5 Seconds

By Mike Sarmiento, (C) 1996

The author does not recommend participation in outdoor activities without extensive, gradual, outdoor experience, as well as guidance and instruction from a seasoned mountaineer.

I looked at my watch.

4:30 p.m.

Shit!  I thought.  Running late, as always.

I did one last mental check - did I pack all my gear?  Got my wallet?
Left a note to my housemates of where I was going and when I'd be back?


Nahhh.  Forget it.  If I left something, I left something.  I always
forget something anyway.  Why change?

I blew out the door and stuffed all my gear in the back of my car.  I
then raced through SF traffic for the next hour, getting into Berkeley
at 5:30 p.m.

I drove directly to Marmot Mountain Works to rent my crampons and ice
axe. They guy behind the counter said the expected, "You're boots are
too soft for crampons."

"I know," I told him.  "But, it's only Shasta, and I don't expect to do
any front-point climbing."

"OK," he said, looking at me as if I was a beginner.

Actually, I was, relatively.  I've been backpacking for over 15 years,
with a lot of solo trips.  I've summited Mt. Whitney, Matterhorn Peak,
Hiram Peak, and others, but this was my first "real" mountaineering
trip.  Shasta is 14,162 feet high, covered in snow, has some of the
highest winds, and should not be taken lightly.  Everything I had done
so far didn't require a lot of mountaineering experience.  I simply
hiked up.  This was different.  We were climbing Shasta at a time when
winter mountaineering conditions were not unheard of.  This was a trip
not to taken lightly.

I had actually been having second thoughts about going on this trip.
After all, I was organizing another trip up Shasta in two weeks.  Why 
do
Shasta twice in May?

I figured it would be good for me to get experience.  Besides, Tuan was
leading this trip, and I was sure I could learn a lot from him, as well
as others who've been mountaineering.  So, against my foreboding 
feeling
thatsomething might go wrong and that I should stay home, I went.

I paid for my rental gear while the sales guy kept looking at me as if 
I
was an idiot.  "Damn day hikers," he probably thought.

I just looked past him to the gear behind the counter.  A lot of
climbinggear.  I was salivating like a Pavlovian dog.  Then I noticed
the sign behind on the wall.  It read:

"Climbing and Mountaineering are dangerous.  YOU MAY DIE."

Darn lawyers.  Always trying to limit their liability.  I made a mental
note of the sign and headed out to my car.

I got to the West Circle of Berkeley's campus exactly at 6 p.m.
Madelaine and Vincent (that's pronounced Vahhn - Saahhnt - you know,
with the nasal French accent) were there waiting.  Mads ran out to my
car and jumped on the hood. I continued to make a U-turn with her
smiling face in my windshield.

Everyone else arrived a few minutes later:  Tuan, Matt, Chris, Dave, 
Ed,
and Will.  We figured out who was driving whom, made plans on where to
meet at Shasta, then went our separate ways.

I headed to REI to buy some food and some more climbing gear.  It was
their anniversary sale.  When I got there, I had to figure out what I
thought I might eat.  Problem was that I didn't know.  So I bought some
Stoker Bars, granola, brownies, one dehydrated dinner, and snack mix.  
I
hoped this would be enough for 2 days.

As I walked by the climbing area, I couldn't help notice all the
nicecarabiners on sale.  So, I scooped up 16 more.

"That'll be $123," the cashier said.

OUCH!  Well, I put it on my charge card.  There.  I could delay the 
pain
for 30 days.

After a slow bite to eat, Matt, Chris and I headed up hwy 80 for the 5
hour drive to Shasta.  Average speed:  90 mph.  25 mpg with $1.59/gal
gas.  Yikes.

We drove into Shasta City around 12:30 a.m.  Of course, we got a little
lost looking for the hwy leading up to Shasta.  Eventually, we found 
it.

Tuan was already at the parking lot.  Will arrived a few minutes later.
It was pretty cold out.  I estimated it was around 35F.  Mads pitched
her tent, I slept in the back of my car, and everyone else bivied.

We woke around 7 a.m. and started fixing breakfast.  Mads took charge 
of
gear organization.

"Did you bring a stove?" she authoritatively asked everyone in her
Australian wrestler accent.  "You've got any pots and pans?"

I showed her my small 1 qt pan with lid.

"That's not going to do us any good!" she exclaimed.  "Well, bring it
anyway."

"Sorry," I said.  "I was too lazy to wash out my other larger pots from
last weekend."

"You are as lazy as Tuan!" she said, "Now we don't have enough pots to
melt snow!"

I headed over to say good morning to Tuan, Vahhn-Saahnt, and Dave.  
Tuan
interviewed me on my clothing.

"Wha-what, doo yooo haf to wear?" he said in his weird 
French-Vietnamese
accent.  I always had a hard time understanding what he said.

"I've got thermal legging underwear, pile pants, and North Face ultrex
pants," I answered.  "Also, polypro top, a pile jacket, a gortex
windbreaker, and a pile Peruvian style hat."

"I-I have a d-down vest you sh-should borrow," he said.  "It will be
c-cold up top."

"Yes," Dave broke in with his English accent, "You'll be fine while we
are walking.  But when we lounge around for dinner and breakfast, 
you'll
need another layer.  It'll be cold up top."

It'll be cold up top.

Yes.  I guess so.

We all finished packing our gear.  As we looked to the summit of 
Shasta,
we could see the winds billowing snow plumes and clouds off the top.  
If
we could see that from 6800 ft. elevation, then it must have been 
really
windy.

It'll be cold up top.

We decided we would definitely need tents since the winds would make
bivying uncomfortable.  It seemed we were just as short on tents as we
were on pots. This time, I had no excuse.  I simply was too lazy to 
pack
my four season dome tent.  I figured I'd just bivy it anyway.  As
always, I figured wrong.

It'll be cold up top.

Next, we discussed the route we would hike up.  Green Butte Ridge.  
Camp
above Helen Lake just above 11,000 ft. elev.  Then on Sunday, we'd hike
up Casaval Ridge to the north of Avalanche Gulch and attempt our summit
from there.

"So,"  I asked Tuan, "How many miles do you think we'll be hiking?"

"Th-thee miles do not concern mee," he answered.  "It is thee
elee-vation gain that wee need to know."

Oh.  I thought.  Damn day hiker mentality.

A ranger stopped by our group and began talking to us.  He made sure to
tell us about the  excrement bags available.

"Please use them," he said.  "Human waste is really a problem up there,
especially at Helen Lake."  Basically, the excrement bags were made of
one large ziploc bag with two smaller paper bags inside them.  You are
supposed to poop into one of the paper bags and carry it down the
mountain in the ziploc.  I was going to have a lot of fun trying to aim
into that bag!

We started hiking out around 9 a.m.  It was already really warm,
probably 60f or so.  Luckily, the snow was still hard packed, so it
wasn't a problem hiking with our packs.  Mads, Ed, and Matt x-c skied
in.  Chris carried his snowboard.  Will carried down hill skis.  Tuan
and Vahhn-Sahhnt had their paraglides.  Dave and I had our legs.  It 
was
going to be fun watching everyone descend.

I was sweating profusely in my clothing.  So I stopped to peel off the
layers, as did everyone else.  

It sure didn't feel as if it'll be cold up top.

Somehow, we lost Vahn-Sahhnt along the way.

"Vahn-Sahhnt!" we all started yelling.  No answer.  We continued to 
yell
his name for the next half hour.  To no avail.  We lost him.  Or, he
lost us. Probably both.

Finally, we got to a ridge and started yelling "Vahn-Sahhnt!" at the
people we saw climbing up the Avalanche Gulch route.  We saw one lone
figure start hiking up the ridge.  We hoped that was him.  

Ten minutes later, we caught up to the figure.  It was Vahn-Sahhnt.  

We decided to take a quick break and snack up.  The weather was
incredible. Clear skies.  Warm sun.  Very slight breeze.  Hard packed
snow.  We couldn't have asked for better conditions.  I ate my food as 
I
basked in the.  This was truly living.

We moved on up the ridge.  It seems that on every trip I am on, I 
always
seem to walk the slowest amongst the group.  Today was no exception.

"No prize for first place," I thought.  "Slow and steady, said the
turtle." I just accepted the fact that, uphill, I was slow.  Even Will,
who was carrying 30 more pounds than I because of his downhill skis and
boots, was faster. Besides, I needed to pace myself to help lessen the
chance of getting symptoms of altitude sickness.

"Drink lots of water" I reminded myself.  "And go slow."  
Unfortunately,
I had not slept or eaten very well in preparation for the trip.  So, I
knew I was probably going to feel the effects of high altitude on this
trip.  All I could do was walk slowly.

We made it to another rest stop.  It was probably 65f now and after
noon.  We had hiked up over 1000 ft. and the parking lot looked small
from where we were. I was already feeling the altitude.  I was hungry
and tired and out of breath.  Not a good beginning. 

I checked my water.  Almost all gone.  Shit.

I just told myself I'd make the best of it.

We basked in the sun and made conversation.  We looked over to Helen
Lake and watched a group of 15 or so hikers slowly make their way up
Avalanche Gulch. They then stopped and started to practice self
arresting.

Ed and Tuan thought it would be a good idea if we too practiced self
arresting where we were.  There was a slope of 45 degrees next to us,
and it wasn't too far down to the bottom in case we couldn't self
arrest.

"OK," Tuan instructed.  "Y-you hold thee top of the head of the axe 
with
yoour right hand.  And hold the bottom of the shaft with your left.
Thee pick should be pointing away from youu and thee shaft diagonal
acrossss yourr chesst.  Like thees."  He demonstrated.

"The pozeetion you w-want to be een ees with your face towards thee
mountain and feet down heeel.  And your feet neeeed to be bent away 
from
the snow because you will have crampons on.  The crampons will not help
and will oonly catch and throw y-yoou off bahlahnce.  When falling, 
youu
drive thee spike into the snow, and this stops your fall.  Like thees."
Tuan jumped off the ridge and demonstrated.  He stopped within 10 ft.
Good form too.  He climbed back up.

"Next, eeff you fall face down, you drive thee spike in and your body
will rotate.  You are now in the self arrest pozeetion again.  Like
thees."  He jumped off the ridge again and demonstrated.  He then
demonstrated falling with your back to the mountain and feet downward.
Basically, you always want to get into the self arrest position with
your right shoulder helping to drive the pick into the snow.

"Thee thing to remember about self arresst ees to bee persistent.  You
must always be committed to stopping your fall.  Otherwise, you will
fall a long way."

"Did you ever have a dangerous fall?" Matt asked Tuan.

"Yess." He answered.  "I stopped my fall about 15 meters from thee edge
of a cliff once."  

Shit.  I thought.  Scary.

"Another theeng to remember is that you only have about 5 seconds to
self arrest," Tuan added.  "Eeet only takes 5 seconds for you to reach
maximum velocity.  After that, eet becomes very, very difficult to stop
your fall. So get into the arrest position as fast as you can."

5 seconds or you're fucked.  I made a mental note.  

Be persistent.  

5 seconds.  

Position as fast as you can.

I hoped I wouldn't have to test this theory.

Ed then demonstrated how to self arrest and added to Tuan's 
instruction.
Mads practiced next. As I watched, I tried to remember what I had read
about self arrest in Mountaineering: The Freedom of the Hills:

		"Self arrest stops a fall by friction of axe and body
against snow.  When the slope is too steep or slippery--"too 
fast"--even
the most skillful technique won't stop the slide.  Acceleration can be
so rapid on hard snow that the first instant of fall is the whole 
story.
The climber rockets into the air and crashes back to the unyielding
surface with stunning impact, completely losing uphill-downhill
orientation.

		"Even successful arrests require at least a little time,
during which the climber slides some distance.  Therefore, the
effectiveness of the self arrest is limited by the climber's speed of
reaction and the steepness and length of the slope.

		"If all initial efforts at self arrest are unsuccessful,
don't give up.  Keep fighting."

At this point, I remembered the sign at Marmot:  "...Mountaineering is
dangerous.  YOU COULD DIE."

Next it was my turn.  I was pretty nervous.  The snow was soft and
forgiving, but the sharpness of the pick and spike intimidated me.  
What
if I can't stop?  What if I impale myself?  What if...

I jumped.  I quickly got myself into the self arrest position and drove
the pick into the snow.  But I kept sliding down.  And down.  And down.
Finally, I stopped.  It lasted about 4 seconds.

"You need to really drive your shoulder weight into the axe," Ed
observed. "It takes a lot of effort to drive the pick into the snow."

"I'll remember that,"  I said.  I added to my mental notes - 5 seconds.
Be persistent.  Shoulder weight into the axe.  Mountaineering is
dangerous.  I might DIE.

After we practiced, Matt and Ed decided they would ski down the slope.
I borrowed Will's downhill skis and followed them.

"Are you any good?" asked Dave.

"I'm O.K., " I answered, trying to be humble.  

"He only thinks he's good" yelled out Madelaine, "He's really 
terrible!"

"Yeah," I said sarcastically, "I'm not as good as Madelaine!  She's the
best!"  With that I jumped off the cornice.

I caught air then hit snow.  One sloppy turn.  Another, more sloppy
turn. "He's really terrible!" I heard Mads say in my head.

Slam!

I crashed and burned publicly.

"He sucks." Dave must have thought.

"I suck." I thought.

It was the same down the whole hill.  Two or three turns and I crashed.
So much for my twelve years of downhill skiing.

Vahn-Sahhnt threw my pack down the hill and I recovered it.  Matt and 
Ed
were already at the bottom and ready to head up the ridge.  I put on my
crampons at this point because it looked icy on the slope to ridgetop.
I then packed the skis and boots and my pack and put the backpack on.

Wow!  I thought.  This is REALLY heavy.

I worked up the slope towards the summit, very, very slowly.  I 
couldn't
catch my breath enough and had to keep stopping.  Boy, this altitude 
was
really kicking my butt.  I sucked.  

None of my routine exercising seemed to help prepare me here.  Not my
daily bike rides to work.  Not the rock climbing conditioning.  Not the
evening walks after dinner.  Nothing.

After what seemed like hours, I made it to the ridge top where everyone
else had hike to.  Tuan, Vahn-Sahhnt, and Will were still waiting for
me. 

"You don't neeed your crampons here," commented Tuan.

He was right.  The snow was soft and I had just been walking with extra
weight on my feet for the past 3/4 mile.  No wonder I felt like shit.

"How are you doing?" Tuan asked.

"I'm O.K.," I said.  I ignored my shortness of breath.  I ignored my
hunger. I ignored my thirst.  I ignored my body telling my how 
miserable
I felt and that I should just turn back.  I and my ego had lied.

"Was it worth it?" asked Will regarding my short ski run and long hike
back.

"I'm still deciding," I answered.  "At least I got an idea of how heavy
it is to carry skis up.  Maybe I won't do it when I return two weeks
from now. Well, maybe I will."

I gave him his gear back and sat down to rest.  I drank the last of my
water and ate a small snack.  I realized then that I probably did not
bring enough food for the whole trip.  And what I did bring wouldn't
give me enough energy to summit.  I sucked.

As Will packed, I looked over the mountain vista and took in the
incredible sights.  It felt good to be alive, and even better to be
alive up here.

No other place I'd rather be than right here, right now, I thought.  

In that moment, I forgot about my shortness of breath.  I forgot about
my aching muscles.  I forgot about my hunger and thirst.  I forgot that
I sucked.  All I could remember was this moment.  This feeling.  This
experience.  

This.

This is what mountaineering, to me, was all about.  Just me and the
mountain. Simple. Beautiful.  Fulfilling.

The wind was starting to blow harder now, and clouds started to move 
in.
Just like that, the temperature went from a balmy 60f to just above 
32f.
We put on colder weather clothing and moved on.

Again, I was very slow hiking up.  When I reached the next rest point,
Tuan again asked me how I was doing.

"O.K., " I lied again.  "Kind of thirsty though."  That was an
understatement.

I could tell that Tuan was probably getting concerned about my slowness
up the mountain.  It could be a sign that maybe I wasn't really up to
mountaineering in these conditions.  This was hard work.  I'd already
forgotten about the "moment" I had earlier.  Right now, I was 
suffering.

Everyone put on their crampons and more cold weather clothing.

It was definitely cold up top.  And we still had about 1500 feet to
climb. Shit.  I didn't know if I was going to make it.

Tuan showed everyone how to walk in crampons.

"You need to try to puut all points flat into the snow," he instructed.
"Doo not roll on your heeels.  Flat.  All points in contact."  He
demonstrated and started walking like a duck.

Quack. Quack.

"To go down, bend your knees, like thees."

Quack. Quack.

"To go up, cross foot over foot, and step flat against the slope, like
thees."

He moved sideways up the hill like a crab.

Everyone who needed to practiced.  I was busy taking my boots off.  My
feet felt frozen.  I had sweated so much earlier that I soaked my feet.
Up here in the colder climate, that was bad.  I tried to dry my feet 
and
pulled off all my socks.

"That looks really cold," Matt said when he saw my exposed feet.

"I can't feel a thing right now, " I told him.  "My feet are frozen."  
I
hoped this wasn't the beginning of frost bite.

I grabbed another pair of dry, wool socks out of my pack and changed
them for the wet ones.  Hopefully, this would keep me from getting
frostbit.  I hoped.

When I was done, I put my crampons back on, then Tuan showed me how to
walk with them on.  It was not easy.  The angle you have to put your
feet really requires a lot of ankle support.  My calves were getting a
workout, as well as the rest of my legs and feet.

"Your boots aren't stiff enough for crampons," the guy at Marmot had
told me, yet I ignored him.  Now,  I was paying for my ignorance. 

We move on, and Tuan was ahead of me about 10-20 feet.  He stopped
occasionally til I caught up.  I could tell he wanted to make sure I 
was
doing O.K..  Thank god.  This was hard work.  I sucked.

We climbed on and on and on.  I tried to breathe, but could not get
enoughoxygen.  I felt like I was dying.  Every step I took, I felt the
blood pounding in my head.  I could actually hear, very loudly, every
pulse.  When it got too loud, I stopped to catch my breath.  I tried to
mentally fight my fatigue.  

I thought of my favorite poem, but couldn't remember anything beyond 
the
first stanza.  I hummed my favorite song, but got sick of it quickly.  
I
tried to think pleasant thoughts, but couldn't get past my aches and
pains.

I tried to meditate.  Ohmmmmm.  Be at one with the rocks, snow, and
mountain.Give and receive energy from the life around me.  Ohmmmm.  It
worked a little.

I started counting.  One.  Two.  Three.  Four.  Five.  Stop.  Breath.
Breath. Actually, pant.  Pant.  Pant.

A few more steps.  One.  Two.  Three.  Four.  Five.  Stop.  Pant.  
Pant.
Pant.

This went on and on.  Occasionally I would look up to see how far 
behind
I had fallen.  I was really falling behind.  Tuan had caught up to
everyone else and passed them.  I was still panting.  My ankles hurt
from the angle of my steps.  My mouth was parched from thirst.  My head
was pounding from the lack of oxygen I was used to at sea level.  I 
just
wanted to lie down and sleep.

So that's what I did, against all I knew and read about mountaineering.
Don't lie down and sleep.  You may never wake up.

I took quick naps.  Then moved forward.  One.  Two.  Three.  Four.
Five. Stop.  Pant.  Pant.  Pant.  Lie down.  Rest.  

One.  Two.  Three.  Four.  Five.  Stop.  Pant.  Pant.  Pant.  Lie down.
Rest. Repeat.

Somehow, in the middle of my suffering, I noticed something 
interesting.


Life.

There were tiny little insects walking on the snow.  They looked like
tiny gnats.  Every stop I now took, I made sure not to step on any
insects.  I sat down and watched one walk down hill very slowly.  It 
was
as if the cold was slowing down what would otherwise be a fast moving
insect.  Fascinating.

Life at this extreme cold.  At this altitude.

Simple.  Beautiful.  Fulfilling.

My steps seemed lighter now.  My breath a little deeper.  Life was up
here.

I carried on.  And on.  And on.  I stopped every now and then to check
out the insects.  They were everywhere, but easily missed.  I wondered
if anyone else in our climbing party had noticed them.  Probably not.
This would be mylittle secret for now.

After what seemed like forever, I made it to base camp.  Everyone
cheered when I made it up.  I guess they thought I wouldn't make it.
Hell, I thought I wouldn't make it.

Vahn-Sahhnt walked down to me and offered to carry my pack for the last
50 ft.  My pride kicked in and I refused.  I sucked, but I wasn't a
wimp.

We were above Helen Lake by about 1000 ft. or so.  That would put us
above 11,000 ft elevation.  Previous climbing parties had already made
snow walls for us, so we set up tents behind them.  The stoves were
fired up and we were melting snow.  I grabbed a jug and drank slowly.  

Yummmmm.

Nothing like the taste of burnt snow.  Yes.  You can actually burn 
snow.

We fixed dinner and melted snow and talked.  I again started to have a
"moment".  This companionship was also what mountaineering was about.
Simple. Forgotten.  But necessary for me to feel alive.

"Wow!" exclaimed Ed.  "Check out the alpen glow!"  

We all looked east towards one of the ridges.  The sun was just setting
and casting incredible hues on the mountain.  Yes.  Yes.  Yes.
Incredible.

For all my earlier suffering, for all this hardship, I got to see one 
of
the most beautiful sunsets I have ever seen, in company I was glad to 
be
with.

"This is what it's all about, " I exclaimed with a grin from ear to 
ear.
But I don't think anyone understood what I was talking about.  "This is
great!"

Once the sun set, the wind picked up and the temp dropped below zero.  

Yes.  It was cold up top.  Colder than I had expected.  I was very glad
Tuan lent me his down vest.  Otherwise, I would be freezing.

"Life in the mountains is hard," commented Tuan.  "This is why I prefer
to stay in huts."

I agreed.  It was very, very cold.  The wind blasted your skin at every
chance it had.  The melted snow tasted burnt.  Not a whole lot of 
luxury
up here.

Life in the mountains is hard.

We went to bed around 9:30 p.m. and agreed to get up at 6 a.m. for an
early morning summit attempt.  Dave stayed outside to melt more snow 
and
fill our water bottles.  Matt and Mads melted snow in the comfort of
their respective vestibules.  A simple luxury up here.

I slept fairly soundly.  The wind would wake me up every now and then.
My head was still pounding from the altitude and dehydration.  But, I
felt somewhat rested when I woke at 5:30 a.m.  My head still ached.  I
was really worried that the altitude was going to prevent me from
summiting.  I felt like shit.  I told Dave this.

"You'll feel better after walking around a little," Dave told me inside
the tent.  "Just drink a little water."

I hoped he was right.  I didn't want to come all this way and not even
be able to make a summit attempt.

I put on my clothing and stepped outside the tent.

SLAM!  The cold hit me.  It was FREEZING up here.  The wind didn't 
help.
I told myself to keep moving around to stay warm.  My feet were already
cold from my frozen boots.

We made breakfast and melted snow.  Around 7:30 a.m., we began the
ascent up Casaval Ridge.  It was about 1000 ft to the top of it, with a
steep slope up top.

Dave was right.  All I needed to do was drink and move around.  My pack
was a lot lighter this morning without all my gear.  I felt a lot
stronger today. I still forced myself to go slow so as to not fatigue
before the summit.

I got into a good rhythm and climbing seemed easy after that.  What a
wonder acclimatization can do over night.  We all got to the top of the
ridge O.K. Chris was having a little trouble with his crampons.  One 
was
not sized correctly to his boot, so he taped it on.

We move on to the next ridge.  It got a little scarier as the slope got
steeper.  I had to front point with my crampons on a small section, 
even
though I told the guy at Marmot that I expected that I wasn't going to
do any front pointing.  No wonder he looked at me as if I was an idiot.
I was.

As we sat around resting, Madelaine told Tuan, "This is getting really
scary. That last section wasn't very fun for me.  We're not going to
come down this way are we?"

"No.''  Tuan answered.  "I recommend going down Avalanche Gulch.  It's
easier."

Madelaine was right.  This was not easy going, and the steep parts were
scary, especially for beginners like Mads and I.  Luckily, no one had
fallen, so far.

We move forward towards the next resting point.  I was starting to
fallbehind now.  My stomach was yearning for food.  My legs were 
shaking
fromglucose depravation.  I knew I hadn't brought enough food for
energy.  Now, I was starting to pay for it.

I sat down to grab a bite to eat and drink.

"Mike!" yelled Dave from above, "Are you OK?"

"Yeah!"  I yelled up.  "Just getting a drink."

"Well," he answered, "Don't stop and rest.  You gotta keep moving!"

Shit!   I thought.  What a slave driver.  He was probably right though.
I needed to keep moving.  I took a swig of water and ignored eating.  I
moved on. Slowly.

My legs felt really weak now.  I was definitely weak from hunger.
Somehow, I made it up to the next rest point.  Tuan asked how I was
doing.

"HUNGRY!" I said, finally not lying about my condition.

I sat down and took out a granola bar.  It tasted so good.  I drank.  I
ate. I felt much better now.  We move on up to the next ridge.  Tuan
thought we had less than 1000 more feet to the summit.  Almost there, I
thought.

Even though I felt better, I still was slow.  Maybe it was the 
altitude.
Maybe I was just out of shape.  Maybe it was because I didn't poop that
morning, and every step reminded me that I needed to go.  Badly.  
Yikes.

When I got to the next ridge, I was happy.  I could see the summit.  It
was probably another 800 ft to the top.  By this time, I really 
couldn't
hold it anymore.  I told Will to go on ahead and that I'd catch up to
him.

I pulled out the excrement bag and read the directions.  It was simple
actually.  Just poop into the brown paper bag that had kitty litter
inside it.

Well, at 13,000 plus feet and the wind blowing at 30 m.p.h. and the 
temp
still hovering around zero, this is easier said than done.  Plus, I had
all this cold weather gear around my ankles, and the wind was battering
my exposed parts.  I had to laugh.  Never took a shit at 13,000 feet
before.

I aimed and let loose.  My aim sucks.  I had a lot of cleaning up to 
do.
Luckily, snow makes for great cleaning.  But now my hands were 
freezing,
not to mention stinky.  Yikes.  I better wash em before my next meal.

As I was doing my business, another hiker came up the ridge.  He looked
over at me.  I waved.  So much for my private bathroom. 

I finished up and zipped.  Wow.  Much better.  I felt 2 pounds lighter.
Well. Maybe because I was.

As I was preparing to move on, I accidentally dropped a granola bar 
onto
the snow.  It started to slide down the slope.  I chased after it, but
it accelerated quickly.

5 seconds.  

It was at maximum velocity and flying off the mountain.  Amazing how
gravity worked.  Actually, kind of scary.  

I made a mental note.  

5 seconds.

I made it to the next ridge just as Tuan and Vahn-Sahhnt were coming
back up it.  They had turned around and decided not to summit.

"It is very windy," Vahn-Sahhnt told me.

Yes.  It was very windy.  Maybe 50 m.p.h. winds up here, probably 
faster
up top.

"Dave is summitting.  Madelaine, Matt and Ed have turned back.  We are
going back too." He yelled through the wind.  "Are you going to 
summit?'

"Yeah!"  I yelled.  "I feel O.K.."

"Well, do it quickly."

With that, I said good-bye and headed down the slope towards Misery
Hill, the last approach before the summit at 14,065 ft. Almost there.

The wind picked up.  It kept throwing me off balance.  I kept falling
down and had to self belay a few times.  

This is ridiculous, I thought.  I'm low on food, low on water, the wind
is kicking my butt.  This is no longer fun, and probably not even safe
for me. I was basically alone.  If I fell, no one would know.  Will and
Dave were ahead of me, but probably didn't know where I was.

I made the decision to turn back.  It just wasn't worth it anymore.
Besides, I'd be back in two weeks anyway.

I kept yelling up to Will to tell him I was turning back.  But the wind
was howling and drowning me out.  Finally, it subsided for a second, 
and
I yelled at the top of my lungs.

He noticed and turned around.  I motioned that I was heading down.  
Will
acknowledged my signal and continued up.  I turned around and began the
walk down towards Red Banks and Avalanche Gulch.

I was alone now.  I didn't know the route down.  But, I figured I'd 
just
follow the others coming off the summit.

The wind was really picking up.  I got slammed against the hard pack
snow twice, and lost balance every time the gust blew.  I was glad I
made the decision to turn back,

There was a guy in a bright yellow North Face jacket heading down about
150 ft. ahead of me.  I decided to follow him.  He had a nice steady
pace that accommodated mine.

Remember, I told myself, be careful on the descent.  Don't let your
guard down.  This is when most people fall.

Some sections were hairy, especially Red Banks.  Really hard packed
snow, almost ice.  The wind didn't help.  I made sure to slam my
crampons into the pack and planted my ice axe before each step.  

Quack, quack.

Very slow.  Very methodical.  Effective.  And safe, relatively.

I made it safely past Red Banks and was about halfway down to base camp
now. We had really climbed a lot higher than I thought.  I could see
Madelaine and Ed just reaching camp.  It looked as if they were at east
1200 ft below me, about 2/3 mile down the slope.

I decided that I wanted to try my hand at glissading down the mountain.
Basically, you just slide down on your butt.  I put my pack between my
legs, and started sliding.  Some parts were too icy, so I walked these.
Others had soft snow, so I glissaded.

I was now about 500 ft in elevation or so above camp, but still a good
walking distance away.  I waited for a group to move out of my fall
line. One guy told me to just go ahead and he waited for me to pass 
him.

As I passed, he commented, "You know, it's a lot easier to glissade
without your crampons."

He's right, I thought.  I should take off my cram...p...o........

Before I finished this thought, my left crampon caught on the snow.  As
I was already sliding down, this instantly threw me to my right.  I
started to tumble sideways.

One-one thousand.

Wow.  I was really starting to move.  I tried to get myself into
self-arrestposition, but I was bouncing like a ball on the hard packed
snow.

Two-one thousand.

I was still tumbling sideways.  I concentrated on my ice axe and tried
to prevent impaling myself on it.  I struggled to get into the
self-arrest position.

Three-one thousand.

Four-one thousand.

Five seconds.

I was fucked.

Six-one thousand.

Finally.  I stopped my tumbling and got into the self-arrest.  I drove
the spike into the hardpacked snow.

A lot of snow and ice started flying into my face.  I dug in harder.
Nothing.


Maximum velocity.

Ten-one thousand.

I pushed harder.  Nothing.

Shit!  I thought.  I'm not stopping!

My crampon caught again, and I started to tumble sideways.

Fifteen-one thousand.

I pulled myself back into self arrest and drove the pick into the snow.
I was starting to panic now.  What if I don't stop?  Shit.  I was 
really
moving.  

Maximum velocity.  

Dig hard... dig harder...

Twenty-one thousand.

Dig harder... d...i...g...

My crampon caught again and threw me into a tumble.  I was now bouncing
off the slope pretty violently.  I did everything I could to keep from
stabbing myself with the ice axe.

I ended up facing downhill on my stomach.  I was headed right towards a
group of 4 climbers.

"AAAAHHHH!" I yelled in panic.  "WATCH OUTTTTTT!"

They ran out of the way.  I missed one by about 5 feet.

I now had a view of where I was headed at maximum velocity.

5 seconds seemed like an eternity ago.  I was fucked.

Two attempts at self arrest, and still I was flying.

My friends and family always worried about me and my outdoor 
activities.
This is exactly what they feared.  I always played it off by joking 
that
I expected to die in the mountains.  

"It comes with the territory,"  I would tell them.  "Everybody dies, 
but
not everybody lives."  For me, this was living.

But right now, at this instant, I was scared.  Scared more than I had
ever been in my life. I've had bear encounters, been hit by a drunk
driver, been medically evacuated from Africa, and worse.  But I never
felt scared like this.  

I saw where the mountain slope ended and finally leveled off.  Down at
HelenLake.  About 1200 elevation feet below, and another 1/4 mile down.

Shit.

This is it.

I'm going to die.

I yelled out one last gasp to those who would listen.  Frustrated that
at my first serious mountaineering attempt, I would make my last.

AAARRRRRRGGGGGGHHH!

I'm going to die.

I'm going to die.

I don't know how.  I don't know when.  I don't know why.  But, just 
like
Obi-Wan Kenobe telling Luke Skywalker to, "Use the force, Luke, use the
force", I heard Tuan's voice telling me,

"The thing about self arrest is that you have to be persistent."

Thirty-one thousand.

Be persistent.

I dug the spike downhill ahead of me and immediately spun around into
self arrest position.  I dug in.

I prayed a little.

I dug in some more.

Shit.

I still wasn't slowing down at all...

BAMM!

I came to a dead stop.

"Oh!"  I thought.  "Thank GOD!"  Suddenly, I became a believer.

Wow!  was my next thought.  What a ride!  I can't believe I'm alive.

The fear and adrenaline was high in my body, and I felt incredible.  
Not
that I would want to do that again, but the feeling of being alive -
surviving - was something I never experienced before.  Rock climbing
couldn't do that for me.  Only a brush with death.  For thirty seconds.

I yelled out, "YEAAAAAAH!" in celebration of life.

Another climber 100 ft above me yelled down,

"Hey man, are you all right?"

"Yes!" I yelled back.  "I think I'm O.K.."

"Wow man, " he yelled back.  "That....was...AWESOME dude!  You want me
to come down and check you out?"

"Yeah," I said. "That'd be cool."

I remembered my first aid training and did a quick self assessment.  My
face was burning from ice burn at maximum velocity.  I felt wetness on
my face.  I took off my sunglasses and found a pool of blood in the
right lens.

Shit.

I was bleeding all over the place.  My right eye was swollen and vision
a little impaired.  Other than that, I seemed fine.  No broken bones.
No impalements with the ice axe.  Just a cut above my right eye that 
was
bleeding profusely. My right ear was sore too.

"Hey." They guy made it down to where I was.  "You O.K.?"

"Yeah."

"I'm Ben.  What's you're name?"

"Mike."

"Do you remember what happened?"

"Yeah.  I fell a lo-o-ong way."

"Yeah dude!  But you seem all right.  Anything broken?"

"No.  But I'm cut."

"Shit dude!  Yeah, you're bleeding.  I think you'll need stitches.  Who
are you climbing with?"

"My camp is over ...." I looked around, trying to see where camp was.  
I
couldn't see it.  Geez.  I had fallen to below the camp.  That meant I
fell for about 600 vertical feet.  I was lucky to be alive.

"My camp is over there, up the hill."

"O.K..  I'll walk you back to camp.  Slowly.  O.K.?"

"O.K.."

We walked back.  I couldn't wait to get to camp to see if anyone had
seen my epic fall.

"Anyone home?"  I asked.

"Is that Mike?"  yelled Madelaine.

"Yeah, " I responded.  "Did you guys see me?  I just took an epic 
fall!"

"No," they answered.  "Are you O.K.?"

"Pretty much.  I'm cut though.  Need some first aid."

Madelaine and Ed popped out of the tent.

"He's coherent, " said Ben.  "I think he's all right."

I thanked Ben and he walked above camp to get ready to snowboard down.

"No problem dude." he said.

Madelaine came over and took a look at me. 

"Whoa!  You're really cut.  I think you'll need stitches."

Madelaine administered first aid then moved me into the tent.  Inside, 
I
did a more thorough self assessment.  I took off my right glove to
reveal superficial wounds on my hand and wrist.  It was pretty bloody.

I took off my shirt and looked at my right elbow.  I had two circular
puncture wounds just above the elbow.  It looked like someone had taken
a spoon 3/8" big and scooped out my flesh 1/4" deep.  I could see my
muscle, as well as the fat below the skin.  A lot of blood and meat.
This was fascinating to me. My chest had a 5 inch diagonal laceration.
Other than that, I was relatively unscathed.

Madelaine dressed my wounds and told me to eat, drink, and rest.

She started making conversation with Ben.

"How far did he slide?"  she asked.

"Fifty yards." He said.  "Maybe more.  Whatever he fell, he scared the
SHIT out of me!"

"I scared the SHIT out of me even more!" I yelled back.  Guess my sense
of humor wasn't injured in the slide.  "Did you hear me yelling for
everyone to get out of the way?"

"Yeah," Ben said.  "Did you hear me cheering you on?"

"No"

"I was yelling, 'Do it Man!  Do it!'  And you did it man!  You just had
to keep on trying.  I guess you hit a soft patch of snow.  Just enough
to stop you.  Otherwise, you had a long way to drop.  Lucky dude.
Lucky."

"Yeah."   I thought.  Lucky.

"You need to get off this mountain and get stitches." Madelaine said.

I packed up my gear and headed down the mountain.  Alone.  I seemed all
right.  I couldn't believe I was alive.

It's good to be alive, I thought.

I made it off the mountain in about 2 hours.  I even glissaded down a
few sections, this time without my crampons.  Guess I didn't learn my
lesson the first time.  Yes.  I'm an idiot.

When I got to the parking lot, Chris, Tuan, and Vahn-Sahhnt were there.
Chris told them I was injured.  I related my story.  Then I told them
how Will also took a fall while skiing down the same face I fell down.
Later, I learned that on the way down, almost everyone else took a 
fall,
but not as bad as mine.

"Geez." Tuan said.  "You guys are really dangerous."

Tuan is the guy who solo'd Denali.  Who first ascended The Theft in BC.
Who normally does things that most people think are crazy.  No.  
Psycho.

And he was telling me I was dangerous.

Well.  Maybe to myself.

Tuan then took photos of my injuries.  Now my fall was documented and
will show up at the next Chaos slide show.  Cool.

Everyone made it down the mountain O.K..  I hurried up and packed my
car.  I needed to get to the ER room soon to get stitches.  Turned out 
I
needed eleven of them - 4 in my eye, 4 in the upper puncture wound, and
3 in the lower puncture wound.  The doctor who treated me was also a
mountaineer.  She said I was very lucky.  

"On a fall like yours, I've seen people in here who have impaled
themselves with the ice axe.  Lose eyes.  Break bones.  Serious head
injuries.  You were lucky.  I'm amazed you were able to stop your fall
at all, let alone walk away with as few injuries as what you have."

Yes.  Lucky.

I said good-bye to Tuan, Vahn-Sahhnt, Will, Madelaine, Dave, and Ed.
Matt and Chris and I drove off.

I took one last look at Shasta.

"You kicked my ass this time," I thought.

"But I'll be back."

"I'll be back."

I'm still alive...and ready to live.

 
Afterword:
Two weeks later, I aborted my return to Shasta because of foul weather.
Instead, I climbed 11,000 ft. Mt. Lassen 60 miles south of Shasta,
thinking that the weather would be better.  It wasn't.  I had to endure
one of the worst snow storms I've ever encountered outdoors.  When I
woke after the storm cleared, about 2 feet of fresh powder had fallen on
us.  It was incredible powder skiing on the way down, but this is
another story. . .

A return to Shasta trip is planned in June.  This time, I'll summit and
get back safely.  The adventure continues...

Final Update:

On June 30, 1996, I successfully summited Mt. Shasta and became one of
the "elite" 3500 people to do so each year (out of approx 30,000 -
according to USFS).  I summitted with a team of 3, our group included 4
teams totaling 14 people.  It was 90 degrees at the top, and I got a
suntan. We took naked summit photos up top.  It was great.

To continue the mountaineering series. . . -Click Here-

To continue onto the Matterhorn Peak series. . . -Click Here-

To continue onto the rock climbing series. . . -Click Here-

To continue onto the ice climbing series. . . -Click Here-

To continue onto the fly fishing series. . . -Click Here-