Fated to live another day: two climbers fall in to two crevasses

As the sun broke over the fluted ridges of unclimbed Kharut, K2 and her neighboring giants presented themselves once again in glorious morning light. Chris and Bruce had left early to push the route beyond the previous day's high point, leaving PV and I alone in the dining tent eating our breakfast and discussing the day's plans. The two of us were to bring two heavy loads, along with six porters, up to the highest point possible-- which would also be the last place that the porters could walk across the glacier safely.

After breakfast we stood in the sun outside of the dining tent, warming ourselves and filling our water bottles. In the distance we could just barley make out two miniscule figures nearing the top of the icefall--Chris and Bruce nearing the high point. Somebody produced a set of binoculars, and as I walked back to my tent I heard someone mention that the two figures had suddenly disappeared. I remember thinking that Chris and Bruce must have crested the top of the icefall and walked out of sight, venturing onto new territory toward advanced base camp (ABC). Good. More progress and it was only day two.

PV and I shouldered our loads and rounded up the six porters. The group resembled a rather rag-tag team, replete with groovy pink-rimmed euro sunglasses and fake Chinese rubber Reeboks. I once saw a movie of Lacodelli and the first ascent of K2 in 1954. The porters in that movie were dressed exactly the same, save the fake Reeboks. I asked Amin, our Hunza guide, to make clear to the porters that once on the glacier they were to step only in my footprints and to never deviate from my path under any circumstance. In my mind I thought of the glacier at the end of summer 2005, when gaping crevasses appeared where only a few weeks earlier we had walked un-roped. Those same thoughts came to me yesterday morning while I led up the icefall on our first push. Bruce kept prompting me then to move faster, but I knew that lurking under our feet were these huge caverns, their open mouths hidden by brittle snow bridges. Crevasses are the deep, black, grottos of our nightmares, lingering for years in cold darkness, waiting for the unwary traveler and that one wrong move, that one hard step. Waiting to be fed...

The sunny warm days somehow seem more secure to me, safer. But just 10 minutes into our climb the radio broke with Chris's voice. I could barely comprehend his transmission, as he communicated with Chris-like conciseness that both he AND Bruce had fallen into separate crevasses, and that PV and I were to drop all loads (and porters) and race to their assistance. He must be kidding. Two separate crevasses? How is that possible? As we dumped our loads and repacked with rescue equipment, my mind raced with possibilities; Was Bruce alive? Was Chris hurt? He hadn't answered my question on the radio about injuries. How long would it take us to get there? We were still almost 2 hours away. OK. Shut up, Don. Get it together. Think. Do what you know you should do. Use your skills and training to help your partners. Help your friends. 

PV and I raced up the icefall, breathing hard in the thin air. Almost immediately the sun began to have its high-altitude way with me, cooking my brain under my mop of hair stuffed under a black hat. I kept thinking of that stupid late night TV infomercial where some fast talking salesman slaps a chicken into the "set-it-and-forget-it" rotating oven contraption--except now it was my brain that was roasting and rotating. But unlike the chicken dude, I somehow couldn't seem to "forget it". It's weird thoughts like these that keep my mind distracted enough to deal with the rescue situation before I arrive on scene. Things are always different than I imagine, and the trick is not to get all caught up in what one cannot know. This concept was once again proved correct by our arrival at the scene of the crevasse fall, where we found both Chris and Bruce standing on the surface of the glacier. They both stood over their respective holes, each with a look on their faces comprised of equal amounts of joy and disbelief; Had Chris not fallen into the Chris hole, Bruce would have surely pulled him into the Bruce hole--resulting in unthinkable tragedy. I could only think that powers beyond our comprehension played a role in this.

We set up an anchor and lowered Bruce back down into the Bruce hole so he could retrieve the gear he had left hanging from an ice screw some 25 feet down. I then belayed him as he jumped over the Chris hole, where the four of us now stood, relieved that the ordeal was finally over-- except... 

...by now the sun had warmed the glacier significantly. The trick to glacier travel is to be off the glacier by midday. It was now midday, and we had yet to descend the icefall back toward base camp, only now the snow bridges had softened under the blistering sun. We all tied in to one length of rope, and I volunteered to lead the way back down. The first crossing I came to I partially fell through. The third crossing Chris partially fell through. The very next, Bruce fell through. Shortly after that, I lost count of fallings-through. We finally arrived at the bottom of the icefall, a little frazzled and unnerved by the veritable minefield we had somehow negotiated without major incident. It was at this time that Chris suggested we find an alternate route to ABC. The proposal received no opposition.

One might think that after a morning filled with such sobering events, most sensible people would tuck tail and run for the tents. But as noted by those who know us best, some mountaineers are not born with the part of the brain that facilitates retreat (either that, or it was broiled away long ago in the high altitude sun). So rather than return to base camp, the four of us set off to negotiate a new route through the teetering, Dr. Seuss-ian, ice towers toward the Abruzzi Ridge's ABC. After a dozen dead ends, we finally found a way through to the moraine, accessing the bottom of K2 herself. The last of the team staggered into camp at 6:30 p.m. 

At the end of the day, the team was tired yet enthusiastic: we were now halfway to the base of the East Face, and no one had died.

Don Bowie