The Mammoth Book of Mountain Disasters Page 31

  Throughout the day I had been hungry and I had frequent misgivings about our food supply. As each of us scratched a groove for laying out a sleeping bag, Mick came round and issued us with a slice of cold corned beef, two slices of bread and a portion of tinned fruit. This was washed down with water from the ice-cold pools, only feet from our stopping place. Very little was said that night and few had a sound sleep. Several light showers fell on the mountain, but there was no severe wind. I dozed off several times, and eventually I came to full life with Mick’s gruff voice beside me, “Wake up, Hardie. The day’s half gone. The sun will burn a hole in your arse.”

  I opened my eyes, and it wasn’t daylight yet. But the clouds had gone and the full extent of our exposed eyrie soon became apparent. The almost totally unclimbed Balfour Range was across the La Perouse glacier from us. The sun later touched Tasman, Malaspina and Vancouver far to the east. But to the west, far below us, the still scarcely lit bush on the Cook River cliffs promised much gloomy struggling before the journey ended.

  We had been cramped on a tiny hard and damp terrace, with a tent for Ruth, and saturated clouds for us. At one stage Neil Hamilton rolled over and committed a terrible crime. He crushed Mick Bowie’s pipe! Mick, always a heavy pipe smoker, surveyed the damage as he was putting on his boots and said drily, “I had hoped this rescue would have got through without a disaster.” Neil, the only other pipe smoker in the party, unveiled his own, and handed it to Mick, who puffed on it at every stop.

  Breakfast consisted of another slice of cold tinned meat and two of plain bread, again without a hot drink. The hard work continued and it took a full day to get down to the Gulch Creek Rock. First there was a long descent of a loose rock couloir, and the only way to handle this was for climbers to go down in pairs, using the long rope as a handrail, then scrambling clear at the bottom. Eventually the stretcher was lowered, being guided by two men to avoid injuring the rescuers. Another hazard was the likelihood of sharp rocks tearing the fabric of the stretcher.

  Gerry, the doctor, did much of the attending to Ruth. She was tightly strapped in with just part of her face visible. For most of the travelling she was heavily sedated, so there was very little conversation with her, and discussions about the look of the next downward hazards were held away from the likely range of her ears.

  It was not until nearly lunch time some three whole days after the accident, that there was a general acceptance that the operation would be successful. We stopped on a terrace by a small tarn, munched the normal slender ration, and more openly discussed the prospects. Before leaving the Hermitage, Mick had sent a message to people on the West Coast, requesting a team to cut a track through the bush for us, if we were not seen descending the ice slopes on the east side. Mick now seemed confident the track work would have started and he said, “For a strong party not carrying much, it is possible to struggle through without a track. In fact we might even see someone tonight.”

  There is a lot of difference between a man pushing through hard country alone, and six men carrying a stretcher with a patient whose injuries required delicate transportation.

  In the afternoon we carried and slid the stretcher down a further 2,000 feet of loose rock and snow grass, aiming all the time at the vast sheltering rock which had been visible most of the day. At 4.00 pm sixteen tired and very hungry people struggled through the first small patches of alpine scrub, and lowered their loads at the rock. Here at last under the overhangs there was shelter, and, what seemed more important, fuel was available for the first time. Great billies of tea were produced, damp gear was put out to dry, and Ruth was temporarily released from the cramp and heat of the stretcher.

  Mick Bowie’s forecast was right. We were still settling in when four men appeared from the moraine which gives access to the Cook River.

  “Are you carrying a body or a patient?” was the first question.

  “She’s alive and not too bad, but she’ll have to be carried all the way.”

  “Anxious relatives, and hordes of reporters are down at the highway, desperate for news.”

  The four new arrivals emptied the food they were carrying into the joint pool. They hadn’t brought very much, as they had come up in a hurry, and they had to bring their own sleeping bags, climbing gear, a tent, and clothing.

  “We had no idea you were short of supplies. From all reports, the outside world thinks tons of it were dropped from the plane when you got the stretcher.”

  Within an hour two of them set off for the road, carrying the news of Ruth’s relatively satisfactory state, confirming our outward course, and requesting food to come up the fast forming track.

  One of the four who came up the Cook River was Earle Riddiford. This was the first time he met Ed Hillary. These two were subsequently on three Himalayan expeditions together and it was Earle and Eric Shipton who in 1951 first broke through to the crest of the Western Cwm and confirmed the easiest way to the Nepalese upper slopes of Mount Everest.

  After numerous introductions Earle joined Bill Beaven and me. His first remark to us was, “This new track will open up some great climbing for our four next season.”

  Bill said, “We’ve had exactly the same thought.”

  For several years we three, Earle Riddiford, Bill Beaven and I, had been part of a highly successful group which climbed in the more remote valleys of New Zealand, accomplishing many first ascents, from places where we would have to carry loads for a week, before putting in a base for an expedition-type climb. In fact our group was to use this new Cook River track ten months later, when we completed the climb of La Perouse, and several other mountains.

  At the Gulch Creek Rock, Earle, always one for looking ahead and planning ambitious schemes, said, “What’s Ed Hillary like on the mountain?”

  I replied, “This is the first time we’ve met him. But he seems very good to me.”

  Then Bill added, “He’s fit and he worked really hard on the mountain. You know he’s also got expedition ideas for the Himalayas.”

  Earle had been pressing us for years to set our eyes on the Himalayas, but the giant problems of costs, sponsorship, permission, oxygen and publicity appeared forbidding. We never did all join forces in the Himalayas, but within seven years, three of us, and of course Ed Hillary, each made first ascents of peaks above 23,000 feet.

  The warmth of dried bags and the lower altitude gave everyone a better night at Gulch Creek. But Mick, who for the whole journey had been pressing us with the gruff command for an early start, now added to the previous strong words, “There’ll be some streams to cross and some likely wading in the Cook River. It’ll be low in the mornings, and high each afternoon with the melting snow.” From the rock we all scrambled to the moraine which covers the lower few miles of the La Perouse Glacier, before the Cook River begins. Like all moraines, it is a jumbled mess of sharp rocks, steep slopes, mostly bedded on ice. Fortunately, the further down the glacier one goes the less ice there is visible. Gradually, the going improves.

  In mid-morning, when the worst of the moraine was past, a single-engined aircraft was heard, and then seen, coming up the valley. A tiny homemade parachute dropped out and landed safely near us. I looked up. “That doesn’t look like much of a food drop.” Tied to the parachute was a brief hand-written message. “Wave a parka if Ruth is safe.” Evidently last night’s messengers had not travelled in the dark. We waved. The plane departed. Again we picked up our burdens and struggled onwards.

  Soon the plane returned, did several circuits round the group, and another parachute dropped out and opened. It also looked small. Someone collected it and returned with a big carton. It was eagerly opened and inside was a giant fruit cake. What a joyful sight! Ruth’s father, Ernest Adams, runs New Zealand’s main cake bakery.

  After a big cake morning tea, the team performed better. Soon the valley closed to a steep-sided gorge and we were forced into an area of enormous river-washed boulders, originally dropped there by the glacier. With the roaring rive
r lapping their sides, it was usually necessary to climb over them. Where this was done the route was through the bush. As soon as we entered it we could see that the first upward helpers had at least cleared a slender track for our outward passage.

  But the difficulties were enormous. There would seldom be fifty consecutive yards of normal stretcher carrying. The total width of men on each side of the stretcher was too wide for the initial narrow track cut through the trees. Great tree roots, thousands of boulders, steep bluffs where ropes had to be used, wet moss-covered rocks and a raging river had to be negotiated. Frequently the stretcher had to be moved from hand to hand, in circumstances where men were unable to move with the main vital load. Those coming behind, having their turn at relaying the pack loads, or carrying two packs at a time, had fewer problems, as the bushmen’s route was better suited to persons travelling singly. But it was still extremely hard work.

  As time went by, more helpers came up the valley. They included Ruth’s three brothers. More bushmen were working on the track and there were obvious improvements the further west we travelled. Also food began to arrive in great quantity. But still it took us three days to get out from Gulch Creek to the West Coast road.

  At one camp, in the depths of the humid rain forest, we were sitting round a fire, shortly to crawl into our sleeping bags, when one mountaineer spied an axe, picked it up, and began to chop firewood. Immediately an enormous bushman with immense arms bulging out of a black singlet leapt up and grabbed the axe. He looked at the keen edge as a professional golfer may inspect his putter. Then he took a heap of logs, laid into them with immense skill, and sprayed us all with showers of great chips as he rapidly produced a stack of firewood. I sat in wonder, and one of my new associates whispered in awe, “He’s the toughest man on the Coast – won last year’s Australia and New Zealand downhand chop. No one can ever touch his axe.”

  It was on the seventh day since the accident when Ruth was transferred to the greater comfort of a car. Soon she was flown to Christchurch – and eventually she made a full recovery. In fact she completed a medical degree, married a doctor, had three children and went into medical practice in Melbourne, Australia.

  The rescuers and ever willing bushmen were given a great welcome at the small town where they emerged. After an enormous feed, a thorough clean and a good sleep, I stated I intended walking back to my work at the hydro dam. This meant a two days’ walk on tourist tracks and a crossing in snow of a 6,500-feet pass, emerging at the Hermitage, where I could easily arrange a ride to work. The guides were horrified at this. Yet another crossing of Copland Pass meant no great joy to them. One came to me and requested, “Keep away from the bosses at the Hermitage and don’t say where we are. We’ve been offered a ride through by car and train to Christchurch. We’ll get back to the Hermitage a day after you.”

  They enjoyed their comfortable journey the long way round, and they certainly deserved the rest.

  A Long Way to Kinabalu

  Dan Carroll

  This is one of those cases of going downhill, rather than up, to perform a search and rescue mission, but before this descent, the rescue team had to travel half way round the globe to the island of Borneo and climb the highest peak in South-East Asia. This is probably the longest call-out ever, a distance of 10,000 miles (a close second is a Mount Kenya call-out, also recorded in this book).

  Dan Carroll is team leader of RAF Leuchars Mountain Rescue Team in Fife, Scotland. RAF Mountain Rescue goes all the way back to 1943 and was founded principally for the location of crashed aircraft and the evacuation of their crews. Their responsibility widened over time to rescuing military personnel engaged in mountain activities, and hence to civilian walkers and climbers. It also expanded its remit to back-up local rescue teams, often pressed for manpower and resources. RAFMR moved with the times and all the teams are well equipped and well trained. Team members are volunteers within the service, with day jobs as aircraftsmen and other military trades.

  Dan was the climbing leader of the successful RAFMR Everest expedition in 2001, and summitted the highest mountain of the world by the difficult North Ridge. Here he gives an account, a story of skill and dedication, of how their team descended into the deepest depths of one of the most notorious gullies in the world.

  It was 15 March 1994. “This isn’t a wind-up Dan.” Jim Smith, the team leader of RAF Kinloss Mountain Rescue Team, sounded serious. I listened intently as he explained that ten Army personnel had gone out to Malaysia on an Adventurous Training expedition to attempt the first complete descent of a steep gully on a 13,455-foot (4,101-metre) mountain called Kinabalu. The party had split into two groups of five which had become separated on difficult ground. One party had major epics and, after eleven days, eventually made it to safety. The other group were still missing in the gully! The Malaysian rescue services were not capable of operating in the steep gully at that altitude so, unbelievable as it sounded, the RAF Mountain Rescue Service had been tasked to go to look for five missing soldiers 10,000 miles away!

  Alister Haveron, the Chief Instructor of the RAF Mountain Rescue Service, decided to take a total of seventeen troops from (at that time) six RAF rescue teams in the UK. He liaised with the Ministry of Defence, who were investigating the background of the missing five and attempting to find out about the mountain, as well as organising civilian flights and equipment.

  Kinabalu is an awe-inspiring mountain, rising in splendid isolation above the steaming northern jungles on the vast island of Borneo, east Malaysia. The lower half of the mountain comprises near-impenetrable tropical forest, while the top half is bare granite carved into wild peaks and ridges, smooth slabs and vertiginous faces which rise uninterrupted for over a kilometre above the jungle. Local tribes have named the mountain Aki Na, Home of the Spirits of the Departed It’s the highest mountain in South-East Asia and, on first sight, it’s easy to comprehend the fascination that the mountain holds for mountaineers. Almost all of the visitors with the intention of climbing Mount Kinabalu ascend by the tourist route with a local guide. On the first day they climb to a rest house situated at the top of the forest at 11,200 feet. They leave the rest house early in the morning to climb to the summit for sunrise. By mid-morning, the mountain is shrouded in mist and swirling cloud and there are often heavy tropical downpours in the afternoon.

  That was all we had to go on. No detailed information about climate or conditions; we didn’t even know if there was snow in the gully and a few of us packed axes and crampons “just in case”! We had two hours to sort out kit, get vaccinations and, to top it all, my passport was out of date! Luckily, I was based at RAF St Athan in South Wales at the time, and soon got a new passport from the agency at Newport. Similar scenes of unhurried preparation got under way at five other locations throughout the UK as the RAF responded to this unusual call for long-haul assistance from halfway around the world. The RAF Kinloss team members arranged to borrow a Nimrod aircraft to take them to RAF Brize Norton – stopping off en-route to pick up some of the team from RAF Leuchars and RAF Leeming. A SAR Wessex helicopter from RAF Valley flew the Valley MRT troops over to Brize Norton, whilst the Stafford and St Athan troops travelled by road.

  This was a highly unusual deployment for the RAF teams, but it went incredibly smoothly, probably due to the fact that every member had been on previous overseas expeditions and could envisage the requirements and foresee pending problems. One was ready cash! We were unsure how long the rescue would take and twenty members could get through a lot of money buying food, accommodation and equipment. At that time, RAF rescue teams only had access to cash funds and we ended up taking several thousand pounds in cash and relying on the British military when we ran out. After this call-out Team Leaders were each issued with a company credit card to cater for such emergencies.

  Eventually, all seventeen of us were assembled at Heathrow. In addition we were joined by two jungle survival instructors from the RAF School of Combat Survival, an ex-Royal Navy Outdoor Inst
ructor (Lieutenant-Commander Mike Elesmore) who had first-hand knowledge of Mount Kinabalu and an Army doctor (Major Tony Williams). We boarded a Malaysian Airlines 747 to Kuala Lumpur, then onwards to Kota Kinabalu. Total travelling time was twenty-two hours from leaving Heathrow. At Kota Kinabalu International Airport we were met by the Malaysian Army and taken to a rather pleasant five star hotel in the middle of town. Unfortunately, we were not to see much of the hotel during the next two weeks!

  Immediately after arriving we were briefed on the situation by Lieutenant-Colonel Tony Schumacher, commander of the British Army jungle warfare training team in Brunei. Due to the size, complexity and media interest involved with this incident, he was appointed by the military as the on scene search and rescue commander. After this briefing, most of us got our heads down for a few hours. The remainder were invited to a briefing by two of the surviving soldiers – the other three were in hospital! They had set off to descend the gully twenty-one days previously. Their story was told matter-of-factly, but it was apparent that they had been through great hardships.

  At 0200 hours on 23 February 1994 ten soldiers, led by Lieutenant-Colonel Robert Neill, set off from the rest house at 11,200 feet, intending to make the first complete descent of the steep uncharted Low’s Gully. The expedition members had ascended the tourist route some days previously. Some of them had climbed to the summit of Kinabalu and they had all carried out some rudimentary abseil training before making the climb over a col at 12,500 feet into the gully itself. The gully starts in an enormous slabby amphitheater surrounded by several 13,000-foot peaks and then it plunges via waterfalls, narrow ravines and vertical cliffs to the jungle floor thousands of feet below. Each of the ten men had taken approximately eight days’ rations. Despite their training, some of the younger, fitter personnel had reservations about the competence and capabilities of the others.