Hidden Courage (Atlantis) by Christopher David Petersen Page B
Authors: Christopher David Petersen
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judged that the temperature was about thirty-five degrees. Still climbing, he looked down at the zipper on his jacket that held a mini-compass and thermometer. He read it: thirty-three degrees.
“Good guess,” he said out loud, longing to hear a human voice and settling for his own.
Nearly two and a half hours later, Jack was now cresting the 1,000-foot slope he’d just ascended. He felt relieved that a third of the climbing was under him. As he gazed up at the wall in front of him, his relief was overcome by worry and dread. There, in front of him, was a wall of ice. It was steep and it went on forever. He estimated it was over a thousand feet high.
Before the climb, he figured he was going to run into some short pitches of ice here and there, the same kind he found while climbing the north ridge. This extended cliff of ice, on the other hand, he did not figure on.
In climbing steep ice, just like in steep rock, you must place protection into the ice periodically in case of a fall. As you ascend a pitch of ice, you drive in or screw in tubes of metal called ice pitons or ice screws. With the help of a carabineer, a climber would clip his rope into the ice protection and continue climbing. If a fall were to occur, a climber would drop the length he climbed above the carabineer and then that same length below it, essentially falling two times the length of unsupported rope.
Jack recalled from past experience that he could climb steep ice at a pace of seventy-five feet per hour, which included climbing, placing protection every five to ten feet, rappelling back down, then climbing back up and ‘cleaning’ the protection out of the pitch. Looking up at the steep icy face above, he calculated that it would take him fifteen hours of continuous climbing to reach the top. If it were higher than 1,000 feet, it would be just that much more, something he wasn’t sure if he had the provisions for.
He pulled back the sleeve on his red North Face mountaineering jacket and checked the time. It was a little after 2pm . There were only about five more hours of sunlight left. He looked to see if there was anywhere to bivouac higher up. There was none. The wall above was a blank wall of ice.
Jack would have to consider three options: he could make camp and start at daybreak tomorrow; he could start climbing immediately, and before it got dark bivy on the wall of ice, suspended from his ice axes and ice protection; or he could climb through the night with his headlamp.
For Jack, the decision was a ‘no-brainer’. He took off his pack and rested it on the ground in front of him. Opening up the top portion, he pulled out his headlamp and strapped it to his climbing helmet. He was going for it, making the decision to climb through the night. He felt that he just didn’t have the food and water for any other choice.
With ice axes in hand, he started off. He climbed slow at first, until he found a routine, then moved quickly up the ice face, hammering in ice pitons and clipping his rope into them as he climbed higher. Just as he did on the ridge, he would drive the pick of his right ice axe into the ice, then drive the front points on the toe of his right crampons into the ice. Pulling on the now embedded axe and standing on the points of the crampon, he then would drive the pick of the left axe into the ice higher and drive the points of his left crampon higher. Over and over the cycle repeated itself, gaining altitude slowly as he worked.
Two hours later, Jack had climb to the end of his rope, rappelled back down and climbed back up, cleaning the pitch of all equipment. Getting ready to start his next pitch, he noticed a few snowflakes. This was nothing unsurprising on a snowy mountain. There were always snowflakes blowing about while he climbed. These flakes were slightly bigger than he normally observed, though.
He looked up into the sky and immediately blinked as snowflakes entered
“Good guess,” he said out loud, longing to hear a human voice and settling for his own.
Nearly two and a half hours later, Jack was now cresting the 1,000-foot slope he’d just ascended. He felt relieved that a third of the climbing was under him. As he gazed up at the wall in front of him, his relief was overcome by worry and dread. There, in front of him, was a wall of ice. It was steep and it went on forever. He estimated it was over a thousand feet high.
Before the climb, he figured he was going to run into some short pitches of ice here and there, the same kind he found while climbing the north ridge. This extended cliff of ice, on the other hand, he did not figure on.
In climbing steep ice, just like in steep rock, you must place protection into the ice periodically in case of a fall. As you ascend a pitch of ice, you drive in or screw in tubes of metal called ice pitons or ice screws. With the help of a carabineer, a climber would clip his rope into the ice protection and continue climbing. If a fall were to occur, a climber would drop the length he climbed above the carabineer and then that same length below it, essentially falling two times the length of unsupported rope.
Jack recalled from past experience that he could climb steep ice at a pace of seventy-five feet per hour, which included climbing, placing protection every five to ten feet, rappelling back down, then climbing back up and ‘cleaning’ the protection out of the pitch. Looking up at the steep icy face above, he calculated that it would take him fifteen hours of continuous climbing to reach the top. If it were higher than 1,000 feet, it would be just that much more, something he wasn’t sure if he had the provisions for.
He pulled back the sleeve on his red North Face mountaineering jacket and checked the time. It was a little after 2pm . There were only about five more hours of sunlight left. He looked to see if there was anywhere to bivouac higher up. There was none. The wall above was a blank wall of ice.
Jack would have to consider three options: he could make camp and start at daybreak tomorrow; he could start climbing immediately, and before it got dark bivy on the wall of ice, suspended from his ice axes and ice protection; or he could climb through the night with his headlamp.
For Jack, the decision was a ‘no-brainer’. He took off his pack and rested it on the ground in front of him. Opening up the top portion, he pulled out his headlamp and strapped it to his climbing helmet. He was going for it, making the decision to climb through the night. He felt that he just didn’t have the food and water for any other choice.
With ice axes in hand, he started off. He climbed slow at first, until he found a routine, then moved quickly up the ice face, hammering in ice pitons and clipping his rope into them as he climbed higher. Just as he did on the ridge, he would drive the pick of his right ice axe into the ice, then drive the front points on the toe of his right crampons into the ice. Pulling on the now embedded axe and standing on the points of the crampon, he then would drive the pick of the left axe into the ice higher and drive the points of his left crampon higher. Over and over the cycle repeated itself, gaining altitude slowly as he worked.
Two hours later, Jack had climb to the end of his rope, rappelled back down and climbed back up, cleaning the pitch of all equipment. Getting ready to start his next pitch, he noticed a few snowflakes. This was nothing unsurprising on a snowy mountain. There were always snowflakes blowing about while he climbed. These flakes were slightly bigger than he normally observed, though.
He looked up into the sky and immediately blinked as snowflakes entered
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