Grum's Stories of the Field Part 4 (Final)

Greetings good subjects.

I spent most of today interviewing potential field assistants and drooling over the new Mazdaspeed 6, an all-wheel-drive, 275 bhp, turbocharged, re-suspensioned improvement on the original Mazda 6 (which was already a powerful, smooth handling car). The Mazdaspeed 6 comes close to challenging the niche of the Subaru WRX STi; it may be 25 bhp down on the scooby, but it's also like $15,000 CAD cheaper, and (although this is largely subjective) I think it looks better. Bose sound system too.

Field assistants are hard to choose. Do you go with the guy with lots of climbing and hiking experience but almost no geology, or the guy who's in third year and does really well in class but has little mountain experience? There are in betweens too, but at least everybody seems really easy to get along with (which is really the most important issue here).

Ok time for the final and most harrowing episode of near-death mountain experiences: The Fall.

It was the second helicopter camp of summer 2004. On about the third day we hiked from camp along the side of the mountain, in the direction of a sub-peak of Cranberry Mountain (see above photo). We walked around the back of the peak (out of view of the photo) and then came back along the same way (along the snow above and to the left of the words "fall location"). Andy continued along above the snow at "fall location" on a dangerous ledge which we'd already walked along once, to see the rocks on it again. I decided to use the lower snow as a 'highway' to get back to camp faster and start dinner (and avoid the danger, ironically). So I climbed down to the beginning of the snow, and casually stepped out onto the steep slope, heel first, so as to dig in and not slide down. The photo is looking to the West, and since the mountainside is quite steep the sun goes off the snow there at about 2 in the afternoon. By 4:30 the snow has hardened to an icy hardpack and my foot went straight out from under me, catching me totally by surprise.

I immediately realised the danger, and attempted a "self-arrest" manoeuver. This involves jamming the blunt end of the ice axe head under your shoulder, and pressing the sharp serrated end into the snow with your body weight, while gripping the axe on the top with your hand. The snow was hard enough that the axe jumped out when I tried to do this, flipping me onto my back. The shotgun (last resort bear protection) was strapped to my pack with the barrel down, meaning that as soon as I landed on my back the barrel dug into the snow and flipped me completely over, through upright, very fast (due to the already high speed) and I landed hard on my stomach facing downhill. What I saw is burned into my mind forever. At the end of the rapidly ending snow slope was about 10 metres of sharp boulders, still very steep, followed by a cliff. At this point I'm pretty sure my eyes bugged out of their sockets like Wile E Coyote's when he notices that he's walked off a ledge into thin air. My response was instinctive; I needed to stop, now! I dug my fingers and the toes of my boots into the snow with all my body weight. The fingers were more effective at slowing me and so I rotated around to be facing uphill again, this was better, apart from the fact that I was still gaining speed and now I couldn't see how far it was to the edge. The ice axe was still strapped to my wrist and desperately I grabbed for it. I tried twice to dig it in with my right arm, with no luck. In a last ditch, all or nothing, do or die effort, I grabbed the long end of it with both hands (this required releasing the only effective brakes I had going) and hauled it high over my head. I shut my eyes and swung with all my might (difficult when prone and going fast over bumpy ice) and slammed the sharp end into the snow, hoping beyond hope that it stayed in. It held. It was effective at slowing me. Without opening my eyes I reached up with my right hand and clamped it over the top of the axe, pulling my body over it and adding all my weight to the pursuit of wonderful wonderful friction...

The noise and flying snow stopped, quite suddenly. I opened my eyes to confirm it. Yes I was stopped. I checked my footing. I was on the sharp boulders with my feet and knees. I rolled into a sitting position and unbuckled my pack. My hands, face, and stomach were raw and scratched by the hardpack (sliding down had pulled my coat and shirt up). My hat was 100 metres up where the slide had started. My pant legs and shirt were packed with icy snow that had been forced into them by the speed. The ice axe was stuck deep in the snow at the end of a long gauge etched into the icy slope. I kissed it; no shame in that, it saved my life. Had I taken fractionally longer to get the ice axe embedded in the snow, I would have been screwed; one more metre and the axe would have hit the boulders, and become useless. They were steep and I would have bounced over them and off the edge. I can't actually tell you how long it lasted, since it seemed to take about ten hours. But my best estimation is at most 20 seconds.

It took me 10 minutes to collect myself. I couldn't bring myself to cut steps and climb the slope to get my hat. I just headed for camp, now intimately aware of the snow conditions and able to react appropriately. I checked snow conditions on slopes every time I stepped onto them thereafter.

That's it, that's the closest I ever came to being dead. I arrived back at camp and Andy was already there cooking dinner. He saw my beaten, snowy, cold appearance and his wise words were: "Mountain one, Graham zero." It was funny.

But I can honestly tell you that no steak ever tasted so damn good as the one that confirms that you are still alive.