“That’s pretty cool.”
“Now hold on with one hand and slide the knot from your harness up the rope with the other.” PJ twisted and bumped against the wall as he fumbled with the rig. “Just move it up a few inches or so to start. You can take bigger bites once you get the hang of it.”
“Okay, now I sit down and slide the one on my foot up, right?”
“Right.”
PJ worked his way up the rope, his smile growing larger with each step. Just below the overhang, he stopped climbing and swung from his harness, exhausted.
“Almost there,” he said. “How’s it going up there?”
“I’m fine.”
PJ slipped his fingertips into a crack in the ice and pulled, steadying his spin.
“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“What if I’d been unconscious?”
The crunch of Butch’s boots shifting and biting in the snow.
“We would have gone to plan B.”
“Uh-huh. What’s that?”
“Get PJ out of the crevasse.”
PJ thought for a moment, turning himself on the rope with his fingers, staring into the darkness below.
“Isn’t that plan A?”
“Yeah.”
“And plan C?”
“Get PJ out of the crevasse.”
“D through Z?”
“Yep.”
PJ turned himself back towards the wall.
“Good plan.”
“You ready, partner?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, when you come over the top, grab onto the loops I made and drag yourself out. I’ll give you a hand when you’re clear.”
“Okay.”
PJ stood and pushed his harness knot up and over the rim. Hanging limp on his side against the wall, he raised the knot on his foot sling and stood again, walking his hands over the ice as he climbed out. He squinted in the light, reaching for the loop in the rope just over the top. He held fast, breathing heavily as he and his father grimaced at each other across the snow, Butch straining against the rope.
“Almost there, PJ.”
Digging his elbows into the snow, PJ crawled to the next loop and took hold, shaking his foot loose. Butch grabbed the third loop and dragged PJ across the snow next to him. Rolling onto his side, PJ shook with laughter as Butch dropped the rope and set his hand on PJ’s head.
“Nice job, partner.”
PJ clutched his father’s leg and began to cry. Butch looked up, gazing at the orange and pink alpenglow on the Sentinels, his eyes welling. He raised his other hand to catch the dying sunlight from behind, moving it in and out of the shadow of the cirque. His hand fell, and he gently laid PJ’s head in the snow and got to his feet.
“I’d better check you out.”
Hissing through clenched teeth, PJ rolled to his back to let Butch tend to his ankle. He covered his face with his hands, smothering his groans with damp fleece. His father’s probing fingers sent breathtaking waves of pain up his leg, causing him to twitch and writhe in the snow.
“Look at me, PJ.” Wiping his eyes, PJ sat up. Butch was holding up three fingers. “How many?”
“Uh, about a dozen?”
“Try again.”
“Three.”
“Where are you?”
“On The Brink Of Death.”
Butch smiled.
“Not even close. You’re right about your ankle. It’s not broken. I’ll wrap it up to try and keep the swelling down, but we’ll need to get to the car as soon as we can. You want me to send for help?”
“No. God, no. I’ll be okay.”
“All right,” Butch said, taking the GPS tracker from his coat pocket. He input some fresh data and put it back. “Let me know if you change your mind. You have your pain pills handy?”
PJ took off his gloves and unbuckled his pack.
“Yeah.”
From a film canister in his first aid kit, PJ dumped a variety of pills into his hand, sorting them with his finger. Tossing four of them into his mouth, he chewed eagerly, chasing the bitter powder with a handful of snow. He watched as Butch packed snow and ice into his gaiter, securing it around the top with a strip of duct tape. Over everything, he wrapped his rain shell, tying it with the sleeves, securing it with more duct tape. PJ lay back down, his arm drawn over his eyes, melting another handful of snow in his mouth.
“Is there anything you’re not prepared for?” PJ asked. Butch stopped working, but didn’t answer. PJ peeked out from under his arm, finding his father staring into the snow. “Dad?”
Butch continued tending to PJ’s ankle.
“Of course there is.”
“Well, I’m not sure I buy that. Seems like you—”
“I’m sorry, PJ.”
“What?”
“This shouldn’t have happened.”
PJ uncovered his eyes.
“What are you talking about? It was an accident.”
“I let my guard down.”
“It’s not your fault,” PJ said, laying his arm back over his face. “Besides, everything worked out. It just sucks that…you know. The trip’s over now.”
PJ could hear Butch take the trekking poles from his pack and extend them.
“I’d say I got off cheap.”
PJ sighed.
“Fine. If you’re not going to let it go, what do you say we call it even?”
“For what?”
“For all the times I let you down.”
Butch considered his reply.
“All the times?”
“Take it or leave it.”
“Well, I mean, you only fell ten feet. And everything worked out in the end so—”
“That’s what I thought. We’re done talking about it now.”
“All right. Let’s get off this ice,” Butch said, jamming the trekking poles into the snow by PJ’s feet. “Think you can hobble back to camp?”
“Yeah.”
Butch extended his hand. As PJ reached for it, he jerked it away. PJ sighed, his arm falling limp on the snow.
“What now?”
Butch’s hand came back out, palm up.
“A new ice axe runs about a hundred bucks.”
chapter three
PJ
The ballast over PJ’s head started to buzz. He opened his eyes and stared at the sterile, flickering tubes as they spun in dizzying succession, compounding the throb in his head. Throwing his arm across his face, he changed positions, the couch vinyl groaning in protest. From across the table, the soft clicking of keys penetrated the metallic hum. Someone brushed past the couch, stirring a mix of aftershave and rubbing alcohol into the air. The clicking stopped.
“It’ll be a few minutes until the film’s developed, Mr. Marshall, but like I said, it doesn’t look like anything too serious.” PJ rolled his head to the side, his eyes still covered. “I would like you to stay a little longer, just in case there are any latent signs of a concussion. At least another hour or two.”
“Okay.”
“Will you be driving home from here?”
“Probably just as far as the Badlands tonight, then home tomorrow. If he’s up for it.”
“Right. Well, as far as his ankle goes, there are no obvious fractures, and he doesn’t seem to be in a lot of pain, so it’s probably just a bad sprain.”
“Okay. So, a few weeks then?”
“Depending on the extent of the damage, yes, I’d say anywhere from a couple of weeks to a month.”
“What about an avulsion fracture?”
A pause.
“There’s no sign of anything, but that’s something we’ll look for in the X-ray. If there is something I missed in the exam, it’s most likely going to be minor. I certainly don’t see us finding anything that would require surgery.”
“Okay.”
The voices were redirected toward the couch.
“How’s he doing?”
“He’s in and out. He hasn’t had much rest t
he last couple of days, so it’s good to see him sleep.”
PJ could hear the rattle of a pill bottle.
“He can take one of those every four hours if he needs it. There’s not much of any swelling, so whatever you’ve been doing for that, keep it up.”
“Sure.”
“Are you a physician, Mr. Marshall?”
PJ rolled his eyes against the back of his arm.
“No. I’ve…just been on a lot of waiting room couches.”
“I see. So, you were coming off Gannett when he fell?”
“Right.”
“And you went in where? Dubois? Pinedale?”
“Dubois.”
“Do any fishing up there?”
“Not this time.”
“There are some beauties in those high lakes.”
“Don’t remind me.”
PJ squeezed his eyes shut. His body tensed as the doctor replied with a chuckle.
“Right. Well, it looks like your son’s in good hands. I’ll check on that X-ray.”
“Thanks.”
After a second aromatic breeze, the clicking resumed. A door closed and PJ uncovered his eyes, lowering his feet gently to the floor. He sat up, shaking his head. Butch paused in his work.
“What?”
“Give it to me straight, Doc. Am I gonna make it?”
Butch turned back to his computer, his look of serious offense betrayed by a smile and a glance towards the reception desk.
“I’d never make the cut. I’d have to start using aftershave.”
Blinking the room into focus, PJ slumped back on the couch.
“And start shaving,” he said.
Still smiling, Butch glanced up from the computer, its screen reflecting off the lenses of his glasses. Lifting the camouflage cap from his head, he scratched his brow with the inside rim and then settled it back onto his head. PJ sniffed his armpit, wincing. Butch snickered, again focused on the computer.
“Careful. Those things are loaded.”
With a quick check of the empty waiting room, PJ lifted his foot onto the pillow perched on the edge of the table. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and then forced them open, squinting. He motioned to Butch’s cap.
“No worse than that bacteria trap. How about I get you a new cap this year? That thing’s nasty.”
Butch shook his head.
“Save your money, big spender. It’s fine.”
PJ sighed and once again glanced around the room.
“How long was I out?”
“Not long,” Butch said, checking his watch. “Twenty minutes.”
PJ lowered his head onto the back of the couch and stared at the ceiling. The fixture had stopped buzzing.
“Did you tell them?”
The tapping stopped.
“Didn’t really see a need to.”
The fluorescent tubes were spinning out of control and PJ tipped his head forward, again rubbing his eyes. His father was watching him.
“Is there?” Butch asked.
“No. Thanks.” PJ nodded at the computer. “You working on the pictures?”
Butch slid the computer across the table, turning it around. He came over and sat next to PJ, pulling it onto his lap.
“I haven’t overlaid the images from previous years yet, but here’s where it’s at now.”
A miniaturized view from Gannett Peak was on the screen, an impressive collage of PJ’s work. Butch scrolled the image around, from Dinwoody Glacier through Mammoth, Minor and Gannett and back to the start. PJ gave an approving nod.
“Almost like the real thing.”
“Not really.”
PJ pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut.
“Well, it’s making me dizzy like the real thing.”
Butch closed the file and set the computer on the table. PJ opened his eyes, his expression lifting as he set his foot on the floor. The photo of them on the summit was Butch’s new background, and PJ leaned forward, analyzing the screen, his body lightly swaying. He leaned back with a shrug.
“I don’t know, what do you think?”
His attention fixed on the photo, Butch was silent. PJ watched his father’s hard, unblinking gaze.
“That bad, huh?”
“Yeah,” Butch said as he snapped out of his daze. “I mean, no…it’s great. I’d say your best ever.”
PJ looked at the photo again.
“Wow. Thanks.” Yawning, he pointed to a lone icon in the sky above their heads titled ‘Tim-Oil’. “What’s that?”
“That’s…another project.”
“Who’s Tim?”
PJ snickered, swaying in his seat. With a hard stare, Butch picked the bottle of medication off the table. He slipped it in his shirt pocket.
“I think I’ll hang on to these for you.”
“Why? Jealous? Want some for yourself?”
“Yeah, that’s it.”
“So, who’s Tom?”
“Tim?”
“Yeah, Tim.”
“Nobody. It’s for Timber. Hansen Timber.”
PJ looked from the screen to his father, grinning.
“Uh-huh. And Oil. What’s that code for? Coal?”
“No.”
“Gas?”
“No.”
“Uh, iron ore?”
“No.”
PJ leaned over and laid his head on the arm of the couch.
“Well, can’t crack that one. Better sleep on it.”
Butch sighed, watching PJ drift away.
“Good idea.”
Lifting PJ’s legs onto the couch, he returned to the chair and pulled the computer back across the table. PJ rolled to face the back of the couch.
“It’s for oil, isn’t it?”
“Yes it is.”
“Uh-huh. Which, um…who—?”
“Bighorn. Go to sleep.”
“Okay.” A tinny page sounded over the intercom, and PJ threw his arm over his exposed ear. His body odor forced it back down. “What’s it about?”
“Accountability.”
The vinyl croaked as PJ shifted further down the couch to reposition his head on the armrest.
“Mmm…huh?”
“Making sure people do what’s right.”
PJ opened his eyes, fixing them on a seam in the vinyl, his breathing shallow.
“Yeah. People should do that.”
He closed his eyes. The computer closed with an audible click as Butch heaved a sigh.
“Yeah,” he said. “They really should.”
***
PJ washed down his evening pill as a light breeze washed through the screens, the stars beginning to flicker above the toothy horizon. He set down his canteen and collapsed on top of his bag, his ankle throbbing. He stared through the ceiling of their tent, the air calm once again.
“You awake, dad?”
“Yeah.”
“Is it always this hot here?”
“This time of year? Yeah. Part of its charm.”
A shooting star raced down from the zenith, disappearing over their toes.
“Speaking of charm,” PJ said, “Would it kill you to take a shower? Maybe a once-over on your ass and armpits? I’m dying over here.”
“It’s that bad?”
“It’s that bad. I’m thinking we could’ve done without the rest of the tent, too. I doubt any bugs could penetrate your stench.”
“I showed you the picture, didn’t I?”
“Yes, you showed me the picture.”
“Of the beauty I caught while you were making yourself all pretty?”
“Yeah, you showed me. And you’re right, I totally regret bathing now. I should have known better.”
A rustle in the weeds brought their conversation to a pause, and PJ sat up, squinting in the moonlight, searching. He lay back down.
“You have a shower in your apartment, PJ?”
“Yeah.”
“And twelve inch rainbows in the stream out back?”
<
br /> A sigh.
“The landlord’s dragging his feet on that.”
“Oh. That’s a shame.”
“Yeah, I guess. But you know what?”
“What?”
“You really stink.”
Butch chuckled.
“This is nothing. Wait until the freeze-dried chili kicks in.”
PJ’s head turned to a quick rustle of nylon.
“Oh man, you drop that in here and I’ll put you out right through the screen.”
In the plains west of the campground, a coyote barked. PJ sat up again, searching the distance, dimly lit under a waxing half-moon. The rest of the pack joined in a refrain of high pitched yapping that echoed off the surrounding hills. A meteor flashed, and PJ lay back down.
“That’s pretty cool.” The campers in the surrounding sites began to bark in meager imitation, their attempts at accuracy devolving into laughter and shouting. “Well, that’s not cool. Pretty much the opposite of cool.”
“Yeah, I know. Never fails.”
“Do they know what they sound like?”
“I’m sure it doesn’t matter.”
“Idiots.”
“Makes you wonder who’s making fun of whom.”
“Whom?”
“What?”
“You said whom.”
“I know. Isn’t that right?”
“Probably. I just wish you smelled as good as you talk.”
“As well as I speak.”
“Whatever. So, you think the coyotes are out there laughing at us and giving each other high fives?”
Silence, sprinkled with cackles from the adjoining sites.
“I do,” Butch said.
PJ smiled.
“Yeah. Me too.” PJ flapped a corner of his sleeping bag to redirect his father’s odor. “When are you going back?”
“I don’t know. Soon enough.”
“Sorry for screwing up the trip.”
Butch’s head turned noisily on his bag.
“I thought we settled this.”
“I know, but now you don’t have the photo you wanted.”
“I told you it’s fine. Now shut up about it already.”
“All right, jeez.”
Butch’s head rolled back.
“If you’re up for it, we can go back this fall. Depending on your work schedule, of course.”
“Ugh. Yeah, work,” PJ said. “I’ll need a trip by then. Just make sure there’s a full moon.”
“Sure.”
Another meteor flashed and disappeared behind their heads. Butch snickered.
The Ascent of PJ Marshall Page 5