TR: Riding the Dragon's Tail
Adventure. That little word has given me some pretty interesting
times.
I. Prologue
It started a few weeks ago when some we took a half day off away
from our cubes and code and spent it hiking in Rocky Mountain
National Park for some team building.
We hiked up to Emerald Lake, and that's when I saw them -- a pair
of looming spires across from Halletts and connected to the
Flattop massif. The feeling was simple; I wanted to climb the
larger northern spire and stand on its summit.
Staring up for a few minutes, I saw a line of weakness that
seemed feasible. There was a large crack system slash gulley sort
of thing that went to the summit. The plan slowly forming in my
mind was to climb that line without any knowledge other than what
I had scouted out that day.
It seemed like a good idea at the time.
II. Approaching the Dragon
At the bottom of the first pitch, I watched Anon slowly make
her way up. Too slow for my taste, but I was forgiving. What
choice do you have when you've not climbed much with someone
before?
I had pitched my idea for adventure to a few friends. All were
put off by the idea of launching up something without beta.
Anon was interested in the climbing, but insisted on looking at
a guide book. At this point, desperate to climb the pinnacle, I
conceded.
We were to climb the Dragon's Tail, and the route I had scouted
was the Old Route. The description was typical of the old
guidebooks, where it gave a brief description of how to get up
and down and a hint of the difficulty and commitment involved.
Focused on preserving the sense of adventure, I was pleased that
the description was vague.
During the approach, the plans changed. Anon wanted to climb a
different route with a pitch by pitch description. I pointed out
that her route, the South Ridge, wandered all across the face,
and that we would be challenged by route finding, whereas the Old
Route went up the obvious line. She felt more comfortable having
more description rather than less, and again, I conceded.
In retrospect, a long trad route in the high country is not the
place to learn how different your partner's climbing style is
from your own. Also, we should have bailed then and there.
III. Let Sleeping Dragons Lie (or else)
Somewhere on the second or third pitch, the clouds I had hoped
would blow off, didn't. A light drizzle started coming down.
At this point, retreat would have been possible -- maybe -- but
difficult. I honestly thought we could move fast enough to finish
the climb, and continued upwards. Ha! By now, the plan was for me
to lead all the pitches for expediency's sake.
A pitch later, the skies opened up. I thought about retreat, but
didn't see a safe way down. We were on a bulging part of the
spire, and I couldn't see past the overhang. Committing to that
sort of unknown rappel wasn't appealing. Also, I mistakenly
thought that we were more than halfway up, and so decided the
best way off was to continue up.
Somewhere along the way, Anon started going hypothermic. She
was requiring tension on just about every move and was moving
extremely slowly. To say I was getting nervous would be an
understatement.
We were traversing now, and I turned what should have been two
pitches into about four or six. With Anon's condition, I wanted
the climb/belay cycles to be short for several reasons. I thought
if she kept moving, she would stay warmer. I also wanted to keep
a closer watch on her. She was moving and thinking slow, but was
still coherent. If she deteriorated any further, I wanted to know
about it sooner rather than later, and felt that being closer to
the belays, I would be in a better position to communicate with
and assist her. Her movements were deliberate and cautious, and
we both double-checked everything she did at the belays.
So I continued to traverse, stopping each time I found another
spot in the lee of the wind and rain. These short thirty to forty
foot pitches added to our slowness, but seemed like the best
option, given the conditions.
After the second or so of these, we reached a ledge with enough
room and shelter to untie so she could put on a change of
clothes. I also stuffed as much food and water into her as
possible and told her that we weren't moving until she was
feeling better. Fortuitously, it also stopped raining, and the
amount of improvement in a few minutes was amazing. I felt better
as well and thought the end was near.
Continuing the traverse, my goal was to find the "easy face
directly below the notch in the summit and climb up it".
IV. A Little Interlude
Hm. This face may be the easy one, and I think that's a
notch. I'll try it and see how it goes
I'm in a slick left facing dihedral and have a piece in down 10
feet below, and another at my level. I see some possible moves up
the face that involve traversing out left away from my top piece,
and start exploring the face. The granite is slick, and the holds
I thought were good aren't. Disappointed, I traverse back to my
top piece and remove it, preparing to downclimb.
A few moves down, I look up once more and see a hold that I
missed the first time. Perhaps it's the secret hold that unlocks
the face. To get there, I make a few face moves, reaching the
secret hold.
It's good, but the surrounding ones are not. Fatigued now and
worried by the slickness, I'm fighting to get back to the safety
of the crack. I've achieved a completely awkward position, and my
right foot starts skating on the glass like surface.
This is the tipping point, where you know the Bad Thing is going
to happen. I look down at my piece ten feet below right before my
hands slip off. Clarity:
Damn. That piece is far away. This is going to hurt.
My body position causes me to start down head first, on my back.
I bounce off the sloping wall and gain enough horizontal
clearance to avoid the large ledge below. As I fly past the
ledge, I can feel a rock scrape the back of my helmet.
Wow. I'm glad I was wearing that thing.
Abruptly stopping now, I'm upside-down and bouncing gently on the
rope. Immediately, I shout that I'm ok, and take a second to
catch my breath, still inverted. Righting myself, I clamber back
atop the ledge and look over at Anon who is surpised, to say
the least.
She tells me to sit down and make sure that I'm ok. Physically,
I'm fine, but for the first moment on this climb, I'm wishing I
was somewhere else. Tired, cold, wet, and a bit shaken, I just
want off.
V. Rage, Rage Against the Dying of the Light
We're so close to the summit and escape, but darkness is
insidiously creeping in. I move as fast as I can upwards and pray
fervently that Anon will do the same. We're two pitches upwards
of my 20 foot whipper, and I'm desperately hoping we'll start the
descent by darkness.
Alas, no. Optimistic as I am, I'm starting to get a bad feeling.
I creep over a small notch and cross from the east side of the
spire to the south side, where I'm immediately blasted by howling
wind.
Moving by headlamp now, I explore the rocky ledge system. It's
not going to happen. I'm not going to be able to get her up this
stuff and down safely. It's not going to happen.
I bring her up and by the time she reaches me, it's night. This
is bad, because we're still a bit damp, and the wind is gale
force. I'm looking for a way to get off the back side, but again,
there's enough overhang to make the rappels dubious at best.
Anon finds a small notch that offers a bit of shelter from the
wind. It's just large enough for two bodies, and after some
preparation, we cram ourselves in.
She's lying atop the rope, and I'm on top of her. We have our
feet stuck in a small backpack, and I'm using the larger pack as
a blanket, as I'm more exposed to the wind.
My clothing is minimal. Starting out, it didn't even cross my
mind that we'd be spending the night out. At seven pitches and a
5:30 AM start, my worst case scenario had us summitting by 3 pm
and back at the car by 5 or so. No way would we have to bivy.
I'm dressed for light and fast. I've got a short sleeved wicking
shirt, a fleece vest for my core, a hat, and a nylon shell for
wind and light rain. Well, I got the light part right...
The only way I can stay warm is to bring my arms out of the
shell's sleeves and inside the fleece, so I'm hugging myself. It
also renders me useless for adjusting our position in the
tortuously cramped notch, since getting my arms in and out of the
vest is a major production.
We both have periodic violent shivering bouts, and this gives me
some slight encouragement. As far as I can remember, it's when
the shivering stops that you're in Big Trouble.
It wasn't a talking bivy. Unlike the stories I'd read about
partners talking all night to keep each other awake and alive, we
both retreated into our minds and tried to find something to keep
us going. I settled for an occasional "Are you ok?" and shivering
spasm to confirm that we were still alive.
The wind continued howling, and changed direction a few times.
Our shelter wasn't, although it was better than nothing. I cursed
life in general and continued to grit my teeth and wait. I
learned a new definition of the word "misery".
It was a long night.
VI. A Moment of Weakness, Followed by Redemption
The next morning, the wind hadn't subsided. I dragged myself out
of the notch and stumbled around, looking for an escape route.
Blasted by the wind, I was immediately shivering violently and my
teeth were rat-tat-tatting uncontrollably. I simply couldn't get
my balance, and it seemed like it would be a long time before we
were in the sun. The rappels in the daylight didn't look any
better than the night before, so up was our only option.
That meant that I had to lead some more pitches, a prospect I was
not looking forward to. I seriously wondered how we were going to
get off, and thought it was ridiculous that civilization was a
mere hour away while we were enjoying our own private hell.
I have a strong sense of self-reliance, and was slightly annoyed
last night when Anon started yelling for help and shining SOS
with her headlamp towards the Bear Lake parking lot. Although it
wasn't the most pleasant of situations, I thought we were far
from needing a rescue.
That morning, though, if a helicopter had swung by with a litter
attached, I would have climbed in without a second thought.
We finally got collected enough to start moving again, and by the
time I was geared up and ready to climb, I at least had my
balance back, and the dizzyness was gone. Looking upward, I saw
that just 15 feet above was sunlight. Eagerly, I climbed towards
redemption, and at the end of my rope, found a belay spot that
was in the full sun and sheltered from the wind. By the time
Anon reached me, I was actually feeling good again.
One more short pitch, and we were on the summit.
Now it was time to start the descent. The description was to
downclimb into the notch behind the tower and continue northward
along the ridge towards Flattop. We stayed roped up, and at the
beginning of the second "pitch", I looked down and saw a
beautiful sight.
The oldest most tattered piece of purple webbing in the world was
lying there, and looking down at it, I saw the escape ledges
below. The "we're going to make it" feeling clicked. Relief
flooded my body.
The webbing itself was torn and wrapped around a rock that wasn't
even chocked into anything. I laughed. Luckily, I had some
webbing and rap rings and we found a giant chockstone that
wouldn't budge no matter how hard we pushed it. As I was tying
the water knot, a voice floated over.
Anon?!
Pseudo?! [her husband]
No. It's the park service. Are you ok?
[me] Yes -- we're ok. We have one rap and then we'll be on
the ledges to get off.
Ok. I'm going to come closer for a better look.
We did a single rap and were on the ledges. I went first, and by
the time Anon reached me, Ranger Matt was halfway down the
couloir that we'd have to scramble up to get off to escape.
Anon's husband Pseudo had put in the call last night and was
extremely anxious to find her, to the point of taking the 5 AM
shuttle that morning and hiking out to try and find us. Along the
way, he was exhorting the Park Service to get their own search
teams going.
We made our way over to Matt, and scrambled up and out of the
couloir. On top, he gave us all the water we wanted, and some MRE
rations. We all made our way to the Flattop trail and began the
hike down.
A few miles later, we met up with Ranger John, Pseudo, and our
friends Matt and Cara who were hiking up to meet us.
VII. Epilogue
Adventures usually turn out to be learning experiences. Some
important lessons were impressed upon me. But first, credits:
Thanks to Rangers Matt and John for coming out and looking for
us. Matt gave us a personal escort back down the trail, and his
concern for our safety and well-being were well appreciated.
Thanks to Ranger Mary Beth for coordinating between our concerned
friends and family and the Park Service. She also led the
debriefing session afterwards, and yelled at me good-naturedly to
treat the high country with more respect.
Thanks to Anon's husband Pseudo, and our friends Matt and Cara
for being so concerned about our well-being. They all had to take
the day off work, and Pseudo and Matt were up since 3:30 AM that
morning in an effort to start the rescue effort.
And finally, my own self-analysis.
Judgement, judgement, judgement.
The most important thing I took away from this experience was
that I need more judgement. We should have bailed after the first
pitch, after seeing how slowly we were moving and the cloudy
conditions. There is no route that needs to be climbed that
badly. Retreating immediately would have been the proper action.
Long trad routes in the alpine are not the place to learn your
partner's climbing style and ability. Save that for the gym or
cragging destinations, and only head out to the high country with
someone you've personally vetted.
More clothes would have been nice. The few extra ounces of weight
you carry might be the difference between a miserable night and a
bearable one. A long sleeve capilene shirt and perhaps an extra
pair of thick socks would have gone a long way last night, and
weigh close to nothing compared to everything else.
Speed is safety, but that mantra is meaningless if you don't
actually have speed. And once you lose it, your options are
extremely limited once you slow down. Again, a little bit of
preparation would have been minimal but would have paid off big
time.
Finally, a climbing team is exactly that: a team. If one person on
the team is in trouble, you all are. It's pure hubris to think that
you'll be able to compensate.
Everyone on the team needs to be functioning at a high
level for the team to be safe. If you're not all on the same
page, you need to consider the safety of the team first and
prioritize accordingly.
VIII. Afterword
Well, it was an exciting 36 hours or so, and I'm writing this so
I can finally get to sleep.
I'm looking forward to wisdom and old age.
- This is the approximate spot of our bivy
- This is where we met up with Ranger Matt
This is just a picture I found online. There was no snow when we actually climbed it.