The southern glacier gully of Ararat is reminiscent of a glacier canyon. It has steep crumbly rock walls on both sides, a few big sérac barriers and many hidden crevasses. Generally it is moderately hard snow or ice climbing. In summertime this place can be a death trap with huge volcanic rocks falling from above, it’s a case of running the gauntlet (with crampons), but in winter it’s frozen solid due to the numbing cold of eastern Turkey, a cold which always seems worse in the centre of large land mass. We were now faced with negotiating this defile.
It was a cloudy windy day and visibility had deteriorated. Nevertheless, we were told that the helicopter was awaiting our radio call to pick up the body. We ascended within this gully for a few kilometres and as the terrain got steeper we had a council of war, just below the dangerous section. We decided that Kursat, Ertugrul and I would go up, find Iskender and prepare him for the helicopter pick-up. The rest of our group would meantime wait in a safe place, free from stonefall; from there they could come and give us back-up in case of complications.
Upon entering the narrow section of the glacier which bypasses the fifty-metre high sérac wall, we climbed a 45–50° hard snow gully which harboured several hidden crevasses, then ascended to a scree-covered glacier plateau. From here, we spotted our deceased friend Iskender at the foot of the yellow right wall of the canyon, at a height of about 4,600 metres.
We were all friends of his and were devastated that he had lost his life when he had so much to live for. From where we were we could see the full line of his fall of the day before. It was a slope of steep blue glacier ice, dotted here and there with rocks. I realised that once he picked up speed there was no possibility of him self-arresting on the steep stone-hard surface.
We got to him and secured him with perlon slings and a climbing rope which made it easier to lower him to a safer place, out of stonefall danger. We also called the helicopter, as well as our ground control, informing them of progress. In a short time we were ready for a pick-up, with, I must add, little confidence that the chopper would make it. The safe operational ceiling of a Sikorsky UH-60 helicopter is 3,000 metres. Where we waited in anticipation was at an altitude of 4,600m.
At this ceiling, the air is too thin to allow this class of helicopter to operate safely. To compound things, sinister black clouds were nudging the mountain and the wind was rising by the minute. Because Ararat is a massive bulk of a volcano rising from the flatlands it gets hammered by every storm going, as well as manufacturing its own particular brand!
Kursat belayed himself to a large rock alongside the casualty ready to clip Iskender onto a weighted line which had been lowered from the machine. The helicopter approached, slowly edging in as if expecting at any moment to be smashed against the slope by the wind. It was tricky flying, all the stops were out now. A fusillade of snow and ice particles violently hit us as the huge olive green Blackhawk inched slowly down and, after what seemed an eternity, hovered only four to five metres above us. The temperature plunged due to the downwash. We peered through this maelstrom of ice particles as Kursat tried to catch the snaking rope end. He got it, clipped Iskender on, and gave a thumbs-up signal. The roar of the powerful turbines increased and was deafening, reverberating from the ice. Then the body slowly rose suspended from the green monster.
The success of the operation was beyond all our expectations and with this came relief as the cyclone of arctic wind subsided. Our friend was on his way home. We watched sadly as the big aircraft sped away and down – down with its grim suspended load. It was a blessing that he had been lifted by the helicopter, for it would have been a traumatic task for us to have taken him down the long descent through séracs and across the scree fields.
We were both sad and happy; happy that we had completed the mission. We watched with relief as the Blackhawk sank smaller to the horizon until it was barely a speck. But we were sad as we had lost a good comrade and kindred spirit. We climbed down to the others, waiting patiently below, and under ominious skies and unrelenting blizzard we slogged back to our bivouac. That night, we ate the remains of our food.
The following day dawned bright but very windy and we were picked up by a military helicopter. From the fuselage windows we gazed back at that great icy mountain one last time. We were returning with an empty feeling. Later we were told that this had been the highest helicopter-assisted rescue in Turkey.
Peak of the White Stone
Hugh Morris, Richard Wigzel, Dafydd Morris,
Gareth Roberts, Duncan Tripp, Steve Hayward
and Bill Amos
The Gaelic name for the Peak of the White Stone is Sgurr nan Clach Geala. Perhaps for this account it should be called Peak of the White Hell for, on the 24 February 2001, a party of climbers were caught in an avalanche which swept into Alpha Gully. This outback, the Fannichs, is one of the most inaccessible areas of Britain, for there are no roads leading into the region other than a Land Rover track which, when not blocked by winter snow, takes one to Fannich Lodge, a hunting base on the apron of Loch Fannich. Another chapter in this book was enacted close to here, on An Teallach, just to the north-west, an equally wild place also popular with red deer and golden eagles and, of course, the ubiquitous climber.
The maps for the Fannichs are not that hot, in fact the prodigious Geala Buttresses are not marked and lie to the north of the summit, rising 800 feet above the broken lower rocks. These are a series of narrow buttresses of mica schist, numbered one to six running in a northerly direction. Between these rocky skyscrapers, in fact one is called Skyscraper Buttress, lie various gullies. These have been christened Alpha to Delta. Alpha Gully is one of the most popular (if a handful of ascents qualify it in the popularity stakes). This climb is not that difficult, but in certain winter conditions and in excessive snow it can be dangerous. Though the gully is only 400 feet high, a further 400 feet has to be ascended up an adjoining buttress to gain the top.
This mountain in these dangerous conditions can be the venue for a drama. It has all the necessary attributes; remoteness, bad weather, difficult access, especially in deep snow, and if an avalanche is scheduled, all is set for an action thriller.
We start this scenario from the viewpoint of five climbers, all friends: Dave, Hugh, Gareth and Richard from North Wales and Hugh’s son Dafydd who lives in Inverness. This record of the accident is unique in the annals of mountain rescues as it depicts the climbers observations of the same avalanche from their individual perspectives, as well as their efforts to extricate and help each other at a time of great need. It was a traumatic experience for them all, which will be with them for the rest of their lives. Hugh Morris is a veterinary surgeon and, like his colleagues on this climb, is an experienced mountaineer. He starts this account.
Hugh
My fourth trip to Scotland this year and we all said probably my last! At fifty-eight I didn’t feel over the hill. However it transpired that this prediction wasn’t far out. Foot and Mouth had been diagnosed in a slaughterhouse in Essex and traced back to pigs in Newcastle, so I knew I was in for a long campaign after this weekend. But for now the portents were promising, with frost forecast and snow conditions had been good recently. As we drove north through Aviemore to Inverness we could feel the cold and see the gleam of snow. The prospect of just a few hours sleep didn’t deter us; we knew Dafydd would be planning his usual, a start in the wee small hours. So it proved to be – porridge at 0400 hours, car park at 0630 hours, despite some snow on the road at Dirrie More. It was going to be an epic day in any event as this was part of Dafydd’s plan to take us into all the remote climbing regions in Scotland. This objective was to climb Beta or Gamma Gully on Am Blachdaich of Sgurr nan Clach Geala. This had something for each of us; a trek through a beautiful wilderness, some steep ice, a great ridge finish and, apart from Dafydd, none of us had been to the crag before.
It was a slog to the frozen lochan – it felt every bit as far as it looked on the map. We congregated at the big boulder to change into dry clothes
after the sweaty exertions of the past three plus hours and got our climbing gear out for the descent into the corrie.
The wind chill was now quite marked. Nevertheless it was still sunshine and showers and we could see the top of the cliff and the exit ridge to the summit. The weather forecast seemed to be spot on. When we got to the corrie edge a snow shower scuttled in which, coupled with spindrift, reduced visibility to the point where going over the edge was a step into the unknown. We down-climbed over the lip (no cornice) and were immediately in a calmer world.
The snow here was powdery on top and we all gathered on a rock knoll to review our strategy. Dave went off to find a suitable slope to test the snow for avalanche risk – the body of the slope seemed stable. The showers passed and we got a good look at our objective; the cliff and gullies looked good, with no cornices, but, despite Dave’s snow test, we didn’t like the look of the gully exit fans. With only five or six hours of daylight left, and as the wind could be a problem, we decided on Alpha Gully. Dafydd had climbed it before. We could see it and the exit looked straightforward, a broad rock-strewn ridge to the main summit arete. Not quite the hard day to satisfy the young tyro but a great mountaineering day out nonetheless.
At the foot of Alpha I tried to find a belay. There was nothing, but I managed to ram in my hammer as an anchor. Dafydd set off with my plea for a nut or a natural runner at the earliest. He shouted down that he was now on excellent névé and Dave, who had joined me, suggested that we should all rope together, alpine-style, to save time.
Suddenly there was a dull rumble, the ground seemed to shudder and I was enveloped in a choking cloud of buffeting powder snow which appeared to come from somewhere on my right when – wham – I seemed to be whipped off to my right straight into the inferno, then cartwheeled totally out of control over the cliff edge to be abruptly brought up short, on my feet, with both axes dangling at my feet and out into sunshine! My hand felt painful, but otherwise no damage.
The relief was short-lived, Richard was all right but had lost his gear and helmet. Gareth too seemed to be in difficulty. I could see blood on the snow below me and Richard said Dave was upside-down tight up under the cliff. I couldn’t communicate with Dafydd. That was a worry. I yelled at Richard to move up a bit to relieve the tension on the rope
Richard
The avalanche began as spindrift but just kept building in strength. I was hunched over my axes to the right of Hugh and a few feet left of Gareth. It felt like being under a fast-flowing stream. I was just thinking that this was getting ridiculous when I was blasted off my stance, over the rocks which did Dave such damage, then off down the slope. I was going head first and backwards, not that I knew it at the time. Swimming wasn’t an option! Trying to keep a gap by my mouth was all I could think about which is why I suddenly found myself lying on my back, arms flailing, looking at the sky and congratulating myself on digging myself out – which of course I hadn’t as the rope had stopped me, though the snow continued down. Gingerly testing my limbs and my head (my helmet had vanished along with my axes), I heard Gareth moaning and, on righting myself, saw him behind me. But Dave was lying sixty metres away up the slope moaning, with tiny red snowballs rolling down the slope from him. He was tangled in the rope and looked in real trouble. Gareth and I sorted ourselves out as soon as possible but this was complicated by the rope, taut as piano wire, there was an icy slab in front of Gareth and a big cliff below him. I didn’t feel inclined to untie from the rope and solo up and neither of us had prusik loops.
It was Dave who sustained the most severe injuries.
Dave
I heard a “swish” then boom – clouds of powder snow enveloped me. I watched with horror as Gareth, then Richard disappeared down the gully in the maelstrom. Then the strain on the rope hit me. For an instant my axes held but then I was catapulted off my stance down the gully, hitting a rock buttress below. Everything stopped, a deathly hush and then the pain hit me. I was hanging upside down, the upper rope was twisted tight round one of my legs and I was unable to move with the rope above and below taut as a bowstring. I felt I was slowly suffocating, being hard to breath with a collapsed lung, a broken nose and a mouth full of blood and the rope above and below dragging me apart. It seemed an age before Dafydd could move up to release some rope for Hugh and before Gareth could move up to release the tension on me.
Dafydd (who had been leading)
Heard a faint rumble and there was shouting from below; seconds later, before I had established the belay, I was ripped from my stance, and found myself hurtling backwards head first down the gully. The force was incredible and, as I found out later, it was the weight of my four companions falling which was pulling me. I can remember receiving heavy blows to my lower back and then “bang”, I came to a sudden halt as the 9-mm rope held on my running belay. I came to rest upside down facing outwards, thankful that my rapid descent had come to an end. I’d fallen about ten to fifteen metres.
I found it difficult to right myself as the tight rope and the pain in my back were restricting my movements. The pull from the rope put more pressure on my back via my harness and every time I made a movement the force pulled me upwards towards the sling. I think that the rope in my rucksack saved me from more serious damage. I remember thinking it was a bloody good job I’d got that runner on.
I was concerned for the others and figured an avalanche of some sort had taken them away, but were they still alive, and if so what condition were they in? Communication was difficult because of the wind and I had no visual contact with any of them, but it was a great relief to finally hear their voices.
Hugh
To do anything I needed to bring the two ropes together on my harness but I just couldn’t do it – I desperately needed some slack. I shouted, “Slack” and it started to come. What a relief! However that half a metre of slack did allow me to crane my neck over the edge and see Dave. His situation was obviously serious. He was upside down, one leg tightly tangled in the rope to me, with his head and the surrounding snow covered in blood. What was of more concern was that his groaning was subsiding and there was still no communication. Things were getting desperate.
Then relief, Dafydd was now upright and dug in with the tape runner still around the rock spike above. He down-climbed using the sling as protection and at my belay we were briefly able to ascertain that all sensory and motor functions were present in his extremities.
I assessed that Dave’s injuries were life-threatening to the point of not surviving the night. His facial injury, although dramatic, with blood everywhere, was not the main issue. The problem was the apparently extensive damage to his chest, with shallow laboured breathing, whether from internal bleeding into the cavity or from pneumothorax was indeterminable. In any event, unless we could get help before dark, it would be irrelevant. He also had the clammy pallor of the deeply shocked and communicating with him was difficult.
Gareth’s ankle injury was not a major problem in the immediate sense. My right wrist was painful but wasn’t going to interfere with things. Thankfully Richard was unscathed, despite having fallen about seventy metres. Dafydd’s back in the pelvic region was going numb but he still had full sensory and motor function and no pins and needles at his extremities and didn’t appear to have sustained any other damage.
Gareth
I was very briefly aware of snow running like sand around my ice axe shaft, then I was off! I heard nothing other than hissing and a strange hollow “bong” as I went tumbling down. I felt no panic, no pain and remember no thought processes. When I stopped I was upside down just above a cliff and couldn’t move. I eventually got my bearings, then almost killed myself. I’d lost my specs and heard Hugh and Richard calling for slack. In order to take the weight off Dave’s rope, I shouted to Richard, “I’ll untie” because I thought I was on the valley floor! Richard screamed, “Don’t do it”. I was in fact only a metre or two from a cliff edge. All I could see was what I thought was one gentle white slope,
which turned out to be the snow-covered corrie a long way below.
I had lost a crampon and couldn’t reach one of my ice axes, or Richard’s, without untying. My ankle was damaged. I later found that my helmet head band had detached completely from the shell. This was what caused the strange noise.
It took me what seemed ages to climb up to Richard and Dave because of a small two-metre ice band. I found it hard and called for slack to ease the pressure on Dave. We got up to Dave where Hugh and Dafydd eventually joined us. Here we discussed the options and agreed that Hugh and Dafydd should go for help but none of us were then aware of the seriousness of Dafydd’s condition.
Our present position was too steep, with no secure belay and in line of fire from above, and we were hopelessly exposed to the weather. There was a rock buttress some forty metres away, a little higher up and to the left with solid mountain above it, under which the wind had blown out a snow scoop. We had to cross a steep broad fan of soft snow to get there with high avalanche risk, but could see no alternative. It was not a trip I’d like to repeat.
Richard, Dave and I were now safely belayed under the rock buttress. Dave’s traverse of the slope was painful to watch; he was very weak, slow and stopped frequently, but when I tried to help by taking his weight on the rope, he screamed. Richard was powerless to help; the slope wouldn’t take the weight of two on the same spot. When Dave reached our ledge we made him as comfortable as possible with spare clothing and covered him in a plastic bag, then spent two hours digging a snow hole, but spindrift filled it almost as fast as we could dig.
Dave
It took all my strength to traverse the relatively short distance up and across to the belay. I was shocked, cold, wet and in pain. I knew that I could not get off the mountain under my own steam, let alone walk the long distance out in deep snow. I had to wait for rescue. Spindrift was blowing everywhere and it seemed to find all the chinks in our clothing, adding to our misery.
The Mammoth Book of Mountain Disasters Page 54