Tears in the Wind

by Larry Semento

  That evening, I shared a tent with Phil. I could see that he was very distraught. He said that in all of his years of guiding, he never had a client seriously injured or killed. I thought of what a remarkable record that was. Phil told me that I had done nothing wrong, and it made me feel better to know that he did not believe that I caused Chris’s fall. He sadly shook his head, and I knew that he could not stop thinking about Chris and the tragedy that ended his life.

  I wondered if this incident summoned Phil’s memories of the death of another climber who was close to him. In 1982, Lou Whittaker led an American expedition through China to climb Mt. Everest from the north side of the mountain. In addition to Jim Wickwire and a few other experienced mountaineers, he selected several experienced guides from Rainier Mountaineering as part of the climbing team. Phil Ershler was one of them. Another was Marty Hoey, a preeminent female climber. Hoey had worked with RMI as a guide for years, and was well known for her climbing abilities, strength and stamina. She was also extremely personable and well-liked by climbing clients and other guides. Marty was the only female in the Everest climbing team, but was as capable and able as any of the male climbers.

  Working on a rope team with Jim Wickwire as part of the summit party, she and Wickwire approached a rock at about 26,000 feet up. They were just below two other climbers on a 45 degree ice slope, and visibility was poor. The climbers above called out for some rope, and Wickwire began unraveling it. Hearing a snap, Wickwire looked below him to see Hoey falling backwards down the slope. She slid head-first backwards down the icy incline, attempting unsuccessfully to grab the fixed rope as she skidded. Marty fell to her death, crashing 6,000 feet down the Great Couloir all the way to the glacier below.

  Marty Hoey’s death had a tremendous impact on Lou Whittaker, Jim Wickwire, Phil Ershler and the other expedition members. Lou Whittaker later wrote: “After the rage came the disappointment, sadness, and incredible loneliness. I felt like the heart of the expedition had stopped beating. Many of us questioned whether mountaineering was something that we would follow in the future.”

  After her fall, Wickwire saw Marty’s ice axe and harness, which was lying there open and attached to the fixed rope. It appeared that she had neglected to loop her harness belt back through the buckle, which would have held her harness fast and prevented her fall. This method of securing the harness was drilled into us by our mountain guides and is something that we were always reminded to do. In reviewing photographs after the incident, they learned that Hoey sometimes failed to follow this procedure.

  Although I did not speak with Phil about that incident, I knew that it had to trouble him, and I am sure that he was keenly aware of the similarities between Chris Hooyman and Marty Hoey, and their accidental deaths. Both were proficient climbing guides, and their climbing accidents appear to have been caused by human error; in Chris’s case, he un-roped himself, while Marty did not properly secure her harness. And both were friendly, popular and well-liked individuals, whose deaths left many grieving in pain.

  When you part from your friend,

  you grieve not;

  for that which you love most in him

  may be clearer in his absence,

  as the mountain to the climber

  is clearer from the plain.

  Kahlil Gibran - The Prophet

  June 10-Stuck on Denali

  A gloomy grey sky hung over the distant mountain peaks as I stepped out of my tent. The wind was blustery, but not awful. Phil said that we would have to wait to see if the planes could get through to retrieve us.

  I stared at the landing strip, a rutted line of snow and ice along the glacier, willing the weather to allow our airplanes to arrive. We heard the distant growl of the engine of a plane, and saw some climbers in another group hurry excitedly toward the runway. The plane bounced to a landing and, after the climbers loaded up, they took off. But that was it for the day. The weather deteriorated, and no one else was able to fly from the Base Camp.

  Once again, we spent the day sitting around camp, taking an occasional sightseeing tour to relieve the boredom. And once again, I burrowed into my sleeping bag, hoping that I would be gone from Denali tomorrow. As time slowly ticked by, I grew despondent, feeling as if the mountain had me trapped. I wanted to get off, but she wouldn’t let me go.

  It is good to have an end to journey toward; but it is the journey that matters in the end.

  Ursula K. Le Guin

  June 11-Flying to Talkeetna

  I woke up with renewed hope. The weather seemed to have improved by morning, although grey skies lingered. Phil again radioed the flight service, and Geeting Aviation gave us good news. They would try to send the planes in for us today. However, they wanted to wait a bit to assure that weather allowed them to fly.

  Again, I was on the edge of my seat. I wanted nothing more than to go home. I was beaten physically and emotionally. So once again, I stared at the runway and hoped.

  The day passed again much the same as yesterday. Phil told us to pack everything up, including the tents, so that we would be ready to go. We perked up when we heard the drone of a buzzing plane coming in, and when it landed, three climbers from another group pitched their gear in and bounded aboard. The engine rumbled away. I tried to be happy for them, and felt guilty when I didn’t. That should have been us, I jealously thought.

  A few more planes landed and took off in similar fashion. I was beginning to lose hope that ours’ would arrive, as the hour was getting late. Phil called us together. Meegan, Mike, Romulo, Ellen and I stood in a semi-circle. “Geeting is sending someone to get us, but the weather is still dicey,” he said. “Let’s be ready to go.”

  As we waited, Phil spoke privately with an RMI guide. Afterward, we overheard mention of a serious accident that day on Mt. Rainier. Later, I learned how severe it was.

  An RMI guided team was descending from the summit of Mt. Rainier. Two rope teams were clipped into the same fixed rope. They descended from the summit, and were at an altitude of 11,200 feet. There, the climbers were hit by an avalanche from above, causing them to tumble down to a steep, icy rock cliff. Thrown by the force of the avalanche, all of the climbers were strewn out across the cliff, and one, Patrick Nestler, fell substantially further down than the others. Sadly, Nestler died from the exposure. Through a Herculean rescue effort, all of the other climbers, nine in total, were saved, some with minor injuries, while other were more seriously hurt. Given what happened on our expedition, I am sure that the report of the Mt. Rainier incident added to Phil’s misery.

  Time came to a standstill as we waited for the plane. Finally, after what seemed like hours, we heard the distinctive whine of the small ski-plane’s engine. Phil told us that because the weather conditions had deteriorated, only one plane could get through this evening. Thus, only three of us could go, while the others would have to remain behind at Base Camp to await planes the next day. We began a discussion of which three climbers would fly out.

  Phil said that he would remain for the next flight. All of us offered to stay, though I silently prayed that I would leave then. Finally, he decided that Ellen, Meegan and I would take this plane.

  The pilot guided the bouncing plane along the landing strip. We hurled our bags in as soon as the door opened, and then quickly jumped aboard. We waved goodbye to those left behind and bounded along, the plane struggling to gain speed for the takeoff. Eventually, we lifted into the gray clouds. I could see that the pilot was completely focused on controlling the aircraft, which bobbed furiously in the invisible winds. Through leaden skies, the plane groaned to gain altitude as it passed through the majestic mountain peaks, bouncing roughly as it did so. Under normal conditions, I would have been terrified on such a bumpy flight, but I was calm then, my sensations numbed by the events of the past few days. Hell, I thought, if we crash and I die here, so be it. This is not a bad place to go.

  The flight continued through the darkening grey skies. Eventually, we reached cruising alti
tude and continued onward toward Talkeetna. Silently, we all gazed out of the small windows at the incredible scenery of these beautiful mountains, each of us lost in our own deep thoughts.

  We bobbed to a safe landing on the paved airstrip in Talkeetna. We all cried out in joy, leapt from the plane, and removed our duffel bags. I wanted to kiss the ground. As I grabbed some gear and walked toward the hanger, I felt an odd sensation, and realized that this was the first time in several weeks that I was not walking on snow. The familiar hollow “crunch, crunch” sound of walking on snow, much like the sound of grinding Styrofoam, was gone, as I felt nothing but solid ground underfoot. It was a very strange feeling.

  We loaded the group gear in the hanger. Doug Geeting welcomed us in the office, and told us that the other planes had not been able to get to the Base Camp. Phil, Mike and Romulo would be stuck there at least until tomorrow. We gathered our personal gear, and then made the short walk to the hotel. There, we checked in. Again, it was a strange sensation; for weeks, we had been outdoors. Now, as I stepped into the hotel room, everything felt different. Throwing my bag on the floor, I sat on the edge of the bed, completely drained and exhausted.

  The first order of business was a shower. I had dreamt of this moment from early on in the expedition. As I stripped my clothing off, I gagged at the odor of my clothing and body. I had worn the same underwear and long johns 24 hours a day since the beginning of the climb three weeks earlier. My clothing reeked. My unbathed naked body looked thin and ghastly white. It was another strange sensation as I stepped into the hot shower. I felt an incredible comfort as I let the hot water run over my head and body. It was good to get warm and clean.

  I met Meegan and Ellen in the restaurant for dinner. The cold beer tasted great. I took a few sips, and then stepped into the phone booth to call home. I didn’t even think about the time difference and realized that it would be late evening back in Florida. Still, I needed to let everyone there know that I was alright. My wife answered the phone, and I told her I was back at the hotel, safe and sound. She told me that she knew that we had made it to the summit and that an accident had occurred on the descent, and she was aware that someone from our group had died. She was extremely relieved to hear my voice, and promised to call friends and family to let them know that I was fine. I asked about my children and she told me they were worried about me, but were all well. My youngest daughter was away on a church mission trip and I assumed she knew nothing about our adventure. I felt better having spoken with the folks at home, knowing that they were thankful to learn that I was fine.

  Back at the restaurant, I joined Ellen and Meegan at the bar. We all mentioned how wonderful our showers were, and studied the menu. I was salivating with delight; every item looked scrumptious. I ordered a burger and fries, and, after devouring that in record time, ordered chocolate cake for desert. My companions laughed at my appetite, but they ate well too. After finishing, we returned to our rooms for the evening. Climbing into a warm bed was another very unusual feeling, as I hadn’t slept in a bed for three weeks. Although it was not very late, I turned off the television and lights and fell into a deep sleep.

  Peace and rest at length have come,

  All the day's long toil is past;

  And each heart is whispering, "Home,

  Home at last!"

  Thomas Hood - Home At Last

  June 12-Home at Last

  After a restful sleep, I met my companions for breakfast. Meegan told us that she had not heard from Mike, meaning that the rest of our group was still weathered-in at the Denali Base Camp. Meegan and Ellen were going to stay and wait for the others. I elected to go home.

  Before leaving the Base Camp, knowing that I had to return for work, Phil told me that I should feel free to leave once I got back to Talkeetna. Phil said that he would ship me any of my gear left in the group duffel bags. After breakfast, I called the transport service for a ride to the Anchorage airport.

  It felt very strange to bid the others farewell. I hugged each of them, gave them my best wishes for a safe return home, and hopped into the van. Soon, I was on the long road to Anchorage.

  The ride across the broad expanse of the Alaskan countryside was soothing. Although there were others in the van, I kept to myself and enjoyed the quietude. After many days of strenuous mental and physical activity, it felt good to do nothing. I turned back to look for Denali, but the grey skies hid it from my view. I wondered if Phil and the others had gotten off the mountain.

  At the airport, I went to the ticket counter to find a flight home. To my chagrin, there were flights to Orlando, but they were fully booked. I arranged to fly stand-by, and hunkered down in the waiting area. It was a long wait. Again, I grew anxious and fell into a state of despair. Several flights left without me. Finally, after many hours had passed, they called my name.

  The lady at the counter told me that she had a seat available for me on the next flight. Excitedly, I strode up the platform. The stewardess on board pointed me to my seat. “First class,” I said in disbelief. Finally, after waiting so long to fly out of here, my luck had taken a turn for the better.

  A young girl, probably 10 years old, sat in the seat next to me. “Are we in the right place?” she asked. I told her I wasn’t sure, but this is where they told us to sit. She smiled up at me, apparently mature enough to appreciate our good fortune. After settling in and looking forward to the most comfortable flight of my life, a stewardess approached and told the girl and me that we were seated there in error, and she asked us to step off the plane. At first, I protested, but realized that was fruitless. I was heartbroken. The young lady and I hiked back into the terminal. After complaining to the clerk at the counter, they found seats for us in the back of the coach section. Oh well, at least I was on an airplane heading for home.

  I dozed off and on as we worked our way homeward. We touched down in Minneapolis, our scheduled first stop, and I went through the same process there--waiting not so patiently for the next flight to Orlando. Finally, I boarded my airplane and was underway. Again, I slept fitfully and without great comfort for the better part of the voyage, and was glad to hear when the pilot announced that we were making the approach to Orlando. It was about 9:00 p.m., and completely dark outside. After a month without total darkness, this too, was a strange sensation. As we landed, I said a silent prayer of thanks for my safe arrival. I wanted nothing more than to reunite with my family and return to the peace and quiet of home.

  Unfortunately, it was not to be. As I stepped out of the tram into the Orlando airport terminal, I was met by a bank of reporters, the bright lights of the cameras nearly blinding me. I couldn’t imagine what was going on. Why were all of these people here?

  In rapid succession, the swarm of reporters fired questions at me. Realizing that I was the center of their attention, I did my best to answer them, but quite frankly, I was in a fog. I looked around and noticed my wife, my daughter, Nicole, and several other family members, some holding “Welcome Home” signs. I was confused. Why were all of these reporters here? The frenzy lasted a few minutes, and then the members of the press suddenly departed. Finally, I was reunited with my family.

  I was very happy to see my daughter, Nicole there. She has always been intelligent, mature and loaded with common sense. Amid the confusion and hubbub at the airport, she was a reassuring voice of reason, and it was very comforting to have her there. I missed my children very badly, and couldn’t wait to unite with all of them. Slowly, we worked our way out of the airport and into the car, and, at long last, home.

  It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out where the strong man stumbled or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred with dust and sweat and blood. At best, he knows the triumph of high achievement; if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who knew neither victory or defeat.
/>   Theodore Roosevelt

  Return to the Real World

  My fingertips are numb as I drum them on my wooden desk. Across from me, piled high, are stacks of files. Most of them contain pressing matters that need my immediate attention.

  But my attention is not on those files. It is focused on my fingertips. It is a strange sensation, every finger on both hands numb only at the tips. The rest of my hands feel fine. I wonder when the sensation will return. I wonder what will happen if it doesn’t.

  I am suffering from frostnip, which is an initial stage of frostbite. Frostbite is dangerous and can become serious and debilitating. In cases of frostnip, the skin turns either white or red, as it did in my case, and becomes very cold. Prickling and numbness follow with continued exposure to the cold. The numbness in my fingertips started a day or so after the accident on Denali, but, being otherwise occupied, I paid no attention to it and did not notice the numbness until after I started for home.

  Physically, I fared fairly well. After a few weeks at home, the frostnip in my fingertips subsided and I had numb fingertips no longer. I lost about ten pounds during the expedition. Even though I ate plenty, I burned many more calories than I consumed. My shoulder was still sore from my fall, but that, too, soon healed. The nail on one of my big toes had turned black. “Black toe” is a common problem for climbers, caused by the toe nails bumping up against the front of the boots while descending. This, too, cleared up after several weeks, although my nail is still, after all of these years, slightly deformed. Finally, I had an inguinal hernia that had to be surgically repaired.