Blog Day 5, The Summit and Near Disaster.

Traditionally, summit day on Ararat starts at 1:00 in the morning. At this point the thermal winds have lessened and the rocks are frozen solid, minimizing the potential for rock fall injury. Dragging out of the rack into that cold dark wilderness at 1:00 AM is one hell of a shock to the system. Breakfast consisted on some sausages, cheese, and some sort of sweet crumbly cake. I was not too sure what it was.

Due to adrenaline and nervousness, my appetite was not very good ad I ate little. Just a few cups of Cey (tea) to hydrate. I spent the hour while everyone was eating fidgeting and looking up at the stars. The sky was entirely black .. like the view I’d imagine that one would have from space. I fitted and refitted my boots – they didn’t feel right, I felt clumsy in them. 

Finally, at 2:15 AM we headed out, and the teams gradually began to stretch out along the rocky ridge. It was an eerie sight to see those headlamps stretch out - - not horizontally – but almost vertically along the very steep ridge. At my guide’s recommendation, I left my ice axe behind and went with ski poles (n crampons – not yet fitted to my boots) only. That was another decision I’d come to regret. 

The ridge was almost unbelievably steep with only the faintest remnants of a trail – like climbing Mt. St. Helens, but at 14,000 instead of 6000ft. Almost immediately we hit an icy rock and snow band and I struggled mightily to keep my footing .. and this was up-climbing. Down climbing was going to be much worse. I was clearly a bit worried. Musa set a moderate pace and all of the tam except for one of the Polish guys-Merrick, were able to keep up. He eventually dropped out and headed back to Camp II. 

As we climbed the movement turned from less and less hiking to more and more rock climbing, with hands required to ascend in a lot of places. When we hit the mixed snow and ice my boots began to slip all over the place, and I stumbled badly several times. Once grabbing on for dear life. My worry escalated a bit more. I’ll never use these boots on mixed alpine again, it was like trying to rock climb with casts on both feet. 

Finally, we cleared the rock band an got onto firm snow. That was where we put crampons on, and I once again felt comfortable. Past 16,000 ft we climbed into the clouds and the wind howled ferociously. The summit at 17,000 feet was a near white out. Although the final 15oo feet was very steep, it was not exposed and the rest of the climb to the top was mostly uneventful. It felt good to be on top and done with this obsession (so I thought). I tried calling from the top, but could not get a cell signal. So we all snapped a few pics and held out a polish flag (I forgot my Utah State flag back at the hotel), and began the long arduous trek back down.

"Selfie" n Summit.

The Summit Team!

The climb down to the rock band was simple, and felt very secure with the crampons on. But while we’d ascended the clouds had dropped down and covered everything with Verglas – sort of like the kind of ice that results from an old un-defrosted refrigerator. So everybody just started picking their way down the class 3 rock field. Because my boot were so unstable I spent a lot of time chimneying between boulders and crawling on my butt! Then near the very end of the rock band where we’d drop onto a snow chute, I’d gotten a bit ahead and stopped to wait for the others. As I looked back, a big gust of wind hit, I slipped, grabbed for air and started tumbling.

 

Down Climbing The Rock Band to Camp II -- Waaaay Below.

 Sheesh, that! is a sick feeling. I bounced a couple of times on rock and then hit the snow headfirst. Once I hit the snow I accelerated like being shot fro a cannon. I used my ski poles to self-arrest and right myself, head-up. Bot by now I was going too fast for my si poles to stop e and was sure wishing for an ice axe. I knew that threw s big cliff “down there” somewhere, and out of desperation I stuck out my legs to catch a big boulder in the middle of the ice field. I missed with my right leg and only hit with my left leg. The impact was so huge that it drove my left knee back into my jaw, and I felt a distinct “popping” in my left knee. I toppled over the boulder – but it did stop my fall. 

Getting hit in the jaw by my knee stunned me, and the “pop” hurt like hell. So I just lay there fr a minute to assess my situation. I could move my toes, good! I could move my arms, good! I stood up on my right leg, good! Then, as I put weight on my left leg it simply crumpled under my weight, and I fell to the snow in agony. Not good! 

Okay, I was flying at 14,00 feet and my plane had lost power, and my main chute was fouled. Big problem. I was starting to get worried. It was still a thousand feet of vertical down to camp II, another 3200 feet to camp I, and another 3500 feet down to the trailhead. I was really screwed!

Our guide Musa and  two of the gals from the Polish team worked their way down to me, not completely understanding how really injured I was. They tried to get me to my feet an off the snow over to rock band. As soon as I put pressure on the leg, I collapsed again. The pain was excruciating. How was I ever going to navigate that mine field of boulders to get off this mountain? Following from what they taught me at Air Force flight survival school, I tried to remain calm, and I did outwardly. Inwardly I was screaming in mad panic. 

Then Musa had a great idea. He radioed his cousin, who was leading another team, who took out packs and gave Musa an Ice axe. Then like a bobsled team I wrapped my legs behind him and held on for dear life as we Bonsai-ed down the snow field, bypassing Camp II and heading for Camp I 4000 feet below! Good thing I’d ridden that bobsled at Utah Olympic park before! Apparently, all of the Kurdish kids near Ararat grow up using their bodies as sleds as an improvisation for not being able to afford real sleds.

The slope was at first only about 25 degrees and at first we were able to easily control speed with Musa glissading on the right, and me dragging my ski poles together on the left. Can’t say this was a joy ride though as every now and then my left leg would catch on the snow, and it was like being shot in the knee. But I was starting to become optimistic I’d live thru this adventure. 

Suddenly we came over this rise and the snow dropped away very steeply, like a double black diamond ski slope. We screamed down the slope, swaying together and almost losing control and tumbling. The slope was littered with rocks and if I’d have hit one of them with my leg it would have been unbearable. But steering together we managed to miss every single rock, and just like that ..less than a half hour we were down to within 1500 feet of camp I. We’d bypassed nearly 2500 feet of attitude.

At this point, Musa and one of the other Kurd support guys drug me off of the snow and over to the trail, or at least what passes for a trail on Mt. Ararat. We used a leather strap and an old Ace bandage to stabilize my knee as best possible. Using my bent and mangled ski poles as crutches, Musa and I started to walk. It was like trying to tap dance in a mine field. Every rock was a life threatening menace, and every switch back was a knee busting wall of pain. 

Musa was very heroic, and stayed by me all the way even though I’m half-gain as heavy as he is. He lended me his shoulder when I could not navigate an obstacle. It literally took us 4 hours to walk the remaining mile and a half to Camp I. I fell several times, and when I di it was agony getting back onto my feet again. Once I got to Camp I, I fell into a pathetic heap of organic tissue. But at least now I knew I was going to survive this mess. All of “this” had happened and it was only 10:30 in the morning. When I got to Camp I, I drank a ton of water – I was exhausted and severely dehydrated – and slept for about two hours. I was warm again and was nice sleeping on the soft grass. 

About 2:00 Musa’s and his cousin came over and said “come you go.” So I grabbed my passport and wallet, struggled to my feet, and headed off with them. To my horror they were standing by a little Arabian mare horse, with the same kid we had picked up on the way in. The horse was part of the pack train for another group headed down and they doubled up the loads to make room for me. The horse only had an old style Arabian bareback addle with no stirrups. Sheesh!

Riding bareback is hard enough, try ding it with a strange horse, and bum knee, a partially separated shoulder, and multiple cuts bruises and abrasions. My Reptile brain wanted to run away screaming, but logically I knew that this was the best, possibly the last way down. They maneuvered the horse up to a big rock. I crawled up onto the rock, and managed to stand up with my ski poles. I lunged onto the saddle with my right leg, and miraculously landed upright. Wow! OK I can do this. 

My Rescuers!

So the kid and his younger brother and I set off; the older boy (I need to get his name) leading my horse and his little brother managing the other horses. And if you think this was some sort of Travel Channel Equitrekking pleasure ride think again. The old trail was littered with boulders and stream crossings, and at each stream crossing the horse would streak across like he was afraid of water. If I’d had fallen off, there was no way those two small kids could have gotten me back on with no adult help. Staying on was – quite literally – a life or death proposition. 

Two or three excruciating hours later we finally reached the drop off point where the 4WD would meet us. The only way I could get off of the horse is for the kids to support me and then just let me drop onto the ground sideways. The kids were really embarrassed, but I’d lost my dignity hours earlier, so it was no big deal. Then the truck arrived and all was good. I was going to live thru this trip. 

Day 6: Preliminary Medical Diagnosis.

I got back t the hotel and fell asleep in all of my dirty clothing –I was too tired to change. After getting cleaned up, the next day Musa took me to the local hospital where his brother works, and they got me I right away to see the orthopedic surgeon. He popped my shoulder back in, and then sent me for x-rays.  The x-rays showed nothing broken but some sort of misalignment with my knee, and so it was back to the basement for a Magnetic Resonance Imaging (MRI) scan. The MRI clearly showed a ruptured quadriceps tendon. This injury could not heal itself and requires surgery. The doctor was quite competent and did what he could to heal me.  

So here I am, waiting to fly back to the USA tomorrow with a Sunday evening arrival in Huntsville. I bought a Pharmaceutical knee brake to stabilize my knee for the trip home. If all goes as well, I be meeting with Dr. James Andrews on Monday, with surgery scheduled likely Tuesday if all looks acceptable. Thanks to Debbie for pulling off this minor miracle.

Dr. Andrews is one of the leading sports injury orthopedic doctors in the South. I’m lucky that he just happens to work for the excellent Huntsville medical center, and that he has no appointments next week. His big time is in the fall wher4e he repairs busted up football players from the Tennessee Titans and the Alabama and Auburn football teams. I think he was intrigued by my story, and wanted to see first-hand what a mountaineering injury was like. 

That’s all I have for now. I’ll try to wait until after the surgery, and after I’ve swapped pictures with the rest of the team to write a concluding chapter to this saga. Here’s to a safe uneventful series of flights, and s successful surgery ad rehab.