(R) rating litany, part II

        RATING LITANY - PART II

      August 12, 1999. Late Thursday evening; we’re home early. The gravity of it all has yet to hit me.

North face, Gunsight Peak. The Roskelley/Castle route; somehow becoming a true nemesis; what am I paying for? No matter. After a gear laden approach and a starlit bivouac, Todd had led off in an almost constant fog. Occasionally the sun broke through and threatened to warm us; but it soon passed the edge of the face above and I stood shivering, balanced on the lip of snow up against the shadowed stone wall. The climb starts off at an easy angle but quickly calls on your full attention as the rock steepens and the crack flares frequently.

      I watched him moving up, alternating free and aid moves. At the end of the crack system he moved right out around the dihedral/roof system above him, onto a bulge involving some very bold face climbing with faint promise of a way above. He reached an acceptable belay stance and decided to bring me up.

      It felt good to get going and I soon warmed up. I found easier climbing than on my first attempt, possibly because I was belayed from above. I got up under the roof and slid over left to collect the rappel gear from ‘96. I wondered just who the other party was and how many years prior they had been here. I traversed back out around right, grabbed a lowered aider, and climbed up beside Todd. He had a strong anchor set up on a small, precarious ledge. He also had that distant look, my own angst reflected in his eyes. I moved around up past him, clipped to a high anchor, and leaning back, eyed the overhang above. It looked like a couple of aid moves could get me up and over right, towards a promising crack system a few meters out of reach. I sort gear; rev up my denial.

      I first tried a pin, but could find no sound placement; the rock all around above me seemed shattered, perhaps from a recent, hard impact. I ended up slotting a small nut at arm’s length. I tested it well, watching it seat itself. I completed the setup and, unclipping from the belay, moved up onto it. One more piece and I may be able to free a couple moves over to the crack. I slot another nut; it seats okay, but I can make this better. I lever as high as I can and try again. I’m messing around trying to locate another nut when the piece I’m on fails. Instant weightlessness and an odd silence alerts me to the fact that I’m falling.

      There was no time for denial; this was sudden and real and demanded my attention. I tried to twist around and then slammed into Todd a few feet below, the impact taking my breath. I was glanced outward, and then fell, upside down, the cliff becoming a blur in front of my face. I had time to think that something wasn't right; something in the system should've caught me by now. My body brushed the steep wall hard once or twice, tumbling me, and I began to dread the final impact.

      Then I slowly elevatored to a stop, again upside down, various gear and ‘biners ripped from my harness hitting the snow and rock at the base of the cliff, not very far below me now. Confused, I re-righted myself, hollering up if all was okay. I quickly moved to my left and dunked in a nice, fat cam, clipped to it and got off the rope; Todd said he had me, but not for long.

      After he tied my lead line to the anchors, I began ascending the rope. When I got near, Todd's subdued manner told me he was hurt. Then it all poured out of us. He had lost control of the belay when I hit him and when I went past, he heard the awful singing of the rope; he tried regaining control of the belay once, twice, and then finally grabbed the lead line and squeezed, somehow slowing then stopping over 200 lbs with his bare hand. After committing the ultimate climbing sin, he redeemed himself by accomplishing the impossible save.

      We were effectively done with the climb but not the retreat; never have I had that much trouble focusing. All told, I had just fallen a good 70 to 80 feet. At one point I began shaking uncontrollably as the realization of what could have happened swelled over me. It took us about an hour to sort it all out, assemble a new rappel anchor (backed up), get him over and down to me, then us down. His left hand was useless, but he was strong all the way through it. His hand will heal, but not right away; it was a lesson hard learned, but learned nonetheless.

      When we arrived in Coeur d’Alene eight hours later, we went to the Immediate Care facility. The doctor expressed amazement over the 3rd degree burns in Todd’s hand. His middle finger got the worst of it, a wide swath of skin and flesh gone from the base of the finger all the way to the tendons and bone. He sat stoically through the cleansing as I felt pain wash over him time and again. I owe him one.



Sep. '99