One of the ironies of brain injury is that while it can make some things impossible, other activities remain unaffected. My 2002 auto accident made it so difficult for me to work that I eventually applied for and was granted a disability pension through the national church. I had tried to continue in my role as priest for a full year, but eventually had to admit it was not good for the parish or me. I chose to move to Tucson so that I could be outside year round, for it is in nature that I feel capable and at peace.
Each summer for the past five years or so my younger daughter Martha and I have travelled the western United States going to National Parks in order to hike and climb. We do technical roots with ropes and gear, as well as casual hikes that require nothing more than a bottle of water. Somehow or other we got the notion, while negotiating the bottom reaches of the Grand Teton in Wyoming, that alpine climbing, as opposed to rock climbing, would be more to Martha’s tastes. So we decided to start at the top, and attempt Denali, aka Mt. McKinley, the highest mountain in North America.
Now I’ve got some alpine experience under my belt. I climbed the Matterhorn at age 12, and Mt. Blanc, the highest mountain in western Europe at age 13. At 16 I climbed Monte Rosa, the highest mountain in Switzerland. These were snow trudges that compare to some extent with Denali, but are really small jaunts. Martha and I amassed gear, and more importantly studied the problem this mountain represents to those who would climb it.
The first problem with Denali is that it’s very far north, somewhere around the 65th parallel. Being a polar peak, by far the highest in the world at that latitude, it has way less atmospheric pressure than mountains even much higher nearer the equator. The second problem is that it’s near the ocean, and thus has less predictable weather and much more moisture to cause trouble. Finally, the approach to the summit, which is 15.5 miles long, is mostly along glaciers with deep, hidden crevasses waiting for the unwary. Martha and I studied the literature, which is voluminous, made our reservations with the Park Service and a flying service, and drove to Alaska at the end of last May.
The idea was to climb Mt. Shasta and Mt. Rainier on the way up, to refresh our alpine skills, or build them from nothing, as the case may be. We made it about 1/3 of the way up Shasta before we were stormed off the mountain, and didn’t even get to start on Rainier for the same reason. It was a very wet, snowy winter, and both mountains were pretty much unclimbable that early in the season. So off to Alaska we drove, arriving at the end of the first week in June.
Typical Denali expeditions take three weeks from glacier landing to takeoff, but good weather let us advance more quickly. There are five camps on the way up, and they get more difficult to reach than the previous one. Martha had an attack of altitude sickness at the second camp, that delayed us but didn’t stop us. We reached Camp 4, Basin Camp, on day 8, which is quite quick by local standards. On the one hand this meant that we had plenty of supplies. On the other, it meant that we weren’t as acclimated as we might be. On day 9 I climbed alone to Camp 5 at 17,200 feet and set up a borrowed tent and left supplies. I returned that day and after another night at Camp 4, climbed with Martha to High Camp where we spent two nights and parts of three days. We were kept in the tent by snow and cold temperatures, and it wasn’t until day three that the weather was stable and good. The only problems were that the new snow was unstable, and would require several days to become firm, and low temperatures and high winds were discouraging any summit attempts. In view of this and our weakened state, we descended on day 12 to Basin Camp, and the next day to Base camp and our awaiting airplane.
In retrospect, we realize that Denali doesn’t succumb to quick attempts. I made the mistake of bringing only dehydrated food, which lacked fat and therefore energy. By the time we were at High Camp, we were too worn out for the final 3,100 foot push to the top. Further, I left our warmest clothes at Basin Camp, thinking we had done just fine in our intermediate gear up to that point. Granted, but the summit push is unlike any other on the mountain, and requires everything to be just right if it is to be completed. There was a man dead in his tent at 17,200 feet while we were there, who had made the summit and returned in 19 hours, only to die from exhaustion. Eight people died that season, I believe, making it one of the worst on the mountain. Three people we met who had climbed Everest said that it was a good warm up for Denali.
So we made it back in one piece, and Martha has given it a second try with a different group of climbers, not her father. Sad to say she didn’t make it this time either, as she just couldn’t stay warm above Basin Camp. She got to 16,000 feet, and decided that she needed to turn around. I’m happy to say she got higher with me. If I weren’t so darned old, I’d go back again. Her great quote, “The problem was there was nobody who loved me who would carry all my shit for me.”
