Hidden Courage (Atlantis) (13 page)

Jack began to worry about the route he was taking and the possibility that he wasn’t on a line that would lead him to the top. He checked his watch again. It read
6am
. With daybreak just around the corner, he decided to continue on until it was light.

As the dawn broke, Jack tried to search the upper slopes, but had trouble seeing through the falling snow. It had slowed quite a bit, but not enough to allow for a visual sighting of the summit. As he pressed on, his anxiety began to build and the worry about his direction became more intense.

A few hours later, tired and thirsty, Jack stopped for a moment as he reached another flat area just beyond the steep climb. While sitting in the falling snow, he drank more water and ate a peanut butter sandwich. At his elevation, his body hadn’t quite acclimatized to the altitude, and he was now feeling its ill-effects.

Jack had been climbing for more than twenty-four hours. He knew his body craved energy, but the altitude sickness he was feeling made the thought of food repulsive to him. He knew better than to trust the false feeling, and he forced the sandwich into his mouth anyway. As he was finishing, the snow dramatically slowed.

Instantly, Jack could see the peaks of other mountains extending high above the clouds. He’d seen this sight before when he climbed up above the clouds on
Mount Rainier
in
Washington
State
. The cloud bank extended from ground level up to the exact point that he was sitting. A few feet below him it was snowing, but at his location, the sun was out and it was clear.

Jack immediately realized that if he could see other peaks, then he could probably see the one he was climbing. He turned around and there it was: the summit of Destination B. It was a beautiful sight.

Excited, he stood up and shouldered his pack. He could see the summit and the final slope leading up to it. Scanning the upper regions, he quickly spotted several routes to choose from.

Although climbing straight up the face in front of him seemed to be the shortest distance, he could see several pitches of ice that would need to be negotiated. They would be time-consuming and dangerous.

Off to the right, Jack located a ridgeline that led to the summit. While it, too, was difficult and dangerous, it wasn't nearly as bad as the ridgeline he’d crossed the day before. It appeared wider as well as shorter, and didn't seem to have any appreciable ice buildups.

Leading up to the ridgeline were a set of high angle slopes. They seemed devoid of any ice and would be easy to negotiate. Without further delay, Jack headed off across a series of fluted trenches on his way to the upper slopes and ridgeline.

At Jack's altitude, moving fast was harder to do. The lack of oxygen meant that for every step he took, he’d needed to take a breath of air. Jack’s conditioning was paying off. Even though he needed more breaths of air, he still felt strong and was moving up the final slopes quickly and easily.

After a while, Jack stopped for a drink of water. He hadn’t estimated the duration of the technical climbing accurately, and as a result, the extra work translated into a higher consumption of food and water. He pulled out his water bottle and drank the last drop. He knew it was going to be a long time before he had any more and he grabbed some loose snow and filled the empty bottle in hopes that his body temperature would melt enough to satisfy his thirst later on.

Looking up, he estimated he was only 500 feet from the summit. At the pace he was moving, he figured he’d be standing on the top in less than two hours – that was, if the knife edge went well.

An hour later and 400 feet higher, Jack had climbed the final stretches of the upper slopes. He was now standing at the final ridgeline. Like the one he had crossed below, it had a narrowly ascending ‘catwalk’, about a foot wide, that he would have to balance himself on for nearly a hundred feet. He knew if he fell, instead of tumbling a thousand feet to his death, he would be tumbling in excess of 5,000 feet. The thought was psychologically far more intimidating.

Jack scanned across the ridge and tried to find a better solution for its crossing. Suddenly it hit him. He decided that instead of the scary balancing act, he would stand just below the top, facing it, and shuffle sideways with his arm dangling over the other side and his body slumped over the top. It wasn’t pretty by any stretch of the imagination, but it was much easier and safer.

“I just hope no one sees me doing this,” Jack lamented. “How embarrassing.”

Swallowing his pride, he started his sideways shuffle up and across the ridge, taking care not to catch his crampons on anything. He clutched his ice axes in both hands and readied them at the first sign of trouble.

Little by little he worked his feet and body toward the summit. Looking down over the other side of the ridge, thousands of feet below, sent waves of anxiety throughout his body as he fought to control his fears.

“This sucks,” Jack said to himself under his breath. “…And me without an extra pair of underwear.”

Fifteen minutes later, Jack completed the traverse and pulled himself up onto the final hill that led to the top.

“Oh yes, you're almost in my grasp!” Jack said, as if speaking directly to the mountain's summit.

As he walked to the peak, he could see the mountains all around him. They were still covered in clouds but at a much lower elevation. The weather now slowly started to clear out.

The sky above the clouds was a brilliant blue, and the sun’s rays made the snow crystals sparkle. Jack was tired, not having slept in a day and a half, but felt alive as adrenaline pumped through his body.

A few steps later, Jack had finally achieved his goal. He was now standing on the coffee table-sized summit of Destination B.

“Woohoo!” Jack shouted out at the top of his lungs. “Made it… on top of the world.”

Jack felt the pride of accomplishment. He felt that, from that day forward, he could face anything anywhere and succeed. He sat at his lofty height and dreamed. Life had new meaning for him. He felt like the world was his, and he couldn’t wait to get home to have it.

An hour later, having snapped some photos, he headed down.

The descent consisted of many rappels. Where there was snow, he placed in special anchors called ‘flukes’, rappelled down to the end of his rope, set up another fluke and continued rappelling. On ice, he did the same, placing ice screws and rappelling. If he could walk down safely, he did so. The descent carried into darkness, taking more than twelve hours in all to descend to the first night's bivouac just above the northern ridgeline.

Looking at his tiny snow cave, he said affectionately, “Home, sweet home.”

Jack had been climbing for nearly two days straight and was delirious with exhaustion. As he pulled the rope down from the final anchor, he crawled on his hands and knees to the backpack he had stowed two days before. He rolled on his back and rested a moment. He knew he needed water, but all he wanted to do was sleep.

Through his exhaustion, he said, “Okay, let’s get the show on the road.”

Jack rolled over and reached for the pack inside the mini cave. He reached in and pulled out his stove, pot, bivy bag and his sleeping bag. With what little strength he had left, he managed to melt some snow while he placed his sleeping bag inside the bivy bag.

At his exhaustion level, even the simplest of tasks were difficult. What should have taken ten minutes took thirty.Having already gotten inside his bag, Jack turned off his cooking stove and drank the melted snow from the pot, nearly burning his lips and fingers in the process. The drink was as satisfying as any he had ever had, and he finished the entire contents. With that chore accomplished, he dropped the pot where he laid and threw his head back.

His sleep came fast; nearly the instant his head came to rest. There were no dreams. He did not move. He slept deeply, as his body desperately fought to heal itself from the ravages of exhaustion.

DAY
4

Jack woke the next day as the sun’s rays beat down upon his face. He was still exhausted, but couldn’t continue his rest with the brilliance that radiated off the snow and pierced his eyes.

He sat up and leaned against the side of the mountain, trying to clear the fog from his mind. Severely dehydrated and thirsty, he lit his stove and melted more snow for water. In his pack he found a stick of pepperoni he had forgotten and made quick work of it while he quenched his thirst.

As he sat and rested, he took in the magnificence of the mountains around him. Aside from an occasional light wind that streamed on by, the silence seemed thunderous. There were no characteristic sounds of humanity anywhere: no machinery or voices. The sound of animal life and nature were equally nonexistent, as there were no barking dogs, chirping birds or leaves and grasses that rustled in the wind. Jack sat and heard nothing. It was very peaceful, yet somewhat unsettling.

An hour later, Jack felt stronger and awake enough to descend the last 1,000 feet to the snowfield below. He repacked up his gear, then scouted for a safe descent route.

The northern ridgeline, with its snowy face, was too risky to descend from. Jack worked his way around to the eastern face, directly above the snowfield. He found an area more suitable and descended by rappel. The descent was non-eventful and, three hours later, he was down on the snowfield and crossing to his now snow-covered plane.

The previous day’s weather left more snow on the snowfield. As Jack trudged across, his boots sunk in up to his knees, and the sun’s rays bore down on him, forcing him to strip down to his t-shirt to stay cool. As the tiny speck of a plane grew in size, so did Jack’s motivation. He picked up the pace and muscled his way through the deep snow. Soaked in sweat and exhausted from post holing for two hours, Jack finally reached his plane.

Just as the snowfield was covered under a blanket of fresh new snow, so was Jack’s plane. Using a climber’s shovel, Jack carefully removed all the snow as he prepared it for his flight back to the small airport in San Ramon. The day’s chores ended late.

It was nearly
5pm
when he finished. With only two hours of sunlight left, there wasn’t enough time to fly back safely. He would need to stay another night.

DAY
5

The following morning, Jack woke ready for his next adventure: the flight off the snowfield. He didn’t waste any more time melting snow for water or preparing anymore food. He figured he could treat himself to those luxuries back at the airport.

Finishing his preflight, he jumped back into the plane and ran through his checklist to start the engine. With everything set, he turned the key and waited for the sight of the propeller windmilling and the engine cranking. He heard nothing. Looking down at the key, he turned it to off, then back to ‘engage’ to start the engine. Still there was nothing but dead silence. Frantically, he turned the key back and forth several times, hoping there was just a bad connection – but again there was only silence.

Jack sat thinking. He could hear the sound of his breathing in the quiet cockpit.

“Shit, the freakin’ battery’s dead!” he exclaimed, coming to grips with the reality of his situation.

Jack decided to try hand-starting the propeller – ‘propping’, as it is called in aviation jargon. He left the key in the ‘on’ position, loosely tied his door open, then came around to the front to ‘prop’ the propeller.

He spun the propeller slowly around a couple of times to loosen things up inside the engine, then grabbed the top blade of the propeller and pulled down hard on it. As the propeller rotated down half a turn, nothing happened. The engine sat quiet.

“It’s a lawnmower engine… can’t expect it to pop on the first try,” Jack said to himself.

He grabbed the top of the blade again and pulled down hard, rotating it a half turn through its cycle. Still the engine sat silent. He repeated the process many more times over the next fifteen minutes, each time becoming more frantic in his actions.