'HI HTCIKU Ml
MIDDLE CAR
THC KMH Ui
Maybe it was beginner's luck, but this
novice climber bounced 1,300 feet down
Mount Popo, spent hours nearly buried
in volcanic ash and survived!
. . i
crater, we hacked out niches in the thick
ice and sat down to eat After gulping my
share, I clambered to my feet and tested
the ice with the spiked iron plate (called
a crampon) clamped to my right boot.
Then I stepped down.
Without warning, two crampon spikes
broke from their plate, causing my foot
to shoot forward. With a startled yelp, I
twisted off balance, toppled backward to
the ice, and began to slide!
Through a whirl of images, I saw Hart
man and Garza a few yards below, directly
in my path. "Look out!" I screamed. "I
can't stop!"
But instead of lunging aside, they dug
their spikes into the ice and crouched to
block me. Instinct told me to spare my
friends from plunging with me to the
jagged rocks of the lower slopes. A few
feet above them, I skidded my 210 pounds
to the left. As I shot past, Garza yelled:
"Use your pick!"
FRANTICALLY, I did as he said, flailing
the ice with the pick, praying for one
firm bite that would give me a split second
to regain my footing. But each time the
tool swooped down, it bobbed lamely along
the glazed surface. Horrified, I realized
that the pick head had been pulled loose
while saving me from minor slides earlier
in the day and that it was now useless.
Suddenly, the ice field dropped into a
sheer cliff, and I shot into space. Head
over heels, I flipped down toward the giant
volcanic rocks below. I closed my eyes.
With a jarring force, I hit the ground
inches from a mammoth rock. The im
pact tossed me back into the air like a
rubber doll, catapulting me across the
rocks and over another cliff!
As I smashed to the ground again I
bounced up and contorted wildly through
space. This time I landed feet first in a
" patch of volcanic ash nearly 700 feet from
where I had first slipped. Then I somer
saulted numbly 600 feet more, down a 60
degree decline, stopping face-down in
deep, foul-tasting ash.
I had plunged some 1,800 feet! No one
else had ever lived to tell about falling
even half that distance on Popo.
Hartman and Garza inched their way
ddwn the slope. After reaching me, they
poured sulpha from our first-aid kit into
my gashed forehead and gave me a few
codeine pills to kill the pain. But it was
obvious that my six feet, five inches of
dead weight was too much for two ex
hausted men to carry down the treacher
ous mountainside.
"IH go find help," Garza told me. "Hart-
man will stay here with you. When the
wind comes up tonight and starts blowing
this volcanic ash, you'll need help to keep
from being buried alive."
Garza left and darkness fell. The wind
whipped stronger, whirling little tornado
funnels of ash around us. As iho gusts
shifted the gray residue around me, I
suddenly began sliding. A few yards ahead
was another sheer cliff!
"Stop me!" I yelled.
Instantly, Hartman grabbed my jacket,
ground his heels into the ash, and jerked
me to a halt Keeping a firm hold on me,
he crept down-mountain and with his
other arm swiftly scooped a depression the
length of my body in the ash. He packed
it thoroughly and rolled me into it.
For two hours we waited with no word
from Garza. Then we decided Hartman,
too, should descend and seek help. It was
imperative that I get to a hospital for
examination.
Nature waited for him to leave, then
loosed her full torment A fierce storm
raked the mountain, churning dense
clouds of snow and ash. I tried to brush
the residue away, but it piled up on my
legs and chest, steadily covering me. I
could manage only to keep my nostrils
clear and pray that the shallow trough
Hartman had dug to protect me would not
become my grave.
From above, a deafening rumble her
alded a new danger. Rocks the size of
footballs, loosened by the storm, rained
into the ash, barely missing my head. I
went rigid with fear. Even if I survived,
could I keep my sanity?
Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the
avalanche stopped. But the below-zero
cold persisted. Frostbite was beginning to
numb my feet and legs. And there was
nothing I could do except wait
At about 6 a.m., after a night that
seemed like eternity, I heard voices,
evidently from a rescue squad. I shouted
and heard answering calls, but no one
came in sight
At noon, 17-terror-filled hours after the
broken crampon sent me hurtling into
space, I saw a three-man rescue party
picking their way toward me. On reaching
me, they improvised a seat of ropes and
used it to drag me down the mountain.
At a hospital in Mexico City, the final
miracle of my misadventure was dis
covered. Despite all I had been through, I
suffered only bruises, the forehead gash,
and a case of frostbite which caused the
loss of part of one toe. But not a bone in
my body was broken.
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