One of many
trip reports under the
SilGro home page for Alan Silverstein and Cathie
Grow.
Email me at
ajs@frii.com.
Last update: March 30, 2024
(Previous trip report: 1986_0724-25_MountEolus.htm)
(A
Fourteener
trip report.)
This was the day I accidentally nearly killed someone on Mount Wilson! I'll tell you about the climb, and also share some advice about what I learned.
First, the advice (as I wrote back then): When doing risky things, keep in mind that a (typical) history of successes tends to calibrate you to a lower assumed level of risk. (This "risk habituation" is part of what destroyed the Challenger space shuttle in 1986.) Don't let it take an avoidable accident to remind you of the dangers you face... In particular when climbing where there is a rockfall hazard, wear a helmet, and don't move on loose rock if you know there are people below you. Stay on solid rock, yell, curse, threaten, cajole, whatever, but don't move until they're clear. If you must, tell them this story:
Friday, July 25: After departing Needleton by train, we entered the San Miguel Mountains the "usual way", from the north, west of Telluride. Despite what B&L said, you could drive all the way to the Silver Pick Mill at about 11000' with an ordinary car, 8.3 miles, no backpacking required. There was plenty of camping available in the mill area, near running water and the marked trailhead. With my 4WD we could drive an additional 0.7 miles up towards the mine area, stopped by a snowdrift at about 11200'.
Saturday, July 26: After camping out under clear skies, I drove the group (Dave Landers, his brother John Landers, friend Joe, and myself) to the snowdrift. We started up at 0605, well before sunrise. There were a number of trails (old, impassable roads) and good road sections in the area. In fact it appeared the main road was graded recently all the way to 13000' -- where it was not under old snow! There was a surprising amount.
We crossed and climbed old, hard snow south on frozen steps, with ice axes, up to the 13000' saddle west of Wilson Peak, arriving at 0745 (1:40 for 1800'). Here we got a tremendous first look across Navajo Basin to Gladstone Peak, Mount Wilson, and El Diente Peak, which formed the east (left) and south side of the west-sloping basin. The infamous Wilson - El Diente ridge was clearly visible a couple of miles away, above us.
A large school group of about 10 people camped at the Rock of Ages Mine cabins just below the far side of the saddle, and started traversing around the left side of the basin as we arrived at the saddle. We elected to traverse less and drop more. It was disheartening, but we caught up to and passed them by dropping about 600' into the basin, heading more directly for Mount Wilson.
By 0945 we reached 13000' again on the north slopes of Mount Wilson. We all had helmets and axes, and I carried Dave's 150' rope that we hoped not to need on the traverse. We met many of the 20 or so people who were climbing, including the school group, and passed them all except one solo climber who was ahead of us.
The ingredients of the accident began here. The solo climber went west across and up a hard snowfield towards the summit, breaking steps on the steepening slopes. We checked a copy of B&L's description and decided to follow the guy, using his steps. After a while we reached the low end of an exposed rock rib that split two snow fields going up. The guy ahead went up the rib, and that looked right, so the four of us followed him. We were sensitive to the fact he was above us, but he rolled no rocks our way.
We climbed the rib to within about 300' of the summit, at about 1030. I was usually leading, but tried hard to stay away from being above anyone in our party. The rock was mixed between jutting, solid boulders and smaller, loose debris on a perhaps 45 degree slope. We knocked some small rocks loose on occasion that didn't travel far. We noticed that many people were coming below us -- a couple got onto the rib, and more were following the snow tracks that crossed below it. Several times we reminded each other to be careful.
John dislodged a large rock that picked up speed. We yelled "rock!" and watched it divert sideways down a snow couloir, then stop. I hollered "clear!", joked about him getting the "big rock" award for the day, and then said again, "let's all be careful!"
Here's a hindsight observation: All of our combined climbing experience put us on the rock rib rather than the hard snow next to it. None of us thought there was any real hazard, especially because the rocks didn't travel that far. No one called a "freeze" due to people being below. And those folks, including the woman who got hit, didn't pause to let us get clear, or tell us to hold still while they crossed, even though they saw us above. We were all "calibrated" by safe outcomes to think there was little risk, when in fact... Well, here's what happened:
I looked down to see Dave and Joe had crossed to be below me. I said, "What are you guys doing down there? I'd better move to the side." So I traversed maybe 10' left, off the solid rock I was on, into a debris pile. And then -- I loosed a rock.
Once it was moving it was too late to do anything. Gravity took over. I watched it go, hoping it would stop immediately... No luck. I yelled "rock!".
It appeared the small boulder would curve left down the couloir. We were all startled and amazed to see it cross the snow straight down, then impact a sloping rock ridge below it, then start an avalanche of five or so large rocks, flying out into the air. I yelled again, and saw there were two people about 300' below us, directly below the "explosion", well down the snowfield.
When the rocks hit the snow they bounced a little and started to slide -- fast. They fanned out into a funnel shape. Simultaneously the people in the way were moving rapidly to get clear. At that moment I thought all would be well because they were dodging, and glanced to the side.
Then someone yelled, "someone's been hit!" No! How could that be? I looked back down to see a person rolling down the snowfield. She was far away; I could see her slowly gathering speed, ice axe attached to one wrist but doing no good. Someone yelled "arrest!" But she didn't.
In a split second the truth became clear, and the shock struck: This person was unconscious or dead, sliding down toward rocks, and there wasn't a damn thing I or anyone else could do.
So we watched. I trembled with fear and helpless anger. She rolled a long time; or so it seemed. She stopped at the bottom with snow showing between her and the rocks. It seemed like a miracle that she apparently hadn't hit hard.
"Now what do we do?", I asked Dave. "Freeze. Don't move!" Someone below bounded down the snow. "Is she OK?", I yelled. Someone halfway down relayed the question. "No!" came the answer... Oh shit! "Now what?" "Freeze! Don't move."
Quickly a group formed around her, perhaps 800' below. "What can we do?", I asked Dave in shock. "Nothing, stay where you are." A person who was just below us, to one side, came up. He told us there were two doctors down below -- but we discovered later he was wrong.
We watched. I carefully got out binoculars. She was that far below, and the wind was blowing such that we couldn't even yell down. Some people stared up at us, watching to see if we moved I suppose. I heard a noise beneath me, and looked a short way right over a 20' drop. Oh God, the whole pile was about to go! I very, very carefully gathered up and moved back to the solid rock, then sat down again.
After a long time (20 minutes?), she regained consciousness (a huge relief) and sat up with help. I saw pink pants -- but found out later she had on shorts, and had lost some skin sliding on the ice. I saw blood on the snow. A while later, supported by two others, she started hiking down into Navajo Basin. It was clear that she had lots of help, but they were taking her out the long way -- not requiring a 600' climb back to the saddle.
Once everyone was clear, about an hour after the incident, we debated what to do next. We were close to the summit, so we numbly and carefully went on up -- on the snow, which had softened by then.
The summit of Mount Wilson was set back a hundred feet or so, and up about 50', from the main east-west ridge. The worst bit was the ridge scramble to the summit. It required firm hands, careful moves over and around huge boulders, and no fear of the exposure on both sides, which was intense. Still, it was short, and I was comfortable -- or in shock, I'm not sure which, part of me wanted to jump off right there -- even though no one else was blaming me.
We spent from 1230 to 1310 on the top, with cold winds, building clouds, and a marvelous (but somehow irrelevant) view of the San Juan Range.
Due to the accident, the time, and the weather, we didn't do the traverse to El Diente Peak. [Years later I learned how nasty that was, so maybe it was a blessing to skip it.] Instead we carefully descended to a snowfield, now mushy, and glissaded down. We stopped several times to use binoculars to watch the group below, which was gaining speed and making progress. The injured lady was walking better.
We debated going down to help out, but decided there was no point. In fact it's a good thing we didn't, or we'd have been stuck at the Dunton trailhead facing a seven mile or so hike back -- only one pickup truck came around, and it was apparently crowded.
I found the place where she'd ended up at the bottom of the snowfield. There was blood in the snow, blood on the rocks, everywhere... I cried a while. [2024: And rereading this while translating the old report to HTML... I cried again.]
We crossed the basin again (1530) and plodded up to the saddle (1610), then down the north side, back to my Jeep at 1740. Back at camp I met friends of the injured lady who didn't know what had happened, only that their friend's orange truck was gone. I found out that she was Dr. Vanna Powell, a 40-year-old obstetrician from Grand Junction, and had left her helmet at camp.
We stayed at the same campsite. Later that night her climbing companions returned in the truck. They'd taken her to Telluride, from where an ambulance carried her on to Montrose. She had lost a lot of blood, but was in good condition before the accident, which helped her march out in only six hours despite a depressed skull fracture.
I found out later that she wound up in Grand Junction, had a craniotomy done early Sunday morning, was in ICU for a day, and out of the hospital three days later. Since then I talked with her at length on the phone twice, sent flowers, and she wasrecovering well.
There's more to tell, but I'll save that for the next report, my last for this San Juan Range trip.
(Next trip report: 1986_0727-28_WilsonPeak.htm)