Day 6

Day 6

Storm day at 11,000'

When we had gone to bed the sky was clear. When we woke up, it was snowing hard with a blustery wind. David said nobody was going anywhere today. Ryan looked awful. He stayed in his bag and tried to heal. I was a bit antsy. The weather didn’t look that bad to me, and maybe a dozen people came down the trail. Didn’t see anybody go up it. The ones coming down said the weather was fine at the 14 camp, but the wind was "screaming" at Squirrel Point. And if we went today it would be in our face, and we would be moving slowly uphill. It was at their back, and they were going downhill. So David made the right decision to call it a storm day. I crawled back into my sleeping bag and slept some more. Must be the altitude, but it’s easy for me to sleep 12 hours a day here.

Finally I got antsy again and went wandering around camp. Talked to some of the other climbers. But what I really wanted was solitude. I’m accustomed to solitude. Usually on a climb there’s some time for me to sneak off by myself

In love with my cozy sleeping bag

and just sit and be with the land and sky. I love those moments. I feel connected to the mountains, to the spirit of the mountains. Some sort of release happens inside me and there’s a deep relaxation. I was craving that moment, but got only snatches of it. Denali was different. You couldn’t go wandering around in quarter mile visibility from blowing snow and crevasses all around, maybe just a few inches under the snow waiting for you to drop in. Coming up from 7800 had been a gift that way. Since we hadn’t used ropes, I could go at my own pace and commune with nature a bit. Not any more. Here I had to stay close to camp, and all those people. Like at base camp, people were building snow walls around their tents. Moving up from below, going down to below, dropping "human waste" bags in the crevasses, and socializing. There was no privacy when we were moving either. We were mostly roped up. I shared the tent with David, and the nylon walls keep out no sound. The latrine is 5 steps from the tent. Convenient, but not conducive to privacy - for anybody. So at night I crawl into my bad - the only place that’s really mine - and get as close to solitude as I can. When David is sleeping, it’s as private as things get around here. Here I am in the middle of an enormous wilderness. The population density in Denali National Park is probably, on average, almost zero, and I have no privacy.

Hanging out in the tent

Someone had built an igloo across the trail from our campsite. I went inside. It was surprisingly quiet. There was no wind noise, yet you could hear people talking outside. Curious. It felt damp to me, and does not get warmed by the sun like a tent, but I had the sense that one could weather most any kind of storm in it.

Thanks to the snow and wind, I had some time to reflect on my teammates.

The team

"To stand with a friend in eerie moonlight at the foot of a vast mountain and be certain that you can safely reach the top - that is a wonderful feeling of self-confidence. It might seem an absurdly pointless thing to do, but to have the nerve to go and try it, just to see if you can, is an affirmation of everything noble in humanity."

- Joe Simpson

David Knoll

David Knoll: Mr. Enthusiasm. Boundless energy and an unwavering love of the mountains. Mid 30's, and climbing mountains since before puberty. Incredibly strong, but lean, with a runner’s body, although he hates to run. An accomplished bicycle racer, he has legs that pump like the pistons on a truck engine. Good looking with a thick beard and a big smile. David is also a very safe climber. He doesn’t take big risks, and isn’t afraid to turn around. As my father said about flying an airplane, the most important maneuver a good pilot should know is the 180⁰ turn. I think the same thing is true in mountaineering. David and I have turned around many times, but mostly we’ve had pretty good luck with the weather when we’ve climbed together. Here on Denali, so far so good.

John Punches

John Punches: The boy scout of the group. Punches is prepared for anything. I needed a screwdriver to reset my crampons, Punches asked what size and whipped out his small leatherman for the job. An overachiever, but the ultimate team player. He always put the group first. His dream is to set the route through the icefall on Everest. He loves dealing with crevasses. Also a spelunker, and the mountain safety trainer for the Roseburg Mtn. Rescue unit. He really knows his stuff. He also carries a heavy pack. He’s got extras of everything and the gear to handle almost any forseeable situation. He, like me, Dove, and Ryan, had never been on a big expedition like this before. He was excited, but a bit more subdued than David. And also a bit more variable in his pace. At times he seemed tired and went even slower than me. Other times he was leading the group. It turned out that he got stronger as we got higher. It’s supposed to be the other way around.

Ryan Singleton

Ryan Singleton: Punches tentmate. Ryan was the warrior/soldier of the group. Mid 20's and amazingly strong, he hiked the PCT (Pacific Crest Trail) by himself, ????0 miles. Hailing from Northern California, he typically "runs" up Shasta a few times each summer. Give Ryan a mission, and he picks up his load and marches unwaveringly uphill. Seemingly oblivious to pain and effort, you can depend on the mission being accomplished. He complains very little. Perhaps a little of the soldier image I perceive comes from his lack of experience. He seems a bit shy in expressing his opinion, I suppose deferring to what he considers older, more experienced climbers. That’s true to some extent. Yet as the trip wore on, I think he came to trust himself more and more. He’s also heavily invested in his ability to perform. It’s important to him. While his cold was affecting him, he had trouble keeping up with the group. He seemed to be ashamed of himself for this lack of strength. As we were on the trail to the 13500' cache, he was heard to mutter to himself, "I’ve got to pass that rope team in front of me." I’m familiar with this behavior of trying to "prove" oneself in the mountains. I’ve been doing that for more years than Ryan’s been around - but that’s my story. This form of pride has it’s limits, but also pushes one to the edge of the envelope and ultimately higher performance. For the conditions we encountered on Denali, Ryan’s strength and pride was not challenged except for his refusal to allow himself to be sick. Friendly and engaging, easy to get along with, and the undeniable horse of the group, Ryan was one of the strong corners of the team.

John Dove

John Dove: The youngest (early 20's) and shortest member of the team. Dove was the puppy dog. Yet also power-packed and remarkably strong. While we were roped up I don’t think Dove ever hit his stride. Unroped, he was usually the first one to the next camp. He was reported to be an amazing skier. I never did get to witness that because he was always out of sight in seconds whenever he skied unroped. They say he’s working on his flips. When Dove got excited, he vibrated with anticipation - you could almost see his tail wagging. He also had his down times when his tail seemed to be between his legs. It was his lot to be the butt of many of the jokes and kidding that came and went through the group. When the others were kidding him about being short, young, or forgetting something, I felt sorry for him.. I had to bite my tongue to prevent my mother instinct from protecting him. He sparked my sympathy, yet he’s a big boy and can take care of himself. I’d like to get to know him better. There’s got to be some interesting psychology in his past. He’s young, drifts from temp job to temp job. His degree is in philosophy. Obviously intelligent, a deft chess player, yet apparently rootless, and enthralled, inspired, and uplifted by the mountains. Consistently exclaiming the beauty and wonder of where we were, he loves the mountains, and is more than equal to their challenge. Of all the team members, I think Dove has the best chance of becoming a Himalayan-type mountaineer.

Kyle Kotwica

Kyle Kotwica: The enigma. Kyle is a unique personality. "Go your own way Kyle" always seemed to be doing things differently than the rest of us. Always thinking for himself, at times strongly opinionated, at other times apparently uncaring and disinterested. Mr. Alternative, Kyle could not be depended upon to fit into any category. Eschewing modern equipment, yet using it. Checking out when bored, and full of energy when interested, he was a constant puzzle. His default mode was non-confrontive and accomodating. Yet when he had an agenda, prepare for a debate - or an ultimatum. Although I doubt he would admit it, Kyle has a big heart. I like him. Yet it was hard to pin him down. Prior to the expedition his stated logic had been that we were going to be spending more time camping and waiting out the weather than climbing, and we would be losing weight while on the mountain. So his theory of getting prepared for the climb was to lay on the couch and eat. Although that was tongue-in-cheek, you could rarely tell what he was really thinking. His humor was on the dry side, and sometimes belly-splitting funny. While his personality was mysterious, as a climber he was unfailingly dependable. The steeper it got, the better Kyle liked it. And whenever the situation required strength, common sense, and team players, Kyle was right there, doing the right thing. If you had to pick one person to get you through a tough spot, Kyle would be a good choice.

John Simonsen

John Simonsen: The old shaman. Climbing for a lot of years, but never really stepping up to the big time - until now. I started late in life, getting introduced to the mountains while attending graduate school in Colorado in the ‘70's. I love the mountains, and until this expedition, had always viewed mountain climbing as a religious experience. Things changed for me on Denali, but more about that later. As a climber, I was slow (not compared to the general population, but in this pack of tigers, yes, slow), but dependable. Not prone to panic, and fairly emotionally constant regardless of the conditions: hot, cold, fresh, tired. Easy to get along with and a bit on the philosophical side. David said I represented the spiritual side of the group. I do have a strong spiritual discipline, although not associated with any organized religion, and don’t mind talking about it when the subject comes up. In addition, while perhaps not as well versed in mountain skills as the 30-somethings with more climbing experience than me, I did bring the unruffled constancy and endurance that comes with age and experience. On the other hand, I must also be immature for my age. Why else would I be hanging out with people 20 to 30 years younger than me? Since I was diagnosed in 1993, I’ve given myself permission to stay in shape, and I think facing my own mortality has motivated me to live to the fullest. But is that a reason or an excuse? My therapist says I’m typical of most people who are constantly engaged in intense activities - I’m avoiding facing my internal emotional pain. I won’t argue, except to say I also find joy and delight in the things I do. Long ago, when I was in high school, I made a couple of important choices. I decided to dedicate my life to the search for Truth, note the capital "T," and also to live my life as an adventure. I said to myself, "If you live your life afraid to die, you’re dead already." At the time I thought a life of adventure would mean strapping on a backpack and traveling around the world (something I never did, by the way). I didn’t know it would include divorce, bankruptcy, and life-threatening illness. Yet my life has been a grand adventure. I’ve had quite a ride, with more to come. As I’ve aged the world has opened up to me. Things are getting better and better. Yet I wasn’t getting the buzz, or "high" that I usually get from being in the mountains. I was changing inside, and was both a little worried and curious to see what would develop.