|
|||||||||||||
"As in any alpine region, the weather is changeable, protection questionable, route-finding bewildering, rockfall frequent and descents tedious. In short, it's everything you could ever ask for." — from the Canadian Alpine Journal, 1993. Day 6. Sitting in our well anchored cocoon getting almost no sleep I hear silence descend on us. At some point the wind finally stops blowing and we decide, light or no light, it’s time to go. We brew some hot water and share the last meal any of us has, Isaac's sweet and sour pork with 740 total calories split between the three of us. We pass the pouch and spoon around taking a spoonful before giving it to the next person. At that point, having already stretched two days food into three, I know I could eat the whole thing by myself. But I still have my candy bar and two “power bars” - a few calories left for later in the day. We climb out of the tent and start to get ready to leave. As I do so, I take one look down that slope and immediately find a rope to clip into. The night before I wasn’t much concerned about the precipitous drop below us, but now it makes me a bit nervous to look down into that black space. I won’t unclip from that rope until much later in the day. After not having had to pass, um, solid bodily waste for days, all the sudden I have to go. Like, right now. "You have to be kidding," I think. I chop out the spot where I had originally put my backpack, creating my very own little personal latrine at 13,000 feet on a 60-degree snow slope. Best view I’ve ever had from a bathroom. I’m glad no one decided to record the moment. We break camp in our usually slow style and Isaac leads out in the dark with his headlamp on. The snow on this side is deep and the going is very slow. I bring up the rear. While waiting for the rope to go taut, I keep myself busy by hopping around and swinging my legs to get my feet warm. I also try to remove that first piece of pro I pounded in the night before, but it doesn’t budge. If you see it the next time you’re up this way, you’ll know right where we bivvied. Finally, after what seems like forever, the rope starts pulling out and I move out the right side of the ledge and start climbing. The first step is wierd- going from a flat ledge to a 60 degree sloe in one step. It gets light fairly soon and we head up to the base of the ice cap. From this point we could head right to the traditional route in the middle of the alabation (sp?) zone, then up the “ramp” we saw in those pictures days ago. Or, we could try climbing the ice cliffs on the left side of the zone. Isaac evidently likes what he sees to the left and sets a belay below the start of the technical ice climbing section. Neal and I move up to join him and I am feeling pumped up to climb some ice. Isaac has found what looks like a mellow AI/WI 2 that I could lead. At first I agree, but the more I look at what first appears to be an easy looking ramp, the more I’m concerned there might be surprises up there that we can’t see from here. I picture myself climbing to the top of the section only to find that I’m on top of a large block in the slow process of calving off, thus creating a big vertical gap between me and the rest of the cap. I tell the guys I don’t know what we might find there, that I’d rather lead left of the block to what looks like some AI/WI 2+. I pull out my second tool, tuck the ice ax away and start climbing. Feeling good to be on lead, I work my way up and through lots of stacked ice flakes and ramps. The route looks like a geology lesson on ice, of which I find two types. One looks like good old waterfall ice, but feels more like cold, hard glass - very tough and brittle. If I swing too hard, it shatters out in all directions like a spider web and showers ice down the slope. Placing an ice screw in the stuff is also difficult, as the ice starts to shatter around the placement. The other “ice” is like tough Styrofoam. If I swing a tool too hard, it takes forever to get it out again. It’s really easy to climb, but I’m reluctant to place a screw in it. I really don’t like climbing on the harder ice. Also, I’m used to climbing ice on mono points. In fact, I have never climbed ice on dual points. It seems like every time I kick, my dual front points bounce out of the ice and I am left kicking over and over to get a stance. Eventually I work my way up only to back down off one very steep, very hard section, thinking I need to find an easier way up for my partners. Rerouting, I find some of the Styrofoam ice in a trough and lead my way up to a likely looking belay spot. Standing there a bit spent, I have doubts that Neal and Isaac can follow me without experiencing problems. I look back down at them and tell them that it’s steeper than it looks and that I am having doubts. Isaac says not to worry, that they will climb with prussics on if need be. I tell Isaac he is going to have to take a turn on lead after he gets up here. He does not look to thrilled to hear that. I find a really good place to put my longest ice screw (16 cm) and sink it in all the way. I throw my ice tools in the ice too, one to the left of the ice screw and up a bit. It sets and feels very solid. I stick the other tool up to the right of the ice screw and again it feels very solid. I clip into the screw, using my cordellet to equalize all three pieces. I take my pack off and clip it to the right side tool and run a draw from the pack to the power point just in case the tool slips out. I don’t want to lose my pack since there appears to be nothing between me and the Carbon Glacier over mile down that could stop it. I clip myself into the right tool and the power point and set the belay, yelling down to Isaac and Neal that the belay is on. Neal starts climbing with Isaac about 20 feet below him. They have about 100 or so feet to go and Neal is moving well. I offer some suggestions to Neal as he gets to the section I backed down, and he makes his way up to the anchor. I ask him to clip into one of my tools and then move on up above me to sink his own tools in and make a place to hang out. He doesn’t want to clip in and I’m not going to tell him what to do. I still have him on belay but would feel better if he would just clip into something up here. After saying no he reconsiders and clips. His calves are blown and he seems to be in pain. He is a glacier guy, big and strong, not built like me at all. It’s not like and am not strong, but I weigh about 75 lbs less than he does. I can tell he’s in pain and I encourage him to move above me, sink his tools in, and set a belay stance. But he decides his calves have had enough and kneels forward to relieve the pain. His crampon points lose penetration in the ice and he plummets towards the bottom. The ice tool I had him clip into blows out under the violent shock load. It felt solid when placing it, but it had gone into a dirty ice bubble. It tears out and shock-loads the remaining ice tool and ice screw that are the rest of my belay anchors. At the same moment, his fall manages to some how knock me off my feet. The remaining ice tool and the screw hold. I try to reassure him, “It’s ok. I got ya. We’re fine.” Isaac comments that he heard our conversation and that he is glad Neal changed his mind about clipping in. Neal climbs a couple of feet above me, sinks in his ice ax and tool, uncomfortably kicks a stance, and takes his back pack off to clip it in. I sink the loose ice tool in a different place as close to equalized as I can get it, and belay Isaac up. My belay stance is pretty cramped now. I have kicked a decent spot to stand and Neal is working on another just above me. With my pack hanging next to me, Neal a few feet above me hanging/sitting/ standing/squirming and his pack hanging in between us, there really is not any room for Isaac. I tell him to move above and rig up an anchor system for him and Neal. I figure Isaac would have been more comfortable up above on his own anchors. I have him drop a loop of rope to Neal and include him in Isaac’s anchor position so I can break mine down and take the lead again. Having had time to recharge while belaying both of them, I am looking forward to the next lead again. Isaac confirms his own anchors are set and that he has Neal, so I put my pack on, clean my anchors, and re-sling my cordellette. I climb up to Isaac and pick up the extra screws. I now have three on me for the next portion of the climb. I lead back out on the steepening ramp and work my way up, looking for a way to turn slightly right and make it to the top side of the glacier and to what I hope is an unbroken highway to the top of the ice cap. I place two pieces as I go and finally pull my way through some 80-85 degree alpine ice to get onto the top. I’m pretty sure the two short pitches of ice probably add up to about 200 feet of technical ice climbing at about WI/AI 3 or 3+. I chug my way up the slope till I spot some good ice chunks I can use for a footrest, and then throw in two really good ice tool placements and one good ice screw to set up the next belay. I sit and pull my pack off, clipping it to the power point and hanging it down slope of me. That’s when the great fuel bottle escape takes place. I hear a “ting” as a streak of red pops out of the side stretch pocket on my pack. I don’t even try reaching for it as the red MSR fuel bottle accelerates downward. It bounds down the slope and makes several “ting and ding” sounds as its escape speed accelerates. From below – I swear even before he can see it – I hear Isaac call out in a slightly amused voice, “fuel bottle!” I am sure Neal and Isaac exchanged some amused or annoyed looks as the empty fuel bottle sailed past them toward its destination on the Carbon Glacier far below. I think, “Damn, now I owe REI a new fuel bottle!” (It was a demo bottle.) Talking about it afterward, Isaac said the bottle cleared them by at least 15 feet and he watched it fall hundreds of feet before loosing sight of it far below. I call out that the belay is ready and hear that Neal is on his way up. I hope he can forgive me, but that belay is one of the tightest belays I have ever given. I know his calves were screaming on the first pitch and this last pitch is steeper at the top. I figure I’ll stop hauling when he complains. I think he may be sitting down to take a break, but I really can’t tell since I’m cinching up the rope every chance I get. Neal later told me at one point he was going to ask for a take, but realized there was no need as the rope was already tight. Isaac is now following and cleaning gear with no problem and I have him pass us up to start the long slog up the slop to the cap. I don’t really know why I asked him to do a running belay since it isn’t that steep in this section. Not compared to stuff we had already climbed with out a running belay. Maybe it was the fact we were on top now with a shear drop behind us. We head up to the cap and gather up after a few hundred feet on easier ground. We really can’t see very far at this point so we climb till the GPS says bingo - on the cap. Liberty Ridge has been successfully climbed and according to Gator’s memory, for the first time in at least seventeen years this early in a climbing season. We are elated, tired and very hungry. We walk, chatting about this and that, but I am thinking we have accomplished only half the goal – we still need to get down. We are very relaxed as we cross the cap. Isaac moves ahead and Neal and I chat about something humorous. We are still roped up and spreading out a bit. I recall stories of people punching through while on top, but I am not worried about it at all. I am starting to feel very tired, like I’m beginning to bonk and I could use a break. The break comes sooner than expected and it certainly is not the kind of break I am thinking about. Before I know it snow gives way and I’m in up to my arm pits with my pack wedged behind me, and my arms out in front. I take a look around and notice Neal and Isaac just walking along. I take a very deep breath and yell at the top of my lungs: “CREVASSE!!!!” Isaac and Neal explode into action. Isaac runs and slides plunging his axe in while Neal runs by him and does the same. In the meantime I look around and think “What the hell am I doing in this thing? Time to get out.” I start swimming forward, pulling myself with my hands and my ax, kicking steps with my feet, pushing back on my pack. I am out in a few seconds, full of the familiar feeling of adrenalin. I flip around so I can take a peak into the crevasse but can’t see the bottom and don’t want to get any closer to the lip so I can see all the way down. I stand up, adrenalin surging and give a loud “Whoooooo!” and get ready to start moving again. Isaac slows us down a bit. “Guys I got a problem.” He has slid onto a snow bridge and his leg and waist has punched through. I set a boot ax belay and we “encourage” him to roll over and swim his way out. As this is happening, I notice that Neal is standing between two more crevasses and that there are a series of six or so all running parallel. It takes us awhile to clear the crevasses, but finally we get out of them and are moving again. At first I am all hyped up on adrenalin and still excited to have had survived my first and hopefully last crevasse fall. Then a bit later I find myself thinking about my daughter, family and loved ones and want to be off the mountain before something even more serious happens. The crevasse fall wasn’t all that scary when it happened but the possible consequences seep through the ebbing adrenalin. We have accomplished our main goal, climbing Liberty Ridge and reaching the ice cap. At this point we discuss whether to climb up to the true summit, a short way further and not very dangerous. At first I try telling the guys how I am feeling about what just happened, but I suddenly find myself choking up. I’m not interested in losing my emotions on the top of this mountain so I just clam up. Isaac asks if I’m going to finish my thought and I just say, “not at the moment.” I tell him that we both have reasons to get off the mountain. We need to stop making mistakes and get down safely. He firmly agrees. At this point, I really have bonked. I only weighed 153 lbs before the trip, having lost about 4 or 5 while training for it, and now my body had stopped burning fat for the most part and I am moving much more slowly. To get my point across to Isaac I tell him there is no “tank left in my gas.” Of course he doesn’t immediately get it, so he says, “Did you mean gas in your tank?” I laugh and tell him, “No, I mean no tank in my gas; I am that tired.” I am trying to joke with him to let him know how tired I really am, but I guess he was still a bit shaken from looking down the throat of his own crevasse. Oh well we all can’t be as funny as Bill Cosby. After some route finding errors, we figure out we have to continue up to go down, so we ascend about 200 to 300 feet along the main summit cone of Rainier to reach the beginning of the descent route. Neal is leading and his long strides and pace are taking their toll on me. We have just climbed this mountain on one of its hardest route under winter conditions and I’m having trouble keeping up going down hill! Isaac is in the middle of the rope and keeping up with Neal. Every time I start to make a plunge step, the rope goes tight and pulls me off balance. I have to fight to stay upright and my frustration is building. I know when we first roped up Neal said “try to not get frustrated when on the rope, you are going to get pulled around a bit, it is part of being roped together” but every step or two I get pulled. I keep reminding them that I’m really TIRED. I’m using sheer will power to keep moving. I’m getting yanked around at the end of the rope and becoming more and more frustrated. I keep telling my body to “MOVE!” but there is nothing left, no “tank in my gas”. Every time I get pulled I use more energy fighting to catch my balance and stay standing. Finally I snap, yelling for them to just let me untie and I will follow their steps down at my own pace. I’m spending too much energy fighting the rope and trying to stay upright. I guess I’m taking my frustration out on them. I understand that Neal operates better moving faster and that he’s also probably frustrated. I want to move faster, but I just can’t do it. Neal is doing his job well, finding the crevasses and picking his way down the tangle of glaciers that cross each other and throw obstacles in our way. At one point we set a 30-meter rappel so we can descend the edge of one glacier and drop onto another. The light is failing but the moon is bright enough that I don’t turn on my headlamp since it wasn’t doing any good anyway. As we work our way down almost a mile of ice and snow, we all have our eyes on the next goal - Camp Schurman. I keep thinking that a building or hut awaits us there, but Neal and Isaac are doubtful. At one point I think I’ve caught a flash of light from Camp Schurman, but am not sure. We are now a bit overdue, having planned on getting out of the park and on the plane by tonight. In my imagination the rangers are getting concerned by our now overdue status, but I realize that a few hours does not make a ranger work his way up a crevassed glacier to check on a slow climbing team. As we make our way down, Isaac says we should camp by the “big rocks”. I keep saying there are some buildings there but Neal and Isaac don’t quite believe me. Well it turns out the two “big rocks” are two buildings, a smaller one above a little bigger one. They are easy to reach and we hike up a small slope to check them out. Neal arrives first and is reading a sign that says “Do not enter unless in case of emergency.” We joke about our 20-hour day not really being an emergency, but I figure no one will really care if we use the hut after what we’ve just endured. Only one problem: the unlocked door won’t move at all. It’s slightly open and I look in the one-inch-wide crack to see snow inside, lots of snow. I chop at the snow with my ax trying to free the door. Neal had already put his shoulder to it and it didn't budge. We’ve talked about where else we might put a tent, but I’m not about to let a perfectly good hut go to waste. I ask Neal to “hold me up” as I put my butt down in front of the door. I pull my legs up and start giving the door some good thumps at its base. The one-inch opening becomes two, and two becomes four before I give up, winded from the effort. I get up and Isaac gives it a shot, and manages to get a couple more inches of opening. I off pull my down coat and say “here, hold this, I’m going in.” I squirm my way through the crack and climb over a couple of feet of snow packed in behind the door. They hand in a shovel and I start to clear a space behind the door so we all can get in. We’re now in much better moods, having cleaned out the snow and even swept the floor. We carry our bags in and claim our bunks. I dig out all my gear and dump out the snow and ice that has made its way into all the pockets of my backpack. We start up the stove and warm the leftover water in our water bladders. Neal finds a largish white bucket with the words “Snow Bucket” written on it and goes out to get snow to melt. He was out there for a while when Isaac comes in and says, “he lost the bucket and is out looking for it!” After a bit longer I say, “he’s out there looking for a white bucket in the snow, you might want to bring him a head lamp.” We chuckle about it and Isaac goes to check on him. Neal finally comes back with snow, saying that when he set the bucket down, it just slid away. Isaac shares his remaining one and a half “victory cookies” (chocolate chip and oatmeal his wife made) with us and I divide his Hershey’s Chocolate bar into thirds. We munch away on our “meal” savoring every bite.
|
|
||||||||||||