Mt. Whitney Portal Store & Hostel Forums General Mt. Whitney Portal Store Message Board Have you ever been really scared or in danger?

Several years ago I spent a very frightening night stranded at Cirque Peak without proper clothes or gear. Once I realized I was really not getting down that evening I became very afraid as my mind raced through the dangers I was facing. The entire ordeal lasted 48 hours before I was once again safe. I wondered at the time if I was going to ever climb again.

What I learned from the experience is that things can happen unexpected on the mountain and the real test of survival is what choices you make once you are in danger. Although we made some bad choices regarding time for descent etc the choices we made afterward allowed us to survive.

There is inherent risk in climbing that every climber must accept. It is that knowledge and acceptance that allows me to continue. I also strive to learn as much as possible so I can be well-prepared. I have taken wilderness training courses for first aid and many classes on winter skills. It is those skills that provide me with the confidence that I can handle the situation.

I am leaving for Orizaba in a few days (18,500 feet), which places me in another risky situation but more importantly offers me the opportunity to experience something incredible. It is the later that drives me!

Many years ago I was asking a similar question about solo hiking. In my research I came upon the following—great words that can be applied to so many things beyond solo hiking

"If you judge safety to be the paramount consideration in life you should never, under any circumstances, go on long hikes alone.

Don't take short hikes either - or, for that matter, go anywhere alone. And avoid at all costs such foolhardy activities as driving, falling in love or inhaling air that is almost certainly riddled with deadly germs...

Insure every good and chattel you possess against every conceivable contingency the future might bring, even if the premiums half-cripple the present.

Never cross an intersection against a red light, even when you can see that all roads are clear for miles...

In your wisdom you will probably live to a ripe old age. But you may discover, just before you die, that you have been dead for a long, long time." -Colin Fletcher

Push that one and New York and Boston would become ghost towns.

Here is another take on that:

"But no journalist wrote about the banality of city life or how easy it is to become another automaton paying bills and working nine to five and being so removed from the primary necessities of life and so far from real fear and natural beauty and human instinct that when death finally approaches in some antiseptic white room, just as you have been waiting for it, you sense that you have already been dead for years."
Jonathan Waterman, In The Shadow of Denali page 246

Great quote Lori!

doc, i would say. go fly. go climb the MR. and yes climbers are adrenaline junkies.
about surviving. take warm clothing, water, extra food. be physically fit. have a positive mental game. have a purpose.

I've been climbing for 22 years and have 1,005 summits in my climbing log. Many of those summits were trivial walk-ups, some were very committing and technical, and most were somewhere in the middle. 66% were solo ascents.

I've been over my head a few times, and that's a few times too many, but pushing it that far is never my intention. I always try to set realistic goals, manage the risks with a decent margin of safety, bag the summit, and return more-or-less on schedule. I don't want to return with a story about what almost happened, I don't want to quit without reaching the summit, I don't want to spend a night out without my sleeping bag, and I don't want anybody else to have to help me out because I screwed up.

Yes, I take risks. There would be no challenge and not much satisfaction without taking some risk, but I'm no adrenaline junkie. Adrenaline junkies who climb don't live long.

bob, safety and adrenaline can go together. just tie a follow through figure eight at the end of the rope.

i am not the crash burn type.

Interesting discussion. I happen to have been thinking about this a lot lately. I almost always hike solo, and recently I have been getting myself into an unusual number of difficult (on my scale) situations.

One incident involved getting caught in a pretty good storm leaving Trail Camp because I lingered too long despite the obvious indications. Another involved climbing, on impulse, a short class 4 route that I realized too late I could not reverse, into difficult terrain that took some doing and a bit of luck to get out of. It would have been difficult to find me if I had been unable to extricate myself and was not able to communicate. Even more recently I got myself into a less threatening but still difficult situation, again through an impulsive decision, and this time going even further off route. I have been scared to varying degrees in all of those situations, but I was able to get past the initial panic (which hits me easily) and function.

I have a strong inclination to explore which leads me into impulsive decisions: "hey, I wonder where that scramble goes? I think I'll check it out." On the one hand, I kick myself for those impulsive decisions, but on the other hand, I have never failed to get myself out of a jam, and it often ends up having been a "rewarding" adventure: epics, even mini-epics, make the best stories, right?

I am not even remotely a "hard man", I whine when I get a splinter in my finger. And to provide some safety margin, I always take a cell phone, extra layers, a first aid kit, and extra energy bars. Anyway, to get to the point and close out this ramble, I am having a hard time figuring out for myself if I am being downright foolish, or just taking what turn out to be, at my level, manageable risks. It is certainly not anything anyone can answer for me, but this discussion is interesting to me because it involves different responses to the question of the meaning, relativity, and management of risk.

It takes more than a rope to be safe. In fact, the only time I've ever really been injured, I had a rope. I took a leader fall on some wet rock on the lower Exum Ridge on Grand Teton. We bailed off the route and then I soloed the upper Exum Ridge. I didn't recognize that I had broken my foot (in two places, it turned out) until I was nearly on the summit. By then, the fastest way back to camp was to finish the climb.

For me, climbing is about setting realistic but challenging goals, having a sensible plan, and executing it. It's not about seeing how close I can come to dying without getting my name in the paper. My lifetime summit success rate is 98.3%. I've never had an unplanned bivy, and I've never needed any kind of assistance for what little trouble I've gotten myself into.

Several years ago, I soloed the East Face of Whitney in under 47 minutes on the way to summiting in 3:29 from the car. That climb was 10% adrenaline, 40% brutal cardio workout, and 50% just plain fun. 10% adrenaline was too much.

I will echo the sentiments of Bob Pickering and add that at times I aware in the moment that I have gotten into a bit of a jamb. Often times it has been after the fact, upon reflection that the realization has kicked in that I was in a dicey situation. Fortunately, no major mishaps a couple of close calls and one situation in particular that 20/20 hindsight told me that "we got away with one". Granted there are things I am comfortable on now that would have wigged me out years ago.

Generally there are things I won't attempt solo that I may be more inclined to try if there are others along on the trip.

I accept the risk of engaging in this activity that I have such a passion for.

bob, good thing you were using a rope when you took that leader fall and were only injured, otherwise you probably wouldn't be here having this discussion on safety.

Ropes have their place, but they are no substitute for experience and good judgment. I never climb with adrenaline junkies, with or without a rope.

Rod, before my first big trek a few years ago, I spent time writing quotes into the top border of a journal that I still go back and read on New Year's Day. Helps me put things in perspective. They were all from Leading Out: Mountaineering Stories of Adventurous Women, edited by Rachel Da Silva.

One of my faves:
"Fear deserves recognition but not one iota more of your attention, though it is usually eager to consume all of it." -- Maureen O'Neill

Scared? Hell yeah. Fear keeps you alive. Learning to recognize the fear and put it in its proper place? Much harder.

I balled into Tom's shoulder after the crack traverse on Dragon Peak. I whimpered on my first multi-pitch up the NE Buttress of Tenaya peak with Deb. Rob has dealt with my drama from Yosemite to Stemwinder.

In the past three years, I've given up on saying "Never". Now look what trouble it gets me into!

Let me know about the MR. I think I might know the way.

-L

i can't argue with your experience,your good judgement, and your superior climbing ability, but i am still injury free.

Just remember none of us are getting out of this alive.

That said, I want to keep the ride going for as long as possible. You can usually spot the members of the adrenaline junky subset of climbers pretty quickly. Hopefully before you tie in with one of them. Listen for answers to reasonable safety questions that sound like "climbing is dangerous" (while shrugging, rolling eyes, etc.). I had a FORMER partner say that to me once after belaying me off a sapling about as big as my thumb. If you're not going to put some calculation into the risks you're taking, why not just shoot yourself in the head? Maximum risk!

Anyway, to me part of the fun of climbing/mountaineering is learning how to mitigate risk, not maximize it, and not completely avoid it either. You get to learn about yourself in a profound way. How good is your planning and training? What backup tools/strengths do you have? How do you react when you do get in over your head? (you will eventually) How can I learn from someone more experienced that I am? What are the consequences of this risk? Will it put others in danger besides myself? (wish more people thought of that one) Can you avoid getting so far in over your head that you don't activate SAR or require an embarrassing tombstone? "Here lies so-and-so, he didn't think helmets look too cool, now he has a rock in his brain, not too cool."

I started thinking of examples of times where the fit hit the shan and it turns out most of them are now my favorite experiences because I learned a lot from them and was somewhat proud of myself for working it out. Hypothermia on Gorgonio in January... good thing I had a -20 bag and a stove to make hot drinks. Finding myself off-route 30 feet above my last anchor at Tahquitz and faced with a blank wall... good thing I can downclimb 5.9 slab if I really have to, now if I only had a change of underwear that day.

My favorite goof-up has to be the 5 day backpacking trip in October 05 that was supposed to end with a Whitney summit. A wind storm came through and coated all the high passes with a nice layer of ice. I bailed on an attempt to cross over discovery pinnacle to the main trail from crabtree pass because of the ice (I had sneakers, no crampons, no axe). I ended up camping near Guitar lake by myself with no food on the last night. I decided to hike out over New Army Pass (how far is this like 20-something miles?) the next day before I got too hungry. That was a tough, but awesome day... didn't see a single person the whole way out. Lesson learned: don't cross the crest in October without pointy gear. Anyway, the point is I knew I could hike a long way in a single day if I had to and there was a bailout option. Best burger ever after that day.

For me, it was attempting two fourteeners in SW Colorado (Mt Wilson and El Diente) on the same day. The attempt was not that unusual for 14'er baggers.

We first climbed Mt. Wilson straight up from Navajo Basin. It was no big deal because I was in excellent shape and familiar with this type of Class 3-4 terrain.

To then get to El Diente Peak, with minimal elevation loss, one can traverse across a narrow mile-long ridge that is very steep on both sides.

The vertical exposure made me very nervous (maybe because I was tired - don't really know) and I nearly panicked. Fortunately, I recognized the problem for what it was, sat down for about 20 minutes, then decided to immediately descend. My parter, went on ahead and bagged the second 14'er.

Had I continued I am sure something bad (like death) would have occurred. I simply lost all confidence in the span of about five minutes. To this day I have no regrets (25+ years later). Someday I will finish checking off the remaining Colorado 14'ers.

Danger? Whitney was the place.

It was my sixth climb. All successful. But this one turned out a bit different.

I took my teenage son, Mike, up the Mountaineer's Route. It was his second time, but his first time up he had to turn back because of AMS.

On this particular climb, I under-rated Whitney, and grossly over-rated me. I was a bit older, and not in top condition.

My son and I summited via the MR, but at the top, I was exhausted. I violated the maxim: summiting is optional, getting back down is mandatory.

There were high winds on the summit and it was below freezing.

I had warm clothing, but the exposed skin on my face was tortured by the sheer cold, even though I was pretty much covered by my wool ski cap, and my hands were getting numb, even though they were covered by wool gloves.

I was so tired, I was sitting on my butt while descending the 400-foot chute above the Notch. I should have been facing the rock. While trying to catch my breath, before descending further, I started to slide down the face. My hands were hard pressed on the flat granite, but my wool gloves were now tearing as I slid more and more. My son was about 30 feet below me, and I yelled to him that I was falling. I could not stop the slide. He tore up the face below me in a Herculean effort to save his Dad from about a 2,000-foot face-plant. He was able to grab my right ankle and stop my slide, which enabled me to roll over and face the rock like I should have been doing all along. I had spent years teaching scores of youth and numbers of adults how to rock climb safely, but I blew it myself that day.

That was quite the adenaline rush for me and my son.

I down-climbed the rest of the 400-foot chute okay, but I was even more beat. About 500 feet below the Notch, I sat on a half-ton boulder in the main avalanche chute. Again, I was resting, and trying to catch my breath. My son was about 100 feet below me. But as I proceeded to get off the boulder, it let go.

Have you ever ridden a boulder down a mountain? How about Mt. Whitney? How many have done it, and lived to tell about it?

I can tell you, it was quite a ride. Your mind goes in nano-seconds. I could envision the boulder rolling, and, of course, turning me into a pancake a whole lot bigger than Doug's famous Portal pancakes.

As the boulder picked up momentum, I decided it would probably be a good idea to bail. I was next to a granite wall as the slide progressed, and saw a granite protrusion coming my way. I grabbed the granite protrusion for all I was worth, and was instantly yanked off the boulder as it continued its slide down the chute. Thankfully, my son had moved himself above the chute opposite me, so he was not crushed by the boulder. But when I got yanked off the boulder, the sudden yanking nearly pulled my left shoulder out of its socket, or so it felt. In retrospect, I guess I badly tore my rotator cuff. Whatever, I was in excruciating pain, and could no longer use my left arm. But, it sure beat the alternative--a ride to oblivion. My son helped me get down the rest of the way. In my poor wobbly, unbalanced condition, as I held my left shoulder with my right hand, it made for an interesting descent down the rock slabs below the Upper Boy Scout Lake, where I fell a few times on the wet rock (at least they weren't icy), and the downclimb on the Ebersbacher Ledges was a bit treacherous for me. My son had to carry my day pack down the ledges so I could have better balance.

That day, I guess, I was the most dangerous man on Mt. Whitney. I am glad Bob R. and the rest of his China Lake buddies did not have to come up and do a recovery mission on Mt. Whitney.

So, have I ever been really scared or in danger? Well, that particular day probably qualifies. I've never had a day before or since like that one in hundreds of climbs. My son literally saved my life. It was a pretty good bonding thing between father and son, and it was something we will never forget, and I certainly hope it is something I never repeat! I have fallen a number of times while climbing on high walls, but I was always safely roped. But the MR experience, well, that was a bit unique.

I have been scared many a time. I began my High Sierra days as a kid doing peak bagging with my dad and was a moderately committed peak bagger from 1966-1981 before backcountry lake fishing took over as my main High Sierra pursuit. I was never one to push things beyond class 3 intentionally, but there were a mess of times I was pretty scared. The worst events in my climbing days were from egregious errors in judgment, though, and, as you can guess the details are etched in my memory foreever. A few of these moments:

May or June 1970 my dad and I do bad "short cut" and end up climbing crumbly high 3rd (at least) N. Ridge of Carson Peak. I was scared stiff and very cold (snow all over the place).

August 1973. I mess up the route on the W. side of Ritter (first time I do all the route selection and my debut is not a good one). What should be all class 2 ends up with a few hundred feet of loose class 4. At least we have rope, unlike the other misadventures here, and my dad belays me (although he insists on simply leading unroped and throwing down the rope). I figured out my error while in the midst of the difficult stuff so descent worked out all class 2. Was scared enough so I spent an entire year avoiding class 3 (didn't get my stride back until 1975 when I doubled off Lyell and Maclure).

Sept 1977. With basketball buddy (first peak bagging trip w/o my dad) Having climbed Dade very early the day, figured that Abbot would round out a fine day. Glazed black ice in couloir forced a very dicey one way sprint up sand covered ice stretch (not a reversable move) followed by exit stage right to the rocks to right of couloir which are high 3rd with lots of ledge house cleaning and one very memorable 4th class move (this step is big enough to see in the photo of the couloir in Secor) before reaching steep 2nd class route from couloir margin up to ridge top (now grade inflated to 3rd) before final third class moves on knife edge. On descent took "fall" off of 4th class step onto narrow ledge, then made a huge leap from one talus crowned ice ridge to another. Smart thing to do would have been to turn back early on upon facing the glazed black ice on ascent. My friend took rock climbing classes that fall. I asked why given that he didn't seem inclined to such things and his reply was "no more Abbots without rope".

May 1979 First one up Brewer that year (with a different friend who quit below steep part of E ridge). Ill advised crossing of Bubbs Creek. May have suffered right hip injury falling on rock on earlier minor stream crossing 1 mi from roads end. Wicked shooting pains--really no fun giving my friend self arrest lessons (on morning of climb) falling on sensitive hip. Miserable postholing in deep snow nearly all the way from East Lake. Top of E. ridge very steep snow/ice wall. After ascending from summit decide to glissade top of E ridge. Very bad move. Self arrest doesn't work too well in soft spring snow. Went something like 40' with 100' more vertical to go before snow slope goes over 500' cliff. I thought the ice axe would never bite. As many of you know, sometimes it doesn't in spring snow, which results in many tragic accidents.

September 1979. I wasn't really scared but was seriously focused (arguably one of my best peak bagging highlights). On my most prolific peak bagging overnighter with my dad. Day one bagged Lone Pine en route to Meysan dropping pack doing peak then coming back to pack and finishing hike to Meysan. Next day did Irvine, traversed to Mallory then to Le Conte. Did standard Clyde route descending to other side to pick up chute then ascending. Didn't like the somewhat slimy look of what I believe they call the Waterfall pitch nowadays, so I took on a jam crack to the left. Pushed me and my rucksack into awkward position before working it out and getting to a nice ledge above. My dad, watching this, asked for rope to first bring his rucksack up first, then for the belay which I gave him. Descent was the focused part, after belaying my dad down. I downclimbed (no rope) as he coolly called out holds like chess moves. Perhaps my greatest son and father moment. It could be argued that some nearly as sketchy things were encountered as we blindly descended the to Meysan not quite knowing where the drop offs were (much looser class 3) before packing up the tent hiking out and driving home to Bay Area by 3 am. I've looked at photos taken from the top of the big step on LeConte looking down. I'd never do that now. I get more scared looking at those photos and remembering the place than I was when I was actually there. Then again, peak climbing just isn't the same without my dad, my greatest climbing partner ever.

August 1987 Following W. ridge of Emerson (solo after reaching ridge). Near summit failed to realize that better finish is on solid southern side (with some downclimbing). Attempt to finish by stringing out ledges on the north face. Horrid place. Crumbly class 4. Handholds are pulling out and a few ledges crumble beneath my feet. After giving up below a last committing mantle move that I chose not to trust (wise move I think) am initially so scared I'm tightening up. need to talk to myself to get myself to loosen up so I can climb more safely and get down. Could say it scared the sh-- out of me. In anxiety after reaching easy descent chute to Piute L. consumed an entire bag of prunes. Explosive results 5 minutes later.

August 1991 Fishing Upper Horton lake pursuing 20" goldens (really) after taking my dad up Mt. Tom (he was at campsite at lower Horton when accident occurred). Decide to work across toe of rock glacier on upstream side of lake. (van sized) Boulder that looks like perfect casting platform pitches when I jump on to it and throws me into the lake. That should have been the wake up call. Instead continue to traverse across toe along shore and fire off casts. Cut off by couloir dropping off into water and need to climb a bit before taking to the snow where the angle eases a bit. Climbing up loose rock glacier stuff undercuts big Indiana Jones boulder that lurches toward me from above. I assume I'm going to die and my mind anticipates the feeling of being crushed to width of credit card (no time for life to flash before eyes). Reflexive lateral leap to my left (still had 30" vertical jump in those days--probably a bit beyond that in this situation), boulder barely misses to my right. Ankle breaks (hairline fracture) upon landing in snow. 8 mile hike out on broken ankle small price to pay for some real boneheaded decisions. A day later I see my wife, tell her the story and expect to be chewed out for being a dumb---. Her response: "So how big were those goldens and how hard is it to reach this place?"

I was scared twice on Whitney.

The first time was when I made my ill advised March winter attempt. I kept thinking I was going to break through a snow bridge and drown in the creek running under the snow on the North Fork drainage.

The second time I was scared was when I was with Richard, Mike, & Tom when we ventured out onto the slope to glissade down from Trail Crest. My legs were wobbly as we inched out onto that slope but thankfully Tom was first to give it a test go and the snow was soft and completely manageable. Looking down that slope was pretty damn scary to this newb. I had great guides though..

Chris

Not completely unplanned, but in spring 1998 I spent the night on the ridge between Inyo & Keynot Peaks. At the last minute I stuffed a light sleeping bag (40F rating) in my pack instead of a light down jacket, thinking I might not get back down before sunset. I stashed it on the ridgeline when I first got up there, did both peaks, then got back to it just before dark. The sleeping bag, calm weather, plus a small metal cup I used to melt snow for water (started a small fire to melt the snow), made for a tolerable night.

Another quote (shortened):

"The principal difference between an adventure and suicide is the margin of error; . . . the narrower the margin, the greater and more exhilarating the adventure." - Tom Robbins, Even Cowgirls get the Blues