again to awful weather. It was very cold and snowing to the point that visibility was limited to a few feet. As usual, I slowly emerged from the warmth of the sleeping bag, reluctant to stir, but anxious to see what the mountain had in store for us today. I heard voices from the other tents, and we soon began discussing the weather. Phil, as usual, was cautiously optimistic, and advised that we would sit tight to see how the weather turned out.

  Last night was the first that I spent alone in the tent. I considered Dennis’ leaving with mixed feelings; on one hand, I would miss him badly, but on the other, I would enjoy the extra room in the cramped tent. However, even though I had more space, it was remarkably colder without another body in the tent, and I had difficulty sleeping because of that. It just was not the same, waking up without Dennis there to greet me.

  Although there are planned rest days during the trip, they were not anticipated until higher up on the mountain. We were now on our third day of inactivity, all on account of the poor weather. We still had plenty of time, but it was disconcerting to know that we had lost three days of climbing due to poor weather.

  We spent this day much the same as the others, reading and sleeping in our tents, and enjoying our meals together in the cook tent. The mood of the group was somewhat dismal, considering that the weather had been so uncooperative. Hopefully, we would move up the mountain tomorrow.

  There is no hill that never ends.

  Maasai proverb

  May 29-The Basin Camp

  Good news greeted us as we arose. Phil announced that the storm had passed and that we were ascending to the 14,000-foot camp. We quickly assembled in the cook tent for breakfast, and Phil gave us our instructions, telling us that we would pack up as soon as possible then proceed up to set up camp. We would then return to retrieve our cache of supplies which we had placed at 13,500 feet a couple of days ago.

  The Basin Camp is a milestone. Located at 14,200 feet, it is situated on a huge plateau protected in part from the weather by the immense steep wall of the West Buttress. It is called the Basin Camp because it appears to be one-half of a huge bowl, with the wall of the West Buttress rising nearly 2,000 feet above. Across the plateau from the wall, the flat plain drops sharply. The lip of the plateau at this drop-off point is called the Edge of the World, and the mountain plummets several thousand feet here. I remember Dennis telling me about this spot, and showing me a photograph of him sitting on a rock, an apparent plunge in the earth below him, with a panoramic vista of snow covered mountains in the background. When I saw that photograph, I wondered if I would ever reach that spot. Hopefully, I would today.

  With Dennis and Chris both gone, we roped up with Phil in the lead ahead of me, Meegan behind me, and Mike at the end. We set off at our usual slow and deliberate pace, one step, a deep breath, and then another step. We retraced the route that we had taken two days ago, but this time the climbing seemed easier. As usua
l, we hiked for about an hour, and then took a break for a drink of water and a snack.

  A major difference between this expedition and others I have taken was that Phil now gave us minimal instructions. On my earlier expeditions, he instructed us on how to use the “rest-step,” locking the knee to briefly rest the leg while the other foot steps up, so as to take the pressure off the muscles and put it on the bones; how to “pressure-breathe,” deeply sucking air into the lungs so as to maximize oxygen intake, while forcefully blowing the air out when exhaling, thereby increasing the pressure in the lungs; how to hydrate properly by drinking water profusely at each break; and how to take in as many calories as possible by eating on breaks. On prior trips, Phil had carefully demonstrated proper rope, crampon and ice axe techniques. I understood that on Denali, however, such instructions were unnecessary. This was not a training expedition. Phil knew each of us and our climbing abilities, and he trusted that we had the basic skills needed for a Denali expedition.

  After hours of climbing, we reached the location of our cache. We took a break, then, using the snow shovels, dug open the icy cache to remove some items to carry up with us, and we opened our frozen duffel bags to remove some gear that we would leave in that spot, primarily food for the trip back down. I noticed that the snowfall had buried a large part of the bamboo marker, and worried about how we could locate our gear on the way down if a huge snowstorm ensued.