Forward
I began to wonder if I needed an alarm clock as my body kept waking up before it rang. However, had I not set an alarm I would not have woken up: Murphy's Law.
The wind howled like it had the previous days, and the sun was nowhere to be seen. We had to make tracks today. By this time in the trip, the group as a whole had agreed to an invisible contract, and camp disassembly was efficient with very little communication needed between members. After the ropes had been prepared for travel, the group was ready to start the long vertical day. The objective was to climb to the saddle and descend the other side where we would camp and recover for the last day of uphill travel in the entire trip.
Jorn had proposed a strategy for rope team travel that would prove to work very well. Up to this point, one group would lead all day, breaking trail as well as route finding while the groups that followed would obliviously march along behind. We made it a point to stop every hour for a break but this was wasting precious time we didn't even realize was slipping through our numb fingers. The new method was for each rope team to lead for 15-20 minutes, then step aside and let the next team break trail and route find. Once each team had led for their turn, and the first group was up again, we would then have a break. This method not only increased our speed up the slope, but boosted the group's morale because we traveled a greater distance with more elevation gained than any other previous day.
The first half mile we gained about 400 feet of elevation, and finally climbed above the clouds which were being funneled into the saddle where we had spent the last few nights. On our first break, I watched the clouds travel up the valley from where we had come. I envisioned the other group having found our tracks and were making good time into the heart of the range even as we were leaving it. It had all gone by so fast.
I had it figured we would climb hard today, camp, then climb tomorrow and descend the ridge toward the evac lake, chilling there for a day before the plane picked us up. At the beginning of the trip that seemed like an unattainable goal. Now, as my hands double checked my knots out of habit, with what I guessed to be about 20 miles to go, it seemed easy. No longer does the heavy pack bother me. Besides everyday that we ate, the pack grew lighter. Three more days, a day of modern travel back to Denver, and on the fifth day I would have a real cup of coffee at home.
An hour or so into the climb, the lead group spotted the trail from the group that had descended the previous day, and the pace doubled as no one else had to break trail or route find. During the morning, the rope teams traded the first person off so each person could have a chance to lead. Once we reached the saddle, the leaders had an important decision to make: descend to the left or right?
The group we met had ascended the right side of the crevasse field and said it would most likely be best to descend there as well. The kicker was that once we dropped into this valley the required path was on the opposite side. It was a choice between descending the easier side and then traversing the valley floor to the next ridge, or descend down the left side. The potential headache of descending down the left side could be offset by the fact that the group may never have to go all the way to the floor and instead traverse up to the next ridge. The decision was made to turn right and camp in the valley instead of potentially doubling the travel time for the day.
The rope team that I was a part of led the descent. I figured the best way down was to choose the route that I would ski. It worked. After two more lead changes we were at the base of the glacier. We took another long break and considered the options. Should we climb the ridge to our right or continue our descent and call it a day?
Nature's Revenge
Gray clouds swept over us, and out of habit, I pulled my shell pants and jacket out of my pack and put them on. I was a little warm but I would take being warm over being wet. We made good time as we traveled down the glacier. We watched as the clouds came in, hiding the path ahead. The SLOD's and Jeff scouted ahead while the rest of the group waited on a rocky safe zone. Like the beginning of a dark season of mourning, the sky began to weep, slowly and quietly at first.
We moved on into the mist, belayed off of our rocky ledge by our team members. Our instructors had directed us to be careful of our footing, and to keep the rope taut between us and the person in front of us in case of a fall.
The wind picked up and the rain increased, beating off my shell like tiny BB's and running down my body. After what seemed like forever, I decided to get my heavy gloves out. If I was going to stand and wait, I may as well be warm. This involved a process which was tedious. In order to get my gloves and jacket from my pack I had to remove my pack and hero loop, find my gloves and jacket in my pack, remove my hood which was over my helmet, take my helmet off, take my shell off, put the new jacket on, zip everything back up, put the hood back up, then fight with my gloves to get them under the sleeves, don my pack again, and re-clip the hero loop. I thought through this entire process as I stood there shivering. Once I had thought it out, and was confident that there would be no mistakes, I began the process described above.
The wind howled and the rain fell hard. I was constantly reminding myself that the longer I took to get my gloves on, the more wet I became. Slow is smooth, smooth is fast. Still the rope teams waited. Plink, plink, plink, plink... The sound of the rain on my shell almost succeeded in lulling me to sleep. It was a fight to remain awake while standing there.
The rope pulled tight and jerked my body forward. I stumbled a few paces before regaining my balance. Out of the mist, the slope dropped away in front of me to what I would guess to be over 35 degrees, about the steepness of a moderate Black diamond at a Colorado ski resort. Narrow steps had been carved down to the next rock island of safety.
Stepping slowly down, and trying to keep pace with Matt who was in the lead of the rope team I was on, while also being able to stop when he got there taxed any mental focus I had left. I belayed the following climber in, and then sat exhausted in what had become a drizzle from a light gray sky.
Next, was a small belay down to the next rock outcropping. We were held up in this because the anchor system had to be built. All of the rope teams had to secure their ropes, be lowered down the face, then re-rope and continue.
After what should have been a quick belay down, I waited at the bottom for the rest of my rope team, trying in vain to find rocks big enough to block the wind and rain. Around this time, Jeff had roped up and was leading the first team out onto the dry glacier. A few minutes after they had left, through the wind and rain, Jorn shouted instructions that the second rope was to be filled with students and to follow Jeff. We soon lost them to the mist. I reset the rope on my back to be ready for a team of three. Mandeep came down, followed by Jorn. He clipped into my rope with inhuman speed and told me to follow the steps of the other group. Nervously, I tracked onward following the tracks in front of me.
Suddenly, the other rope team materialized in front of me. They were waiting to cross a snow spot, and without a probe they felt uncomfortable doing so in case it covered a crevasse. After probing, and crossing the snow we were on a "dry" glacier; that is, a glacier with no snow just light blue ice. We scanned the horizon for Jeff's rope team but did not see them. We were too far behind them. A minute went by, and Jeff's trademark light green jacket looked black and white due to the storm, but the color pattern matched. Across the wind, we heard that we would need our crampons and should put them on now.
At this point in the trip, I had started keeping my crampons on the outside of my pack for easy access. I was glad I did because it kept me from having to dig through my pack in this weather. Ten minutes rolled by as we geared up. After both rope teams had their crampons on, we started slowly toward the tail of Jeff's rope. We were instructed to follow close behind so we could see the correct path and not stray. This proved to be difficult because not only were we walking in 2 inch spikes (only our second day in them) but we also had to manage our steps and keep the ropes tight as there were crevasses all around us.
Camp
After failed crampon bindings and many stumbles, we reached the edge of the glacier and took a quick break. I'm sure it was close to ten minutes but it felt shorter than that at the time. I was tired. Very tired. My stomach was hurting, and I had to force my mind to focus. The teams packed up the ropes and the Instructors led onward. First out, Jorn searched for some place to set up shelter. Another five minute quick-march and we eyed a potential camping site. Jorn felt it was too close to the cliffs. No sooner had he voiced that opinion, and a rock slide wiped out the site in question. We moved on. A hundred yards further there was a similar spot with a large rock ridge between us and the ridge. The Instructors double checked the spot before the group went up.
On the way, Jeff asked how I was doing. I responded sarcastically but in a joking tone. He nodded and told me to keep Grant awake and warm. Shrugging off my pack, I went to find Grant. He did not look well. He was off by himself, rocking back and forth while sitting on his pack. I asked him how he was doing, His eyes drifted in my direction but never focused. Something was NOT right. Gently grabbing his shoulder, I stood him up and had him swing his arms in a more intense version of the 'Warm Dance'. Asking again how he felt, he quickly mumbled quickly a soft word. "Cold", and his eyes drifted closed. "Keep moving," I said with gentle sternness, doing the moves with him so he only had to mirror my actions.
I tried to keep sleep from overtaking Grant. I watched in amazement, and with a small sense of pride, as the rest of the group set up and storm-proofed camp in less than ten minutes. As soon as the first tent was up, a dry sleeping bag was donated by Matt, and Grant crawled inside. Sitting inside the tent's covered side I looked at Grant and realized he was soaked to the bone. And here I thought my day was bad. Grant removed anything that was wet, and crawled into the dry bag, shivering.
Nick stuck his head in and asked Grant if he would like some tea or cocoa. "Cocoa." Rummaging through Grant's pack, we pulled out any clothing that was dry and handed them too him. Nick came back a few minutes later and gave Grant his hot drink.
Soon after, I headed off to my tent. After checking the stakes one last time, I shed my wet gear and began to settle in for the night. I reached into the bottom of my pack for my sleeping bag and my heart all but stopped. My bag was soaked. All thoughts of a warm night became brittle and and hollow. My fleece was wet too! My mind was broken. It started as such a good day and ended so poorly.
After a few minutes of self-indulged depression, I started to scheme how to get my equipment dry. The answer was unpleasant. My synthetic gear would best dry when exposed to heat. The logical solution was to apply heat, and at the time, the hottest thing that could be applied was the heat from my body. In other words, to have warm and dry equipment, I would have to wear the damp synthetic jacket, the wet fleece, and be inside the wet bag so my body heat could do it's job.
The wet jacket had sat on top of the wet fleece inside of my wet bag. I hoped my heat would radiate through the layers and dry everything by morning. I did have one piece of good luck and that was that somehow through it all, my winter hat stayed dry. I pulled it down as low as possible, and with my head buried in my hands, I tried to relax.
Sleep came only after my mind shut down from the cold and exhaustion. The next morning, I awoke with the wind and rain beating a somber cadence on my tent. I shuddered at the memories from yesterday and was disappointed, but not surprised, that my gear was not dry; damp but no longer wet. While breathing into my hands to try and warm them, my eyes lazily focused on the gloves and socks hanging above me. I was amused as I thought of a baby mobile doing the same job above a crib.
The other members of the group talked quietly over the sound of the storm outside and I overheard something startling. In my state of self-preservation, I had somehow missed that Grant had fallen into a crevasse. A single misstep, and he fell backwards, getting soaked by the running water from the glacier. What I had assumed was lack of energy was actually the first stages of hypothermia. I hoped he would be okay.
Laying there numb to the cold, I thought back over the last 24 hours and marveled at the day as a whole: how everything was going right, then went wrong just as quickly. Yet the thing that stood out the most was the set-up of camp. During the last hour of our day everything clicked. Each member did their part regardless of the rope team they were in. The first tent, rain-fly, and stakes that were out were assembled into a tent regardless of whose they were. Nick was on top of helping Grant by assembling a stove, lighting it in a storm, and boiling water for Grant's hot drink. He put himself and his needs on hold to take care of Grant, and by extension, the team. Everyone helped in their own way and it all came together when it needed. We had survived our trial by fire.
Four more days before we were going home. The easiness from yesterday was replaced with suspicion as the gray sky grew lighter. I lay there wondering if the next time I'd have dry bedding would be my hotel bed.
Z
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