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In 1989, due to an unfortunate set of circumstances, a band of merry JIRPers found themselves experiencing the best that Nugget Peak has to offer. Over the years this story, like many stories, has taken on a life of its own, with each passing year seeing an embellishment here; an exaggeration there. I'd like to take this opportunity to "tell it like the Hell it was". In mid-July I led a group of 7 students from Camp 17 to Camp 10. As is normal at C-17 the weather was unsettled, with intermittent heavy fog, mist, and rain. I hate these kinds of travel days, not because of the severity of the weather, but because it's so hard to actually make up your mind to leave camp when you're sitting in a warm, cozy cookshack with a nice cup of hot chocolate. After several cups of tea and hot chocolate, I figured I couldn't forestall the inevitable any longer. With a quick call to the troops, we were soon assembled on the Lemon Glacier below the Library. Wanting to be underway as soon as possible, it was a bit frustrating waiting for everyone gathered outside the Library to take their parting photos of us and to yell their incomprehensible good-byes. The ski down the Lemon Glacier was uneventful, with frequent stops to let everyone regroup. Those experienced in skiing with a pack had an easy, if tedious, time of it. While those new to the concept of skiing with a full pack arrived at the regrouping stops either mad as hell or meek as a whipped dog, depending on their individual demeanor. A few hundred vertical feet below C-17 we broke out of the persistent fog and enjoyed clear visibility for the next few kilometers. Lindsay Hey, who led a group to C-10 a few days before us, had wanded the trail up to Lunch Rocks from the Lemon Glacier. As we climbed higher toward the ceiling of clouds above, we found it necessary to periodically search for the wands marking the way ahead. About every other wand had ablated out and fallen over, increasing the difficulty of finding them. By the time we reached Lunch Rocks, the wind was again blowing, it had started to rain, the temperature was in the upper 30's, and the visibility was down to about 100 meters. After a quick snack break I suggested that the tarps be erected in the lee of a rock. Myself and two others roped-up to forge the trail through the fog from Lunch Rocks to the base of Nugget Ridge, while the others stayed behind in the shelter of Lunch Rocks. After about an hour and a half we arrived at Nugget Ridge, then turned around and following our ski tracks, wanded the trail back to the others at Lunch Rocks. Having now established the trail to Nugget Ridge, we dismantled the tarps, packed up, and hit the trail with everyone back to Nugget Ridge. Despite the weather, we arrived at the ridge in short order. The climb up the ridge was uneventful, albeit windy. Nearing the top of the ridge the wind gained force to the point at which we were nearly blown off our feet occasionally. The visibility by this time had decreased to about 30 meters. Upon reaching the top of the ridge, I decided to re-enact the strategy that had gotten us safely from Lunch Rocks to Nugget Ridge. Again, I ordered the tarps erected. The plan called for five people to stay behind and build the shelter while myself and two others roped-up and established the trail to Camp 13, now only 2 kilometers distant. When Lindsay had passed by this area a few days before, he radioed back to Camp 17 that the crevasses were particularly bad between the ridge and C-13. With this knowledge in mind, I cautiously set off across the glacier, with the wind raging and visibility on the glacier now near zero. We had gone a few hundred meters when we came to a frighteningly sagging snow bridge that was about 5 meters across. Being in the lead, I called for the two behind me to keep me on a tight rope while I probed a route across the snow bridge. Halfway across, I heard what sounded like the snow underfoot settling. Instantly I froze, not moving so much as a finger. Realizing that I had not broken through, I was nevertheless freaked out by this time. I beat a hasty retreat off the snow bridge and back to the other two. We spent the next hour trying to find a way around the crevasse, but it was to no avail in the heavy whiteout. With no other alternative we returned to Nugget Ridge and the combination rock wall/tarp that by now provided relative shelter. I decided it best that we stay in the shelter until the weather improved a bit. I figured the weather would ease off a bit in the evening and we'd then be able to continue on to C-13. Our shelter was located in sort of a channel between rock outcrops that rose about a meter and a half on the north and south sides. This channel was open to the east and west, and with the wind blowing through the channel from the west, a rock wall was quickly built across it to block the wind. From this rock wall, we tied our tarps together to form a roof in the lee of the wall. By chance, I was carrying a large sheet of heavy gauge clear plastic sheeting to be used at C-13. This was stretched across the top of the tarps to prevent rain from seeping through the edges of the tied together tarps. Ski poles were placed inside the shelter and secured to the tarps in order to hold the roof up and provide enough vertical space to at least sit upright inside. So sheltered, we settled in awaiting a break in the weather. Unfortunately for us, the weather did not improve. It only got worse. The wind and rain steadily increased through the night. Although I knew we did a good job of building the shelter, its constant flapping and snapping made it seem as if it were about to lift off. The next morning we reinforced the roof of tarps by running a climbing rope back and forth across the top of it. The rope in turn was tied to, and anchored by, large rocks. The roof now secure, we scrambled back into the shelter. Once inside, one of the students informed me that his sleeping bag was wet. I thought, "Big deal. All our bags are a bit wet. It's not that bad." Until he showed me his sleeping bag. It was a down bag. And it wasn't just wet; it was totally saturated and dripping wet. A bag that, when dry, had a loft of 6-8 inches was now as flat as a pancake and totally useless. While our situation was not dire, it was essential that everyone had a warm sleeping bag. There was no way to dry out the wet bag. Scanning the collection of sleeping bags inside our shelter, we discovered that two of the students had the same model of North Face bag; one with the zipper on the left and the other zipped on the right. It didn't take long before the two bags were united and filled with three scroungy guys. Though not the ideal situation for them, they seemed as cozy as three peas in a pod! Now into the afternoon of our second day in the shelter, we realized that the weather would most likely continue to rage for some time. All we could do was lay in our bags and hope the tarps didn't blow away. We soon fell into a routine of fitful sleep interspersed with periods of maintenance on the tarp. Above all, we had to keep that tarp overhead, for if it took sail our predicament would have been truly extreme. Being the trail leader, I had the radio, and with it made contact with Camp 17 every four hours. To keep the batteries warm, I kept the radio in my sleeping bag. Trying to talk over the noise of the wind, rain, and the loudly snapping tarp was difficult, and I had to yell into the radio in order to be understood by those at C-17. Another day went by with no change in the weather. By now, our trail rations were nearly exhausted. We knew that Camp 13, with its large stock of food and fuel, was only 2 kilometers away. But it might as well have been 200 kilometers; it was out of our grasp. When our trail food was gone we resigned ourselves to the fact that we'd have to wait until the weather eased and we could get to C-13. Geoff, one of the students, surprised us all with a two pound bag of peanut M&Ms that he had received in the mail from his parents. I've never seen such a happy group of people as when that bag of candy was passed around! However sweet and tempting it was, we knew that we had to strictly ration the remaining M&Ms. Thus our daily routine now centered on M&M Time. Twice daily, sleep gave way to tarp maintenance, and when that task was finished, came M&M Time. We would eagerly thrust our hands out in the direction of the all-powerful M&M Man for our meager ration of perhaps 10-15 M&Ms. By that evening, with no let up in the storm, it was decided that three people from Camp 17 would try to make it to us with more food. That evening the wind was at its fiercest, blowing at least 70 MPH over our shelter. Although I knew that it was secured, there were still moments when a particularly bad gust would push the tarps down nearly into our faces and then just as suddenly suck the tarp upwards with the deafening report of a shotgun blast. Those next to the ski pole supports had the unenviable job of trying to keep the entire contraption from flying away. Sleeping in all this racket was difficult, if not impossible. I had foam ear plugs, and these really helped to muffle the sound. I felt very sorry for the others, none of which had them. While my plugs muffled perhaps 90% of the sound of the wind and tarp, I could still feel the snapping and flapping of the tarp through my sleeping bag. The Peas were still in their Pod, and still happy. At least that's how they let on. At the radio contact the next morning we learned that the three from Camp 17 had just departed. They expected to get to us in about 7-8 hours. So we continued on our now regular routine with thoughts of the soon to come macaroni and cheese. During the day I rose to work on the tarps some more and discovered that the rocks, which secured the climbing rope over the tarps, had abraded completely through the sheath of the rope in several places. I tried to think of a way in which to secure the rope without using rocks, in order to prevent any further damage. But realizing that the rope was the only thing that kept the tarps from becoming airborne, I piled more rocks onto the rope. I figured that although it was already useless as a climbing rope, it still had plenty of strength left to secure our makeshift home. And it was absolutely essential that the tarp stay put. By that evening, the three from Camp 17 (Dr. Miller, Alf Pinchak, and Brad Cook) still had not arrived at our bivouac site. As it got darker and darker, we could only hope that conditions for them, at a lower elevation, were not as bad as what we were experiencing. We went to sleep certain that they would arrive the next morning. Sure enough, around 2 PM the next day, we heard through the wind the shouts of the three trying to locate us. Eventually we managed to have our shouts heard by them, which resulted in 11 people in our tiny shelter. The M&Ms were promptly passed around and the bag was emptied. Too hell with rations; we now had macaroni and cheese and Spam. Dr. Miller, in particular, was amused at the sight of the Peas in the Pod. We learned that the three from Camp 17 had spent the night somewhere in the middle of the Thomas Glacier Plateau. Alf recounted that at one point he told the other two to go ahead while he reconnoitered a shorter route that he thought led to Nugget Ridge. Being a fast skier, he figured that it would be easier and quicker if he left his pack behind at the main trail while he went searching ahead. He reasoned that if the route didn't go he could easily follow his ski tracks back to the main trail and his pack. What he didn't anticipate was that, in his intense searching for Nugget Ridge, he had done so many circles that now his trail back to his pack was a maze of ski tracks, all going helter-skelter. As he put it, "Man, I was starting to get worried." Fortunately, he was able to find his pack and rejoin the other two. About 5 PM, the wind was starting to let up a bit, the rain had stopped, and visibility was a bit better. Dr. Miller, Alf, Brad, and I roped-up with the intention of getting to Camp 13. This time it went a bit better. With the increased visibility we were able to find a route that skirted the crevasse that turned us back the first time. Once we had descended several hundred feet below the ridge the wind let up, with only occasional gusts of 20-30 MPH. By now, all the wands had ablated out and fallen over, which made the route finding rather slow. A couple of hours later we recognized the outline of rock upon which Camp 13 was located. A few more minutes and we were there. After a quick snack break, we retraced our footsteps back to the shelter on Nugget Ridge, wanding as we went. The trusty tarps were quickly dismantled and everyone packed. With a fresh route and wands every 100 feet, it was a walk in the park to Camp 13, relatively speaking. By 8 PM the weather finally broke, with even a few patches of sunshine bathing C-13 in which to dry our sodden gear. The tents went up, dinner was served, and all bellies were bulging. By now, the wind was calm and the skies were only partly cloudy. All soon retired to bed in their respective tents. I had the luck to occupy a tent with Alf, who kept me awake till 2 AM trying to recruit me into his marketing network back home in Ohio. The next morning, our fifth on the trail, we packed up and headed across Death Valley and the Southwest Branch to Camp 10. A Thiokol met us at the top of the Norris Icefall and picked up Dr. Miller, Alf, Brad, and our packs. With a fresh Thiokol trail, clear weather, and light backs we skied into Camp 10. We never once looked back to Nugget Ridge. A week after arriving at Camp 10, I helicoptered back to Camp 17 to lead the last trail party to C-10. This second time around it went much smoother. The weather was calm and clear, allowing a close inspection of the route between Nugget Ridge and Camp 13. I took my time in this section, examining every aspect of the terrain and the orientation of the crevasse patterns. The remaining trip to C-10 went like clockwork, and once there I was glad that I didn't have to make the trip a third time that summer. Several days later, Lindsay and I were recruited to help another trail party find a route to Camp 26 - but that's another story! EPILOGUE The very next summer, 1990, saw me again leading a party from C-17 to C-10. As luck would have it, the weather was very nearly the same as it was for our crossing the previous summer. However, this time the outcome was vastly different. I had spent the entire previous winter mentally traversing the topography between Nugget Ridge and Camp 13. In my mind I knew every slope, every crevasse, every sagging snow bridge, every turn along the route. I knew that we had to descend on a side hill to a certain spot, at which point it was necessary to turn straight downhill to C-13. The mental gymnastics worked; in 1990, even in a nearly identical whiteout as in 1989, I was able to breeze right across to C-13 from Nugget Ridge. Our rock wall still stands on Nugget Ridge, in case some unfortunate soul should ever need a quick sheltering spot. Every year, as I lead students to Camp 10, I show them the wall and, for a moment or two, lay down in the spot that I occupied for so many days during the Great '89 Bivouac. Scott McGee |