The Mammoth Book of Mountain Disasters Page 40
At 10.30 that night (20 June), I crawled over the last of the moraine rocks. My legs were very swollen from knocking them countless times. I stopped to examine them and was horrified to find that I had worn right through four layers of clothing and that my knees were numb, bloody and swollen.
One last bank and I was on the triangle of moraine that surrounded the thick green grass of Base Camp – a little oasis amongst the chaos of shifting rock and ice. I crawled to the old kitchen site. I thought when I saw the meagre supplies that had been left that the others must have really thought we were dead. However, it was good to eat Purdy Cake with a cup of milky tea and then to fall asleep on that little meadow.
Next morning the sun shone on to our wet sleeping bags – you could feel the warmth come right through into the murky interior. Pulling open the draw-cord from inside, putting my head out to see the grass, the flowers and the stream running across, then getting out, brewing a mug of tea, eating a powdered egg omelette and feeling the sun burning my skin: beautiful memories these.
For four days Clive looked after Chris and me, and still there was no sign of the porters that Mo should have sent. On the fifth day, however, when we were down to soup and Tom and Jerry nougat bars, Nick arrived with twelve porters to carry me down, together with the remnants of our gear. Mo, in the meantime, had gone off with Tut and our Liaison Officer, Captain Aleem, to Skardu, in order to dispatch a helicopter for arrival outside Askole on 28 July.
When Mo arrived in Askole, Tut had already been there a week and had made good friends with the headman and many of the villagers. As each day passed it had seemed to Tut and to the Baltis that our chances of being alive were growing increasingly slim, especially when Nick arrived alone. Thus, when Mo walked in, they were all overjoyed to discover that we were safe, if not exactly one hundred per cent. The headman sent off to other villagers to ensure that we had twelve strong and able porters. And that was exactly what we got.
In three days they carried me down to the Biafo Glacier and then along to its snout and on to a flat field near Askole, where a helicopter could land. It was a remarkable journey on a home-made stretcher constructed of juniper wood poles, a climbing rope and sleeping mats. Never once did they look like dropping me, and I seldom felt a jolt. It was good to lie out, listening and waiting as they made decisions as to route finding, choice of camping place, who should fetch wood and water, who should take the heavier part of the stretcher, and so on. They inevitably made the decision after a gentle murmur had gone round the motley band – no one ever shouted or became excited. Their voices blended into a sing-song melody which seemed completely in tune with the rhythm of their village lives. They knew just what to do. And I for one have nothing but admiration for these hardy people, who are all very individualistic and full of character, yet are easily capable of working to a common aim in complete accord. That is how good expeditions can work.
It was sad to be suddenly plucked away from them by the noisy helicopter. Unlike Taki with his eggs and the eight stretcher-bearers with me, the helicopter was not so gentle: coming into Skardu the engine cut out, and we suddenly plummeted twenty feet to the ground some hundred yards short of the helipad. As a result Chris had to wait for a week in Askole while the helicopter was repaired, but eventually he, too, was flown out to Skardu.
Three days later, after fine hospitality at the British Embassy and a first-class flight home, courtesy of Pakistani International Airlines, I was being plastered and pinned in Nottingham General Hospital.
After the expedition, when I heard of Doug’s crawl back to civilisation, I sent a note to him at the Nottingham General Hospital: “Take care, youth, there’s not many of us left.”
The Rock Wizards of Oz
Alan Sheehan
The motto of the Australian rescue service should be “No Worries” for they are an efficient and compassionate bunch of lads – and sheilas. Many climbers assume that this flatland continent has little to offer the mountaineer. They may be right in respect to major ice routes and high-altitude problems, but Australia does have mountains, snow (at least for skiing) and rock climbing, with an abundance of canyons which have catapulted the sport of canyoning into the top league.
Wherever nature provides the raw material for adrenalin release, you inevitably get the associated problems that go with climbing and, in canyoning, the added ingredient of hypothermia (yes, in Australia!) and navigational embarrassment through these rocky labyrinths, in other words getting lost! So it’s refreshing, and comforting, to note that the diverse rescue groups that operate in Australia work so closely and efficiently together for the welfare of the injured bushwalker, rock climber and canyoner.
Alan Sheehan, who is a rescuer and Senior Vertical Rescue Trainer in Oberon, NSW, is also an engineer. The partnership of rapidly assessing and then implementing the mechanics of a difficult technical rescue is an essential qualification for today’s rescuer. Alan describes some incidents on his patch.
Within two to three hours’ drive from Australia’s largest city, Sydney, lies the Kanangra Boyd Wilderness Area. With abundant rugged beauty, solitude, and its close proximity to the city, Kanangra’s the place for outdoor adventure activities. With this popularity comes an increase in searches and rescues. Australia’s not synonymous with large precipitous mountains, but the area around Kanangra is nevertheless challenging. A challenge some find irresistible, but can’t always handle.
Kanangra Walls are the primary feature of the Kanangra Boyd National Park. The tops of these and the Boyd Plateau sit between 1,000–1,200 metres above sea level with peaks throughout the park and the adjacent Great Dividing Range reaching over 1,300 metres. Certainly not large mountains by international standards, but not trivial in terms of ruggedness – to coin a phrase there are “more acres per square mile” in Kanangra than most places. The Boyd Plateau to the west is predominantly hard granite, while the Kanangra Walls area to the east is softer sandstone, leading to the development of large canyons between 500–1,000 metres deep.
The Kanangra Canyons are predominantly open canyons with big faces and pitches and spectacular views, confined generally. Not much wonder why it’s such a popular area for canyoners (enthusiasts who descend canyons). The canyons of the nearby Blue Mountains are different again – narrow, tight and generally confined.
The rock at Kanangra is not well suited to climbing. It’s poor and very variable in strength with unreliable holds; most slopes are steep and loose. Few climbers play in Kanangra when the reliable rock of the Blue Mountains is next door. Climatic conditions vary from typical sub-alpine at the top, with the usual changeable weather, to rainforest conditions in the deeper canyons. Several limestone lenses throughout result in a profusion of wilderness and show caves – the most famous are the Jenolan Caves.
While police retain the combat role for Land Searches and Rescue in Australia, the State Emergency Service (SES) often provides the skilled volunteer manpower for many of the search teams. In the case of Kanangra, the nearest contact for know-how and assistance is the Oberon Unit of the New South Wales State Emergency Service. In Oberon’s case, knowledge of the area also means Oberon State Emergency Service is an important source of search intelligence for the police.
SES is a voluntary organisation. Every state and territory in Australia has a State or Territory Emergency Service. New South Wales has over 6,000 volunteers across the state. For example, Oberon also takes part in general rescue, road crashes, land, and in some cases vertical rescue. This unit is small, about a dozen keen volunteers, and about the same number we can call in when “it” starts getting too close to the fan. Most of the volunteer members are or were avid bushwalkers, climbers, canyoners and cavers who know the Kanangra area intimately like their own back yard.
Land searches are the most common rescue with an average of twelve to fifteen a year, many for overdue bushwalkers and canyoners in the Kanangra Boyd Wilderness Area. Others can develop into full wilderness or vertical rescues. The
most popular canyons in Kanangra can be done in a day, but there’s many that require two or more days and some involve a couple of days’ hike before the canyon is even started! Not surprisingly, helicopters get used whenever possible and, as one would expect, most real ground-based call-outs occur in bad weather.
Over the years Kanangra has taken its toll. Most of these unfortunates underestimate the terrain or the weather, or suffer an illness or injury. Navigation error is the next most common factor resulting in search and rescue calls, followed by separation of members from the group. Around five to ten per cent of rescues are for people who have done everything right, but a minor incident has caught them out. Like Roy, a bushwalker who fell on a sloping part of the track below Smith’s Pass at the eastern end of Kanangra Walls. Leaf litter on the track caused him to slip, the result, a fractured ankle. Oberon SES and Oberon ambulance officers responded, applied first aid and arranged a helicopter to evacuate Roy to a hospital in Sydney – the heath on Kanangra Tops was too thick to reasonably consider a stretcher carry unless it was absolutely necessary.
There are many stories of misadventure associated with Kanangra. In recent times a bushwalker died, apparently in his sleep, while camping at Dex Creek on Mount Cloudmaker. Kanangra Canyon itself has been responsible for two lives lost, both the result of falls. Kalang Falls, Kanangra’s most popular canyon, recently claimed a life, also a fall. On Margaret Falls, Christy’s Creek also claimed the life of a girl stuck mid-rope attempting to pass a knot through her figure eight descender on a 138-metre abseil in the early eighties. In recent times two experienced leaders from a mountaineering club died on a rope in remote Carra Beanga Canyon. There have also been several air crashes in the area. Two young men died 2.5 kilometres from their crashed aircraft in 1993 – they survived the crash, but for how long was open to conjecture and the coroner made an open finding. It wasn’t until twenty-one days after the crash that their plane was found by a bushwalker, despite an intensive air search. Such is the rugged nature of Kanangra within a few hours’ drive or a twenty-minute flight of Sydney.
Sometimes in a place like Kanangra seemingly insignificant events can result in disaster. The following is an account of a for real rescue that interrupted a cave rescue exercise.
On 19 April 1997 Oberon State Emergency Service’s annual cave rescue exercise was in full swing when the call came in: “an authentic vertical rescue on Kalang Falls – a fallen abseiler on the fourth pitch. How soon can you respond?”
Kalang Falls is the most popular canyon in Kanangra Boyd National Park. They descend a total of 500 metres into Kanangra Deep, in eight or more abseil pitches. The canyon is open, typically steep loose sandstone. Key members were called out of the cave and the exercise aborted. Gear was collected while they all made their ways out of the cave, among them Mark Windsor, Bathurst City SES, and Matthew McMahon, Oberon SES, both vertical rescue instructors and very experienced in Kalang. Between Mark and myself we had enough gear to access the casualty and start the rescue. Matt would wait for David King, senior vertical rescue instructor from Hawkesbury SES, to get out, then they would follow to complete the hasty team. The rest of Oberon’s crew would follow once the gear was packed up and, if necessary, the rest of the participants in the cave rescue exercise would be called.
Mark and I arrived at Kanangra Walls just as the Westpac rescue helicopter was landing and preparing to do the job. We donned wetsuits and prepared for a night rescue in the event that the chopper couldn’t finish the job. The helicopter located the injured man and dropped in their medical crew and two SCAT (Special Casualty Access Team). They also lifted out the injured man’s companion who had been with him all day. Matt and David arrived. While the medical crew stabilised the injured man, the chopper left for refuelling. Meanwhile the rest of Oberon SES’s crew arrived and others manned a radio relay at Gillespie’s Lookout to call the remainder of the rescuers from the camp at Dingo Dell if required.
The Westpac rescue helicopter returned after dark. From Echo Head, we watched it disappear between trees and rock walls 200 metres below. It returned to Kanangra Walls with the injured man, who was transferred to an ambulance while the chopper went back to get the rest of its crew. The pilot made several attempts at retrieving them but was forced to abort – the hazy mist had developed to the point where there was not sufficient visibility. The crew had to spend the night in the canyon. The chopper then flew the injured man to hospital in Sydney, and returned in the morning to pick up their crew.
Apparently the injured man stumbled and fell on steep ground approaching a small waterfall (known to us as the Little Tree Climb) below the fourth pitch at about 10.45 am. It took several hours for two men from his party to complete the canyon and raise the alarm, but the casualty died with severe head injuries. He was not wearing a rock hat. Apparently there had been a mix up with rock hats and he had declined offers to go back to camp for another one.
Sometimes things happen which are nobody’s fault, an attack of appendicitis, or a conspiracy of nature that can confound the most experienced. The following is an account of a big wall vertical rescue from the main face of Kanangra Walls – the result of a day which should have been routine for the people being rescued, but Kanangra wanted to play . . .
It was 9.30 pm on a Sunday night, 26 September 1999 and the crew was standing by at the headquarters waiting to commence a search for a despondent elderly woman who had just viewed the body of her son that day. She had previously lost her husband and her son had taken his own life just a few days previous. The phone rang. “She’s turned up! Cool! We can go home.” Or so they thought. The sergeant said, “Now that I’ve got you here, we can look at this other one.”
It was an overdue canyon party, three males in their twenties, super fit and experienced. In fact, they were all abseil instructors at the Australian Defense Force Academy, one each from the Army, Navy and Air Force. We discovered that the informant wasn’t directly in contact with them, so the answers to a lot of our questions were a bit rubbery.
It transpired that they were doing a reconnaissance trip down what they called Kalang Main Falls canyon. To us this could be either Kanangra Main or Kalang Falls. There are real differences in equipment, lengths of rope, time and skill required to negotiate these two specific canyons. Kalang’s very popular; descending some 500 metres with between eight and thirteen abseils, depending on the mix of abseiling and scrambling you want to do. It can be done dry or wet comfortably in a day. Kanangra on the other hand also descends about 500 metres but in bigger pitches. It starts with the main waterfall, a 186-metre drop, usually done in two or more pitches ledge to ledge. All the pitches are over fifty metres in height. Kanangra can also only be done wet and it’s a really big day.
The more we dug for information, the more we realised we needed hard information from someone who knew the facts.
The weather was, of course, lousy! Overcast, rainy, no chance of using choppers with the bad forecast. We planned to send the crews home to prepare for an early start in the morning. Meanwhile, a team of four of us drove to Kanangra Walls car park to gather some better intelligence. Myself, Matthew McMahon, vertical rescue instructor, and two vertical rescue operators, Jim Young and Craig Gibbons, comprised the team.
Our trip to the walls was delayed by increasingly heavy rain and fog as we moved east from the Great Dividing Range. Classic easterly weather! We met three personnel from the ADFA at Kanangra, including the CO of the overdue canyoners. They were co-operative, giving straight answers. “They’re doing Kalang Falls; one of them has done the canyon before.” We gathered that they were well equipped and capable. Their protocol was that if one got injured, they would stay together as a group. We suspected the problem was with the weather. It was apparently fine early that day, and the change hit sometime in the afternoon. Either the wet conditions had slowed them significantly, or caused an injury, or they were unable to navigate properly due to reduced visibility. We also discovered that one of them was p
rone to hypothermia.
We scouted from the tops to get a better idea of the weather situation. Visibility in the rain and fog was down to ten metres, even with pit lamps and a 1.5 million candlepower portable searchlight – the beams got defused. There was so much water going down the falls that it was clearly impossible to make voice or whistle contact with anyone below, but we tried anyway. Then we tried at a spot which normally allows a view into nearly every pitch of the canyon, and afterwards moved round to Seymour Tops to cover the possibility that they’d gone astray on the way out. There was no response.
Given the new information we decided to bring forward our start time. Rendezvous at HQ at 5.00 am, at Kanangra by 6.30 am. We got home at around 2.00 am and packed food and did a final “check and sort” on our kits, and decided to place Hawkesbury State Emergency Service Vertical Rescue Crew on standby.
We arrived at Kanangra Walls shortly before 6.30 am. There was no sign of them walking out during the night. No improvement in the weather either. While Matthew McMahon and his team of Peter Howard, Craig Gibbons and Chad Sheppard prepared to enter the canyon, Jim Young, Dave Walther and I did another quick search from Echo Head. We called and listened . . . no response. Once again, this time with three blasts on a Fox 40 whistle. Bingo, we got three blasts back – and not from a Fox 40, so it wasn’t an echo! They were apparently in Murdering Gully, the exit route from the canyon. This gully climbs some 500 metres in 500 metres. There’s a maze of tracks in this place, mostly on the east side – not all of them make it out!