The wind had blasted for most of the night at the Portal. “I sure can pick the days, can’t I,” Len smiled as we hugged hello. Loading up, I couldn’t help but smile also, knowing that Len could easily kick my ass but that there was no pressure to “perform”. Solid and steady, our group of four, Bill, Mike, Len, and myself, shuffled up the trail to the north fork turnoff. Ice lined the familiar steep curves through the trees, and we emerged at the first creek crossing in the sun, the wind suddenly calm. Ahead, the guys started postholing to their thighs, and I instinctively dropped my pack to don snowshoes. Time to show these guys the meaning of “trenching”.
We paused below the E-ledges, noting that the north wall seemed to have filled in well enough to mostly cover the willows, but a party just ahead of us chose to cross to the slabs above the south side of the drainage. A nice track wound its way up to the knoll above Lower Boy Scout Lake, where we paused to regroup and rest in the sun, bundling up against a cold breeze. As promised to friends, my gaze focused squarely on the falls below Girl Scout Lake, and I grinned at the thick, blue ice coating the wall in cascades. But my eyes also caught the blue glow resting on the slabs leading to Clyde Meadow, and I started searching for routes through the treacherous ice.
Ponderously, we traversed the slope and crept uphill, alternately kicking rocks and breaking crust as we leaned into the weight of our packs. Len and Mike gained ground, cresting beneath the large boulders marking the right-ish turn towards the slabs. The group of three ahead of us had paused to trade out snowshoes for crampons, and then gingerly picked their way up, kicking and front-pointing on the ice. I saw Lenny explore the spot, coming back to get Mike, a newbie to all things winter. I squinted as I saw them cross a ways while still in snowshoes, and, for a moment, regarded my own shoe and the strap that had broken on one posthole or another that morning.
When I raised my head, Len was falling.
His snowshoes still on, he reached for his pack as he gained speed on the slick slabs. His axe was still attached, and he had hoped to at least flip his pack over to attempt at arrest. He never had time. Hitting a thin snow patch, he slowed, ever so slightly, and I yelled out to him. But the next ice sent him spiraling around, faster and faster, the edge of the cliff. With a bounce, he was airborne, dropping over the side as I watched helplessly from just below. He hit the final rocky section, then the snow on the slope, his pack and other gear coming to rest about 50 feet below him near a large boulder.
“I’m OK,” he shouted. “Don’t move, Len, I’m coming to you!” I returned the call. I looked up at Mike, shouting for him to descend exactly as he had climbed. I turned to Bill, behind me, directing him to Len’s pack and to pull out his sleeping bag and pad as soon as he could. Scanning the scene to make sure no further debris was headed my way, I dove down and across the slope. “I broke my arm,” he called out.
A few drops of blood spattered on the snow next to Len. I grabbed my down jacket off my pack and shoved it under Len for some sort of insulation against the snow, knowing the cold and shock of the event would soon settle in. Mike had passed under the big boulders, and I remembered his cell phone and the spotty reception in this area. “Mike, get on the horn to 911. Start a SAR for above Lower Boy Scout Lake.” “Did you hit your head?” I asked. With an affirmative response, I went to work checking his head after gently tucking his hand into his vest for some support. “I need to lie down,” he said. I grabbed my rolled up pad and placed it under his head as he lay back, checking his pupils for dilation. “OK, buddie, I need to splint your arm.” I separated my pole into pieces, ripping off the snow basket. “You know, there are easier ways to see me naked, my friend,” I smiled as I took off my shirt and flipped it into a single strand to tie the poles in place. Bill tossed the sleeping bag to our feet, but Len had already started to shiver.
I was working fast, but Len’s shivering was working faster. Gingerly, we scooted down to a flatter spot below the slope, Bill pulling the pad and bag along. Mike called down from his perch, on the phone with the Sherriff’s office, and asked about Len’s head. “He’s conscious, alert, and oriented,” I yelled back, then cradled Len’s arm again as we continue to drag ourselves to the boulder. Bill helped me scoot Len onto the pad, clearing as much snow as we could, then tucked his legs, boots and all, into the bag and pulling it under his butt so I could zip him in. By now, Mike had dropped to us as well, and went to work pulling out his own bivy and sleeping bag while I locked Len’s pad into position with our snowshoes and axes. I asked Bill and Mike for something easy for Len to eat and any water or Gatorade as I checked Len’s pulse and his eyes again. The shivering was lessening, but the chances of shock and hypothermia after such an incident were still very real.
Mike, an MRI technician, quizzed Len about moving his fingers and toes as I stepped aside for a moment to layer up and grab my own food bag and sleeping pad. The sun was hiding behind Thor Peak and, while the wind had fortunately died down, the air was chilled. Bill kept Len talking as Mike fed him, and when I returned I asked them to break out their stoves to melt and boil water to get something warm into Len. I checked and rechecked the snowshoe stakes, gently lifted Len’s feet up onto my stuffed sleeping bag, which reduced his chill somehow. Working together as a team, we kept him comfortable and settled in for the wait.
“I know what I did wrong,” Len offered. “I’ve been here too many times, trusted my being familiar with this place.” His location for changing gear wasn’t optimal, but with the crampons still attached to his pack, it was instinctive for him to grab for it as it started to slide. He said the fall wasn’t in slow motion for him, that he could see everything he was hitting on the way down, when he would go airborne. “Where’s my phone, anyway?” he asked. Good ol’ Lenny: he wanted to turn on some blues while we waited.
“How’s your pain, Len?” I asked. 4/10 was the reply, and he said he felt the splint growing a bit tighter on his arm. Probably swelling, I replied, and asked about his hand and fingers, which were fine. The familiar thwump, thwump, thwump of the approaching helo was a welcome sound against the silence of the canyon. Mike and Bill stowed gear in case of a basket drop to keep things from blowing away, but the chopper circled overhead twice before disappearing to the east face of Thor. An approach was attempted, but then diverted as adjustments had to be made to the craft to lighten weight and account for the downdraft. By this time, 3+ hours had passed and Len was suggesting that we start pitching our own bivies for the night.
We all looked up at the return of the pulsing rotors and saw the helo slowly entering the drainage and heading straight for Lower Boy Scout Lake. Mike and Bill, at the request of the Sherriff (intermittent calls on spotty service), headed downhill to help with hauling gear, while I stayed to keep an eye on Len. The chopper landed, then took off again and returned, dropping three Inyo SAR personnel and gear. Between 3:30 and 4, all had returned to the scene, and I was able to give report to Mike (EMT) and Julia (WFR). Paul arrived carrying the backboard and sled up the steep slopes, with our Mike hauling the oxygen and Bill the rope.
I gently removed my splint and assisted Mike2 with donning a SAM splint to Len’s arm, then rolled Len to do a formal spine check, Julia at his head and protecting his cervical spine. Paul positioned the backboard as we held Len steady, and then lowered him into position. Lifting him into the sled, we covered Len with his bag again before strapping him in for a nice ride down to Lower Boy Scout Lake. Using a sort of running belay, they lowered the sled, winding between the rocks. Bill, Mike, and myself repacked our gear, having decided to hike out that night. Bill rigged a sling and ‘biner to Len’s pack and decided to try and drag it out. After over 5 hours in position, we slowly tromped down to Lower Boy Scout Lake, reaching the willows as the CHP helicopter lifted into the sky, taking Len to safety.
The trudge down the drainage had to have been one of the longest I’ve encountered. Mike and Bill alternated dragging Len’s pack, even on the steep snow the covered the willows. Coverage was decent at best, and we slowly followed the snowshoe tracks of the SAR personnel along the northern wall. I was getting frustrated with the pace, even when I had Mike latch Len’s pack to my own, but my mood started to lighten somewhat when we got back to below the E-ledges, and finally the lower creek crossing. I had been carrying Len’s pack like a suitcase for a little while, so I cajoled the guys to strap it once more to my back for the final easy descent. In the dark, the ice on the trail reflected only the light of my lamp, and we picked our way down, at last, to the trail, and finally, the waiting trucks.
I led Bill and Mike down the Portal Road to Southern Inyo Hospital, where I found Len smiling away in the ER. With a deep breath of relief, I ran back out to the trucks to get Bill and Mike and some clothing for Lenny. A smile and a hug later, they were loaded for the long road home to San Diego, and I drove home to a hot shower and a fitful night’s rest. I woke often, seeing Lenny falling over and over again.
Other reflections: 1) You may think you know an area, a mountain, conditions. You don’t. Every time you go out, you will encounter something different. Once you are on your way, you need to be ON. A split second of loss of focus can mean your life, even “just on a trail”. 2) Basic first aid skills could help save someone’s life. 3) Before attempting to administer any sort of first aid, make sure the scene is safe. Mike was standing directly above Len after the fall, so I made sure to get him moving back down before approaching Len. Last thing we needed was another flying body. 4) It can’t always happen this way, but try to ensure your spot for resting and possibly changing gear is safe and solid. If you don’t feel right, find a better place. 5) Microspikes will NOT safely get you up the slabs to Clyde Meadow this year. Having so little snow has actually significantly increased the danger level on those slabs and will for yet some time this year. Also, the snow conditions are extremely variable: sugar to wind slab to breakable crust. Even in snowshoes, I wallowed a good bit up and down the route.
Many thanks to Bill and Mike for really following through with all my requests in a timely and efficient manner. It was because of solid teamwork that we got through this with a positive end result.
Thanks to Inyo SAR, specifically Mike, Julia, and Paul; Tim at the Sherriff’s office; the amazing pilot of the CHP helo for some stellar flying.
I’ll keep an eye on the Inyo SAR webpage for when they post a report, and repost a link here.
Some conditions photos:
The first creek crossing up the North Fork:
Just above the E-ledges turn, staying on the north side before crossing:
E-ledges from the opposite side of the canyon:
Coverage on the south side slabs was good, even a nice track. It will get icy after sundown:
Looking up the slope from Lower Boy Scout Lake:
Good overall view of the ice headed up to Clyde Meadow:
A party of 3 ahead step onto the ice, in crampons. Len's position for changing gear was near where the lowest person is standing. His slide took him straight down and off the right side of the rocks below:
Len's tumble path (stopped at the top of the boot track, which was mine after bringing him down):
Bill and Mike with Len at the flat area above LBSL:
Snowshoe blockade to prevent him slipping further downhill:
Thanks for the wonderful report Laura. Your TRs are always spellbinding, but this one exceptionally so. I can’t imagine how horrific it must have been, watching your friend fall…not knowing when or where he would land. I can only imagine what still goes thru your mind – reliving it and the thoughts of what COULD have happened. I am so glad, for all of you, that it turned out the way it did.
I have so much respect for the SAR personnel – what a difficult ( albeit gratifying) job. These are the types of people that truly make a difference in the world.
Your final comments are really important reminders. Thank you for these as well.
Rosie
"What we have done for ourselves alone dies with us; what we have done for others and the world remains and is immortal." Albert Pike
Hi Glad Len is OK . One note we had a fatal accident on the south side slabs several years ago. I would stay clear if you are not a soild climber. Thanks Doug
Very scary!! I'm glad all are well. About 10 years ago I was climbing up the steep pitch just below Iceberg Lake. The soft snow gave way and I slid uncontrollably, over 100 feet down into the valley below. I thought I was a gonner and would be covered up by snow until the Spring. You never know when disaster can happen up in the mountains. Fortunately, luck, training, and peseverance were your friends on the 25th.
Thanks, all! Doug, I remember that unfortunate death, young man from Oregon, I believe. I would say that approaching ALL routes should be done with extreme caution at the moment. While there was no whoompfing or settling as we hiked up the south side slope, the strange temperature differentials, wind patterns/loading, crust formations, and minimal quality base layers could easily add up to problematic situations anywhere along the route. The pictures do not show just how steep some of the terrain is around the areas below Lower Boy Scout Lake and Clyde Meadow. It was amazing, and terrifying, to see how fast Len picked up speed on those "low-angle slabs" and then cartwheel off the end to the slopes below.
As part of keeping Len talking following the incident, he very openly discussed what happened, and gave me permission to write the TR with the inclusion of his thoughts and insight. Len has years more experience than I, and I have the utmost respect for his strength and judgement in the mountains.
Accidents can, and will happen out there. We always harp on how to use equipment properly here (crampons/ice axe/skillz to use them). A first aid kit is just another piece of equipment.
I'd like to keep this discussion going, everyone, so comments/feedback/questions are strongly encouraged. I want you to make ME think about how I handled things, as well.
This is a very sobering reminder of the consequences of a misstep for even extremely experienced, well equipped hikers on familiar terrain. I'm glad that you had cell coverage, the CHP helicopter was available, and weather conditions allowed landing at LBSL.
Wow Laura Excellent write-up, thanks for all the details and the important reminders on safety and mountain first-aid. Major kudos to you, the rest of your gang and SAR Lenny, wishing you a speedy and full recovery……..also, hope you sell that b*tche’s car
We just had our annual 8-hour mine safety class this last weekend; one of the things that we always stress on the job site is the Job Safety Analysis EVERY time a task is performed. Laura, you’ve visited our mine and saw the crushing/washing plant….there are hazards (areas where there is potential for accidents or injury) everywhere. A misconception is “if I do it the same way every time, the result will always be the same” but the problem is, conditions (the weather, our moods and energy level, concentration, etc.) change all the time, so it’s never the same.
This not only carries over to climbing, but just about anything we do in life.
"What we have done for ourselves alone dies with us; what we have done for others and the world remains and is immortal." Albert Pike
Glad to hear he's ok; accidents happen. That area is nasty with low snow coverage. My wife nearly slid off the slabs a few years ago when her crampon points weren't sharp enough to bite into the boiler plate ice.
Hi First Thank You Len for the offer . This topic is way overdue and without a nod of approval I never wanted to go there.
I wrote last year about walking : Place... Test... Load
On the group hike last week we crossed several streams using a method that is based on this concept , I joked unsafe acts done safely each step was tested before we moved. We went up the steep rocky slope the same way . We stayed within inches of each other using the belay method coined Polish/body belay this system will stop a very short slide if all people stay focused on the travel.
The south side slabs should never be used based on the first rule of mountaineering limit your risk.
I will reference this comment on a photo sequence some years ago ,this group of climbers started up to do a new route , at the base they had some shots of the route .I thought if they take that route it will lead to a fall .They took that route. Look at the pictures from Saturday and notice the route. See the rock/willow line on the left most likely that would of been my line . I know how the slabs are and the fall line below. Always read the fall line as you move. This will also tell you if something comes down this line it take you out. Doug ,Jack and Betsy all have watched people slide here.
I helped two guys after a fall on the east face direct many years ago. One had a broken shoulder and the other I think hip. They had tied themselves together and crawled out. I went and got the gear. Another east face accident. A climber had fallen about 40' his partner came down to get help early afternoon , help got there the next day , When do you call for a rescue? When do you walk out?
Poles /axe should be in your hand if you take them. Rent the crampons and walk out the store with them on, walk around town, walk on the dirt/ rock and learn how they feel on each surface. Never buy crampons and think I will learn as I go . I know many people that do this "They told me I need an Ice Ax and crampons" . And as one of the locals say make sure you have them on the right foot!!!!!
Every mountain has a death zone. Read past accounts of accidents and you will see a pattern /the area/ the type of accidents and outcomes. mountaineering basics work on all mountains YOU MUST NEVER FAIL TO FOLLOW THE BASICS. I have never read Freedom of the hills but have looked several times and the the information is always correct so I would say it is a very good source. I would also add head works, stay focused and alert with all your readings sight/ sound/ touch/ smell/hearing and that one without a name "IT" just don't seem right.
The day of the event is the very small part of the total. And if the accident is fatal many lives are changed forever
I hope someone from SAR adds a few thoughts from that side of these accidents we see so often. Thanks Doug
Leave it to me to bring up the tough topics, eh, dad?
Great point on following the willows. I'd take wallowing over slick any day.
Thanks for the continued feedback! It's in the analysis of the accident where we learn.
I've already had one conditions request. As far as I know and can see up high, it's snowing up there now, and new assessment will need to be made once you get up there.
As Doug said, trust your gut. If it feels sketch, it is.
Here's a snip from an e-mail I sent out this morning: (Been getting quite a few inquiries as to why I'm not on the MR.)
Another of the problems with lack of snow on the MR... In summer, the stream crossing to Clyde Meadow is trivial, but as Fall rolls around and the stream ices up, it becomes treacherous.
If you head up that way, I would look for an alternate path. There is a use/game trail left of the stream that would avoid the crossing. It is a major bushwhack though. Add unconsolidated snow and it'll be even worse. There is also a gully "north" of LBSL that you can climb. After the gully, you traverse across some fairly steep terrain to UBSL. It gets good sun, so it may be dry.
Keep in mind that if you head up the icy slabs, you have to head down them too. It is much more "dangerous" on the way down when you're tired.
Bruno, I was there on that day... so were Len and Bill. We bailed off into the Willows to get down. I think I remember going home with a scar on my face from getting whacked in the face by one of them.
More comments later (from the person who breaks the rule #1 about 99% of the time).
I bought this book yesterday from Wilson's and will start reading/studying it tonight. There is a WFR course coming to Bishop this fall, so I'm also checking to see if I can get the time off.
Is this the same Len that was in the accident here? I was wondering that but couldn't really tell from the pics above.
I'm glad you were there that day since we had no prior experience with the MR. My wife's crampons were indeed fine on the way up but the problems came on the way down. Those aluminum crampons haven't been used since; steel forever LOL ! That scared her so much she never really got over it completely and still gets worried when things get a little icy.
Originally Posted By Richard P.
Keep in mind that if you head up the icy slabs, you have to head down them too. It is much more "dangerous" on the way down when you're tired.
Bruno, I was there on that day... so were Len and Bill. We bailed off into the Willows to get down. I think I remember going home with a scar on my face from getting whacked in the face by one of them.
LOL: he already went back to work! Although he did mention that working on the cars is a little harder using only one arm...
I found it interesting that people have asked if I am going to "stay away" from Whitney for a while, and I can see from where that concern might come. My immediate answer, of course, is no! But that is one reason I hope the conversation around what happens continues, so it can be treated as the amazing learning experience that it is. I know, in the past few days, I've taken time to sit quietly and really evaluate my own skill set, tried to find "chinks in the armor" so to speak. In my efforts to continue to grow in this incredible passion of mine, what else could I learn in order to make myself the most well-rounded and knowledgeable mountaineer possible?
Book knowledge is one thing, practice is something entirely different. While glissading down from Mt. Gilbert last June, I threw in 2 attempts at self-arrest. My buddies, filming me from below, and on the second attempt, asked me why I would stop such a great, well-controlled slide. "Muscle memory," was my reply. Ironically, two days before this incident, I had recertified my CPR, a requirement for my job on a yearly basis.
Long after we got Len settled, I remembered I had my GPS in my pack. Mike was long off the phone, but I hadn't thought of feeding the coordinates to him to pass to the sheriff. Len had a small closed-cell pad with his pack: I could have used that to stabilize his neck. They seem like small things, but I can integrate them into my knowledge and now pull them out more automatically, should (god forbid) the same happen again.
I've also been asked about day hiking vs. overnighting. How would we have performed without having all of our gear? What would we have done to keep him warm? What did we have with us to MacGyver the situation?
Again, this isn't meant to scare or throw a wet towel over anyone's aspirations to get out there. But I hope we could all take a few minutes and think of the hypotheticals, both for heading out solo and with a group. I had a long conversation with my Pop on Monday night after he read the report, and I've noticed he and my mom getting more and more nervous lately. The best reassurance I can give them is show just how much preparation goes into each trip and adventure.
