Tears in the Wind

by Larry Semento

  The climber will be carrying heavy loads (often 60-90 lbs.) at altitudes between 10,000 and 20,000 ft. Conditions vary from intense snow glare with temperatures as high as 90 degrees F to storms with winds of over 100 mph and temperatures of 40 degrees F below zero. Expeditions usually last from 2-4 weeks. Prolonged confinement within cramped tents or snow caves due to bad weather often occurs. Rescue may be exceedingly slow and uncertain in case of serious injury or illness.

  Headache, irritability, sleeplessness, periodic breathing, anorexia, nausea, meteorism, sore muscles and intense fatigue are common during high climbs on Mt. McKinley. More serious problems include cold injury (particularly to feet), snow blindness, retinal hemorrhage, cerebral edema causing ataxia, stupor, and coma, and high-altitude pulmonary edema. In addition injuries due to falls, avalanches, and fires in tents may occur.

  Sounds like fun. After reading that, I wondered whether I was making a huge mistake. There is no question that Denali can be a deadly mountain. Every year, there are deaths and serious injuries. Most of the deaths on Denali are the result of un-arrested falls, followed by deaths caused by exposure, then deaths from falls into crevasses. As a matter of fact, there are over 40 dead bodies buried on the slopes of McKinley, unrecoverable even by the diligent efforts of the Park rangers.

  The deadliest year in Denali’s history occurred several years before my expedition. As a result of a lethal storm, eleven people perished on Mt. McKinley in 1992. Ten percent of those who attempted to reach the summit died on the mountain that year.

  One of those was the famous American mountaineer Terrance “Mugs” Stump. A renowned guide on Denali, Mugs was following two clients down the South Buttress when he fell into a crevasse that collapsed on top of him. Despite the valiant effort of the climbers to rescue him, Stump was never found.

  A Swiss climber died that year after suffering respiratory problems while at 14,000 feet. Two Italian climbers also perished while climbing the Cassin Ridge, one while at the 15,000 foot mark, and another at the 11,800 foot level where he had fallen. One of them dangled on a rope a thousand feet above the camp at 14,000 feet, visible to the climbers there. Three Korean climbers were also killed when they fell on the little used Orient Express route, and their bodies were discovered at 15,000 feet. They were descending from 18,000 feet, where they had been trapped by bad weather for about a week. Finally, four Canadian climbers were killed when they fell nearly 3,000 feet while attempting to traverse the Messner Couloir, while the climbers and a ranger at the 14,000 foot camp helplessly watched far below. Aside from those deaths, there were many other climbers who were injured and rescued that year. The most bizarre incident involved a Korean climber who had fallen and was trapped in a crevasse. Apparently believing that a slow death was imminent, he had repeatedly bitten his tongue to hasten the process. That didn’t work, and when he was excavated from the hole by rescuers, he was covered in blood.

  In a general sense, I was aware that climbing Denali was a serious venture, but it hit home to read all of the potential dangers listed in the Physician’s Certificate, and to know that I was willingly subjecting myself to them. On the other hand, I thought of spending time on this majestic mountain in the company of like-minded individuals and, God willing, the chance to stand atop North America.

  Luckily, everything went well with the physical and the doctor gave me a clean bill of health, with one exception. The doctor said, “Do you know you have flat feet?” “No,” I responded, “I have never heard that before. Is that a problem?” The doctor told me that being flat-footed is not necessarily a drawback, although in some cases it can preclude military service. I had never had any difficulties, but wondered how it would have affected me being drafted into the military service. I was in college during the war in Vietnam, and had a college deferment during that time. However, the draft was in effect, and eligible adult males were selected for service based on a lottery system using birth dates. Unfortunately, I was not on the winning side of the lottery, and my draft number was nine, meaning I would in all likelihood be drafted. I was about to graduate from college and lose my deferment, so I knew that I was soon to be a goner. Thankfully, that year the draft ended, so I did not have to worry about being conscripted into the military. Whether or not my flat-feet marched through the jungles of Vietnam, I hoped they would hold up for the trudge up and down Denali.

  As departure time neared, my preparation for the trip continued with increased earnest. I felt a growing excitement; after the many months of laborious planning and work, the time was almost here. The hours raced by so quickly that it seemed that I was caught up in some whirlwind beyond my control.

  A couple of weeks before leaving, my wife threw a surprise party for me. I went to my law office after church on Sunday and when I came home that afternoon, there were a huge number of cars parked up and down the street. I was amazed when I entered the house. There were probably fifty to sixty family members and friends spread throughout the house and back yard. I was speechless. They were all there to wish me well on the expedition. I greatly appreciated everyone coming out to say farewell. On the other hand, I was a bit embarrassed by all of the attention, as I climbed for my own enjoyment, not to gain the recognition of others.

  The departure date was May 19. I spent the weekend prior to that packing bags and finishing final details in my office. I had my backpack and two large duffel bags to carry all of my equipment. I must have re-packed those ten times over the weekend.

  I prepared notes and cards for my family so that they could open them while I was gone. Fearful that the trash would be forgotten or that my daughter would not remember her lunch money, I left a list of household chores and reminders for them. My wife assured me, “I think we can handle this without you.” I was sure that they could, but it made me feel important to believe that they couldn’t function without me.

  Not all those who wander are lost.

  J.R.R. Tolkien – The Fellowship of the Ring

  May 19-Welcome to Alaska

  At long last, departure day arrived. I couldn’t believe that it was time to go, and felt a certain sense of relief that I could do nothing else in preparation.

  At the Orlando airport, I said my goodbyes, checked in for my flight and boarded the plane for Anchorage. As I flew across the country, I reflected on my readings about the history of mountaineering on Denali. Frederick Cook, the famed American explorer, claimed to have been the first person to reach the summit in 1906. Amid much controversy, his claim was later discredited. Oddly enough, in 1908 he contended that he was the first to have reached the North Pole, which was also proven false.

  The first documented ascent of Denali’s south summit, its highest peak at 20,310 feet, was achieved in 1913 by a party led by Hudson Stuck, an Episcopal priest serving as Archdeacon of the Yukon. His party navigated a route up the Muldrow Glacier and along the Northeast Ridge. Their expedition took about three months. Using primitive equipment, the party had to hike nearly 60 miles across the Alaskan tundra just to reach the base of the mountain. Even though it was summertime, the wind was blowing and the temperatures were very cold. On the evening prior to the summit attempt, it was minus 21 degrees. Wally Harper, a native Alaskan, was the first of the group to step onto the summit. Aside from pioneering a route to the summit, Hudson Stuck obtained valuable scientific information about the mountain.

  Looking out the airplane window as we approached Anchorage, I was surprised to see snow-capped mountains, because I had assumed that the area around the city was fairly level. After landing, I caught the shuttle to the hotel where Dennis and I were staying. Since I had arrived early and Dennis was not due in until late that night, I spent some time walking in the area around the hotel. The weather was overcast and in the fifties, a change from the sunny, hot weather that I left behind in Florida.

  There was a sporting goods store near the hotel, and I went inside to purchase a few additional odds and ends for the trip. I had intended to enjoy some authenti
c Alaskan cuisine, but opted for dinner in a Pizza Hut restaurant that I spotted; so much for the local fare. When I returned to the hotel, I had a fax “best wishes and good luck” message from home. I called to tell them that I had arrived safely, and then went off to bed. Since it was still light outside even at 11:00 p.m., I had to shut the curtains tightly to get to sleep.

  Dennis arrived around midnight, and even though it was late, I welcomed his arrival and was glad that he had gotten to Alaska without difficulty. We passed brief greetings, then I went back to sleep, looking forward to meeting the rest of our group at the Anchorage airport in the morning.

  Montani Semper Liberi (Mountaineers are Always Free).

  The motto of the State of West Virginia

  May 20-On To Talkeetna

  Since we had some time in the morning before meeting Phil Ershler, Dennis and I went to a nearby bookstore and spent time browsing. Dennis spotted a climbing magazine featuring an article about Mt. McKinley on the cover. We each purchased a copy, but Dennis wisely suggested that we wait until after the climb to read that article; it would have been unnerving to read a story about someone's life threatening climb of Denali at this point in our trip.

  We went on to the airport and met Phil immediately upon entering the designated baggage area. With Phil was Chris Hooyman, his assistant guide, Mike and Meegan, Romulo, a climber from Ecuador, and Ellen, who was also from Colorado. Phil made hasty introductions, as he was in a hurry for us to retrieve the baggage and meet the van to transport us to the town of Talkeetna.

  We met the driver of the van, a young lady from Talkeetna, and then drove a short distance to a storage facility to pick up the group gear that Phil had shipped ahead. There were many large duffel bags stuffed full of tents, food, stoves and other necessities for our trip. We loaded those on top of the van then hopped inside for the 100 mile drive from Anchorage to Talkeetna. Phil explained that the ride would take about two hours, and that we would stop at a store in a town about midway to purchase lunch and snack items for the expedition.

  As we drove toward Talkeetna, we had a better opportunity to get acquainted with each other. Ellen and Romulo were Phil’s friends, and although they were a separate climbing team from ours, they would be traveling on the mountain closely with our group. Romulo, I learned, was a mountain guide in Ecuador, and was somewhat of a celebrity there. He was an exceptional photographer, well-known for his mountain and outdoor photography, and he enjoyed flying Ultralight airplanes, from which he shot many of his beautiful photographs.

  His English was slightly broken, but otherwise excellent. He was quick-witted and had a remarkable sense of humor. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties, thin and in excellent physical condition. Although Romulo had extensive climbing experience in the Andes, this would be his first attempt at Denali.

  Ellen lived in Vail, Colorado, and worked in a health food store. She, too, appeared to be in excellent physical condition. I learned that she enjoyed mountaineering and long distance trail running, including 100 mile races. She had attempted McKinley with Phil twice before, but had awful weather conditions on both trips and failed to reach the summit. She seemed very determined that her third attempt would have better results.

  Prior to arriving in Anchorage, I had assumed that Mike and Meegan were married. However, as we traveled toward Talkeetna, I learned that they were engaged and planned to marry shortly after the expedition. Mike immediately struck me as an imposing figure; he was about 6'6" tall and very strong. Meegan, on the other hand, was tiny. I learned that she had been an extremely talented figure skater, and she certainly looked the part. Both of them were outgoing and friendly. I wondered, though, how this trip would affect their apparent close and loving relationship.

  Phil's assistant guide on this trip was Chris Hooyman. His assistant guides were usually selected from those at Rainier Mountaineering, Inc., and this is where Chris worked. These personable young men and women, usually in their early twenties, are strong climbers and they work well with clients. They are sometimes college students, and often work summers as climbing guides and winters as ski instructors. Most of them have impressive climbing resumes for their relatively young ages. As assistants, they did most of the menial or grunt work and helped the lead guide care for the clients. I knew that it was an honor for a young guide to be selected as an assistant by Phil, particularly on an expedition such as this one.

  Chris seemed the personification of the assistant guide. He was twenty years old, extremely fit, and very likeable. When he was nineteen, Chris became the youngest assistant guide to summit Mt. McKinley. He appeared to be as excited about our expedition as we were.

  As he had done on my previous trips with him, Phil responded to the many questions that were posed concerning the expedition. He spent some time describing our itinerary in closer detail. As always, I listened carefully to what Phil was saying.

  As we drove toward Talkeetna, I was impressed with the evident vastness of Alaska. For mile after mile, we passed nothing but green open spaces, here and there passing a house or small town. In the distance I saw snow-capped mountains, and I kept staring out the window hoping to catch a glimpse of Denali. However, it was hidden by distant clouds and I never saw the mountain until we landed at the Base Camp.

  After driving for a few hours, we arrived at Talkeetna. People I knew who had visited Talkeetna described it as a "unique" place. I had heard that this was the town that inspired the television show "Northern Exposure." The town lived up to my expectations. As we drove down the main street, we saw shops of all types, as well as fishing and guiding services, restaurants, and bars. These ran the spectrum from run-down structures that were barely standing to new, upscale buildings. People of all types were walking up and down the street. Many were middle-aged well-dressed tourists, while others were obviously mountaineers. The climbers appeared to fall into two categories: the first included those who hadn’t been on the mountain yet, as evident by their smiling, happy faces and new, shiny climbing duds, while the second group consisted of those who had returned from the mountain; they looked sunburned, frail and beaten, and were clad in grungy climbing gear. The remainder of the people fit into neither group, but given their rough-hewn appearances, they were most likely locals.

  We soon arrived at our hotel, a plain, one story building on the edge of Talkeetna. Phil checked in while we unloaded the gear from the van. I was amazed by the huge mountain of supplies that we had; aside from our individual backpacks and sacks were numerous large duffel bags, each heavy from the weight of the group gear packed inside. I wondered how we were going to get all this equipment up the mountain, and whether anyone else in the group shared my concern. If others had apprehensions, they were unvoiced.

  Phil led us to our rooms. Each appeared to be a similar, simply furnished unit, somehow fitting for Talkeetna. Dennis and I took our packs to our room and, following Phil's instructions, unpacked everything from them so that he and Chris Hooyman could inspect the items that we had brought along.

  Chris came into our room and began working his way through the mass of equipment spread across the beds and floor, seemingly covering the entire room. He examined each item, checking through his mental list so as to assure that we had everything that we needed, and that the gear was appropriate for this expedition. The guides are well-experienced in carrying just the right type and amount of equipment. They knew that we novices always brought along too much gear, and that on a trip such as this, transporting extra weight is counterproductive. "Two pairs of long-johns will be sufficient. You won't need the third pair," he said. "Leave behind those booties; they are not warm enough. Mike may have an extra pair that you could borrow," Chris told me. He continued to inspect my gear in this manner, and I was pleased that all of my major items met with his approval.

  Chris spotted a small stuffed moose that my youngest daughter had given to me to carry on this trip. She had given him to me for good luck on my first climb, and I had taken him on each expe
dition ever since. "Mounty,” she had named him. Mounty usually wound up in the bottom of my backpack, frozen quite solid, making his way up and down the mountain with me. I was somewhat embarrassed when Chris spotted him. "Oh, that's something my daughter gave me to carry for good luck," I said, "I'll leave it behind." Chris smiled back at me. "No, you better bring that along," he said, "I know how important something like that is." I smiled back at Chris, and tossed Mounty into my backpack.

  After spending some time organizing our gear, we got together to walk through Talkeetna. It is an eclectic little town. New and modern shops stood adjacent to old bars. There were guiding services for climbers and fishermen, transportation and flight services, gift shops, stores, sporting goods shops, restaurants, bars, and a couple of hotels. Many tourists walked up and down the street, mixing in with climbers and the local residents. Phil and Chris pointed out the landmarks and points of interest. We passed the National Park Service station, a fairly new and elegant wooden structure. Phil explained that we would have to visit there to register with the Park Service before flying to Denali’s Base Camp.

  We ate dinner together at the restaurant at our hotel. This would be our last dinner before landing on the mountain, so everyone ate heartily. It was good to sit as a group and to get to know each other a bit better. Although we tried to hide it, I believe that we all were suffering from some pre-expedition nervousness. Phil told us that we would eat breakfast in the morning, register at the ranger station, and then go to the airport and, weather permitting, fly up to the Denali Base Camp.

  Dennis and I walked behind the hotel after dinner. There was a large open area strewn with rocks. A small stream cut through the center of it. This is the Talkeetna River, and later in the summer, when the snow melts and water runs off the distant mountains and glaciers, the river will grow many times its present size, filling the now dry rock-strewn area with raging waters. I searched the horizon for a sign of Denali, but it was not to be seen. To me, it was surprising that within a forty-five minute airplane flight from this flat, sea level area, lie huge mountains, including our destination, the highest point on the continent.