Broken Dreams

By Michael Moretti

My watch's ghostly green light told me it was 1 am; only four hours after dark on this hellish night high in the mountains. I desperately tried to block out the nightmare which began earlier on a perfect August day in the Sierras. There was no place to hide as Larry screamed for help -- I was trapped on a narrow ledge above icy Mendelson Couloir, with no way to reach him. He begged me to stop the pain as he had repeatedly since his terrifying 300-foot fall.

I shouted down again that a rescue team was on the way. This was just a convenient lie to make him feel hope. To hang on.

It was too dark to see his crumpled form on the talus field below the ominous 70-degree ice chute. But his image was burned in my mind as I replayed the fall like a horror movie stuck in a replay loop.

~~~

We met at the Lake Sabrina parking lot two days ago. I brought a lightweight climbing rope in case we had to rappel a steep section of technical rock or ice on our descent. Mt. Darwin was a serious Class IV mountaineering route. I tossed the coiled rope on the hot asphalt along with my other gear. Larry picked it up and seemed mildly amused. "What do you need this for."

Randal laughed sarcastically. "So, you think you're a rock climber? You don't even know how to use that rope. Put it back in the car. It's too heavy. We've got this route wired." Larry tossed it in my trunk. End of debate. I felt a chill. That rope could be our lifeline on the mountain.

~~~

The summer sun was setting fast when we topped out on Mount Darwin. This iconic peak high in the Sierra's gave us a dramatic view of the Pacific Ocean to the West, and glacially carved Owens Valley to the East. Larry, Randal and I high-fived each other, proud of our 12-hour mountaineering adventure which began at first light. We were feeling cocky, confident our victory would fuel the difficult cross-country descent from this 14,000-foot vista to our basecamp at Midnight lake. I pictured a heroic trio stumbling down the talus slopes: headlamps blazing and stomachs burning from hunger, intent on making it back to the food stashed in our bear-bag hanging from a tree branch.

Elation quickly shifted to the sober reality of our situation atop Mt. Darwin.

The sun disappeared under the rocky horizon; the bluish, shadowy primeval Evolution Basin lay beneath our ridge line. In the twilight we could only see the final glimmer of small lakes scattered about. We were four hours behind schedule on this long summer day, planned carefully around the mild August weather and a full moon that was already see rising; a welcome beacon in this alien and unforgiving alpine environment. We took a knee in the dirt to make a key decision which would change our destinies forever.

~~~

We hunched over a topo map on Mt. Darwin; we could barely read it due to the fading light. I felt the sense of urgency -- a high-tension electrical force gathered around us. Randal took command as our unofficial team leader. "We don't have time to take the main trail all the way down to Darwin Bench and then loop around the mountain and back to the lakes. Doing that cross-country in the dark would be crazy. I don't want to get stuck out here all night with no bivvy gear."

Larry finished Randal's thought, jabbing his heavily tanned finger at a point on the map. "Let's find Mendelson Couloir. It's got to be really close. Right up there on the ridge above us." He oriented the map facing the rugged ridge above us and poked at the tightest contour lines.

Randal always seemed to be the voice of reason under stress. "Let's go take a look while we still have some light. If we find the couloir it will save us hours of hiking in the dark or freezing our asses off up here. Let's move."

I wanted to weigh in on this major decision, but they viewed me as a rookie who was just along for the ride. Keep up or get left behind was their mantra. I put on my windbreaker, stowing my concerns away.

We hauled ass up to that ridge like our lives depended on finding an escape route. The stress palpable. No one said anything as we searched around slabs of rock as big as houses for some sign of the dreaded couloir. Larry shouted out about 15 minutes into the hunt. "I think I found it!" We rushed over to his position. My first impression was a blast of cold air that caused me to shudder. Like when someone walks over your grave. We knew this was it. Larry pointed to some old nylon runners tied around an oblong boulder. It was stacked on top of a freight-car sized block teetering over the cliff. He mantled up on the questionable stone Jenga pile and shimmied on his stomach over to the edge.

"Cool! This is it!"

I shouted to him while Randal climbed up on the big block as if he was on fire.

"Is there still ice in the gully?" No answer.

Then Randal yelled back. "Get your ass up here Mike. We're downclimbing the couloir."

Randal reached down and offered me his hand as I struggled up to their perch. I cautiously scooted over to the edge of the precipice where they were staring into the cold abyss. Larry dropped his legs over the edge, lowering himself down into a slot that was about six feet long and two feet wide. My anxiety rose rapidly as I moved closer and looked directly down that slot, which opened up at the bottom like an inverted keyhole. My balls tightened when I realized the couloir was covered in wicked black ice.

After months of thawing from the winter snow, the remaining ice was a slick dirty ramp straight to hell.

This "black ice" was a nightmare scenario for technical climbers. Many had died trying to traverse an ice field in these conditions.

"Hey guys. Are you sure we can get down to the talus field without a rope to rappel? I mean, what the fuck are you thinking? Wait up a minute."

My rational concerns were met with an icy stare from Randal that was spookier than the couloir below. "Shut the fuck up and wait here while we go down and check it out. Be ready to move fast. We're not waiting for you."

Boom! The explosive sound of a granite slab cutting loose. That "bomb" was followed by the banging of huge boulders as they trundled hundreds of feet down the mountainside. Larry had triggered a small avalanche of rock that probably was poised to fall for hundreds of years.

"Larry!" Randal yelled in a panicked voice that I had never heard from our fearless leader before. "You OK?"

"Shit! That was close," Larry shouted back. He sounded far away. Shaky. What was happening to these mountain hardmen? I was witnessing one amateur mistake after another and the math was adding up to a net loss. "I'm good. Just need to down-climb a few more feet to a ledge."

Randal didn't look back at me. He launched into the keyhole slot without another word. We were all wearing heavy hiking boots which were not designed for technical rock climbing. The chimney they descended looked like it was rated a difficultly level of 5.9 -- meaning sane climbers would wear sticky rubber shoes and use a rope along with safety gear placements for protection. Doing this in heavy leather boots was very risky.

I quickly weighed my options. Maybe I could leave them here and hike the long way back to basecamp all night. I would have to cover unfamiliar terrain at high altitude with plummeting temperatures.

I spun around and carefully lowered my body into the foreboding slot. About 30 feet down that crooked chimney of fractured granite, I could see Larry and Randal cowering on a sloping ledge about 5 feet wide. It was covered with rocks of all sizes. Every time they moved, another rock would fall over the edge and shoot down the ice colouir, landing in the talus field far below. We made a huge mistake coming down here. Now we were trapped. The only way out was the narrow black ice chute; about 40 feet wide and several hundred feet long. Steep smooth walls on either side.

"What the fuck?" I was shaking from fear and really pissed now. "How are we going to get down that ice chute without gear. This is why I wanted to bring a rappel rope."

At first there was no answer. They both seemed frozen by fear and indecision. All the bravado and confidence that drove them to this ledge seemed to have vanished with the brutal realization that they made the wrong call and were now committed.

"Stay there and shut up," Randal finally yelled back. "We got this handled."

Larry seemed to be deep in thought regarding his next move. He said nothing.

My feet were spread across the gap below me in a strenuous stemming position which I couldn't hold much longer. My legs were shaking from long hours of climbing. If one foot slipped, I would fall 10 feet and bounce off the narrow ledge.

"Randal. I can't hold on much longer. I'm going to hang on my arms and then jump the last few feet. I need for you to spot me fast."

No answer. Our courageous leader was crouched in the deepest corner of the ledge, refusing to make eye contact. What the hell was going on in his head? This was becoming that nightmare where no one hears you screaming for help. And vertigo was setting in. I only had seconds left. My legs started shaking like a St. Vitus dance step.

"Push me back against the wall when I hit the ledge!" Still no answer. The clock ticking faster. My skin was cold. Mouth dry. Either I jumped to that sloping ledge and Randal caught me -- or I bouncing over the edge, slid down the chute, arms flailing, landing in the sharp boulders below the ice field.

I crossed myself for luck and went for it, lowering my feet as far as my arms would stretch. When I was beyond the point of no return, I faced into the wall and let go of my hand holds, dropping onto the ledge. Randal sprung up and slammed his shoulder into my torso like a football tackle. It worked. I was now huddled against the wall in the corner with them, shoulder to shoulder.

"What the fuck? Why did you guys tell me to come down here? We are all trapped now. There is no way I can climb back up that chimney in these hiking boots in the dark." The final flicker of sunset was fully blocked by the cliff above us. The temperature dropped quickly, with twilight surrendering to the black night.

My climbing partners ignored me. They apparently had discussed their own plan. Larry stood up and started feeling around for handholds on the right vertical wall of the steep colouir. That wall had been polished by ice and water erosion over countless eons. There were no obvious holds as far as I could tell. But Larry was hyper focused on finding a way to technically downclimb with zero gear.

Randal had apparently become more Beta than Alpha leader. He just watched Larry and seemed to be encouraging him to go for it. Larry faced the glacier polished wall and placed his hands high above his head in what looked like a thin seam or crack that angled down slope. Then he edged his boot on the rock just an inch above where it met the ice. So far so good.

But was he going to repeat this scary maneuver for hours, inch by inch, down the entire ice chute?

"I can do this." He suddenly sounded confident. "Just need to keep edging on the rock and go slow." We were silently cheering him on at this point. Worse yet, if he somehow succeeded, we would both have to repeat his dicey feat. Then it happened. In the blink of an eye Larry stepped down from the thin rock edge. When his rubber sole touched the slick ice his legs shot out -- pulling his hands off the thin crack in a flash. We heard Larry scream.

He was speeding down that icy ramp on his back, feet slamming into the rocks at the bottom with a sickening thud. The crushing sound of raw meat and bones hitting the rocks at high speed.

Then nothing. No sound. Just an eerie quiet and a few small trailing pebbles bouncing onto he talus.

Randal looked down in disbelief. "Larry! Larry! Say something. Can you hear me?"

We waited and the tension mounted. I said nothing at all. After maybe two minutes of silence, Larry let out a huge gasp -- trapped air released from his lungs. And then the real nightmare began.

"Ahh fuck. Fuck. Ahh fuck. What happened?" He was alive and very much awake now. That sucked for him. I think he tried to stand up, not realizing that his feet and legs were shattered. We watched him land in the talus feet first with a crunching sound, and then his body flipped over so that he was now upside down facing away from us.

"My legs won't work! I can't feel them. I think I broke my back. I can't feel my feet." He sounded hysterical.

Randal consoled his best friend. "Larry. Don't move. Stay still man. Just don't move. I'm coming down to help you."

Maybe Larry passed out again because he went dead silent. Randal and I looked at each other, in shock at what we just witnessed. We each desperately tried to solve the problem in our minds of how to save Larry.

"Don't try to downclimb that ice," I warned Randal. "Look at what happened to Larry. He's fucked up. You can't help him if you fall too."

Randal suddenly woke from the strange paralysis of fear and indecision that overcame him on the ledge a few minutes earlier. He went into action mode. Our leader was back. He was all business and smart decisions now. No more hesitation. No more doubt. This was the hardman that I followed into the mountains. He would get us out. He had to get us out.

"Listen up. I'm going to climb that chimney and take the trail to the closest ranger's camp. All I need is my headlamp and some water. You stay here and watch Larry. I don't care what happens, but you better not leave him. If you leave him, I'll kill you motherfucker. You hear me?"

Randal was totally amped up; almost unhinged. "Dude. Where would I go exactly? I can't climb that chimney in the dark. I don't know where to find a ranger. Our lives depend on you now. You are the best climber and the strongest hiker. You know all these trails, even in the dark. It's going to get really cold soon. Larry's only wearing shorts and a tee shirt. He's not going to last all night unless you bring a rescue team. We need a helicopter. He's busted up bad."

To his credit, Randal rose to the occasion. He opened the small pack which was clipped around his waist and sorted through the contents. He pulled out a survival "space" blanket which was wrapped in a tiny package the size of a candy bar. "Take this. You're going to get cold." We divided up our food and water as well. That didn't take long because we were down to one

power bar and a half liter of water. Then I gave Randal my most encouraging speech. "We're depending on you. I will be OK if I just stay here. But Larry needs a medivac. You are the strongest guy I know in the mountains. You have to do this man. This is what you trained for. Don't worry about Larry, I will stay awake and talk to him all night. Just get going. But be careful. If you fall Larry will never make it."

Randal turned on his headlamp and then gave me a strong hug. I needed that connection before he left on his mission. I needed to know we were cool. I slapped him on the shoulder for good luck. He stood on my clasped hands and I boosted him up several feet to the first handholds in the chimney above. A few minutes of grunting in that strenuous chimney. Then he topped out and shouted down. "I'm on my way. Don't leave Larry. I'll be back with help before dawn."

------------------

A pale moon slowly rose in the east as the longest night in my life began to unfold.

The temperature dropped several degrees per minute, forcing me to focus on survival. I was now responsible for Larry. But what could I do? I was wearing shorts and a light jacket. We never planned to spend the night up here. We traveled as light as possible for speed, carrying food and water rather than survival gear. I began taking inventory of what little I had left. A snack bar. The space blanket Randal gave me. No headlamp. No puffy down jacket. No gloves. No long pants. Nothing an experienced climber would bring along to a mountain peak at night.

Desperate, I checked again, using a feeble Bic lighter to guide me through the pathetic items in my small pack. Then I found it. A small plastic bag with pills inside. I always carried some pain killers for my bum knee. Just in case. Vicodin. Brain candy for the mentally weak and physically infirm. For the coward who couldn't endure the pain of manly sports. How could I survive this night and help Larry? He was totally broken and exposed to the cold. Helpless on the rocks below.

I wrapped the space blanket tightly around my body and crammed by back against the wall, as far from the edge of this sloping ledge as possible. I couldn't even see the edge now. Three feet away was the end of my pathetic existence. Black rock blended with black night.

The soulless moon mocked me. It could see everything. It could see right through my self deception, like a psychic X-ray. You can't lie to the moon. You can't cheat the mountains.

These are forever truths. Amoral judges of character. A heartless jury. They would decide my fate tonight. It was intertwined with Larry. If he died down there, it was on me. I would be haunted by my absolute failure. Better to throw myself over the edge then live with my failure.

My dark thoughts were interrupted by Larry's renewed screams for help. "Mike! Where's Randal. When are you coming to get me? Why's it taking so long. It hurts. I can't move my legs. It's freezing cold."

I tried to calm my voice and sound strong, but I was shivering so hard I could barely speak. My teeth were chattering. I slapped myself in the face. Hard. "Larry. Hold on man. Randal went for help. He'll be back soon."

"I'm so cold. I need my jacket. Where's my jacket." I knew this was impossible since his jacket was stuffed in his small pack which was laying several feet away from him in the talus where it landed.

"Larry. I'm still up here on the ledge. Your pack is close to you in the rocks. About five feet away. Can you crawl over there?"

Maybe he tried. I could no longer see him, and I didn't want to move because of all the loose rocks that kept falling off the ledge and slamming into the slope around him.

"Oh fuck! It hurts. I can't move."

"That's good man," I reassured him. "If your back hurts than it's not broken." I straight up lied because I had no medical training and no idea what I was talking about. Then I got an idea.

"Don't move. I'm going to put some pain pills in an empty water bottle and toss it down to you. If you catch it, then take the pills and you'll sleep. You won't feel cold man. You'll feel great until Randal gets back."

This seemed like a long shot, but that's the only idea I had. I downed the last swig of water in my small plastic bottle, put two Vicodin in it, and tossed it over the side, hoping my aim was good. Then I heard a fusillade of small rocks cut loose from the ice ramp, raining down on Larry.

"Stop!" he yelled. "Don't throw anything else down. Those rocks are hitting me!"

Damm! I fucked that up. Now what? I needed to do something.

"Larry. Don't worry man. I'm not going to throw anything else down there. Just think of going home. Picture your son and your wife. If you want to see them again then you just need to get through the next couple of hours. The sun will feel warm when it comes up. It's almost dawn." My lies were becoming increasingly outrageous. I hoped he didn't have his wristwatch on.

I crawled back under my sorry-ass space blanket, which was a total joke. Basically a five-foot square of flimsy paper that looked like aluminum foil. No matter what I did, it was impossible to fully wrap it around me and the wind kept blowing it away from my skin. I retreated deep into my mind, ignoring Larry's moaning and calls for help. I thought I was stronger than that. But I just couldn't listen to him anymore. Reality was overwhelming. I needed a place to hide from it fast or I was going to push the boulder next to me off that ledge and end his pain. My thoughts grew more dark and wicked the longer this went on.

Every time I looked at my watch only a few minutes had passed. The moon saw my selfish thoughts right through that piece of shit excuse for a blanket. There was no hiding from the truth. Finally, I couldn't take it any longer. I opened the last two Vicodin wrappers and chewed them up. Their bitter taste matched my mood perfectly. Then I nodded off.

-----------------

I woke to the sound of rotor blades approaching. At first, I thought I was still dreaming. Could a rescue chopper get here that fast? Then I pulled back the flimsy space blanket and realized it was getting light. It was pre dawn. My watch showed 6:15 am. I had passed out for over three hours. What happened to Larry? Was he still alive?

"Larry!" I shouted. "Do you hear the chopper coming?"

He answered immediately but his voice was raspy. No water and laying on the freezing rocks screaming all night upside down with a broken back wasn't very healthy. "Yea. I hear it. Thank God!"

No shit! Thank God. But most of all think Randal for hauling ass for hours in the dark to find somebody with a radio to call for a rescue.

The distinct sound of rotor blades faded in and out, but gradually got louder. Finally I could see a black speck on the Eastern horizon just below a mountain peak, illuminated from behind by a rising sun and a pure blue morning sky. Oddly, it was one of most amazing sunrises I'd ever seen. Or maybe I was just high on opiates and survival endorphins? I was definitely in an altered state of consciousness after spending the night on that ledge battling my inner demons.

"I told you Randal would find help. These guys will have you loaded on a stretcher and off to the hospital in a few minutes. You're going to be OK man. You probably just bruised your spine. Once the swelling goes down you will be hiking again in no time."

After hours of lies and false promises, I guess Larry was no longer listening to my bullshit. He said nothing.

The chopper was smaller than I expected. I could see the pilot through the bubble glass. He had shaggy long blond hair and wore aviator sunglasses. Were we being rescued by a surfer? I was confused but gave it up. California was a tripped-out zone and nothing surprised me anymore.

I watched as a crew member in a harness expertly stepped out of the chopper and stood on one of skids as it hovered about 500 feet above the talus slope. He wore heavy gloves and began to lower a Stokes litter on a cable while barking orders to the pilot. The wind was blowing the lightweight chopper around, and I could tell they were having problems getting the litter to drop straight down. It was blowing sideways and flying all over the place. I didn't even understand the rescue plan. Was Larry supposed to stand up and step into the litter attached to the end of that long lifeline or what?

Then I saw the rest of the rescue operation. There were six climbers with heavy packs standing about 50 meters away from Larry. I guess they were going to move in and somehow get Larry hooked up and hoisted? But then everything went sideways. The chopper was literally bouncing up and down, while the guy on the skids was hanging on for his life. He was waiving off the ground grew and yelling, but none of us could hear him over the roar of those sharp metal blades and the wind which was gusting heavily. Small pieces of "gris" or granite sand were blasting me on the ledge as the rotors and the wind picked up pebbles and pelted everyone within range. That sorry ass space blanket looked like it was peppered with bullet holes before a gust finally ripped it away, sending it back to China where it came from. The ground crew were on their knees with colorful orange climbing helmets on, covering their eyes from the dust and high-speed pellets.

The litter on the end of the cable started spinning and picking up speed. Now it became a major hazard, swinging in a wide arc like a crazy buzzsaw. I didn't know shit about helicopter rescues, but this one was going badly. With no warning, the chopper gained altitude and flew away from my cliff. And it kept going, heading East the way it came from with an empty basket.

As the sound of the chopper disappeared and the sandstorm subsided, I heard a more ominous noise. Then I saw the source. Massive boulders had cut loose from the mountainside. The chopper had started an avalanche. The rescue crew on the ground looked up in horror as giant rocks of all sizes and shapes flew down the cliff, literally exploding when they hit the talus. The rescue team dropped their packs and started running like the devil was behind them. I watched as a piece of shrapnel the size of a TV hit

one guy squarely in the back. He went down and stayed down. The others took cover behind the largest boulders they could find as hell rained down on them.

I looked desperately for Larry. What happened to him? I saw his colorful blue pack laying where it was before. But now a massive pile of rubble and granite dust were exactly where he was laying.

-----------

I sat in the back of the little helicopter and just stared out the door. This was my ride back to Bishop after several hours of searching for Larry's body in that huge pile of broken stones. I noticed a familiar insignia on the pilot's faded leather jacket, which looked like it had survived a war. The little black and yellow patch on his sleeve read "Air Calvary." Then I remembered. These were the guys who flew search and rescue missions during the Vietnam war, looking for downed pilots and stranded soldiers.

The pilot turned and handed me a headset. "Dude! This was your lucky day!" I was confused. And I certainly didn't feel lucky. "I spent four years in Nam trying to rescue our guys. Mostly I just brought back body bags. That's the way it goes out here on the edge man."

I didn't have anything left to say. I was broken.

The End.