|
2-29-2004
We went downhill skiing yesterday
at Steven's Pass with my friend Mark H and his son. There
is probably a muscle somewhere in my body that isn't sore...but
I haven't found it yet. Clint had to work, but Sue and Lisa
went along and skied strongly on the 2 inches of powder over
a firm base.
It was very crowded
until 4 when all the teenyboppers left in the buses. After
that it was smooth sailing and we began to rip up the slopes.
When the lights came on at 6, I was was once again struck
by how beautiful a ski area is at night. From up on high,
it looks like a carefully lit Hollywood set, or maybe something
from Las Vegas.
It's all completely
artificial and manmade of course, still, the multicolored
lights are gorgeous to look at in the clear mountain air.
The view stretches for a mile or more out across the many
hills and valleys of the lit ski area. My old anti logging
self hates to say this, but not everything man makes is ugly.
Mark H is great company.
 He's
a family man and shares many of the same values Sue and I
believe in. He also holds down a great job flying passengers
around the west coast. Surprisingly, he got this great job
by attending the college where I teach. We have a large flying
school, and he was, back in the early nineties, one of the
many students who used to make shaky landings 60 feet from
where I park today.
I used to sit out
by my car on my lunch break and watch the students wobble
down over the power lines to make touch and go landings. My
car was only 50 feet away from the strip and it was scary
enough that I occasionally worried about my own safety.
There always seemed
to be at least 2 people in the planes, and I suppose one was
an instructor, still, it's hard to believe the ultra safety
conscious school could allow students to learn to fly. It
looks so dangerous as they come floating down through the
air, the plane jerking around like a paper airplane with a
mad hamster at the controls, the students fighting to keep
the wings level and the plane pointed down the center of the
40 foot wide strip of pavement.
Mark says flying
for a living is actually kind of a boring job, most of the
time. I was surprised to hear him say that he enjoys the job
more when conditions are poor. He said that landing a plane
in a heavy cross wind is the best part of the job as it requires
intense concentration and can be very satisfying. I've never
flown, but I think I'd feel safe flying with Mark. On the
other hand, I know I definitely don't feel safe when he is
driving a car. Both of my climbing partners are lousy drivers.
I drove us up to the pass
this weekend and spent some time kidding him about his "California"
driving style. He claims it's simply "accurate"
driving since he never (or rarely) bends up his car. I, on
the other hand, take a dim view of people who drive aggressively.
I drive like an old lady and have an excellent driving record.
I'm sure I take a little longer to get places, but what's
the hurry? Safe driving is all about stopping distances...knock
on wood.
2-22-2004
My son Clint was writing about
a tragic accident we witnessed back around 1995 in Smith Rocks
State Park. He had an assignment to write about something
scary he experienced as a child for a high school writing
class. I just came back from Smith, and the accident is never
that far from my mind, even though it was almost 10 years
ago. Some things stick with you.
After it happened,
I wrote the story down long hand and stored it away. I dug
it out tonight and decided to type it up for posterity. This
is a true story of a tragic accident, witnessed first hand.
It is graphic by it's very nature, so don't read this story
if you aren't ready.
|
A climber falls at Smith Rocks, Summer, 1995
A place of
peace, the river murmurs along the trail at the bottom
of the canyon. High up above the mesas and towers eagles
and buzzards soar on the air currents. On the cliffs,
climbers test their mettle against the unyielding rock.
I didn't
know it at the time, but this was to be my families
last trip to Smith Rocks. Sue and I, with our two kids
Clint (10) and Lisa (7) hiked up to Cinnamon slab for
some easy warm up climbs. The routes are eight bolt
sport climbs, a good place for a couple has been climbers
with small children. I tottered up to the top of the
routes, amazed as always at the weirdness of the "welded
tuff" volcanic rock. It bares a strong resemblance
to vertical frozen mud, complete with embedded rocks
sticking out at bizarre angles. Sue and Clint followed
me up, complaining about the steepness of the climbing.
For the next
three days we hiked around the dihedrals climbing all
the beautiful easy routes like Dancer, Jute, everything
on the Peanut, Bunny Face, plus the world's greatest
5.8 route: "5 gallon buckets", named after
the huge hold in which one could literally stuff a large
bucket...or a knee, and lean backwards for a no hands
rest, which many climbers do. 5 Gallon is very much
like climbing a slightly overhanging 70 foot ladder,
except the holds are better.
People at Smith
are almost without exception kind and quiet. Everyone seems
to realize how fortunate we are to be climbing high quality,
user friendly routes in such a world class setting.
Because it wasn't
a holiday weekend, by Monday morning the crowds were all
gone. We were at the beginning of a 9 day vacation and I
was feeling pretty warmed up. We pushed our tired knees
down across the river and up to "light on the path",
a 5.9 just 70 feet to the right of a 5.9 route called "Tammy
Bakkers Face".
My family was
lazing in the sun nearby while I pondered how to use my
12 foot stick clip to clip the first bolt 30 feet overhead
when I heard a scream shatter the morning. My eyes darted
toward Tammy Bakkers Face, 70 feet away and slightly uphill.
I saw a climber who
I recognized hurtle down through the still morning air and
smack the ground with a sickening thump. The force of the
fall sent her sliding down the steep dirt slope about 20
feet, raising a large dust cloud. She hit so hard and so
close I could feel the impact in my feet. It sounded and
felt as if a large sack of wet concrete had fallen from
a building 100 feet up...except this was a fellow climber
who I had observed, and admired putting on her harness and
gear a half hour earlier.
Absolute bedlam
broke out. My wife, wide eyed with horror and shock started
crying.
"Oh God! Oh God! What can we do? She fell so far.
I saw the whole thing!" Sue cried.
Clint and Lisa stood dumbfounded. I could feel the
unspoken accusation in their eyes: "dad, you told
us this was a safe sport". After a short shocked
moment of stillness, terror stricken voices rang out
all around us, calling for a doctor, calling for a stretcher.
I heard high wails of pain coming from the area of the
fall. I couldn't tell if it was from the climber, or
her sister, who had been the belayer.
Even after
almost 10 years, it is painful for me to write these
words down. Perhaps by writing them down in a coherent
order I can finally exorcise the memory. I hollered
that I had a phone and tore frantically at my pack.
When I found it at last, the climbing guide with the
2 sixteen year old girls doing laps on 5 gallon bucket
stood up with a bigger phone and calmly announced that
he was a licensed first responder and would everyone
Please calm down.
We ran up
hill to the fallen climber, the first people on the
scene, finding her location in the tall summer wheat
grass by the moans. Her sister, the belayer, was holding
her head on her lap with her arms around her chest from
the back, trying to give comfort. The climber, her name
turned out to be Becky, was tossing her head from side
to side moaning and screaming, almost incoherent with
tremendous pain.
I could not
believe  she
had survived the fall. She had been almost at the top
of the 100 foot route. Amazingly, there was an ER doctor
and and ER nurse there in just a few minutes. They had
been climbing nearby and bailed when they heard the
commotion. I heard fancy medical terms uttered by calm
voices and took a few steps back, listening as the doctor
and the guide talked on the guides cell phone.
I didn't appear
to be needed anymore with 7 people attending the climber
so I looked up the route, which I had climbed several
times in the past. The climber and her belayer were
still connected with the rope which went up the rock
through two quick draws, then back down to the ground
in a long loop. The third and fourth bolts had quick
draws on them, but weren't clipped to the rope.
When the guide
had a free moment I asked if he had enough juice in
his cell phone and he said yes, no problem. I looked
up and around the surrounding area. Everyone was frozen
in place, even the climbers up on the cliffs were still,
hanging on their ropes, frozen by the wails of agony
coming from Becky. As far as I could see, probably 60
people were frozen in silence, staring at the girl on
the ground.
Her cry's
of pain were heartrending. I can't speak for the other
climbers, but for myself this was something I had long
imagined happening to me every time I rappelled or lowered
to the ground over the last 19 years. This was and is
my worst nightmare. One little tiny moment of distraction
and that could be me on the ground. And here it was,
up close and personal. This was not some Hollywood Reality
show. This was real. I could never have imagined anyone
could be hurt this bad and still breath.
Her leg and
ankle were twisted very unnaturally, and her body had
an unusual shape, as if her torso was somehow distorted.
She bled from, or at one eye. The faces around her were
red and flushed, but she was pale, a scary shade of
gray beneath her tan and the Smith rock dust. Her color
was a shocking contrast to the healthy men and women
trying to calm and examine her.
I walked back
down to pack up my gear and talk to the wife and kids.
Something, perhaps the sickness that makes people slow
down and stare at car wrecks drove me back up to the
scene where they were now waiting for the helicopter
and the rescue team. I walked right up and watched her
from 10 feet away scorching the scene into my memory.
I guess I
wanted to feel her pain. I wanted to know and memorize
the moment. Possibly to know in my bones the penalty
of a mistake in this deadly sport.
Just 15 minutes
earlier I had been admiring her shapely form in the
gray, ribbed Lycra shorts. She had been in excellent
shape, as are most regular climbers. Now, to see her
lovely face and body thrashing in unimaginable agony...it
felt like someone had ripped out my soul. The entire
canyon was breathing her screams, which lasted until
the helicopter lifted her out an hour later.
We were a
half a mile away by then, our help not being needed.
I tried to climb another route, but my heart simply
wasn't in it. On the way out, I ran into the guide.
He had been up the route and discovered why she fell.
She had tried to lower off with one rope.
Finding that
she was 30 feet off the deck and needed two ropes to
get off, she climbed back up, unclipping all but the
two bottom bolts and pulling her quick draws from the
top 5 bolts. Up at the anchor, she made a chain of slings
from her extra quick draws, apparently hoping to lower
the anchor far enough that she could reach the ground.
Tragically,
she had learned to climb in the controlled environment
of an indoor gym. No one had ever taught her that you
can't put a lowering rope through a sling. The heat
of the weighted lowering rope sliding through the sling
will melt it right through. She should have used a carabineer,
but they don't teach that in gyms. Only mountaineers
learn how to trouble shoot and self rescue.
The guide
said that the fact that she was screaming an hour later
was a good sign. "If they are still screaming when
they get in the helicopter, they usually make it."
he said. We left that day to spend the rest of our vacation
out on the coast; the family playing in the surf while
I painted seascapes. I called the local climbing store
in a week and they said she was still in intensive care,
all busted up with internal injuries. I heard a year
later that she had recovered and was considering going
climbing again.
-- summer, 1995
|
2-20-2004
If I had to rate this climbing
trip to Smith Rocks over Presidents day compared to previous
Presidents day trips, I'd give it a 6 out of 10. I went down
with Dave, Mark L and his wife. Dave, normally a strong climber
appeared to be having an off weekend. I enjoyed climbing with
my old buddy Mark, but he only had Saturday available to climb.
He and his wife went skiing at Bachelor Sunday. Monday we
were all supposed to climb together again, but Sunday night
in the wee hours it began blowing and pouring down rain.
When I stuck my head out
the tent door Monday morning, I could tell we were going to
bail. I'd had a great day of climbing the day before...if
I don't count the arguments with Dave. I have no idea why
we bicker like a couple of feuding siblings. He insists I'm
an absent minded air head, with some justification, and I
tell him he is a bi-polar control freak.
We've developed
this sick poke and jab relationship over the last 9 years
of climbing. Joshing and kidding around can be fun, up to
a point. We have quite a lot in common, primarily a love of
climbing, and of course we both enjoy the great climbing crowd
with it's super honed bodies (read that as: gosh, the girls
are sure pretty). Still, I wish I knew a way to make our poke
and jab relationship a little more congenial.
The only reason we're still
climbing together is he almost always says yes when I call
about a climbing trip. It's hard to find someone who likes
to climb as much as I do, and will put up with my take it
or leave it attitude toward the sport. I could probably find
a friendlier climber, but they would likely be even younger
and more hard core about the sport, wanting to go every weekend.
Dave, like me, has
other interests in his life and can go for months without
climbing, then jump right back in full throttle. I guess I
just take the path of least resistance and another year of
bickering goes by.
We met a funny married
couple this time. They were down on the cliffs climbing some
easy stuff and we got into a conversation about camping at
the grasslands. They said that was where the night life was,
and that we could have fires and park right by the tent. As
the sun dropped behind the ridge, they left, but the girl
came running back up the trail in a few minutes. She'd left
something behind, but Dave asked her if she'd missed him.
She responded with: "Oh hell yeah, I pushed my husband
off the cliff and came back to run off with you." She
was a funny gal, and pretty too. She stayed to banter a while
with Dave, then hiked on down the trail.
They were right
about the biggest fire drawing the biggest crowd. We had a
huge fire with a dozen or so people standing around the bonfire
drinking various libations provided by Dave. It's amazing
how many friends a guy can make when he hands out free booze.
Among the
many fascinating topics discussed over the bonfire was the
burning question: "why does wood burn?" One very
well educated young climber explained that fire was merely
the sun's slowly stored energy being quickly released from
the molecular carbon structure of the wood. He was talking
Physics, but knew his subject so well that he was able to
explain it in understandable English.
Also covered in
depth was why we climb. I think we decided that it was because
our adrenaline glands were under utilized in this sedentary
society, and climbing was a perfect outlet. I also heard a
lot of talk about how it was the most pointless activity several
people could think of, which made it doubly attractive. Another
theory put forth by an attractive young female climber concerned
something about the poetry in climbing, but I must have not
read that book...although she made it sound like a good read.
Also covered was
the expanding universe theory, and was there really anything
out there beyond the universe. We decided that it was infinite,
and our minds were just too small to adapt to the obvious
truth of infinite space.
In the parking lot
the next morning, as we were loading up our packs I recognized
the married couple from the day before; the one who had promised
to run away with Dave.
"Hey, how are you doing?"
"Not bad, hey, you missed a great party last night."
- Dave
"You were right about the biggest fire attracting the
climbers" - me
"One night there was a wet tee shirt party going on.
My wife was going to go but she didn't find out soon enough."
- the husband.
"She's got hooters. Oh, I'm not bashful. I know what
I've got. She's got a hell of a set of hooters." - the
husband.
"Well, yeah, but they aren't where they should be anymore."
- the wife.
"Trust me I know, my wife is 50." - me
"Yeah, but I'm only 32." - the wife.
"Yeah, I'm 40, she's 32, not bad eh? Course, I had to
kick two others to the curb before I found her." - the
husband, with a big grin.
That evening: I'm sitting by the fire with
the laptop and it must be in the twenties. My fingers are
freezing and I can barely type. Today was a great day. Dave
led a gear route called Cinnamon slab. I continued on with
the pitch above into first warm sun, then at the top of the
cliff a stiff wind cooled me off and reminded me it is still
winter. Next we looked around for an open route but people
were on all the good climbs.
There was a party
of 3 running laps on on the 5.8 route on the peanut. A party
of 2 was taking their sweet time lolly gagging up Lion' Jaw.
He led it, then rapped off and sat down with his girlfriend
to have a lunch and snuggle break while the gear hung in the
crack waiting for the second to clean the route. This kind
of behavior is unusual in a trad climber. Crack climbers usually
have more courtesy.
Despairing of getting
up the Peanut or Lion's Jaw in the near future, I walked down
to 5 gallon buckets. A woman was finishing out a strong lead,
with just her husband belaying. I asked if there was anyone
else following and he said no, but that he was going to follow
it, then pull the ropes and lead. That was typical selfish
gym technique, but it really only equaled one more climber
instead of the 4 or 5 we commonly see on this popular route
so Dave and I sat down to wait.
The husband turned
out to be very slow, even with a top rope and I wandered off
to check on the other two routes while Dave slept off the
campfire booze fest of the previous evening. The Lion's jaw
couple were still nuzzling each other, completely oblivious
of their hanging gear tying up the route above.
Meanwhile, up at
the Peanut, the third climber had decided not to give it a
go, and the leader in the party of 3 was following the route
to pull the anchor. This seemed hopeful so I wandered down
to wake up Dave and tell him the happy news.
When I got back
to 5 gallon, Dave was sound asleep, and I found the chastened
husband had barely been able to follow his wife's lead and
was not up to leading it himself. However, his wife had to
go back up to clean her gear off the anchor, he not being
qualified for that dangerous task. So I decided to wait for
5 gallon instead of the peanut. It was a fun lead, and I climbed
it as good or better than I ever have...even skipping the
knee lock rest.
After Dave followed
it, he came down and stripped off his harness. I realized,
with dismay, that he wanted to quit climbing for the day.
After a bit of begging he agreed to belay me on Lion's Jaw,
which was finally empty. We found an ambitious climber who
would clean it for me, and I labored my way up the difficult
gear route. It's only 5.7, but the route is a vertical open
book, with a thin crack in the corner for pro and finger locks.
My stemming technique was rusty and I fell back into bad habits
of looking for good handholds, instead of trusting my feet.
Still, an hour later found me
at the top of the 70 foot gear protected route, safe and sound...if
a little winded. That route was a lot easier 25 years ago.
The kid who cleaned it for me was very friendly, and agreed
that finishing a day of climbing before dark meant you weren't
having fun. We drove into town, borrowed a few more palettes
from the grocery store and drove out to grasslands for another
bonfire.
We'd had quite a
crowd the night before, word having got around about Dave's
fully stocked bar/SUV. I guess most people had to work Monday
because only 2 people dropped by for the fire and beer. They
were a couple of tree planters from Prince George, way the
hell up north in Canada...about a 19 hour drive. They were
out for a nine day trip and had lots of fun tales to tell
of living in the land of perpetual snow, eaking out a living
working forestry.
They reminded me
of Sue and I at that age: living for the moment, working at
boring jobs and spending every spare moment off the job pursuing
our love of adventure. It's not a bad way to live.
2-12-04
My new Toshiba laptop bit the
dust. It only lasted 3 weeks. The problems began with Windows
Explorer crashing and throwing a memory error every time I
tried to open a particular folder. Soon, it would crash at
random times on any folder. The crashing was related to drilling
down through folder structures looking for files.
Toshiba customer
service was quick to pick up the phone, but couldn't suggest
how to fix it. Oh, they went through a list of things like
diagnostic tests, using system restore and a few others, but
it kept getting worse. I have far too much work to do to deal
with defective computers. I was ready to throw it out the
window...except I haven't even received the visa bill yet.
Last night I called
them with the system restore disk in the drive. They've been
telling me it is a software related problem: corrupted this
or that, maybe a trojan horse virus and by this time I was
so pissed off I just wanted to Nuke and Pave. How it could
go bad so fast I have no idea. They told me how to reformat,
and it truly was as easy as they said, walk away for 20 minutes
and it's back to happy face Windows.
It took another
5 hours of my time to get my basic software back in, and I
have another 7 hours ahead of me finding random programs that
I don't even know I have installed until I need them and remember
they aren't installed.
I am soooo ready for this
3 day weekend.
2-7-04
Escaped from the office last
night (Friday) at about 8 p.m. Because I worked so late, the
janitor and I were the only people left in the building. Still,
I was able to finish all my grading and even got halfway through
my lesson plan for my first class of the week. This gives
me the whole weekend off, plus I don't work Mondays, so I
can easily get the lesson written and printed Monday afternoon.
This is a huge improvement
over the start of the quarter, when I was working all weekend,
and staying up until the wee hours each weekday. The new class
has turned out to be my best. The guy who gave it to me said
I would like it, since it was stuff I already knew, but I
didn't believe him because I had no lesson plans. It's turned
out to be a no-brainer. This is not to say I don't have to
work at it, but he was right, I do know the subject matter.
To create a lesson, I think about the process I go through
when I create a new site, then explain it in easy to understand
English, writing it all down in PowerPoint, complete with
screen shots.
I've had students
tell me in the past that my handouts were better than the
textbooks, but it's always nice to hear it again. Tuesday,
after the lecture two students thanked me for the handout,
saying it was the best one they'd seen, and better written
than their textbooks. I suppose I should try submitting one
to a publisher, but if it was accepted, I'd end up with even
more work on my hands...endless copy editing, more emails
and phone calls, etc.
I need to get off
this computer. I have a couple cars to work on, some repairs
to do on our cross country skis, and I need to get some exercise
before Clint gets off work and needs my assistance on his
kayak. We are ready to glue and fiberglass the top of the
boat to the bottom. I think we are about 90 percent done.
It's been a long process, mostly due to Clint putting it low
on his priority list.
It started out as
an ambitious
idea for a senior project. Out of the blue, he told us he
wanted to build a kayak. Right, I thought, you couldn't even
finish your model airplane, and you want to build a Kayak?!
But I kept my counsel and sat back as an observer. Sue helped
him in the early days last fall, and I helped by taking pictures
for his PowerPoint.
During the Christmas
break, I had three weeks off and got sucked into helping full
time. It's actually interesting, building a boat. I was surprised
at how a pile of cheezy planks could turn into a beautiful
hull. I've even thought about building another one for Sue
and I.
I've paddled with
my dad since I was a teenager. No one in our family has ever
owned a boat, but dad's always had the old canoe, and we've
paddled many miles around the sound in the old beater. I can
remember sitting out in the middle of the sound with dad,
long before I met Sue, fishing for salmon and pulling in these
disgusting 3 foot sharks. We couldn't eat them, and they were
a little dangerous getting off the hook. I don't think we
ever caught a salmon, but it didn't stop us from going out
and paddling around in the sound, enjoying the views, talking
about life and laughing at our lousy luck as fishermen.
Go to previous month
home | journal | landscapes | seascapes | structures | still
lifes | climbing
web design | art
statement | pricing | easel
places | site
index | photos | email
|
