I recently read Zoe Hart’s article in current issue of Alpinist magazine.  It’s always interesting to read a story that has included me from the perspective of another writer.  This story was special in two ways.  First and foremost, it was a pretty traumatic event for all of us involved.  Second, I read a draft of Zoe’s story two years ago and it was quite different than the current published one.  The previous one I read was more about her breakup with her boyfriend. This new version tied in Karen McNeil and Sue Nott’s tragic disappearance on Mt. Foraker.  I’m fairly certain Karen and Sue weren’t gone yet when the actual event happened.  Maybe my memories off, who knows.  Either way, it’s interesting to see how a story evolves and how it’s written, that becomes the history.   I imagine they tied in Karen and Sue’s tragedy to connect to a broader audience.  Anyway, here’s my experience and my perspective of the event.

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Her face lit up with surprise and then she was rocketing backwards at an amazing speed.  She collapsed onto a ledge below that would have been large enough for a thanksgiving dinner with all of the relatives present, however the ledge barely slowed her momentum.  She scratched and clawed to tried and to stop herself, but it was to no avail.  Then she disappeared over the edge and was gone.

The day started casually enough.  Just a seasonal ritual we were playing out.  When things get cold and drips of ice start forming here and there, the locals in Ouray start getting excited.  This is an ice climbing town.  Not to mention that late fall is cold for rock climbing, and many of us get excited to go play with our ice gear that’s been collecting dust all summer.

The team was Ben, Zoe and Myself.  In terms of difficult climbing, I was the strongest member of the team.  Zoe is a certified AMGA mountain guide, which is a prestigious title amongst guides.  She also has the most experience and training in mountain environments in our team.  Ben is a solid climber as well, but has been working too much recently, and we were psyched to get him out of the shop.  Not to mention, he’s great fun to have around.  We had all been friends for several years and it was the kind of group where we all knew what we were doing and there never needed to be much discussion about how things were done.  Climbing was our element and this was our backyard.

Today was our day to go find some half frozen waterfall up in the mountains and dull our ice picks as we mistake snow covered rock for ice.  It was also our day to go have a mellow but amusing adventure out of the canyon.  Sometimes these days end up as a morning spent in the car looking at ice climbs that aren’t formed up.  Other days, like last year, Ben, Tracy and I wandered up the First Gully in Silverton while parts of it were merely a gentle waterfall and not even frozen at all.  We have to laugh at the absurdity of it and that’s what makes it fun.

Most of the climbs in the Silverton area are low angle gully climbs, and although they can have there moments of excitement, they are generally quite benign.  There wasn’t even enough snow today to be concerned about avalanche danger.  All we needed was ice.  We stopped by the Mineral Creek area first.  The first route, the North Face of peak 99999999.23564 as we jokingly call it, had some ice on it.  The real name of the peak is some number we don’t bother to remember, as it’s just another peak amongst a sea of them in the San Juan Mountains of Colorado.  The climb itself is nothing all that special aside from the fact that it forms up early in the season and you can get about 1,000 ft. of easy mileage in on it.

The other climbs in the South Mineral area didn’t have any ice on them so I suggested we climb the North Face route on peak 99999999.23564 rather than sit in the car all day driving around.

The approach has an initial river crossing, but aside from that, it’s pretty short and mellow.  The climb itself also begins very mellow in a shallow gully that begins with walking then has a few ramps separated by flat areas.  The ice was not very thick, but it was the kind of terrain that could be climbed without much difficulty even without the ice.  It felt good to swing the ice axes and move quick and efficiently over easy terrain.

After an appropriate amount of super mellow climbing the gully gradually steepens, but each steep step is always separated by flat sections.  The first of the significant obstacles was pouring with water and was not formed up very well. We climbed up some low angled rock to the left of the unformed ice fall and back into our route.

The next obstacle was the tallest of the climb, but still probably not more than 70 ft. tall.  It was proud, maybe a little thin looking, but not too imposing as there were many ledges weaving an easy route up the ice.  We discussed for a moment whether to solo or to rope up.  Once again, I was the probe.  I went up to check things out first as I was feeling confident and having a great time.  I had the rope coiled on my back and I grabbed two short ice screws from Ben and Zoe.  The ice was pretty thin and I really didn’t expect to need or to be able to place the ice screws, but I took them for precaution or for a possible anchor at the top.

The first couple moves were on fragile features, but then things got quickly better and moments later I was standing on top the pitch.  Zoe and Ben decided to solo the pitch as well.  I found a nice little perch alongside the climb that made for excellent viewing as Ben and Zoe climbed.  We were in no rush and I didn’t see a need to take off up the climb ahead of them.  I would also be available to toss a rope down if things weren’t going well for them.

Zoe climbed ahead of Ben as Ben was just a little more apprehensive since he hadn’t been climbing much recently.  Climbing next to Zoe would give him a little extra confidence.  About halfway up the pitch, Zoe was moving right and Ben was only a few feet from her on a ledge to her left.  This is where the terrible event occurred.  It seems more like several quick video frames than it does like an actual event.  I played and replayed this event over and over again in my mind, trying to piece together the details; trying to understand how and why.  Her left axe was on a ledge, her feet were both on steeper ice and she was swinging her right axe.  Then a large piece of ice seemed to pop up and Zoe’s face lit up with surprise and excitement. The next video frame she was rocketing backwards.  The following frame, she was on the big ledge at the bottom, but she wasn’t stopping.  It was like she was being drug out of this world by a demon in a horror flick (that demon being gravity in this case), and then she disappeared off of the edge and was gone from site.  I blinked my eyes thinking and hoping that it was just my imagination that created this terrible event, but when I opened them again she still wasn’t there and then I heard Ben yelling.

“Oh my God! Oh my God!”

My wondering if all of it was real was quickly over, and I knew I had to act.  It’s for moments like these that I’ve trained myself not to freak out.  It’s for moments, in the stress of climbing, where important decisions and actions need to be made without the interference of emotion.

Was Zoe dead? It was likely.  Would she still be alive, but smashed to pieces?  The thought was horrible.

First task, get Ben to safety.  If he was confident on the ice without a rope five seconds ago, I was sure that confidence was gone now.

“Ben, stay there, I’ll throw you a rope.”

When I had topped out the pitch I had looked around for any sort of anchor but had seen nothing but little bushes and was somewhat relieved when my partners decided to climb ropeless as well.  I wasn’t sure what I would have anchored to anyway.

I took the rope off my back, tied a knot and a locking carabiner into the end so Ben could clip into it easily and then tossed the rope down to him.

I ran back from the cliffs edge and sat in the bushes.  I dug my crampons into the snow and dirt and hoped my judgment on being able to hold Ben’s weight with mine would be correct.  There was an initial tug as Ben weighted the rope and then I realized I was stable.

“Phew!”

I lowered Ben until the rope went slack and then proceeded to the cliffs edge to see where he was.  I was relieved to see that the rope was long enough to get Ben to Zoe.  “Now how does that first aid and rescue thing go again?” I thought to myself as I began descending.  The logical thought process seemed a little fuzzy so I decided to rely on my instincts instead of piecing it together with a scattered thought process.  I was terrified to think of what I might be approaching.  “Will there be bones sticking out from Zoes pant leg?”  What terrors might be waiting?

A few moments later I caught up with Zoe sitting in the snow and Ben beside her.  To my surprise, Zoe was pretty coherent.  She has some blood on her face and looked a little dazed and confused.  I gave her a gentle hug, excited to see her alive.  She said her left heel and her left shoulder were injured and possibly broken, but that her head and back seemed fine.   I couldn’t believe she was talking.  We all knew that it would be about 10 hours before a rescue team would get Zoe off that mountain so there wasn’t much discussion about what to do.  Zoe was able to walk with assistance from Ben and I. We were able to slide her down the side of the mountain on her butt.  It was actually a little more complicated than that, but wouldn’t make for a very interesting story as everything went smoothly.  Our combined experience and teamwork got Zoe off the mountain quickly and efficiently.

It was almost two hours of driving before we arrived at the hospital in Montrose.  After many x-rays, and several hours, it was determined that Zoe might have a broken wrist.

“You big faker!” we told her.  “All that and you ‘might’ have a broken wrist.”

Zoe had fallen about 30-35 ft. directly onto a ledge, then with alarming speed shot off another cliff band for an additional 30-35 ft. ground fall. We were flabbergasted.  I’m not sure whether Ben and I, or Zoe will be the most traumatized by this event.  I’m still not sure how to process it myself aside from being grateful, very grateful.  I hope to never again have to watch any of my friends, or anyone else, take a fall like that.