The next time Colby opened his eyes, he recognized the clear, bright light that was distinctive of an Alaskan morning. It was June 19. Beginning to collect his thoughts, he knew he was Colby Coombs; he know he was on a climb, but he was uncertain about other details. Pain permeated his entire body. He was freezing, the cold penetrating through to his bones. His hands were numbs. He looked down and saw he had lose his mittens and had only thin glove liners protecting his hands. In a flash it started coming back. The avalanche. The fall. As he looked around, he realized he was on the steep slope, hanging from the end of a rope. Groggy, he peered up and saw the red 9-mm. line was caught on a protruding rock above him. Now he looked sideways, and there, not ten feet away, was Tom Walter, hanging from the other end of the same rope. The line must have gotten caught on the rock as both climbers fell. Colby could only see the back of Toms parka, but the way his partner hung from that rope aroused in Colby was an unbearable sense of dread. Tom was absolutely still. Suddenly Colby remembered Ritt and glanced down. The 7-mm. rope still trailed below him, but loosely. The end of the line was out of sight somewhere farther down. There was no sign of his friend. Colby couldnt believe he was still alive, but when he tried to move, he felt a sharp, breathtaking pain in his left shoulder. His left ankle ached, and his neck was so immobilized with pain that he couldnt turn his head. To look around, he had to rotate his upper body, which generated more pain from his injured shoulder. And he was so thirsty, his mouth and throat were raw. His mind raced. Could he get to Tom? Could he get to Ritt? Could he ever get down? Life-and-death questions for which he had no answers. Although Colby did not know it at the time, he and his friends had fallen nearly 800 feet and had crashed to a halt just above the rock buttress they had climbed a short time earlier. Colby grabbed an ice tool and edged clumsily over to Tom. His movements were slow and painful. When he arrived next to his friend, Colby could see Toms body was cold and stiff. He felt for a pulse but detected nothing. When he turned him, Toms face was covered completely by what appeared to be snow. Colby tried to brush it away, but it remained in place. Looking closer, he was shocked to realize a hard mark of opaque white ice was frozen onto his friends face. The effect was eerie, as if Toms identity had been taken along with his life. Below the body, a bloody streak stained the frozen slope as far as he could see. The realization that Tom had been killed was horrifying. Colby remembered that his friends wife was arriving in a few days to meet him. Earlier in the climb Tom had commented on his good luck. He and Lisa, his bride of ten months, had planned a sea-kayaking trip from Anchorage in late June, so a few days climbing would be a perfect prelude. He planned to be back down just in time to meet Lisas flight from Montana, where the couple attended university. Now, hanging beside Toms lifeless form, Colby started to feel overwhelmed by the enormity of the tragedy. Then he stopped himself. He was in bad shape and knew he had to focus on what was necessary to survive. Grieving would have to wait. He had to decide what to do next. Colby knew he had to get moving. First, hed need to replace the gear he has lost in the fall. Slowly and painfully he removed Toms right mitten with its shell and liner. Colby put the shell backward on his left hand and put the liner on his right hand. Next, he removed Toms pack and the ice screws hanging from a sling around his neck. Source:(Adapted from Order on Mount Foraker Readers Digest April 1999.)
Posted on: Fri, 18 Apr 2014 10:42:31 +0000
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