Enlightening stuff. I've been trying to get into technical climbing in the past six months but really haven't had the time to perfect my skills. Looks like the Tusk would be a place for us to avoid this go-around...glad I stopped by this forum before the trip!
Indeed and written from the heart by one who KNOWS (Boot Canyon 1 Cougar):
In an unparraled example of my exercise of poor judgment, I overestimated my strength when I ascended the chimney at the highest point in the Northeast Gap of Elephant’s Tusk. Thus, I found myself unable to later descend the chimney.
Subsequently—after scrambling to the south ramp and investigating possible alternate routes, which I found infested with about 50-70% crumbling rock—I also concluded that there were no viable alternate descent routes within my current physical strength.
Thus, on December 30, I spent the night about 10 feet below the highest point in the Northeast Gap of Elephant Tusk, on the South ramp. By about 10 or 11 p.m., the wind picked up, with frequent gusts of 50 mph (or greater—at times it seemed like 70+ mph). I doubt that the night temperature ever exceeded 30F, and I suspect were nearer 20F in the coldest parts of the night.
Only the good Lord--who in kind forgiveness for my poor judgment, decided to spare my life that night—knows the details of the temperature, wind speed and wind chill. Thank God that there was no moisture in the air. And even without the moisture in the air, I was either hypothermic, or borderline hypothermic, or full blown hypothermic during the night.
My only protection besides my clothing was my emergency blanket, which I wrapped around myself as much as the wind permitted. Without that emergency blanket, I am certain I would have died.
Even with the emergency blanket, survival and death were rubbing against each other. My teeth chattered and my body shivered uncontrollably for hours. During the night I saw the white light at the end of the tunnel twice, but found the strength, somewhere in my soul, to not take that journey.
As usual, I was solo, and was carrying in my pockets my emergency blanket, my LED Photon key chain light, some trail mix, my emergency whistle, my ACR Personal Locater Beacon with onboard GPS, and my standard attire of “leave no skin uncovered" pants, shirt, gloves, and "hat with neck & ears covered by a bonnet.”
I also had a wind/rain suit, down vest, pull over fleece hat, extra water, ample food, additional signaling gear, first aid gear, etc.—in my day pack, which I stupidly left below, about 100 feet from the bottom of the chimney, since I was concerned the day pack would impair my balance. “Hey, I was only going to be up there for 30 minutes at the max, right?” Additional examples of my poor judgment that day.
The heroes of the day are Big Bend Search and Rescue. They saved my life. When I set off my ACR personal locater beacon at sundown (after spending several hours unsuccessfully trying to figure out a solution to my problem), it sent a satellite signal to Langley, Virginia, and Langley concurrently called my family (first speaking to my 15 year old son, who passed the message along to my wife, who--needless to say--was instantly submerged in a pure panic) and Big Bend. Unfortunately, Langley “located me” about ј to 1 mile from my actual location, so SAR was combing the rough country around Elephant’s Tusk—some from 7 pm that evening, until 4 am Sunday morning, when they bivouacked for a few cold, short hours.
And throughout all of this, I had no idea that anyone was down there looking for me. ACR "promises" that if you spring the extra $100.00 for the onboard gps, then the PLB will locate you within a 10 foot area, enabling that SAR to find you within 4 hours, worst case scenario. 4 hours came and went.
The search continued at daylight, with the addition of a helicopter combing the country 2000 feet below me. Until I saw the helicopter, I did not know whether anyone had actually received my PLB signal—and when I saw the helicopter scouring the desert floor, I questioned whether they were looking for me, or possibly searching for someone else in trouble.
After hours of waving my emergency blanket whenever the helicopter would appear below on the desert floor through the Northeast Gap (my perch was in constant shade), God moved one of the pilot’s to look up. They saw me.
When the helicopter saw me, it was so far away from me that it looked to be about ѕ of an inch by 1/16th of an inch—so I know I must have appeared to be the size of an flea. I thought the helicopter had moved on, but suddenly I heard the engine, and it appeared, going west past the north faux summit of Elephant’s Tusk. The pilots gave me a thumbs up, and I melted into sobs and tears. I am unable to describe in words the emotions of that moment.
There is a lot more to the story. As time permits, I’ll try to provide a more detailed report. Presently, I’m still pulling myself back together.
I did, however, want to get this preliminary report out there for anyone else who is considering an Elephant Tusk ascent.
Please do not have the lapses of poor judgment that I had. If you have similar lapses of judgment, you may not be as fortunate.
For those of you who feel inclined to respond that I was stupid to do this solo, to leave my daypack down below, etc. etc.—I’ll save you the time and acknowledge this up front.
My years of solo treks are over. My wife will have the divorce petition filed before I hit the city limits if I recant this pledge!
Have a Happy (and safe) New Year! And God Bless Big Bend Search and Rescue.
Read more:
http://www.bigbendchat.com/portal/forum/your-trip-reports/warning-initial-trip-reportelephant-tuskdecember-3031-t2695.0.html#ixzz0YJjclOTeThe quoted post should be on the short list of most honest and revealing posts ever posted on this website.
The desert is unforgiving. Screw up bad enough and there are no second chances.
Al
