The Mammoth Book of Mountain Disasters

by MacInnes, Hamish

  The four, now laden with equipment, climbed back up to join the others. When they arrived, the patient was assessed, properly bandaged and repositioned ready for transport. An improvised c-collar from a lifejacket was used to immobilise her cervical spine and a table, whose normal job was for riverside lunches, was deployed as a backboard/litter. She was stabilised on it with a collection of fleece clothing and numerous webbing cam straps used to rig the boats. Webbing was also used to improvise anchors, and rescue ropes for lowers on the descent. At the start, Susan started to vomit at fairly frequent intervals and remained unresponsive, unable to control her own airway. It seemed as if she would vomit just before she was lowered over the next drop. During this vulnerable lower, while she was unattended, suspended on the ropes, we thought that she was going to vomit again. We were lucky, she never once aspirated.

  While the evacuation was underway, word of the accident had been relayed from the boat party, to a commercial river trip with an emergency radio. This group travelled down river to a wider spot in the canyon from where they were able to transmit on the universal distress frequency to a commercial airliner at high altitude. The distress call was then relayed to the LA Center (Los Angeles Air Route Traffic Control Center) in Palmdale, CA and then passed on to the Grand Canyon National Park Communication Center.

  Ranger Tammie Keller

  We received a call for a fall at Elves Chasm at approximately 1515 hours. River Ranger Dave Desrosiers and I responded in NPS helicopter 210, a Bell Long Ranger. Jerry Bonner was the pilot. We flew along the Colorado River toward Elves Chasm, as we didn’t have an exact location of the injured party. When we got to the junction of Royal Arch Creek and the Colorado River we had a difficult time finding a landing zone. Once on the ground, we made contact with some of the river party who told us that the patient had been moved to an area that they thought might be appropriate for a short haul. Ranger Desrosiers and I sifted through the EMS gear we had brought with us. We needed to travel light to the accident site. The nature of the call was a trauma, so we opted to leave the cardiac monitor behind and take the vacuum mattress for spinal immobilisation. Dave and I, assisted by members of the river party, began carrying technical. rope rescue equipment, EMS gear, oxygen as well as a Bauman Bag, which is a Helirescue stretcher constructed of Cordura employed for short haul missions.

  I followed Ranger Desrosiers up Elves Chasm as he knew the route. This involved climbing, crawling and jumping, all with considerable exposure. It was beautiful but at the same time worrisome, since I expected we would have to bring the patient back down the same way. The slot canyon configuration of the area didn’t look like it would allow for a helicopter short haul extraction. We climbed and passed equipment up in a never-ending series of ledges and constrictions. Although the vacuum mattress was light, it was bulky and difficult to manoeuvre through narrow gaps in the rock. Dave and I made the climb to the patient in about forty minutes. The “golden hour” for this patient, which is the recommended time to be delivered to a trauma surgeon, had long since passed, a common problem in wilderness rescue.

  When we reached them, Tom Clausing gave me a breakdown of events. They had moved her to their present location. I began patient care with Tom’s assistance, while Dave prepared for the short haul extraction.

  Susan was incredibly well packaged and immobilised to her improvised backboard. Although the vacuum mattress had been lugged to the scene with great difficulty, it wasn’t used. An IV of normal saline was started, utilising a pressure infusion system that allowed the IV to run at a set rate without someone holding it above the patient’s heart. A blood glucose check of 70, which is below normal, was obtained. Susan had a Glasgow Coma Scale (GCS) of 6 post-accident, and by the time she was transported her GCS was 9.

  Desrosiers, the pilot, suggested a reconnaissance flight of the area to check out the situation, as the canyon was both narrow and steep and to ensure a short haul rescue was feasible from the site. Helicopter 210 had repositioned onto the flat Tonto Plateau area above the Royal Arch Creek drainage. Meanwhile the Incident Commander had dispatched Classic Lifeguard Air Ambulance, a commercial air ambulance helicopter from Page, AZ, to rendezvous in the Canyon at the rescue helispot. An additional helicopter was deployed to transport a park ranger to a position on a high summit within the Canyon, where he could operate a radio relay back to the Incident Command Post at the South Rim Helibase.

  Jerry Bonner, with Spotter Craig Letz in the aft cabin, completed the recon flight directly overhead the accident scene, carefully checking the helicopter power requirements and rotor clearance. Susan had experienced vomiting prior to my arrival, had a closed head injury and a GCS of 9. All factors that indicated she may not be able to maintain her own airway. Her gag reflex was present however and intubation was not attempted on site. Jerry radioed that the recon flight was successful and the short haul mission could be accomplished with an adequate power margin. The patient was packaged inside the Bauman Bag for the short haul extraction and I served as the litter attendant. Jerry Bonner skillfully took the helicopter down between the canyon walls, with the incredible ease he had deployed on hundreds of previous missions in the Grand Canyon. As he delivered the end of the 150-foot short haul line right to me with amazing precision, I clipped my harness, and the Bauman Bag to the line dangling beneath the helicopter. Right on cue Jerry carefully lifted us directly out of the gorge. Susan and I were flown nearly 3,000 feet up to the enormous improvised landing zone on the Tonto Plateau.

  The patient had taken her fall at approximately 1230 hours, NPS rescuers were on scene at the patient’s side at 1635 hours, and she was short hauled to a transfer point with Classic Lifeguard at approximately 1720 hours. Susan was then transported by Classic Lifeguard eighty-five air miles to Flagstaff Medical Center. Total time from the accident in the bottom of Grand Canyon to a neurologist in Flagstaff – six hours!

  Postscript from Tom

  Susan remained in a coma for a number of weeks and eventually regained consciousness before being transferred to a medical centre near her home in Seattle. It took almost two years, but she has regained function, learning all over how to speak and walk and drive and bicycle. She still has some difficulties related to her significant brain injury but is a healthy, happy individual and continues to make progress. I’m afraid if she had spent the night on the river unassisted, we would have lost her, but there’s no way to be sure.

  Undoubtedly with the onset of affordable satellite telephone technology calls for assistance will likely multiply beyond the bounds of our ability to respond. Many of these calls for help will be minor in nature and would be appropriately handled by the self-reliant wilderness traveller. There’s no way back from our technological advances and some would argue they’ve gotten in the way of our enjoyment of remote places. I’ve pondered that thought in the past as one who is used to being a rescuer and not a recipient of such services. In the very near future, when somebody make an affordable satellite telephone the size of a pack of cigarettes, I don’t suppose I’ll consider it too deeply before I throw one in the bottom of my pack.

  Winter Rescue on Mount Ararat

  Tunç Findik

  This is a modern tale of a mountain steeped in history, an extinct volcano possibly tramped by Noah and his four-legged friends. The flood threat has diminished for today’s adventurers however, but the mountain presents other threats to the unwary intent on scaling its ancient heights.

  A few years ago I was invited on a winter attempt on this ice-domed peak. Winter is now a popular season to make the ascent as, due to the low temperatures, the snow is in better condition, I was also told of an added winter safety bonus as the anti-personnel mines were covered in a deep insulating layer of snow, a legacy of the Kurdish problem. I understand that now this hazard no longer exists.

  This chapter is an account of the emergence of official mountain rescue in Turkey, where remote region rescue presents logistic nightmares, and where dedicated mountaineers,
mainly living in the big cities in the west, are the long-range rescuers They provide the manpower, with the backing of the military. These rescues by today’s Samaritans, surely rival the tales of the Old Testament.

  The great Mount Ararat is known as Agri Dagi in Turkey. Its summit (16,916 feet/5,137 metres) is perpetually sheathed in dazzling ice armour. This isolated mountain has always attracted climbers and adventurers. It has been the subject of many stories and legends throughout history, the most famous one being the claim that it is where Noah’s Ark came to rest after the Flood. There have been numerous unsuccessful expeditions searching for its timbers. For climbers the mountain is a popular venue, a peak to bag – just like Mont Blanc in the golden age of alpinism.

  The first recorded ascent of the mountain was made by Russian climber Friedrich Parrot in 1829. At the time of Parrot’s ascent, the religious fanatics refused to believe he reached the top. Now many people have scaled Mount Ararat. Until 1989 and the fall of the Iron Curtain, the icy northern face of the mountain was very close to the USSR border and, being in such a sensitive area, it was generally off limits for climbers. Beginning in the early 1990s, terrorist conflict in eastern Turkey interrupted mountaineering on and around Ararat and, until recent times, the mountain was closed to climbing. However, in 1998, Ararat was reopened and, being the highest peak on Turkish territory, it has attracted huge numbers of climbers, both novice and experienced, like a powerful magnet. Until then, a full generation of Turkish climbers had grown up without being able to climb on the mountain. Unfortunately, when many people rush enthusiastically to a large mountain, accidents occur. The classic South Face route on Ararat is a high-altitude trek in summertime, just like the North Face of Aconcagua in South America. But in winter, it’s a different ball game, the tables turn and the mountain becomes more dangerous and serious. Ararat is a peak which looks deceptively easy but it has its own arsenal of hazards, like violent fast-changing weather, severe thunderstorms at any time of the year, and ice and rockfalls, as well as hidden crevasses for good value.

  In Turkey mountaineering is in its infancy and until the 1980s, mountain rescue was virtually non-existent. Add to this the great size and complicated terrain of the country, then the logistical problems of a rescue become enormous. Today, thanks to the development of a climbing community, rescue organisations like AKUT, an Istanbul-based rescue unit, and the helping hand of the Turkish armed forces, the mountain rescue set-up is much more effective both in quality and quantity. The main problem is that the rescuers (climbers) live generally in the big cities of Istanbul and Ankara situated in western Turkey. Therefore attempting a rescue in the mountains of eastern Turkey is time-consuming at best. In organising a rescue call-out the back-up of the Turkish military is indispensible with their transport planes, helicopters, supplies and manpower.

  Before the advent of search and rescue organisations, climbers going to the Turkish hills and mountains did so at their own risk, unable to depend on any organised rescue, only on fellow climbers who happened to be in the area. Self-rescue and self-sufficiency were the name of the game. Around 1995 the first organised mountain rescue efforts were made by AKUT. Things got better with specialised training and more equipment was acquired.

  After the Marmara earthquake of 1999, many organisations, including the Army’s own rescue units, were established. Still, mountain rescue in the remote mountains of Turkey remains a logistical headache, but it’s only a matter of time until regional SAR units are formed.

  The following story illustrates such a long-distance rescue at a high altitude and it is remarkable how so many skilled climber/rescuers got to this remote mountain a thousand kilometres from their homes in a very short space of time.

  At the beginning of March 2000 on a frigid but sunny day on Mount Ararat there was hardly a cloud in sight. The weather was typical for a high-pressure eastern Anatolian winter’s day. Four climbers had pulled off a successful summit climb on this remote volcanic peak; that’s to say that all went well until fate took a leading role – which cost one of the party his life.

  The four alpinists, Nasuh Mahruki, Selcuk Kahveci, Kuvvet Lordoglu and Iskender Igdir, were all having specific winter climbing training as well as getting alpine experience. One of them, Nasuh Mahruki, was the first Turkish climber to summit both Mount Everest and the notorious K2 in the Karakoram, the second highest point on the planet, and reputedly the most dangerous. On this Mount Ararat climb they had established Camp 1 at an altitude of 3,200 metres. After a day resting and acclimatising, the team ascended to their assault bivouac site for the summit bid. This cold site was located on an exposed ridge at an altitude of 4,200 metres on the South Face of the mountain.

  Mount Ararat is a gargantuan mass, it’s a mountain with a very large base area like a voluminous bustle – the total circumference round this base is 100 kilometres. Approach to the mountain in winter, especially after a heavy snowfall, takes two days with big rucksacks. The mountain’s easy lower slopes are strewn with black-grey volcanic rocks and a proliferation of scree fields. The peak itself has an enormously deep glacier cap (in some places seventy metres thick).

  The northern, eastern and western upper slopes give moderate glacier climbs, whereas the classic route up the South Face of the mountain is much simpler and, up to an altitude of 4,850 metres it generally follows a footpath in summertime. Obviously the glacier cap which covers the upper and summit sections of the mountain has to be climbed to get to the top. Here comes the crunch. In winter this can sometimes be very dodgy due to a covering of very hard black-blue ice, created by the violent winter wind and cold at 5,000 metres. So, being the only technical difficulty of the climb on the classic route, one has to make a short and moderately angled ice climb here, especially in winter, but in summer this slope transforms to a snow hike and occasionally ascent teams fix a rope by using ice screws at this section to safeguard the descent.

  The four climbers successfully reached the summit, and took in the fantastic view from the highest point in Turkey, but they had to pull themselves away and face the descent. They started down just after midday and for crossing the icefield they used the classic hip belay for security. Kuvvet slipped and fell. Iskender, while trying to arrest him, fell to his death down the southern gully. The other two climbers were pulled off their stances by the impetus of the fall but somehow managed to stop themselves by using their ice axes. This happened about midday and the survivors descended to search for Iskender as he had shot out of sight down the ice gully. They spent the rest of the day looking for him without success. As they had a mobile phone they used this and managed to report the accident.

  Despite the vast distances involved and due to the fact that Ararat is an isolated peak, mobile phone communication is possible. Already, as darkness was falling, the wheels of a major rescue operation were turning over a thousand kilometres away.

  News of the tragedy reached our rescue team shortly after dusk and preparations were immediately under way with a military transport plane scheduled to fly us to Kars, one of the larger cities in eastern Turkey. We had mustered a big party of rescuers from different organisations: AKUT and ORDOS, a volunteer rescue club, also individual climbers from Istanbul and Ankara. By midnight we landed successfully at Kars, despite an enveloping mist. Here road transport was waiting and we drove to the town of Dogubayazit which is situated to the south of the mountain. It was here after about two hours work that we finalised our rescue plan.

  It was proposed that a large team of rescuers would try to reach the fallen climber on foot, and a smaller group would be dropped near the accident location by a military Blackhawk UH-60 helicopter. By the first hours of daylight, every rescuer moved up the mountain. For us a brief and turbulent flight resulted in a windy drop from the helicopter at an altitude of 3,600 metres. This was on the top of a flat shoulder on the icy South Face of Ararat. There were six of us in our party, with limited equipment, bivouac gear and food. As soon as possible we climbed to a higher po
sition, closer to the area where we understood the fallen climber was.

  There’s always a risk in rising too quickly to altitude. However, we were all well acclimatised, except one of our rescue party who immediately got altitude sickness, caused by this sudden height gain from 1,100 metres to 3,600 metres, and realised that he would have to descend. The rest of us continued up in changing snow conditions: first, a long traverse on a deep wind-slabbed snowfield, then a tricky climb up powder snow, followed by loose and low-angled rocks. At a safe place around 4,000 metres we decided to stop and establish a bivouac. While Kursat Avci, my climbing partner, and I dug out a snow ledge for the tents, Yilmaz Sevgul, Ertugrul Melikoglu and Burak Akkurt continued upwards to try and locate Iskender.

  It was cold, probably in the region of –25°C, but it had now turned into a bright sunny day, with hardly a breath of wind. Yet it wasn’t until the sun was dipping on to the horizon, with the mountain transforming to a pinkish hue, that our friends returned. They had grim news: Yilmaz had located Iskender, but as he was trying to reach him on treacherous snow, he had fallen into a small hidden crevasse. He had injured his knee and had trouble even getting back to our bivouac. We now had a further casualty.

  That night at our lofty camp it was bitterly cold but by dawn we had struggled into our freezing boots and shortly afterwards were joined by the other rescuers who had climbed up from base.