Free Fall
A personal account of a 30 foot fall into a crevasse on Mount Rainier
By Kevin Doherty
From downtown Seattle, Mount Rainier is only visible roughly 83 days a year. Despite this, the 14,411’ mountain serves as the iconic symbol for the state of Washington, the Pacific Northwest, and mountaineering enthusiasts alike. The magnificence of this peak could stem from the fact that it is the most topographically prominent mountain in the contiguous United States, or perhaps because this active stratovolcano is the highest in all of Washington and the Cascade Range. Regardless of the reason that outdoor enthusiasts flock to Rainier, all can agree that the mountain possesses an ability to stand out amongst the rest. For these very reasons, seven fellow coworkers and I, all active duty Coast Guard men and women, challenged ourselves to summit Mount Rainier.
Knowing that roughly 13,000 people attempt to summit Mount Rainier every year, climbing permits and reservations with guide companies fill up quickly. Preemptive planning for our August 2020 climb began back in September of 2019. We were able to successfully book a three-and-a-half-day group summit reservation with a local guide company. The company’s emphasis on training for glacier climbing and expedition skills in their Rainier program was a major selling point for our group. Most of us only had experience with rock scrambles and snowfield transit on other notable peaks in Washington, such as Mount St. Helens at 8,366’ and Mount Adams at 12,280’. One member of our group did have two successful summits of Rainier with another guide company, but most of us were still tenderfoots in the sport of mountaineering.
Each month of the May to September climbing season has its own set of advantages. Selecting August for our reservation provided the benefit of statistically having the largest viable weather window to summit. Rainier has a summit success rate of about 50% each season, with weather and physical conditioning of climbers being common reasons for failed attempts. Taking the reins on the one controllable factor, our group ensured that we would all be physically prepared to increase our likelihood of a successful summit. At home, members of our group would complete a program of metcon and circuit training workouts during the week. On weekends we would pair up and complete local day hikes with 40-pound packs to simulate the gear needed for our three-and-a-half-day ascent.
Mountaineering is a sport that presents numerous uncontrollable variables, and one of those variables came full force during our preparation, the COVID-19 global pandemic. A spike in COVID-19 cases throughout the months of March and April postponed a majority of the 2020 climbing season. A month to month assessment by the guide company saw all May and June treks get cancelled. As the month of July approached, our group prepared for a similar fate. However, a comprehensive plan created by the company, state, and National Park Service allowed for the running of all treks after the third week in July. Relieved, our group now had a green light for an attempt at the summit. In a world of uncertainly, our group found stability in a challenge we had been diligently working towards for months on end. Collectively, we couldn’t have been more ecstatic for what lay ahead.
On Monday, August 17th, our group arrived at the guide company headquarters just outside of the National Park. Earlier in the day, some members of our group completed a portion of the Paradise trail system, taking in some spectacular views of the mountain sitting amongst a bluebird sky. This only fueled the motivation to hopefully be standing at the top in just a few days. At HQ, we were introduced to our four-member guide team who would be leading the eight of us to the summit. The combined experience of our guide team was staggering, consisting of hundreds of summits of Rainier and other major mountains across the globe.
Day one was mainly administrative and meant for assessing gear, issuing rentals, Leave No Trace training, and ensuring everyone understood the trip’s itinerary. The initial plan was to start our first day of climbing at the Paradise Visitor Center at approximately 5,400’. From here, we would transit the Paradise trail system to Pebble Creek. From Pebble Creek, ascending snowfields would bring us to Camp Muir at 10,188’ where we would spend our first night. Our second day would be split between a three-hour mountaineering training session and ascent across the Cowlitz Glacier, through the Cathedral Gap, to high camp at Ingraham Flats at 11,200’. A wake up in the wee hours of the morning would begin our summit day crossing the Ingraham Glacier, ascending Disappointment Cleaver, and then switch backing through “High Break” until reaching the summit. The rest of the third and final day was devoted to descending the entire mountain back to the Paradise Visitor Center.
Before breaking after our first day at the guide company’s headquarters, our lead guide informed us of some adverse weather moving in during the morning of our planned summit day. The weather on the mountain is quite unpredictable and can change almost instantaneously, but the projected report still raised a bit of concern. Our ambitious group posed the scenario of potentially moving up our summit by one day to stay within the favorable weather window during the first two days of our climb. Our guide informed us that he would make a game time decision based on a few different factors, such as our performance on day one, how the weather reports faired closer in time, and if we would still be able to get the entire mountaineering training session completed without compromise. With all gear checked and information passed, our group reconvened at a local restaurant for one last meal of solid cooked food consisting of pizza, burgers, bratwursts, and a celebratory beer for making it to the eve of our ascent.
Day one began around 8:00 am with a caravan of cars making their way from the guide company HQ to Paradise Visitor Center. After checking into the National Park entrance, our drive up the windy mountainous road would occasionally give glimpse to the grand Rainier base. Atop the mountain was a thin, gray, ominous cloud stretching across the summit, as if it were watercolored on. Once at the Visitor Center parking lot, bags were cinched tight, a checklist of essentials was verified, and one last bio break with a comfortable flush toilet was had. This would be the official start to our ascent of Mount Rainier.
Our group would hike in a single file line at a comfortable pace set by the rotating four-member guide team. Our neck gaiters were donned for the majority of the Paradise trail system where social distancing couldn’t be properly adhered to amongst the array of day hikers. After every hour of climbing, our group would be given a 15-minute break. The guides taught us the proper sequence of events to take place during these 15-minute breaks. Immediately take a bio break if needed, then grab sunscreen, water, a snack, and any additional layers you might be putting on. Then, rest your pack with the outer side on the ground and sit on it. While sitting, apply your sunscreen, eat your food, and drink your water. The reason for trying to sit down as quickly as possible? The more time spent off your feet, the more energy you would be conserving for the later days of the climb.
Even if you weren’t hungry, it was highly encouraged that you eat to ensure enough calories were available during sessions of high metabolic effort. Only 0.5 liters of water was to be consumed during each break, so the combined 2 liters of water carried by each person could be adequately spaced out amongst the four scheduled breaks taken between Paradise and Camp Muir. Our guides stressed that mountaineering is a sport filled with discipline, from the physical effort of actually making it up the mountain to the necessities of nutrition and properly rationed hydration. Halfway on our day one ascent, we reached the snowfields just past Pebble Creek. During this 15-minute break, we transitioned from our trail runner shoes to our mountaineering boots. As we continued up the snowfields, the ridge where Camp Muir sat drew closer and closer. The initial gray cloud that wrapped its way around the summit had finally dissipated, allowing the summit to make its presence known as our group worked its way into Camp Muir.
The evening of day one was devoted to rest. Each climber settled into their one-person bright yellow tent set up in a group just at the edge of the Cowlitz Glacier. Consistent 25–30 mph winds had almost every member of our group in all the layers they had packed for the trek. Glacier snow was melted down to replenish drinking water. Iodine tablets were added to purify the water, followed by Nuun electrolyte tablets in an attempt to mask the metallic taste as much as possible. Some water was boiled to add to our freeze-dried backpacking meals and for cups of coffee, hot chocolate, and cider. Amidst this list of tasks that had to be done, everyone in our group took time to appreciate the beauty that surrounded us. Gazing to the south revealed the prominent peaks of Mount Adams, Mount St. Helens, Mount Hood, and even Mount Jefferson that stood over 150 miles away. The background of our tents was a jagged rocky cleaver that stretched the entire Cowlitz Glacier, and just behind that was a glimpse of the “High Break” just before the summit.
Huddled around waiting for our freeze-dried meals to rehydrate, our guides talked about their pleasure with our performance for day one. The weather report for Thursday was still indecisive, so our lead guide would wake up at 3:30 am to check the report once again. If tomorrow looked like a more favorable weather window, we would start our day right then at 3:30 am, three hours ahead of schedule, to ensure that we could get all our required mountaineering training in. If the weather looked the same for both Wednesday and Thursday, then we would stick with the original itinerary. Most of our group was in agreement with the plan laid out by the guide, but glimpses at each of our faces showed that we were all crossing our fingers for an attempt at the summit the next day. As each of us put ourselves to rest hoping for that early morning wake up that would indicate a summit day, none of us were truly prepared for what would lie ahead.
A few flaps on the vestibule of my tent woke me from my sleep. I quickly scrambled for my phone to check the time, 3:25 am on Wednesday, August 19th. “Weather for today is looking great” came from the voice of our lead guide outside my tent, “Were going to try for the summit today.” Ecstatic, I quickly rose from my sleeping bag, got my base layers on, and started to get my pack situated for a climb to the summit. A quick freeze-dried breakfast and round of hot beverages was soon followed by three one-hour training sessions focused on a different technical aspect of mountaineering. The first session had us dawn our crampons as we learned the text book “rest step” as a means of ascending the mountain. This was followed by the stepping techniques of “duck-foot”, “step-kicking”, “cross-over”, as well as the descending method of “plunge stepping.” Through all these movements, attempting to get the most amount of purchase on all the points of your crampons was highly stressed.
The second lesson consisted of self-arrest with an ice axe. One of the greatest hazards facing any climber is falling. The number one priority for a mountaineer that has fallen is arresting said fall. Whether falling supine, prone, uphill, or downhill, the ultimately goal is to orient yourself into a prone, uphill position where you can use your body weight to dig the ice axe into the snow and kick your feet as an additional means of purchase to arrest the fall. Once taught the proper grip for an ice axe while transiting and while in an arrest, a guide from our team demonstrated all the ways you can get into this prone supine position from all the different ways you can fall. We then practiced getting into the self-arrest ice axe position numerous times while simulating a fall.
Our final lesson had our group dawning the last of our mountaineering ensemble with a harness, carabiners, rope, and helmet. We learned the proper method of both standard glacier travel and short rope travel in groups of three. Maintaining a proper distance between rope team members allows for the rope not to have too much slack or be too taut. Too much slack could result in the rope being fouled up in a crampon or shock loaded from a fall, and the rope being too taut could restrict a person’s movement. Once tethered together, we practiced proper pacing to maintain a nice gentle “smiley-face” type slack in the line while walking. Simulated switchbacks were set up to practice “flicking the line” to prevent any slack fouling up when transitioning back and forth. Additionally, anchors were set up and we were able to practice clipping in our lines for areas on the route that required an additional safety measure. One of our last lessons taught us proper orientation of all the technical climbing equipment we now possessed. Ice axe would always be in the uphill hand with the pick oriented out and back and the rope would always be on the downhill side. With all of our training complete, we were now ready to ascent for an attempted summit.
Each guide was paired with two members of our group for four rope teams in total. The guides and members of our group were arbitrarily assigned, and we were ready to begin our second day of climbing. The first portion of the Cowlitz Glacier didn’t have much of a pitch, which made for a great training ground to familiarize ourselves with the training techniques we just learned. A combination of some switchbacks, stepping over crevasses, and short rope transit of the Cathedral Gap allowed us to put most of our newly learned skills into practice. After about an hour and a half of climbing, we reached the high camp at Ingraham Flats.
Clear skies and a mild temperature had most us just in our base layers soaking up the rays and magnificent views. The famed Little Tahoma Peak stood at the base of our view from the Ingraham Flats. Wasting no time, we quickly discarded equipment from our pack that we wouldn’t need for the summit, such as freeze-dried meals, sleeping bags, pads, mugs, and utensils. All that remained was our water, all our layers, majority of our snacks, and of course our summit beers. A final fill up on water and application of sunscreen, and we were ready to ascend the Ingraham Glacier. As we departed high camp, most of us had it in our rear-view mirror thinking that the next time we are here, we will have summited Mt. Rainier. Unfortunately, this wouldn’t be the case.
The transit of the Ingraham Glacier presented some of the first challenging portions of the climb. About 2/3 of the way on the route through the glacier, a set of switchbacks were accompanied by the openings of some pretty significant crevasses. One crevasse transit had each member balancing on the rungs of a flattened extension ladder with just a hand rope and your team of three as the only means of a safety net. Quickly, our group was introduced to the dangerous situations and hazards in mountaineering. Fortunately, this first challenge was met with great confidence by our group, and that continued all the way to the end of the Ingraham Glacier. The next challenge on the route was the entrance to Disappointment Cleaver, a rock ridge that separates the Ingraham Glacier from “High Break.”
My rope team of three consisted of our guide in front, me in the middle, and my coworker at the rear. We were the third group of four in our entire party ascending that day. Each group met at the end of the glacier to reposition into a short rope arrangement where each rope team member was spaced roughly 5–6 feet apart. The first group began transiting though the entrance of the cleaver, and was met with subtle rock fall underneath their foot plants. The second group then followed after a 10–15 foot gap was made from the first group. Constantly, each guide was radioing back to the other about viable foot placements on the route. Moving expeditiously, a team wouldn’t want to be in this section of the route, dubbed “The Bowling Alley,” for too long because of rock fall hazard. Once a 10–15 foot gap was made between the second group and us, we began our transition off the glacier and onto the cleaver.
Our guide would call back to my coworker and I, identifying safe areas for foot placement. “Ensure that you step uphill of previous footsteps, and don’t mind small shifts in pebbles as you step” the guide said as we swiftly moved through this dangerous portion of the route. Ahead, there was a boulder roughly the size of a washing machine that lay right next to previous footsteps from the other two groups that had just transited through this zone. Our guide had a secure step with the left foot, and then proceeded to take a step forward with the right foot in front of the boulder. As soon as the guide’s right foot planted, a large rustling noise came from the base of the boulder. Almost instantly, the base of the boulder came loose, and the boulder captured my guide and began tumbling downhill.
“FALLING, FALLING, FALLING” were the next words that came bellowing out of our guide’s mouth. As soon as these words came out, both the boulder and the guide began plummeting over a crevasse that was just a few feet from the route we were transiting on. Immediately, I dove into the self-arrest ice axe position. Before I could event attempt planting my crampons in place for additional purchase, the weight of the boulder and my guide falling into the crevasse shock loaded my line, and I was flung back from my uphill prone position into a downhill supine position sliding towards the crevasse. I flailed my legs in a last-ditch attempt to either cling onto some ice or reorient myself into a prone uphill position, but before I knew it, I had slid over the edge of the crevasse into a free fall. The last sensation I felt was the tightness of my harness as my line shock loaded, taking over the third member of our rope team.
As I began to free fall, time began to stand still. I remember slightly turning my head to the side and seeing the shades of light blue coming from the icy wall of the crevasse. The light blue began to transition to a darker shade as the rays of light began to disappear as I fell deeper and deeper. I began to think about my fiancée. I proposed to her exactly two months before the start of our climb. All I could think about was how happy she has made me over the past three years together, I was extremely grateful for the experiences we had up to this point in life. I reminisced on all the people I was so fortunate to have had in my life; the family that raised me, the friends that I had shared life experiences with. I’m not sure if this qualifies as a life flashing before your eyes type of experience, but all I could remember was how happy and content I was with how my life was up to this point. As quickly as this sensation of reminiscing came, it disappeared. As the crevasse grew darker and darker, I began to question how far I was actually going to fall. Before I could even comprehend this question I had raised, everything went completely dark.
The next thing I could remember was gasping for a breath. I found myself with all my extremities fully extended straddling a rock. Not even three feet away from me was my coworker, laying on his back facing me. Both of us were perched in a notch at the corner of this crevasse. Once I caught my breath, I could hear a voice calling down to us from above. I look up and our guide is yelling down “ARE YOU GUYS ALRIGHT” from a boulder platform roughly 10 feet above us. Beyond her was roughly 20 additional feet of crevasse up to the edge where we fell in, meaning that we had just plummeted 30 feet.
I yell out “I’M OKAY” and then immediately look back down at my coworker. I can see his chest rising and falling rapidly as he gasps for air. “ARE YOU ALRIGHT?” I yell to my coworker as he continues to regain his breath. In the middle of doing so, he begins to let out a repetitive humming noise. I immediately resort to my previous EMT qualification and think “Brain injury, this can’t be good.” About 10 seconds pass and his hum turns into a single word. “TTTTT — TTTOOORRRSSSOOOO” he yells out as he begins to point to said region of the body. Immediately the guide and I lock eyes and from above she yells to me “You need to assess him for a spinal injury.”
She continues to call down, “You need to assess his vitals and then do a spinal palpation of every vertebrae to see if there’s any pain or unusual sensation he feels. Additionally, you need to get GoreTex on him to prevent hypothermia.” Once she yelled out these instructions, I begin to find his radial pulse and observe his respiratory rate as I reached for the GoreTex in my pack and draped it over him. Since I didn’t have a watch on me, I couldn’t get an exact pulse but I knew it was somewhere between 60 and 80, which was normal. His respiratory rate was elevated but that made total sense given what just happened. I then attempt to assess his mental state by asking his name, where he is, and describing what happened. At first, he was alert and oriented x4, which was good.
I then quickly gave his whole body a pat down to see if there were any signs of severe bleeding. Aside from some significant scraping on his leg I couldn’t see any active bleeding. I then moved onto the spinal assessment where I was slowly palpating each of his vertebrae and asking him if he felt any pain or unusual sensation at each one. He just kept informing me that the only pain was in his left leg. As I continued the assessment, I was relaying out loud what I was doing while also taking further medical instruction from the guide to perform on my coworker. I noticed that every two minutes, my coworker was asking “Hey, how did we get down here?” I would explain what happened, and then two minutes later he would ask again. I yelled up to our guide “Alertness and orientation is decreasing!” We both knew that this was a sign we needed to get my coworker out of this crevasse, quickly.
Up above, the remaining three guides rapidly sprung into action. Our lead guide took over in an incident commander type role and began communicating what had happened to the support team at high camp, national park rangers, and the company’s HQ. Rangers and the company’s support team began ascending their way to our location with additional first aid equipment, and coordination for a medevac via helicopter began. Once the remaining members of our group were corralled in a safe location on the glacier, they were instructed to call out for any additional rock fall.
While the lead guide maintained communications and logistical oversight of the rescue, the remaining two guides set up an anchor and a 6:1 pulley system at the edge of the crevasse for a rescue. As I continued the medical assessment on my coworker, one guide rappelled down and met us in the notch we were snug in. He reassessed my coworker and confirmed that his alertness and orientation was slowly decreasing. Together we confirmed a pulse of 72 and began preparing him for extraction. Utilizing his harness and a make shift chest sling, my coworker was the first to be rescued on the 6:1 pulley system. We would later discover that my coworker broke his fibula from the fall. Despite this, he had the tenacity and grit to dig both his crampons into the wall of the crevasse to help the guides haul him out. Both his performance and mental fortitude in the crevasse was one of the toughest things I have ever witnessed.
Once my coworker was extracted, it was my turn. The guide that rappelled down worked his way back up to assist my coworker over to a safe location to be further assessed. During this time, I was able to climb up to the boulder platform where the guide I fell in with was. My guide then prepared me for hoisting and started to get all of our gear situated for extraction now that the only medically unstable member in the crevasse was extracted. What made the already challenging crevasse rescue even more difficult was the hazardous zone of the route we found ourselves in. The remainder of my coworkers that were corralled together on the glacier stood a vigilant rock fall watch. Every so often you’d hear a member call out “ROCK!” This would be proceeded by an immediate pause in the rescue and a desperate crouch from everyone in the crevasse, just hoping that we wouldn't cross paths with another tumbling stone.
With my coworker finally out of the crevasse, I was finally able to give myself a look over. Miraculously, both the guide who fell in and I were in a fairly stable condition. My guide suffered some significant bruising and scrapes, but nothing deterred her demeanor. She was determined to push through and ensure the safety of my coworker, her fellow guides, and myself. I was extremely stiff and both my thighs had a throbbing and aching pain. I had difficulty moving my left wrist and right ankle, and I noticed that my pants were ripped in numerous places on my left leg, with some significant scrapes and a noticeable gash on my left inner thigh. Fortunately, nothing was bleeding excessively and I still had decent mobility in all of my extremities.
As we were waiting for the rope from the 6:1 pulley system to come back down for us, I looked up and noticed the neon green handle from my ice axe sticking out from the edge we fell from. I told my guide about the hazard above and she responded saying “Make sure to keep your head down and don’t look up.” Not even two minutes after she says this, an overwhelming sensation of pain overtakes my head as an enormous thud sounds against my helmet. I belt out in pain and crouch down grasping my head. As I am crouched, I look out my periphery and can see the neon green handle bouncing back and forth against the crevasse walls until it disappears into darkness.
My guide immediately looks next to me and states, “Oh my God, you were right, are you okay?” At this point a sensation of emotions overtakes me and I begin to break down. This was the first time I was able to fully comprehend what has happened. How did I survive this fall? What if I survived the fall, but then my ice axe just impaled me there and I died? All of it was just a sensory overload. “Don’t worry” my guide said, “This has been a lot, we are going to get you out of here.”
The guide who initially rappelled down returned to rescue me next. In a coordinated effort of pulls every 3–5 seconds, I tried to assist in my hoisting as much as I could. Using the ice walls of the crevasse as a base, I would dig my crampons in and push up as hard as I could. Eventually, I was in arms reach of one of the guides above and was pulled out of the crevasse. I was slowly brought back to the edge of the Ingraham Glacier where I was met by a cohort of the coworker who fell in with me, the guide support team, National Park rangers, and the rest of our group that was still on the lookout for rocks. My coworker was given further first aid on his leg and it was determined that he would be medevac-ed via helicopter. Soon after my extraction, I saw the guide who I fell in with come over with the remaining guides that had rescued us. Finally, everyone was rescued from the crevasse and away from the high-risk zone at the entrance of the cleaver.
The members of our group who didn’t fall into the crevasse were the first to work their way back to High Camp at Ingraham Flats. I went through one more medical assessment where I made the decision that I would like to stay on the mountain with the group. I was brought down by two of the guides from our initial group as the guide support team, National Park rangers, and my coworkers stayed where they were to prepare for a helicopter medevac. After a slow and painful descent to High Camp, I reunited with the remaining members of our group as we witnessed the helicopter emerge past Little Tahoma Peak.
A wire hung below the helicopter and supported a rescuer that was dropped off where our coworker was with the remaining guides and medical staff. The helicopter followed a circular flight pattern until our coworker was ready for extraction. Soon, we saw the rescuer next to a litter with our coworker in it dangling below the helicopter. They slowly moved their way to Camp Muir where the rescuer and our coworker could be set down in an LZ. The helicopter then landed in the LZ and our coworker was brought into the cabin of the aircraft and flown to the nearest medical facility.
There was a somber but grateful mood amongst the members at High Camp that night. Everyone was well aware of the alternative outcomes of a situation like that, and we were certainly lucky with the one that played out. Everyone was alive, and for the most part well. We were able to receive updates about our coworker’s condition from his family and the guide company throughout the night on the hill. Fortunately, he was in great spirits, even exclaiming that he’s “been in tougher hockey fights than that.” Our group collectively decided that we would not try for a second attempt at the summit that next morning. Mountaineering requires 100% confidence with every step, and we were all just a bit too rattled with what happened. Most of the guides shared that they had never witnessed an accident like this. It was common for one or two members of a rope team to either punch through or fall into a crevasse, but they had never seen all three go in before.
This incident demonstrated the unpredictability and raw power that the mountain possesses. After debriefing the incident with my guide, she explained that when my coworker and I fell in, we bounced off the boulder platform where she finally rested on, which most likely explains the part where I blacked out in my free fall. We continued to bounce off the crevasse walls until we settled into that notch about 10 feet further down. She also explained that all three of us falling backwards into the crevasse could have very well been the reason we all survived, as our packs were able to absorb most of the fall. Overall, the general consensus was that we were all incredibly lucky.
We spent the rest of our second night at High Camp. Our decision to not attempt a second summit the next day turned out to be an even greater decision when we met the morning with 60 mph winds and freezing rain. The wind was so powerful that many of our members complained of their tent roofs hitting them in the face. These conditions would have easily turned our group around if we attempted to climb, giving us at little more sense of ease that a summit wouldn’t have been in the cards regardless this time around.
I was still extremely sore, but determined to make it down to mountain on my own power. After one final meal, we roped in one last time for a descent down the Cathedral Gap and across the Cowlitz Glacier to Camp Muir. Our arrival at Camp Muir completed all the technical portions of our climb. A quick reorganization of our packs and we were off, heading back to Paradise. We soaked in as much fun as we could on the snowfields with some sliding steps and spontaneous glissading contests. Eventually, we made it back to the Visitor Center where there was a collective sigh of relief. We made it down.
Back at the company’s HQ, I was met with the surprise of my fiancée and dog, an embrace that was indescribable. An even greater surprise at HQ was our coworker who had been medevac-ed off, joined by his family. We shared our personal accounts of the incident and immediately good vibes and gratitude overtook our entire group. Hugs, laughs, handshakes, and pictures were exchanged, everyone in total relief that we could all say we made it back safely. After a two-hour drive back to Seattle, I checked into the ER of our local hospital where I had X-rays and blood work conducted. Fortunately, the physician said I didn’t have to worry about any hemorrhaging of the brain, since I was demonstrating full cognitive functionality and no side affects over 24 hours past the incident. X-rays revealed that nothing was broken and lab results ruled out any concern of rhabdomyolysis. I was diagnosed with a sprained left wrist, sprained right ankle, minor concussion, and significant bruising. The physician explained, as was a common theme from everyone else I talked to, that our group was incredibly lucky.
First and foremost, I speak on behalf of our entire climbing group when I express a great deal of gratitude to our four-person guide team, the guide support team, the National Park rangers, and the medevac crew that assisted in the effort to rescue us from the crevasse. The professionalism, expertise, and technical acumen of each party involved were on full display during these rescue efforts, and are the very reason that everyone is still alive today. My climbing group is forever grateful for the efforts of these individuals.
As I sit back in my Seattle apartment recovering from my injuries, I can’t help but wonder, why? Why did this terrifying freak accident happen to us? Why did we survive such a fall? After the fall, why didn’t the falling ice axe kill me? I know that there will never be an answer to these questions. The only thing I can do is be grateful for the fact that the three of us that fell down that crevasse are still here today.
The insurmountable power of Mount Rainier was witnessed in this incident. I know that many people who have endured a similar experience have not been as fortunate with their outcome. I am so proud of how our group stared adversity in the face, and did everything they could to assist in the situation. The guides that set up the crevasse rescue, the guide who fell in and provided first aid instruction for my coworker, fellow group members looking out for rocks, the medevac team; this cumulative effort was a quintessential demonstration of compassion, fortitude, and helping others in a time of need.
Mount Rainier got the best of us this time around, and that is okay. Our team is incredibly grateful for the safety and well being of all our members. Moving forward as a group, our determination remains unflinching. Mount Rainier, we’ll be back, and we will be stronger than ever.