Holding the Weight
May 31, 2022
14,200’ Ranger Camp, West Buttress, Denali
It’s been two weeks since my team and I pulled the body of an un-roped skier out of a crevasse. The trap door that thinly bridged the 30m deep slot collapsed and he was buried. It’s a stark reminder of the consequence of risk acceptance, and it haunts me.
The mission of the Park Service is to “preserve unimpaired the natural and cultural resources and values of the national park system for the enjoyment, education, and inspiration of this and future generations.” While it may not be obvious from this statement, the safety of park visitors and in this case, climbers, is also built into the mission and is handled by the Visitor and Resource Protection division, which exists to support this mission. National Park Service rangers fall under this division which includes the Denali Climbing Rangers, a mix of seasonal, full-time, law enforcement and non law enforcement staff. Our team specializes in safety and risk management as it pertains to climbing, skiing and general mountain travel in the Alaska Range. I would love to tell you that I spend my season out in the Range, climbing far off peaks and exploring the incredibly vast wilderness of Denali National Park and Preserve, but that is far from the truth. Most days in the field I wake up and think about the hazards that my team and I might encounter and ways to mitigate the risk. I lose sleep when I let these hazards filter into my thoughts. When I’m in Talkeetna my job shifts to informing climbers of the hazards of these mountains and giving them as much information as I can to help them succeed. Success is subjective but for most climbers coming here it is defined by the summit. When I am not talking to climbers I am checking my gear and standing by for the inevitable rescue call. This is the government and so my job description is quite complex, but I can tell you that almost all of what I do revolves around the safety of my team and that of the climbers who choose to come here. But don`t be fooled by the tone, this job is special, made so by the trust, support and love of the rangers next to me and these mountains that we patrol.
In Drew Hardesty’s latest newsletter, The Meaning of Experience, he ponders the current emphasis of safety, risk and margins in the realm of adventure culture and whether this emphasis detracts from the overall experience. I don’t know Drew but I am familiar with his long career in search and rescue and avalanche forecasting and I have to wonder, is he simply playing the devil’s advocate? He quotes the renowned mountaineer Reinhold Messner; “To go on an adventure, you need difficulties, you need danger. If death were not a possibility, coming out would be nothing. It would be kindergarten. But not an adventure. Not an art.” Whether or not the possibility of death as a consequence is essential for true adventure can of course be argued but the point is made and many of us would agree that perhaps there is a correlation between the potential consequence of an adventure and the effect the experience has on our lives. I don’t disagree. I also don’t want to die in the mountains “doing what I love.”
One of the biggest challenges of crevasse rescue in snowy glacier terrain is dealing with the lip of the crevasse - defined as the edge or transition from the climbing terrain to the vertical wall of the crevasse. When a climber falls, the rope connecting the climber to her partner (assuming they have one) cuts into the snowy lip as a result of the forces generated by the falling climber. This process of the rope cutting into the lip can be initially advantageous as the friction between the rope and the snow slows the fall and reduces the work of the arresting climber with regard to holding the weight and preventing the falling climber from further travel. Conversely, on a glacier that is bare ice without snow cover, there is very little friction between the rope and the ice and the arresting climber must hold a much greater percentage of the falling climber’s mass. For better or worse, the glaciers on which I operate are snow covered and thus ropes are constantly cutting into the lip. In an ideal situation, the fallen climber can self-rescue by ascending the rope to reach the surface. However, if the climber has a heavy pack and/or is pulling a sled, climbing a rope becomes very challenging. An injured climber will also struggle with this task. When the operation changes from self-rescue to hauling the climber out, even the smallest amount of friction from the rope cutting into the snow can overcome the ability of a climber to haul their partner out. The solution to this problem goes beyond the current conversation but can be addressed with several different strategies. I talk with many climbers during our West Buttress briefings who have run thru the theoretical process of setting up a mechanical advantage pulley system for crevasse rescue in the comfort of their living room or garage but the most important lessons can only be learned with practice and training out there, on the snowy glacier, hanging in the cold, dark depths.
Hardesty continues to ruminate. “So why so much emphasis and education these days on risk and safety and margins? When we focus so much on safety, do we forget why we go in the first place? Does safety become the end game and we forget the summit?” This is an interesting question to answer and one that depends highly on perspective and objective. As a biased climbing ranger, and because you found your way to this National Park Service blog, I will approach from that perspective, though it is not my only one.
Safety is the end game.
In March, our team spent a week in the Chugach mountains training with technical rope rescue systems to address problems we are most likely to encounter including crevasse rescue and patient movement in technical terrain. We introduced a new tool to our quiver this year – a tripod that stands over 7’ tall used to direct the ropes up and over an edge transition and minimize the problem described above of ropes cutting into the crevasse lip. The whole contraption weighs over 70 lbs and my first reaction as a climber who has spent years trying to minimize the weight of my kit was pure skepticism. Sure, this tool is very effective at one specific task but I did not see a place for it other than collecting dust on the SAR locker shelf. It turns out, on missions where time is not of the essence and when there is helicopter access for moving equipment (many of our missions), this tool is appropriate and useful. As I rewind to events two weeks ago, I am reminded of the importance of quality training as a team, exploring different solutions to the same problem and the closure that it allowed us with that crevasse fatality.
Ultimately, our budget is programmed to reflect our mission; search and rescue and preventative search and rescue. We dedicate 6 weeks to training every season, including technical rigging, with the goal of becoming safer and more effective rescuers. Yes, I also spend time telling climbers how to poop in a bucket. But any education and information that we can front-load on a new Denali climber that might help prevent a rescue defines success in our ranger station. This leads me to a pattern of behavior that stands out as generally inappropriate for most climbers that we see somewhat regularly regarding glacier travel that I will address below. Forgive me while I climb up on a soap box - THIS IS THE ALASKA RANGE. THIS IS NOT COLORADO. THIS IS NOT THE NORTH CASCADES. THIS IS NOT THE EUROPEAN ALPS. The Kahiltna glacier is the longest glacier in the Alaska Range, reaching 45 miles from its head at Kahiltna pass to its terminus in the foothills on the south side of the range. Comparatively, the Emmons glacier on Mt. Rainier, the largest in Washington State, is 4 miles long. The Aletsch, in Switzerland, 14 miles. Crevasse size is proportional to glacier size, and perhaps underestimated here.
I often see teams flying into the Range with 30m glacier ropes, in the form of an often commercially packaged crevasse rescue kit including a toothed ascender, progress capture device and a highly specialized 6mm diameter rope, a kit favored among the “fast and light” contingent and appropriate for many of the glaciers in the lower 48. Yes there are climbers with the skill to manage the hazards here with that tool set but those climbers also have a wealth of experience, training and a well thought out and understood (based on years of Alaska Range travel) and sometimes higher risk threshold. I have been a part of two crevasse recoveries here that would have been impossible with a 30m rope due to the depth of the crevasses. I am not convinced that there is widespread understanding among climbers here of the consequences. If there is, maybe I choose not to acknowledge it when the crushing aftermath has been calculated.
As I consider my own experience and decision making over the years, I begin to think that the answer to Hardesty’s question will remain unanswered. Is balance a possibility here? I recall many days where the objective weighed heavier on the scales and I easily convinced myself that skill and experience cleared me of the edge. Do we really know the width of our margins? Did the current emphasis on safety, risk and margins detract from the overall experience of the people who get rescued or recovered off this mountain before falling victim to its hazards? Would a bigger emphasis have changed the outcome or is risk acceptance the (non) limiting factor?
In the last 2 weeks I have lost count of the number of solo or un-roped travelers I have seen along the West Buttress and vicinity. At this point the reader most likely well understands my opinion on this travel technique but that comes with perspective of seeing the poor outcome when it goes wrong. Thankfully it does not often go wrong. And I would be remiss to not acknowledge the advantages of solo/un-roped travel with regard to speed and reduced hazard exposure time. It would also be a failure to not recognize the amount of time I have spent un-roped on glaciers. We all come to the mountains for our own reasons and with our own safety margins and acceptance - or more importantly, understanding - of the risks and consequences. Skill and experience helps with this understanding but we would be foolish to underestimate the luck involved. I wonder how many crevasse bridges have held my weight while I have crossed un-roped either thinking I was in control and aware of the risk or due to complacency that led me to keep the rope in the pack. I am fortunate to have no feedback to answer this question. In the end I don’t know if it matters. Or maybe it only matters to the community of friends and family that you surround yourself with.
I’ll finish with some unsolicited advice from this climbing ranger. Start small, slow down and prioritize safety and understanding of risk. That is the closest I can come to answering the question. Or more accurately, that’s the behavior I try and convince myself that I follow. Keep your margins wide. Whatever the rest is, it will follow.
Hardesty closes; “I wonder, is it life to not know love, loss, grief...What it means to be terrified?...In all of our exhortations to avoid and manage risk, let’s not lose sight of what and who we aspire to be." Maybe he wasn`t playing the devil’s advocate. Or can we prioritize safety and still focus on the summit?
I guess that puts me right back where I started.