Injury Follow Up - Feelin' Good

Having the ice my tools were sunk into delaminate from the rock was unlucky last week in Alaska. However, virtually everything else that followed involved a lot of good fortune. Starting with the limited nature of my injuries. Given the circumstances, a minor difference of the terrain below us could have led to more serious injury.

After that, there was the speed with which things were resolved. First and foremost, thanks to my partner Kevin for giving a good belay and having an adequate anchor setup to hold everything together! He kept his cool pretty throughout the entire thing. I was fortunate to have an experienced and cool-headed partner in this situation. He did everything right, including being very generous with his time in rounding up all of our gear from basecamp and helping get my stuff back to me. Also, sounds like he was able to salvage some of his time and got to experience the backcountry of Alaska in the wake of the accident.

Second, I had the great fortune of making it back at my apartment in Seattle about 24 hours after taking the fall (thanks to other parties assisting, and the weather clearing allowing me to catch a flight out). Second, the very next day (Tuesday) I was able to see a surgeon for a consult. I was operated on Thursday. Finally, the fractures weren't complicated to fix, and the surgeon reported to me that things went off without a hitch.

Injury Details: I had a complete snappage of the fibula (my terminology, I don't know the medical terminology), along with a distal fracture of the tibia (think a 'chip' off the side of it). The broken fibula bone kinda dislodged things in the ankle, so technically there was a dislocated ankle involved. The process of bolting the fibula back together with a big plate resolved the dislocation. The tibia will just heal itself in place; no scaffolding needed.

The first few days after surgery were, of course, a little uncomfortable. Compared with orthopaedic surgery I had 5 years ago to repair broken arms (yes, arms) from a bicycle accident, the pain was much lower. I was able to leave the codeine haze after only a few days. There is basically no pain if I am sitting still with the leg slightly elevated. Amazing!

I only had to wear a cast for 6 days before being switched to an 'air cast', which is basically a removable plastic boot with basketball shoe - style pump action (Christine promised to draw a Nike swoosh onto it to make it sportier). This is great; it can be cinched down tight to keep swelling at bay, loosened for comfort while I sleep, removed so I can change my clothes and not have to wear paper ER pants or shorts any more. Overall, this is a way better outcome than having a cast for weeks or months. Lady luck strikes again!

The greatest fortune I enjoy, however, are my great friends, family, and Christine. Well wishes from the climbing community, including a night of brews at Hale's Ales courtesy of the Bushwhackers and the delivery of tons of reading material to keep me occupied while sitting around, have kept my spirits high. My immediate family, Christine's family, and many of my extended relatives have all reached out. The support I receive has, and will, make this a much easier move forward for me.

Christine has been a champ. I do what I can around the house (our kitchen is small enough for me to hop around and continue my usual cooking duties, I can still scoop the litterbox and sorta do laundry), but Christine has been grinning through the thankless tasks of carrying plates of food to and from the kitchen, taking out the trash, grocery shopping, and doing other chores that I'm unable to do at the moment. Thanks so much, hon!

Finally, I have the great fortune of living in a city with good public transportation. A bus drops off and picks up about 200 yards from my front door. I am able to easily use the bus to get to and from the hospital for doctor visits, the grocery store, the library, and about anywhere else I need to go. If I lived in a smaller, more rural, or less well served urban area, my life would be a huge pain in the neck right now. And, of course, we'll be relocating to Washington DC this late summer, which is even a notch higher in its public transit, having one of the greatest rail systems in the US.

It'll be about 5 weeks before I can stop using crutches and begin aerobic activities such as riding a stationary bike or swimming. Put another way, however, is that I'm only really sidelined/couchbound for 6 weeks, and one of those weeks has already passed. I'll be able to to put the trainer in front of the TV in July when the Tour de France is on for extra motivation. Getting back into cycling was part of my plan in moving to DC anyway, and that it can be integral in my physical therapy / rehab from this injury has only hastened my interest in getting it going.

Like everyone else, I like to think I don't take things in my life for granted. That said, my recent adventures have helped me realize how lucky I really am. Thanks to everyone who has been supportive!

Alaska - Happy Thoughts

Despite the bad outcome, I got some cool pictures. Here are a few. Notably lacking are sweet panoramas of the Ruth; I was figuring I'd take those once we got back down from Ham'n'Eggs. Hopefully I can score some from Kevin's camera eventually; the setting was the most stunning place I'd ever been.

Only moments off the plane, Kevin and I bump into living legend Fred Beckey in the airport. He likely has more first ascents to his credit than anyone in history, and has opened famous routes in Alaska, the Cascades, the Rockies, and the Sierra. Quite the character, he's still making climbing trips to Alaska after making pioneering ascents there (including Mt. Hunter with Heinrich Harrer of Eiger fame) in the 1950s. He told us weather was good near the Moose's Tooth, where he had been on this trip. I look like a dork giddy meeting a hero. He was on the cover of a Patagonia catalog a couple of years back. Anyone still climbing at 86 is a hardman in my book.

Kevin and I were planning a 3 week trip, which required an absurd amount of provisions. Here we are sorting gear and food at Talkeetna Air the night before our departure. I still can't believe we crammed all this stuff into moderate climbing packs and a couple of duffels each. We weighed in with 268lbs of gear between the two of us. If Kevin is able to continue his trip, that guy is going to be eating like a king on all of my foodstuffs left behind on the glacier!


On our flight in, we got views of a lot of peaks. The eastern flanks of Hunter and the intimidating Mt. Huntington are visible.










Bye bye, plane! TAT disappears over the camp of another party after we've been dropped in the amazing Ruth Gorge.













Views of the Moose's Tooth from the Gorge. Ham'n'Eggs is the broadest couloir in the center of the photo. It is approached via an icefall and couloir well left of the photo. The big hanging glacier front and center sent down some big stuff the first afternoon we were there.



The approach to the Root Canal glacier from the Ruth Gorge would likely be considered a classic moderate climb in itself if it were located in the Cascades. Weaving through glaciers, negotiating a steep couloir with a little verglas - covered rock, and topping out in a broad gentle snowfield as sun came up was a nice first day of movement on the trip.


Kevin mixing it up on 5.6 moves on the first pitch of Ham'n'Eggs. For perspective, it was around 4:30am when this photo was taken. He led it in fine style, confident and in control. I had a good feeling about this climb. Too bad I was wrong....

I Fall Down

I am back in Seattle far earlier than expected. On my second roped lead of the trip, on the third pitch of the Ham'n'Eggs Couloir on the Moose's Tooth, I took a lead fall at the top of an ice step, maybe 12 feet tall. I fell onto a steep snow slope, where I sustained fractures to my right tibia and fibula. I continued sliding in a scary fashion before the rope came taut from the belay. Bye bye, Alaska. Bye bye, Mt. Hunter. Ham'n'Eggs was ancillary compared to Hunter for me. I would not even set up camp at the Kahiltna on this trip, unfortunately. That said, I made it home in one piece - something for which to be thankful. It could have been much, much worse. Also, despite the outcome, I continue to believe that Kevin and I approached this trip and these climbs with an appropriate amount of humility and respect.

A quick summary of the details is here. The terrain we were on was technically moderate, and I felt very comfortable climbing. Near the top of the ice step, my ice tools were plunged into neve atop what felt like a good layer of ice, adhering to underlying rock. When weighted (to allow me to move my feet up), the snow and ice suddenly came loose from the rock, and I fell backwards onto the snowfield, sliding down despite desperate attempts to arrest, eventually plunging over the cliff at the bottom before being stopped by the rope coming taut from the belay (thankfully with me free hanging instead of spattered on rocks further down). The ice in the step was thin and I didn't place a screw; it was also extremely moderate and I felt comfortable on it. The only crack in the rock that was ice - free was flaring and I couldn't get a cam in, either. There was probably 30 feet of rope out, and I took a complete, real deal factor 2 fall onto the anchor. We chose to leave pickets behind for this climb, and one placed at the bottom of the ice step wouldn't have prevented my injury, but it could have prevented me from sliding over the edge of the cliff. An alternate description of it is written here, with maybe a little more discussion of technical details of the fall.

Other teams were retreating from higher on the route due to challenging weather conditions (high winds, lots of spindrift coming down the couloir). About the time that I got back to Kevin at the belay anchor, these other teams arrived on their way down. They generously assisted in my evacuation, making it more orderly and less stressful. A party below on the Root Canal glacier witnessed my fall and me being assisted on rappel, and met us at the base of the rappel line with a sled to assist in evacuating me to the nearby glacier airstrip. From here, I was able to take a great photo of this beautiful line. What little climbing we did was aesthetic, and it appeared to only improve as one went higher. I will likely never know, however.

The weather cleared, and I was able to get on a glacier flight out to Talkeetna. A quick shuttle ride to Providence hospital in Anchorage followed, and with the help of some area climbers I was able to get to the airport in time to catch a red-eye flight home, 25 hours after I woke up to begin the route.

I am grateful to everyone who helped out - Sarah Fritz and Irena of Boulder, Jason Butrick and Galen of Anchorage / Talkeetna, and Ryan and ?? of Anchorage (I forget Ryan's partner's name, but will try to recover it from Talkeetna Air). Most importantly, thanks to Kevin for being a great expedition partner (if only briefly), and for catching my fall!

I am also grateful to all my friends and family who have reached out and been supportive. I go in for surgery on Thursday to put some bionic plates on my leg bones. I will be in an air boot / cast for about 12 weeks before I can begin to select my own activities. It is hard to say what role climbing will play in my life when I am healthy; for now I am concentrating on making a good recovery and staying positive during this challenging time.

I'm off to Alaska!!

The massive duffel is packed. The last food has been dehydrated. The final trips to REI and Feathered Friends have been made. I get on a plane with Kevin tomorrow to Anchorage. From there we will catch a shuttle to the tiny town of Talkeetna (we'll stop in Wasilla for groceries, I'm hoping maybe to get First Dude's autograph).

Once in Talkeetna, we'll take a glacier plane to the Ruth Gorge, stay for a few days and make an attempt on The Moose's Tooth, and later the Kahiltna glacier to give Mt. Hunter a shot. With any luck, we'll be able to squeeze in another technical day climb or two while up there. I'm excited and nervous. The planning that has gone into this trip has been a massive piece of work in itself, and it is a relief to finally have it here.

I'd like to take this opportunity to thank everyone who has helped and supported me in making this happen. First and foremost, the support of my fiancee Christine; she's endured endless jibba-jabba by me about the trip, my itinerant lifestyle climbing this winter and spring in preparation, and my extended absence. In addition, thanks to all my climbing partners, friends, and mentors (especially those at the Bushwhacker Climbing Club) who have given me inspiration, beta, and hooked me up with gear. Finally, the support of family (both mine and Christine's) has been very important. Thanks, everyone!

I'll return May 27th or 28th, hopefully with great photos and stories of the trip of a lifetime.

Mt. Shuksan - North Face

I've been busy getting ready for my Alaska trip picking up odds and ends as well as doing some outings with my friends at the Bushwhacker Climbing Club. The weather has been finicky in the Cascades the last couple of weeks, but this Thursday and Friday promised to be clear. I trolled cascadeclimbers.com for a partner, and Josh Kali responded with interest in doing Shuksan's North Face. This would be perfect - a bigger route requiring a bivy would be a good 'shakedown' before my big trip. Josh had made an attempt on the route earlier in the season, and I had skied the White Salmon. I had been battling a cold earlier in the week, but was feeling good and definitely stoked.

This climb offers a rare combination of experiences - a steep snow climb up a face with unrelenting angle and exposure, traversing of broad glaciers, a summit pyramid scramble, some narrow glacier traversing and steep glacier descending, culminating in a complete circumnavigation of a very large peak. I was ready for a 'full meal deal' of a climb!

After some last minute preparations Thursday morning (more related to Alaska than this trip), I picked up Josh a little after noon. We got on the road up towards the Mt. Baker ski area (where we would access the climb). On the way, Josh realized he had forgotten his snowshoes. D'oh! No worries, we could stop at REI in Bellingham and he could rent a pair. After taking care of this and consuming some great energy food (Wendy's), we headed down Mt. Baker Highway. It was clear out, and cool once we got to the pullout near White Salmon Lodge.

Shuksan basically stares you in the face on the whole approach. I agreed to carry most of our group gear; both in an effort to simulate the pack weight I plan on carrying up Mt. Hunter next month, and also as a last conditioner. Rather than traversing out from the ski area through the trees, Josh suggested descending a clear cut into the basin then climbing back out. This went great, and was really fast. Probably the better option for snowshoe travel.

We agreed to take a liesurely pace in approaching our bivy, a ridge below the north face with views down into White Salmon basin and Price Lake. I started to move more quickly, however, when I realized we'd be getting to the ridge around sunset; I wanted the chance to take pictures. This was one of the more scenic campsites I've had in the Cascades. It was beautiful, with clear skies and no wind. We were really excited. After melting some snow (which takes a lot longer with a Jetboil than a white gas stove) and dinner, we crammed into the tiny tent. There is just enough room for 2 climbers in there, and about nothing else.

Winds picked up around 3 or 4am, and I had fitful sleep. That said, I was out hard when I suddenly awoke to there being light on our tent. I had slept through the alarm on my damned altimeter watch; the thing was just too quiet. No worries, I thought. We got up and out, broke down camp, and were on the move by a little after 6am. A little later than I wanted to be moving, but oh well.

We headed towards the slopes of the north face. The line was pretty obvious - straight up, weaving around rock bands. Down low there was some exposed crevasse/bergschrund terrain. Josh wanted to cruise over it, but being the worrywort I insisted on roping up. We belayed a couple of pitches to be on the safe side, and were quickly past this area. Teams attempting the climb soon would likely move over this terrain unroped just fine. The setting was beautiful; I was really happy to be out here, with cool temps, hard snow for great step kicking, and in such a scenic spot.


Once we moved right out of the way of some seracs, the terrain steepened a bit. I'm really bad at estimating slope angle; it always looks less steep when I'm not on it, and seems steeper when I'm on it. I would estimate the slopes to be between 35 and 50 degrees most of the way up the face (about 2000' vertical from camp), and pretty sustained - there weren't any surprise flat spots. That said, we were on snowfields and able to safely climb unroped. I noticed that Josh was moving a little slower. My original estimate for us was 2 - 3 hours to move off the face, but I backed off the pace to avoid opening up gaps and it took us more like 4 hours. The views from the north face were stellar, with the peaks as far as the eye could see to the east, and the Price Glacier (I think?) down below us to the east.

The slope was steep enough that I didn't want to have a 'packs off' break if at all avoidable. It had been awhile since I'd eaten or Josh had been able to drink (he doesn't have a dorky water bottle holster like many other climbing fashion victims including myself). We paused, drank, and then drilled it to the top of the face, where we gained the upper portions of the Hanging Glacier. I was starting to get more concerned about pace, and suggested an extended food/water break here so that Josh could get more fueled up. We were both very psyched to be out here on this climb, having sneaked in on such a narrow weather window. We also had the place all to ourselves, with no other footprints or bootpaths (a rarity on moderate climbs in the Cascades).

Josh led the traversing of the upper Hanging Glacier over the col to the Crystal Glacier. The wind was furious up there and I could feel my lips getting hammered. Once we dropped down, it abated. This side of the mountain had a 'way out there' feel to it, even though we weren't more than a few hours from the car. The snow was virgin, and I enjoyed the challenge we faced navigating the glacier to avoid steep sections and cracks. Unfortunately, Josh's pace on the front of the rope had not picked up after our break. Since our itinerary was a circumnavigation, and I wasn't too keen on downclimbing the north face at this point, we were committed. I knew that we were on pace to be out most of the day and probably finishing in the dark. No worries - we were both familiar with the way in and out. Besides, the day was just too fine to be too preoccupied. As long as we maintained a steady pace, things were gonna be fine.

We picked a line down low to avoid some cracks while crossing over from the Crystal to the Sulphide Glacier; Mt. Baker was in the background the entire time, staring us in the face. Eventually our traverse brought us below the south facing aspect of the Summit Pyramid. The 'scramble' looked like it had some steep snow sections, and maybe a little bit of steep stuff near the top. At this point it was 2pm. I had grown a little weary of the slow pace that Josh was able to muster, but we were a team and I've had tough days in the mountains, too. We discussed, and Josh told me he didn't feel like he had the juice to climb it. I was a little disappointed, and considered asking him to hang out for an hour while I soloed up the thing and came down. Ultimately I didn't present this option; I thought asking him to sit around and wait for an hour would only increase his fatigue. It would also delay us further. Besides, we had already climbed a massive north face, and were on track to circumnavigate the whole mountain, being on 5 different glacier systems. I was pleased with just being out, and stayed positive. We agreed to forego the summit scramble and move on.

I could tell Josh was bummed out, and tried to cheer him up. This was definitely the most scenic day I'd had in the mountains in a while, and I was very happy to be up here on such an aesthetic route and new terrain. Reminding him of what a good day we were having in this regard helped keep spirits high as we descended down the Sulphide towards the Hourglass (a.k.a. Hell's Highway). A short downclimb of the steeper terrain brought us to the upper Curtis Glacier, #4 for the day (after the Hanging, Crystal, and Sulphide). There was some wild crevasse terrain down lower, and this narrow glacier again brough more fantastic scenery. At this point, I was on the front of the rope, and was not shy about giving Josh a few helpful 'tugs' on the uphill section to aid in our progress. We went up and over the lower Curtis, and made a short descent to the tiny notch where we could cross over to the upper White Salmon (or is it Winnie's Slide? I can't figure out exactly where this feature is located). Neat crevasse features and views to the lower Curtis glacier (which has almost as dramatic an appearance as the Hanging Glacier) were the highlights of this part of the trip.

As we began losing elevation, Josh and I had very different desired paces. We popped over to the upper White Salmon glacier. Steps traversed far to the west, and I was skeptical about where they led. I pushed for a more direct line of descent down the glacier. It was steep enough in places (35 degrees plus), much steeper than it had been earlier in the season when I ski toured here. I knew the steep parts would require some downclimbing, but figured that straight down would be better. Josh found the downclimbing tedious, and we didn't descend nearly as quickly as I wanted - I had to make sure not to pull on the rope going down (which made him uncomfortable) . I knew that he was tired and that pushing him to go faster would likely make the situation more stressful, so I did my best to keep a moderate pace.

After what seemed like hours, we were eventually able to turn around and plunge step down. At this point it was late in the day, and the snow was really soft. The bottom of the glacier had steep exposed rock, and we had to traverse into the line of fire of the Hanging Glacier to complete the descent. We hauled ass and eventually were down! Finally! Strapping the snowshoes on, we made our way down into the cirque for the walk out.

We reached what we thought was the clear cut for the 'descent' (which actually required about 500' of climbing). It darkened, and after awhile it became clear this was a drainage but not the drainage. I was pretty worked from being out all day, and ready to be back at the car. I pushed for us to continue to ascend and then traverse to the ski area, rather than descend and search in the dark for the 'right' drainage. Nothing like a little bushwhacking in the dark to wrap up a good day of Cascades climbing.

Overall, I had a really good day. Josh's technical game was tight, and with a little more conditioning he will be a great partner for big challenging routes in the mountains. Thanks for partnering up, Josh!