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James Peak - JournalSunday January 16th, 2000 6:15 A.M My alarm just went off and I look over to see that it is about 6:15 in the morning. Today Aaron and I are about to set off on our first official mountaineering journey. Sleep last night was fitful due to my overwhelming sense of excitement about the day ahead. I have been reading about famous mountaineers and their adventurous journeys for about 3 years now. I have read technical books about alpine techniques and winter survival; I have read amazing stories about the power of the human will. I feel like I have climbed famous mountains through the eyes of adventures before me. Today will be my first step toward experiencing those same emotions and personal challenges. We are setting out for St. Mary's Glacier just north of Idaho Springs in the Front Range of the Colorado Rockies. We will meet Bill Morris and Russell, our mountain guides and teachers for the next 48 hours. Our goal today will be to learn alpine mountaineering techniques that may someday save our lives.
7:15 A.M. We arrive in Idaho Springs. As we are about an hour early at the rendezvous point, we head into town to grab some breakfast. At 8:15 A.M. we meet the guides and the other climbers; Doug, Mark, Dwaine, and Jim. We assemble a caravan and head back up the road toward St. Mary's and the town of Alice. About 4 miles north we turn off the highway and drive another 20 minutes up a switchback road in the mountains. It's hard to believe that we're less than an hour out of downtown Denver. We park on a pull-off, which seems to be in the middle of nowhere. We are told that the trailhead is just up the road and the hike to the glacier is about 3/4 of a mile with a 200-foot elevation gain. Once out of the vehicles, we put together our daypacks, which include 3 liters of water, some food, extra clothes, glacier glasses, goggles, and various other necessities. After that, we gear up with our ice axes, plastic boots, crampons, and harnesses, and head up the trail. Once on the glacier we huddle up to go over the details of the day. The weather is almost perfect. The sun is shinning and feels warm, but a nasty wind is blowing from the top of the glacier. We are constantly bombarded by windblown snow at about 20 mph. I don't mind it because it will be a good test of my gear and it allows me to imagine that I'm high on Mt. Everest. We spend most of the morning learning about how to read avalanche and snow conditions. We are all paying close attention because we know that avalanches are the greatest cause of death in the mountains. After that we practice self-arrest techniques, which are the techniques used to stop yourself in the case of a fall, we rope up and practice team climbing. This turns out to be pretty fun, and good lesson to learn. In a team of 4 people, we march up the glacier with about 25 feet of rope between us. The idea is, if one person in the group falls, the other three immediately drop into the self-arrest position to stop the descent of the falling climber. This technique really gives you a sense of security while climbing a steep incline.
1:30 P.M. The wind has been steadily increasing for the last couple of hours and the temperature is beginning to drop. It's becoming difficult to hear the guides as they try to yell over the howl of the wind. The snow is blowing directly in our faces but my gear is holding up fine. Inside my Gore-Tex shell I am warm as toast. We continue to learn about knot tying and proper equipment maintenance.
3:30 P.M. The sky is dark with ominous clouds that promise the arrival of a storm. The guides decide to call it a day and we head down to the parking lot to pick-up our large packs and gear for the night. We will be sleeping out at about 10,600 feet. Only five of us will actually be camping out tonight, the others were only here for the day. Tomorrow, our group will attempt to summit James Peak 3 miles to the north.
4:30 P.M. Aaron and I arrive back at the campsite at the base of the Glacier. It has grown dark already so we put on our headlamps to scout out a good spot to pitch the tent. As the wind is now steady at about 30 mph, we decide to pitch our tent in a hollow among some trees. We are going to attempt to survive the night in a 3-season tent, which neither of us has ever slept in before. We realize our first problem when we try to drive regular tent stakes into the rock solid ice. The thin metal stakes enter about one inch into the ice and begin to bend. This is both frustrating and concerning because our exposed flesh is freezing by the second and the wind is threatening to tear the tent from our numbing fingers. After a brief moment of panic, we decide that the best solution will be to secure the tent using the largest boulders we can carry. After struggling for more than 20 minutes, we get the tent somewhat secured to the ground.
6:00 P.M. It's now completely dark. The wind and snow obliterate any light from the full moon that we know is there. The wind is still increasing, now showing gusts of up to 45-50 mph. I am outside the tent preparing a brew for our dinner and warm drinks. I use both of our backpacks as a protection from the blowing snow. My Whisperlight stove works flawlessly in the wind and high altitude and soon we have boiling water. Again, I am happy to have this chance to test my equipment. I would rather do it now when I have a vehicle less than a mile away, rather than have a failure somewhere out in the backcountry. After we eat our freeze-dried meals and drink down some fluids, we hop in the tent and zip into our sleeping bags. The tent is very small, probably too small for two guys as big as Aaron and I. There is not even enough room to sit up while inside. Although our faces are no more than 2 feet away from each other Aaron and I have to yell over the wind to hear each other speak. The walls of the tent are flapping violently in the wind. The howl outside is almost deafening. I imagine what it must be like high on the mountain.
6:45 P.M. I set the alarm on my watch for 5:00 A.M. that's when we will have to get up and make preparations for our summit bid. Since there is nothing else to do, we try to get some sleep. I zip myself into my mummy style sleeping bag and pull the drawstrings tight around my chest and head. All that is exposed to the outside air is my nose and mouth; the rest of me is secured within the bag. Throughout the night I drift from a semiconscious state that I wouldn't consider sleep, to being fully awake and distressed. Every time the wind gusts, I half expect our tent to collapse or be ripped to sheds. It's an eerie feeling and one that excludes any chance of real rest. I check the thermometer on my watch at regular intervals and see that the temperature in the tent has fallen to about 34 degrees. Regardless, my -15 bag has me sweating - another equipment success.
Monday January 17th, 2000 1:30 A.M. In the middle of the night Aaron is overcome with a terrifying bought of claustrophobia. He tries every technique he can think of to calm his mind and slow his heart rate. Nothing seems to work. Suddenly, and without hesitation, he tears open the tent flaps and thrusts himself out into the storm. Yelling and cursing he struggles to put on his frozen boots and outer clothes. He decides to head down to the car to try to compose himself. I am left alone. The temperature in the tent drops to 29 degrees and a snowdrift has formed in the tent due to Aaron's rapid and haphazard departure. Staring at the walls of the tent as they thrash in the wind, I feel a sense of helplessness and fear. Although I know there is another tent less than 100 yards away, I feel completely isolated. As my mind jumps from thought to thought, I ask myself what the hell I'm doing out here. Then a sudden calm comes over me as I realize that this is exactly why I'm here. I can survive this; it's simply a case of mind over matter. I think about the stories of survival, of the men who have survived much worse than this. This is a test of my resolve. With that, I slip into a state of suspended animation, I'm not asleep, I'm not awake, but I will survive.
5:00 A.M. My alarm sounds on my watch and I look out the tent to see a light coming up the trail. It's Aaron, who has also survived his personal ordeal. Although the snow has stopped falling, the winds have not weakened. I scramble out of the tent and put on my boots and outer clothing. My boots are filled with snow and the laces are frozen solid. I am relieved to hear a call from our fellow climbers; they have also survived the night. We hastily break down the tent and pack up our gear in the cold dark morning air. The temperature outside has fallen to about 10 degrees. The walk back down the trail quickly thins our blood and we are soon warm and comfortable.
6:45 A.M. After cooking a few brews and eating some breakfast, the team once again gears up for the summit bid. We are a team of six as we head back up the trail in the early morning light. We have lightened our packs and bring only what is necessary. Bill, our guide, sets a slow pace to ensure that we all reach the summit. As we slowly cut steps up the glacier the thin air has an immediate affect on my body. As we reach 11,500 feet at the top of the glacier, I am already struggling to get enough oxygen into my lungs. A strong wind is blowing directly in our faces and carries snow and spindrift along with it. Looking up the line of climbers above me, I have the sensation that we could easily be somewhere in the Himalayas on a team expedition. As we leave the glacier and head out onto a slowly rising plateau, I am not yet able to see the base of James Peak. I know that the mountain is about 2 miles ahead of us, but a thick shroud of clouds obscures all but its base. We pause for a moment to catch our breath and Bill informs us that our next stop will be at a rocky outcropping about 3/4 of a mile ahead. I look up at the point that he is talking about and would swear that it is only 300 yards away. The thin air plays tricks on the eyes and makes thing look a lot closer than they actually are.
9:00 A.M. We reach the rocky outcropping and take shelter from the wind while we try to re-hydrate our bodies with food and water. Already, I can feel my body begin to weaken due to my lake of sleep and heightened level of anticipation. I am happy to drop my pack and find some relief from the terrible pain in my shoulders and back. I sit behind a rock and try desperately to catch my breath. The base of the mountain is still another mile away, across a barren wasteland of rock and snow. The scene looks like something from another planet. After about 5 minutes of rest, I feel surprisingly rejuvenated. We continue our climb. As I am walking across this plateau of rock, an amazing thing happens. For just a moment the sky clears and I am able to catch a glimpse of the summit. I stop dead in my tracks as I gaze at the summit more than 1500 feet above us. The mountain looks as if it has a life of its own. It stares down at me and makes me feel small and insignificant. As I stare skyward, I ask the mountain to permit me one chance on its slopes, then I promise to leave it in peace. As if my question was answered, the whole mountain briefly reveals itself, then slowly drifts back into the clouds. That is the last time that the mountain would reveal itself.
9:45 A.M. We have reached the base of the mountain and slowly we begin to traverse up its eastern ridge. The wind is relentless and the cloud cover limits our view to less then 30 feet in all directions. The only direction I can sense is up. Unable to see the top, or the ground below us, I feel a sense of vertigo as I climb the rocks in front of me. At this point I have slipped into my own personal existence. The climbers in front of and behind me are nothing more than a blur. I have been here before during my treks in Outward Bound and my backcountry trip in Montana. The only thing I hear is the beating of my heart, which thunders in my ears. Every step, every inch is a challenge to be overcome. My lungs are burning, my ribs are aching, and my body is screaming at me to stop. I must go on…left foot…. right foot…. left foot …. right foot - this is all I think about.
10:30 A.M. About a third of the way up the mountain and an elevation gain of about 500 feet, Doug stops the team. He says that he can't go on and fears that he will slow the team and spoil our chance at gaining the summit. Bill and Russell attempt to reassure him that he can go on. They tell him that he looks strong and that it is only a mental obstacle. Having experienced the same sensation when I was a younger during my Outward Bound course, I know what Doug is going through. The human body has a way of betraying the mind. It tells you that you can't continue. It tells you that you must stop. It tells you that you have reached your limit. What the body doesn't know, is that the mind is much stronger. If thought is channeled and focused correctly, it can force the body to do things that are otherwise impossible. Having been forced to step over this line in my youth, I know what the body is capable of. Ever since my Outward Bound experience, I have wondered where my limit is, and what it would take for me to "hit the wall". Perhaps that is the answer to the proverbial question of "Why do I want to climb?". I am in constant search of my limitations. Regardless, I know how difficult it is for Doug. If I had not been forced to do it in Outward Bound, I may never have understood. After some reassurance and confidence building, we convince Doug to go on a little farther up the ridge. 15 minutes later, Doug hits his wall. He can't go on. Bill decides that he will go down with Doug and Russell and the rest of the team should try for the summit. It's now 10:45 A.M. and our scheduled turn-around time is set at 1:30 P.M. This is the time we must turn around in order to make it off the mountain safely, regardless of how close we are to the summit. Climbers follow this rule judiciously as summating late in the day may result in being trapped on the mountain at night during the decent. We are now a team of 4. Russell is leading and Aaron, Taylor and I follow close behind. We have to stay close now as the conditions have turned into a complete whiteout.
11:00 A.M. I look 20 feet above me to see that the other three climbers have stopped. I see nothing in front of them. Aaron throws his hands in the air and I am relieved that we have made it. A burst of energy comes over me as I scramble up to them. As I pull myself up the final boulder, my heart sinks as I realize that they are standing on a false summit, the real summit still looms far above us. My heart is racing and my lungs are on fire. I turn to Aaron and see the same expression on his face. It turns out that his hand in the air gesture was only to say, "Son-of-a-bitch, we're not there yet!" After I regain my composure, I continue on up the ridge. Every step is excruciation. When I slip on boulders and have to regain my balance, I am pissed about the valuable inches lost. Every inch counts and to have to make the same step twice is wasted effort. These are the things that go through your mind as you climb at altitude. Eventually, I am able to get into a rhythm of counting how many steps I can go before stopping. At this point I am taking 35-40 steps before stopping for 30 seconds. My legs are burning and my feet feel like they weigh 40 pounds each. Inside my boots, I know that both of my big toes have turned black and blue from constantly kicking steps in the snow and ice. Since 7:00 A.M. this morning, my nose hasn't stopped running. I finally give up on trying to wipe it clear and let the snot form ice crystals on my chin and neck gaiter. I must look a great. Suddenly, Russell signals for the team to stop. He yells back and asks us all to take five steps to the left. As I side step across the ridge, I look to my right as the clouds lift momentarily. About five feet from where we are standing is a snow cornice overhanging a sheer rock face that falls 3,000 feet below us to the north. The site is awesome. With the cloud cover below us, we can't even see the bottom. It looks like an abyss. The cloud cover rolls back in and we continue to climb. Struggling up to the next rest point, I see that we have reached another false summit at about 12,700 feet. The ridge in front of us drops down about 100 feet into a saddle and then continues back up the mountain. With the whiteout conditions, we are still unable to see the top. Away from the group, Aaron and I make the decision that we will climb the next pitch. If it turns out to be another false summit, our climb would be over. Privately, I am gripped with terror as I realize that I am beginning to see my wall. Never in my life have I come this close to it. It is becoming more and more difficult for me to block out the physical agony and exhaustion that my body is experiencing. At this point, nothing else exists… it's just me and the mountain. I am now down to 15 steps between breaks. After resting for 30 seconds between steps I have to scream at my body to move forward. With all my mental concentration focused, I force my left leg to moving forward six inches, then my right leg. On and on. Suddenly I hear a sound begin to seep into my conscience being. I break my concentration of the climb to hear the others shouting at me. I realize that they are only a few feet away from me. Slowly my mind begins to register that they are cheering. We have made it! We have reached the summit! I am overcome with a feeling of euphoria. I strip off my pack and fall to my knees. I made it. I didn't hit my wall.
12:00 P.M. The wind at the 13,294-foot summit is unobstructed and brutal. Almost immediately, my body begins to cool. Under my Gore-Tex shell my undershirt and fleece are damp with sweat. I realize that I can't stay here very long, but it's a struggle for me to even reach for my water bottle. I don’t want to move. I want to sleep. Knowing that my body has been tremendously weakened by the climb, I strip off my gloves and force down some water and food. A wave of nausea instantly comes over me. I put my head between my legs and wait to vomit. It never happens. Pulling my gloves back on I realize that my hands have already become numb. It was dumb for me to take them off in the first place. I know from my reading that the mind slows down at altitude. Climbers have been known to strip down to their underwear or walk off ledges because of it. You have to constantly try to remain alert. After only a few minutes at the summit we pull our packs back on and begin our decent. Our climb is only half over. Descending is the most dangerous part of a climb. This is that part that accounts for 80% of climbing deaths. Climbers exert the majority of their energy to get to the summit. They experience the euphoria of achieving their goal and tend to let down their guard as a result. We had been climbing for more than 5 hours straight, on little or no sleep the night before. We now faced a very dangerous decent in very low visibility on legs that could barely support us. Again, the mind becomes the only tool to rely on. During the decent I focused all my mental energy at surveying each and every step. Will that rock support my weight? Will I slip on that snow patch? Am I heading in the right direction? Am I close to the edge? Where was that snow cornice? The problem is, during the decent, everything happens faster because you're heading downhill. Once or twice I stumbled over loose rocks or hyperextend my knees. But all in all, the decent to the bottom of the mountain was painful, but uneventful. Once out onto the plateau I seemed to reach a point where I no longer felt the pain. It was as if my body realized that my mind wasn't listening. I was on cruise control. I paused just long enough to gaze back up at the mountain. I thanked the mountain for allowing us this day.
And with that, I left it in peace….
Nathan Joseph Pappas January 17th, 2000 |