by Erin Mauldin
Crunch, crunch. Pull the ice axe out and place it again.
Crunch, crunch.
The sun beats down mercilessly.
I look up. Extending before me is an endless staircase. Steps carved in snow.
Crunch, crunch. My weight sinks in with every step.
I’m up to my knees in snow.
The crampons are useless.
Ryan effortlessly pulls ahead of me. The summit effortlessly pulls ahead of me.
Head down, crunch, crunch.
A sense of urgency. We shouldn’t still be going up. The snow is getting softer and softer. Descent will be dicey.
I push myself hard. When will you be on Teewinot again?
Not for another year.
Work now, rest later. Legs screaming, I step as quickly as I can. Exhaustion from a midnight departure is setting in. I see Ryan at the summit.
Ragged breathing. Crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch.
Made it.
Grand Teton National Park spreads out below me. The lakes glisten in the early morning; light twinkles off the wake from the ferry. I peer over the other side of Teewinot; a steep, jumbled, stony expanse meets my eye. Ryan takes the obligatory summit shots; the mountains in the background jostle for attention in the photo.
The true summit, a ragged line of big boulders (perhaps ten feet higher than we are) tempts us, beckoning us higher. Too dangerous, we agree. Especially with crampons.
We do not tarry long. The sun has been shining on the snow for many hours now. Ryan starts down. His endurance is greater than mine. I follow at a more sedate pace.
I break through two steps for each one of Ryan’s. I am pushing through fog in my mind. I become more and more careless with each placement of my ice axe.
We see Scott, the third member of our party, waiting in the shade of the ridge. His white beard contrasts with the dark, round sunglasses, cherry helmet, and cobalt windbreaker. He is apologetic for holding us up and not continuing on. I am upset that he is embarrassed about his attempt, for Ryan and I are impressed with his turnout. He’s fifty-six and was the one who invited me on this endeavor.
Scott came to the Tetons at fifteen and fell in love with the mountains. He started climbing and returned often. He had promised to come to the Tetons for a month once he retired and had now done so. That’s the type of longevity I want in this sport.
Ryan is still in front. I follow. Scott comes next.
Ryan is somewhere in his late teens, early twenties. He has black, curly hair and is from Missouri. I summited my first Teton with him, Scott, Adam (another Climbers’ Ranch friend), and my brother. We all met each other at the Climbers’ Ranch.
We get to the rock wall, framed by narrow snow chutes. This was the only technical part of the ascent. I go with Ryan down the rocks; the same way we came up. Scott opts to try the snow chute. I am somewhat jolted from my fatigue by the down climbing. We balance precariously on the rock with our crampon points. The potential for slipping is high.
Back on snow, we wait for Scott.
Our descent route dodges between several avalanche runnels to the right where snow empties off of the face and small crevasses to the left, with bits of rock poking through menacingly.
I face inward and follow Ryan’s steps down, placing my ice axe every few steps. I post hole past my thighs in the slushy snow. The monotony of the routine lulls me into carelessness. I imagine getting down, eating dinner, and telling the story to my family at the Climbers’ Ranch.
My brother, sisters, and dad are in another part of the Tetons. They are attempting the Paintbrush Divide, a nineteen-mile loop several mountains and valleys to the north of me. For the past six years, we have come to the Grand Tetons and stayed at the Climbers’ Ranch. My life has been shaped by the summers I spent hiking, hammering, drilling, kayaking, restoring, and climbing at the Ranch and in the mountains.
I slip through Ryan’s steps easily. One leg occasionally goes faster. I am then balanced with one leg in my chest and the other hanging free.
With my right foot I step. The snow under it never stops. My left leg stays where it is until my right leg goes too far and I can no longer balance.
Into the debris runnel I tumble over backwards.
I see blue bits of sky. Flashes of rock. Maybe my ice axe.
I feel uncontrollably fast. I have no idea why.
Realization hits with the first rock. My head and shoulders bash into something hard and sharp.
I scream.
I lost the grip on my ice axe when I fell. I feel it banging around. It is attached to my wrist with a leash.
My legs go over my head. I am pitched to my side. I can’t tell exactly where my limbs are.
Like Wesley in the Princess Bride, I tumble; totally out of control.
Flooded with helplessness.
I’m going to die.
I need to stop.
I need to stop if I don’t want to die.
Instinct tells me to roll into the slope to self-arrest.
I have no control over the ice axe.
I have no control over my body.
Something in my mind clicks. I push the loop of the leash off my hand.
I am rolled over again.
THUD.
A sudden loss of momentum. Snow is cascading down on me. I cover my head; I know the ice axe is still loose above me.
The runnel drops off again before me. It finally levels out hundreds and hundreds of feet below. I am stupefied for many seconds. I don’t know how I stopped; I could have just as easily not have. I shudder at that. What do I do now?
I landed on my left leg. It is out in front of me and my right leg is buried behind me in the slope. My left ankle starts to throb. As I try to get my right leg back from the slope, an intolerable pain radiates from my hip. I cry out in agony.
I don’t yell for help, because I don’t require saving immediately.
“Hello,” I tentatively call.
From the direction I least expect – below – a voice calls out, “Hold on, I’m coming.” Someone must be on the way up.
Within two minutes, a helmeted head appears from below the runnel. He proceeds to introduce himself (Christian Santelices, an Exum guide) and asks my name and age.
My forehead is bleeding. I can tell by the concerned look on his face as he glances at my head. He takes my helmet off and checks for signs of head or neck damage. He asks if I lost consciousness (no), whether I know the date (June 24, a Tuesday) and where I am (Teewinot). The helmet probably saved my life.
Ryan shows up after a few minutes. That’s scary because he was far ahead of me when I fell.
When Christian ascertains that I probably didn’t break my neck or concuss myself, they move me out of the runnel. I cannot raise my right leg for the pain is too strong in my hip. They half carry, half support me to the platform they stamped out with their feet. I have to maneuver myself with my arms.
I’m still in my crampons. Christian asks if my pants are waterproof (no). He wants to be able to see if I’m bleeding. How did I not stab myself with those twelve sharp points on each foot?
Christian’s client is waiting patiently below. Christian sets several anchors with the ice axes and belays him up. Scott joins the party and is just as worried as everyone else.
My left ankle is throbbing. It feels like any other twisted ankle, except the pain doesn’t subside no matter how I move it. My hip is fine unless I try to move my legs or upper body. Something tissue-like feels torn or stretched in it. I feel an ache develop in my elbow. To make matters worse, my pinky is a little crooked and twice the size it should be. I cannot believe that this is all the damage I sustained.
Christian calls the Jenny Lake Ranger Station and they decide on a helicopter rescue due to the nature of my injuries and our location on the mountain. We are at about 11,000 feet. The start of the trail off of the snow slope is over 2,000 feet below.
Christian is antsy. He checks my spinal cord for sore spots several times. He finally makes me lie down. I drink and eat as the sun beats down cruelly. One lens of my sunglasses popped out when I fell, so I see the mountain in two different colors. Everyone tries to cheer me up. Scott asks, “Why are you smiling?”
“Because I’m not left-handed.”
We all laugh and discuss lines from The Princess Bride.
I feel miserable, though. The injuries don’t help, but I’ve dealt with pain before. It’s the shame that’s eating me up. I feel so irresponsible for disrupting these people’s days and lives. Christian’s client won’t summit today. Scott and Ryan feel guilty for letting me fall. I am endangering multiple other rangers for they have to come rescue me.
I am ashamed for having fallen.
My mom’s going to freak out.
My dad is going to kill me for doing something so stupid.
I don’t know how to tell Christian that my family cannot afford a helicopter rescue.
I have a hard time reconciling myself with my mistake.
The hours we wait for the helicopter are hell for I cannot forgive myself.
Once the helicopter comes, I am packaged in the litter, and then lifted from the face of Teewinot. After such a harrowing escape, reflecting seems apropos as I dangle from the helicopter, suspended thousands of feet in the air. At least I’m alive. The other problems seem insignificant at this point. I’ll be able to see my family’s faces again. I don’t think I could have forgiven myself if I didn’t survive.
It’s not every day you face your own mortality.