Kaytlyn and I were going back and forth on whether or not to go on this climb with some friends for a while. I was out of town on business during the week, and planning a quick weekend summit after flying very late back into Seattle seemed like a recipe for sleep-deprived frustration. The trip turned out to be neither a summit nor frustrating, but interesting indeed.
Mt Thomson is an excellent 5.6 ridge climb with (apparently) abundant belay ledges, and some great easy exposed climbing. The idea was that Kyle would bring up Meredith and Sam, and I would bring up Kaytlyn.
We left Seattle around 8:30 on Saturday, piled into Kyle's car, and arrived shortly after at the Snoqualmie Pass trailhead of the Pacific Crest Trail. After exchanging some gear and repacking a bit, we hit the trail under clear skies. Exposed trail and walking through the catwalk gave us amazing views of Mt. Rainier and some lesser North Cascade peaks. We grabbed some lunch on the catwalk, and were generally getting psyched as we started to glimpse the bell of a mass that is Mt. Thomson when it peaked between other hills.
Lunch on the Kendall Catwalk
Mt Thomson is the center rock bulge behind this hill.
The group above Alaska Lake, right before we started hearing the whistles; Passing through some snow on the trail!
Around mile 7 or so, as we rounded a section of the trail with a steep drop off to Alaska Lake below, we heard a series of three whistles. Thinking it was nothing at first, even possible a strange bird or a kid playing, we kept walking. A minute later, we heard it again, and then again every 2 minutes or so for the next fifteen. We understood it could have been and probably was a distress whistle, but we were in an area in which simply following a sound wasn't necessarily a smart move--it was hundreds of feet of drop off on one side, and a steep wall of rock to get over the ridge on the other. We decided to stay alert and assess the situation as it came.
Minutes later, we get to a short snow crossing over a very steep avalanche gully. I move ahead, and notice immediately that the steps cut into the snow aren't very good. I begin to cut in better ones, and then we all stopped in our tracks.
We hear the whistle directly below us, we notice slip marks in the gully, and we hear a man's voice below.
Acting fast, we take out the first aid kit, whistle back to the guy and shout to let him know we're coming, and Kyle sets up a rappel off a tree to see if we can reach him. Our priority at that moment was to understand what was going on, not put ourselves in any danger, and see if we can call for help. Kyle took a walkie talkie with him as he rapped with a first aid kit, and Sam took out her phone and began calling 911 with the barely existent bar of service that she had.
We learn that Bill is 29, and was hiking on the trail when he slipped in the snow, and slid about 160 feet down a very steep gully and into rocks. He was in minor shock, had some pretty bad lacerations on his shin, head and face, wrist, and elsewhere. We were working with 911 to get connected to search and rescue while Kyle began applying first aid. Shortly after, I rappelled down with water and food and to help out Kyle.
Bill was in poor shape, but also, for the fall he took, incredible shape. He was conscious and talking, aware of his surroundings, but definitely hurt. Even after having the worst of his wounds patched up, he was a bloody mess. Kyle and I helped him clean up, made sure he was drinking and eating, and keeping him between comfortable and shock positions, to the extent that it was possible in a steep rock and snow gully.
Kyle in the avalanche gully where Bill fell, holding Bill's bag. No photos of Bill, out of respect to him and because it's not fun to post bloody images.
Hours begin passing, and we're now waiting for Search and Rescue to come meet us. They were on their way, but both by helicopter or on foot it was a few hours at best to reach us. Bill was a good spirits and feeling much better, though still unable to walk or stand, and Kyle and I were keeping watch on his condition with him below. I took out my phone at this point, and with my barely-there bar of service, we got in touch with Bill's contacts to let him know that he had fallen, but was ok and was being rescued out. Bringing him back up to the trail was out of the question for the two of us--there was just no way that we were going to get him 160 feet up 60 degree snow and/or brush, and then 8 miles to the trail when we had no knowledge of any potential injuries we couldn't see, and the guy was barely standing, let alone walking.
Finally, we hear the sound of a helicopter coming, and the rescue chopper does a quick loop before it spots us. They hover precariously close to trees right above us and two responders come down. This was the closest I'd been to a flying helicopter, let alone a search and rescue mission. The wind and noise was amazing.
Search and Rescue Chopper Team rapelling down to us in the gully.
Search and Rescue getting ready to take Bill up.
A fast assessment of the situation prompts them to decide to put Bill in the "screamer suit"--essentially a harness to lift Bill up the chopper, since he didn't have any apparent back injury. Not even 40 minutes after the helicopter came, we were waving goodbye and thanks to the rescue crew and the guys were flying off towards Everett Hospital.
When we got back up, we learned that the next set of climbers with ropes that would have been able to reach Bill came almost four hours after we did. Bill is an incredibly lucky guy--his relatively easy fall and injuries, the timing of our group, and having enough service to make a call meant that he was out of there and recovering quick. As Kyle and I climbed back up our rope and regrouped with Meredith, Sam, and Kaytlyn, we started talking about how much worse it could have been. Aside from just having a worse fall and perishing on the spot, Bill could have easily passed out and woken up in the middle of the night, with some serious blood loss and not a soul to help for who knows how many hours.
Mentally and physically tired from the ordeal, we decided to go up and over the ridge to the base of Mt. Thomson, set up camp, and decide on whether or not to do the climb the next day. The going up and down the ridge was a little loose and precarious for the group, as the reality of what can happen on a false step started to set in. We decided to rappel down the other side to be on the safe side, and before we knew it we were setting up a gorgeous campsite in a massive protected basin, with a beautiful lake some odd hundred of feet below, a stream of snow melt nearby, and Thomson towering over us. We cooked up some quick dinner as the sun faded and the stars began appearing as if some kid was poking holes in a dark navy blanket above.
Mt. Thomson.. The climb would have headed up the West Ridge (left skyline).
Kaytlyn rappelling down into the basin. We camped somewhere to the right of the photo.
We decided that given that day's adventure, how late we were setting up camp and heading to sleep, and the general uneasiness everyone had hanging over their heads, we'd save the summit climb for another day. The next day would be for finding our way to the lake and having an easy hike back. As we climbed into our bags to get some much needed rest, the moon rose and was so bright, you could easily ascend the talus to the start of the west ridge without a headlamp.
The next morning we awoke, grabbed some food, and began bush wacking our way down to the lake. A scramble and a half later, we found ourselves dipping our feet in an ice cold lake and relaxing. We climbed back up the steep talus, packed up, and headed back over the ridge. We threw a double rappel down the route we scrambled up the previous day, down climbed a bit to the trail, and hiked back to the car.
Scrambling down to Edds Lake
Kaytlyn standing above the gully where Bill fell. He slid ~160 feet down into rocks from the lower-left part of the snow in this picture.
Meanwhile, somewhere in the shadow of Mt. Thomson, in a beautiful basin in the middle of a fantastic spot to set up camp, sits my cellphone.
We'll see… maybe the next time we head over that area, the phone will still be there. The mountain will for sure.
Edit: Turns out some hikers who went down to Edd's lake found my phone! It's currently on its way in the mail back to my apartment. What are the chances?
