JayB

Okay - I've got another one from along time ago. Some friends of mine were quite nearly killed while descending a Couloir on Pikes Peak's north side when one of the "Rangers" started plowing ice/snow rubble down it. The best part is this is supposedly still the customary practice up there. SKIERS ON PIKES PEAK FACE HIDDEN MAN-MADE DANGER ! When the spring skiing season begins in Colorado many skiers will be anxious to ski those steep couloirs and snowfields that were too risky during mid-winter. The risk of avalanche is more predictable and the highway opening up for the season makes them much more accessible. But when enthusiasts of the sport venture onto Pikes Peak they may encounter a deadly risk factor that is not presented by nature. Last spring (May 1999) four experienced mountaineers set out to descend the Cog Couloir (also know as the Railroad Couloir) from the summit of Pikes Peak. All of them were employees of the renowned mountaineering shop "The Mountain Chalet" in Colorado Springs. John and Ched were seasoned telemark skiers and climbers. Aaron and Lou were snowboarding and were guides for the "Pikes Peak Alpine School" where they led snow and ice climbing trips on the very terrain they were about to ride. They all wore helmets, avalanche beacons, and carried ice axes and shovels. Not only did they know how to use them but professionally trained others in the use of this equipment. The Cog Couloir begins just a bit down the northeast ridge from the summit and descends into the "Y" Couloir which begins from the summit itself and the parking lot there. It is about 45 degrees in steepness with maybe a 50 degree section. The group's timing was perfect for mother nature. It was between 11:00 and 12:00 when the snow had softened from the night's freeze but not so much that it was about to let loose. They began their run one at a time and then paused part of the way down where the Cog entered the "Y" Couloir. Fortunately they were all regrouped at this point and no one was skiing when they heard the roar of debris coming down from above. Instinctively they dove for what little cover they could find along the rocky sides of the couloir. Within seconds huge chunks of snow, rock and ice came careening down. Ricocheting like giant pinballs off the walls of the couloirs they sounded like cannonballs whistling by overhead in the air and thundering when they struck. After a minute that felt more like an eternity it all stopped and they dared to stand up and look around. Skiers and climbers try to avoid such exposure by planning their trips carefully around temperature, the time of year, the time of day, recent wind and storm history and previous experiences with the route. But all is not certain and sometimes you have to duck and pray when the "heavy artillery" starts pounding around you. The group thought that this was such a time. Maybe a cornice let loose. Maybe freeze-thaw conditions loosened a boulder. Maybe another skier they hadn't seen set it off from above. They cautiously prepared to finish skiing out into the "Y" Couloir when suddenly the roaring noise began again just as before. Again they dove for cover and again chunks of hardened snow and ice the size of television sets went whizzing by. Lou began to vaguely remember some account of another group that had suffered a similar fate on the mountain. He began to recall a story about some snowplow driver actually pushing the snow from the donut shop's parking lot on the summit down the "Y" Couloir to tumble over a thousand vertical feet upon whatever and whoever might be down there. Here they were at the junction of the Cog and the "Y" Couloir and it seemed a bit strange that the barrage was repeating itself. Could it be a snowplow? Could a driver actually be so thoughtless as to push it all down on them into the huge chasm known as the bottomless pit? The third barrage convinced them all that this was not natural. It came again after about the same length of time as before with the same amount of debris from roughly the same source…the top of the "Y" Couloir. Had they skied the "Y" Couloir they'd be dead. Had they been just a bit further down the Cog and into the "Y" they'd be dead. Thankfully they had all been together just to the side of the main path where the pounding was not as great. Cutting off the remainder of their descent they exited across rock to get out of harms way and climbed back up to the summit. As they moved away from the area they heard several more slides roaring down the "Y" in similarly timed waves. Upon reaching the top, employees of the donut shop confirmed that the plow had been at work and that the driver had driven off down the Pikes Peak highway just five minutes before they inquired about the incident. They walked over to the top of the "Y" Couloir and there, right at the edge was a huge snow bank. It was clear that as snow was added to the top the excess would tumble down the northeast face of the America's favorite fourteener. The backslope of the snowbank was continuous with the top of the "Y" Couloir and it was essentially a pile of icy snow chunks that were just scraped up. Although it hadn't snowed recently, the plow had been clearing the thawing hardpack of the parking lot. Bruce Hamilton, the operator of the "Pikes Peak Alpine School" became concerned for his customers' safety not to mention anyone else on the mountain when he heard about the affair. The four involved opted to let Bruce write a letter to inform the Pikes Peak road crew of the incident. Assuming it was just a one-time error of judgement on the part of a plow driver he expected the cooperation of the road crew to exercise more care. Almost a year later I called the highway maintenance crew of Pikes Peak and spoke with Preston. He recalled the incident and the letter from Bruce. When asked what has been changed as a result he said that the snow bank has been moved back from the edge somewhat but that there was really no other place to put the excess snow during times of heavy snowfall. I asked if any signs were posted to warn skiers and climbers. Preston answered that the highway's permit with the Forest Service only extends 150 feet on either side of the road. I took that to mean that they did not have the authority to post signs at the runout of the couloir where climbers would begin their ascent. Certainly they could post one at the top where skiers would start. I asked him how skiers and climbers would be able to find out when the plowing would occur so they could avoid it. He suggested that they call 719-385-PEAK (7325) and hit the appropriate button after listening to the menu to reach the highway crew. When I asked him if he was aware that the Pikes Peak Alpine School had a permit from the Forest Service to use that side of the mountain he answered that he was not aware of what permits the school may have with the Forest Service. Asking a lawyer with the Colorado Attorneys General's office about liability if there were an injury or death resulting from the parking lot's snow removal actions I got an interesting answer. The state and all city governments within the state have "sovereign immunity" which means you can't sue the state (or Colorado Springs which manages the Pikes Peak Highway) without the state's permission. The governor can waive this and allow a lawsuit to proceed. Gov. Romer did in a case where the state highway department rolled a boulder onto people in cars driving below. The lawsuit was successful and the victims' families won. One can only guess at what the governor would do in the hypothetical case of a skier/climber being injured/killed by parking lot snow removal on Pikes Peak. Since the event would happen on Forest Service land that would involve yet another complication. If the highway department doesn't have a big liability problem here perhaps they have a moral obligation to at least warn others who they endanger. During the months of April and May there are dozens of people skiing all over the peak. Most of them are customers of the Pikes Peak Highway and have payed $8 - $20 per vehicle to use it. While it's true that a fraction of those skiers attempt to ski the terrain below the parking lot the school is bringing folks up there on a more routine basis. Let's face it, not everyone is up there just taking pictures and eating donuts. If you are thinking about taking some runs anywhere on Pikes Peak please be aware that it is not a ski area, there is no ski patrol, obstacles are certainly not marked, there is no avalanche control and trails are not groomed. Frequently the snow is so wind packed or frozen so hard that your skis won't even make a mark in it. If you fall on this surface you could take off like a bar of wet soap. Check the runout below you to see if you'll smash into rocks or trees below. Know where you're skiing. It's easy to get confused and start down a run only to find it ends in a cliff. You may want to climb an extreme run before you ski it. Like any other backcountry destination you should be aware of potential avalanche danger as well, carry the recommended equipment and know how to use it. The road makes this mountain accessible to hoards of skiers and boarders who otherwise would not be there. As you can imagine there have been many deaths and injuries over the years. Some of the victims were experienced and prepared. Don't be lulled into complacency by the party-like atmosphere that sometimes occurs on a beautiful May weekend. And finally, if you think you're skilled enough to do something as steep and dangerous as the Cog or "Y" Couloirs and you think you have the mountain smiling on you that morning, watch out for the plowman. Dave Sauer [ 01-21-2002: Message edited by: JayB ]

quote: Originally posted by JayB:[QB]I’m with you on the whole property rights thing, Erik, but I thought that I’d go ahead and add some more information about the property in question. I'm certainly not advocating trespassing or otherwise violating property rights, but established precedents can and should be taken into account in situations like these. Sometimes there’s a longstanding agreement between landowners and climbers, and when it changes abruptly and without notice climbers can be caught off-guard.QB] Erik - I'm still with you here, but I must confess that I am having trouble finding the logical connection between my post and your response. Maybe the message was lost while I was amusing myself by ripping on mullet-man. Sound like we're coming from the same place though. The key word is precedent. Not all rocks/icefalls have to be climbed, of course, but if the landowner and climbers have worked out an agreement that's held for 25 years, why not climb it? That's been the case until 01-19, and now that the situation has changed I'm sure that the climbers around here will respect this guy's wishes and stay away unless a new access agreement can be hashed out.

"Never try to beat a dick in a pissing contest" Senecca? Confucious? Or that kid Chuckie from Mrs. Emery's class who ate lots of playdough. Sage words whatever the source. However if you must reply AlpineK's got it right. Be a man, say what you've got to say, and take the the heat. [ 01-21-2002: Message edited by: JayB ]

I saw the post below on R&I concerning a new "objective hazard" found en-route to one of our local icefalls. Anyone out there have a similar story to tell about run-ins and/or access problems they've run into? Colorado (posted by WideId) Colorado (posted by WideId) ---date climbed: January 19, 2002 Don't climb at Gilette Falls. There is a man with a gun who will try to stop you. He will likely also call the Sherriff and let the air out of your tires. Do not follow the directions in Cameron Burns' guide as they will have you passing directly over this man's property. Do not try to find another way in as his property extends quite a ways around his house or he has decided to become the vigilante enforcer of everyone's property rights around there (including the fishing club on which we most certainly were traveling). We have a message for Mr Burns: please correct this mispublication ASAP. Mr Gun also has a message: "Tell him he's an asshole."

Saw another museum piece in action at the Mount Lincoln icefall this weekend - a tool that looked like a tube-pick mounted to a standard carpenter's hammer. Must work though, as it's owner mentioned that it saw action on a successful ascent of Polar Circus. Now it's been relagated to third tool status, having been supplanted by a pair of Quarks. Pretty impressive guy - still leads WI5 pretty comfortably in his early 50's.

01-19-01 Update: All of the above still applies, with a big new line coming in just left of the main flow. Temps have been in the single digits to low teen range for at least a week so the ice that's no longer flowing is as brittle as plaster of paris. As always, the main flow is excellent, and just keeps getting fatter. It'll probably be in until late May if current trends continue.

One of the things that I've done quite a bit of out here is spend time at altitude. I've hiked and/or climbed my way to 14k about 30 times and spent alot of time at 12K or higher on skis. Everyone is different, of course, but in my experience going higher faster has always (significantly) aggravated the symptoms of altitude sickness, rather than preventing or alleviating them. As far as the body's responses to altitude go, I'm no Charles Houston or anything...but my understanding of the current medical consensus was that the physiological changes that occur at altitude are precisely what enable the body to adapt to the lack of oxygen at those heights, and that by skipping the rest days one is merely depriving one's body of the chance to adapt properly and increasing the odds of altitude sickness. This may not matter for the folks who got lucky in the genetic lottery, but for just about everyone else(restatement of the obvious to follow shortly)... the odds of getting laid low by the altitude increase in direct proportion to the rate of one's ascent. For my part, even though I live at 6000 feet and can get to 14000 feet in a single day without too much discomfort, a night at 10,000 feet or so usually makes the process quite a bit more pleasant. FWIW I've also found that guzzling 4 liters of Cytomax and a downing a pack o' Goo every 40 minutes or so really help me at altitude also. [ 01-18-2002: Message edited by: JayB ]

quote: Originally posted by Marcus Engley: I like the bomb coil, for pitching the rap lines in windy conditions. m Anyone care to explain the nuances of the bomb-coil? Sounds cool, I've just never heard of it until now.

quote: Originally posted by crazyjz: I have a number 4 Friend that I bought at REI in 1979 that came over on the "first boatload". I have mass Friends that I boought before 1985. That's pretty sweet. Hand-machined by Ray Jardine?Encouraging as well - maybe if my stuff lasts that long a day will come when I no longer have to ponder donating plasma and/or hanging out on on ramps sporting a "Will work for Pro" sign to get my hands on all of the gear that I need. I'm only sort of joking. I (really) unloaded and stacked 2 semi's full of alfalfa-bales to get the money to buy new plastics and a couple of dry ropes this fall. The gear is great but the nasty case of green lung that I picked up in the barn is killing my cardio-output.

quote: Originally posted by Charlie: There are more routes that were stripped- the 2 sport routes to the right of party in your pants just to name a couple. Also, I replaced 3 sets of anchors with hangers, slings, and rings- when I went back last weekend, someone had taken the slings and rings. I may have a suspect. What's the deal here? Sounds like we're not fortunate enough to be dealing with someone who has to fit a long commute and/or a job into his regular hardware-theft schedule. Hopefully this sort of thing will let up as the weather warms and the crowds become more consistent over there.Hopefully by modifying the hardware and making this fellows by-now-well-honed theft process a bit more inconvenient and/or time consuming, and or replacing the hangers frequently enough to render his effort futile, we'll persuade this fellow to ply his trade elsewhere (Boulder )and keep the place safe.

What's the oldest piece of gear that you use and why do you stick with it? Still do the job? Sentimental reasons? The oldest gear I've personally seen in use was a mega old-school wood-shafted Choinard piolet used in tandem with crampons of a similar vintage, both weilded by a partner of mine on the AI2 bit of Kiener's Route on Long's. His reaspons for using the equipment rather than mounting it above his fireplace were mostly sentimental, and of course the gear was more than adequate for the terrain that we encountered. While I am fairly shameless about using gear the best gear that I can afford - it was sort of cool to see the retro-gear in use. I would have had to draw the line at hob-nail boots and hemp rope, however. The oldest piece of climbing equipment that I still use (other than biners and such) are a pair of LaSportiva Enduros from '95 that passed their prime long ago. I still keep them around for alpine routes as they're so loose that I can wear socks AND footwarmers in them with some room to spare. Anyhow, I'd be interested in hearing what sort of gear some of the self-annointed old-schoolers keep on the rack. Bonus points for Beef Lozenges and Puttees.

For commercial guided climbers on any peak, it's Caveat Emptor.

quote: Originally posted by mattp: It is probably a good idead to assume that your beacon won't save you, and to try to evaluate the hazards without counting on being dug up, but if such a premise leads you to think you and your buddies don't have to practice using the beacons, you are making a mistake. I don't think that is what anybody here was suggesting, but I just thought I'd add a plug for being sure you are good at using the equipment that just might save a life. Good point - and often overlooked perhaps. I've always thought it best to assume that if you get caught in an avalanche, it will kill you, no matter how well prepared you are - and to plan your travel in avalanche terrain accordingly. Having said that though, I'd also go on to say that you're better off with a beacon, shovels, etc than you would be without them, and that most of us would be alot less likely to dismiss their utility as we lay suffocating below a pile of avalanche debris. That seems to be one of the conclusions that the fellow above came to, and I figured it would be worth sharing his story with the group [ 01-16-2002: Message edited by: JayB ] [ 01-16-2002: Message edited by: JayB ]

...with the notion that transceivers are just body recovery tools.

I bet this guy would disagree.... --------------------------------------------------------------------------------Date: 2001-11-24 Submitted By: Luke Edgar Place: Mt Rainier State: WA Country: USA Fatalities: 0 Activity: SNOWBOARD Summary: !!! Amazing recovery!!! 1 snowboarder caught, completely buried Date: 11/24/01, Mt Rainier, WA--1 snowboarder caught, completely buried(except for small piece of binding), found by visual clues and probing, dug out uninjured in approximately 5-6 minutes. 9 LIVES This is a backcountry snowboarding story of how I lived to tell you about this backcountry snowboarding story. Usually people who make this many mistakes don’t get the chance to tell the story, so here goes. Yesterday, November 24th, was the first day of the 2001 season for me and I wanted to go backcountry. Baker and Crystal were opening up the 25th, but I didn’t want to wait in long lift lines for tracked up rocks and my body needed conditioning that only earned turns can give. I was going up to camp Muir at about 10,000ft on the S. side of Rainier solo or not. I knew the route well, knew it would be crowded and knew it had very little if any avalanche danger. I sound confident and cocky – I was. The night before my good buddy and touring partner Gorio called me and was in. Between the two of us we’ve done this tour over 40 times. I brought my compass, transceiver, probe, shovel, first aid/repair kit and enough food and clothes for the trip including an extra night if needed. If I had any concern at all it was of spending an extra night on the mountain, and even that was so faint I consciously didn’t bring a map or wands knowing I could dig in and survive. The trip from door to door is about 12 hours so I told Gorio I’d be at his house at 4am. We were at the Longmire gate at 630am and were told the gate probably would not open until 11am due to snow, though very little snow had fallen overnight. We had breakfast and debated between our options, but with most roads closed in and around Rainier our only option was to drive to Hood and ride there. I guess you could call it a lucky break but the gate opened at about 8am and we were in the Paradise parking lot getting ready by head up shortly after. While packing Gorio told me he had not really slept and forgot his transceiver (mistake #1), no biggy to me, my decision to go on was made without a second thought. We were first on the mountain and broke trail as the wind and little bit of snow had wiped clean any signs of an up track. We were still in the trees and lower section of the mountain, but the wind was serious even at this elevation (avy clue #1), which meant it would be even more ferocious above tree line. At one point Gorio and I were together when a gust blew both of us 2ft back. Wishing I had a facemask we climbed on. Our first stop was going to be an old roofless shelter at the top of the steepest section of the climb, about 1500-2000ft from the parking lot and 3000ft from Muir. As we approached the wind was in our face and several times we had to lean to the ground to hang on. We finally had to take our skis off and scramble. Two skiers we met in the parking lot, Jimmy and Sam, had caught up to us in the shelter. We were out of the wind, but without a roof there was a constant swirl of snow in the air. Any pack, glove or exposed hand was instantly covered or filled with snow. We ate and drank hot tea. Gorio and I were still in for going to Muir as Jimmy and Sam decided to head down and ski terrain less windy. We made it about 200ft from the shelter and ran into some climbers on the way down, they had spent the night in tents at about 8000ft and said it was like camping in the jetstream. I was impressed. My spare pair of socks that I’d tied together around my face was not working, the two knots prevented my jacket from closing completely and they really didn’t protect my exposed skin. Pressing on meant no exposed skin, so after about 10 minutes we turned back. Our first turns were awesome as we were on the leeward side, though the wind had buffeted all sides, this was a deep firm powder that was easy to board. By now we had 20 skiers, climbers and boarders in sight. The firm snow showed no signs of weakness and we did not plan on digging any pits (mistake #2). Though neither of us had headed SE of the parking lot, we could see the parking lot and snow covered road (closed in winter) heading east out of it. All we had to do was make it back to the road and ski back to the lot. Plus, we could see other skiers touring in all directions, so we were not alone. On the way down Gorio spotted some avalanche debris (avy clue #2), the first we’d seen. After about 1000ft of turns we switched back and headed for more leeward slopes to the east. Gorio spotted a great line that was tucked in next to a top to bottom line of trees; we were at the top an hour later. After windsurfing with our bodies at the top of the ridge and having lunch we rode down one at a time. I’d say we were still being fairly safe riding one at a time and keeping each other in site. In retrospect I was all too confident in the snow and my ability to react to anything the mountain could dish out. In fact I remember thinking that very thought only hours before. At the time I thought it I wondered if the mountain could sense my confidence. I would later regret that thought. We were now in the ride to the bottom with as little hiking as possible mode. As with many of the volcanoes in early or late season this means keeping your board on at all costs (mistake #3). So we were heading SW trying to make as many turns while not losing elevation, maybe even hoping to keep a line that could deposit us back in the parking lot without anymore hiking. It’s early season and I was pooped. We were about 500 vertical feet above the parking lot and maybe a ½ mile east when we started working the beginnings of a creek. At first it was a wide opening and I made some steep turns just in front of Gorio, nothing moved. We regrouped and looked at the terrain trap below as the creek got narrower and the slopes into it steeper. I could see a way out across a 100ft wide mini-bowl, nothing that big at all. It was right next to the steep slope I had just come down. I didn’t even look up to see what could cut loose on me or look down to really see where I would go if it did (mistake #4). It was a classic avy slope ready to rip and I was too close to safety and too cocky to even see it. I had just entered it, trying to cut a high line straight across it’s belly (mistake #5) putting as much pressure as my 230 lbs of body and gear could put on it still only thinking of making the high point 100 ft away without hiking. At the same time Gorio yelled "slide" I saw the snow in front of me start to move. I was only about 5 ft in and it looked like only the top 8-12 inches was moving, but for sure a big island of snow. At this point I thought I was still in control and there was no panic. I instantly turned my board back toward the direction I had come and the moving snow forced me to sit though I had hoped to keep moving as I had in many slides before. After about 20 ft I realized I was going to get forced into a narrow crux of the creek and I realized this was going to be big. Everything was happening so fast and at the same time in slow motion, I didn’t try to pull my ripcord that releases my board, or take off my pack, both would be anchors and all avy training says to ditch the gear. About this time the secondary wave of snow from above, that had a 2-3 ft crown at its deepest point in a 20 ft wide section, hit me from behind with speed. This is the last time Gorio saw me as I was buried from this point on. I traveled the next 40+ feet face down thinking I would be going down a long way not really knowing what was around the bend in the creek. I was still calm considering I was buried. I tried to reach my board to pull the rip cord but it was uphill. Before I knew it things were coming to a stop, I just managed to get my right hand in front of my face and my left hand about 10 inches away. The first 10 seconds: Oh my god, Oh my god. Keep calm, everything you’ve learned says to conserve oxygen and keep calm. I was calm for one second, and shitting my pants the next. My goggles were still on and I could see, there was light. I tried to move but the snow was cement. My body was stretched out to the fullest, as my board was an anchor with my body and pack being pulled downhill. My head was face down and well below my feet. I knew which way was was up. I tried like hell to free myself, to push up, but each time the effort would take up all the oxygen and I felt like I was hyperventilating. Then I tried to yell "Gorio" "Gorio" with the same effect. I relaxed, regained my breath, and somehow felt calm for just a few seconds. The next 20 seconds: I realized Gorio did not have a transceiver…did he have his probe??? I knew he had his shovel but how deep was I. I know from experience that avy snow is cement and digging someone out by yourself is compounded many times with each foot of snow that is on top of you. But how the f***! would he find me without a transceiver??? And if he doesn’t have his probe forget it, he has to have a probe? We’re in a hole, no one saw us and there was not enough time to get help. Fifteen minutes is all I have, all Gorio has to save me. Is this it? Am I going to die right here? What about Sara, Rielly and Ivy? F***!! I try to push again and bring my left hand closer to my face, which fills my little air pocket and mouth with snow resulting in a double dose of panic. The next 2 minutes: All I can think about is my family. Reilly is 2 and Ivy is 4. How could I miss all the signs and die so early. All my backcountry experiences, training, first descents and shit talking and now I’m cemented a half mile from my car. I’m a f***ing idiot! F***!! They won’t find me until next year, it will just keep snowing and sliding and getting deeper and deeper. I try to call out to Gorio again, but my breath has melted the snow, which is now starting to freeze around my head, greatly reducing the oxygen flow. The last 3-4 minutes: I’ve given up hope of being saved 100%. I think my goggles are starting to fog as it’s getting darker and darker. All I can think about is my wife Sara and kids, the best kids in the world. I know I’ll be hurting them, hurting the rest of my family and friends. I think how I’m not going to be able to teach my kids how to love the mountains, and I think they will hate the mountains. I don’t want them to hate the mountains. I’m sad, I’m mad, I’m calm then I’m fighting again. It’s dark but I’m still conscious. I believe in god in my own way, and I ask for his help. It was weird; it felt like I was asking for my kids and not for me. I felt so sorry for them. Then I hear it, muffled and about 10 or so feet away. "Luke" "Luke" Oh Shit, Oh Shit…It’s Gorio, f***in A it’s Gorio. I could only manage one or two Gorio’s, not sure if he heard me or not but just like that with a heart attack of excitement I knew I was going to be dug out. The next 10 minutes: It seemed like it only took 10 seconds, could have been a minute I don’t know, but Gorio got my face free and I gasped for air screaming "you saved my life, you saved my life". Gorio says I was pretty out of it saying all kinds of shit, all I remember is feeling euphoric and telling Gorio how he saved my life. Gorio was moving fast as we were still in a very dangerous place. It took a minute to dig out my board and get it off my feet when Gorio accidentally knocked some snow in my face blocking my breath. I yelled "Gorio, Gorio my face" as my arms and head were still locked in place. The helplessness was overwhelming. The strange thing was my goggles were not fogged, I guess the no fog stuff I put on the inside and outside the night before worked and it was my brain that went dark. I wanted to hug Gorio and Gorio wanted to get the f*** out of dodge, we had to hike back up the slide path to get out, as below us was an even bigger terrain trap. My head was pounding from the lack of oxygen, I had no more strength left but the thought of being ripped by another slide and being able to see my family again after giving up hope was more than enough motivation to climb out. Still had one last 20ft section of exposed slope to climb across until we were in a safe zone, Gorio repacked his gear in another safe zone across the creek while I slowly made my way to it even though I was going as fast as I could. Once there I collapsed as I had been climbing the entire time since being set free. Once Gorio made it I went back into my "you saved my life" speech, hugs etc. Twenty minutes later we were in the parking lot. I’m still shaking my head. Asking questions. Felling so happy to be alive, to have a second chance to be with my family. And I can’t explain it, but feeling depressed and everything in between. Gorio said he saw the second wave coming and it hit me hard, he went to a safe spot 20 ft away and grabbed his shovel and probe and assembled them both without having to take his moist gloves off, saving time. From the point he last saw me he probed down the narrow creek avy path until he saw a piece of my ski binding on the outside of my pack, the size of a dime, sticking out. The size of a dime! In 5-6 minutes he had my face exposed to air, beautiful air. His experience was as traumatic as mine; only difference is he had oxygen. He was thinking about how he was going to have to tell Sara about me, how shitty would that of been? Sara said she wouldn’t have been mad at Gorio, it was my decisions that got me into the mess, so she would have been mad at me. So many times I’ve cheated death, before my kids I needed to get that rush to feel alive. I’d get it in the mountains, riding bikes, anything to get the rush and feeling invincible. Many times I’ve paid the price with pain, coming close to the edge and living to tell about it. For the most part I’ve mellowed out since having kids. Yesterday I paid the ultimate price, I crossed the line so far I was dead in my own mind. It’s still too close to really know what kind of perspective this will give me, but guaranteed, perspective will be gained. To my family, Sara, Ivy and Reilly; I love you more than anything. More than solo trips, more than first descents and more than life itself. To my family and Sara’s family who would have had to deal with the mess, help raise my kids and the entire trauma this would of caused you, I’m sorry. To Gorio, what can I say or do? For my family and for myself thank you. I’ll ask the backcountry community what the going rate is for full body retrieval and life saving while putting yourself at risk. And to you I’m sorry for putting up my blinders. To anyone who reads this and travels in the backcountry; read the signs, they’re out there if you look for them. Take the training, learn from the training and use the training. Always bring you’re tools; transceiver, probe, shovel and most importantly your brain. This was a teeny tiny slide I was in practically next to the parking lot. I could have been swept down into a creek hole and buried 20 ft deep or over a cliff, through rocks or trees and all totally helpless. I’m not going to stop living life, but I plan on making sure I’m around to enjoy it with my family and friends as long as humanly possible. I still have a few of those 9 lives left, but I plan on saving the rest for a long, long time. Loving life, Luke Edgar

quote: Originally posted by Heinouscling: Hey all you sorry bastards, I'm outta here! I'm off to find me some ice! See Yaaaa! -Heinous Hey Heinous: I'm going to climb some ice by my house before work tomorrow at Helen Hunt Falls. If you're looking for ice and would like to join me, here are the directions: Seattle, WA to Broadmoor, CO - Dist 1414.6, 21 Hrs, 58 MinI-5 S 5 at Rainier Exit 164, WA 3.0 3.0 0:03I-90 SE 82 at 90 Exit 3/110, WA 107.0 110.0 1:44I-82 SE State Boundary OR/WA 135.9 245.9 3:52I-82 S 82 at 84, OR 10.9 256.8 4:02I-84/US-30 SE State Boundary ID/OR 197.1 453.9 7:07I-84 SE State Boundary ID/UT 275.4 729.3 11:21I-84 SE Echo, UT 118.9 848.2 13:10I-80/US-189 NE State Boundary UT/WY 31.0 879.2 13:39I-80 E 25 at 80 Exit 8/359, WY 365.4 1244.6 19:17I-25 S State Boundary CO/WY 8.8 1253.4 19:25I-25 S 25 at 115 Exit 140, CO 160.4 1413.8 21:56Local Roads SW Broadmoor, CO 0.8 1414.6 21:58 State TotalsState Total Toll NonToll TimeCO 161.2 0.0 161.2 2:33ID 275.4 0.0 275.4 4:14OR 208.0 0.0 208.0 3:15UT 149.9 0.0 149.9 2:18WA 245.9 0.0 245.9 3:52WY 374.2 0.0 374.2 5:46 Trip TotalsToll Distance 0.0Non Toll Distance 1414.6 ------Total Distance 1414.6Total Time 21 Hour(s) 58 Minute(s) Follow the signs to Cheyenne Canyon and look for the white Toyota Pickup in the parking lot [ 01-14-2002: Message edited by: JayB ] [ 01-14-2002: Message edited by: JayB ]

quote: Originally posted by max: I'm not sure how following is less of a luxury than tr-ing? The bottom line is they're both "not leading". And does following do any less damagethan tr-ing? It seems one gets just as much enjoyment, takes the same amount of risk, and cause the same amount of damage following as some dude or dudette tr-ing. Word.

I want to climb Mt. Terror just so I can impress non-climbers with the name! Probably also an impressive mountain even though I only know it by name at this point. There's nothing worse than hard/scary routes with easy names. No matter how much you try to impress your audience with tales of the sick route you did on the Snugglebunny Buttress they just don't seem to appreciate it!

FWIW for all of those in the PNW (Maybe someone's heading out here for some skiing, vacation, etc.): Mt. Lincoln: 01-13-01. Cold. Temps maxed out at about 10 degrees, with lots of spindrift and wind all day, perhaps to welcome the chap from the Isles who was out there for a visit. The ice was the hardest I've ever encountered - picks either stuck like a hatched buried in an oak stump or bounced off. -Central Flow: Mega-fat blue ice all the way to the to - Probably at least three feet thick all the way up. Has healed up nicely from the steady flows despite seeing heavy traffic. Sweet. -Left flow: Not in a month ago but it's also mega-fat and has seen relatively little traffic. -Central pillar: hooked and hacked out in a big way, with a 3" crack across the base about six feet up. Felt solid but rung like a bell with each non-hooking placement. Will be very spooky when the temps change. -Right Pillar: hacked to pieces. What hasn't been hacked off has for the most part melted. Looks like translucent swiss cheese at this point. On the photo below you can see the right pillar in early season conditions. The entire flow has been knocked down at this point. Guess that's what happens when there's bolted anchors on top. I'm sure it was fun to TR but a shame that it got so trashed. Note: A nice flow has come in just left of the right pillar and looks very fresh. Short but sweet. Photo: www.climbingboulder.com/ice/db/hoosier_pass_lincoln_fall/

Well, I guess it had to happen sooner or later. Not a bad showing thus far. To “Panther” : 5.0 for technical difficulty for taking the time to include the bit about you growing up in Colorado amidst all of the “JayB SUX!” business, but only A 2.5 for artistic merit for not coming up with something more original. FWIW I grew up in Washington (resident from 1979-1998) and just moved to CO in 1998 for the climbing, skiing, etc sans the rain. I’ll be moving back to the PNW this March and staying for 10 months or so before moving to Wyoming for a few months. AlpineK: No score yet – maybe honorable mention. Still on the cool guy list for all of the posts ripping on Tele-Skiers with cosmic pretensions

Apologies in advance for the preachy tone on this one, but I for one have had just about enough of this topic. Beyond the fact that yet another repetition of a tired theme makes this a lame thread, it seems as though what we have here is a bunch of grown-ups taking shots at a guy they’ve never met just because they’ve seen other people do it. In my opinion, this reflects more poorly on the person hopping on the “Dan Larson Sucks” bandwagon than it does on Dan. It sucked in junior high and it sucks now. As a matter of fact, I’ve come to admire the way the guy can take levels of abuse that would make most of us flee this message board and seek therapy and keep on posting.Granted, some of Dan’s posts have been less than stellar, but they hardly stand out for special consideration amongst they rest of the useless shit that gets posted by most of us from time to time. Having said that, if you have If had a specific interaction with Dan that compels you to declare that in your opinion, he sucks (e.g. Alpine K et al), or are just giving the guy a good natured ribbing – fine. If you’re just another guy hopping on the bandwagon to show that you’re one of the guys – you suck

Sorry to hear about our fallen comrade.Very sad indeed, and just a bit spooky as I spent a day in the Designator Ampitheater in mid-December just prior to heading out the PNW. I didn’t plan on hanging out there as everything in the area is too hard for me to even consider leading at this point (Could maybe do the Designator if it’s in fat, late-season, WI4 peg-board condition), but one of the guys working on a new mixed line behind The Fang let us cruise up the Designator on his TR. Very cool guy – hope this wasn’t him or one of his buddies. I was involved in a rescue operation at Vail last year at Pitkin Falls, which was a sobering experience indeed. Just on the off chance that the story will prove useful and/or interesting to anyone else out there, I’ll hack out a chronology of the affair. My partner got and I got an early start and beat the weekend crowds that morning, thanks to redundant alarms and a couple of beds in nearby Frisco. During my lead a couple of other parties showed up and jockied for position at the base. It was my first year climbing ice, and even though most of the climb was in ideal condition, the easy WI4 route had me pretty gripped. From our previous lap on the route I knew that the worst part lay ahead – the 15 feet of unconsolidated snowcone-esque crap that lay between the final bulge and the anchors. I ground in a 22cm screw a few feet below the base, cleared the bulge in as good a style as I could muster, and headed for the top. In the meantime my partner had been giving the leader from the next party pretty detailed beta on the conditions of the climb after being approached by him, making special note of the slop at the top. My partner followed me up and we rapped down as this fellow was getting ready to make his first placements. I watched him start-up a harder line to the right as we consolidated our gear, and he looked very solid and confident as he made his way up. We retreated into the cave behind a curtain of ice at the base for lunch and tea as a guide and a couple of his clients arrived at the base. We emerged from behind the ice-curtain about 30 minutes later and stopped to take a look at the other parties before heading down. I took a quick look over my shoulder and something about the scene behind me prompted me to stop and take a closer look. At first glance something about the position of the other climber looked just a bit off, and after a spending a surprisingly long time looking at the guy I asked myself “Why in the hell is that guy hanging out in an upside-down figure four stance on TR? Why are all of his screws still in below his last screw if he’s on TR? Why is his TR set-up mid-climb off of a single screw on top?” It’s embarassing to admit that I actually scrolled through all of these questions mentally, but the demeanor of the other people involved in the situation was strangely incongruous with the predicament that the guy pulling the upside down figure four off of his last screw was in. Namely, no one had come to us to ask for help while we were in the cave, despite the fact that 3 of 5 people there were neither climbing nor belaying. No one said anything to us as we began our descent. No one seemed to be doing much to help the guy out. The guide was making his way up to the base of the ice in a manner that did nothing to suggest that there was an emergency underway, and we nearly had to resort to flares and semaphore to get anyone to talk to us. After yelling “HEY – is everything okay?” for the third time, one of the guided clients finally acknowledged our forty-decibel queries and a reply of “I don’t think so” came forth from his astonished and slightly haunted looking face. “What happened?” “Do we need to call 911?” No answer. At this moment I can recall feeling as though I was stuck in the middle of the ice-climbing equivalent of a David Lynch movie, as the situation contained the puzzling mixture of the macabre and the mundane – an upside down climber with what might be life threatening injuries above and silent people just sort of hanging out below. Hmmm. I would have been only slightly less confused if I had walked passed two guys in clown suits engrossed in a game of cribbage in the middle of a burning orphanage. Anyway – the whole thing was starting to feel a bit surreal as we sized up the situation, and during a quick chat we worked past the assumption that all parties were acting rationally and that everything was under control, and made the decision to get involved. As it turns out the guide knew what he was doing, but wasn’t involving anyone else in the situation. Maybe he decided that his clients were hopeless, and that it would be better not to involve anyone else as it would just slow him down. After approaching his somewhat shellshocked clients and getting confirmation that the unconscious guy on top-rope had taken an almighty winger from the top, we made the decision to call 911 and call things off if it turned out that the guy was in better shape than he looked to be in. He was now hanging upside down about 25 feet below his last screw, and had apparently fallen from near the top. From one of the client’s descriptions, it appears that he elected to run it out to the top and had been on the verge of clearing the bulge when both of his tools blew out of the rotten slush they were planted in. Bad luck or bad technique – who knows. He then fell away from the cliff in a long arc, with his arms windmilling alongside him before he slammed neck/headfirst onto an ice-shelf and took a long bounce downward before becoming stuck on the screw. The guide prusiked his way up to the unconsicous climber and began the process of extricating him from the screw-hanger that he was stuck on. We tried to keep his spinal-column as immobile as possible as his belayer lowered him to the ground. We left our foam sit-pad beneath his back, covered him with our down jackets, and instructed his hitherto-and-long-thereafter useless belayer/friend to keep an eye on his breathing and to keep him immobile if he came to. Again, we sort of hoped that the guide would have been directing care/traffic at this point, but had decided to take control until someone else stepped forwards. Shortly thereafter the first wave of the emergency armada had docked amidst the mansions on the street below, and Sean (the partner) and I volunteered to head down to let the rescue crews know what the condition of the climber was and to help them get up to the base of the ice if we needed to. It would have been a much better day for skiing/boarding than climbing, as at least 8” of snow had fallen since we had set out that morning, and the blowing snow had completely obscured the narrow trench of hardpack of leading through the powder that we had followed to the base of the gully earlier in the day. The relief I had felt upon seeing the fire-department arrive soon began to dissipate when rather than forging a path through the snow to meet us at the midpoint, the firefighters saw fit to goad us onwards with “encouragement” through a bull-horn as we tried out several variations on the crawl-stroke to make our way through the chest-deep snow. “Let’s Go! Let’s Go! Every second counts!” No shit – how about meeting us halfway? Once we made it out to the street our cheerleader with the bullhorn pulled me aside and asked me about the condition of the climber while Sean spoke with the younger fire-fighters about the conditions in the gully leading to the base of the climb. Soon enough we were recruited by one or two of the younger fire-fighters to help move the back-board/sled to the base of the climb. Fully loaded, this thing must have weighed a good 100 lbs, burdened as it was with all of the EMT gear, oxygen, and a big-ass defrib apparatus and other miscellaneous stuff. After about 15 feet of trying to plow the thing through the snow I suggested that we unload it and carry it above the snow rather than plowing through it, and have others carry the gear on it piece-by-piece, seeing as it was now loaded with a good 30-40lbs of the white stuff by this point. No dice, no debate, just a curt dismissal and another “Come-on!” as we churned through the morass. This carried on for another 50 yards or so, interrupted every so often as the head musher stopped to take off miscellaneous components of the full fire outfit he had begun the trudge with, including his fire helmet. I figured the guy wasn’t going to budge on this one so I gave up the idea of strategy and just plowed onwards with him. The guy had a lot of heart, but efficient we were not, and Sean and I abandoned our efforts to till the snow, grabbed the oxygen and defrib-apparatus, and headed back up to the base of the ice. The plan was to deposit the gear at the top of the climb, check on the climber, and lower a rope to the base to bring the sled up if it turned out that he needed it. We got back to the top of the climb and found that the climber had regained consciousness and was able to recall his name and where he was by this point (“By the looks of it, I’d say I was out ice climbing.") , but not a whole lot else. He wanted to move but given the nature of the fall he took we encouraged him to stay put until an EMT could check him out for spinal cord injuries, even though he claimed he could feel and wiggle all of his appendages. Good news. We rigged up a line to manuevered it down to the base of the climb an over the short (10-12 foot ice-step found there). We climbed back down to the base just in time to meet the firefighters, one of whom was hunched over in the snow from the effort required to drag all of that snow, and the sled, to the base of the climb. Unfortunately, they could advance no further, given that they were outfitted in rubber-boots and such, even with a rope. By this time, roughly 1 and one-half hours had passed since the climber fell. The folks at the top proceeded to haul up the sled and bring down a line for the EMT who showed up at the base about 15 minutes later. He had a hard time of it, outfitted as he was in slacks and cowboy boots, and made it to the top about 20 minutes later with some assistance. By this time it was pretty clear that the climber would be okay. I hadn’t noticed, but Vail Mountain Rescue had arrived on the scene in the meantime, and several members of that group were making their way to the base of the falls, fixing-lines on the way. 15 minutes later all of the elements of the rescue operation were in place, and the confusion began. It took at least two minutes worth of epic and somewhat hallucinatory cluster-action worthy of Apocalypse Now (e.g. “Whose in charge here?” Confused looks “Aren’t you?) Before everyone agreed who needed to be rescued and what the order of the rescue should be. Some members of the rescue party even set about deliberating about who was going to get the sled and the other equipment back down before pausing to consider if, and in what fashion, the injured climber was going to get down. After a mini-conference between ourselves, the EMT, and the climber himself, we agreed that Sean and I would assist him to the base on rappel. The fire fighters walked him out to the ambulance once we got the base, and we headed back up to collect our gear. The deliberations about the fate of the sled and the best method by which to lower it were still going on. We grabbed our gear, took all of the medical apparatus that we could, and descended to the base through a few of the VMR members who were still on their way up. What struck me about the whole affair was not that anyone involved in the rescue was incompetent or inept, but just the opposite. The firemen’s response time was incredible, and were we in a burning house, I have no doubt that the men who responded would have gotten everyone out alive. They were just a bit out of their element and following a rigid protocol in a new environment that wasn’t a good match for their training and equipment. The EMT was great, and he made a determined effort to got to the climber despite lacking any winter/climbing gear, and gave the climber excellent care once he arrived on the scene. And finally, the guys from Vail Mountain Rescue rallied their members incredibly fast for a volunteer organization, and had a dozen people on the scene within a couple of hours. Had it been necessary, I have no doubt that they would have successfully taken the climber to the base of the climb. What struck me, rather, was that despite the fact that this was essentially roadside ice right in the middle of Vail, with world-class medical facilities just minutes away and dedicated, professional rescue crews on the scene, this guy would have been as dead as a doornail if his injuries required medical care in less than an two hours. Even with pro’s on the scene confusion and discord prevailed as several different organizations tried to coordinate their efforts. If the fall had taken place in Rocky Mountain National Park or someplace even more remote, I’d be mighty surprised if he would have been rescued in less than a day. The moral? If you sustain a life threatening injury on ice/rock and you and/or your partners can’t rescue yourselves, in the words of Simon Yates, “That’s it. You’re fucked, Matey!” [ 01-10-2002: Message edited by: JayB ]

Not much to add to the comments above, except that: -Cherry Ice was in but melting fast. At it's narrowest point near the top of the first step, the ice was about 4' wide and about 6" deep. Above the low-angle ice went on for about 50 feet or so before petering out. Honeyman Falls was still forming. The whole left side of the falls was running when we checked it out, and much of the falls above the first step appear to be running also. The ice on the right side seems to be forming well but was quite slushy at the base. I was up there from the 2nd to the 4th and experienced the warm temps and wet conditions. Didn't climb nearly as much as I would like to have, but thankfully the ice isn't quite as scarce out here in CO. I have some good beta on lodging, though. The Mile-O rocks. We paid $48 per night for a two-bedroom kitchenette with one of those jacuzzi-tubs with the "Ice Climbers Discount." They have also started a conditions log for climbers staying there.

Really. Unimpressive. Reply.Pope. We're calling you out....Last chance to clear your name Max 2, RURP 0. [ 12-21-2001: Message edited by: JayB ]

[ 12-21-2001: Message edited by: JayB ]