Background
I was given control of a construction project several weeks before my birthday. My task was to manage the construction of a cruise ship terminal in Seattle‘s harbor. It was the second phase of the project and I was to be promoted to lead it. I had worked as a project engineer for many years and it was a relief to finally be running a project. I was in my late 20’s so it was high time to put my skills to the test. It was what I had studied in college and had been training for. But there was some apprehension in crossing this threshold of responsibility. I longed for some adventure before life got too serious.
The job was going to be a real challenge. The date for completion was set in stone. The massive cruise ships were already scheduled, and tickets were being sold. It was a big deal for the cruise ship company and the City. Any delay would result in serious fines against us called liquidated damages. We also discovered serious mistakes made in the estimate prior to my involvement. This meant the price upon which we agreed to build the project was far less than what we now expected the project to cost. A glaring mistake was the exclusion of costs to furnish and install two escalators and an elevator. We were essentially providing these to the owner for free.
Another mistake in the estimate, which in part led to my promotion, was a staffing budget 1/8 of what it should have been. To mitigate some of this cost it was decided that the more senior project manager, my boss, would move to the next project, and I would be promoted to be both the project manager and project engineer. Sounds great but I didn’t get two paychecks. Well you can’t choose the breaks you get.
While contemplating this upcoming project, I decided I might as well take some paid vacation while I could. This project could be a disaster for me. At the last minute, I sent in a vacation request and it was approved.
Plans
Having moved to the Pacific Northwest several years before I immediately began hiking and scrambling up small nearby mountains of the Cascade range. As I gained confidence I tried more challenging hikes and scrambles. I related many of these tales to a retired mountaineer I worked with and he fed me back some stories of his own. That stoked my imagination and motivated me to go higher and higher. He strongly recommended I join a club called the Mountaineers and learn the proper techniques before I got myself into trouble. I ignored this advice for 2 years but eventually signed up; mainly because I could not safely summit Mount Rainer without some training or hiring a guide.
The Mountaineers offer a 6 month course that teaches the essentials of mountain travel. The course literature cautioned it was a demanding course with many dropouts. With that in mind, I prepared for this course as if I had signed up for basic training with the Marines. On weekends I hiked up 4000 feet of elevation at a nearby mountain with 60lbs in my backpack, then ran and lifted weights on weekdays. The course was nowhere near as intense as I imagined and I made it through without difficulty. The course involved lectures, field trips, and tests; both physical and written. One of the more interesting field trips send us to Mount Baker, a volcano north of Seattle. We camped on a glacier on the southern slope and practiced glacier travel and crevasse rescue. One drill involved being lowered about 50’ into a crevasse to simulate a fall, then climbing out using a friction knot called a prussik. Another involved lowering someone into the crevasse who pretended to be injured and unable to climb out. The person above then set up a pulley system to pull out the injured climber.
So now it was late June and I had just completed the mountaineering course. With my last minute vacation approved, I decided I would go put my skills and knowledge to the test. The only thing to decide was where to go.
At work I kept with me a little book called Selected Alpine Climbs in the Canadian Rockies. I had purchased the book the summer before while driving through Banf National Park in Alberta. The pages of this small book contained pictures and route descriptions for some of the most impressive looking mountains I had ever seen. I flipped through the pages of this book many times at work while waiting on the phone or while eating a sandwich. Page after page of adventures for the taking. This was the place I had to go. Without much thought, I selected two attractive mountains which seemed to fit within my abilities. I would solo up either Mount Robson, or Mount Edith-Cavell; both near the town of Jasper.
I finished up my work week and drove home ready for a vacation. The Bronco was shortly loaded with gear and any food I had in the cupboard. I set off north toward the border.
My cat Sasha listening for birds. He stayed behind on this trip.
Hitchhiker
Picking up a hitchhiker in the United States is something I never considered. It’s just asking for trouble. While driving through Canada the previous summer I was surprised to see so many hitchhikers. And the surprise was not limited to their number, but also their appearance. They appeared normal. They were not dressed in filthy clothes and they did not look like serial killers. Mostly college age kids. The national parks and surrounding towns offered ideal summer jobs for many young Canadians and international sutdents. I gave a blonde girl a ride in Banf national park the summer before and thought that was cool. So from then on, while in Canada I gave hitchhikers a ride more often than not when I passed them. The people were always interesting and it helped relieve the boredom of driving. They also gave me some gas money which was appreciated.
So on the evening I set out on my adventure, I saw a guy hitchhiking a couple hours north of the Canadian border. He didn’t look dangerous so I gave him a lift. After determining his destination we drove off and began shooting the bull. He had some great stories which are worth repeating. To start with, the reason he was hitchhiking was that his brother-in-law had just stolen his wallet and car. This brother-in-law was “on a drunk”, a Canadian term for an alcoholic who was in a week long drinking binge and had no idea what he was doing. They had driven south to attend a Canada Day festival in a town near where I found him. Canada Day is the equivalent of our July 4th but takes place on the 1st. After partying it up at an outdoor concert he found himself in his current predicament and decided to head home and wait for the drunk to dry out. This was not the first time the brother-in-law had gone on a drunk and he wasn’t overly concerned.
We continued driving north while I was laughing at this story. We passed a billboard for a Heli-skiing guide service and the hitchhiker revealed he was friends with the pilot that ran that company. He said he had taken several heli-ski trips to the remote summits in the area and it sounded like a lot of fun. He then went on to describe one of these ski trips that he’d taken several years before. He was skiing down virgin powder slopes with a snowboarder following closely behind. He saw a small ravine and decided to jump it to ski the powder on the other side. He misjudged the width of the ravine and realized after he was airborne that he wouldn’t make it. The snowboarder seeing this frantically tried to stop but both smashed into the far side of the ravine. The snowboarder was paralyzed if I remember correctly, and the hitchhiker broke his collar bone, arm and leg. The hitchhiker recovered for the most part but said he no longer ski’s. I can’t remember what happened with the snowboarder but I don’t think he fully recovered.
After hearing about this mishap I told him of my plans to do some climbing around the town of Jasper. This prompted him to begin his next story. He told me about a backpacking trip he did around the town of Jasper several years back. He planned on doing some fishing in the mountain lakes for a few days while his wife and kids did some sightseeing in town. He was lucky and caught some fish the first day and began cooking them over an open fire. This unfortunately attracted a crowd of curious and hungry grizzlies. It was the time of year they gather in that area and eat voraciously in preparation for hibernation. He said he stood up slowly and started backing away from the grizzlies. They slowly followed from different angles appearing from behind trees on his flanks. He found himself backed up to a 20 foot cliff overlooking the lake. He jumped into the cold lake and swam to the other shore and waited. When he sensed the bears had cleared out he retrieved his gear and started a fire to dry himself before the cold night set in. He eventually made it safely out of the forest. He was late on returning and the forest rangers had begun a search.
His last story involved his hot tub and two 18 year old girls who lived next door to him. That may have been his best story but I’ll leave it to your imagination. Aside from the entertaining stories he also provided some useful advice. He said I was insane to attempt to solo up Mount Robson, so I decided I would start with climbing Mount Edith-Cavell.
I dropped the hitchhiker off at a roadside bar & grill. He said he knew the owner and could make it home from there. I declined the offer for free food and continued driving north.
False Start
I rolled into Jasper around 3AM. I continued on through town and headed for Mt. Edith-Cavell. I turned down an unnamed dirt road and set up a small camp near my truck. About 10AM I woke up and broke down the campsite. Just as I was taking down the tent, the head forest ranger for Jasper happened to drive by and spotted me. He gave me a ticket for camping in an unauthorized area. Great.
He was nice enough, just doing his job. He asked me my plans and I told him I planned on climbing the East ridge of Mt. Edith-Cavell and descending the West ridge. He said it sounded like a good plan but advised me to register at the Park Headquarters so that they could send out a search if I failed to return on time. I nodded my head in agreement while thinking what a waste of time, the climb was going to be easy. I never registered with the Ranger station.
I drove around town a bit, bought some food supplies, then drove over near the mountain to scout out the area. My first view of the mountain was impressive, every bit as beautiful as in the pictures in the guidebook. Mount Edith-Cavell has a summit elevation of 11,033 feet. Its near vertical North Face rose 5,000 feet above the valley below. Its rock was dark, almost black. Its shape was similar to if you stood a pipe vertically, then took a blade and cut from the base upwards at 45 degrees. The part of the pipe remaining was roughly the shape of the mountain; the front side at least. (The back side of the mountain is also shaped like this, which caused be much confusion later on.) Its ridges were covered in ice as were the grooves and gullies carved into the face. At about halfway up there’s a large hanging glacier sitting on a shelf of rock. This glacier periodically calved chunks of ice down into the lake below. The valley floor below the mountain was like a lunar landscape consisting of sandy type soil, not many trees, and lots of boulders. To get to the col below the East Ridge you climb over 2 miles of boulder fields, and these boulders were huge.
Looking at the silhouette of the mountain I could clearly see the route I would use to climb it. I could see a low col to the left separating Edith-Cavell from an adjacent lesser mountain. Then the East ridge rose steeply from the col, leveled out for a bit at halfway, then continued steeply until it eased off to the relatively flat summit ridge. From the summit, there was a short steep drop to the right, then the West ridge descended gently to a low point before rising again and connecting to an adjacent lesser mountain. At the lowest point of the West ridge I planned on descending the back side to a trail and hiking back to the parking lot. It was a circular trip, meaning no back-tracking, which appealed to me. The route looked simple from a navigational standpoint, but the amount of snow and ice on the crest was more than I expected this time of year.
Viewing the mountain in plan-view from aerial photographs, it is shaped somewhat like a crescent moon. An East ridge that curves gently clockwise to a west ridge. A South ridge pokes out the back of the crescent moon; a fact that I somehow forgot during the climb.
I wanted to begin the climb early the next morning and was looking for a place to relax. This wasn’t it!
The parking lot was completely packed with tourists. Four tour busses were parked with motors running. Cars were coming and going. People were wandering aimlessly around, not venturing farther than the edge of the parking lot for their trophy pictures.
After finishing up the recon it was time to find a place to rest up. I drove down the road a mile or so and found a nice empty parking lot, blocked intentionally by some boulders. I put it in four wheel drive and got my right tires on an embankment while the truck leaned to the left. I inched it forward watching the boulder extremely close to the drivers side window. I got it in there and found the perfect place to relax and eat.
I woke up around 5AM, cooked some food on my camp stove, then drove up to the official parking lot. After sorting my gear I started hiking around 7AM. My pack was fairly light because I planned on doing this in one day. The hike up to the col took longer than I expected. The distance was farther than it looked, and trail disappeared after about a mile into the boulder fields. Hoping from boulder to boulder for several miles I reached a steep snow field that led up to the col below the East ridge. I put on my gators and gladly left the boulders and began kicking steps in the snow.
I reached the col feeling good and looked up at the East ridge. This lower part of the ridge was fairly wide and I had 2 options. I could kick steps up a steep snow chute, or scramble up broken cliffs to the right of the chute. I chose scrambling to keep my boots dry. After about an hour or so of enjoyable climbing I reached the top of this section. I transitioned to the snow and kicked steps for an hour or so. I was still a little below where the East ridge levels off at mid elevation of the mountain. Here the East ridge kind of jogged left. I had to climb up a steep open snow slope. It was now about 11AM and the snow was very soft. I was sinking up to my chest in this stuff and the layer at my feet was very slippery. This was a perfect avalanche slope. I struggled up about 30 feet but became more and more uneasy with every step. If this snow broke free I’d be dumped off the East ridge and fall down the face of the mountain. I was probably 2000 feet above the valley floor by now, so I was getting freaked out. I came to my senses and realized I had to bail. If I was going to get through this section, I had to climb it earlier in the day when the snow is still hard. I retreated back down and planned on trying it the next day.
The East Ridge
The ringing of my watch alarm woke me from my uncomfortable sleep. I had sprawled myself across the 2 bucket seats of my Bronco and fell asleep listening to the Canadian version of NPR. It was still dark outside, around 4AM. I assembled my camp stove and heated up some water for coffee. After that I heated up a can of Pork-n-Beans and wolfed it down. With that out of the way it was time to get going.
I arrived at the empty parking lot and loaded up the backpack. I was going to go light as I had planned to make the summit and back in one day. I brought 3 liters of water, half a loaf of bread, a plastic jar of peanut butter and some energy bars. I also brought along my winter parka and a lightweight windbreaker, a fleece vest and a fleece long sleeve jacket. I did not bring a sleeping bag or stove. For gear, I brought crampons, an ice axe and an old steel ski pole. The ski pole was primarily for the approach and helped with balance while hopping from boulder to boulder.
I set out at about 6AM as the sun was rising. There were some clouds behind the mountain but it didn’t look like anything too threatening. There was only a slight breeze. At around 9AM I arrived at the same spot where I was halted the day before. The snow was much firmer this time and I easily made it up to the wide ridge above. Having surmounted this little trouble spot I relaxed, had a drink of water and ate a snack.
As I looked ahead it was clear the bulk of the climb remained. This ridge I was on was about 20 feet wide, covered in snow, and extended relatively flat for 100 yards or more until the ridge steepened considerably. Beyond this I could not see because the clouds had begun to envelope the upper parts of the mountain. The temperature was comfortable. While climbing up I wore goretex pants, a nylon t-shirt and the polar fleece vest. When I rested I threw on the polar fleece long sleeve. I wore crampons and had an ice axe in my right hand.
I started across this wide snow covered ridge quite relaxed and anticipating the prospect of a fun scramble to the top of the beautiful mountain. I guessed I was about 2 hours from the top having already gained ½ the altitude. I was slightly concerned about the weather because I had heard snow storms could appear suddenly in the Canadian Rockies even in the middle of summer. As I was walking along I suddenly felt the sensation of falling, my stomach contracted, but it was over in an instant. I landed on my feet and adjusted my eyes to the new scenery. I had fallen about 6 feet and landed on a bed of gravel. For some reason the snow in this area had melted to form a large cavern. The layer I had been walking on was only about 1 foot in thickness and collapsed under my weight. Thankfully I landed on gravel and not a large boulder. The rocks on this mountain were angular and sharp, almost looked like shale or slate. I used a nearby boulder as a step and hauled myself out. After the adrenaline subsided I relaxed and took a picture of the hole and had a good laugh. I was lucky and the laughter relieved the tension.
I continued along the ridge with much more care this time. I hunched over and planted my ice axe firmly with each step and kept my knees flexed in case it happened again. I soon reached the end of this wide ridge and was met with a 10 foot cliff of rock. This would be the first of many such cliffs. The rock was made up of horizontal layers of slate or shale. While these made for easy hand and foot placements, the rock was very loose. You could pull out any piece you wanted. So it was a little unnerving to climb on. Some rocks were more loose than others so I made a quick test of each hold and tried to gently move on up before something came loose. The previous fall through the thin snow layer played on my mind. I climbed with my crampons on, and let my ice axe dangle from the leash on my right hand.
I climbed this first cliff section without incident. At the top was a snow corniced horizontal ridge extending about 20 feet until another rock cliff rose up. The ridge was much narrower now, about 5 feet wide. Looking over the edge to my right, I saw a 2000 foot near vertical drop off to the valley floor below where I had hiked in that morning. The lake was visible as well as some tiny tourists wandering around. Looking off the ledge to my left I saw another 2000 foot drop off to a very sinister looking landscape below. This side of the mountain looked very foreboding for some reason. It looked very remote as if no animals or humans ventured in there. The clouds and wind were also coming from that direction and could have played into this impression it gave me. Knowing that I was on a possibly fragile thin layer of snow, I continued on very carefully. If it collapsed here, there wouldn’t likely be I nice layer of gravel to land on. I could possibly land on a slanting slick rock and get wedged against the snow or even burst through and fall down the face of the mountain. I poked my ice axe ahead before each step to try to detect a hollow space. I was mentally prepared to plant the axe deep as well to self-arrest if a foot should slip.
I ascended several more cliffs and traversed several more narrow ridges. The mountain now introduced more challenges. Now the corniced ridges became very narrow; as in knife edge cornices. The exposure was insane. 2000+ foot drop offs on both sides. The snow cornice came to a peak, like a roof of a house, but a very steep roof. Walking with bent ankles and feet on both sides felt very dangerous, so I sat down and straddled the cornices and inched forward to the next cliff. I kept my ice axe ready and focused my mind so that if something happened I could immediately go into self arrest. It looked like the cornice extended down about 20 feet on each side from the crest, and below that I could not see. So it obviously became steeper, possibly vertical. So I didn’t have much space to work with to stop myself from sliding if I fell.
Climbing the 10-15 foot shale cliffs now took on a whole new dimension. The climbing was still fairly easy, but the rock was just as loose. A fall here would land me on one side of the cornice crest or the other and it was unlikely I would be able to self arrest before plummeting off either of the faces.
After some of these cliff sections, the expected horizontal peaked cornice was no longer horizontal, but steeply angled. By planting my ice axe vertically in the snow and eyeballing the angle it made with the snow, I estimated that it easily exceeded 45 degrees, which feels very steep on snow.
Now I was completely engulfed in danger. Every step, every handhold, every decision had to be correct. I no longer paused to take pictures. I became completely focused and at one with the mountain. I felt in tune with my surroundings and moved steadily onward. There was enough fear to keep my mind focused, but it was not overwhelming enough to make me feel panicked. The clouds became thicker, the wind picked up, and it became colder. I changed from my short sleeve fleece to the long sleeve. I was loving this. It may be hard for the reader to understand how this was fun, but it was just pure excitement. There was nothing in the world except the next step in front of me. I was in control and moving steadily toward my objective.
After several hours of this I was ready for the summit. But the clouds prevented me from seeing how far it was to the top. I had an altimeter on my watch, but in these changing weather conditions it was very inaccurate. After each short rock cliff I expected to see the long gently sloping summit ridge. But time after time I was met with another dangerous cornice crossing with yet another black cliff. The pressure the mountain was putting on me could be felt. I had plenty of strength left, but the strain on my mind from the constant focus was taking its toll.
Finally I arrived at the summit ridge. This last cliff section was exceptionally tall compared with the previous. I climbed past a rappel sling partially buried in ice, which told me it was a serious enough section that people use ropes to descend it. It was a relief to see no more cliffs ahead. Here the snow cornice widened considerably and there was little danger now of falling off the mountain. There was still a steep drop-off to the right, however the left sloped at low angle for several hundred feet into the clouds. Now I was completely exposed to the wind which felt like 40-50 mph at this elevation. It was noticeably colder so I added another layer of clothes. The visibility was poor because I was in a cloud, as I had been for the last several hours. Snow was now beating on my face. Was it a snow storm or was this surface snow being blown around? I couldn’t be certain. Being caught up on the summit in a snow storm without a sleeping bag or stove was bad news.
I walked along the gentle summit ridge for 45 minutes or so until I reached its highest point. As I was walking I looked left at the various rock formations breaking out of the snow. With the snow swirling around in the strong winds, it sometimes appeared as if the rocks were moving. A few times it appeared as if wolves were running around on the slope below, only to realize it was stationary rocks. This was a clear sign that my mind was exhausted, but I did not realize it. I checked my watch and was surprised to see it was already 6PM. I had been on the move for nearly 12 hours. Those narrow snow corniced ridges had slowed me down tremendously.
The West Ridge?
I was now standing on the summit. The prospect of being caught in a storm was making me jumpy. I was also getting cold. I had all my extra clothes on, including my ski parka. I wanted to lose some elevation and get out of the wind. I knew I just needed to walk down the gentle sloping West Ridge to its low point, then hang a left and scramble down to the valley floor. Piece of cake.
To the right of me along the summit ridge was a steep drop-off. I was careful not to get too close to the edge because cornices are often over hanging and tend to break off. So when I began descending from the summit, I kept a safe distance from this right side and followed the slope down. The visibility was very poor. Snow was beating on my face and clouds were limiting vision to about 50 feet.
After descending about 50 feet I found that the snow on my left and right were sloping downward. I was on a ridge again. This must be the West Ridge I thought and was relieved. This ridge was nicely rounded and descended at a gentle grade; just as expected. I walked down and down for maybe 1000 feet until it seemed like I was at the lowest point before the ridge began to ascend to a minor adjacent peak. At this low point I turned left and started walking down the slope. The slope was like a very large chute. Concave with rock walls on either side. As I descended the wind slowed down and it became warmer. The snow here was very soft but it did not feel like avalanche conditions. I felt safe in glissading down the rest of the way. I slid down in a controlled speed for about 2000 feet, using my ice axe and feet for brakes. Ahead of me I saw that this chute I was in was narrowing to about 100 feet across. There were three large rock formations like teeth jutting from the snow and I couldn’t see the slope beyond. It must be getting steeper beyond that.
I used my axe to slow myself to a stop and walked down to these boulder formations. To my disgust I saw that this slope came to an abrupt stop here. I walked to the other side of the boulders and saw that this chute, this sloping valley I was in, dropped suddenly 2000 feet to the main valley floor below in a sheer cliff. In the distant past, a glacier from the main valley had sliced this part of the mountain clear off. What the hell had gone wrong? I thought maybe I had descended from the West ridge too early. Maybe I hadn’t been at the low point when I started descending. This was entirely possible in the poor visibility. Now what was I going to do? The prospect of climbing back up to the summit through 2000 feet of soft deep snow that I just slid down seemed very unappealing. I was tired now, all my water was gone, and I only had some peanut butter in a plastic jar as food. I studied the rock formation to my right. The rock was totally unclimbable. I had hoped maybe I could avoid slugging it up the snow slope again by scaling that rock wall to get to the “true” chute that would lead me to the valley floor.
The Ledge
I walked back to the drop-off and studied it closer. Looking over the cliff edge I noticed there was a wide ledge about 40 feet below me. The snow from the center part of the sloping valley funneled through the boulder “teeth” then dropped down a vertical chimney. From there it flowed down a lightly graded 3 foot wide chute for about 30 feet until it widened to a rocky ledge. I could not see below this ledge. It seemed impossible to me that a sloping valley of this size could just end so abruptly. There had to be a way down. There had to be a weakness. So in my exhausted state I decided I would climb down the vertical rock chimney, walk down the 3 foot wide snow chute to the ledge and see what was below. I was anticipating a series of little descents, from ledge to ledge, until I reached the valley floor. In retrospect, this plan was completely insane.
I kept on my crampons and let my ice axe dangle from my wrist. I lowered myself into the vertical rock chimney can began climbing down. Chimney climbing involves pushing with your arms and legs against the surface in front of you and pushing your back into the wall behind. I was wearing a backpack which made the climbing a little awkward. My ski pole, which I had used much earlier in the day on the approach, was strapped securely to the back of the backpack. The handle was at the bottom of the pack with the point and basket extended upward above my head. That way it did not interfere with my legs. From a distance it would look like I was an army radio guy with an antenna rising from my pack.
I worked my way down the 40 foot chimney with relative ease. The rock was wet because it was one of 3 main drainage points for that sloped chute. I was nearing the bottom of the chimney when I paused to plan my next move. I would need lower myself onto the narrow snow chute and walk down that to the ledge. The snow chute as I mentioned was about 3 feet wide, rock walls, not especially steep, but the snow appeared hard packed and slick. I planned on gently releasing myself from the chimney, planting my left foot on the snow, then follow with my right. Simple enough. I extended my left foot as I lowered myself down and let go of my hand holds with my left foot about 6 inches from the snow surface. My right foot still on the rock in the chimney was ready to follow the left foot.
The snow beneath my left foot immediately collapsed. My right foot banged clumsily into my left and with my forward lean, I was now catapulted head first down the narrow snow chute. This was it. My mind instantly knew I was seconds away from death. My nylon jacket and pants slid easily on the snow and I gained speed. I was already going too fast for my hands to brace against the walls. By instinct I began to try to spin around to get my feet downhill so I could dig the crampon points into the icy snow. The chute was too narrow. The spin kept being checked.
All this had occurred in about 1 second. In another 1 second I would go flying off the ledge. If there was another ledge below I would be going so fast that I would fly clear of it and go freefalling to the valley floor about 2000 feet below. I knew there was snow down there and it was probably deep and soft. But even if I somehow survived, I would be badly injured and the valley looked extremely remote. All of these thoughts were going through my head in such a short amount of time.
I was trying one last spin to get my feet downhill, but I knew it was almost too late. I prepared myself for the upcoming feeling of freefall. Like on a roller coaster when your stomach drops out from you. While trying to spin I was also curling into a fetal position. It was really too late now.
Suddenly I came to an almost instant stop. I was perpendicular in the chute with my head close to one rock wall and my feet against the other. I quickly rolled my feet downhill and dug them into the snow. I was breathing heavy and I must have been in a condition close to shock. I looked at my hands which were bloody from grasping at the rock walls. I looked behind me to see I was only 10 feet away from the edge.
It was my ski pole. My ski pole had wedged between the two rock sidewalls. My efforts to get my feet downhill had been hindered by the ski pole that extended above the backpack. But this ski pole at the last possible instant had become wedged between the rock walls. It was securely fastened to the pack, so it stopped me. I got to my feet, took off my pack and carefully walked onto the rocky ledge to look down. To my astonishment there were no more ledges below. I was on a small ledge 2000 feet above the main valley floor. I crawled back to my pack and let out a long series of expletives until I could yell no more. My mind was a mess. I wondered if I was really still alive. Maybe I was dead and I was just a ghost reliving my last moments. I sat there for awhile on that ledge wondering what to do.
I took out some bandages and patched up the scrapes and cuts on my hands. I then considered my options. I remembered that it was usually best to stay put and wait for help in a situation like this. But my current location made this a sketchy option. I was on a small ledge, 40 feet below a dead-end sloping valley that no-one would ever descend intentionally. It could be a very long wait and I only had some peanut butter left for food. This ledge, while fairly wide and free of snow, was unfortunately sloped outward. Just enough slope to make me wonder if a roll in my sleep would send me tumbling over the edge. And I was very tired at this point. It was 9PM and getting dark. And then the Park Ranger’s words came back to me. “….just register at the station and if you don’t make it back on schedule we’ll send a helicopter out to look for you”. I spent the next several minutes cursing myself for not registering. I was really angry with myself.
It seemed I had only one option, I had to get out of this mess on my own. I had to climb back up that 40 foot vertical wet rock chimney. Climb it with the knowledge that a fall would send me back down the chute again. I sat there for awhile trying to calm myself and prepare my mind for the climb. I got up, strapped on my pack and walked up the snow chute to the base of the chimney. I had enjoyed climbing down it, but the wet black rock looked nasty now. I started up, back to one wall, hands and feet on the other. My ice axe was dangling from my wrist on a leash. I still wore the crampons because I had climbed that way all day and didn’t want to change anything. About 20 feet up I got to a problem area. I could not find proper hand or foot holds to go higher. Chimney climbing is thankfully not too strenuous on the muscles so I was able to study the situation. I yanked up the ice axe dangling from the leash on my right hand and grabbed it. I fished it around blindly above my head until I found a place to wedge it. I tested it with a little weight and it seemed ok. Not great but ok. The wet rock didn’t provide much friction and the metal axe head could easily slip out if I changed the angle. Well it was my only option now. I had to use that ice axe to pull myself up or I was going to have to climb back down and wait on the ledge. That ledge seemed like death to me so I had to get up and out. I went for it, pulled on my right hand, lifted my body and adjusted my feet, reached high with my left hand to find a new hold. It worked and I was able to climb past the tough spot. I was out of the chimney several minutes later and greatly relieved.
I was still in danger, but at least it wasn’t the instant death kind of danger. I was cold and tired, very tired. I decided the best course of action now was to build a snow cave and rest until morning. To get off the mountain I was going to have to climb back up the 2000 feet of soft sloping snow, regain the West ridge, presumably descend further on the West ridge to the correct spot, then walk down to the valley floor below on my left.
Remembering earlier in the day when I had fallen into a natural snow cave, I hoped maybe I could find something similar here. I began excavating a cave next to a rock outcropping. This was a poor choice. I did not find any natural occurring snow cave, and the proximity to the rock outcropping made the roof of the excavated snow cave unstable. The snow had also melted away from the rock surface a few inches and I was unable to close in all the gaps in the roof. The main benefit of a properly built snow cave is to trap the body heat inside and keep out the wind. My cave let most of the heat escape. I climbed in anyway and tried to get some sleep. I had worked up a sweat from building the cave and had dampened my clothes from snow contact, so in a short time I became very cold. My toes started to get numb and I was shivering. I dozed off a few times but the discomfort woke me up again.
After an hour or so I had enough. I would rather hike all night and sleep in the morning sun than spend another minute in that miserable cave. I crawled out, threw on my pack and began slugging up the snow slope. The short cat-naps I’d had did nothing for my tired body but were actually very refreshing for my mind. I was able to think clearly again. I realized that mental exhaustion had led me down the chimney and almost cost me my life.
Night Trippin
The snow conditions on this slope were absolutely terrible. It was chest deep and soft. Not like powder snow soft, but something different, it was grainy and heavy. I guess rotten snow is the right term. At any rate it made forward progress extremely difficult. You thrust a knee forward into powder and put your foot down, the snow underneath would crumble and your foot would be back where it started. It was similar to the conditions that forced me to abandon my first attempt on this mountain. But here I had 2000 feet of it to climb. I had to regain the ridge, 1000 feet below the summit.
Sometimes forward progress was impossible, so I would angle left or right. For some reason it allowed forward progress for a little distance before I had to tack again. After an hour of this insanity I took a breather and admired the clear sky and bright stars. There was no wind and it was pleasant. There are many climbing stories where the storms seem to pause after the mountains claim their sacrafice. The mountain gods cut me a break this time.
I swung my gaze to the right following the outline of the summit ridge as it descended down (it was the East ridge which I had climbed that morning ). And there, on that distant ridge across a valley from me, I saw something unbelievable. The ridge was illuminated with an eerie neon blue light. After much blinking and squinting I could see movement in the blue light. It looked like an alien spaceship had landed and they were milling around taking samples. But after a few seconds they looked like human shapes, two of them. They were busy walking around and pausing to communicate. The blue light was hanging from a pole. The object they were walking near was a tent. Did someone hear my yells earlier? I was suddenly a little embarrassed. Were they sent to rescue me?
I yelled as loud as I could and aimed my headlamp in their direction. They stopped cold and looked in my direction. I yelled “HELP!”. “HELP!” There was no response, they just stayed frozen looking in my direction. I yelled again and after a moment they turned to each other to say something. Then they just went about there tasks again. I was thinking “What the hell you assholes, I’m in trouble here”. So I yelled “SEND A HELICOPTER!”. But they must have thought I was crazy and ignored me from then on. It was possible they couldn’t make out what I was saying, it was really far away. They must have wondered what I was doing on that part of the mountain. No-one would ever descend that slope intentionally. Little did I know then how far off my navigation actually was.
Well I continued to slog it up the slope. It eased my mind knowing other humans were up on this mountain. I angled for a large rib of rock protruding from the snow in hopes of catching some rest on something dry. But to my dismay every rock I encountered was angled steeply downhill. There was no place to rest on them. Amazing. So I continued up and up slowly for the entire night.
Finally as the sky began to get a bit lighter I reached the top of the ridge. I was so happy that the warm sun would rise in a few hours. The snow firmed up (do to the relentless wind action the ridge receives) and the steepness gave way to the gentle ridge crest. The sky was now free of clouds above, but a mist now shrouded the valley floors. I was back on what I assumed was the West ridge, I began to walk down it in search of the correct chute to descend to the valley floor.
Yes, I concluded, I must have descended off the ridge too early before. This ridge was still sloping down. So I kept walking down. I looked off to my right and saw a wide valley with a ridge on the other side. That ridge connected to the summit behind me, so I thought hmm, that must be the East ridge that I climbed yesterday. But it didn’t look the same as what I climbed. Well I told myself, that’s often the case. Sometimes mountains look completely different from different angles so it must just be an optical illusion. But if that is the East ridge, what was the ridge those climbers were on with the blue light? Were they climbing from the south? Was there a South Ridge? Apparently so. This climb had seemed so straightforward I didn’t spend much time studying the aerial photograph and didn’t buy a map. All I planned to do was follow the East ridge to the Summit, exit the summit onto the West ridge and then down a chute on the back side of the mountain to the valley floor. The lake and parking lot would always be to my right.
Revelation
As I was going over these thoughts the sun began to come out and the mists were evaporating in the valleys below. I looked down to the valley on my right and something just wasn’t right. I didn’t see a lake, I didn’t see a parking lot. This valley floor looked very desolate and remote. And that ridge beyond the valley to my right really didn’t look right. It did not look like what I climbed the day before. Studying it more closely, the ridge descended from the summit to a low point then raised up to another minor summit. There was an easy descent from the low point of that ridge to the valley floor.
Oh my god! It all came to me. I was on the wrong ridge! That ridge across the valley was the West ridge. That’s the ridge I thought I was on, the ridge I was supposed to be on. The descent off that ridge looked exactly how I expected it to be; easy. I must be on the South ridge! I didn’t know there was a South ridge! Somehow in the poor visibility I made a mistake. I had descended from the summit down the South ridge, took a left and slid down that dead-end sloping chute, and eventually ended up on the ledge. The climbers I had seen that night were following my route up the East ridge! They probably used my footsteps. Now it all made sense.
There was nothing to do but turn around again and head back up 1000 feet to the summit. From there I would connect to the West ridge. Thankfully the windblown snow on this wide corniced ridge was firm and easy to travel on. Now it was just a matter of time before I’d be off the mountain. I could see my descent route off the mountain from here and it was in fact as easy as I’d expected. As I approached the summit it became clear how I’d made the mistake. To get from the summit to the west ridge, you actually had to head south, towards the South ridge because there’s a steep drop-off from the summit to the West ridge. After descending 60 feet of elevation you need to take a u-turn and double back below the summit cliffs. You traverse a 200 yards of steep snow between the South and West ridges before you get on the West ridge.
While climbing the East ridge, there is always sheer drop-offs to your right, so making a u-turn after the summit in poor visibility was not a natural thing to do. That u-turn would give you the feeling you were walking out onto the steep face of the mountain. If conditions were clear, the mistake I made would be impossible. You would always keep the lake and parking lot on your right. The descent and u-turn would be an obvious necessity.
So finally I made it onto the West ridge and began descending. It was probably 8AM. I had been on the move for 26 hours with less than 1 hours sleep. I began to see things that weren’t there. I saw some dark shapes in the snow that I first mistook for a group climbers taking a rest. Perhaps they had come up the West ridge in search of me? As I got closer I became convinced they were not climbers but mountain goats or deer. They froze at seeing a human and would likely scatter soon as I grew nearer. But they didn’t move as I got closer and closer. At last I found that they were bare tree branches poking out of the snow. A group of dead gray tree branches.
I made it easily to the low point of the ridge and turned left and scrambled down the scree slope toward the valley floor. It was loose footing most of the way and I slipped a few times on my tired legs but it was good to be finally losing elevation that I knew I would not have to regain. The valley below was beautiful. Small stands of pine trees, good dry firm soil, with many small clear streams cutting through. The multitude of small boot paths gradually all met up to the main trail and I started hiking out. The hike was probably around 5 miles but mostly flat. About ½ mile from the paved road I stopped and took a rest. More accurately I collapsed on the trail and sprawled my body out like a squashed bug. A nice family of French speaking folks walked by me and we exchanged hello’s. After they passed I looked myself over. My hands were bandaged and my pant legs were torn to shreds from my crampons. What a mess. I got myself up and gutted out the last mile. I got to the Bronco around 1PM. So all told, I had been hiking and climbing for 31 straight hours, except for the 1 hours rest at the snow cave.
Back on Earth
The next day I drove through Jasper and stopped at a climbing gear store. I picked out some gear knowing the exchange rate was extremely favorable. The store owner was not much older than I and was a climber himself. I related some of my story to him, happy to share it because I was still a little freaked out. He told me that many people made my mistake, and there are fatalities every few years. People also attempt to descend too early on the West ridge and find themselves on increasingly steeper and steeper loose terrain with no ability to climb back up. So I felt a little less stupid, but still keenly aware of the many mistakes I made. I finished the week with some short hikes but my urge to climb was fulfilled for the moment.
As I drove south towards the U.S. border I pondered over any lessons that could be learned from my little adventure. I had intentionally ignored many of the codes and rules taught to me by the Mountaineers. The most obvious was climbing without a map. Climbing solo is of course not recommended either, but I have to admit there was something truly satisfying in it; and in some ways worth the risks. My gear selection was adequate although a stove and pan for melting water would probably be worth the extra 2-3 pounds of weight. What was most interesting to me was it was not the limitations of my body but my mind. It was the decisions that my exhausted mind had made that got me into so much trouble. That was something to remember. It is no coincidence that most climbing accidents occur on the descent.
The trip really tested my limits and gave me more than enough confidence to manage that first construction project. I was always the youngest person in the meetings, often negotiating with people twice my age. But I wasn’t afraid or intimidated. What could they do, kill me? I took that fearless attitude to my next projects to the amusement of my boss.
Despite all the cards stacked against us, we made money on that job. It took a lot of effort, planning, scheduling, arm twisting, nagging, motivating, and craftiness on the part of myself and the general foreman. By finding errors or ommissions in the contract language, specification, or in the drawings I could justify a request for additional compensation. This “extra” work would impact the schedule and require addional money for our management. All of this, properly documented and approved, added up to a sizable amount of money. Enough to make the project profitable. In fairness the owner knew of the mistakes in our estimate and were extremely fair when considering our claims. It was a lot of fun. Turning a profit on that job was considered a minor miracle by the higher-ups and I was rewarded with more projects to manage.
Edith-Cavell was the first and last solo-climb; but not my last climb. It was the type of adventure I needed at the time. I will end with a quote from Helen Keller. The quote was inscribed on the back of a card from the wife of the late Alex Lowe, a world class climber. Alex had been on an expedition in the Himalayas with the goal of skiing down an 8000 meter peak. After morning coffee at base camp the group had gone off in different directions to reconnoiter the mountain with bonnoculars. Unexpectedly a massive avalanche released near the top of the mountain. The avalanche was huge, like none ever documented on that mountain. It was very unusual to have avalanches at all that time of year. They had planned the expedition to minimize this risk.
The people at base camp miles below ran for cover. Many hid behind huge boulders and survived. But they never found Alex nor an experienced outdoor photographer. Alex had been a hero of mine. Arguably the best mountaineer of his time and one of the all time greats. After hearing the news I sent my condolences to his wife along with some money for her kids. I received a wonderful note from her in return along with this quote.
Security is mostly a superstition.
It does not exist in nature, nor do the
Children of men as a whole experience it.
Avoiding danger is no safer in the
Long run than outright exposure.
Life is either a daring adventure
Or nothing at all.
-Helen Keller
THE END