by Bob Madgic
But no relief was in sight.
HOOG WAS A long-distance runner, and whenever life became stressful, he turned to running as an outlet. Confident that Linda Crozier could manage with the others’ aid, he announced that he would go and get help. With that he left, intent upon sprinting to the ranger station in Little Yosemite Valley over four miles away. Pedroncelli, sensing he was no longer needed, followed Hoog down the cables.
Crozier accepted that no other help was forthcoming anytime soon. In her mind, she needed more control over the situation, more continuity in the care of the two victims. So she organized teams. She, White, and Clu Cotter would attend to Rice, and Miller and Brutus to Weiner; Bridges would remain at Esteban’s side. If any of the injured took a turn for the worse, Crozier reasoned, those who were closely attending him would be more apt to spot it. To supply nourishment for the group, Cage boiled water and cooked food on his camp stove.
Given the extreme pain in Rice’s right leg, Crozier feared it might be fractured or broken as a result of the severe muscle contractions that often accompany electrical injuries. His right foot was angled. She gently pulled the foot to straighten it out and then instructed White how to hold it in traction. Squatting, he grasped the foot with both hands at the ankle and lightly drew it toward himself by leaning his weight back, thus producing tension in the leg. This relieved Rice’s pain somewhat.
White asked Rice why he and his buddies had risked coming up there in the storm.
Rice proved as unyielding as ever. What he felt and was thinking he would keep to himself. That had always been Rice’s way, and apparently even this tragic incident would not dislodge him from his long-rooted stance. His clipped, muted response: We wanted to dance in the lightning.
Off to the side, Bridges sat with Esteban, who by now had become morose and stoic. He, too, was not talking, not responding to Bridges’s questions about what happened, and why. He’d withdrawn, tormented by the disastrous turn of events precipitated by their dash up the mountain. With brutal awareness, he now realized how wrong he and Rice had been in thinking that together they could meet any challenge; that overcoming fear was the way to reap life’s rewards. The suddenness, unpredictability, and ferocity of lightning were unlike anything they could have ever conjured up or overcome. He sat there, plagued by the harsh penalties wrought by their misjudgments. Two people had been killed. How would he ever get over that?
His outer face was indeed a stoic mask, but inside was the deepest pain anyone could ever feel.
There was nothing he could do now about what happened, except pray that neither Rice nor Weiner died as well.
BILL PI PPEY AND BRUCE JORDAN had wisely stayed below Sub Dome after the sixteen-year-old said he was afraid of the lightning storm. Karl Buchner and Steve Ellner also stayed below due to Ellner’s fears. Now they all hooked up and prepared to join their companions on the summit. They repacked their backpacks and began the ascent.
While climbing the stairs, they encountered a frenzied Hoog dashing down. He blurted out that hikers had been hit by lightning up on top, that he was going for help.
Ellner said: That’s it, I’m not going any farther. I’m out of here.
He headed back down. Pippey initially thought Hoog meant the strike had occurred some time ago, but Buchner told him no, it must have just happened. Pippey refused to believe that the incident involved anyone in his group. As he later stated, “I simply blocked that notion out of my mind.”
On the cables they met Pedroncelli coming down. Stammering, he reported that two guys got killed and one was a young kid, that two others were badly hurt. Pedroncelli also said he thought the group was from San Jose but wasn’t sure.
Those words stunned Buchner, Pippey, and Jordan. Buchner acutely felt Bruce Jordan’s presence right behind him; it was probably his brother who had been killed. In silence, the three continued their climb, the full weight of the unfolding tragedy now hanging over them like a landslide about to give way from above.
Dan Crozier, Linda Crozier’s brother, remembers that Hoog had a ghostly look on his face when he reached the camping area below Sub Dome and explained what had happened and where he was going. Like Hoog, Dan Crozier was in excellent physical shape and said he’d go with him. By this time, Pedroncelli had arrived; he remained with Jenny Hayes as Hoog and Crozier bounded down the terrain in dimming light with little regard for the trail.
As soon as Buchner, Pippey, and Bruce Jordan arrived at the summit and Rice saw them coming his way, he shouted: The kid’s dead, man, the kid’s dead! Frith fell over the edge!
Buchner absorbed the full impact of the news, then said: I can’t handle this.
He retreated back down the cables.
When Buchner joined Ellner at base camp, he couldn’t speak. His eyes, according to Ellner, were glazed over and blank, zombie-like. Ellner waited for Buchner to say something, anything. Then, as though a third person was speaking through him, Buchner told Ellner about the two deaths and how Weiner and Rice were all messed up.
Referring to Esteban, Ellner asked: How’s Adrian?
He seemed to be okay, Buchner replied.
Ellner: “At that point, I was just glad he was alive and that I was, too.”
He and Buchner chose to stay put for the night, out in the open without setting up their tent, but neither slept much. Each attempted to digest the horrifying news about their comrades whose care, whose very lives were in the hands of strangers.
On the summit, meanwhile, Pippey rushed up to Esteban and asked: Is it true? Is it true? Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.
Pippey was responsible for Brian Jordan coming on the trip. Now he was dead and so was Frith, and it looked like Weiner and Rice were going to die, too. The enormity of it all crushed Pippey. He stood planted in place, crying uncontrollably.
Bruce Jordan, as if he hadn’t heard the news, just stared blankly at the ground. Although the reality had dented his consciousness, a world without his twin brother hadn’t fully penetrated yet.
IT WAS 8:45 P.M. Darkness was settling over Yosemite Valley. On Half Dome, efforts to keep Weiner and Rice alive and as comfortable as possible continued unabated. Those caring for the stricken hikers also attended to each other.
All the activity was taking place just feet from the precipice. Pippey and Bruce Jordan were the most shaken by what had happened, and their mental states were the most unpredictable. White noticed that Jordan stood off in the shadows by himself, his blond hair, white shirt, and ashen face illuminated by remnants of the evening light, all of which made him look ghostly. He had shown no emotion so far. Given the psychological impact of what had transpired, there was a danger that yet another hiker might plummet over the edge, either intentionally or accidentally.
Crozier went over to Pippey, who was still sobbing, and grabbed him by the shoulders, shook him, yelled at him to get control of himself. It was important, she said, that he look out for Bruce Jordan. She told Pippey to take him to the middle of the Dome, a safe distance from the edge, and sit with him, comfort him, and keep him away from the first-aid area. She stressed that the pair were not to hike back down in the dark.
His shoulders still shaking, Pippey put an arm around Jordan. Together they ambled over to the broad granite saddle between two elevations on the summit.
Kolbenschlag, who knew Morse code from his pilot training, came up with the same idea Pedroncelli had earlier that evening. He stationed himself near the edge with a direct view of the campgrounds below and began sending an SOS with his flashlight. Fatigued from the climb and stress, he reclined in a sandy spot with his upper body braced against a rock and flashed a signal every ten minutes or so, closing his eyes and resting between transmissions. Zip Cotter, who had retrieved two cups of hot chocolate, spelled Kolbenschlag, and together they sent SOS’s intermittently over the next hour. It still wasn’t dark enough, however, for anyone down in the Valley to readily notice a faint emergency signal from Half Dome.
While dozing
at one point, Kolbenschlag was startled by something on his hand. He reflexively flung his arm up and out, and glimpsed a furry object—a chipmunk or similar creature—hurtling off the mountaintop with a pathetic squeal. When he came to his senses, Kolbenschlag felt awful about what he’d just done.
LINDA CROZIER continued to check Weiner’s and Rice’s pulses periodically to monitor their condition and stay alert for any sudden change. Every twenty minutes, she and Renee Miller also did a serial exam of the two men: Does this hurt? Do you have feeling here? Are you warm enough? Because the lightning strike had knocked Rice unconscious and because he was complaining of neck pain, Crozier feared that perhaps he had suffered a head or neck injury after all. She had Clu Cotter take over in keeping Rice’s leg elevated, and told White to hold Rice’s head immobile.
The leg wasn’t broken, Crozier concluded; rather, his pain— like the severe ache in Weiner’s legs—was due to burn-related internal problems aggravated by repeated cramping and swelling. The inflammation was stealing fluids from the rest of their bodies and made them crave water. But Crozier wouldn’t give them anything to drink because she worried their stomachs couldn’t absorb gulps of fluid. If they threw up, they might inhale vomit and suffocate, which sometimes happens to shock victims. Instead, to slake their thirst and prevent dehydration, she offered them T-shirts partially soaked in water to suck on.
Weiner cried out that he had to pee. Crozier asked Brutus to get a plastic bag so they could collect the urine for later examination by doctors. But when they helped Weiner into position, he couldn’t relieve himself. Although his bladder was full and his need to urinate overwhelming, the lightning probably traumatized his sphincter muscle, causing it to spasm and block his urinary tract. A more remote possibility was the blockage of his kidneys with burned blood cells, a condition that can trigger kidney failure. Weiner screamed in agony. Alarmed that his organs might be damaged, he became frenzied.
Rice yelled at him: Get fuckin’ control of yourself! You’re going to be all right!
The words had a calming effect on Weiner.
It was crucial that neither of them fall asleep, slip into semiconsciousness, or, worse, lapse into a life-threatening coma. By staying awake, they could respond to questions and communicate how and what they were feeling—a barometer of their worsening or improving condition. If either sank deeper into shock, Crozier would have to try a different medical tack. She called over to Este-ban and asked him to come closer and make sure Weiner and Rice remained conscious.
This snapped Esteban out of his own mental distress. He crouched near each victim and turned first to one, then the other, saying over and over: I love you, man. You’re going to be okay. You’re going to make it.
By now, Pippey was more composed, too. He offered to help Crozier. She inquired about Bruce Jordan, whom Pippey said had fallen asleep in his sleeping bag. Crozier asked Pippey to heat water for coffee, tea, or hot chocolate for anyone who wanted refreshment. It was important to keep him busy, she knew—to make him feel like he was contributing.
Nine o’clock. Only a faint glow silhouetted the western mountain ridges. As darkness took command, Kolbenschlag’s and Cotter’s more visible SOS signals by flashlight began to elicit responses from the Valley floor. Soon there were tens of lights blinking back from the campgrounds. But did anyone down there really know Morse code? Might campers be thinking this was merely a gambit, a playful exchange of light beams? Actually, in his exhausted state, Kolbenschlag had been flashing the wrong signal. In Morse code, SOS is dot-dot-dot, dash-dash-dash, dot-dot-dot. He had been transmitting dash-dash-dash, dot-dot-dot, dash-dash-dash, or OSO.
Pippey wandered over to where Kolbenschlag and Zip Cotter were and observed their signaling efforts. Like Pedroncelli, Pippey knew from movies what the proper SOS was. He detected the error and told Kolbenschlag, who promptly started flashing the correct signal. Soon one light brighter than the others began flashing in return. It was what Kolbenschlag was looking for—SOK, the code for “I acknowledge your call, will get help.”
When Zip Cotter shouted to the others that the SOS had been seen and rangers would be told, loud cheering erupted. Someone in the Valley now knew of their plight.
THE SENDER OF THE SOK contacted a park ranger, who quickly forwarded it to Jim Reilly, the supervising ranger that evening. He in turn dispatched John Dill, a park search and rescue technician, to investigate.
Dill drove to a parking lot near Mirror Lake, where there is a good view of Half Dome’s summit. He had no idea what this emergency was all about, but using a bullhorn amplified by a battery hook-up, he could gather clues by shouting questions to those on top. This was a standard communication mode for Yosemite’s search and rescue division when rock climbers got into trouble on a mountain face. Communicating this way with someone on the top of Half Dome was a first, however.
At 9:25 P.M., through his bullhorn, Dill instructed the signaler (Kolbenschlag) to blink the light once for “yes,” twice for “no” as he posed questions. Cotter was the relay man: He yelled the questions to Linda Crozier, fifty feet away, who shouted back answers for Kolbenschlag to translate into one or two blinks of the flashlight.
Is this emergency for real?
Yes.
Is anyone dead?
Yes.
How many?
Two blinks.
Is anyone injured?
Yes.
How many?
Three blinks.
Are the injuries the result of a fall?
No.
Is anyone bleeding?
No.
Are there broken bones?
No.
If you don’t receive help, will someone die?
Everyone on the summit could hear the exchange among Dill, Cotter, and Crozier, and everyone zeroed in on Crozier when Dill shouted up this last question.
Crozier: “I knew that if I said no and someone died that night, I would blame myself for it, that I didn’t do all I could have. Until I had to respond to this question, I hadn’t needed to think this way. When I shouted yes, it was as if we all accepted that, yes, it could happen.”
Kolbenschlag flashed one blink to Dill. Moments passed without a response.
Then Dill repeated: If we can’t get to you tonight, will someone die?
Cotter again relayed the question to Crozier. Why had Dill asked it twice? Did it mean they weren’t going to send help?
With all eyes on Crozier, she hollered more resolutely this time: Yes!
There was an extended pause down below. Dill then shouted up that he would get back to them.
When Cotter relayed Dill’s final statement, a collective sign of relief could almost be heard from those on top. Help was in sight —park rangers and medics would arrive soon.
The nightmare was about to end.
THE OPTIMISM on the summit soon gave way to the immediate realities. Weiner’s and Rice’s legs had become increasingly numb. Crozier couldn’t detect circulation in their feet, which were turning white. This indicated that capillaries in the feet weren’t transporting blood, a bad sign. So she and Miller vigorously massaged the pair’s legs and feet hoping to boost circulation.
Weiner seemed to be in worse shape at the moment, both physically and psychologically. He reported more pain throughout his body and was more incoherent than Rice. He still had to pee urgently but couldn’t, and that caused agony. At one point, he gasped that he was having trouble breathing. Crozier, listening to his chest, heard a slight gurgling in his lungs—a possible indication of pulmonary edema, or fluid in the lungs, which could drown him. Treatment for pulmonary edema is oxygen delivered through nasal prongs or a facemask; sometimes a breathing tube is inserted into the windpipe or the patient is hooked up to a ventilator. But, of course, Crozier had no such equipment.
Rice became more demanding and hostile, which is typical behavior in trauma cases. He demanded water. Crozier relented but gave him and Weiner only about two tablespoons’ worth. Ric
e craved more.
Fuckin’ bitch! he yelled.
After almost three hours of lying in the same position on his back, one foot elevated and held in traction, his head immobilized, Rice was extremely uncomfortable. He wanted to move, wanted more to drink, but Crozier refused. His verbal abuse turned more vociferous—he called her one nasty name after another. She placidly accepted his tirades, realizing they stemmed from agony and frustration, and were a good sign that he was coherent and stable and gaining strength.
Esteban told Rice: Listen to Linda and do what she says. You’ll be okay. I love you, you’re the greatest.
Esteban also reassured Weiner, who at one point muttered he wanted to die. He appeared to be fading.
Crozier later recalled that Esteban proved to be a bulwark in this crisis. “He was like the Rock of Gibraltar, absolutely the greatest. Except for Pippey and Bruce Jordan, he was the only one there whom Rice and Weiner knew. He stayed by them, talking to them, telling them they were going to be all right and to thank God they were alive. He was able to calm them down and sustain their spirits.”
AT 10:20 P.M. there was still no more word from Dill or anyone else in Yosemite Valley. Why hadn’t authorities followed up by now? The joy that everyone had felt forty-five minutes earlier had evaporated. As interminable minutes dragged by, Linda Crozier’s confidence ebbed. More doubts crept into her mind about the sole responsibility she had assumed for decisions, whether she was making the right ones, whether others should continue to defer to her judgment, whether she could keep this up.
She thought: How did I ever get into this position, being responsible for two men, either of whom could die at any moment? Outwardly, despite her inner turmoil, she projected a sense of cool-headedness, self-assurance, and resolve.
To help the others stay alert, she rotated their assignments while they still cared for the same victim. They also checked with each other and provided mutual support and encouragement: How are you doing? Are you okay? Do you need anything?