by Jeffrey Vonk
I travel along serpentine railway tracks, responsible for many of my day dreams, so smooth they seemed to teleport me to romantic Zurich. Savoring the epic white landscapes from behind the window, the ride alone is worth it. After meeting up at a hotel we travel further in a spacious rental car to the idyllic village of Sigriswil which is situated between the more familiar cities of Thun and Interlaken. These cities are connected by a breathtaking marine lake, surrounded by pleasant smelling pines and typical European winding roads (always a bit too narrow). The rays of sunshine are too weak to melt the eternal snow, yet strong enough to melt our hearts. Russet cows with big bells around their necks freely roam around the quaint cabin, with suspicious aromas giving away its identity as a local cheese farm. Colorful geraniums adorn its balconies, with clear blue skies and a handful of poultry, this leisure surpasses everyone’s expectations.
Little did we know that barely twenty-four hours later our joy would turn into a nightmare. That Monday morning Heidy and I decide to go for a little hike through the hills. For now we can still enjoy each other’s company, soon I’m off on my solo climb which I’m very excited about (after all, my love for climbing started within these lands).
Lost in deep conversation our way becomes steeper as we go. The route appears to turn increasingly into a climb, and we obviously lack the proper equipment. Above the tree line, virgin snow collects our footprints. Patches of ice clutch smooth boulders that have been around since the beginning of times. Panting for breath, warm air from our lungs condensates into little clouds. About a hundred feet below the summit I notice my friend, whom I met during a kayaking session through the Dutch swamps, is having some difficulty with the gradient at this level of altitude. On a naturally formed nine-square-feet apron I tell her to stay put, eat something, and try to keep warm as I continue my ascension up the mountain. Once at the top, the view is magnificent with all the mountains nearby; one could relish in its pureness for days. However, I make it back within an hour because we have to return to the cabin, which is still a good three and a half hours downhill.
We’re scrambling for no more than five minutes when Heidy mentions her concern over the slippery rocks. In doing so, she admits to be somewhat frightened. Naively underestimating the seriousness of the situation, I do not account for the unpredictability of the rocks. But, as the saying goes: too little, too late. By the time hesitation sinks in I try to comfort her with the assurance that I would catch her if she falls. Oh, the irony… From this moment on, and for the rest of my life, I would never say anything I know I can’t follow through on because the words had hardly left my lips when she slips and falls. Sheer panic screams from her eyes as she desperately tries to grab a hold on something; scratching her fingers on the solid surface, like an animal in a cage trying to escape. I quickly grab her coat thinking that will stop her, but it’s too steep to handle since she’s already sliding down. In fact, I just manage to grab hold of a rock with one hand, before I could fall, too. Within seconds she tumbles down in free fall speed, and all I can do is watch. With an outstretched arm, I hang there helpless, utterly paralyzed by the sight of my friend disappearing into the nothingness. I feel the blood drain my face as I collect all my breath and scream from the top of my lungs a long and terrifying “No!” Echoes of my scream are heard throughout the entire valley. Piercing through the freezing harshness - the resonating sound of my voice fills it completely, yet even more so in my head, again and again, and a million times more; for the next hours to come, and days, weeks, and months. I’m instantly traumatized. At the same time, my body is pumping with adrenaline due to shock, so I start climbing down like a maniac putting myself at great risk.
I reach the so-called crash site as fast as I can, only to be shocked once more as she lays there – motionless. Unrecognizable as my friend or even as a human being. Due to the velocity of her fall, I’m surprised that she hadn’t descended much further, because it’s quite steep, however, the invisible hand of God compassionately stopped her fall. I quickly construct a small platform from nearby pebbles, preventing her from sliding further down, thus also reducing more damage to the body that is already in an unnatural position. With a bottle of water I rinse her blond locks to establish the seriousness of the wounds to her head. Someone up there must have reckoned that it was not her time yet because, after a while, she actually came to her senses, albeit in and out, due to the incredible pain and blood loss. She manages to whisper that she has a cellphone in her backpack that miraculously lies a few yards away. Although it has minimum coverage it is enough to reach the rescue center where we immediately order a helicopter. Heidy even finds enough strength to talk to the medical staff on the phone, and knowing that aid is on the way energizes her hope and revitalizes her will to survive. Unfortunately, weather conditions worsen by the minute, intensifying the situation with stronger winds and more snow.
To make things worse, the team from the rescue operation can’t find us. Frustration mounts when I hear the helicopter approach and disappear again. Paired with shouting into the sky I desperately shine our Petzl head torches with both hands, but my desperate signals are not picked up. It takes a scandalous three hours before we get located. In the meantime, the whole village has come out from their houses at the foot of the mountain, watching the helicopter’s searchlight canvassing the precipitous cliffs. Among the crowd, Heidy’s own mother. She is holding her breath, expecting the worst as we hadn’t returned yet.
I try to speak comforting and encouraging words whilst cautiously caressing the hair of my dying friend. She is slipping into unconsciousness more frequently now; her losing battle for life becomes ever more obvious. Putting down on paper what really went through my mind is a hopeless task as I was in a constant state of disbelief. We found out later that the pilot was blinded by his searchlight reflecting off the snow, which explains the hard time the pilot had in keeping his iron bird steady, even more so in those treacherous winds. One thing is for certain, the circling of the rotating blades right above us made an unforgettable and horrid noise.
But then, out of the overwhelming, unrealistic supernova overhead, a rescue worker is lowered by a cable. As soon as the soles of his boots make contact he shoots up my friend with morphine. After receiving instructions in Swiss German, we place her in a sort of a net, making sure she lies in a stable position before she is raised up, vanishing in the black of night with the I.V. still in her arm, until I can no longer hear the tedious sound of the blades.
About fifteen minutes pass until they return to pick me up, but this time connecting the cable to my harness until I go airborne. Feeling myself being reeled in I expect to be pulled into the helicopter but, squinting my eyes to look up, I see that isn’t their intent. Now I’m hanging about one meter below the bottom of the helicopter on a cable that looks way too thin for my comfort. It’s here I discover they don’t have a hatch or anything. So there I go, still in shock, dressed in a blood-covered T-shirt amidst a freezing snowstorm while hanging in midair at over 8,200 feet. Pretty soon we arrive at a part that is just flat enough to land on. Being lowered to the ground I am immediately exchanged for Heidy who is flown off to Bern, the capital of Switzerland, four hours after the accident (the whole thing takes ridiculously long, seriously diminishing any chances of survival). Proficient surgeons however, are already on standby when she is brought in, saving crucial minutes during the several operations they perform on her that very night. Titanium plates have to hold the torn bones together. They are baffled by the fact that they can’t detect any internal bleeding which is very peculiar considering the seemingly Grim Reaper provoking accident. Nevertheless she is definitely in a bad condition and to try to mitigate any further risks it is mandatory for my friend to remain in intensive care.
The moment I stagger back to the cabin Heidy’s mother is still waiting outside. Finding me with her daughter’s blood all over me is a gruesome sight – one can only imagine the impact of something like that. It took months of reco
very in several hospitals, and months more of rehabilitation therapy which included learning how to walk again – just like that a year of your life is consumed by literally getting back on your feet.
Without a doubt, this was the most intense experience of my life. Plagued by guilt, this was a haunting experience for me as well. While I was not responsible for any of it, I definitely felt like I was. If I had only done this or that, are recurring regrets. Even the sound of a centrifuging washing machine, crazily resembling the unforgettable noise of rotating helicopter blades, brings me instantly back to the mountain, where I witnessed my good friend dying in agony. Having seen her fall there is little doubt there is more between heaven and earth. Because there is no way anyone could have survived that, yet she did.
Treacherous mountains almost claimed my own life on more than one occasion. This particular time, spending the night on one of the Alps around Lake Geneva, I saw something that I’ll never forget. As youngsters, my buddy Chris and I were going for a summit attempt, when overnight we were barraged by a brutal hailstorm with hail the size of marbles.
Huddled up together beneath an army poncho, we place our backpacks on the outside as our last line of defense. We are scared to death when the mountain itself began to tremble with an ear-deafening clamor.
At the apex of the storm, amidst lethal circumferential winds, I can’t contain my curiosity any longer and decide to check the perimeter. Clinging to a solid part of the mountain, for it’s very steep where we sheltered ourselves, I flick on my flashlight. The alarming sight make my muscles tense completely, causing me to freeze. My breathing stops and a sound escapes when I frantically tried to yell. What I see can only be described as half the mountain collapsing. At a distance of twenty-five yards a huge landslide is rushing down the slope, dragging utterly anything along in its path. It is a black demon wall, meters high, consisting of massive boulders, entire trees, mud and dirt. The sheer power and magnitude of this monster are some of the most frightening things I’ve ever seen. I consider it pure luck that we lived to tell the tale.
And imagine this, the previous day we actually called our parents on the phone from a booth, naive as we were, announcing that if they didn’t hear anything from us in the next three days, it’s because we were dead. Being young and vibrant you seldom realize the concern you can cause for others.
Crazy as it may sound, this near-death experience was possibly less shocking than another experience I had with that very same friend of mine. Upon walking into his room, a little earlier than he expected, I saw him completely naked apart from his white socks. He happened to be making passionate love to his folded pillow on his bed – doggy-style. Understandably, without sharing a single word of confrontation, we never spoke of it again.
Because accidents happen you should always stay vigilant in the mountains. During one of my solo climbs to the summit of the Mont Blanc on the French side, the other half being in Italy, there is a certain area you need to cross once you pass the glacier. It’s known by locals as the Death Gully because it’s unstable and unpredictable to traverse.
During my successful attempt in 2014, I find myself standing in the exact middle of the gully when I notice a high-pitched sound coming from above. My ever-probing eyes spot a group of other climbers and I realize they’re professionally blowing their whistles in order to warn against the oncoming danger. Yet by now it is already too late – rocks are flying inches away from where I stand. Due to the steepness and because I’m not attached to a rope I can’t move quickly, neither back nor forth. But the realization kicks in that if I want to survive I have to take action, now! I take a huge risk jumping back as fast as I possibly can to hide behind the first piece of rock that sticks out a bit. Those who have been here before will know that it’s a miracle that I didn’t fall. Squatting down I grab my ankles to make myself as small as possible. How can I describe the overwhelming fear you experience when boulders the size of half a car come crushing by? There, right in front of you, where you were standing milliseconds ago. The dull thuds are unlike anything you will ever hear, for they are truly the sound of death. And death is a familiar past time in the rather accessible white mountain of Mont Blanc. The last time I visited Saint-Gervais-les-Bains, no less than twelve unfortunate mountaineers plummeted to their deaths that season.
* * *
During another incident, contrary to the slopes of ice, I happened to be in an invigorating climate with 83 degrees Fahrenheit, hanging on a 90-degree angled cliff on the rocky coast of the Spanish island of Ibiza, in 2002. For some reason, it seemed like a good idea at the time to free climb this baby without ropes, gear, or any form of protection at all, let alone informing anyone about the attempt. Sticking to the 60-feet high wall at four feet below the summit I inadvertently put myself in a tight situation. Unexpectedly, the top layer of the ridge of this abyss had transformed into mere soil, as opposed to the solid dependable rocks prior.
Every pebble I try comes crumbling off. Returning was not an option, so I’m left with two choices and the outcome will literally rule over life and death. My first option is to let myself drop to be smashed onto the rocks down below in the breakers, therefore not counting as an actual option, and my second and only real option is to jump to the only piece of rock that is sticking out above me, which is a foot higher than my already stretched arm can reach, not to mention the risk of it pulling out from the loose soil by my weight – pretty much ending up at the first choice after all.
There is no shame in admitting this is one of the most fearful decisions I ever had to make. In a way, you have to find peace within yourself that there’s a very good chance you’re not going to make it, basically accepting that this is the moment you will die. Eventually facing reality, I go for the jump. By the grace of God, the piece of rock withstands the downforce of my weight and grants me passage to crawl over the ridge to reach the top. Laying on my sweaty back in the grass, my heart pounding in my chest, I promise myself to never undertake something so stupid again.
This event being just the tip of the iceberg of a long list of near-death experiences in the mountains, I can’t really say that I learned from it or that I kept that promise. Every climber and mountaineer knows, once standing on the summit having overcome hardships and personal challenges, that the view is the greatest prize, and you know what you’ve been doing it for. If I have to explain this to you, you’ll probably never understand the sensation. We have to do it.
* * *
Resuming the account of my friend Heidy for a brief moment, exactly a decade after the virulent incident; nearly completely rehabilitated from the accident in the Alps and finally having overcome the fear of mountains, she decided to take a trip to the Nepalese Himalaya. What can be more exhilarating than trekking one of the beautiful Annapurna trails in alluring Asia? Well, perhaps you’ll remember this from the news, but she ended up fighting for her life once more, as her group became entangled in Nepal’s worst snowstorm ever recorded, killing at least 43 people. Battling the rough forces of nature, she made it out alive – but it was a close call, enough of a story to share with journalists on a Dutch television broadcast. What I’d like to point out here is that opting for relentless travel can turn you into a true conqueror.
A stretch later, sitting among the crowd at her wedding ceremony, a shy year away from getting pregnant, and eventually becoming a mother and giving life to someone else, my eyes can’t keep dry. I am incredibly thankful it didn’t end there in that dark forsaken place, in the bitter cold, where she fell. Now having the opportunity to start a new generation, there is so much more in store for this amazing woman. This life is a journey of its own.
2
Russia
Dark leaves are carried on winds colder than they should be this time of year. A sea of umbrellas twirl across the sodden squares as people with upturned collars go about their business in haste. Not surprisingly, no one is out longer than strictly necessary. That autumn, there seemed to be no end to t
he rain in the Netherlands. I’m at the shopping mall buying a planner to do some organizing. Withdrawing the blue bookmark, I open the pages to a random date: Monday, 13 March. It was as if someone from above had whispered into my ear that this was a good day to leave home, and that’s exactly what happened.
Two weeks beforehand I had quit my job and started to arrange the last things for my trip: canceling insurances, getting a credit card, etcetera. At the city hall the lady behind the reception desk writes ‘Emigration to China’, leaving the corners of my mouth stretching from ear to ear. When you burn your bridges, you’d better do it in style, especially when embarking on a journey with the intention of finding a place to rest your weary soul. I plan nothing, except for visiting Lhasa at one point.
A friend’s mother sent me a postcard with the text: “Wherever you may run to, you will always carry your past with you.” Really? Inevitably the card ended up in the trash can. Does nobody understand me? Do you really want me to live my life like everyone else? Pursuing a superficial career, marrying your second choice and dealing with an insane mortgage that you have to work your ass off for?
The decision had been made and no one is able to change my mind or convince me to stay. Although I have to admit that waving farewell to family and friends as I walk through the last gates at the airport is far from easy and when out of sight I almost choke up. When I receive a text message from friends later on, it turns out that I wasn’t the only one feeling sentimental. Thankfully, the excitement of boarding the airplane comforts me.
