Fall/Slip on Snow and Loss of Control in a Voluntary Glissade—Washington, Mt. Baker

Publication Year: 1977.

FALL/SLIP ON SNOW AND LOSS OF CONTROL IN A VOLUNTARY GLISSADE—Washington, Mt. Baker. I am putting these words on paper the day after a more than 1,000 foot plunge down the northwest face of North Twin Sister, between Welcome and Acme, near Mt. Baker, Washington. If you want to know what it feels like to go over the Victoria Falls or some such, welcome to this story. If you think the modern ice-axe is the zenith of snow safety, then I urge you to read on. And if you are one of the hundreds who carelessly trudge up Mt. Baker—a companion to the Twins—each spring, then let me warn that one of these days we are going to open our papers and read about a comparable plunge off the novice route up “Big Steep White,” as the Indians called it. The difference will be that the Baker plunge ends in a crevasse, and the story will be written by observers rather than participants.

In the early summer, when the avalanches are over, the northwest face of North Twin Sister is about 1500 vertical feet of packed snow. It starts with a gentle bowl at 5000 feet, and then slopes upward through 100% grade to a short, steeper section about 100 feet from the 5570 foot top. It is observable throughout its length from logging operations at 3500 feet, where I asked temporary residents Bob and Robin Howell to keep an eye on my ascent. Furthermore, the snowfield is gently curved across the face, so that in July firm conditions any plunge will tend to the centerline and away from rock ridges framing the snowfield. There were, in July, no floating rocks on the surface. The overall grade is no steeper than the final 1000 feet of Baker.

I was carrying a pack with emergency overnight essentials. I removed the pack at what my altimeter told me was about 6000 feet to lighten the load for the last few hundred feet. On the final lip of the snowfield, my footing gave way; my ice-axe could not hold me, and in what seemed less than a second was flying backwards and then felt my body sliding over the snow. (The Howells later said that one moment they saw me at the top and the next glance I was down at the bottom.)

Blinded by snow as I descended, I could not see whether my body was drifting off center toward the rocks. I was concerned that too much flailing around might have such an effect. At the same time, I was trying to get my ice-axe into the orthodox braking position. I did not see “life flash before me,” but I did decide to “let go,” and spent a few hundred feet mentally “floating,” and wondering with some detachment as to whether I would shoot right over the bowl at the bottom (impossible) and land in Acme!

Then, near the bottom, I felt myself slowing down and managed to accomplish an ice-axe arrest by turning the adze into the snow. It was a wasted effort, as I would have come to a stop in another fifty feet anyway.

Apart from an incipient headache, torn trousers, some minor scratches, and lost sunglasses, everything seemed properly together. I decided I should immediately reascend for the pack, some 800 feet above. I didn’t want any more unexpected descents, so the trip back to 6000 feet was accomplished in possibly exaggerated technical style; that axe went into the snow to its neck at each step.

I reached the frame pack and sent it down slope. It kept to center-line and made its descent without tumbling. I decided to follow it—but this time with a deliberate start in the arrest position, which I estimated should permit control, on a slope of that grade and condition. I estimated wrongly. Although I did manage to keep my axe in position for much of this second and shorter trip, there was no way I could have brought myself to a halt. In fact, I found myself being swung around the point like a clockhand. Even though the axe was not catching at handle tip, when I reached five to twelve, everything collapsed and I wasn’t quite sure whether I was going headfirst or feetfirst until I neared the bottom again.

I rather groggily regained my pack. What had started out as a cloudless day was now turning to drizzle. As I left the scene, I mulled over the exact nature of the surface condition and I realized the snow had melted sufficiently at surface, that neither point nor blade of the ice-axe could get a grip on anything. On the other hand, the sub-surface was hard and icy and carried the body weight like a child whizzing down a playground slide. By the time I got to the logging area, my wrist was painful and I greatly appreciated the ministering and hospitality of the Howells. (Source: Raymond S. Rodgers)

Analysis: Outdoorsmen may object that people should not go upcountry alone. Everything is relative. I feel more secure, physically and philosophically, where I go carefully into the hills, than I would feel in certain urban places. The more interesting question, for a climber, is whether being on ropes with others would have made any difference. I think not. Certainly not if the party were moving in unison, as is usually the fashion on Baker’s novice route, and comparable climbs. Unless at least half the party were dug in static positions, the tumble of one would have pulled the rest down as well.

On North Twin it would not have mattered, except for the possibility of somebody strangling in a tangled rope, or meeting up with an ice-axe. But on the Baker route, where every May and June we see rapidly moving parties using their axes as walking sticks, or even without axes and other emergency equipment, the slide ends in a long crevasse north of Sherman Crater. (Source: Raymond S. Rodgers)