The Fall, and Its Aftermath
May 16th, 1982
The spring of 1982 began quite well. I’d had a very successful ski season learning many things of how to handle myself and others in the woods under emergency conditions. I began the Mountaineers basic climbing course and was doing very well in it. I had a full time job working in a steel fabrication shop that paid a living wage, and for the first time I was financially secure. I even had health insurance.
Near the end of ski season a group of us in the ski patrol where gathered to learn how to handle a litter basket in bad conditions and evacuate an injured climber or skier. We had just begun the afternoon session when we received the call that just such a person was halfway up Guye Peak, across the highway from where we were practicing. We gathered up our tools and materials and mobilized with others to affect a rescue. About an hour later, after climbing up a steep snow slope we were with the injured climber and we had placed him in a basket litter for the long trip down the slope. We then belayed him down to a level spot where a MAST helicopter from Ft. Lewis picked him up for the trip to Seattle and Harborview Hospital. We novice rescuers from the Nordic Ski Patrol were told that we had ‘dun gud’.
As winter faded I began to seriously study my map collection to figure out possible trips to make during the coming climbing season. I would be required to make several climbs as part of the climbing course and I was thinking about climbing Mt. Shucksan in the North Cascades as one of the required trips. At an Easter brunch I met up with an acquaintance and we talked of climbing The Brothers on Memorial Day weekend. The trip that had my fancy was one where I would attempt to go from Stevens Pass to Snoqualmie Pass mostly off trail in one great alpine traverse. I spent many hours in staring at my topo maps and Becky’s guide studying the possible routes. Gradually I became convinced that it would be possible to do it, if I attempted to do it early in the season before the snow was gone. It looked like it would be a busy season, and I was psyched for it.
On
May 15th the ski patrol held its traditional season ending feast and
party, a good time was had by all. The next day a group of us went out on
a traditional first of the season lark. This year it was a scramble to
the top of Snoqualmie Mountain. At over 6000 feet the peak dominates the
western portion of Snoqualmie Pass. I had climbed it a couple of times
and knew it to be a good and only moderately strenuous effort, perfect for
working out a hangover and limbering the muscles for the coming season. May
16th was a beautiful day with few if any clouds and a nice warm sun
shining down on us. We started from the Alpental Ski Area parking lot
making good work of climbing to the saddle between Snoqualmie Mountain and Guye
Peak. From there we scrambled to the summit of the mountain to bask in
the brilliant sun, eat lunch, and enjoy the fellowship of friends.
The trip down was to reverse our moves. I glissaded down the first pitch and came to a stop in order to change direction and then continue down the mountain. Before I could stand up a wave of slush and snow came down my path and pushed me down a cliff. I tumbled five hundred feet. I ended up with a compressed skull fracture, several broken and bent ribs, a damaged lung and a crushed spinal column inside a broken back. Before I lost consciousness the last thing I remember was rolling over and trying to self arrest with my Ice Ax…
The accident was on a Sunday afternoon; [I remember] waking for the first time Monday or Tuesday night. I thought that I was at the neighborhood tavern and had WAY too much to drink and I needed to get home. Thus I began a long period of twilight. I knew little of what happened but I hurt and I was in a very strange place. I had been told that I was paralyzed, and I began to grieve for the loss of my faculties. Through the fog I do remember pleading and bargaining to be able to walk again. I was strapped into a bed that tipped wildly from one side to another. The bed tilting from side to side only added to my confusion. The first almost normal perception I remember was at least a week or two after the accident. I woke very early in the morning and saw the Public Health Hospital across the way in the early morning light. The building was built in a bold Art Deco style and prominently placed on a point at the north end of Beacon Hill. I spent what seemed like an eternally long time along staring at the building without my glasses, trying to figure out what was happening to me. Gradually I regained rationality, but still would not be of any sort of “right mind” until after my back was stabilized and I was allowed to lie in a “normal” bed.
Three weeks after the fall I spent the entire day in surgery, my back was stabilized and the rehab process began the next day, sitting in a wheelchair for the first time. I still hurt, but the fog was beginning to clear. About a week after the surgery I was transferred to the University Hospital for the formal rehabilitation work. This hospital was close to where I had lived (and where my parents were staying) and where most of my friends where living. Rehab is hard work. At first I would wake early and receive training in how to dress my self then how to get out of bed then go to the gym and work on strength training in PT. The afternoon was more of the same. Later I learned other skills such as cooking and cleaning, transferring to cars, shopping, and even driving.
Evenings and Weekends were dead times, with little happening except for visits from my parents and others. I got few visitors, but those who did come by were greatly appreciated. After some setbacks, in early August I had crested the hill, and I began to make the necessary progress in relearning how to do the things that one must do to get out. From late August on, I was allowed to stay out overnight on Saturday night. This would get me away from the hospital where I could re–acclimate to “normal” life.
My parents were very helpful during this time. They came out the day after the fall and stayed for six months. They found a new apartment for me to live in and assisted me making this difficult transition. Right after my birthday and five months after my fall I was released to begin a new life. My parents stayed in Seattle for another month then went to Hawaii for a week’s vacation. They left for their home on a wet dreary Saturday night shortly before Thanksgiving. As they left we embraced; I never felt as loved as I did then. I will be eternally grateful for their comfort and assistance that awful summer.
There was a reason beyond the sheer volume of trauma that caused my loss of rationality I received a severe head wound; later I found out that the doctors were not certain that I would fully return after that wound. I did recover more or less fully from the skull fracture. However I had a very slight stutter for about a year. The wounds to my psyche only began to appear after I had been out for a while as I attempted to find my new place in the world. They took even longer to heal. Perhaps they are not completely healed even now.
My social circle before the fall and been made up of largely two different groups, those associated with where I lived, and those with whom I skied and climbed. Over the next year or two these changed somewhat I grew less involved with the mountain folk and the one I knew from my “home life” changed as well, due to my new place of residence in Fremont instead of Montlake. My activities changed as well. I was not employed; I returned to school and began to pursue a second bachelor’s degree in Geography and Cartography. This led to another group of friends, students who I met at school.
The desire to be in the mountains faded gradually and only after much pain and sorrow. I spent two winters after the fall still working with the ski patrol. I made it up in a car a few times, but the separation from the wilderness was nearly as complete as destruction of my spinal column had been. I spent much of the first couple of years grieving for the loss. It was not constant and it would sneak up on me at odd times – usually when I was alone. I would remember some moment, and then start bawling with my heart broken with separation. Still, living in Seattle, I could see the peaks, especially The Mountain in its many moods. Seeing them and knowing that they where still there was a comfort to me. I missed being out in the wildness, but I knew it was still there. I had found a new expression of Faith.
The accident had irrevocably changed me, and I had matured in the bargain. In the early days, people I knew kept saying “You are taking [the accident, your situation, etc.] so well”. I got tired of hearing it, of course I was taking it – enduring it – what choice did I have? My response usually was I had been doing what I enjoyed most in life and I knew what was involved – risks and all, I was totally responsible for myself and my condition. Typically I would sum it up by saying “At least I was not hit by some drunk.”
From my earliest days in the mountains I had accepted the risks and much of my enjoyment came from the ability to place myself in an environment where I was totally responsible for my own well being. This is a rare situation in our modern existence. It is also absolutely necessary for any individual to be totally fulfilled in life. It is NOT placing oneself in a dangerous position; far from it, it is keeping oneself safe no matter where one might be. Still, shit happens…
Over the years I have accepted my separation from my temple, the wilderness. Right now I am not in Seattle and I can not see the mountains, but I have my Faith… I know it is still there. I treasure every memory I have of my time there. I also have found similar places that are available to me. I have driven around my home region, Tennessee, and found other beautiful, almost wild places that rekindle the sprit. I live in the wilds on the coattails of others who do go there, especially those who discover what the wild places have to offer for the first time. Their joy is contagious…
To some it may seem incongruous, but I NEVER want to see it made easier to access the truly wild places. To do so would destroy them. Their value, in part, comes from efforts necessary to experience them. For me, knowing that they exist gives me strength. Besides I can see them through other people’s hearts.