(Courtesy of Alan Arnette - AlanArnette.com) I just recieved a nice email from Di
telling me about her, Ian's and Wilco's rescue of the Spainish climber
from a crevasse below C1 on Broad. She was kind enough to give me
permission to post it. Well done ! Enjoy! ------------
Ian and I did not get a decent summit
attempt. We made 4 forays up the mountain, perhaps one too many because
the tiredness just caught up with me eventually. The third foray,
potentially our most promising, was terminated by the onset of bad
weather. On the forth attempt at the mountain I moved very happily and
quickly from Base to Camp 1, then to Camp 2. But above Camp 2 I really
suffered from altitude and fatigue, and decided to turn back as I was
suffering from bad dizziness and black spots appearing in my vision.
Ian made the decision to descend with me. That night I faced up to the
bitter disappointment of not even reaching 7000m, let alone the summit,
and contemplated the unthinkable: why do I climb? Had I failed myself
in not reaching my aims? Should I be climbing with Ian? Is it all worth
the financial, emotional and physical effort that goes into this sport?
Where did we get it wrong? These dark thoughts faded with the
brightness of morning, and we set off on our final descent of Broad
Peak.
But the story did not end there. At the base of the mountain we walked past the usual spot where
people take off their crampons, and continued onto the scree. There we
sat down to eat and drink some, both of us exhausted under the weight
of fully loaded packs. About 15 minutes later a Spanish climber came
down. Whereas we had walked around a newly opened crevasse, he jumped
over it, then backtracked, leaned over, and shouted into the crevasse
“Ola, como estas?” It took a moment for us to realise what had
happened: a climber had fallen about 10m into the crevasse! The
Spaniard then turned to us “Chorda?” Do we have rope to initiate a
rescue? We did. I think Ian was one of the few climbers on that
mountain to carry a rope. He had been concerned about cravasses between
the higher camps, as well as the exposed summit ridge. We also had all
our gear on us as we were now finished on the mountain. It was one of
those marvellous co-incidences of being in the right place at the right
time to be able to help. We were unable to set up an anchor as the snow was soft, so we
relied on the old heave-ho, the Spaniard, Ian, me, then joined by
another Spanish girl, all just pulling as hard as we could, and slowly
hoisting the injured climber (also a Spanish climber, but from another
team). Wilco arrived just as we were hauling Jose to the surface, and
he joined in and helped as well. Jose was in shock and hypothermic (he
was complete saturated from the melt water in the crevasse), with a bad
cut across his head and ear. He could not stand, and could hardly even
tell us his name (Jose). His ear was full of blood, and we simply did
not know the extent of his injury, if it was superficial or a skull
injury. We had to carry him a short distance to avoid the immediate
zone of rockfall that we were in. Wilco phoned his doctor in Holland,
and the Spanish climbers left for Base Camp to let Jose’s expedition
know what had happened and to notify the doctor. The next two hours
were nerve wracking. I held Jose’s hand and spoke to him (with my lack
of Spanish and Jose’s lack of English I am not sure if he understood a
thing, but I had to do something). He would shiver uncontrollably, and
now and then his face would screw up in pain. But slowly he warmed up
and the shock subsided, and started talking and thanking us, and
smiling. Then the funniest thing happened. The Spanish doctor arrived down
from Camp 2. He did some rudimentary tests (How many fingers am I
holding up?), “thumped” Jose on the neck, chest and back, then said
“You are ok, it will be dark and cold in two hours so you have to get
up and walk out”. And Jose, whom an hour previously we thought would
have to be heli-lifted out, got up and walked out (slowly, yes, but
walking nevertheless…). Even he later joked about it. “The doctor said
I was ok, so who was I to argue with that?!” Being part (even if it was just a small part) of the team that saved
someone’s life is both completely overwhelming and very humbling. It
completely changed my experience on the mountain – it really put the
lack of summit into perspective - and is something I will never forget.
My experience on Broad Peak was unforgettable. It was wonderful to
get to know all the climbers, FTA/ATP/you did a great job in the
organisation and smooth running of the trip, the weather was kind to us
most of the time, I had an utterly exhausting but really rewarding
climb, and most of all we all got home safely. That is the most
important part. I am not sure what our next climb will be, but I know
without doubt that there will be many more.
Comments