A small adventure gone bad...
Rob and I decided to go rock climbing on Saturday. We had been told
about a small sport climbing route on the banks of the Yellowstone
River in Yankee Jim canyon, 15 miles north of the Park, so we
loadedup the car and went to go find it.
Right on the side of Rt. 89 we found the spot. It was a 35' hole
that started at river level and ended at road level. The route had
protection in the form of chains and a bolt, all securely (we hoped)
fastened to the bedrock. We unloaded our gear and set up the top
rope to rappel down to the bottom. Rob went down with no problems,
and I soon followed, scraping my knuckles up in the process of
lowering myself off the overhang where the chains were anchored. No
problems, I always get scraped up while climbing.
We reached the bottom of the face and set up our belay. I climbed
first since I was already tied in, and Rob set up an anchor on a
rock in the river, the only place to sit or stand at the bottom of
the cliff. I tried several different routes and found the rock to
be rather brittle, with large chunks coming off in my hand on
several occasions. I did find one solid route on the right-hand
side of the face that was solid, and I made it about half way up
before I had to give up. There was one move that I was about 6" too
short to make, and Rob had yet to climb. He's more proficient than
I, so I decided to let him show me the way.
I came down and switched places with him, and he proceeded to scale
the face with relatively little trouble. Once he was up there, we
decided to belay from the top, send our gear out, and move on after
I got out of the hole. Okay, gear up, tie on, and start climbing.
I got to the same point I was stuck on before and couldn't quite
make the move that would allow me to get out. Okay, no problem,
there's another set of faces a little bit to the right. Rob reset
his belay position and repositioned my rope to the other face, at
about a 90 degree angle from the first face. I started to climb
again and soon ran out of hand and footholds. Damn. The gravity of
the situation was starting to weigh on us, as there was no way to
walk out, so it was either go up or swim out.
Yankee Jim canyon was the scene of a double drowning earlier in the
summer. Two canoeists were going through in high water without life
jackets when they struck a rock, broke their craft and drowned. The
water was considerably lower than when this had happened, but due
to the recent rains the river was quite turbid. This second face
had no substantial shelf at the bottom to stand on and was at the
bottom of a large eddy. If I were to get in the water, I would
(conceivably) be pushed upstream around a small rock face and to a
point where I could walk out. I didn't want to get in the water,
but it was in my mind. We still had a few more options to try...
Rob was positioned such that he could not only not see me, but we
had some difficulty communicating as well. I wanted to try yet
another route further to the right, in a corner with a large crack,
that looked like it may be easily ascendable. He repositioned his
belay again and I tried to climb. The grass is always greener on
the other side of the fence, and all routes look easier when you're
really (really, really) stuck on the face of a rock. This one was
no better and probably much worse than the one I had started out
on. A large overhang was preventing me from getting any purchase
with my hands or arms, and I had exhausted all available routes on
any face that we could reach with our ropes. We decided (with much
muffled shouting) that I was going to try a self-rescue using a
system of knots which would allow me to inch my way up the face of
the wall, beyond the overhang, where I could then simply climb out.
This would involve coming off belay and handling both ends of the
rope myself. I was not 100% comfortable with this situation, as I
had never done a self-rescue before and was not completely sure
about the knots. Rob knew how to tie them, so he was to send one
down the line and have me copy it. I had been on the wall for an
hour now, and I was willing to try anything to get out safely. My
energy was sapped, I was tired of holding on to small handholds, and
my calf muscles were screaming from being on my tip-toes for such a
long time. No problem, it's a simple knot. I got into a secure
hold and he took me off belay to lower the knot down. It was a
scary couple of minutes while the rope came down and went back up,
with the water swirling below me and nothing but my tired muscles
keeping me on the rock face.
Now, the required knot is called a prussik. It's basically a
triple-larks' head that locks onto the rope when tension is applied.
The theory is that one of the prussiks is attached to your harness
and the other prussik is used to step up on to ascend the rope. You
have to use both ends of the rope, basically belaying yourself.
This would mean that if I were to "fail", there would be no backup
except for my harness and my knots. I had confidence in the knots,
but I was unsure of the technique. I was quickly running out of
options, so I gave it a shot.
Climbing ropes are designed to stretch. When you fall, the rope
will give up to 7% as to not jerk you too hard. This is
inconvenient when you start to ascend a rock face, for if you fall
too low, you'll hit the ground just from the stretch. As I started
to ascend, the rope kept stretching from my full frame and I was
making zero progress. This was making me very uncomfortable and left
me feeling unsafe With the technique. I abandoned it quickly and
returned to my holding spot on the face of the rock. Rob put me
back on belay and we decided that I was going to have a look at the
river option, my last choice. He set up in his belay position, and
I was to sit down on my harness to be slowly lowered down to a small
shelf a couple feet above the river. From there, I would be able to
assess the "water option". As I sat back in my harness, I began a
rapid descent. I would say "free-fall", but I was still connected
to the protection system. It seems that my weight on the rope was
too much for the rock that Rob was bracing his feet against, and he
was jerked towards the anchor point. He slid about 5 feet and
managed to stop using the side of his leg against a granite boulder
and the tip of his middle finger against the ground. I dropped about
15 feet straight down at a very rapid clip and was stopped only a
few feet from the surface of the churning river. I thought he had
misunderstood my command for "slack", and was yelling "Whoa! Whoa!
Whoa!" as I was descending. I was stopped in time and disaster was
avoided, but now I was nearly on the water with very few options
left.
I decided I was going to try the "water option". Except for the
probability of there being a monster lurking under every water
surface, I don't mind water so much. Moving water scares me a
little bit because I've seen what happens when people don't respect
it (for reference, see the yearly television coverage of the
Kenduskeag Stream Race). I'm fine if I have a life jacket, but I
neglected to bring one with me on this afternoon of climbing. I had
to contend with one small wall around which I couldn't walk to get
to a place where I could easily walk out. There were many small
swirling whirlpools in the middle of the larger eddy, but I thought
I would be safe if I were to stay by the edge and let the back
current carry me upstream 10 feet or so. Rob sent down my sandals,
and I doffed my harness and climbing shoes and sent them up the
rope. I neglected to think about my pants, which contained my cell
phone, so I took them off and tied them around my neck.
So, here I am, sitting at the bottom of a 35' cliff, wearing
sandals, underwear, a long-sleeved shirt, and a pair of pants tied
around my neck. I'm staring down the water trying to psyche myself
up to jump in. The bottom is invisible through the chocolate-tinted
particles. I definitely don't want to get in, for drowning during a
climbing trip is probably the most embarrassing way to die, but
we've run out of options.
I hear voices. They don't belong to Rob.
I quickly get my pants off my neck and back on my legs. A large
blue rubber raft with an entire family (including a dog) happily
sitting in it comes around the corner. I've never hitchhiked
before, and certainly not on a river, but I wasn't about to let that
stop me from starting now.
"Hi there. Do you think you could give me a hand?"
After sorting out the logistical questions on how I came to be at
the bottom of a cliff on the river with no discernible climbing gear
and apparently quite dry, they were happy to give me a lift
downstream.
Is there a moral to this story? Sure. Bring a life jacket when you
climb. Or maybe it's "Practice self-rescue before you need to use
it".
My mother would probably say "Don't do dangerous sports!" Probably
a good idea. Maybe I'll just stick with easier routes for now.
Nick
