
...has its ups and downs:
There was this time, in the Nevada mountains - I won't say where - when I took a little excursion off of highway 50 (you know- "the loneliest road in the world") up an innocent-looking dirt road. It went for miles straight across the basin at first, then climbed around curves up into a high valley.
As I rounded the last curve and sped up for the straightaway, I found myself looking entranced at what seemed like the most desolate place I had ever been. A road to nowhere. A long valley sandwiched between two mountain ranges, with one particular peak to the right which scared and fascinated me.
It took me a few moments to realize that I was now driving on mud, not dirt, and that the wheels of my Volkswagon Squareback, into which I had crammed all of my worldly possessions, were now spinning, and I was no longer moving. Dusk was beginning to settle over the landscape, and there was probably not a human soul within 50 miles.
I got out of the car and, feet sinking into the mud a good few inches, took stock of my situation. I had one useful tool - snow chains. Hands and knees trembling, I mounted them, got back in the car, and tried backing up. No luck, so I tried going forward, which served to get me about 50 yards farther into the mire. I stopped, got out. One of the chains had come off. I retrieved it.
As I fumbled to get the chain back on the tire, shaking uncontrollably, I found myself praying two prayers at exactly the same time. "Lord, if this is where you want me to be, I accept it in love. Thy will be done."
The other? "Get me the fuck out of here!!!"
With that, I got in, put it into reverse, and the car simply backed up the hundred yards or so to dry dirt. My heart was pounding as I breathed deeply with relief, got out of the car and looked up at that mountain on the right. It said - yes, it really, unmistakeably said to me, "Get out, and never come back here!"
I never did.
Probably getting stuck in the mud and having to overcome that situation saved you from what might have been far worse. Some mountains like Whitney are a walk in the park if you take the easy way up. Others like White Mountain in the Inyo range are fourteen thousand feet plus but one can drive to the top like you can on Pike's Peak. The majority of high peaks are much more remote and I have heard some terrifying stories of mishaps, even with proper safety gear when the unforeseen occurs. Our climbing guide Larry Williams spoke of seeing a climber lose his grip on an ice chute, and watched as that fellow slipped endlessly, unable to perform an ice axe arrest and he watched that poor fellow land in the talus below after sliding thousands of feet across glare ice and snow. That poor guy had a fractured hip, a broken wrist and two broken legs when Larry got to him as fast as he could. Covering him with a blanket was about all he could do at that point. Larry had been sitting on the top of a fourteener when he saw the accident happen from probably a mile away across the glacier from the top of Mt. Sill. It meant descending by rappelling off the peak, glissading down the mile long glacier where he did what little he could do to make the fellow comfortable, and then glissading another mile from the glacier to a snow field to base camp, then running six miles down the winding rocky trail along the creek to the lodge below to call for the rescue. Had no one seen the accident, there would have been no helicopter rescue and that poor soul would have perished. It's cold in them thar hills too. You could have gotten stuck in the mud and have frozen to death if the altitude was high enough. Best to hear that voice first, no matter who you are. It begs the question of whether the allure to climb peaks is a death wish or if it is a more intelligent and cautious notion to be safe and to enjoy the breathtaking views that are afforded by success. On Mt. Winchell the first high peak I climbed as a fifteen year old with Larry, a friend whom I had on belay managed to dislodge a fair sized boulder by yanking on the belay rope and it nearly killed him when the rock cut loose. I was perched precariously on the edge of a precipice when this happened and the rolling rock made the whole mountain vibrate causing me to sweat. The voice inside told me I would sit out the next climb. In my case the next day's exercise at base camp went a little too well for me, and our guide told me I was coming on the next big climb like it or not. If a bit hesitant the next climb proved to be less hazardous, and in retrospect I'm glad Larry Williams argued with my inner voice that urged safety first. I've written of this event before, wondering aloud if our families who sent us on this trip secretly wanted us dead. It was a distinct possibility that it could happen.
ReplyDeleteThat was in 1964. Twenty four years later I ventured up the trail to the glacier, underdressed and leaving a bit late to go very far. There were four of us. Two of us hiked ahead of the other two, and learned later that one of our friends below had tripped on an easy part of the trail and cut himself badly enough to need first aid. He was lucky not to be far from the ranger station where it happened. I wondered how the glacier had fared with all the talk of global warming - even back in '88. Two technical climbers named Lewis and Bob had been moving slowly ahead of me and my friend Forest, who managed to get to the first glacial lake that was located at about ten thousand feet before dark. When we caught up with Lewis and Bob carrying their gear we could see that they were all set to bivouac, I asked them how much the glacier had receeded since '64, and one of them said "you don't want to find out." They knew who Larry Williams was and looked at me and said "wow!" They knew Larry had died, and not in the mountains but in a plane crash. They told me Larry had made many first ascents up the hardest routes in the range. I've seen recent photos of the glacier and it's not that bad. There is a lot of scree where once you'd see snow in July. My friend was a Indian and a Piaute whose grandfather had lived on the Big Pine reservation. We said good bye to the Lewis and Bob expedition and played it safe, to join our other to friends where we camped below. The road that went up to the trail head was paved in this case. You wouldn't want to burn out your brakes on the way down it was that steep. Sometimes it is best to listen to that voice and wake up tomorrow with something safer in mind. Hey, I have a friend whose mother died from a slip in the bath tub. "It's the first step that will get you" - that is if you don't freeze to death after night fall.
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