Monday, November 16, 2009
Of horses and a sacred volcanoe
Once upon a time; my son Julien, two friends, Sergey Sklyarenko and Igor Korovi, and I climbing a mountain that is just a name in the Bible to most North Americans. It’s situated in Turkish Kurdistan, a land of clouds, lava flows and thunder storms. The name of the mountain is Ararat; The mountain that supposedly cradled Noah’s Ark at the end of the flood. Initially, we set off for an adventure on what we thought would be an altitude only challenge. One has to understand that this is normally a land of dust, yellow grass, black rock and blazing sun. Not this year. Everybody has the same suspect on the tongue; climate change. Rivers overflow, roads are washed away and crops can’t dry.
We stayed in Dogubeyazit, a town near the base of the mountain, for a couple of days to acclimatize, with walks and bus rides to 2000m. We saw lots of men; boys selling anything and everything on the streets, men trying to get us to enter their shops, old men drinking chaï and playing backgammon in an uncountable number of tea shops along the streets. No women.
We then hiked up to the first camp; an easy hike, with horses carrying most of the weight and us carrying a small day pack. We crossed nomad tents where shepherds set camp for the summer with their families. Children running around big black lava boulders, trying to sell us petty crafts to gain a few dollars. Women with babies in their arms, again offering chaï and trying to sell knitted socks and other items they find time to make when they aren’t running the camp or chasing their children. Igor taking a gazillion pictures. We saw sheep and shepherds; only the men roam the mountain with their herds. We easily reached first camp at 3200m. Beer is offered at 8$ a bottle; we drink more chaï.
A thunderstorm hits in the afternoon; thank God for good tents. Good meal in the evening with pasta, vegetables and salad. Moonlit night: everything according to plan.
A second day with an easy climb, going up to 3800m; a foggy camp 2. We arrive at 10:30 AM, set up tent and relax for the afternoon. We leave our horse driver and meet our summit guide. Ahmed is a nice guy who’s been on the mountain for a while and who summated just yesterday. More good meals. We will try the summit in the morning since the clouds seem to leave the mountain from 11:00 PM to 8:00 AM. «Cool»; an afternoon nap and we’ll be ready to go.
Well, the mountain is always full of surprises. The first was a very rainy afternoon, when a group of some 22 Iranians came in to set camp. They apparently planned to climb the same morning as we did. Interesting, considering they arrived directly from Teheran which is almost at sea level. Their plan is to summit in two days.
Up at midnight then, and walking at 1:00 AM after a good breakfast. The snow is hard and good and the climbing is straightforward. Nothing much to talk about apart from the fact that Julien is 17 and that, as a young buck, he is a bit too excited and must be asked to slow down if we don’t want to burn out before the summit. The guide is discreet but I don’t mind. Eventually I assume the lead because Julien is really going to fry everyone including himself, except Sergey. All haven’t acclimatized to the same extent. Bodies sometimes play tricks on us and a fit climber might get high altitude sickness when he least expects it.
We passed the Iranians at 4000 m. By 4200m, they have disappeared into the darkness, swallowed up by the mountain. Terrain gets steeper by 4500 m and we slow down to long switchbacks and a steady slow pace. Perfect sky, beautiful stars, lights in Isak Pasha’s valley far far away. At 4900 m, the temperature suddenly drops by a few degrees and Julien’s hands start getting cold. He’s the strongest, therefore the one working the less. At 4985 m, we stop to put on more clothes. The summit is in view at 5167 m, sitting in all its glory, crisp against the early morning light. It’s 4:10 AM. Smiles on everyone’s faces, we’ll be there in 30 minutes, 45 at the most. It’s going to be wonderful.
I put a foot forward, plant a pole, look up: «sh...».
Like Superman flying over Manhattan, a lenticular cloud jumps the summit, swallows it like a pig swallows its mush and drowns us in a fog that won’t let us see more than 10 feet in front of us. Frustration, disappointment, some would like to finish, some, like me, have lost enough friends on mountains. Retreat.
Beating my head against adversity is never something I handle very well. Like always, it produces an eruption of emotional lava that just wants to explode out of the crater of my eyes. This time is no different. I stop, breathe deep, wipe the tears, get a big hug from my son. Walk on down.
But this adventure is far from over.
A few hundred meters lower, just under the cloud, we meet the Iranians. They are scattered in small groups, some looking good, some in a rather rough shape. One woman is in tears and our guide checks up on her and her partners. I ask if she needs help. «It’s all right» is the answer. Down then, I need a beer.
It’s not been 10 minutes since we left the Iranians that an orange and black meteorite passes us on the right, tumbling down at a heart stopping speed. Sliding and rolling, head over heels, the lady we just saw crying is heading for a pile of rocks after more than 300m of uncontrolled acceleration down a steep snow slope. She hits, bounces, hits again and again, stops. «She’s dead» I think aloud.
No one around us; we have to get to her, see if she’s alive. She sure as heck doesn’t look it from here. Our guide gets there first, with Sergey and Julien on his heels. I go a bit slower to stay with Igor, who’s crampons have been problematic. I don’t want another accident. More than anything, I hope that what Julien see’s is not too traumatic. When I finally get there, the guide has got his arms in the air and seam’s helpless. The only obvious thing: she’s alive.
There is a 20 m long trail of blood to her body, the back of her head is badly bashed in, she is obviously severely concussed but she’s alive. My next thought is; «were going to work so fucking hard»!
«Talk to her»! I hear myself saying. «I don’t care if she doesn’t understand, talk to her so she knows people are here to help». Julien and Sergey get vocal. First decision made. Now the guide wants’ to leave. «You are getting help»? I ask. «Yes, yes» is the answer. «Ok, we’ll stay and keep her together».
We empty packs and use them as heat shields from the cold snow, we cover her with everything we have, we give her a position that seems bearable, trying to move her as little as we can. We try to comfort her in English, French and Russian, languages that are probably as foreign to her as Martian. Only incoherent grunts come as an answer to our efforts.
One hour, two hours, hours during which I dream of a helicopter jumping the cliff. Hours during which all we get is the arrival of a first Iranian, dressed in blue, coming down shouting and panicking at the sight of his friend and then running on down saying he’ll get help. A second one, a lady, comes, sits on a rock and cries. At last, a third that keeps it together and stays. We explain in sign language and whatever we can invent to communicate that all we want him to do is talk to the lady and comfort her in her own language. All this time we use our whistles, we shout, we use a pole and a big Canadian flag; we have to try and get the attention of anyone going up or down.
After another hour, Igor suggests the obvious; «no one is coming, we have to carry». «Wait a few more minutes I say, it’s not cold in the sun and they might just be around the corner». But I know he’s right. It’s been raining every day for weeks now and this little piece of sun is a godsend. I know that if we get caught in the rain today there might be more victims. Igor is the absolute rational. He’s the voice of wisdom right now. «You are right, no one is coming».
Six poles, duct tape and three parkas: a makeshift stretcher. Better move someone away from hypothermia than save her from spinal injury and lose her anyway. Lift, walk 20 meters, lower. Fortunately the slope is not steep, but the snow in soft by now and we know there is more difficult terrain ahead. Lift, walk, lower. Ten times. Fifteen times.
Just before the top of a steep slope; hope. People are coming up. People with a rope and a blue and green camping mattress.
Joseph is a guide from another company. He speaks good English and is fairly fluent in Farsi. He also has a cell phone that works. Finally the possibility to reach authorities we think. No luck though; this is not the end of the road. A call to the local gendarmerie hits a brick wall: «does she have a permit to be on the mountain»? They ask. She does not. «She did not care to buy a permit, we will not care to fly her out» is the answer. We – and she - are on our own.
Fortunately, people draw people. Joseph uses his camping mattress to transform our makeshift stretcher into a decent sleigh. The larger part of the Iranian group is now coming down and more arms are available to slide our victim safely down the snow slopes. In the end, we lower the lady more than a thousand vertical meters with Joseph taking over coordination, speaking to everyone in their respective languages. Naturally, we all find our positions in the chain: Igor and Sergey work themselves to exhaustion on the sleigh. Julien and I are managing the rope to make sure our load’s descent is controlled, me belaying and he coordinating the many hands that are required to make sure the rope flows smoothly. All this time, Julien reveals an incredible talent in multi-tasking, taking on crowd control, carrying most of our gear and coordinating the efforts of men three times his age who are helping with the rope.
When we get to camp 2, a Spanish doctor joins us and again, leadership changes hands. After a quick check of the victim’s vital signs, the sliding descent resumes for another few hundred meters. This is where we let her go. Her group is now completely dedicated in taking her off the mountain. She is then loaded on a horse and walked down to a road where an ambulance will pick her up and take her to a hospital. We have done everything we could. It’s in other people’s hands now.
I don’t know how many fractures this lady had or if she had any. I don’t know how bad her apparent concussion was. I got an Email from one of her climbing partners a couple of weeks later saying she was better. What I do know is that we worked as hard as I had anticipated and we were lucky enough to save a woman’s life. Had we decided to summit despite the bad weather at 5000 m, we would have missed her and she would probably be dead. There might really be a reason for everything. I’m going to have to try and rearrange my Cartesian outlook on life with that one in mind I guess. I still would have liked to summit of course but, thinking back, I can’t help but have a feeling of victory from that day. We had a great time climbing just short of the summit and then we saved a life. I couldn’t be more proud of how my son handled the situation. I don’t feel frustrated. I feel thankful.
Do not get me wrong. Climbing a mountain this high without any time for acclimatization and without crampons or any safety equipment or knowledge is certainly questionable. Doing it outside of local regulation not only puts one’s life in danger but the life of eventual rescuers also. Climbing responsibly is a concept that still needs to be embraced by climbers everywhere. But this story is about us, about how we managed with what we know and what we had. And this is also the story of a father climbing with his son Julien and two friends - Igor and Sergey - on Julien’s first climb of a significant mountain. And this father could not be more proud.
Pierre Gravel
Alpine club of Canada member
Presently living and working in Kiev, Ukraine
Finished writing on September 5, 2009.
We stayed in Dogubeyazit, a town near the base of the mountain, for a couple of days to acclimatize, with walks and bus rides to 2000m. We saw lots of men; boys selling anything and everything on the streets, men trying to get us to enter their shops, old men drinking chaï and playing backgammon in an uncountable number of tea shops along the streets. No women.
We then hiked up to the first camp; an easy hike, with horses carrying most of the weight and us carrying a small day pack. We crossed nomad tents where shepherds set camp for the summer with their families. Children running around big black lava boulders, trying to sell us petty crafts to gain a few dollars. Women with babies in their arms, again offering chaï and trying to sell knitted socks and other items they find time to make when they aren’t running the camp or chasing their children. Igor taking a gazillion pictures. We saw sheep and shepherds; only the men roam the mountain with their herds. We easily reached first camp at 3200m. Beer is offered at 8$ a bottle; we drink more chaï.
A thunderstorm hits in the afternoon; thank God for good tents. Good meal in the evening with pasta, vegetables and salad. Moonlit night: everything according to plan.
A second day with an easy climb, going up to 3800m; a foggy camp 2. We arrive at 10:30 AM, set up tent and relax for the afternoon. We leave our horse driver and meet our summit guide. Ahmed is a nice guy who’s been on the mountain for a while and who summated just yesterday. More good meals. We will try the summit in the morning since the clouds seem to leave the mountain from 11:00 PM to 8:00 AM. «Cool»; an afternoon nap and we’ll be ready to go.
Well, the mountain is always full of surprises. The first was a very rainy afternoon, when a group of some 22 Iranians came in to set camp. They apparently planned to climb the same morning as we did. Interesting, considering they arrived directly from Teheran which is almost at sea level. Their plan is to summit in two days.
Up at midnight then, and walking at 1:00 AM after a good breakfast. The snow is hard and good and the climbing is straightforward. Nothing much to talk about apart from the fact that Julien is 17 and that, as a young buck, he is a bit too excited and must be asked to slow down if we don’t want to burn out before the summit. The guide is discreet but I don’t mind. Eventually I assume the lead because Julien is really going to fry everyone including himself, except Sergey. All haven’t acclimatized to the same extent. Bodies sometimes play tricks on us and a fit climber might get high altitude sickness when he least expects it.
We passed the Iranians at 4000 m. By 4200m, they have disappeared into the darkness, swallowed up by the mountain. Terrain gets steeper by 4500 m and we slow down to long switchbacks and a steady slow pace. Perfect sky, beautiful stars, lights in Isak Pasha’s valley far far away. At 4900 m, the temperature suddenly drops by a few degrees and Julien’s hands start getting cold. He’s the strongest, therefore the one working the less. At 4985 m, we stop to put on more clothes. The summit is in view at 5167 m, sitting in all its glory, crisp against the early morning light. It’s 4:10 AM. Smiles on everyone’s faces, we’ll be there in 30 minutes, 45 at the most. It’s going to be wonderful.
I put a foot forward, plant a pole, look up: «sh...».
Like Superman flying over Manhattan, a lenticular cloud jumps the summit, swallows it like a pig swallows its mush and drowns us in a fog that won’t let us see more than 10 feet in front of us. Frustration, disappointment, some would like to finish, some, like me, have lost enough friends on mountains. Retreat.
Beating my head against adversity is never something I handle very well. Like always, it produces an eruption of emotional lava that just wants to explode out of the crater of my eyes. This time is no different. I stop, breathe deep, wipe the tears, get a big hug from my son. Walk on down.
But this adventure is far from over.
A few hundred meters lower, just under the cloud, we meet the Iranians. They are scattered in small groups, some looking good, some in a rather rough shape. One woman is in tears and our guide checks up on her and her partners. I ask if she needs help. «It’s all right» is the answer. Down then, I need a beer.
It’s not been 10 minutes since we left the Iranians that an orange and black meteorite passes us on the right, tumbling down at a heart stopping speed. Sliding and rolling, head over heels, the lady we just saw crying is heading for a pile of rocks after more than 300m of uncontrolled acceleration down a steep snow slope. She hits, bounces, hits again and again, stops. «She’s dead» I think aloud.
No one around us; we have to get to her, see if she’s alive. She sure as heck doesn’t look it from here. Our guide gets there first, with Sergey and Julien on his heels. I go a bit slower to stay with Igor, who’s crampons have been problematic. I don’t want another accident. More than anything, I hope that what Julien see’s is not too traumatic. When I finally get there, the guide has got his arms in the air and seam’s helpless. The only obvious thing: she’s alive.
There is a 20 m long trail of blood to her body, the back of her head is badly bashed in, she is obviously severely concussed but she’s alive. My next thought is; «were going to work so fucking hard»!
«Talk to her»! I hear myself saying. «I don’t care if she doesn’t understand, talk to her so she knows people are here to help». Julien and Sergey get vocal. First decision made. Now the guide wants’ to leave. «You are getting help»? I ask. «Yes, yes» is the answer. «Ok, we’ll stay and keep her together».
We empty packs and use them as heat shields from the cold snow, we cover her with everything we have, we give her a position that seems bearable, trying to move her as little as we can. We try to comfort her in English, French and Russian, languages that are probably as foreign to her as Martian. Only incoherent grunts come as an answer to our efforts.
One hour, two hours, hours during which I dream of a helicopter jumping the cliff. Hours during which all we get is the arrival of a first Iranian, dressed in blue, coming down shouting and panicking at the sight of his friend and then running on down saying he’ll get help. A second one, a lady, comes, sits on a rock and cries. At last, a third that keeps it together and stays. We explain in sign language and whatever we can invent to communicate that all we want him to do is talk to the lady and comfort her in her own language. All this time we use our whistles, we shout, we use a pole and a big Canadian flag; we have to try and get the attention of anyone going up or down.
After another hour, Igor suggests the obvious; «no one is coming, we have to carry». «Wait a few more minutes I say, it’s not cold in the sun and they might just be around the corner». But I know he’s right. It’s been raining every day for weeks now and this little piece of sun is a godsend. I know that if we get caught in the rain today there might be more victims. Igor is the absolute rational. He’s the voice of wisdom right now. «You are right, no one is coming».
Six poles, duct tape and three parkas: a makeshift stretcher. Better move someone away from hypothermia than save her from spinal injury and lose her anyway. Lift, walk 20 meters, lower. Fortunately the slope is not steep, but the snow in soft by now and we know there is more difficult terrain ahead. Lift, walk, lower. Ten times. Fifteen times.
Just before the top of a steep slope; hope. People are coming up. People with a rope and a blue and green camping mattress.
Joseph is a guide from another company. He speaks good English and is fairly fluent in Farsi. He also has a cell phone that works. Finally the possibility to reach authorities we think. No luck though; this is not the end of the road. A call to the local gendarmerie hits a brick wall: «does she have a permit to be on the mountain»? They ask. She does not. «She did not care to buy a permit, we will not care to fly her out» is the answer. We – and she - are on our own.
Fortunately, people draw people. Joseph uses his camping mattress to transform our makeshift stretcher into a decent sleigh. The larger part of the Iranian group is now coming down and more arms are available to slide our victim safely down the snow slopes. In the end, we lower the lady more than a thousand vertical meters with Joseph taking over coordination, speaking to everyone in their respective languages. Naturally, we all find our positions in the chain: Igor and Sergey work themselves to exhaustion on the sleigh. Julien and I are managing the rope to make sure our load’s descent is controlled, me belaying and he coordinating the many hands that are required to make sure the rope flows smoothly. All this time, Julien reveals an incredible talent in multi-tasking, taking on crowd control, carrying most of our gear and coordinating the efforts of men three times his age who are helping with the rope.
When we get to camp 2, a Spanish doctor joins us and again, leadership changes hands. After a quick check of the victim’s vital signs, the sliding descent resumes for another few hundred meters. This is where we let her go. Her group is now completely dedicated in taking her off the mountain. She is then loaded on a horse and walked down to a road where an ambulance will pick her up and take her to a hospital. We have done everything we could. It’s in other people’s hands now.
I don’t know how many fractures this lady had or if she had any. I don’t know how bad her apparent concussion was. I got an Email from one of her climbing partners a couple of weeks later saying she was better. What I do know is that we worked as hard as I had anticipated and we were lucky enough to save a woman’s life. Had we decided to summit despite the bad weather at 5000 m, we would have missed her and she would probably be dead. There might really be a reason for everything. I’m going to have to try and rearrange my Cartesian outlook on life with that one in mind I guess. I still would have liked to summit of course but, thinking back, I can’t help but have a feeling of victory from that day. We had a great time climbing just short of the summit and then we saved a life. I couldn’t be more proud of how my son handled the situation. I don’t feel frustrated. I feel thankful.
Do not get me wrong. Climbing a mountain this high without any time for acclimatization and without crampons or any safety equipment or knowledge is certainly questionable. Doing it outside of local regulation not only puts one’s life in danger but the life of eventual rescuers also. Climbing responsibly is a concept that still needs to be embraced by climbers everywhere. But this story is about us, about how we managed with what we know and what we had. And this is also the story of a father climbing with his son Julien and two friends - Igor and Sergey - on Julien’s first climb of a significant mountain. And this father could not be more proud.
Pierre Gravel
Alpine club of Canada member
Presently living and working in Kiev, Ukraine
Finished writing on September 5, 2009.
Les flâneries de Pierre
Il y a maintenant plus de deux ans que je me promène et comme j'ai quelques histoire à raconter et qu'il semble que je ne trouve pas le temps de courir les journaux et les magazines pour les faire publier, j'ai décidé d'utiliser ce blog pour vous en faire part.
Les blogs fonctionnant à l'envers, c'est à dire du plus jeune texte au plus vieux, il est normal que je vous publie ma plus récente histoire en premier. Amusez vous bien, ça parle d'une catastrophe évitée par les bons soins de quatres amis dont deux Ukrainiens et deux petit gars de chez nous mon fils Julien et moi même.
Je vous publie le texte en anglais d'abbord et j'en publierai la version française, traduite par mon papa à moi,aussi tôt que possible.
Les blogs fonctionnant à l'envers, c'est à dire du plus jeune texte au plus vieux, il est normal que je vous publie ma plus récente histoire en premier. Amusez vous bien, ça parle d'une catastrophe évitée par les bons soins de quatres amis dont deux Ukrainiens et deux petit gars de chez nous mon fils Julien et moi même.
Je vous publie le texte en anglais d'abbord et j'en publierai la version française, traduite par mon papa à moi,aussi tôt que possible.
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