Chapter 25

Day 14, 15:30 – Camp 14 ("Starvation Camp") – 14,500 ft.

Strange that we should skip the number 13 for this camp but call it Starvation Camp. My head hurts too much to think it through.

We were woken up at 17:00 to the crash of thunder and then a blinding show of lightening. We opened the tent to tiny ice crystals falling down in straight lines, all lit up with the blue fire. It was a magical sight but the danger was all too clear to us.

And sure enough, after only a few minutes a deafening thunder crack ripped a large chunk out of the glacier slope and we evacuated the tent in a panic, leaving all our gear behind except for the boots we had already pulled on.

Only some of the massive air movement from the avalanche reached us, none of the debris. Part of our minds had known that we were far enough away from the roiling cloud of snow that churned down the slope, but not one of us had been able to fight the flight instinct in the face of such a monster.

The moment I saw that we were safe and started back to the tent I suffered a violent flare of headache and nausea. Johnson caught me before I fell – in my underclothes that would not have been a good thing. As they dragged me to the tent the ice crystals thickened and turned to snowflakes. The wind, which had been ominously absent, rose up in fury and by the time we were inside we were enveloped in a howling flurry.

I took your altitude concoction, Bones. Knowing you it's probably just some vitamins but I felt a little better. Grale is unaffected, so is Johnson. I had felt it coming – dizziness, nausea, mild headache - but I ascribed it to malnutrition and exhaustion. It had also been buried under a multitude of other, more acute pain sensations.

In any case, I had wanted to get up that Rib and over the Pass, fast, before altitude sickness caught up with me. Now we were stuck, and in the middle of a moving glacier no less! It is a testimony to my weakness after the attack that I even dozed a little.

By 3:00 the flurries and the wind let up and despite the "lateness" of the day we broke camp and without further delay approached the base of the Rib and started the climb. The grade was 55 degrees at first and the surface was newly replenished with a foot and a half of soft, wet snow. At times we sank in to our thighs and had to pull our legs up with our hands, so heavy were our boots and pants caked with snow. The lead cut a channel and packed down the snow. We changed leads every 15 to 20 minutes. I felt better, moving again.

When the grade turned to a grueling 65 degrees we divided the weight between us and abandoned the sled. It was caked with snow and too heavy. It has served us well, but in the high mountains where we're going it would be dead weight.

We slogged on, now under the added weight of our packs, leaning forward into the grade, the only sound that of our boots crunching and packing snow. The snow had stopped falling but the sky remained overcast and low, with a weird light falling from the dense, gray clouds. I looked behind me once to see the immense swath of the glacier bathed in that eerie light. It seemed like we were being given a reluctant reprieve and I didn't want to overstay our welcome. I resolved we would climb until we reached the point where the Rib fuses with Geist Mt.

We cut to the west flank of the Rib and now had to climb leaning right. With our packs it was very clumsy and we caused some snow slides but all of them below us while we managed to hang on. We finally hit the zone where no more loose snow accumulated. We hacked and stamped our way very carefully in the ice to the point where I thought we could climb up to the unbroken top of the Rib. We deposited our packs on the narrow ledge we had cut out.

I saw a way up. I took off my outer gloves and stuffed them in my pockets. This was ice, not rock. I'd have to do it quickly or my fingertips would freeze.

Adrenaline erased all nausea and ache and I climbed the 30 feet without thinking or stopping. 10 minutes and I was on the crest. It did not come as a relief! The crest was a knife edge barely a foot wide of a loose, granular snow, unstable and slippery as tiny ball bearings. On each side a drop-off I couldn't bear to gauge. Leaning over to check or even to catch a glimpse of my companions would have been suicide.

I put my outer gloves back on because my fingertips were nearly frozen. Then, on my knees, careful not to disturb the surface too much, I sought for a place to anchor the ax so I could start hauling up the others and the gear. My heart beating frantically from the exertion, I pulled up our packs first, testing the anchor. When Johnson made it up he was so terrified he needed 15 minutes to recuperate. He worries me. I can see the fear and hopelessness in his eyes. Grale came last.

Seeing that Johnson had lost his nerve I took the lead again. Grale brought up the rear. He is the heaviest and strongest of us and the most likely to keep us safe if both Johnson and I slip. Our heavy packs unbalanced us, the snow rolled and slipped under our boots. Those 2 hours on the crest of the Rib were the most nerve-wracking of this whole nerve-wracking ordeal so far but I see now that the mountains were with us. No more snow fall, visibility 100%. Even a small breeze could have puffed us into oblivion, but there was no wind, not even a draft. It was like the mountains were holding their breath, just like we were.

After over 10 hours we stumbled off Starvation Rib and collapsed on the flank of the Geist. No sighting but I know from the map that we're at 14,500 ft.

In our nervous and physical exhaustion it took us over an hour to unpack and set up the tent at "Starvation Camp". Grale, who is in the best state, cooked our half rations and though we are not hungry despite stomach cramps, we ate dutifully. My companions are both asleep.

I can't believe I managed to write all this down. It was a good way of unwinding. But now my head is too painful.

We made it this far. Bones, Spock, we'll make it all the way back to you!