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Tom Herron and Brent McGregor at bivy site |
April 25-26, 2004
Brent McGregor
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Tom Herron and Brent McGregor at bivy site |
My summer vanished from my sight as I searched the snowy ridges and black timber far below. Straining to catch a flash of light signaling that the rescue party was enroute, I caught my mind drifting. My plans of a three-day ski around Crater Lake and of a three-day snowshoe traverse of the Strawberry Mountains faded from my mind. The new routes on Mt. Shasta and Mt. Adams, and the hopes of summiting Mt. Rainier disappeared. The dream of breaking the ‘death march’, which involved a 24-hour summit climb of the Three Sisters, Broken Top and Mt. Bachelor, was gone.
The email stated, “I’m interested in climbing the West Rib Ridge of Mt. Jefferson in a day, are you interested in joining me”? I had never stood on top of Jefferson. I knew I would summit the mountain sometime this year because that would complete my chain of Oregon Cascade summits.
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Endless Pursuit tracking system of our entire route |
Tom Herron and I met at the Pamelia Lake Trailhead at 3:00 A.M. Sunday April 25, 2004. For the most part, the snow had melted off the trail to Pamelia Lake. A short detour part way around the lake awakened us enough to backtrack to the right trail and we headed North up the P.C.T. We started up the climber’s trail along Milk Creek.
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The base of the avy flow |
It wasn’t long before we saw a large and strange wall of snow filling the creek drainage wall to wall and 15 to 25 feet high. This was the most amazing avalanche debris flow I had seen in Oregon. In effect, the snow on much of the West face of Jefferson cut loose and funneled down the two major draws collecting tons and tons of snow and carrying it perhaps 1,200’ elevation and one mile below the snow line. We trudged through this difficult terrain making slow progress and were stunned with what we saw.
We gained the base of the ridge and buried food and water under the snow to keep the ravens away. Our cache for the descent also included trekking poles and snowshoes.
The entire ridge to the summit contained breakable crust. Most often we broke through in a two-step process to our ankles, occasionally to our knees. The climb is long and sustained; a 40-45 degree slope most the way.
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Tom climbing through a band of rocks on the ridge |
We swapped leading up the slopes. Following in Tom’s steps I wished I were taking Yoga classes. It takes a long step to match Tom’s, he is 6’ 8” tall and sports a size 15 boot. But each stretch brought me to the easy target of Tom’s tracks.
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Size 15 Boot! |
The slopes continue upward a long ways. Considerable effort is required to progress through the soft snow. It took us 14 hours to reach the summit.
A few years ago Tom Michaelis took me up this same route. I recalled the usefulness of the kneepads Tom used on the assent. I was glad I wore mine on this climb. In fact I ended up crawling much of the upper section of the mountain. Being on all fours kept me from breaking through the thin crust improving my time.
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Tom working his way up the ridge |
Climbing Jefferson in a day is a challenge. Several times ascending the ridge we discussed our options. We had lost perhaps an hour negotiating the avy debris below. We also struggled up the soft ridge at a slow pace. We were aware we would reach the summit late in the day.
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Brent nearing the top |
On the other hand we knew the weather would hold, the snow would not get much softer, and the decent would move along at a faster pace. We could be off the steep slopes and near the timberline by dark. Following the trail out would be a mundane task but do-able in the dark.
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Tom on the West Rib Ridge |
We continued climbing and crawling to the summit. Approaching the summit block we took a route through the rime ice along the North ridge line to a large rock half frozen into the snow that had webbing and a screw link attached. We pulled out our rope and gear. Tom had summited Jefferson before and decided not to go further in order to speed things up. I placed some small nuts and a picket, while Tom belayed me through the two cruxes as I climbed the last few feet to the summit.
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The summit of Mt. Jefferson |
It felt really good to be on top, but I cut my time short. After some time was spent looking for a decent rock to sling for my rappel, I was soon back with Tom.
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Brent rapping off the summit of Mt. Jefferson |
We rapped another rope length that put us off the summit block.
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Tom rapping from the summit block |
Now came the long descent down the mountain. Things went well and we lost elevation quickly.
What happened next changed everything. Reliving the following hours I pondered just how bad I had it. Maybe things weren’t as bad as they could be. What about all the tragedies climbers face scaling the highest and hardest mountains on earth? Consider the fate of some of the best climbers out there. Take for instance the time Rick White and Greg Child were in India climbing, working up 60 difficult roped pitches high on Shwling. Rick’s fall pulled them off the mountain, bouncing 700’ to a stop. As climbers came to their aid, Rick stood up and said, “Well, it looks like we found the fast way down the mountain”. I thought about the less fortunate climber Tadeusz Piotrowski who was making the difficult decent of K-2 with his partner Jerzy Kukuczka. His fingers were so cold Piotrowski was unable to properly secure his crampons to his boots. He stepped on some ice and lost a crampon. Coming up from a stumble Tadeusz lost his other crampon. He tried to self-arrest only to find his ice axe slip through his frozen hands. Down the steepening slope he went out of control. Kukuczka watched his partner bounce off some rocks and disappear into the clouds. I believe pain and tragedy trigger deep-seated emotions. They awaken a relative state of being where fear may come and go and where we can overcome great challenges. The handful of Joe Simpsons that seem to be made of super human stuff set a benchmark of optimistic will power for the average climber to consider.
At about 7,900’ elevation I slipped or maybe I was pulled down off my feet. It seemed the immediate ground gave way and I went with it. The slope steepened some here and was icier. As I went down I spun around to my belly to self-arrest. The snow didn’t hold and I ripped down the mountain. I dropped about 20’, my speed gaining faster and faster, when suddenly a crampon point caught the snow. I heard a pop, my leg snapping, and dropped another couple feet downward to a stop.
I didn’t move for five minutes, except for a controlled deep breathing, trying to force the pain away and collect my thoughts. My toes wiggled free, my ankle could move up and down. There was no blood. I tried to get up and found my other leg was buried deep in the snow. I couldn’t free it so I chopped it out with my ice axe. Somehow my boot was twisted clear around and facing toe down in the snow, but uninjured. I freed it, slid a few more feet, and came to a stop.
My first thought was to drop down to our food and water 1,200’ below. The 150 oz. of water I carried was nearly gone. I didn’t want to rest until I reached the cache. I quickly found I couldn’t stand up. I tried scooting along the slope with my broken foot in the air, reminding me of a crab slithering along. Forty feet of this made me realize it wasn’t going to work. I yelled to Tom who was coming down behind a rock band separating us. As Tom approached I simply said, “I took a fall…I’m not walking out”. Tom replied, “That’s not good”.
We had everything we needed to spend a night or two out. My idea for alpine climbing is to carry as little as possible. If the situation ever came about where I was forced to bivy, I wanted enough gear to stay alive, but little extra. It would mean wearing everything I carried, including breaking out the space blanket. There’s an item I have carried for years and never used. It meant using everything we had, the rope to insulate my back, the foam pad in my backpack to sit on. The two sets of chemical hand warmers for my feet and toes. I would be comfortable enough if I had to spend the night.
I called 9-1-1. I was glad I bought a new cell phone weighing half the weight of my old one. The lithium battery lasts twice that of the older ni-cad cell phone. I was glad I fully charged it the night before. I told the 9-1-1 dispatch we were on the West Rib Ridge of Mt. Jefferson, that we were prepared to spend the night, and that we had parked our cars at the Pamelia Lake Trailhead.
The story breaks here into two parts, that of the victims, and that of the rescuers. Tom’s and my job at that point was to make us comfortable, dig in and prepare for an overnight stay on the 45-degree slope, and wait. As the rescue operation continued through the night, their job became more complex and involved. The cell phone coverage was spotty. I missed several calls and made several attempts before contacting anyone. I was able to leave a message on Kara’s message machine including our UTM’s and a route description for the rescue party. I also made contact with Linn County’s Sgt. Larsen who was enroute. He thought we were at Pamelia Lake and was driving a crew bus with ten Explorer Scouts ready to carry me out. I explained we were far above the lake on the snowy slopes and needed a mountain rescue team equipped with ice axes and crampons to reach us. Back-up was called.
Meanwhile, Kara called her friend Laurie Adams, a member of Jefferson County S.A.R. They arrived at the command center located at the trailhead at 11:30 PM, where they spent the night aiding with communications. They arrived to find:
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The Explorer Scouts at the trailhead |
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Laurie Adams transferring GPS coordinates |
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SAR teams ready for the trail |
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Laurie Adams and Deputy Greg Klein |
Tom began digging into the slope with his ice axe to create shallow windbreaks / snow caves. I emptied my pack organizing every item in order of importance for our overnight stay. We had to prepare as if we would be there overnight because there was no telling when help would arrive. I put on every piece of clothing I carried. I strapped on my headlamp and laid out the remaining food and water. I draped my pack across my knees. I wanted everything organized and set by dark. We had watched the thin sliver of a moon work its way across the sky all day. It was now turning orange as it dropped below the horizon.
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Brent in his bivy shelter |
I snuggled into my small shelter lined with my space blanket and looked down at the timbered lowland. I studied the location of the P.C.T. where it crossed the avy chute. I memorized the location of Pamelia Lake. I looked out through the trees where I thought the trailhead was. Then everything turned dark.
Tom and I had lots of time to talk. We took turns guessing what was happening below. We came up with lots of possibilities. As the night wore on our thoughts turned to self-rescue. Could Tom get me down the mountain on our own? Where was the help? They said they would be here in 3 or 4 hours. We laughed a lot. Several comical scenarios came to mind. What a mess I got us in! But we remained calm and cool headed. The cold set in. We became uncomfortable.
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Tom popping out of his bivy shelter |
Tom would get up often and chop into the slope to improve our bivy site. Unfortunately I could not move about. The cold slowly worked deeper and deeper into my core. I told Tom to imagine we were in the Sahara Desert. Imagine lying on the hot burning sand, sweaty hot. Feel each breath burning deep into our mouths and throat. Imagine the sun beating down unbearable. My tense muscles started to relax.
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Using everything we had to stay warm |
But soon I would enter a period of uncontrolled shaking. First my lower body shook. Then late into the night the shaking crept to my upper body. I was amazed to find my body would instigate this shaking even when I felt fairly warm and comfortable. Back home I read that hypothermia is triggered when the body temperature lowers to 95 degrees. I was showing the beginning signs of hypothermia. Once Tom woke from a few minutes sleep to see me shaking uncontrollably. Actually he heard my space blanket rattling and asked, “What’s that noise?” It made us laugh but Tom had been monitoring me through the night aware I was losing body warmth. This was the coldest I had been. No part of me ever became numb. I doubt the temperature even dropped to freezing. But my core temperature was dropping. Tom sat next to me saying,"I don’t have much body heat either, but maybe I can warm you up some”. He put his arm around my shoulders and we stared into the night. Twenty or thirty minutes later my shaking calmed down and I felt warm again.
My eyes were fixed on the terrain below. Several times through the night we saw headlamps moving through the trees. I slept little if at all. We left my Petzl on blinking mode for a few hours pointing down the slopes. I saw no lights above the trail system. Maybe they were waiting until light. As the hours passed I imagined how the rescue procedure would play out. I imagined I would be strapped in a litter. The S.A.R. team would build anchors in the snow. It would take them six rappels down the slope we were on. Then I would need to be pulled up a slope a few rope lengths, with a possible pulley system installed. Next would be an easy carry across an open gentle slope to the edge of the steep scree slope. I couldn’t imagine being lowered down this part. But the only other way out was down the avy debris flow. That would have been very rough. Once we reached the P.C.T. things would get easier. As I played this back through my mind again and again, I knew I was putting the rescue team at risk. I knew it was going to be a long painful trip out for me and a lot of hard work for everyone else. It bothered me a lot that I had disrupted so many lives, all coming to my aid. I had always been so independent on my mountain climbs up till now.
Morning’s first light replaced the long dark night. This was a beautiful and bizarre place to spend a night. A few more hours passed and no one showed.
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Three skiers appeared on the ridge 1,000’ below |
Suddenly three skiers appeared on a far ridge below. They stopped on the edge of the ridge and seemed to be studying the snow. They came no closer. Tom decided to descend to our food and water cache 1,200’ below. I heard him yell to the skiers when they asked if we were ok. Tom told them that S.A.R. was on their way. As it turned out, Tim Crawford, Shred Maximus, and Jlag had camped in the trees that night. They had watched our slow progress to the summit and were concerned that something was wrong when they saw us stop on the slope at dark. They were planning on making a speed ski decent from the summit, but the rescue operation would be taking place on their intended route. They waited for the rescue team to show up and they offered to lend a hand. Tim is a member of Deschutes Co. Search and Rescue.
Before long the rescue team approached the ridge the skiers were on. They called my cell phone. Jim, a member of Corvallis S.A.R., asked me to wave my hands, and they waved theirs. We each confirmed we saw each other but it turned out we both were looking at rocks. As they opened up on the ridgeline, we made visual contact. Tom returned up the slope with food and water. Jim said the ridge and draw below them looked avy prone, and that they were working on a plan. After some time, they called again. Jim said a National Guard Black Hawk helicopter would be on site in twenty minutes. He wanted us to try and move about a rope length over to where our old tracks were. Tom set an anchored picket and belayed me across the slope a rope length away. I faced downhill on my butt and worked my way across.
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The National Guard Black Hawk helicopter arrives |
The Black Hawk appeared and circled four or five times. The pilot couldn’t locate the S.A.R. team or us. Soon he spotted the bright clothing of the rescue team. Next the four members of the rescue team formed a human arrow pointing up the slope to our location. The Black Hawk Crew spotted us and moved in.
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Paramedic Kevin drops down to rescue us |
The army paramedic, Kevin, was lowered to us on a cable. He strapped me on a bar opposite him at the end of the cable. Up we went swaying in the wind. Next Tom was brought up.
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First Aid en route to St. Charles |
I was administered first aid while en route to St. Charles Hospital in Bend.
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Getting used to the idea that I broke my leg, I leave St. Charles |
I had broken my fibula in my right leg near my ankle. I was given a temporary fiberglass cast and sent home. Three days later the bone specialist seemed concerned about a gap between the fibula and the ankle. He recommended surgery in two days. He wanted to screw the bone together, possibly with a plate, and eye screws placed in the bone to reconnect ligaments. I asked for a second opinion. I ended up with five opinions, two for surgery, three believing I would probably do just as well without. Picturing the cold that the hardware would bring to my leg in winter, and wondering how my boots would fit with a plate just under the skin, and considering the expense of surgery, I opted for the less invasive option.
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X-Ray of my broken fibula |
Matt Gadow and John Krog picked Tom up at St. Charles Hospital and drove him to his car at the trailhead. Then they drove my car back to Sisters. The following weekend Tom Herron, Liz Coleman, Matt Gadow, and Sheila Pyott hiked back in to the base of the ridge to retrieve our gear we had left 1,200’ below our rescue location.
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Tom, Matt, and Sheila nearing the cache site the following week |
The weekend proved to offer up plenty of adventure for Tom and me. I recall asking Tom early on in the climb if he had ever spent an unexpected night out. It turned out neither of us had. Some climbing partners I’ve had seem to almost wish for such adventure. I have gone for years enjoying back woods wilderness travel with little incident. I didn’t have it very bad. I think the real test of survival would have begun if Tom and I had to get back to the cars on our own. Maybe we could have done it, but I don’t know.
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Thinking back to the magnificent avy run, pushing through the long climb, standing on the summit, the accident, the unplanned bivy, and the involved rescue operation, it makes a good story with a happy ending.