Crevasse Practice: Denali Expedition Course
 By Laurie Long

Editor's Note
For those of you who are currently in the Basic Climbing class, please remember that the Denali seminar was held earlier this year for intermediate level climbers wanting to learn more advanced rescue techniques for climbs up Mt. McKinley and other high peaks that require expedition-style approaches. When you practice crevasse rescue this spring, you won't have to worry about being squeezed in two parts by a sled, unless you opt to continue with the specialized seminar sometime in the future!
Well, here I am again, feeling remarkably silly while dangling at the end of two ropes and half rotated like a yoyo by the pull of the sled attached to my pack. Yes, you heard me right. This is part of the "Denali Expedition Course" field trip, and I could just kick myself for not bringing a camera.

But try to picture this: a 20 foot high cliff with a huge, whipped-cream layer of snow and ice on the top. A large, u-shaped runnel has been carved through the center of the snow, and the heavily weighted climbing ropes have cut into the crust so deeply that they can no longer be seen. A little further down dangles a loaded sled, and below the sled is yours truly, caught up in a snarl of ropes, pack straps and buckles, sled runner attachments, and twisted by the pull of this whole, ungodly mess. I can't even get to Step 1 in the "Crevasse Self-Rescue" scenario.

"Um..." I call up rather tentatively, "I don't think I can get started torqued like this." "Drop your pack" comes the reply from somewhere behind and below me. I try to twist around enough to see who is down there. Oh goody. It's the head instructor for the seminar, watching me make an ass of myself. I struggle and twist trying to follow directions and dump the pack. My fingers are freezing and going numb, while I fumble for the buckle through two pairs of soaking gloves. I finally manage to get the buckles loose and have enough brains left to clip my pack onto the rope before dropping it. Once gone, the load is not only off my back, it has also un-torqued me. I now know which way is up (literally).

I pull out the heavy, metal ascenders and clip them to the rope. They are already attached to me via my prusik ropes. I skooch up the top one as far as I can, then run the bottom one up. Stand up in the prusik leg loops and hold myself there while I skooch the top ascender up again. Back and forth this goes, as I slowly inchworm my way up the rope. When I hit the sled, I realize that I will have to move the ascenders around the sled attachments. And just when I thought I was getting bored.

After five more minutes of fumbling I manage it. I can't feel my fingers any more. As I approach the lip of snow, the weight of the pack and the sled are now hanging off me, slowly squeezing me in half where the rope is attached to my harness. To top it off, the ropes I'm supposed to be climbing have disappeared into the crust and I can't dig them out enough to use my ascenders. I peck at the crust with my frozen gloves like a bird on a worm hunt.

Finally I top out. All the belayers are smiling patiently at me as I flop and struggle to haul myself, my pack, and the sled over the top. "Well" I wheeze, "now I know what Victorian ladies felt like wearing corsets. No wonder they were always fainting." One of the guys takes my subtle hint, grabs the sled, and pulls it up. I finally divest myself of all the ropes and shake the extra pounds of snow out of the pack. Five minutes of hopping around and waving my arms (to the entertainment of everyone there) restores some circulation to my fingers and shakes off my outer coating of snow. Everything I have on is either wet, frozen or wet and frozen.

Remind me - why was I doing this again?