The Chair Lift Haunting

Outside Magazine Response

The article published in Outside Online concerning the safety of the chair lifts of our nation could unsettle those unfamiliar with the ski industry and their practices. The ski industry is in the business of moving people, primarily uphill, through the use of ropeways.

The age of the ropeway systems in the United States is growing older and the lifts continue to run each season receiving maintenance when required. Because ropeways have a predetermined life span, it is logical to assume resorts will use their lifts until it becomes more efficient to replace the lift instead of repair it. Because of the number of lifts in the country, it is reasonable to assume regular maintenance checks will eventually miss something that will in time cause the lift to fail. For example, on March 21, 2015 a chair lift at Sugarloaf lost traction and rolled back.  It was eventually stopped by the emergency brake, the “gear appears to have failed some time before the March incident but went unnoticed” (“Borrell”). Ski areas may not be aware of issues until the lift fails; it is most likely more dangerous driving to the resort than it is riding the lifts. Since 1973,  “13 deaths and 73 injuries resulting from 10 lift malfunctions in the United States” (“Borrell”) have been recorded.  More importantly the industry “has not experienced a fatality resulting from a lift malfunction since 1993, a 23 year period” (“NSAA”). This indicates the industry made improvements in ropeway safety; the article only mentioned the death in 1993 and then redirects focus to the lack of national lift safety and maintenance requirements, quickly glazing over this achievement.

Cal OSHA regulates tramways in California and oversaw the data at the location of the last fatality and does not share data bases with the NSAA. NSAA could not have been known about the incident at the time Outside Magazine contacted them about the March 1993 incident. In addition to not sharing databases with NSAA, Cal OSHA withholds “nearly all information about accidents, injuries and safety practices from the public and the government” according to an executive summary about the 2012/2013 ski season, which explains why NSAA would be unaware of the latest fatality and would have been unable to record it for their records.

It is unclear how “local resort” is defined by Outside Magazine defined, is a local resort the resort you go to the most often, acreage that is available to ski, or the distance from the skier to the resort? If “local” is defined by the skiable acreage of a resort, then Snow Trails, OH might fall into the “local” category with only 80 skiable acres (“Trails”) as compared to Vail Mountain’s 5,289 skiable acres (“Vail”). It would be illogical to define local by how many miles must be driven to reach the resort because what some consider close, others consider a road trip; the author is very vague about how local is defined. In conclusion, the article published by Outside Magazine sheds light on what could become an issue for the ski industry should it be left un-addressed, however the data does not support the ‘death trap’ concept suggested by the author.

NSAA records are availabe to the public and can be accessed through their website, https://www.nsaa.org/, as well as the fact sheet that was used as a reference for this response (see NSAA 1). See Cal OSHA below for tramway regulations in place as of October 2016.

The following content is a letter that was sent from NSAA to Outside Magazine after the article was posted. 


NSAA Open Letter on Outside Magazine Chairlift Safety Article

The ski industry has serious concerns with Outside’s recent article “Is Your Local Chairlift a

Death Trap?” The exaggerated, sensational tone, the significant errors—and especially the

critical omissions—are far beneath Outside’s typical standards of excellence. Look no further

than the choice of the lurid graphic of skeletons—yes, skeletons—riding a chairlift to appreciate

that Outside’s true goal here was more click-bait than objective analysis. The article is a

disservice to the ski industry as well as Outside’s readership.


Here are the facts. There is no transportation system as safely operated, with so few injuries

and fatalities, as the uphill transportation provided by chairlifts at ski resorts in the U.S. To put

things in perspective, a passenger is five times more likely to suffer a fatality riding an elevator

than a ski lift, and eight times more likely to suffer a fatality riding in a car than on a ski lift. Ski

areas have responsibly invested almost half a billion dollars in lift replacements, upgrades and

maintenance over the past 10 years.


Despite “months researching,” the article was sloppy with the facts and greatly inflated the risk

to the public of riding chairlifts at ski areas. For example, the article misleadingly highlighted

Mad River Glen’s iconic single chair (installed in 1948) as an illustration of aging lifts—when in

fact the ski area opted to entirely rebuild its famed single chair in 2007, at a much higher cost

than replacing it with a double chair, including state-of-art components and safety systems.

This mistake was particularly ironic given that the article contained a link to a source describing

exactly the great lengths taken to ensure its safety.


Outside’s lack of objectivity was underscored when the article cited Dick Penniman as a noted

authority on chairlifts—a man who has absolutely no engineering expertise on chairlifts and

extremely limited ski area operations experience otherwise. During Outside’s research on the

article, NSAA stressed to the writer that Mr. Penniman has never been a member of the ANSI

B77 committee (which is open to the public), and that in fact, the committee rejected him for

falsifying his application. Outside intentionally refused to include this critical detail, giving Mr.

Penniman a sense of credibility that is utterly undeserved on this important issue.

Contrary to the impression readers get from the article, ski area chairlifts are regulated. State

tramway authorities and the US Forest Service, through a team of tramway engineers, regulate

lift operations at ski areas. Moreover, every U.S. ski area adheres to the rigorous American

National Standard (ANS) B77.1 Standard, a national consensus safety standard followed in the

U.S. and mirrored in Canada (Z98) and Europe (CEN). The ANSI B77.1 Standard is required to

be updated every 5 years by ANSI regulation. Although the article discounts consensus

standards as “voluntary,” in fact, consensus standards are developed with input from the federal

government, industry, academia, consumer groups and other stakeholders. The federal

government relies on consensus safety standards out of necessity, and there are over 22,000 of

them in effect in the U.S.


Furthermore, there is nothing cursory about ski lift inspections. Annual inspections are

conducted pursuant to state regulations, insurance policy requirements and U.S. Forest Service

permit requirements. Additionally, ski areas conscientiously inspect their own lifts and

components daily, weekly, and throughout the entire year.


Finally, you won’t find an industry more transparent than the ski industry when it comes to

reporting safety data. There are no skeletons in our closet. NSAA annually compiles a

comprehensive report for the media and the public detailing lift incidents going back four

decades. Visit the home page of www.nsaa.org for links to in-depth data on lift safety. Neither

the elevator industry nor the amusement industry compile similar reports of their incidents. The

ski industry deserves full credit for its transparency.

In closing, the ski industry is fully committed to the safe operation of our chairlifts and we have

an exemplary track record to show for it. The ski industry deserves a more objective and truthful


treatment of this complex topic, without resort to hyperbole and sensationalism.

SOURCES

Borrell, Brendan. "Is Your Local Chairlift a Death Trap?" Outside Online. N.p., 12 Oct. 2016. Web. 27 Oct. 2016.

NSAA

https://www.nsaa.org/, .

NSAA 1

https://www.nsaa.org/media/68048/NSAA-Ski-Lift-Safety-Fact-Sheet-10-1-2012.pdf

Cal OSHA

http://www.dir.ca.gov/title8/sub6_1.html

http://www.dir.ca.gov/dosh/aroffices.htm

Cal OSHA 2

California Ski Resort Safety:  The Case for Transparency Legislation Executive Summary

http://www.snowsportsafety.org/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/CSSSO_Case-for-safety-transparency.pdf

Trails, Snow. "GET TO KNOW SNOW TRAILS." Snow Trails. N.p., n.d. Web. 27 Oct. 2016.

"Vail Ski Resort." Wikipedia. Wikimedia Foundation, n.d. Web. 27 Oct. 2016

Waddington Trip Report; Part 4: Horse Shoes and Hand Grenades

Grad School

We had made it - finally - to the mountains. They were so grand.  So big.  Sooo much snow.  And no more s'wack!   As we sat in parallel parked rope teams, discussing how nice it would be to not have any more vegetation until the final days, Jorn simply shook his head and smiled.  That should have been my 1st clue.

The solution to the riddle that is "Jorn" was not to be found by the Waddington 68 group despite the use of Occam's Razor. (Yeah, I know.  Look it up.)  Unlike the 'typical' mountain instructor who is mid-to-late 20's, single, doing what it takes to make ends meet, and has a totally biased world view, Jorn was not any of these. He was quiet. Intense. Not young.  At the end of most days we held a CHAI meeting. "Community Announcements, Hot Seat, Affirmations, and Information." A popular question tossed around the circle was, 'What was the most interesting/cool thing you have done?'  (One answer told the story of three students that came up from sea level and attempted a 14'er with what could have been deadly results.  But it was a cool story.)

"What was the coolest thing you have done, Jorn?"

"The coolest thing that I can tell you about was the HALO jumps I did," he casually replied.

Two things stand out: HALO jump(s) and 'the coolest thing I can tell you about.'
For my non-military friends, a HALO jump is an acronym for High Altitude, Low Opening parachute jump. A plane will fly high above contested territory and drop troopers, who free fall until the last possible moment and deploy their chutes for a 'detection-less' insertion. That was the thing he could tell us about. What had he done that he couldn't talk about?

What we knew about Jorn consisted of:

• He had served 20 odd years in some military, for which country we didn't know. 
• He was older then 50 
• He had more experience in the mountains than anyone else on the trip

And...  The mystery of Jorn continues...


Second Gear

We walked through the clouds into the wonderland below. Stumbling downward, I kept my mind busy by envisioning how I would ski the slope I was on. We kept descending for a few thousand vertical feet. The contour lines grew close together until they were almost on top of each other, each black line on the map bleeding into it's neighbor. An hour and a half later and we were only half way down. The white paths of safety ended, leaving fields and gullies of loose rock and boulders. Off Jorn went, jaunting through as if he was on the way to get coffee. I blinked my frustration, admiration, and fear, hoping for the first time that my sunglasses weren't mirrored so he would understand how I felt because there was no way words were going to cut it. All he had to say about it was to stay out from under each other and keep moving, and off he went again.

This was... different.

There was no protection.  No safety.  If you fell, and couldn't stop, it would be game over. From within my bones I felt the cold fingers of fear leave my marrow and encase the bone. Webbing across the surface turning the white bone to a dull gray, it began to seep through the muscle pushing the pulse back until my heart had all but been encased. Fear - paralyzing fear - consumed me. I had done some pretty sketchy stuff in the mountains but nothing of this caliber. In any other circumstance I would not have gone down this way. But down we went. When we got there it was all I could do to sit still. Adrenaline was drowning my system, and it's influence continued to pump my body to believe it was not safe. But I was.  Somehow, I made it down alive.

Looking back up at the drainage ditch, we saw the rest of the group at the top. One by one they start their descent, slowly, carefully. I could no longer keep Father Time at bay. Sleep was coming like a freight train loaded with coal and I closed my eyes.

My eyes flutter opened. I'd been asleep for 20 minutes already.  Jorn's voice drifted through the air saying that something was wrong and that he would be back.

"Zane, packs on in 5," said a voice outside of my dark world.

"I'm up," I responded, wishing it hadn't come to that.

Off we went toward Oval Lake. Another two hours of rope team travel followed with an hour unroped. We arrived on the other side of the range realizing my dreaded enemy was back. S'wack.  I might have uttered a curse word.

After a good night's rest, we battled a few hours through the alder and arrived at the lake. The welcoming committee was unwelcome: the mosquitoes had a field day.  Pushing on to the next glacier we made good progress, but it not enough. Mandeep took the lead, and was moving fast. We were on the edge of a dry glacier where all of the rocks and trees had been bulldozed. It was a weird world.  Everything was frozen in place. Water had melted and refroze into little beads giving our boots traction.

Our first experience with a dry glacier would not be a good one. Faster and faster we went, and then faster still. Our line had spaced out, with the front half pulling away and the second half falling farther behind. "It's only a matter of time before someone gets hurt," I thought. Nick misplaced a step and gravity took over, pulling him down the 60 degree slope. Falling six feet and landing on his shoulder, he bounced.  Time slowed. I counted my heart beats, thinking that this might be my first experience with death, it can't go right. Nick's throaty yells filled my ears as he landed on his back, his pack between him and the ground some vertical feet from where he started.

He lay there moaning.

One of the students stabilized his head in case of a spinal injury. The I-team (Instructor team) quickly was there going step by step down the list to make sure Nick was ok. All other sound had stopped. Ten minutes later Nick was sitting up talking. He was shaken but not hurt. The demons came whispering out from behind the dirty ice: why was Mandeep pushing us so fast?  Why didn't the other instructors say something?   This was the second time in two days that we got lucky. Coming down the steep rock gully, a small boulder had been dislodged and only the student's pack, and it's size, saved him from what very likely could have been a deadly encounter. Jorn took over, making sure the group was okay, then heading onward with renewed speed.

The forced march continued until we found and probed a site to spend the night.  We slept, an unfriendly tension in the air. NOLS is big on teamwork and team dynamics, more specifically how to handle conflict. The instructors had a very long meeting.  It was obvious there was disagreement in the ranks.  We didn't really know what happened, but from then on there was a friction that remained until late in the trip.

We stayed at that camp for a couple of days.  One day we practiced building snow anchors and had a nice little rest. The sensation of time is non-existent in the back-country.   You move when it makes sense to move; you bide your time when you need to wait. The next step to our journey was to traverse from one glacier up to another, then tag a pass and drop into the valley on the other side. In years past there was a steep but climbable snow ramp connecting the two.   On this trip there was no ramp, just a cliff. The plan was for the group to split up into three teams, and then shuttle their way up a top roped pitch connecting the two glaciers. Packs on back time was 0300 in hopes that the water falls would have frozen over.

Tent groups were rearranged so that each tent contained a rope team, hopeful that things in the morning would go more smoothly. We didn't sleep well and the alarms went off at 0130, beginning our day. It began with a hour delay for packs on backs due to weather. Crawling back into our sleeping bags we hunkered for another 60 minutes, not wanting to go back to sleep. 0245, another delay of an hour.  Packs on backs at 0500. Time moved like a melting ice-sickle, drop by slowww drop. Another hour delay pushed the start time to 0600. The red tent fabric snapped with the wind, a violent dance that lolled me to sleep until my alarm went off at 0525. Striking camp had become second nature, and we were cleaned up in record time. At the start of our trip it took us 45 minutes to go from bags to packed.  By the last few days it was done in almost 15.

The first team headed off across the divide and started the climb. The rest of the group waited until the first team was on it's way up so there would be no line at the belay. We watched as they reached the climb, and stopped and waited. Jorn in his trademark orange shell jacket, and Mandeep in his blueberry colored shell, they ventured up to the left, then back to the group, and Jorn started the climb. Smooth sailing until about halfway up, where he stopped, and waited. The group at camp watched him for a solid 15 minutes.  He stood there for that time, then down climbed and the rope team started to come back. No dice, the route was impassable. Upon returning we saw Jorn soaked head to toe, and the I-team had a meeting while the students talked. Story was the entire route was up a water fall, and exposed the entire way. The best case scenario was for people to climb up and everything be soaked and everyone cold. It just wasn't going to happen.

Margaret was part of the team that went up to attempt the climb; these are what she brought back.

We spent the next hour descending back to the lake where we set up camp, wondering how long we'd be there this time. It had been a long day: awake since 0130, covering 3 miles total, all in retreat. Before returning to the lake Jorn called Mama NOLS and requested instruction on what they wanted us to do next.

The next morning a team climbed the pass that we had come down 3 days prior.  They wanted to try the sat phone again, which had broke, tolerance for adversity and uncertainty. So we waited.  Jorn called for a meeting, and another fact about Jorn was brought to light:  he was one of the higher ups at the New Zealand NOLS branch. He then explained to us what the PNW, Pacific North West NOLS branch, would be doing. It was reassuring to 'know' what was going on and to know what 'would' happen. Which boiled down to the PNW was either going to give us a new route or they would shuttle us to the next food drop in the helicopter. Day one ticked by.  Then day two. By day three, we were restless.  Food was running low but we didn't have to eat much because we weren't burning calories. We laid in the tents hunting the mosquitoes that entered when we did.

Day three of waiting was filled by a lesson on ice climbing on the dry glacier. Excited to be doing something, we set off toward the glacier. We never made it to the ice that day. As we set off to climb, a helicopter rose form behind a ridge and landed near our camp with instructions to shuttle the group to the next food drop.

The view from the chopper. Our maps show the entire valley to be filled with a glacier, not the tiny ribbon that you see. It should stretch from one hill to the other. I really didn't understand the magnitude of everything until we were flying.

One hour later, we were dropped in the middle of the range.   An hour after that, we had set up camp and were told to sleep until the sun came up.

So we did.

Little did we know that the hardest days were ahead of us.  Everything up to this point had just been a preview.

Z

The Bear and Me; Part 1; Kobayashi Maru;

Hello Real World 

That moment you realize that what you thought was a one hour class is actually a 4 hour class. Great.  It couldn't be helped now, so off I went to a basic first responder lesson that would teach us how to react quickly in different scenarios to give the patient a fighting chance. It started out like I thought it would with a movie explaining what we should learn. (Four hours of this, greeeeat. **rolls eyes**)  But no, our teacher, "the Bear" had something else in mind.  It went from boring movie to story time.  And not just story time, but to be a player in said story, cool.

We were put into groups and all but one were asked to go to the end of the hallway and await instructions. Ten minutes go by, then fifteen, and more. Finally it was my group's time. One person was directed into a side room, me and the 3rd group member were taken back to the classroom and then it dawned on me: it wasn't just story time, it was information for the game we were about to play. A game based on what we had learned so far in the class.

'Story time' had consisted of some basic information. In this case, there was supposed to have been a crew of four guys, but one didn't show up so we were down to a team of three. Company policy says that we must go places in groups of two, so two of us in the control room overseeing the production of snow, and in theory two of us to check the snow guns that would shoot the mix onto the runs.

'We' had sent one of our own guys, alone, to check the gun lines and to keep them operational. I say 'we' because the Bear had told us what 'we' did, even though it was against policy. We were supposed to have radio check-ins every 20 minutes with the guy inspecting the guns. It is 0100 and a storm is coming in shortly. The last check in was 30 minutes ago and the storm is almost on us. The question is: what do we do?

My mentality was to get our buddy back. We had a general idea of his location and we knew he had the proper equipment to weather the elements until Mountain Rescue arrived. But, he was still outside and had not contacted us.  My friend and I agreed that we needed to shut down the snow making machines and call for help, and to call our supervisor and give him an update. Mountain Rescue was an hour away.  The supervisor's phone went to voicemail, so we left a message.

Then came the dilemma: do we go looking for our teammate or do we wait?  I said I wouldn't go, because it could make us part of the problem, and we knew Mountain Rescue was on the way. My partner wanted to go on the grounds that he had a good idea where #3 guy was, and it could be as simple as a radio issue. I asked how much longer it would take to shut the machines down. Bear said that they had already been shut down, so the ball was in my court.  Company policy said that we could leave the operation room if everything was shut down (it was), and my buddy was going out looking. In the end I decided it was better to collaborate with him than let him go out alone.

Off we went to the other room where we 'found' the guys sled next to one of the pits used for snow making. Each pit is about 20 feet deep and square, and in the bottom of each pit are pipes that will sometimes freeze over causing the gun to shut down. The tool to fix this is a propane torch, similar to those used to burn weeds. We find #3 guy laying in the bottom of the pit, unresponsive, but with the torch off.  (The actual 'pit' was two tables stacked on top of each other in a corner.)  Looked safe. So 'down' my friend goes to check him out.

"Ok,"  Bear says to my buddy, "so halfway down you lose consciousness and you too are unresponsive.  Zane?  Now what do you do?"

In the back of my head I say to myself,  'I wanted to stay put.' But on the flip side, had I not gone, the consequences of that choice would have been all the harder. Here I was in complete control of what to do next. A propane torch in a non-ventilated concrete box, and  gas had filled the pit. Stop and think.  Don't make a stupid mistake.  I asked if I could contact Mountain Rescue, which the answer was yes.  Perfect. I 'called' them and told them where I was, and what I knew for sure, and was told to monitor the situation.

Simulation end.


Debrief


"How many of you watch Star Trek?" Bear asked.

I raised my hand, being one of  a few people that did the same.

"Who has heard of the Kobayashi Maru?"

This time it was just my hand that raised. I got bonus points for that, in fact during the exercise I thought what we were doing was very similar to what Captain Kirk had done. My situation was also a no win scenario:  do we deal with the thought that our buddy is in trouble and wait for help?  Or do we go after him in a valiant, yet possibly suicidal, effort?

We walked back toward the classroom for the rest of the debrief. I asked what really was the best way to handle the situation. It was to call Mountain Rescue, and stay put. I then asked should I have stayed at base?  Or should I have gone  with my friend like I did?  Bear said the choice was up to me.  The machines were shut off, and he was going to go, so me going with him was also okay.  As it turned out, it was a good thing that I had gone. If I had decided to stay behind, things could have gotten worse.  Much worse.

"So Zane," Bear says, rehashing as we walked back into the room, "you received a check in on the radio 15 minutes ago saying that the sled had been found but that was all the info you were given. Now you have two lost guys and the weather is here.  What do you do?"  I inform Mountain Rescue of the recent events and tell them that my guess was that the two team members were together somewhere but both unable to communicate. Next would be an update to my supervisor (who wouldn't pick up) and I would remain where I was so that I don't make things worse.  It could have played out like that. It would have gone from bad, to worse, to nightmarish... had this not been a class. But it was a valuable class. The biggest thing that we learned was to CYA.  And the A's of your team.  Always.

My peers looked at me differently at the end of class.  They had been sitting in the room, knew what had 'happened' and watched how my and my buddy reacted to the whole thing. Bear created a healthy amount of stress that made it hard to think rationally.  It felt like I had been triple sat at the restaurant in the waiting table days.  I reminded my self that it was "just" a game.  A game that had I not learned valuable lessons for future usage could have dire consequences.

I am looking forward to these classes now.  If this is what college is like then I am really going to like it.

Z

Waddington Trip Report; Part 3; Into the Movies

A New Pace

There are three rules of the mountains: things are always farther than they appear; things are always steeper than they appear; and things are always harder than they appear. It was time to go from the forest to the mountains, and the only way to do that was up. After getting into rope teams, we set out to climb the pass. Traveling in a rope team is therapeutic.  You're still connected to your teammates and yet you are totally absorbed in your own thoughts. Just the crunch of the snow beneath your boots.

The hands of my watch spun onward.  The next time I checked, the little hand had circled three times. During those three hours we kicked up toward the clouds, and the view when we crested was unbelievable. Mountains in front of us formed a majestic wall of numerous assent possibilities.  The clouds hid the valley floor from us.  The WHY all came rushing back to me. I had spent so many hours laboring away to get to THIS point.  It all culminated in THIS moment. It was so much better than I had ever dreamed. It was... simply amazing.

The climber in me started thinking that traveling on snow was more safe than rock climbing. 'Safety' is an interesting notion because nothing is absolutely safe in the mountains.  Like life, there are no guarantees. At first I was concerned that moving on snow would be less protected than climbing on rock. That's simply not the case. When tied into a rope team, each team member creates protection for the others in the event of a fall.  Unlike climbing protection (helmet, rope, etc) each 'piece' of protection - each person - is moving in tandem and always looking for ways to keep the team safe.


Blinding Clarity 

As we worked to master the art of trudging, my mind wandered to what we had done up to that point. It was then that a startling realization set in. When we traveled in rope teams there were times where one MUST NOT FALL. I began to understand exactly how dangerous a hobby I had chosen. Anything in the mountains has the potential to be very dangerous. There were many times on this trip where my only thought was 'this is a no fall zone'.  Just that simple.  Fate stepped in to underline the point.

I received a text from my climbing partner back home saying that she was pretty shaken.  Having only seen her rattled once, I was very concerned and 'protect mode' kicked in. After numerous texts and a phone call, enough of the pieces were in place for me to understand. While taking a few friends climbing the previous weekend, the unthinkable happened.  A rope slid through the system, dropping the climber the remaining 60 or so feet to the ground. His pelvis was broken, but no spinal injury to my partner's knowledge. The climber landed 10 feet from where my friend was standing, and she was understandably traumatized.

No one person was at fault; however both sides should have claimed responsibility for the accident. The leader for not knowing how much rope was needed for the route, and the belayer for not being aware of how much rope he had left.

After coming back from the trip where we had one evacuation and a couple of very close calls, I now have new clarity on just how dangerous the mountains can be. You have to be on your A game the entire time, from parking lot to parking lot. And a  more scary thought than that is you could do everything right and it could still all go wrong. When you take someone out with whom to share your passion, you are also their protection, the resident expert. Be prepared as best you can.

Be safe out there.


Z

Waddington Trip Report; Part 2; The Broken Fellowship

Change of Plans

As the first ration period came to a close, fatigue began to set in. Even though the map shows less then 15 miles from the start to where we were, our bodies and minds were worn down. Setting up camp was becoming easier. Cooking was not as scary as the first few days, and we felt that we were moving more efficiently.

The map said that we were close to making it out of the s'wack, and spirits were up. In the early afternoon we reached the first snow of the trip. All heartache from the first few days was forgotten as we had finally entered the mountains.

Sort of...

Turns out there was a few more miles to be covered before we reached the pass, but we didn't care. We were now graduates from Bushwhack Academy; Twist Creek certified. Continuing onward, we slid onto the snow slope, traversed scree and boulder fields, and went through the remaining alder where we rested on snow.  We were tired, but excited.

It was not, however, all smiles. Over the previous couple of days one of our team members had an issue with one of her feet. Enough that the team helped take weight so it would be easier to travel. The decision was made to make camp down by the river and call it a day.


It was exactly what the doctor ordered: a good night's sleep, good food, and warm clothing. Life was good. Good. but not perfect. The student that was having foot problems had to be evacuated. An unseen mist fell over camp, thick and heavy, threatening to choke the group's momentum. One of the team was leaving. We still had time to say our goodbyes, but it still hit us hard.

There are no trails where we were, and certainly no roads. To get where we were required the gift of flight. A helicopter is the perfect vehicle for this, able to land and take off anywhere flat, and shuttle people and equipment where it needs to be.

As one might imagine, paying for the services of a helicopter is not cheap. The original plan was to climb the pass and have the helicopter drop food off at an agreed upon location. Climbing would be easy because we would have two days worth of food in our packs. Like any plan, it never survives first contact. Revised plan was for the second food ration to be flown in, then they would evacuate the student. Time was passed learning a few knots, and our first day of snow school.

After being taught how to use the ice ax for self-belay, we practiced self-arrest. Both are techniques that would keep us safe when we moved on the snow. The sun marched ever onward and soon left the sky hues of blue and gray. The unseen mist settled back over the camp. Before we knew, it we were watching our friend fly off, There was nothing left to do but press onward.


In Retrospect

It's warm inside, and gentle lighting sets the atmosphere as the flavors of the coffee slide across your palette. Home, this is home. You could travel to a different coffee shop, order the same thing, doctor it the same way, and yet it would not be the same. That's how it felt in the days after the student left. The group was ready to get out of that camp and climb the pass between us and the glaciers, but would have traded it all to keep the group together.

As Mandeep, our Indian guide often said:   "It be that way sometimes."


First Game of the Season

The Life Giver, the Sun, marched in from the East. We dawned our heavy packs and moved with new energy. After a quick two hours, and a crash course in rope team travel, we topped the ridge to a snowfield that led us to the pass.

We had covered a lot of ground that day and ended up spending the night just above the snow ramp. We were scared, and on edge to be sure, but we were loving it. That day was 12 hours in the saddle but all went well. After choosing a camp site and probing the area for safety, we set about putting camp together for the night.

It was no longer a dream.  After so many days in the weeds, to be here was incredible. Everything went so well the first day on the snow in rope teams. Hot cocoa fought with the cold as I stood looking out over the setting sun.  I watched as the mountains turned into dark shadows, back lit with yellow, then red, then pink. Life was good. Next order of business: UP.


Z

Waddington Trip Report; Part 1; Trail of Weeping Eyelets

So Far, So Good

I was amazed.  For the most part everything thus far had gone according to plan. Getting to my flight was painless. Changing my bus ride because of airplane delays was just as simple. I had a good meal  (my last one for a while), and had helped a fellow NOLS student out in the process.

Huh. Things never go this smoothly.

The 1st morning arrives, and there is a mad scramble to repack so we are ready for to roll when the van pulls up. There were a couple of trips going out on the same day, one to the Waddington Range, the other was a nine day backpacking trip along the coast. We got the usual welcome speech culminating in breakfast.

Next thing that I know, we are packed into a van and a pickup truck headed north. Two days later, we arrive at the campsite because the 'trail head' was still a few hours away. The first night in a tent, with three other people whom I had never met, went pretty well.  The next morning, we were in the car bright and early to get to the REAL step one.

So far, so good.


From the Frying Pan...


The van and truck disappeared and it started to sink in that we are all in for what ever lies ahead. Our tent group was shown how to work the stove and pack our bags.

Packs on backs and off we go.

If it is true that a butterfly's wing beat can change things on the other side of the world, then that could be a plausible explanation as to how things moved so quickly. We were so eager, ready to move, stoked to be there, but... little did we know what was coming.

I decided right then and there that I would not give up. No matter what happened, I would not stop.  It's a good thing I made that choice because right out of the gate we had a river crossing. Turns out that our boots - our $500 boots - weren't water proof. As the sun was setting in the distance, we found camp and had a moment where we were unsure exactly what we had gotten ourselves into...

With the night still young we crawled into our bags knowing that we would start the next day cold, and that we would hike the next few days with wet feet. Our socks were soaked.  The boots had a leather and foam liner for "warmth" that acted as a big sponge for river water. The outside of the boots would dry, and water would seep out of the eyelets,  It looked like the boots were crying.


...and Into the Fire


The next few days were Bushwhack Academy 101. Imagine weeds - TALL weeds - not trees, but not ground cover either. Just tall enough that you can't see over them. And thick enough that the dead fall beneath your feet can't be seen. That doesn't even begin to describe what lay all around us. In an eight hour day, we covered three, maybe four miles distance as the crow flies.

It was miserable, but we soldiered on.

It was slow progress, but the team didn't quit or give up. We crossed one more major river, finally getting to the correct side that would allow us to go up and over the pass between us and the mountains.


Reflection

Right off the bat the team dynamic was good. Ten plus hours in a van helped us mesh. After five days of bushwhack, we all knew that there was something about this group that would allow us to do great things. It was encouraging to know that the culture we would create was going to be strong and healthy. The perfect environment for learning. It would be hard, but we knew it was going to be worth it. And so we trudged on toward the mountains that had captivated us for so long.






Keeping You In the Loop

The Waddington Trip Reports are the final posts that started with the NOLS Dispatches. If you would like to read the entire story you will find the first dispatch under the January 2016 tab. If you enjoyed the story please post the url on your social media of choice so others may read my story.


Thanks,

K

NOLS Update

Hello friends,

Can not wait to share my experiences with you it's been a great month and will break the trip report in to a handful of posts.

K