Training: cllimbing Mt. Shasta, CA
206 days to Day 1 (1st attempt)
Two of us climbed Mt. Shasta 4,317m (CA) via Avalanche Gulch route. It became the 30th, above 4,000 meters peak, that we climbed together.
The climb was to train for the Denali summit day.
Lesson: if you can't self-belay on a snow slope, never count on self-arrest, instead protect
PHOTO: Avalanche Gulch is just in the middle
So we resumed our descent, passed the chute. Sun was setting down. Now we wanted to retrieve our snowshoes that we left there in the morning. Vera was downclimbing ahead of me, passing the spot: "snowshoes aren't there" - she couldn't see them so she thought someone took it! Who could take snowshoes when we saw zero people that day? So I checked my GPS - and yes, the spot was correct. So we started digging, luckily carried our avalanche snow shovels with us. Surely enough, snowshoes were there! They were just under a hard layer of collapsed ice from the above!
PHOTO: Sunset. Avalanche Gulch below.
Snowshoes are here, under collapsed snow.
We never consider a trip to be completed until we are back at the trailhead and physically touch the car (or the tent). For a reason. Little did we know that just in a few minutes we will be presented with yet another supporting evidence of that habit - never think the trip is done before it is 100.00% done.
The snow was already changing from soft in the morning to frozen and hardened, making self-belay impossible. In other words, it became "icy".
Eventually she slowed and I thought, that's it. But shortly after, the body slowly gained the same free-fall speed again, now rolling sideways, with arms being thrown stretched wide as if entirely given up the fight, as if it was a fake mannequin in the movies.
And then it was quiet. Very quiet. Now, as in the past myself having had experienced a similar fall, I instantly knew - we will certainly require either Rescue (of the injured climber) or Recovery (of the dead body) operation. Falling with crampons and two ice axes flying around makes the disaster more severe. Such falls just don't survive - BCMC fatal accident on Rainier a few years back and those recent on Stadium Glacier on The Sky Pilot were all tragic ones. It would be super stupid to hope for luck, and I didn't. The reality was that I just had to determine what type of call I had to make on my satellite phone to California police and then to SAR. Do we need an air ambulance, foot rescue or just a long-line transport helicopter in the next morning. She fell so far down that I couldn't see the condition of her body, I just saw it lying face-down, motionless.
Two-ways radios that we always carry on us were not available this time, so I couldn't tell if she even could talk and yelling won't be heard - it was too far. I started downclimbing, making sure I don't slip too, the snow already became very hard and slippery. I was very, very grateful I had readjusted my crampons up on Misery Hill. I felt angry of not having our two-way radios - I might be wasting most critical life-saving time - should I call SAR immediately or only after I reach Vera? I saw her slowly move, stand up. I expected to see hands raised up, indicating that she was OK, but I couldn't make it out, it was still too far. She turned her headlamp on and then slowly sat down. The lamp's light was not in emergency (blinking) mode. After a long half-an-hour (I think) of careful downclimbing I was there.
Because we have a habit of properly attaching our stuff, making sure that backpack's external things (snowshoes, poles, water bottles, etc.) don't get lost in a potential fall, everything was still there, on the Vera's backpack. Snowshoes had to be re-adjusted a bit. However, in the fall Vera's camera got crack broken and one strap on the hat was ripped off. I can't use the word "luck" here - it is rather shallow and usually is associated with winning a huge sum in a lottery. What was it then? Something that makes one see really important things in life. It makes one realize that not many things really matter. Not a broken camera and not winning a lottery for that matter.
It was now completely dark, with no moon in the sky. Our headlamps could only show the surface in the front. In such case a paper map and a compass are entirely useless. If you didn't track your trip with a GPS you may wander around your own tent within few meters and not finding it until morning. Or worse, entering wrong gully in Helen Lake area is easy. Surroundings became featureless, except "up" and "down". The ice started falling from above - usual refreezing effect when the ice expands under dropping temperature and releases itself free. We'd better hurry, so without readjusting snowshoes started downlimbing to Helen Lake.
Two of us climbed Mt. Shasta 4,317m (CA) via Avalanche Gulch route. It became the 30th, above 4,000 meters peak, that we climbed together.
The climb was to train for the Denali summit day.
Distance one way, km
|
Elevation gain
|
|
Shasta
|
7.8
|
2,107
|
Denali
|
3.7
|
931
|
Lesson: if you can't self-belay on a snow slope, never count on self-arrest, instead protect
PHOTO: Avalanche Gulch is just in the middle
The climb
The descent
On the descent we stopped for lunch break at Misery Hill, and Vera pointed out to the shifted metal band on one of my crampons. I said "ah, it's just cosmetic". I have climbed like that many times. But then I surprised myself taking the crampon off, inspecting it and readjusting anew. I remember clearly at the back of my mind a briefly flashed image of the exit chute of the Red Banks with entire stretch of Avalanche Gulch and also the episode when Joe Simpson broke his (yet another) leg on a similar "simple walk" slope (book This Game of Ghosts), all was at the level of intuition: some weak but annoying voice was telling me to do so. I felt something was in the air.So we resumed our descent, passed the chute. Sun was setting down. Now we wanted to retrieve our snowshoes that we left there in the morning. Vera was downclimbing ahead of me, passing the spot: "snowshoes aren't there" - she couldn't see them so she thought someone took it! Who could take snowshoes when we saw zero people that day? So I checked my GPS - and yes, the spot was correct. So we started digging, luckily carried our avalanche snow shovels with us. Surely enough, snowshoes were there! They were just under a hard layer of collapsed ice from the above!
PHOTO: Sunset. Avalanche Gulch below.
Snowshoes are here, under collapsed snow.
We never consider a trip to be completed until we are back at the trailhead and physically touch the car (or the tent). For a reason. Little did we know that just in a few minutes we will be presented with yet another supporting evidence of that habit - never think the trip is done before it is 100.00% done.
The snow was already changing from soft in the morning to frozen and hardened, making self-belay impossible. In other words, it became "icy".
The fall
Sun was already set, in the diminishing light we were about half way down the Gulch, when I heard a short strange "pounding" sound and then saw Vera falling on her back. In an instant, she performed classic self-arrest (which we actually practiced a few days ago!). Self-arrest from the back position is rather technically difficult - it involves two stages, a necessary transition to the base and only then do ice-axe maneuver. I saw her axe plunging in the hard snow and heard the screeching noise of the pick on the ice. I saw plumes of ice dust the axe produced. It was such perfectly implemented - in time and precisely as in the book. She seemed to slow down, and I remember thinking, "wow! you make me proud!". But then, when she almost stopped, the axe hit impenetrable hard surface and popped out; she started accelerating in a free fall down the Avalanche Gulch. Very quickly it went out of control, her body was thrown violently in the air, arms stretched wide, then she hit the surface, head down, and then back into air. Many times like that, without slowing down. It looked like an act that those acrobats in the circus perform: jump from the feet in the air, land on the hands, then back in the air, then back on the the feet. Only this was in the air, land on the body, back in the air, land on the head, back in the air.Eventually she slowed and I thought, that's it. But shortly after, the body slowly gained the same free-fall speed again, now rolling sideways, with arms being thrown stretched wide as if entirely given up the fight, as if it was a fake mannequin in the movies.
And then it was quiet. Very quiet. Now, as in the past myself having had experienced a similar fall, I instantly knew - we will certainly require either Rescue (of the injured climber) or Recovery (of the dead body) operation. Falling with crampons and two ice axes flying around makes the disaster more severe. Such falls just don't survive - BCMC fatal accident on Rainier a few years back and those recent on Stadium Glacier on The Sky Pilot were all tragic ones. It would be super stupid to hope for luck, and I didn't. The reality was that I just had to determine what type of call I had to make on my satellite phone to California police and then to SAR. Do we need an air ambulance, foot rescue or just a long-line transport helicopter in the next morning. She fell so far down that I couldn't see the condition of her body, I just saw it lying face-down, motionless.
Two-ways radios that we always carry on us were not available this time, so I couldn't tell if she even could talk and yelling won't be heard - it was too far. I started downclimbing, making sure I don't slip too, the snow already became very hard and slippery. I was very, very grateful I had readjusted my crampons up on Misery Hill. I felt angry of not having our two-way radios - I might be wasting most critical life-saving time - should I call SAR immediately or only after I reach Vera? I saw her slowly move, stand up. I expected to see hands raised up, indicating that she was OK, but I couldn't make it out, it was still too far. She turned her headlamp on and then slowly sat down. The lamp's light was not in emergency (blinking) mode. After a long half-an-hour (I think) of careful downclimbing I was there.
How is my face?
I didn't ask silly question "Are you OK?" Instead, I asked "Do you know where we are?". "Mt. Shasta" she replied. "Do you know the US state we are in?" - California. "What date is it today?" - "December 13th!" She laughed - obviously thinking "What kind of stupid questions these are!". Now I knew she was not in shock or that she had not received brain / neck / spine injury during her fall. However, before I started asking, her first and only question to me was: "How is my face?". Strangely, this is not the first time I heard this same question from the fallen victim. It was already dark, so I needed headlamp to examine her face - it had ZERO scratches or bruises, nothing! We sat there for a while, in silence, staring in the darkness.Because we have a habit of properly attaching our stuff, making sure that backpack's external things (snowshoes, poles, water bottles, etc.) don't get lost in a potential fall, everything was still there, on the Vera's backpack. Snowshoes had to be re-adjusted a bit. However, in the fall Vera's camera got crack broken and one strap on the hat was ripped off. I can't use the word "luck" here - it is rather shallow and usually is associated with winning a huge sum in a lottery. What was it then? Something that makes one see really important things in life. It makes one realize that not many things really matter. Not a broken camera and not winning a lottery for that matter.
It was now completely dark, with no moon in the sky. Our headlamps could only show the surface in the front. In such case a paper map and a compass are entirely useless. If you didn't track your trip with a GPS you may wander around your own tent within few meters and not finding it until morning. Or worse, entering wrong gully in Helen Lake area is easy. Surroundings became featureless, except "up" and "down". The ice started falling from above - usual refreezing effect when the ice expands under dropping temperature and releases itself free. We'd better hurry, so without readjusting snowshoes started downlimbing to Helen Lake.
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