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"Because it's there."

chipbutty said:
Of course it is wiser to go as part of a group for safety reasons. I have only ever visited that bleak Welsh mountain and it was with a group and for the day. Freezing cold with all that black slate and the weather closed in in a matter of minutes. Lol, that's the most extreme I've ever been, and maybe that seems like a stroll in the park compared with what you've done. Admittedly it WAS all walking with a bit of scrambling, no actual climbing, but I was young, fit and KNACKERED by the time we'd walked back down (slid, mostly) to find the nearest pub :)

I like safer, more temperate pastures - gently rolling hills, rivers, lots of sky and amazing horizons. And mainly I like to do these things alone so I can listen and feel all that's about me. Kinda get lost in it all, really.
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Those are the conditions that kill people more than any other in the mountains. Sounds like a big day.

Me too, mostly, these days.
 
Peregrinator said:
Yes, I think so. It's so true, isn't it, that when there's a near incident, there's no report.
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I've swam more times than I can count, but I've only had two really bad swims in about 28 years of paddling rivers where I needed other people to save my ass. There were no reports, and thankfully, no obit.
 
thør said:
I've swam more times than I can count, but I've only had two really bad swims in about 28 years of paddling rivers where I needed other people to save my ass. There were no reports, and thankfully, no obit.
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Yes, I'm grateful for the lack of obit as well!

I just got this via email (names obviously changed to protect privacy):

Climbing Accident on Mt. Terror
July 5, 2009


On July 5, a climbing accident occurred on the Stoddard buttress of Mt. Terror in the Southern Pickets. There were four of us in the party: Manu, Thor, Perg, and me (Laurel). We were on Day 4 of a 6-day trip into the Southern Pickets. Over the previous few days, we had climbed the South Face of Inspiration, Degenhardt, and The Pyramid. Terror was to be our last major climb of our trip. (We had planned on climbing Wild Hair Crack on Day 5, but now we doubted this would happen given a forecast for a weather system moving in July 6.) We were excited to tackle the classic Stoddard Buttress on the last day of good weather on July 5.

We left our camp in Crescent Creek at dawn, traversed through the Ottohorn-Himmelhorn col, and reached the base of Mt. Terror at around 8am. It was not long before we began simulclimbing up the buttress, taking a relaxed pace to enjoy what promised to be a sunny and warm summer day in the Pickets. Manu and Thor formed one rope team, and Perg and I formed the other rope team. Perg and I were the leading team.

The accident occurred at 10:30am, shortly after we had traversed around The Prow about 1/3 of the way up the route. Perg and I had switched leads, and Perg was leading the way up low fifth class ledges back onto the buttress crest. I had just left the belay and begun simulclimbing when I heard a yell above me. I looked up. I think the first thing I saw was a climbing shoe flying through the air. Then, I saw the giant rock and Perg silhouetted against the sky. The next thing I knew I was jerked upwards as Perg hit the end of the rope. He had fallen about 60 feet. Unhurt and surprised, I immediately began calling out to Perg asking him if he was okay. He did not answer me. He was hanging head down at the end of the rope, and I was shocked to see quite a bit of blood running down the rock. I yelled to Manu and Thor below. They heard me and began to climb up towards us.

I was able to lower Perg to a ledge and climb up to him. I noticed that the rope attached to Perg was frayed to the core. I was afraid of the potential for the rope to break or slip loose at any time, so I set up additional anchors on some nearby horns. I then maneuvered over to Perg and somehow flipped him so that his head was up. He was still unresponsive, but moaning. His left leg was clearly fractured and he had lost quite a bit of blood from a head wound.

Manu and Thor reached our precarious perch about 15 minutes after the fall. They anchored in and helped to situate Perg to a better position on the small ledge. With his head now fully upright, Perg began to drift in and out of consciousness. Of the three of us, Thor had the strongest first aid skills, and he stepped up to the challenge, taking control of addressing Perg's injuries. Under Thor's calm directions, we bandaged Perg's head wound and created a makeshift split for his left leg using the aluminum stay from Manu's pack. Perg began to shiver and display signs of shock, so we layered him with our extra coats. We were encouraged by the fact that Perg tried to help put his arms into the sleeves as we told him what we were doing. He began to be responsive enough to complain of the pain in his leg, and asked repeatedly what had happened.

We agreed that the quickest way to get help was to find a spot where we could get reception on Thor's cell phone. On the previous days, we had been able to get service from the summits of both Inspiration and Degenhardt. The quickest way to get to a location of cell service would be to continue climbing the buttress to the summit of Terror. We formed a plan. Thor would stay with Perg. Manu and I would continue up towards the summit as quickly (and safely) as we could and try to initiate a helicopter rescue before the night set in. Making the phone call in time was crucial, as Perg's chances of survival would decrease if he had to spend the night on the mountain, especially considering that the deteriorating weather forecast for the coming days.

Manu and I left the accident scene at 12pm to simulcimb the rest of the Stoddard buttress to the false summit. When we passed the location of Perg's fall, we saw a large dihedral-shaped fresh gash. It is likely Perg had been standing on this section when a sizable chunk of what had appeared to be solid rock tore loose below him. He just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Every climber's nightmare.

As Manu and I simulclimbed towards the summit, we checked repeatedly for cell phone service, but to no avail. When we made it to the false summit, we were discouraged that we still could not find a signal. It looked as if we would have to take precious time and climb to the true summit and make one last effort at finding a signal. Then, in a final effort before continuing upwards, Manu found a signal on the far south end of the false summit. At 4pm, we established contact with 911 and initiated a rescue operation out of Marblemount.

By the time we started down the west ridge an hour later, we could hear a chopper flying in the vicinity of the north buttress. The chopper would have to make several fly-bys of the buttress to locate the injured party, to test wind speeds and gauge overhead clearance, and to survey the terrain on which to land the rescue personnel. Once this was done, the chopper would land in Crescent Creek Basin, attach a rescue personnel to a long line, and fly above the north buttress to literally pluck Perg from the mountain. This would be a tricky and dangerous maneuver and require a lot of skill by the chopper's pilot. The windy conditions made the maneuver even more difficult.

At 8:30pm, Perg was successfully plucked from the route. Manu and I cheered when we saw Perg on the end of the line flying high above Crescent Creek Basin on his way to the drop-off point in Concrete (WA). From Concrete, a Lifeflight chopper took him to Bellingham. Perg was treated for a femur fracture, broken heal, and head wound. As of July 7, his condition has improved greatly. He is out of climbing commission for the season, but doing fine.

By the time Perg was successfully transferred to Concrete on July 5, dusk had set in and it was too late to airlift Thor off of the mountain. Thor was unhurt, but was not prepared to descend or ascend the route alone, especially not in the dark. When the helicopter had picked up Perg, they had dropped off a bivy supply and several days worth of food and water for Thor. They also left him with a radio. The plan was to airlift Thor off the mountain early the next morning. It was difficult to sleep that night knowing Thor was still high up on the mountain.

However, rain and winds and clouds moved into the Pickets during the night of July 5. This made it impossible for the helicopter to safely airlift Thor off of the route on July 6 as had been planned. Thor was able to descend about 200 feet to an overhanging ledge system in order to get some protection from the elements. Unfortunately, throughout the day on July 6, the weather continued to deteriorate, and via radio Thor reported that it had began to snow at his location on the mountain. This made even a ground rescue (by Manu and I or a Search and Rescue team) quite hazardous. Feeling as though we were abandoning our friend Thor but realizing that we would be better positioned in Marblemount, Manu and I hiked out of Crescent Creek basin on the afternoon of July 6.

Manu and I spent much of July 7 (today) discussing the situation with the rescue team located in Marblemount. In every way, Manu stepped up to the challenge of communicating with the rescue party while I mostly sat back and listened, occasionally contributing photos I had taken of the accident scene. Given the weather and conditions, it has been decided that our best option is to try to wait for a window to airlift Thor off of the route. Currently, he is in a safe spot underneath a ledge, has bivy gear and a supply of food and water, and is in contact with the rescue team via radio. He is hanging in there, and despite his situation maintains high spirits and a calm head. He truly is a hero, as his first aid skills and willingness to stay with Perg likely saved Perg's life. Few people have the mental toughness and selflessness Thor is currently displaying.

There is hope for a break in the weather within the next few days, which will allow Thor to be airlifted off of the route.

Please keep Thor in your thoughts and prayers. He is a true hero and is facing a situation no climber ever wants to endure.

(This is the current status of the situation as of 6:40pm on July 7.)
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Evidently they plucked the guy out of there today. He was hanging around the side of an aptly named mountain for five days.
 
Watched Globe Trekker on PBS. On the Canary Islands. The use of vaulting poles
to hike Caldera de Taburiente at La Palma, looked interesting. The showed the fault
that has split the island. And mentioned the tsunami that might result someday.
The pics were spectacular. Brought some of your trek pics to mind....

Wiki quote-

The British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC2 Channel) transmitted “Mega-tsunami; Wave of Destruction”[5], which suggested that a future failure of the western flank of the Cumbre Vieja would cause a "mega-tsunami."
 
Peregrinator said:
Ugh. I didn't realize there was a smog problem there. That's fucking horrible.
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Smoke from forest fires. Mostly lightening strikes that started the fires.

SaintPeter said:
Nice trade. I hope your air clears soon.
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It's just not that healthy outside. There's talk of cancelling the start of the Fireweed 400 cycling race if the air doesn't get better.

So of course, I grille outside this evening to add more crap to the air, but kept the heat out of the house.
 
gotsnowgotslush said:
Where is Atmas? The Pyrenees? I have caught up, via Velon news.:wink icon
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Yes, Atmas is located in the Pyrenees. Tomorrow the race with end there, and is considered the first real foray into the mountains (today's several cat. 4 and one cat. 3 climb don't compare to cat. ones and the hors categorie climb at the finish).
Whether the Texan deserves respect for his experience alone or for his strength will be demonstrated.
Oh, wait. The race finishes in Arcalis, not Atmas.

Perg has referred to the use of a velocipede through the mountains as "aid climbing." As such he demonstrates his inexperience with the effort involved in riding a bicycle up a hill for 50 kilometres...such as tomorrow's finish.
 
you guys dance with Death too often

still, at least you're living life to the nth degree while you're doing it. I'm happy as a bystander, watching and wondering.
 
Breche de Roland

A deep defile in the crest of the Pyrenees, some three hundred feet in width, between two precipitous rocks. The legend is that Roland, the paladin, cleft the rock in two with his sword Durandal, when he was set upon by the Gascons at Roncesvalles.

Then would I seek the Pyrenean breach
Which Roland clove with huge two-handed sway.

Wordsworth.

Does factmonster have the facts?
 

"How we should go about living with grizzlies is not an easy subject. Half of our population considers grizzlies to be serial killers and the other half considers them a cross between Yogi Bear and Winnie the Pooh. But they are not serial killers, they are not harmless, and they are not our friends. They are wild beings, with all that connotes. For reasons I don't understand, many people have a hard time accepting that fact. As Aldo Leopold put it: 'Only those able to see the pageant of evolution can be expected to value its theater, the wilderness, and its outstanding achievement, the grizzly.'

On the other hand, no one should underestimate the horror of a grizzly attack. A small library of books describing such attacks is likely to keep you from ever hiking in grizzly country, especially alone. One factoid I can't get out of my head was reported by Dr. Steven P. French, a biologist who worked for the Yellowstone Grizzly Foundation: a grizzly may begin eating you before you die."


-Jack Turner
Travels in the Greater Yellowstone.
New York, New York 2008.


Jack Turner is undeniably an accomplished outdoorsman and mountaineer. Since moving to the Yellowstone area from California in the '60s, he has made a living as a guide and trek leader. The book is essentially a series of essays about several fishing and hiking outings he took over the course of a calendar year. Turner is also the prototypical eco-nut hypocrite, ranting and raving about the evils of fossil fuels and civilization whilst simultaneously enjoying heat, portable camp stoves and extolling the virtues of polypropylene clothing as he tools around Wyoming in his pickup truck. Notwithstanding, the book is entertaining reading for anyone interested in fishing, mountaineering, wolves, grizzlies, Yellowstone or the outdoors.


_______________________

"The pegs were further away than he'd thought. He continued to traverse and the tug of the rope grew stronger; if he slipped, he'd swing a hundred feet or more— and as he reached the pitons his boot touched ice and he skated and fell. He swung on the end of the rope, describing an accelerating arc through the dusk. The swing itself was painless, exhilarating. He stuck his legs out as he gathered momentum and they took the impact when he at last collided with a corner. He had shut his eyes but they opened when he opened his mouth to scream.

Chris having heard the scream stood for a moment and then bent to pick up the rope but couldn't— there was still a body on the end of it. Even then he was surprised to hear Doug's voice again: I've broken my leg.

His eyes filled. He shouted down to Doug to get his weight off the rope— it's impossible to descend a weighted rope. Doug had in fact broken both legs but he was able to haul himself onto a ledge, grunting in pain and noting with grim satisfaction that his arms and spine still functioned.

Chris as he backed from the summit into the night was thinking that Doug might yet die. There was no way to carry him down the West Ridge. He reached Doug— a figure huddled in shadow— and fumbled in the dark to rig another rappel. Another rope length would take them to a snow-covered ledge where they could try to dig a cave. Doug tried to stand. Chris heard bone scrape. Doug screamed again and fell to his knees; he paused there as if considering his next move and fell forward onto his hands. He would crawl."


-Clint Willis
The Boys of Everest: Chris Bonington and the Tragedy of Climbing's Greatest Generation.
New York, 2006.


So as not to leave you in suspense, Doug [ Scott ] — with the assistance of Chris Bonington, Clive Rowland and Mo Anthoine— somehow managed to crawl down ( and that's not an exaggeration ) from the summit of the 7,285 meter ( 23,901' ) Ogre in the Karakorum Mountains of Pakistan in 1976.

Scott beat the odds. Of the constellation of climbers connected with Bonington, a sickeningly large portion died on mountains: Ian Clough, John Harlin, Dougal Haston, Mick Burke and Nick Estcourt— among others.

It's fun to read tales of Chamonix, the Eiger, Annapurna, K2, Changabang, Gauri Sankar, Mt. Blanc, Dunagiri and, of course, Everest. There's not the slightest doubt in my mind that it's a lot more fun to read about these places than to actually endure what Bonington and the boys did. No, thank you!

I've climbed in some of these places but I'm no masochist— and to do what these guys did, you have to be.

_______________________

"There was what I would call immoral, sensationalist reporting about the death of David Sharp, and scapegoats were found and lynched in newsprint and newsreel. Even my own situation, with its happy ending, was manipulated for dramatic effect to make better television. One of the problems was that the mainstream media took most of their information from a few Web reports from climbers at Base Camp who had little concern about the accuracy of their words. What they said was treated as fact and treated by the press as it wished. This hype meant that the press expected my story to showcase conflict between me and Alex, and me and the Sherpas who could not revive me. Nothing could be further from the truth.

In Kathmandu an Australian television crew interviewed me and Barbara for a segment to be broadcast on the Channel 7 show Today Tonight. At the time of the interview, I had thought that everything had gone well, with the drama of my exploits requiring no embellishment

One of the questions Today Tonight had asked was: 'Did you know that Alex told the Sherpas to leave you for dead?'

'Yes,' I had replied, without any indication of distress or disapproval.

However, the editor or segment producer had spliced in a different answer, one that I had given to a completely different question, presumably because they wanted some extra drama.

The first I knew of this was back in Australia, when Barbara, Dylan, Dorje, and I were watching a videotape of what had gone to air. There was footage of climbers in the mess tent at Base Camp listening to a radio conversation between Alex and the Sherpas.

It began with Alex saying, 'But now Lincoln is very bad. If possible, send one Sherpa up to help Lincoln. He is near dead also.'

Next came voiceover from the interviewer, with footage of Alex at his telescope peering at the mountain.

'This, we are reliably informed, is the voice of expedition leader Alex Abramov from Everest Base Camp, instructing the Sherpas to leave Lincoln and return.'

I was now on camera being interviewed with a surprised expression. Hesitantly, I said, 'Okay... That is news to me...'

Again there was voiceover from the interviewer: 'This is the first time Lincoln has been made aware of Abramov's orders.'

But I knew from Alex that I had been declared dead. My comment had concerned another issue altogether, and I immediately told my family as much. The question to which I had actually responded, with obvious surprise, had been: 'Did you know that Alex told the Sherpas to cover you with stones?' This was a totally different issue, and I had been stunned to learn that my death had been so definitive that a burial of sorts had been arranged.

'You know the man well,' said the interviewer. 'You must be pretty disappointed in hearing him say that. You're sitting here alive and well, admittedly with a bit of frostbite.'

'Look..' I began.

But the interviewer threw words at me.

'Shocked? Angered? Offended?'

'I guess I'm a little bewildered,' I said, meaning that I was bewildered to learn that a pile of stones was to have been my grave. 'I need to talk to Alex about that.'

'I would think so!' pronounced the interviewer, and the audience would have thought I was bewildered because I had been left for dead.

At the time of the interview, Alex had not yet told me about the burial plan, which in the end had turned out not to be feasible or indeed necessary.

Obviously, the truth was not being allowed to interfere with a good story. They already had the good story, so I assumed they had wanted to convey a sense of conflict between Alex and me or that he had attempted to keep the truth from me— neither of which had any basis in fact."


-Lincoln Hall
Dead Lucky
New York, New York 2007.


In May, 2006, at age forty-nine, Lincoln Hall— a highly experienced mountaineer who twenty-two years earlier had turned back five hundred feet from summiting Everest— was part of an Australian group attempting to climb the world's tallest peak. In that month, five people were to die on the mountain creating yet one more episode in the never-ending series of spectacles that is the media behaving like perfect idiots.

On his descent from the summit, at 28,200' ( 8,600 m. ), Hall suffered what was likely cerebral edema and collapsed. After heroic efforts to assist him, the Sherpas accompanying him were forced to abandon Hall as night fell and he was clearly all but dead. In the book, Hall takes great pains to absolve the Sherpas ( and Alex Abramov ) of any responsibility and acknowledges that their actions were absolutely consistent with accepted practice and simple self-preservation. Hall absolves everyone connected with the expedition.

Somehow— miraculously ( and there really is no other word for it )— Hall became the first human ever known to survive a night at that altitude on Everest. Discovered by four men ( Dan Mazur, Jangbu Sherpa, Andrew Brash and Myles Osborne ) who selflessly abandoned their own quest for the summit on the following morning, Hall lived to tell the story.

In the words of Myles Osborne, "Sitting to our left, about two feet from a 10,000 foot drop, was a man. Not dead, not sleeping, but sitting cross legged, in the process of changing his shirt. He had his down suit unzipped to the waist, his arms out of the sleeves, was wearing no hat, no gloves, no sunglasses, had no oxygen mask, regulator, ice axe, oxygen, no sleeping bag, no mattress, no food nor water bottle. 'I imagine you're surprised to see me here,' he said. Now, this was a moment of total disbelief to us all. Here was a gentleman, apparently lucid, who had spent the night without oxygen at 8600m, without proper equipment and barely clothed. And ALIVE."
Wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lincoln_Hall_(climber)

It's a great yarn. I've climbed most of my life and, like so many, am fascinated by the question of what motivates anyone to voluntarily endure the horrific discomforts and risks that are an unavoidable part of high-altitude mountaineering. With all due respect to Sir George Mallory, as far as I'm concerned, "Because it's there" doesn't justify dying.


_______________________
When you're at the bottom, this is one goddamn evil lookin' mountain:


Fortunately, it ain't as bad as it looks.




__________________________
 
thør said:
I don't believe most people set off expecting to die.
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Above certain altitudes, there is a statistical probability of death. Above certain altitudes, there is little or no margin for error from the effects of HAPE and hypothermia. On certain peaks and routes, there are predictably heightened odds of encountering bad weather, rockfalls, avalanches or other potentially life-threatening events.

Those who calculate the odds correctly, survive. Those who don't, receive Darwin Awards. Calculated risk-taking, by definition, means knowing the odds.


There's an old piece of wisdom among sailors. It goes:
Q: When's the best time to reef ( for non-sailors, to reef a sail means to reduce or take in sail in the face of storm conditions)?
A: The first time you think of it.

Similarly, among aviators:
There are old pilots and there are bold pilots but there are no old, bold pilots.

 
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