One Life One Chance Read online

  It was a nice easy descent back to camp one but on arrival we had the bad news that Anna had decided to leave the expedition. It must have been a tough decision after all the hard work, training and preparation, but she wasn’t able to keep going. It’s always sad losing someone from the team but for me always slightly motivating as well. It’s like running a marathon, and even though I’m hurting on the run, if a runner next to me drops out it gives me a boost. I know it must sound egotistical and selfish but I reaffirmed with myself that I was ready for the expedition, and as Anna joined the rope of a descending team bound for base camp and a flight home, I tried to delete it from my mind and focus my attention back to the mountain.

  …

  I slept soundly that night, and in the morning, after all the rituals and duties were performed, I was raring to go back up to camp two. From the moment of waking to stepping off it was taking us almost two and a half hours to get ready, longer if it was colder. In such a remote and dangerous place everything takes time, from melting snow for our daily water, to putting on extra layers before exiting tents to the exact science of packing a sled so it’s balanced and easy to slide. We arrived at camp two in four hours, feeling much stronger than during the previous day’s six-hour journey. I helped dig in the cook tent before setting up my tent, bombproofing it for any bad weather we might encounter. As we moved higher the weather would become more intense, and soon we would be building huge snow walls around our tents. The clouds had descended over camp as we enjoyed some of Aidan’s freshly cooked burritos and shared funny stories in the cook tent.

  Our plan for the following day was our second load-carry for the trip, up to a place called Windy Corner. As the name describes, it is renowned for formidable winds, and where there’s wind there is extreme cold flying along with it. Aiden informed the team that when we reached camp three at 4250 metres we could really settle in and spend some decent rest days acclimatising, but for now we had to push on while we had a good weather window. I settled into my sleeping bag with my water bottle and empty pee bottle tucked in with me and fell asleep in the twilight of an Alaskan summer.

  It was absolutely freezing on the morning of day six and we were up at 4.30 am to begin our preparations, but a call from Aiden saying to take an extra hour of sleep due to the cold was well received. My pee bottle had slipped out of my sleeping bag during the night and as I viewed the yellow ice block in the bottom I cursed myself and drifted back to sleep. An hour later I could hear the other members beginning to get ready and with the temperature mildly improved I began to crawl out myself. I needed to keep my pee bottle inside my big jacket for a while to thaw it out so that I could tip it out and not carry the extra weight all day. To help warm us up Aiden prepared some bacon bagels with extra cheese, soaked in bacon grease, for our breakfast. They were the tastiest treat I had devoured in a very long time and morale soared immediately.

  We departed at 8 am in our rope teams, carrying packs and dragging sleds. It was an extra cold morning, which bothered me in the beginning but not after we passed over some really big crevasses. The colder it was, the safer the frozen snow bridges were that we were walking on and as I was staring down at the bottomless black mouth of one particularly intimidating crevasse I wished it was colder. We passed underneath the granite face of the West Buttress just before reaching Windy Corner, four and a half hours after departure. Windy Corner didn’t live up to its reputation, which we were very okay with, and a strong breeze cooled our bodies as we dug in our cache 15 centimetres below the snow and marked it. This cache didn’t need to be as deep as the other one because we would come back down to collect these supplies in a few days after reaching camp three. From our position we could make out camp three at 4250 metres and if the great weather conditions stayed with us we would be up there the following day. Turning around from Windy Corner with the breeze at our backs and no burden of weight we were back down at camp two in 47 minutes.

  It was 11 June on day seven, and it was my birthday. I had turned 27 while climbing Denali in Alaska; what an incredible place to have a birthday. We followed the same route up as we did the day before and made it to Windy Corner without any problems. As we were passing the Corner on a narrow section of the path, our sleds slid off to our side and down the slope towards a few thousand feet of oblivion. It was a very tense time as we plodded forward while being pulled sideways down the sheer face of the mountain. Later that night we all agreed that if any of us had fallen at that moment it would have meant disaster for us all because stopping a slide on that part of the buttress would have been near impossible.

  We passed some of the biggest crevasses so far on the mountain and crossed some of those monsters on snow bridges that I just hoped were solid. Some were 15 metres across and while peering down into their black depths and seeing no bottom in the vastness, I remembered some of the adventure stories I had read leading up to the trip. Stories of climbers falling into these chasms while travelling alone or unroped and never being seen again. Entire dog teams dragging huge sleds disappeared into them in seconds during the early days of polar exploration. A classic story of Joe Simpson ending up inside one in Peru then crawling out and down the mountain with a broken leg over the following three days. This story became the international bestseller Touching the Void. These were the thoughts floating around in my head as we moved past, and I wondered if I would have the same mental and physical fortitude that Joe had if I ever found myself in a similar position.

  We arrived at camp three and 4320 metres, staring at dozens of tents already set up and surrounded by snow walls, creating a mini adventure city high on Denali. Luck was on our side because as we started searching for a suitable place to dig in our camp we found a recently departed site, perfect for us to move straight into. A descending team had departed the day before leaving tent sites with fully erected snow block walls still standing and a large pit perfect for us to erect our cook tent. This little stroke of good fortune saved us many hours of labour and, as I popped some tablets for the headaches that were starting to set in, I was very grateful. We had made it to camp three, a big milestone on the expedition, and we were looking forward to a sleep-in the following day and a few days of semi-rest and acclimatisation. As the weather conditions changed and the snow began to fall I crawled into my sleeping bag and fell asleep in seconds.

  I had slept for what felt like an eternity and my back was killing me, forcing me to get up and walk around at 8.30 am. It was a rare sleep-in for the team who all started to show themselves shortly afterwards. As we tucked into breakfast together in the cook tent, Aiden gave us our mission for the day, which was to retrieve the cache from Windy Corner and bring it back to camp three. He then delivered some very bad news. Up above us at 5180 metres, a fellow climber had a cardiac arrest and died during the night. He didn’t know any more details at this stage except that his body was still up there and plans were being made to get him down at a later date. To me it felt like the Aconcagua trip all over again, and it brought back feelings of vulnerability and the dangers of trying to summit big mountains. I tried not to dwell on the situation too much instead I went to prepare my gear for our back carry; I was feeling energised after a full night’s sleep and was eager to get moving.

  The descent to Windy Corner with empty packs was easy. We dug up our supplies buried shallow in the snow and divided it all up evenly between the team. We then set off back towards our new home at camp three. I had a slight headache on the way back up but nothing to cause any great concern, I knew it was just part of my body adapting to a new altitude. I rested for the afternoon, drank plenty of fluids and prepared myself for the next stage of our climb. The following day we would do an acclimatisation hike over to the base of the fixed lines and practise moving as a team. The fixed line section leads from a spot 400 metres higher than camp three, up to a ridge on which our high camp is located at 5180 metres. It’s a very steep ascent that would test our fitness and requires good crampon skills. Moving as a team
is safer but only if everyone in the team knows what they are doing, so the following day we needed to make sure that everyone was on the same page before we started the ascent.

  We set off in rope teams towards the fixed lines after another sleep-in and a big breakfast of pancakes and coffee. Once at 4720 metres and the bottom of the lines Aiden gave us a brief on moving safely with communication being our number one priority. A fixed line is a rope anchored into a section of a route that typically has a high chance of fall associated to it. In today’s climbing world lines are getting used more and more to help inexperienced climbers ascend mountains that they ordinarily couldn’t climb. Traditionally however, they protected a climber from a dangerous section of the climb, especially a dangerous section that needs to be climbed multiple times, such as the one on Denali.

  To use the fixed line correctly I had two small lanyards fixed to my climbing harness each one about an arm’s length. Attached to the end of one lanyard I had a carabiner that would slide along the fixed line up or down, and to the end of the other one, I had an ascender. The ascender is locked onto the fixed line and can only go up; if I were to fall at any time, the ascender would bite into the rope arresting my fall. The ascender is shaped like a handle and can also be used as leverage when pulling on it. The need for two lanyards arises when reaching an anchor point on the fixed lines, and I would unclip my carabiner lanyard first and move it past the anchor before re-clipping, then unclip the ascender and do the same. This ensured that if I fell at any stage while moving past an anchor I’d still have one point connected to the line to arrest my fall.

  The practice drills all went well and I was a lot more confident in our team’s abilities as we made our way back to camp. Once we arrived, Aiden needed help to build snow walls around the cook tent. He had been keeping a close eye on the weather and wanted to be prepared for any storm system that might be coming our way. Our sleeping tents were all protected but the cook tent still stood exposed to the wind. To build a snow wall we needed snow blocks and to cut these out of the hard snow required a great deal of physical effort. Using a small plastic snow shovel and a small saw we worked away and built a barrier around the cook tent, thick and high, something I’m sure the Egyptians would have been proud of. I had a pounding headache by the time we had finished and decided to retire to my tent for a nap after lunch and some headache tablets.

  I had made the mistake of not protecting my lips with sunscreen and they began to crack and start bleeding. The sun, especially when reflected by the snow, can be unforgiving and I wasn’t used to the conditions. Any time I’d smile or try to eat, droplets of blood seeped to the surface and I cringed with discomfort. I had to stop talking and smiling as much, which is a lot harder than it sounds, and take tiny sips of fluids, especially hot drinks, to protect them. I would not be making the same mistake ever again and as part of my morning routine I’d apply copious amounts of sunscreen to any exposed areas.

  The afternoon was used for rest, some frisbee, and preparing our gear for a cache-carry to camp four the next day. The weather reports were not looking the greatest and overnight the temperature plummeted. We unzipped our tents early in the morning of day ten to total white-out conditions and snow falling. The call was made for a rest day and we all returned to our tents for more sleep followed by eating, drinking and possibly some more frisbee later. So much of what happens in the mountains depends on the weather. Some expeditions have perfect conditions and summit with sunny skies, others get snow and wind the entire way and are forced off the mountain from camp three. As I wrote in my journal that night I hoped for clear skies the following day and I also thought about the deceased climber who never got to stand on the summit of Denali.

  The following day conditions had improved enough to make our push to camp four and cache supplies. After a breakfast of bagels soaked and fried in fat we geared up and moved off in our two rope teams. I was feeling fresh, slightly nervous yet confident in my abilities to get the job done. We made the bottom of the fixed lines in no time and once clipped onto the rope we started to ascend. My rope team moved well and we were keeping a decent pace considering how steep the slope was.

  Shortly after we started the climb I had to unzip my jacket and pants to get cold air to cool me and stop me from sweating profusely. It was hard work on such a sharp gradient but with every gruelling step the view below me was getting more incredible. Our camp and tents looked like a few tiny yellow dots in a vast expanse of snow, ice and rock. It was a scene that humbled and inspired me in the same moment and one that will stay with me forever. The steepest section of the fixed lines was a 240-metre-long section named the head wall. It was just under 50 degrees, which on normal terrain wouldn’t have been that great a challenge, but up here at 4870 metres in icy conditions it was very tough going. I settled into a steady pace, closer to that of a snail, yet slowly and surely I was making my way towards the ridge above.

  The weather started to turn as we made it to the top of the head wall and onto the relative safety of the ridge. We unclipped from the fixed line and took a rest break. As snow started to fall, the wind picked up and white-out conditions were looking imminent. Aiden made the call to send down most of the team and take Allan, Erin and myself to high camp with the food and supplies. We quickly repacked the team’s supplies into our packs and as the rest started down the fixed line the four of us turned to go up. The snow was getting heavier and forty minutes after leaving the fixed lines, and seconds after hearing the distinct rumble of cascading snow, Erin and I were hit side-on by an avalanche. I dove onto my ice axe burying it into a hard section of snow as quick as I could to stop myself from being swept away. Erin was lucky to be clipped into a section of rope close to an anchor point and she was buried up to her waist in fresh powder but didn’t get taken away either. Aiden yelled out, ‘Is everyone okay?’ We called back that we were fine and helped each other back to our feet. We moved on with a few nervous laughs, and I was trying to act like I had seen it all before in front of the more experienced climbers, but that was my first avalanche and I was terrified.

  Ten minutes later Aiden and Erin were discussing the worsening conditions and decided to abandon our attempt for a cache at camp four and to cache at a place called Washburn’s Thumb instead, a rocky outcrop not far from our position along the ridge. It wasn’t our ideal location but we needed to start descending and get out of those conditions straight away. We made it to the jagged exposed rocks of the Thumb in ten minutes and started to dig in the cache immediately. Once the cache was secured and marked we didn’t waste any time putting our packs back on to move back down.

  Aiden, who sounded slightly more urgent in his orders, told us to move fast but safe and keep an eye on each other. We traversed back to the fixed line and once we clipped in we made our way back down, step by step. Another small avalanche broke away to our right and slid down beside us, the heavy snowfall was making the route very unstable and we needed to get off the slope as soon as possible. There was less wind once we dropped below the ridge but the storm stayed with us all the way down the head wall, to the bottom of the fixed lines, and followed us back to camp three.

  It was a full white-out as we all settled into the cook tent for a hot drink and watched the heavy snow fall outside. Aiden said we might be waiting a day or two for this weather to clear and also that he was very happy with how the team had performed up high that day. As I lay awake in my tent after dinner the snow was still falling and I could hear the sound of avalanches all around us. If I was high on the mountain right now I’d be terrified by what I was hearing, yet snuggled into my sleeping bag I was content and exhausted, falling asleep to the humbling power of Mother Nature.

  I opened my eyes on day twelve to sunlight and silence, there was no snowfall and a dead calm all around me at camp three. It was a late rise for the team, enjoying brunch at 11 am, where Aiden informed us we would be having a cautionary rest day. Due to the amount of snow that fell the previous day and night,
the avalanche risk was very high. It was also a case of being fresh and fit enough for a summit attempt in the next few days. If we pushed to camp four breaking new trail through thick snow, it would be exhausting and that lack of energy could be the difference between standing on the summit or turning back.

  Andrew wanted to take the team to a place called the ‘edge of the world’, a view point not far from our camp that is renowned for a spectacular view of the Alaskan range. It would be a nice hike, give us something to keep our minds occupied and also help us acclimatise. Aiden stayed behind to prep our food for the move to high camp and the rest of us followed Andrew to the edge. We were roped up for safety and it was a short, fifteen-minute hike to what must be one of the most incredible view points on earth. The edge of the cliff narrowed up onto a big overhanging rock only allowing one of us at a time to climb out and sit right at its edge. The drop was 2100 metres down onto the north-east fork of the Kahiltna Glacier with Mount Foraker standing proud in the distance. We had a perfect clear day and as I took a seat on the very top posing for a photo, the sight was awe-inspiring. Nature continued to take my breath away with her incredible beauty. I’d done plenty of travelling in Europe and although cathedrals and the architecture were nice, in my eyes they have nothing on what the natural world creates.

  Late that afternoon I was resting back at camp three watching the small avalanches break off every few minutes around us on the peaks, cementing Aiden’s decision to stay put today. I heard the helicopter before I could see it, picking out its dark shape on the horizon against the white backdrop of snow. But it looked slightly different. It had something swinging below it on a pendulum and at first I thought they must be ferrying food up the mountain for a climbing team, but then I realised what it was, a body bag. This was the mountain rescue helicopter bringing down the climber who had the heart attack earlier in the week. Since the weather had finally cleared they were evacuating him off the mountain. The body swung above me on a rope as the helicopter came down to land at camp three. Without shutting down the engine, the body was repacked and placed inside the cabin of the chopper. Lifting off again the pilot flew back down the mountain towards Talkeetna and to the waiting family of the deceased. The sound of the rotors slowly faded and the scene had left a dark mood over the camp. The realities of mountaineering were exposed in front of our faces just a day before we were scheduled to move up to high camp, the very same place this climber had died. I tried not to think of myself ending up swinging below a helicopter in a body bag but in a way it was good to see it right before our summit attempt. I knew with that image burned into my consciousness that I would be watching every foot placement and every clip on the fixed line to avoid the fatal reality of making a mistake.