- We had to make the cell phone battery last the day. After each call to the Park Service incident commander, Jim would power off the phone and scramble back down and give me an update. The Rangers were working their way toward us. With the spare gear we had, he kept working to improve my comfort or care a bit. Supporting my broken leg with some clothes helped ease the pain some.
He gave me half a Honey Stinger and a sip of water. After waiting half an hour to make sure I could tolerate it without vomiting, he gave me another 2 Honey Stingers and a bit of water. He kept looking at my boot.
I knew enough first aid to know we had to get the boot off to allow blood to flow to my toes. But even the lightest touch was sending me into fits. On his calls to the Rangers, Jim verified the boot needed to come off.
Alan Arnette covers mountaineering, especially Everest, which he climbed to about 27,000 feet (8400 meters) three times beginning in 2002 before reaching the summit in 2011.
He has predicted a record-setting number of successful summits in the 2017 spring season which begins later this month.
He also covered Alex Txikon's recent winter attempt, linking to the Spanish adventurer's photo set depicting the absurd preparations required when you don't go with the crowd.
(Severe weather may have put an end to the attempt. Strong winds prevented them from pitching tents, and broke a pole. Searching for a spare pole, they found dead bodies in tents left from earlier years.)
Recently, during routine training for a planned climb of Dhaulagiri (8167m) in Nepal, Arnette was knocked down by a sudden gust in the Colorado Rocky Mountains, breaking his leg.
There are warnings about graphic content but I only noticed one gnarly image of the banged-up leg near the end.
- I learned a lot from this incident. Do I wish I hadn’t broken my face and leg – umm, yes! And life moves forward one step at a time with gratitude. It was and continues to be a positive experience.
Climb On!
Alan
Memories are Everything
I will not be forwarding this to my mother. I've been above the tree line in what I'd call, compared to what Jim and Alan faced, stiff wind. I think I've been above the tree line six times. Some of these were unremarkable. The first (Wright Peak) was dead calm in ideal winter conditions. A dropped feather would have landed at my feet. The second (Algonquin Peak) was an unsuccessful summit attempt in very windy winter conditions. As soon as I crossed the tree line I lost the trail. I pushed up maybe fifty feet, didn't find the trail, consulted a map, considered my options, and safely hiked out. I came back a month later and made the summit in windy but more manageable winter conditions. I was better prepared, too. The next was Algonquin again in ideal summer conditions but now pushing down the ridge (to Iroquois Mountain). The fifth (Gothics Mountain) was pretty good winter conditions. Tougher trail but manageable winds. But the sixth still scares me a little. It was Mount Haystack in Adirondack Park. It's a long hike, about nine miles each way. It's the third highest point in New York. I hiked it this past November. Down low, conditions were very fall-like. No hat, no gloves, a modest weight jacket. There was some ice below the tree line but nothing too bad. To reach the Haystack summit you have to go over Little Haystack. Making the situation worse, my hat (which I'd worn leaving the car but took off mid-morning) had fallen out of my pocket. I had only a small hat liner, but coming that far I'd push on until it was too much. Leaving the trees on the way up Little Haystack, the wind was clearly pushing me. There was some gusting, though not as sharp as those that took Alex off his feet. While there was some snow and ice on the trees, the wind had blown the bald areas clear. The trail was well marked with paint marks. As I reached the top of Little Haystack I considered turning back, but the wind was coming from behind me and the left. Cresting the summit the wind was essentially nil. There are some little trees in the col to provide a little relief until finally pushing to the main summit. I didn't fall, but the wind did force me to take careful steps and use my trekking poles for balance. The bald areas were totally in the clouds. Not fog; I could see the trail easily. But all around me was nothing but roiling grey; I couldn't even see the tree line. As I topped what appeared to be the summit, my GPS beeped and displayed "Arriving Haystack" to indicate I'd reached the waypoint. The altimeter said 4975' (the official altitude is 4960', but I haven't calibrated my GPS altimeter). I looked beyond to convince myself it was the summit. I thought I saw someone on a peak in the distance, but it had to be a trick of the clouds. I turned and went back the way I came. No pictures, no summit snack, just immediately getting back to the safety of the trees. This is hyperbole, but in retrospect I feel like if I had sat down and just stopped, I would have died. I believe I was safe the entire time, acting within my abilities and the conditions, but I think nine miles from civilization in whipping grey clouds on a lifeless sheet of rock probably the most dangerous place I've been. I have a couple more bald summits to go. I will be cautious. I carry a satellite tracker/SOS messenger.
From what I recall, it seems that you mostly hike/climb with yourself. Which is good for the soul but inherently dangerous. I have thought I had more than a 50/50 chance of dying on two occasions. First was coming within yards of a black bear cub on an Algonquin Park trail. Second was off the summit of Whistler in the Flute Bowl at c. 6,500 feet. Got off the lift just as they shut the hill down because of the weather. The strongest wind I have ever felt and a blinding snowstorm with deep powder, no tracks and maybe ten yards visibility. It did not take long before my partner and I stopped and asked each other what the fuck are we going to do. No one around. Neither of us knew the Bowl well and had to go very slow and stick very close together. No possible way ski patrol would have found us if something happened. It was both terrifying and exhilarating. Us alone against nature. I am almost certain that we were only saved by a group of German/Swiss/Austrians that stopped and let us join them down to the treeline.
I do hike alone, and it is a bit dangerous. I follow most of the other guidelines, including leaving a description of my plans with family and expected return times. But reading incidents like this one is scary because taking care of myself until help arrived would be a real challenge. I think I'm more conservative because of it, turning back and taking the safer options. Above the tree line in blowing snow on skis sounds really scary and a good way to become a search and rescue story. Algonquin Mountain has some rock cairns to mark the trail, but in the winter they aren't always easy to spot. And hiking at least, the spot where the trail starts isn't obvious until you're standing in it. I suspect a ski route is even harder, with wide open areas?
Correct. In a Bowl you make your own trail or follow someone else's line. My biggest worry was unexpectedly skiing into a tree well or off a cliff at low speed, which is actually much more dangerous than at higher speed. A lot of big resorts now offer a GPS tracker that can tell them exactly where you are and as long as you are in-bounds they should be able to get to you fairly quickly. If that was available then, I probably would have activated it and said I just needed a guide out of there.
Wow, what a concept. I've always remembered getting lost in deserted side streets of São Paulo as the time I most felt in danger, but that was bad luck as much as questionable judgment. The greatest danger that I have signed up for might have been an allergic reaction to bee stings during a long day in Tennessee. My reaction was fairly mild, but it made me wonder what would have happened if I had suffered more than a few stings. I will definitely be carrying antihistamine or an epinephrine injector if I can get one for future long runs.the most dangerous place I've been
It's scary in a good way. It challenges the mind in a way I don't normally get. I think it's similar, though tamer, to what the article talks about with the climbers pushing themselves into difficult situations. It forces me to trust myself, and I think that's healthy.
wasoxygen where do you find this stuff? Every outdoor themed post I've seen you make/share has been outstanding content.
I am pretty sure I first saw a link to the Alan Arnette blog here on Hubski; I tried searching to give someone credit but couldn't find it. I've tried to follow news from Everest each year since reading Krakauer's book. It's great to get some of the thrill and inspiration while warm and dry. And I agree with Cedar, it's when things go wrong and get scary that the stories are most fascinating.
It must have been that post from WanderingEng that made me aware of the site. Escapism is a survival tactic for cubicle life.
I like that several posts on #adventure are when everything has gone wrong and it's actually a survival story. I don't know if that makes it more or less adventurous, but thank you for sharing this post was; it's a pretty entertaining look at the fascinating and (to me) bloody terrifying world of climbing.