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Steve Grossman
Trad climber
Seattle, WA
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Great stories from both sides Kevin and Jeff! A friend in need is a friend indeed.
Though not exactly rescued, I have been helped out by friends big time along the way.
I had one pitch up the Muir remaining to cap a fourteen-day solo odyssey on The Turning Point. I was collecting what remained of my wits to do an end around past the last huge overhangs that cap the sweeping corner below. "Black death!" said a familiar voice from way out over my head. "You gonna finish this thing today?" he grinned. I didn't have much light left and expressed my doubts. This prompted Fig to spur me on with a "Well, I guess I will have to eat this cheesecake and drink these cold beers myself then."
I got my act together and began traversing out left. I was wearing a pair of ultra comfy, full steel-shanked leather Galibier Sassous. Two weeks of drilling and boot stacking in top steps had completely worn away the toe of the boot, exposing the end of the shank. As the angle finally eased off and the sun was setting, I was faced with a dreadful situation to climb the last twenty feet to reach the beginnings of a manzanita patch and security, pure friction! Every time that I would try to settle onto the inclined toes of my boots in a dish, the steel would contact and skate. I had no protection anywhere nearby and things looked grim until the light came on. "Fig, ahh, any chance that you could toss me a rope?" "Sure thing, Steve," he said sounding a little puzzled that 5.7 slab moves were giving me trouble. I explained the situation as I tied in and finished the biggest adventure of my life while he laughed away at the absurdity of it all.
Soon, we gave each other a hug and took stock of the situation. My haulbag was almost directly beneath us, but oh so far away, and we laughed some more about retrieving it. So we opened the beers and built a roaring fire in a perfect spot just back from the lip. We consumed everything he brought and talked late into the night, eventually splitting up one set of warm clothes to sleep a little by the fire.
The next day, I finished cleaning the last pitch and, with Fig's much appreciated assistance, hauled everything up, over and down to the Valley floor. The Turning Point was the first full length solo first ascent on El Cap in the dozen years since the first two in 1972. While reacclimating in the Camp Four parking lot sombody handed me a can of beer in celebration. I fumbled with it weakly for a while before before comically handing it back to the donor to finish the job! That pretty much summed it up. My bandaged and wasted hands would no longer cooperate! The wall rats all around roared with laughter at my pitiful state!
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LED
Social climber
the great beyond
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Mar 17, 2010 - 11:52pm PT
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bump
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Captain...or Skully
Social climber
mun jae upso yo
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Mar 18, 2010 - 12:38am PT
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I got rescued.
Probably a good thing, too, as I was gettin' blood all over El Cap.
'95 was not a productive season.
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bhilden
Trad climber
Mountain View, CA
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Mar 18, 2010 - 01:05am PT
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Tarbuster,
about your rescue on Smoother......
two years ago I contacted Jim Erickson (one of the FA party) and asked if, when I was replacing the ratty 1/4" bolt you mentioned, if I could add a second bolt to make that a belay stance (it is 100' off the ground and with a 60m rope you can get to a decent belay on the next pitch). He agreed to allow me to replace the first bolt and add a second. Hopefully, that will cut down on the rescues.
Bruce
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Mimi
climber
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Mar 18, 2010 - 01:35am PT
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nice bump
Enjoyable thread.
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Wayno
Big Wall climber
Seattle, WA
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Mar 18, 2010 - 02:55am PT
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I had a close call on the Trip one winter. Werner might remember that one.
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steveA
Trad climber
bedford,massachusetts
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Mar 18, 2010 - 07:28am PT
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I've rescued a few others over the years, but never thought it would happen to me.
It was about 8 years ago. I had flown out from Boston with my son for a weeks climbing in the Valley. I was NOT rested since I had spent the 2 weeks prior, working very hard, moving tons of heavy shop equipment into a storage facility. We arrive in the Valley, late in the evening, and set off the next morning to do the NE Buttress of Higher C.R.-one of my favorite routes. I lead all the pitches and we had a great day.
Instead of taking it casual-my son talked me into heading up the death slabs to do the regular route on Half Dome.
Well-I can't leave this next bit out,since it is key to why I got into trouble. We had planned to bivy at the base, and start up the next morning, after fixing a few pitches.
We find a nice flat rock and settle down for the night- no sleeping bags or pads, just a few warm clothes-we wanted to go light.
Ever see that add on T.V. for guys with a "going" problem-The FLOWMAX add. Your probably laughing by now. Well, I was at the stage in my life ( all my 4 brothers have it too), with a REAL problem. It was getting critical, where even the Flowmax wasn't helping much.
I suddenly realize, to my dismay, that I had left the pills up in the pack, fixed on the wall. I didn't sleep at all that night, between getting up every 15 minutes trying to pee-the mosquitoes biting, and the hard flat rock with no pad. I was really not fit to climb in the morning, but I knew my son was counting on a good trip, and I didn't want to let him down.
We start up and I'm really exhausted. We were switching leads and things were going pretty good, freeing as much as we could.
I had done an early ascent of the Direct N.W. Face in 1972, with John Bouchard and realized there was hard climbing in the Zig Zags. It was around the 6th pitch when the misshap happened.
I was leading, feeling pretty tired. I was out about 30 feet and put in a bomber stopper. A few feet further, I put in a green alien and when I leaned back on it-it popped. There was alot of slack in the rope and the stopper held, but I fell probably 20 feet-hitting a ledge. I hit my head on the way down and opened my head up pretty good. My son was obviously alarmed, as I looked pretty bad. I was lucky that I remained lucid and pretty calm. I got over to him, and was preparing to rappel off, when an Italian team, who had just passed us, came down to help out. One of the Italians, (Mario), suggested that I get lowered, considering that I looked like hell,(blood all over the place). I was apologizing to them for ruining their day and Mario explained that it is all about the "brotherhood of the rope".
It turned out that the head wound was pretty minor,( 10 stitches), but I had seriously broken bones in my foot, (shattered the navicular and cuniform bones over the arch).
To this day, I still feel that by taking that leader fall, I saved one of our lives. Here's why- about half way down - we hear this faint yell of "ROCK". It was a clear blue sky- and we all look up. We see this HUGE rock heading straight for us from way high up. Mario muttered something in Italian-which probably translates to Shit! We were very lucky that at that point we were all under a slight overhang. We all hugged the rock and that bomb hit right above us, exploding into a million pieces, each of which would of taken one of us out. I am sure one of us would of been killed had we been a little higher. I thought that I was back in Vietnam again. I am not exagerating, when I say, the rock was the size of a basketball or larger.
Well, we all reach the bottom, and Mario decides to run on up and down the trail to call for a rescue. He was the older of the 2 Italians, ( about 45), and very experienced. We had talked a little when they passed us earlier.
I was very determined that the helicopter was NOT going to winch me off with a cable. I realized that this is dangerous for the crew to hover close to the base.
I found that by placing my foot carefully, I could hike with difficulty. We had thrown the Wild Things pack off and my son took that and the gear.
I made it up thru the talus, to the hikers trail where there was plenty of room for the helicopter to land.
After waiting around for the chopper, my foot had time to really swell up, and I couldn't put any weight on it. Mario offered to help me over to the landed chopper. I felt pretty bad for ruining their climbing day and apologised again. He was a cool guy. Then Werner and crew flew me down to the clinic. They all had helmuts on and I never realized Werner was in the chopper.
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Roxy
Trad climber
CA Central Coast
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Mar 18, 2010 - 08:41am PT
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Great stories. Well told.
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slabbo
Trad climber
fort garland, colo
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Mar 18, 2010 - 09:25am PT
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I was rescued by the senior editor of a prominent rock climbing magazine once off the streets of Bar Harbor ME does that count ? I had been hit by a hi tide of booze....
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local
Social climber
eldorado springs
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Mar 18, 2010 - 09:41am PT
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Somehow, I've missed this thread all these years. I suppose we've all got stories about soloing in Eldorado, and mine is somewhat like Jeff's, but without the rescue.
I started up the Redguard Route pretty late one summer day and reached the cave just as it started to sprinkle. I hesitated in the shelter of the cave, hoping the rain would stop, but it seemed to increase in intensity. I'm thinking that those summer storms start and end pretty quickly, so I hesitated a bit longer while I tried to do some math concerning waning daylight, the probability (or possibility) of the rain stopping and rock drying out. I knew that even when the rock dried out, the lichen would remain slimy for a while longer. No one knew I was up there, and like Jeff, I had no gear and very light clothing. It was a long way down.
Finally, I decided to go and traversed out and up. The pitch was wetter and harder than I had imagined, and my PA's weren't all that grippy on the wet, sloping footholds. I held on so tightly to the little holds that my fingers cramped at the top. I got my money's worth that day.
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Reilly
Mountain climber
Monrovia, CA
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Mar 18, 2010 - 10:36am PT
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For St Paddy:
There once was a young n00b name of Reilly,
From the top of Mt Whitney he did fly away,
Things started quite well,
Then it all went to hell,
So now he doth relate it most wryly.
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bmacd
Trad climber
Beautiful, BC
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Mar 20, 2010 - 12:29am PT
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barfights aside, yes and you know who you are and what happened - otherwise my record was unblemished
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Ezra
Social climber
WA, NC, Idaho Falls
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Mar 20, 2010 - 10:46am PT
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Well every one deserves a laugh at my expense.
Only "rescued" once in my 34 years. Last summer I went on a 12 to 15 mile mountain bike ride,
I took a wrong turn on a trail I had been on before and failed to acknowledge my mistake, I rode something like 17 or 18 miles the wrong direction. I ended up 25 or so miles from my car and was out of food and water. The only water in the are had cow Sh*t in it, and I didn't want to drink that.
So I get totally marginal cell reception and manage to call my PREGNANT wife, she loads our new Toyota highlander and I manage to direct her up marginal logging roads with our 3 year old. She was none too pleased, our three year old ends up crapping in the car Because she has been out way too long...:)
I barely make it in to work on time totally friggin fried!
Had I not had to make it to work by 3pm I think I could have painfully extracted my self.
Wife still gives me sh*t to this day....:)
A pretty weak story, but funny to me none the less.
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Lambone
Ice climber
Ashland, Or
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Mar 20, 2010 - 01:29pm PT
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Ever been rescued?
Yup, after being pinned in a three day storm on the summit of Glacier Peak, Wa. We didn't really ask for a rescue but they came anyway.
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James Doty
Trad climber
Idyllwild, Ca.
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Mar 22, 2010 - 03:04pm PT
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"alex - uses his 90 percent vip discount and purchases a bottle of swisss lowie off the piz gloria nacho bar $2.50 math workarounds first x4 to bring things up to decimal format then a 90 percent take off the base ten to reach 25cent final cost less 5cent bottle deposit and small gratuity"
What???
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illusiondweller
Trad climber
San Diego, CA
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Mar 22, 2010 - 05:21pm PT
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Some may have read this before but thought I'd add it to this post...
"2005-07-07 -- WARNING! Circa 1985, I experienced a frightening dilemma while TR-ing the Mother Superior boulder on Mt. Woodson. I thought it would be beneficial to tell my story to help keep others from this desperate experience.
Ken belayed me from the popular chockstone belay as I, wearing a pair of loose-fit Levi's and a swami made from 4" tubular webbing, stacked and Leavit-tated thru the bottom section without missing a beat. Eventually, however, I came to the tight, final knee placement above. Here my pace slowed while I delicately slotted my right knee into the shallow, cup-shaped slot. I kipped my upper torso up, seated my next fist stack above and weighted my jammed lower extremity. Using desperate technique I gained a higher hand placement and attempted to remove my well-seated knee. Knowing how to remove stuck stopper placements (by backing them out the same way they were placed) I soon became aware that it was going to take a little longer to remove it than I hoped. I remained calm at first but after using every trick in the book and pumping out in the process I realized that it wasn't coming out. I asked Ken to give me tension and informed him of my dilemma.
My body weight was now firm on the rope around my torso, for I didn't have any leg loops. I grasped hold of the rope above to gain leverage and to provide relief from my constricted diaphragm. Nothing progressed quickly, however, so I asked my belayer to tie me off and assist. After applying two prussiks to the rope and securing his end, Ken chimneyed across until he was under me. He put his shoulder under my buttocks as a seat while I continued to work on my knee. But this didn't last long, for Ken became tired fairly quickly.
I needed leg loops and Ken knew it as well. He scrambled back to his equipment and put together a hasty pair of legs loops out of 1" webbing. But when we tried to apply them, we quickly realized that one of the leg loops wasn't going to pass over the stuck knee. Ken would have to form the leg loops around my legs while chimneying underneath me.
Suddenly... hope...
Ken and I heard voices coming up the road. We both froze, turned our heads and watched as five guys appeared from around the edge of the boulder. They happened to be U.S. Marines walking up Mt. Woodson's road for a good workout that day. We quickly recruited them to help out with our situation.
Being connected at the hip, as most Marines are and usually having the Sergeant of the platoon in charge, Sarge promptly asked what he could do to help. I told him that I needed relief from my make-shift swami belt and that I desperately needed leg loops. Working together as a team they took turns having me sit on their shoulders while one performed the delicate operation and eventually managed to tie loops around my legs! But, after all that time and trouble they spent, the loops weren't quite as effective as I needed them to be and it provided little relief. One Marine suggested that he cut my Levi's off in hopes of creating enough room to be able to free my knee. It sounded like a great idea and I was anxious to have it done. I started to worry though as the Marine pulled out his K-Bar and proceeded to slice my pants off from the ankles up! He had to leave the section around my knee for it was tightly wedged between my joint and the rock. He even hung his entire body weight on the matierial from below but couldn't manage to free the last piece.
I was spent at this point and everyone else was sensing the acuity of the situation as well. The Marines started to lose their continuity, the volume of their vioces started to rise and nothing was being accomplished. I seemed to be the only one able to think straight so I spoke out loudly and told Sarge that he needed to send one of his guys down the mountain to the Forestry Department station at the entrance to the mountain and get help. Sarge quickly assigned the task and one of his grunts started the run down the road.
Just as he gave the command Ken's girlfriend, who was sitting on the rock behind watching this whole scene unfold, pulled a tube of sunscreen out of her purse and said, "Why don't you try some of this?" My whole body was starting to cramp, not to mention the excruciating pain that was eminating from my now swollen knee, and any new suggestion gave a glimpse of hope to an already desperate situation. A motivated Marine grabbed the tube of hope and shimmied back across the chimney to squeeze the sunscreen in every open place he could see around my knee. After putting out as much effort I could stand my knee started to move within the confines of the rock! Within moments my knee started to slide up and out of the slot. As it popped free from the rock's grasp my body swung away from the overhanging crack and I slumped forward onto the rope. A rush of pain and relief raced thru my body. A reverberating hoot and "OORAH!" came from the tired Marines as Ken celebrated with them. Ken quickly put me back on belay and lowered me to the dark cave below. He and the Marines assisted me back up to the road to a much-needed rest atop the rock.
But what had gone wrong? My pants had ridden up my leg, bunching at the knee and causing it to wedge tightly in the crack. What I learned from that day on Mt. Woodson was, one, to always wear a harness, at least on Mother Superior and, two, remember to tape the cuff of my Levi's down to prevent them from riding up my leg. I had known this prior but I had no tape to do so and wasn't patient enough to simply come back another day. Had I done this, however, I wouldn't have experienced this situation up on the mountain. I guess I was lucky, for I only suffered some scrapes, a sore knee and a little embarrassment."
illusiondweller
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