Iceaxe
05-16-2006, 06:16 PM
I have been cleaning out my computer and here is anther story I found that you might enjoy..... I wrote this one in 2002...
Fortress Canyon
By Anonymous Coward
The best trips are to canyons that have seldom been visited before. One such trip was the first documented descent of Fortress Canyon. Abrupt cliffs, swirling water and high altitude all devise to make this chasm a most inaccessible and lethal place. No known crusade had ever been launched into this threatening abyss.
It was before daylight on a cool autumn day when we departed camp and began climbing the long approach ridge. Our group consisted of two experienced canyoneers and one gumbie, which is the disdainful name often given to novice climbers and canyoneers. At over 3,500-meters in altitude our lungs burned as we trekked upward. The thoughts that are always foremost in our minds during first descents are what if the canyon gets too narrow to scramble through, what if the current is to swift and what is the biggest drop? An earlier scouting trip to the bottom of the canyon gave us plenty of motivation since we knew the route contained several rappels and a long, deep section of narrows. We were also concerned about a section of canyon where the stream appeared to retreat underground for a distance. Although our original scouting trip had been in summer we were forced to wait until autumn for the stream flow to decrease to a somewhat manageable 0.9 cubic meters per second. We entered the canyon high to get above the upper cascades that begin carving the canyon. The first few obstacles were in a shallow slot that contained many short down climbable drops. Soon the canyon narrowed to a constricted slot with polished limestone walls.
The first rappel was from a small pine tree growing from the canyon wall. This 15-meter rappel was rather straightforward and deposited us in a cold, deep pool that requires a short swim to exit. Pulling down the ropes cut off our retreat and committed us to a complete descent.
The second rappel was from a chockstone at ground level. This created a swinging start under the waterfall. Caution was the name of the game as we were all aware of the care needed while using 8mm ropes.
This led us down to the third rappel of 45-meters. We anchored this rappel from logs placed across the top of the drop. The canyon walls narrowed to less than 50 centimeters wide and 150-meters in depth. The canyon was very dark and dramatic as it snaked its way through the limestone with the stream roaring through. The stream current in this narrow slot was agitating and great care was required to stop from being swept down canyon and jammed under rocks or logs. The roar of the cascading water was deafening.
A long section of swimming through the deep dark slot deposited us at the top of the fourth rappel. Three knot-chokes wedged into a crack created a usable anchor. If possible we did not intend to use our bag of courage, which some referrer to as a bolt kit. Our belief is that bolts are to be used in emergencies only and not as a method of dumbing down the canyon to serve up gumbies. This 25-meter rappel dropped into a pitch-black pit. It was necessary to dig out our headlamps to see in the bottom of the pit. At first it appeared that we were trapped as the water disappeared out the bottom of the devil pit. After a bit of searching we found a hole in the chaos of logs and debris at the buttocks of the pit. A bit of squeezing and rearranging would allow us to crawl out the rectum of the devil pit.
We sent our smallest experienced canyoneer through the debris squeeze first with little problem. Keeping with good safety habits we next sent our gumbie through the squeeze. It’s always a good idea to have a gumbie surrounded by experience on top and bottom. About midway through the squeeze the gumbie began screaming uncontrollably. With the roar of the water it was impossible to make out his words. I assumed he had become claustrophobic and so I began screaming at the dumbass to hurry through since it was not that difficult or life threatening. I quickly followed the gumbie into the squeeze so I could shove him out the bottom if necessary. Soon the imbecile was out of the squeeze and I could still hear his uncontrolled screaming.
Midway through the squeeze I looked up and discovered what had caused the screaming. My stomach took a turn as my lunch attempted to race up my throat. I was looking into the hollow eye sockets of a decomposing corpse trapped in the debris. At one time those eye sockets might have contained warm loving eyes filled with the flicker of life but now they were completely empty, as the varmints had eaten away at the face. The soft tender flesh of the eyes is usually the first to be eaten.
Funny what goes through your mind at such an instant? In what seemed like hours but was probably only several seconds I remember thinking: I owe the gumbie a big apology, I wonder what happened to this poor dead wretch and what do we do now. But mostly I remember thinking to myself, do not scream or you will lose your ice water in the veins, cool under fire reputation. I already knew this story would be told around the campfires for years to come and I didn’t want the story to end with my screaming uncontrollably while running down the canyon. After all, image counts and style points are everything when shit hits the fan.
My first realistic action was to get my ass out of the squeeze; it was much to grotesque to be spending quality time with a rotting corpse.
Exiting the squeeze our small experienced canyoneer asked if it was true. Having regained my composer I nonchalantly asked if “what was true?” It was obviously no longer a life and death situation for the corpse and a great opportunity to enhance a well-cultivated mister cool reputation. Ever notice how diligent men work to screw with their buddy? It’s all part of the game and my part at the moment was to make him ask, “is there really a dead guy in the squeeze”? After the question was asked I delivered my well thought out response with the cockiness of a gunfighter “Oh that, yeah there is a dead guy in there but I don’t think he noticed us”. Gallows humor to help keep me from screaming and cool under fire reputation enhanced, all in one shot.
After all this manly banter it was time to decide what to do next. We needed to report this to the proper authorities as soon as possible. We also knew we would have to lead them back and show them the location of the body. There were no volunteers to stay with the corpse and keep him company so we all headed down canyon.
The next obstacle in the canyon was a 5-meter waterfall into a deep crystal clear pool that allowed us to jump instead of rappel. We rigged a crude rope ladder made from webbing at this point that would allow us to climb up the waterfall in the near future. It was our intent to fix the canyon if possible to allow Search and Rescue (SAR) to reach the corpse the fastest and easiest way possible.
The fifth and what turned out to be the last rappel was 45-meters and anchored from a chokestone. We fixed this drop with our second rope. After a few swims and a couple of short jumps we were back in familiar territory at the base of the canyon.
We cached all our technical gear since we knew that we had to come back and it would lighten our load for the trek out to the road. We made the 7-kilometer dash to the car in 2 hours, which was remarkable considering the terrain we had to cross. This same distance took us nearly 4 hours on our earlier reconnaissance of the canyon.
Next was a 50-kilometer drive to the nearest ranger station where help and a SAR team could be assembled. It was getting dark and we were exhausted. It was decided that we would lead the SAR team in at first light. The rangers told us the only known person missing in the area was a cross-country skier who had vanished in the spring.
At first light we hiked back to the lower end of the chasm and led the SAR team back to our gloomy discovery. It only took the SAR team a few moments to tentatively identify the body as belonging to the cross-country skier. It appeared that he had skied into the chasm and was unable to escape, or perhaps he had skied over a snow bridge hiding the narrow, hidden canyon and it had given way. The body was badly decomposed and a cause of death might never be certain.
I suddenly had an aching desire to return home and hug my wife and kids. It was obvious that it was going to take many hours and lots of manpower to free the body and haul it out. It appeared that we were just getting in the way of the trained SAR team so we hiked out with the intention of returning home. We stopped by the ranger station on the way out to see if there was anything else they need from us. We were told thanks for the help and told they had the situation under control.
As we were leaving the ranger station a truck pulled up carrying the missing skiers wife and brother. As I walked to my rental Jeep I couldn’t help looking into their eyes and seeing a burning sadness shadowing the fire of life. I had looked into many eyes over the last few days and had come to understand the meaning of “the eyes are the window to the soul”.
:eek2:
Fortress Canyon
By Anonymous Coward
The best trips are to canyons that have seldom been visited before. One such trip was the first documented descent of Fortress Canyon. Abrupt cliffs, swirling water and high altitude all devise to make this chasm a most inaccessible and lethal place. No known crusade had ever been launched into this threatening abyss.
It was before daylight on a cool autumn day when we departed camp and began climbing the long approach ridge. Our group consisted of two experienced canyoneers and one gumbie, which is the disdainful name often given to novice climbers and canyoneers. At over 3,500-meters in altitude our lungs burned as we trekked upward. The thoughts that are always foremost in our minds during first descents are what if the canyon gets too narrow to scramble through, what if the current is to swift and what is the biggest drop? An earlier scouting trip to the bottom of the canyon gave us plenty of motivation since we knew the route contained several rappels and a long, deep section of narrows. We were also concerned about a section of canyon where the stream appeared to retreat underground for a distance. Although our original scouting trip had been in summer we were forced to wait until autumn for the stream flow to decrease to a somewhat manageable 0.9 cubic meters per second. We entered the canyon high to get above the upper cascades that begin carving the canyon. The first few obstacles were in a shallow slot that contained many short down climbable drops. Soon the canyon narrowed to a constricted slot with polished limestone walls.
The first rappel was from a small pine tree growing from the canyon wall. This 15-meter rappel was rather straightforward and deposited us in a cold, deep pool that requires a short swim to exit. Pulling down the ropes cut off our retreat and committed us to a complete descent.
The second rappel was from a chockstone at ground level. This created a swinging start under the waterfall. Caution was the name of the game as we were all aware of the care needed while using 8mm ropes.
This led us down to the third rappel of 45-meters. We anchored this rappel from logs placed across the top of the drop. The canyon walls narrowed to less than 50 centimeters wide and 150-meters in depth. The canyon was very dark and dramatic as it snaked its way through the limestone with the stream roaring through. The stream current in this narrow slot was agitating and great care was required to stop from being swept down canyon and jammed under rocks or logs. The roar of the cascading water was deafening.
A long section of swimming through the deep dark slot deposited us at the top of the fourth rappel. Three knot-chokes wedged into a crack created a usable anchor. If possible we did not intend to use our bag of courage, which some referrer to as a bolt kit. Our belief is that bolts are to be used in emergencies only and not as a method of dumbing down the canyon to serve up gumbies. This 25-meter rappel dropped into a pitch-black pit. It was necessary to dig out our headlamps to see in the bottom of the pit. At first it appeared that we were trapped as the water disappeared out the bottom of the devil pit. After a bit of searching we found a hole in the chaos of logs and debris at the buttocks of the pit. A bit of squeezing and rearranging would allow us to crawl out the rectum of the devil pit.
We sent our smallest experienced canyoneer through the debris squeeze first with little problem. Keeping with good safety habits we next sent our gumbie through the squeeze. It’s always a good idea to have a gumbie surrounded by experience on top and bottom. About midway through the squeeze the gumbie began screaming uncontrollably. With the roar of the water it was impossible to make out his words. I assumed he had become claustrophobic and so I began screaming at the dumbass to hurry through since it was not that difficult or life threatening. I quickly followed the gumbie into the squeeze so I could shove him out the bottom if necessary. Soon the imbecile was out of the squeeze and I could still hear his uncontrolled screaming.
Midway through the squeeze I looked up and discovered what had caused the screaming. My stomach took a turn as my lunch attempted to race up my throat. I was looking into the hollow eye sockets of a decomposing corpse trapped in the debris. At one time those eye sockets might have contained warm loving eyes filled with the flicker of life but now they were completely empty, as the varmints had eaten away at the face. The soft tender flesh of the eyes is usually the first to be eaten.
Funny what goes through your mind at such an instant? In what seemed like hours but was probably only several seconds I remember thinking: I owe the gumbie a big apology, I wonder what happened to this poor dead wretch and what do we do now. But mostly I remember thinking to myself, do not scream or you will lose your ice water in the veins, cool under fire reputation. I already knew this story would be told around the campfires for years to come and I didn’t want the story to end with my screaming uncontrollably while running down the canyon. After all, image counts and style points are everything when shit hits the fan.
My first realistic action was to get my ass out of the squeeze; it was much to grotesque to be spending quality time with a rotting corpse.
Exiting the squeeze our small experienced canyoneer asked if it was true. Having regained my composer I nonchalantly asked if “what was true?” It was obviously no longer a life and death situation for the corpse and a great opportunity to enhance a well-cultivated mister cool reputation. Ever notice how diligent men work to screw with their buddy? It’s all part of the game and my part at the moment was to make him ask, “is there really a dead guy in the squeeze”? After the question was asked I delivered my well thought out response with the cockiness of a gunfighter “Oh that, yeah there is a dead guy in there but I don’t think he noticed us”. Gallows humor to help keep me from screaming and cool under fire reputation enhanced, all in one shot.
After all this manly banter it was time to decide what to do next. We needed to report this to the proper authorities as soon as possible. We also knew we would have to lead them back and show them the location of the body. There were no volunteers to stay with the corpse and keep him company so we all headed down canyon.
The next obstacle in the canyon was a 5-meter waterfall into a deep crystal clear pool that allowed us to jump instead of rappel. We rigged a crude rope ladder made from webbing at this point that would allow us to climb up the waterfall in the near future. It was our intent to fix the canyon if possible to allow Search and Rescue (SAR) to reach the corpse the fastest and easiest way possible.
The fifth and what turned out to be the last rappel was 45-meters and anchored from a chokestone. We fixed this drop with our second rope. After a few swims and a couple of short jumps we were back in familiar territory at the base of the canyon.
We cached all our technical gear since we knew that we had to come back and it would lighten our load for the trek out to the road. We made the 7-kilometer dash to the car in 2 hours, which was remarkable considering the terrain we had to cross. This same distance took us nearly 4 hours on our earlier reconnaissance of the canyon.
Next was a 50-kilometer drive to the nearest ranger station where help and a SAR team could be assembled. It was getting dark and we were exhausted. It was decided that we would lead the SAR team in at first light. The rangers told us the only known person missing in the area was a cross-country skier who had vanished in the spring.
At first light we hiked back to the lower end of the chasm and led the SAR team back to our gloomy discovery. It only took the SAR team a few moments to tentatively identify the body as belonging to the cross-country skier. It appeared that he had skied into the chasm and was unable to escape, or perhaps he had skied over a snow bridge hiding the narrow, hidden canyon and it had given way. The body was badly decomposed and a cause of death might never be certain.
I suddenly had an aching desire to return home and hug my wife and kids. It was obvious that it was going to take many hours and lots of manpower to free the body and haul it out. It appeared that we were just getting in the way of the trained SAR team so we hiked out with the intention of returning home. We stopped by the ranger station on the way out to see if there was anything else they need from us. We were told thanks for the help and told they had the situation under control.
As we were leaving the ranger station a truck pulled up carrying the missing skiers wife and brother. As I walked to my rental Jeep I couldn’t help looking into their eyes and seeing a burning sadness shadowing the fire of life. I had looked into many eyes over the last few days and had come to understand the meaning of “the eyes are the window to the soul”.
:eek2: