Several groups of climbers were behind us as we had descended toward the ridge. They converged to lend assistance. Some of them had erected a tent, and a young man led me to it. He told me to get inside to warm up. As I sat there alone, I tried without success to comprehend what had taken place. It was like a bizarre nightmare, and I fully expected that I would awaken and all would be well.
Another climber leapt into the tent behind me. He asked me my name, told me his, and said that he was a firefighter from Florida who was climbing with another team. I asked about Chris, and all he knew was that several climbing guides were trying to work their way down the steep cliff where Chris had fallen in an attempt to find him. He asked me about injuries, and I then realized that my shoulder hurt where I had landed on it when I toppled over. He checked it, and said that it was bruised, but not broken or bleeding. I was able to move it without too much pain. He told me to bundle up and stay warm, and left the tent.
As I sat alone in the tent, I realized how cold I was. I was shivering, every part of my body chilled to the bone. My fingers were the worst; they were actually aching. I hunkered down in the sleeping bag, begging for warmth.
Emotionally, I was a mess. I knew that Chris’s situation was dire. I also realized that it was my fault. Balled in a fetal position alone in a tent somewhere on the upper reaches of Denali, I cried uncontrollably.
Approaching voices caught my attention. Soon, Mike and Meegan appeared at the entrance to the tent. They climbed in, and explained that Phil and some guides from other expeditions had gone down the mountainside where Chris had fallen in a rescue attempt. However, the storm made their task nearly impossible. The blinding snow made for poor visibility, while the voracious winds made moving on the steep icy slope tricky and dangerous. Given the circumstances, there was little hope for Chris.
I could see that Meegan and Mike were also extremely distraught. In one sense, I wanted to be alone in my misery, but on the other hand, it was good to have others to share my grief. “It was my fault,” I told them. “This would not have happened except for my mistake.” They told me not to blame myself, and that Chris had un-roped himself and then walked past them to see why we had stopped. Meegan explained that she had watched as Chris approached the edge, and she screamed as she saw Chris being hurdled off the mountain by the sudden gust of wind. I realized then that what I had seen off to my side was Chris as he flew down the steep slope past me. Despite having a better understanding of what occurred, I felt miserable.
After a while, Phil arrived with Ellen and Romulo. Phil told us that he and other well-experienced mountain guides had done their best to find Chris but, due to the appalling weather conditions, they were unable to locate him. Phil said that we had done nothing wrong, and that it was important for us to work together to get safely home. I had not realized it, but the tent we were in was set up back at the High Camp at 17,200 feet where we had begun the day. Phil, Ellen and Romulo set up another tent. Phil explained that we would ride out the storm with three of us in each of the two tents. These tents are designed to hold two people comfortably, so it would be cramped with three occupants, but we did not anticipate staying at the High Camp for very long. Meegan squeezed in between Mike and I, while Ellen and Romulo joined Phil in the other tent. Phil brought us some hot water and some food, and, while none of us had any appetite, we did our best to eat and drink, and the hot fluids helped warm my frozen body.
The night passed miserably, and sleep was impossible. The jubilation I had felt after reaching Denali’s summit was replaced with dark despair. We talked about Chris and the accident throughout the night. Making it the more painful for us was the realization that Chris could have gone home when he took Dennis back to Base Camp. Phil had given Chris the option of leaving, but he elected to return to be with us. We all loved Chris, but because he was closer to Mike and Meegan, his absence was having a profound effect on them. Needless to say, it was a wretchedly long and sleepless night for all of us.
He cried in a whisper at some image, at some vision--he cried out twice, a cry that was no more than a breath: “The horror! The horror!”
Joseph Conrad – Heart of Darkness
June 7-Sorrowful Day at the High Camp
There is no difference between night and day. The inside of the tent remained light throughout the night, darkening slightly during the dusk hours. Sleep had come in brief intervals, and each time I awakened from the stupor, it was with a sorrowful recollection of the day’s events. Try as I may, I could not shake the thoughts of the vile events from my mind.
Any thought of moving to the lower camps was dispelled by the weather. Again, it was windy and snowing. Phil seemed as anxious as we were to move out of here, but when he poked his head into our tent to give us hot water to make drinks, he told us that we would have to sit tight. He did say that we would keep an eye on the weather, and if the storm passed, we would make our move. I did not think I could sit through another day. At this altitude, our bodies continued to deteriorate, the boredom was mind-numbing, and we were all in depressed states of mind. I realized that it would be foolhardy to attempt to descend in this weather, and resigned myself to try to keep a positive attitude.
Mike and Meegan were good company, and I got to know them much better through our forced stay together in the tent. I admired them for undertaking this venture together, and told them that if they could survive this adventure, then their upcoming marriage could endure anything.
I continued to struggle to understand what happened to Chris. Logically, I could assemble the facts in my mind, and I comprehended the events, but I could not fathom why he was dead. It still seemed like a strange nightmare, and it made no sense to me. I questioned my decision to embark on this journey on this deadly mountain. That made no sense to me either.
To alleviate the weakening of our bodies, and to ease the boredom, we took turns venturing out of the tent from time to time. Of course, it was a major undertaking each time we did this. We had to put on frozen boots, heavy mittens and outer clothes, unzip the tent door, jump out into the blast of wind and cold, then zip the tent door back up as quickly as possible. We went out to shovel snow off the tents, to go to the bathroom, and to stretch out. Although it was a miserable process, doing this helped not only physically, but psychologically as well. It broke the monotony of lying in the tent, and it gave me a chance to think about the tasks at hand, rather than to sit in the tent worrying about our plight.
Mike tried once again to contact his students, but his efforts proved fruitless. It had been a long time since he had communicated with his class, and Mike was concerned because he knew that his students would be worried.
As the day wore on, despite the lack of an appetite, I forced myself to drink water and eat snacks. Not intending to be here for long, we did not assemble the mess tent and ate in our tents. Phil brought us slices of salami, cheese (which I dislike but ate), apples and other goodies. We also had our individual supplies of candy bars. I knew that we were fine, but worried that if the storm continued, we would run out of food or fuel, which we needed for the stoves to cook and to melt snow for drinking water. We had stored food and fuel at the lower camps below us for the trip back down, and we had some here, but none of the groups at the High Camp were stocked with more than a few days’ worth of supplies. The winds continued to rock the tents, and I wondered how much they could handle before being shredded apart. Even though we were in no immediate danger, when sitting in a tent under these circumstances, one’s mind tends to dwell on the worst.
Mike, Meegan and I continued to talk about Chris and the horrific tragedy throughout the day. It was almost as if we were discussing someone’s awful nightmare, and the realization that it was all too true sickened me. We realized that at this point there was no hope for his rescue, and that Chris had fallen to his demise.
When the weather did not improve, it became certain that we would have to stay here for another long day. Morbidly, in my despondent state of mind,
I began to believe that we were trapped here, that in fact we could not get back down and no one could rescue us. The situation was probably not that dire, but I surrendered to the idea that my life would end here, frozen and buried in a tent at 17,200 feet up on Denali.
It is the part of men to fear and tremble,
When the most mighty gods by tokens send
Such dreadful heralds to astonish us.
William Shakespeare – Julius Caesar
June 8-Descending the Deadly Ridge
During the night, the wind had diminished. Looking outside, I saw that it was no longer snowing. Phil had arisen earlier and walked out across the plateau toward the ridgeline. When he returned, he told us that we would pack up and move out. Although my mood improved slightly, I still felt numbed and drained of emotions. Mechanically, I joined the others in packing up our belongings.
Chris’s absence was conspicuous as we lined up as we had before. We attached the rope to our harnesses and set out on our journey down, Phil in the lead. Although it was overcast and breezy, it was not snowing and the conditions seemed favorable.
As we neared the ridgeline, my heart pounded and my breathing grew more labored. I willed myself to focus on my footing and made sure that my crampons were stomped securely into the ice and snow. When we reached the ridge and turned left to proceed down it, I magnified my cautious efforts. We inched downward, my heart pounding as I tried to force myself to watch my steps, to stay focused, and not to think about the horrible accident that had happened right here just two days before.
The renowned mountaineers, Lou and Jim Whittaker, had an incident occur near this same spot. The Whittakers had not climbed Mt. McKinley, so they went there in 1960. Along with their friends and climbing partners Pete Schoening and John Day, they reached the summit in what was then an incredible record time of four days. However, they had not properly acclimatized, and began having difficulties on the descent from the summit. All roped together, they fell from near the top of Denali Pass at 18,000 feet, and slid down the wall about 500 feet. While the Whittakers were shaken up but otherwise uninjured, John Day had fractured and dislocated both ankles, and Pete Schoening was semiconscious, having taken a blow to the head.
They were at 17,300 feet and the temperature was 35 below zero. Since John Day could not walk, they dug a hole in the snow, put him into two sleeping bags, and secured him in the hole. They began hiking toward their tent, which was at their camp located below them. In Lou Whittaker’s words:
We came to a ridge at 16,800 feet, above our third camp at 16,200 on the West Buttress. We were at a place where the ridge becomes extreme and you have to go either to the left or the right. Going to the right led to the 3,000-foot wall above Peters Glacier. The route to the left sloped down a 1,500-foot wall toward our camp. I was about 60 feet behind Jim and Pete. There were no footprints, but my Boy Scout memory training was still intact. I had memorized the slope on the way up. I was quite sure that we were to go to the left of the ridge, and my twin felt the same. Pete said no, we go to the right.
After a brief argument, Pete went right and the Whittakers went left, in the same direction that we were then heading. They made it back to the tent and rested for a short while. Realizing that Pete Schoening was disoriented, Lou Whittaker roused himself to go get him. Jim had been beaten up in the fall and was not doing well, so he remained in the tent to rest. Lou ascended the route and, after a while, found Pete sitting on a rock outcrop just below the edge of the 3,000-foot cliff that rose above the Peters Glacier, his feet dangling over the edge. Lou carefully assisted Pete down to the camp.
John Day was rescued after a dramatic helicopter landing near the spot he was dug into. The other members of the party were able to safely descend the mountain.
I believe that my fall, and Chris Hooyman’s subsequent plummet down the icy wall, happened near same place as that described by Lou Whittaker, as his narrative sounded eerily similar. Sadly, the consequences for us were much worse than they had been for the Whittakers’ party.
We continued to work our way along the rugged edge of the ridge line, gradually and deliberately advancing toward the top of the Headwall. Eventually, we reached that point without incident. Phil directed us to take a short rest there, and we drank some water and nibbled on candy bars. While I faced the previous descents of the Headwall with great apprehension, I was now glad to be there. I knew that the safety and relative comfort of the Basin Camp was just below.
Our break was brief, and after reminding us to proceed carefully, Phil started down the Headwall. Again, I marched cautiously, one step at a time, making sure that my footing was secure. With immense relief, we slowly worked our way back down to the Basin Camp. After some difficulty locating our cache, which had been buried under the deep snow, we set up our tents.
Although I had not realized it at the time, as we descended, four National Park Service rangers ascended from 14,200 feet up to the site of Chris’s fall. There, they put 900 feet of fixed rope down Chris’s fall line, and two rangers went down and searched for hours. They found nothing.
While relieved to have made it safely down to the Basin Camp, Phil’s face revealed his pained emotions. Almost immediately, some climbers approached Phil and spoke with him in hushed tones. Phil told us that he had to leave for a few minutes, and walked away with them.
When he returned, Phil explained that he had been to the ranger station at the Basin Camp to discuss the details of the accident. He told us that they were searching for Chris, but the hunt had been hampered by bad weather. He asked us to go to the ranger station and tell the rangers what we knew about the accident. So Meegan, Mike and I trod across the broad plateau of the Basin Camp to the ranger station.
A ranger greeted us, and asked us to come in one at a time. When it was my turn, I entered and sat on a chair. There were a couple of young men who asked me to tell them all that I knew and had observed about the incident. They were polite, quietly understanding and patient, one of them jotting notes as I spoke. After explaining what happened, I left, and we silently returned to camp. It was difficult for me to talk about Chris’s accident, but I realized that would not be the last time I would do so.
It was all still very strange and dreamlike. I could not yet fully comprehend what had happened. I just wanted to awaken from this dreadful bad dream and escape from the grasp of this mountain.
Sitting outside my tent in camp, I felt as if we were the focus of attention. I could see climbers in other groups looking our way and talking among themselves. Although I doubt it was the case, in my mind I believed that I was the center of the attention, that the other climbers there had identified me as the culprit, the cause of Chris’s death. More than anything, I just wanted to get away. I wanted to go home.
There is no exquisite beauty without some strangeness in the proportion.
Edgar Allan Poe (quoting Francis Bacon) – Ligeia
June 9-Down to the Base Camp
Better weather arrived in the morning, so we decided to move down the hill. Phil again spoke with other guides and a ranger, and then told us we needed to pack up. Our plan was to hike all the way from here down to the Denali Base Camp. It would be a long day, but I was in fairly good spirits knowing that we were going to be homeward bound.
Thus, we trudged across the Basin Camp toward Windy Corner. We marched downward in quietude until we arrived at one of our caches. There, we loaded up the gear we had left behind, ate some of our food, and then moved on. It was a miserably long day, exhausting hours of plodding along, and we spoke little, each of us enmeshed in our thoughts. Even though we trekked through some of the most spectacular scenery on the planet, I was indifferent. I became annoyed. My pack was uncomfortable. I was tired. I could not wait to reach the Base Camp. Apathetically, I crept along.
Although it seemed as if we were going slow, we made good progress in descending, plunging down the mountain at a fairly rapid pace. It was amazing that we had covered so much ground, while t
he ascent had been insufferably slow.
One of the disappointing features of a descent of Denali is the aptly named Heartbreak Hill. Although the large part of the descent is downhill, the section leading directly into Base Camp is a gradual incline. After suffering an exhausting day descending the mountain, most climbers become utterly frustrated by Denali’s last punch. It was physically and mentally trying to overcome this last obstacle. Eventually, though, with Phil urging us on as we struggled uphill, Base Camp came into view, and with renewed enthusiasm, we strode into camp.
The Base Camp was crowded. Most of the occupants were like us, waiting for their flights off the mountain. Others, however, were starting their expeditions. We set up our tents, ate some food, and relaxed. It felt good to be here.
After getting settled in, Phil went to the Base Camp manager’s tent to check in. When he returned, he was met by a couple of officials from Rainier Mountaineering, Inc. I am certain that they were there to discuss the accident, as well as to check on us. Other than being emotionally and physically exhausted, we were fine.
The challenge then became getting off the mountain. Phil had radioed in to Geeting to request the planes to come the next day. Except for the tents, sleeping bags and other essentials we would need to spend the night, we began packing up our gear for the trip home. After dinner, we sat around for a bit and talked about our expedition. Then, it was off to sleep, with thoughts of a steak dinner, beer, a hot shower and a warm bed dancing through my mind.
Tears in the Wind Page 12