Onus

“We can keep going to the summit, or turn it around here. It’s up to you guys.” asked our guide Conrad.

We were tucked in behind a rock formation named Split Rock. Visibility was about 20′ at best and Conrad was obviously working hard to find his way since we crested the rim of Tuckerman Ravine. The temperature was around -3° F and the winds were blowing steady around 30 – 35mph (a guess).

The onus was on me. Craig and Buddy said they felt good and they looked good to this point. I on the other hand had a bonk coming on. I hadn’t eaten enough on our way up and now was feeling the effects. Not eating wasn’t my only infraction.

At the lip of the ravine when we put on our summit gear (balaclavas, goggles, wind protection etc.), I failed to get adequate coverage over my face. Shortly before arriving at Split Rock Conrad turned back to me with an alarming expression on his face. He said I had a very large spot of frost nip on my left cheek and nose. The largest he’d ever seen and demanded I cover my face with my hand or we’d turn around immediately. Since I could still feel my cheek (it had been stinging for some time), covering it with my glove and blocking the wind was enough to bring things back to normal.

This alone wasn’t enough reason to turn back. Knowing I’d have to remove my current balaclava and replace it with my neoprene head mask, for better protection, would in turn cause my goggles to freeze, pretty much secured our ticket down.

In that kind of weather fogging goggles can turn to iced over goggles in a matter of seconds. It’s a precarious situation. Walking with your head down, watching where you step through the ice, snow and rocks, too long can be disastrous. Without periodically picking up your head into the wind, moisture will quickly build up inside and freeze. I knew this balance of moisture build-up and wind driven drying would fail as soon as I took everything off and put it back on.

As this was all going through my head and I’m digging around my pack for my other face mask someone asked how far we were from the top.

“About 45 minutes.” Was Conrad’s response.

That meant 45 minutes up to a summit we wouldn’t see and at least another 45 minutes back to this spot. An hour and a half and I was already bonking. Eating at this point wouldn’t fix it. We were too exposed to sit around too long and I was already too far gone.

We’d had an awesome day. We got an early start by handling all the formalities (gear inspections, waivers, etc.) at the shop the day before. We had picked up Conrad at 7 and were on the trail by 7:45am.

First impressions of Conrad were mixed. He was tall, quiet and an ex-Marine. Lean and mean summed him up perfectly. It didn’t take long for all of us to realize we’d get along quite well. He helped us to more efficiently keep a steady pace, while our fitness helped him to push the pace. At our first water/food stop he gave us five minutes to get our business done and get back on the trail. We were out and moving in three. I actually ate at that point.

At the usual turn off point from the main access trail to the Lion’s Head winter route Conrad gave us a choice. He said we could do the normal everyday thing by taking the Lion’s Head route, or something different. Not sure and confused by what he meant by “something different”, he decided for us and we continued up the main trail.

It didn’t take us long to come out to Hermit Lake and the ranger station. At this point Conrad was talking about “real mountaineering” and “alpine gullies”. Nothing we’d ever done before, but apparently proven we were capable.

We briefly checked the avalanche board to confirm where we were going was low and headed up into Tuckerman Ravine.

I’d been to Tuckerman before, but it was in the summer and many many years ago. Stepping into it now in the middle of winter was a whole different experience. Tuckerman is technically a glacial cirque. For most people that’s a giant bowl carved into the side of a mountain. It’s like an amphitheater for the gods and we were in the middle of it. This time of year there wasn’t a soul in sight. We layered up a little more (should have eaten something) and headed into the heart of things.

We were surrounded on three sides by six hundred foot walls of rock, ice, and snow. At this point what Conrad had been explaining to us started to make sense. We would take the Right Gully up to the top of Tuckerman and top out after the Lion’s Head. This would put us at just about the base of the summit cone where we turned back last year. Since I was the most experienced with crampons and an ice axe and Conrad had only enough rope for two plus himself, I would do it un-roped.

Ok.

We tucked in behind some rocks (it was breezy, but not crazy) to put on our crampons, stow our trekking poles and grab our ice axes (I should have eaten something). Conrad took the rope Craig had been carrying and made three loops in it. The first was for Conrad, the second Craig and the last for Buddy. They would climb first with me following in their footsteps. Despite the 35° sustained pitch, the footsteps in the snow made by the guys in front of me made it feel quite comfortable. It was much like climbing a steep set of stairs.

We had set off in angled pitches across and up the gully. We’d do a few pitches, then stop for a breather. On one of the pitches that seemed particularly exposed, the footprints kind of disappeared. Instead of the nice ankle to knee deep steps I’d been getting, all I had were a few crampon bites in the surface of the hardened snow.

My heart beat a little faster as I planted my axe for stability then my first boot onto the surface. It stuck, so I moved my second foot and planted it firmly onto the surface. This went on for about eight or ten steps until I came to the next rest area. Only for a short distance near the top did I experience similar snow conditions. For the most part the gully had a crusty top layer we broke through and a soft bottom layer we stood firmly in. Craig and Buddy both looked at me relieved I had made it and said they were sure glad to be roped in for those trickier stretches.

We topped out onto the tops of spruce trees. We had to be very careful where we stepped as to not fall through to our necks and get caught or hurt in the branches under the surface. Conrad painstakingly lead the way insuring we followed exactly in his footsteps.

Walking on top of spruce trees meant only one thing. We were at the Alpine Garden which meant the base of the summit cone. This was the point at which we turned around last year. This year there were a few things different than last. First of all where last year we could stand within the trees for protection from the wind, we were now standing on top of the trees. Luckily the wind wasn’t as bad this year, but combined with the blowing snow it made things nearly as treacherous. The other difference was the snow consistency on the ground. Last year freshly fallen snow had drifted to thigh deep depths making forward movement painfully slow and taxing. This year  there wasn’t much fresh snow beyond what was in the air, and the snow that was on the ground had been pounded and frozen into a near concrete surface. We could move along the top of the snow at a pretty good pace, if only we could see where we were going.

We quickly stopped to put on our goggles and add another layer (at this point I was wearing a sleeveless base layer, long sleeve base layer, windstopper fleece vest, soft shell and hard shell. I was toasty when moving.). It was this point I realized things were going in the wrong direction for me. I knew I was getting hungry and without the calorie intake I wouldn’t be at optimum performance.

Anything less than optimum in these conditions is a serious risk. If I were to stumble or misplace a step with my crampons and cut my leg, it could mean disaster not only for me but everyone in our group. An injury to a single person puts the entire group at risk. Caring for someone will slow you down. Your heat output will drop and your ability to fend off hypothermia lessons. You have to rely more on clothing to keep you warm than your own movement fired furnace, and unfortunately you can only carry so many clothes.

“We’re turning around.” I finally answered Conrad at Split Rock.

It pained me to know I may have been killing the expectations of my friends – to turn around so close to the top. Briefly I had thoughts of going anyway and making the top, but then what? What would that mean for next year? What would a zero visibility summit be worth anyway?

“I’m hungry. I haven’t eaten enough and probably can’t at this point. We should head back.” was what I said.

The group agreed. It’s part of the deal. If one’s done, we’re all done.

I finished swapping my balaclava for my neoprene mask, put my goggles on, they froze and we headed back down. Following directly behind Conrad I couldn’t see where I was stepping through my frozen goggles. Shortly after leaving we ran into the other EMS guides on their way up with their groups. They were all completely lost. Conrad told them Split Rock was almost directly behind us and continued down.

Once we made the Lion’s Head, I started eating. I finished the bagel I’d had earlier and ate a Luna bar too. As we continued down and the trail became less technical, I continued to eat devouring my second bagel and starting another Luna bar. By the time we reached the car my calories were back on track and we were all glad we’d turned around. Conrad was especially grateful. Though he knew he could do it, the stress involved with guiding people through white-outs takes all the fun out of it for him. At least this way we ended it on a good note with lots of adventure and an opportunity to try again next year.

– b