Category: Memoirs

 

And have you traveled very far?
Far as the eye can see.
How often have you been there?
Often enough to know.
What did you see when you were there?
Nothing that doesn’t show.

From an old Beatles song

Ever had your pillow stolen from beneath your head by a sneaky black bear? Well, if you don’t think you can weather such an experience without a prolonged case of the shakes, don’t try finding your way through the little-traveled wilderness north of Fontana Lake in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park (North Carolina side).

Almost losing a pillow, actually the food sack, was exactly what happened to our group, to me in fact, back in August of 1960. It was our fifth day out on the trail. Our scout group was camped on Hazel Creek. Instead of hanging my rucksack containing most of the remaining group grub safe in a nearby tree that evening, I decided to use the pack as a pillow. Big mistake.

The night was so beautiful that none of us even bothered to pitch a tarp, although one scout was zipped into a military jungle hammock slung between two trees. Somewhere around 1:00 a.m. my head suddenly hit the ground. A hungry bear had reached through the bushes, pilfered my pack, and was dragging it away with him.

Fortunately for our group, in all the noise, darkness, and confusion that followed, including calls for help from the scout unable to find his way out of the jungle hammock, the big bruin released the heavy rucksack and retired to the edge of the woods, licking his chops in disappointment over losing a good meal. For many years afterward I kept as a souvenir the tin drinking cup that had been in the top of my pack which now had a hole punched in it by one of the bear’s teeth.

Our seven-day adventure carried us through the southwestern section of the Great Smokies, a wilderness area unmatched anywhere on the eastern seaboard in its beauty and isolation. It was a region of verdant, haze-covered peaks and ridges cut by deep valleys. Down these valleys tumbled swift, clear fishing streams, known far and wide as some of the finest native trout waters in the South.

Back in secluded coves deer browsed in the overgrown fields and orchards of long-abandoned mountain farms. Other forest wildlife, all protected from hunters by law, included bobcats, black bear, foxes, ruffed grouse, wild turkeys, wild boar (originally imported from Great Britain about 1900), and all too many yellow jackets, copperheads and rattlesnakes.

In 1960 there were no roads leading into the Fontana wilderness area, although efforts had been underway for years by developers to talk the federal government into building one through the wilderness on the north side of the lake. Hikers and fishermen, however, could already access this section of the park in several ways: by dropping off the Appalachian Trail, taking a boat across Fontana Lake, bushwhacking down from Shuckstack fire tower, or hiking in from U.S. 441 on the east side as our party did.

Our group of backpackers included in addition to me four older members of Explorer Scout Post 17 based in Charlotte, North Carolina at Christ Episcopal Church: John Alexander, Bob Botsford, Walter Graham, and Ken Oppenheim. At that time I was serving as the post’s Advisor (leader) and was 26 years old. The boys were all entering their senior year of high school that fall and were about 16 or 17. This was a physically tough bunch of young guys with extensive scouting and outdoor experience. Given the difficulty of the trip it was a good thing we were all so fit.

As the crow flies, the distance we covered in seven days was only about 35 miles, but we were not birds. Because of the meanderings of both maintained and abandoned trails the actual mileage was closer to 70. Often it was necessary to hack our way through overgrown sections of the forest with machetes and navigate by map and compass. The maps that we carried were based on work done by the U. S. Geological Survey between 1927 and 1931. In 1960 many of the trails shown on these charts no longer existed, but we usually managed to follow the old routes without too much trouble.

In order to have access to water we made camp on streams whenever possible but never bothered to purify the water. In those days it just wasn’t necessary. Giardia would become a problem only in later years. Due to the heat and humidity in this part of the park during August all of us required large amounts of water in order to prevent dehydration. And since drinks like Gatorade had not yet been developed, we put lots of salt on our food. Once popular salt tablets were no longer used by most people.

All cooking was done over wood fires. I don’t think we even carried a stove. But we did have with us in addition to 2 machetes what was known as a half-axe which was light enough to backpack with but big enough to cut down trees if necessary. Almost everyone in the group could build a one-match fire without using any paper, even in the rain.

Unfortunately, most of the woodcraft skills Americans once had have pretty much been lost over the intervening years. Many so-called outdoorsmen and outdoorswomen today don’t even know how to build a fire, and GPS units make navigating by map and compass usually unnecessary, another lost skill.

On the first evening of our trip into the wilderness we halted with aching muscles and sore feet at a trail junction on Indian Creek after a back-breaking 12 mile hike that began at the Oconaluftee Ranger Station north of the town of Cherokee. Our packs were old World War Two surplus, and each weighed at least 50 lbs when we first set off.

The second day was equally difficult and included the crossing of two high ridges before we finally reached our Solola Valley camp site on Noland Creek. Solola Valley was a pleasant place to camp, and a large, open-sided lean-to unexpectedly found there provided us with shelter from a hard rain that evening.

After cooking dinner over a fire in the lean-to, everyone retired to waterproof polyethylene tarps and spent a comfortable night in spite of the weather. 4-mil polyethylene, by the way, is ideal for summer backpacking, and cheap. However, I haven’t seen it used as tarps for many years. Most campers today have been taught that they can’t get along without a $300.00 high-tech tent, even in warm weather. Granted there are mosquitoes to deal with when sleeping under a tarp, but that’s what insect repellant is for. And, of course, you can see bears and other critters approaching when you are inside the almost clear plastic shelter.

On our third day we reached an old abandoned CCC (Civilian Conservation Corp) camp on the banks of Forney Creek after climbing over the 4000 ft. crest of Forney Ridge. It was an interesting and scenic trail, but continuous rain showers and skirmishes with yellow jackets nesting in the ground along the way forced us to set a mean pace. At one point while running pell-mell down the trail to escape an aroused swarm of bees Bob Botsford, pack and all, fell and rolled down the side of the mountain. Fortunately he was uninjured and we managed to drag him back up from the rhododendron thicket in which he had landed.

There is an old adage I learned at least 50 years ago that warns: “The first person in line wakes the snake (or yellow jackets). The second person gets ‘em riled up. And the third person gets bit.” I always try not to be that third person in a line.

Between Forney Creek and Fontana Dam trails were generally abandoned or non-existent. High Rocks with its fire tower, site of our fourth camp, lay at 5190 feet and commanded one of the most magnificent views in the Smokies. From the summit we were able to trace our previous days’ travels and look through the haze to the west at the rugged country through which we must now find our way.

I couldn’t help but be a little awed by what I saw ahead of us and wondered what would happen if anyone were to be seriously injured in that remote area. None of us had adequate first aid training. All of us were very aware that we were completely on our own. Modern-day emergency gear such as GPS units, cell phones, two-way radios and emergency locator beacons were not available in 1960.

During the night we watched the passage of a satellite overhead in the brilliant star-lit sky, a reminder that civilization could no longer be left behind completely, even in the uninhabited wilderness through which we were passing. That same night bears, raiding our camp for the first time, made off with dehydrated food that was soaking in pots for breakfast. Luckily, the bears left behind both of the aluminum cook pots. These days most hikers us stainless steel cooking gear.

On the fifth day our party bushwhacked cross-country down from High Rocks to the Bone Valley campsite on Hazel Creek. There is an interesting story behind the name, Bone Valley, but I can’t remember it. At one point along the way we came across a “bear tree” where fresh claw marks were visible in the deeply scarred bark for some eight feet above the ground. Having two machetes, an axe, and a Smith & Wesson .38 special revolver with us made everyone feel a little more confident after viewing proof that black bears grew pretty large in this area of the forest.

Our last campsite, located at mouth of Eagle Creek where it emptied into Fontana Lake, was reached after a difficult cross-country trek. Our trail had disappeared shortly after crossing Jenkins Ridge, but we finally made our way out after several hours of very rough going to the junction of Pinnacle and Eagle Creeks, just a mile or so above where we planned to spend the night.

Everyone was beat and welcomed the opportunity to clean up, swim, and fish in Eagle’s deep pools. A family from Alabama, the first people we had seen since leaving the Oconaluftee Ranger Station six days before, had crossed Fontana Lake by boat and was camping near us at the edge of the lake. They told me fishermen were pulling 14 to 16 inch trout from these same waters. Unfortunately, the fish avoided all our efforts to catch them, so our own group had to get by on a final skimpy dinner of more dehydrated rations, some of which had been previously sampled by campsite mice.

Our seventh and last day in the Fontana backcountry was spent bushwhacking up some 2300 feet from the lake to Shuckstack fire tower where there was a very nice view, then following the Appalachian Trail down a steep ridge to Fontana Dam. In the beginning, after breaking camp, it was possible to follow a faint path along lower Lost Cove Creek, but after we climbed to its headwaters, the path disappeared. We then had to use a compass in order to head due west to the Appalachian Trail and Shuckstack tower, all the while forcing our way up through dense thickets of briars and fallen trees.

In the lead with a machete at the time, I expected any minute to be bitten by a copperhead, especially since all of us had walked right over a big one in the brush the previous day. It must have been asleep. Overall we came across at least four or five poisonous snakes during the seven day trip. I seem to remember our eating a couple of them. Rattlesnake tastes almost like chicken and is especially good when cooked over an open fire. Copperhead meat is best avoided. About 4:30 that afternoon our dirty, bedraggled group hiked into Fontana Village, happy at being once again among the comforts of civilization, but also a little sad at the thought of leaving behind our free and easy life on the trail. The entire trip, including all food and gas for our vehicle had cost each of us a grand total of $14.00.

It has now been forty-six years since the trip described above took place. I would like to believe that the majestic wilderness we crossed so long ago might remain as it is forever: a refuge for our nation’s vanishing wildlife and a challenge to future generations of adventurous Americans.

Unfortunately, it appears the federal government may soon be forced finally to construct a road through the very heart of this region because of the terms of an old 1943 contract between the Tennessee Valley Authority, Department of the Interior, National Park Service, and Swain County, NC regarding the creation of Fontana Lake and the transfer of lands north of the lake to the National Park Service. As compensation to Swain County for lands taken, the Department of the Interior agreed to build a new road on the north side of the lake.

This intrusion of civilization, should it take place, will destroy forever the wilderness character of the terrain we crossed and open up the last three native trout streams in North Carolina to unlimited fishing. Those of us who value wilderness can only hope something can be done to prevent the highway planned for the north side of Fontana Lake from ever being built.

After the passage of 46 years I am now 71. The four scouts would be in their early sixties. Our lives have taken us in different directions. Walter Graham has retired from a career as a dermatologist and lives with his wife in Jacksonville, Florida. We stay in touch. Bob Botsford is a commercial pilot and flies for a South Carolina corporation. Recently we reconnected. After 30 years of selling mountaineering gear and teaching outdoor skills in Santa Fe I am now retired and still living there. Sadly, John Alexander died in 1995 after a long bout with cancer. Ken Oppenheim has disappeared into the mists of time.

NOTE: On February 3, 2010 an agreement was signed by Swain County and several government agencies which brought to a close the decades-old battle to prevent the building of a road on the north side of Fontana Lake. The settlement obligates the National Park Service to pay Swain County fifty-two million dollars over a ten year period. The county agrees not to continue its legal action against the federal government to have the proposed road constructed.

It appears that one of the wildest and most beautiful parts of the Great Smoky Mountains therefore will be preserved for future generations of Americans to enjoy as our own group did.

 

 

 

 

 

1959
“When I look back upon those days I cannot but return my sincere thanks to the high gods for the gift of existence. All the days were good and each day better  than the other. Ups and downs, risks and journeys, but always the sense of motion and the illusion of hope……………….Twenty to twenty-five! Those are the years!” From “My Early Life”  Winston Churchill 1874 – 1965

In early June, 1959 my good friend and fellow SAE fraternity brother, Rainey Sellars, and I left behind a year of studies at the University of North Carolina in Chapel Hill and headed off to South America seeking adventure. At the time Rainey was 21 years old, was preparing to enter his senior year of college, and was scheduled to be married in September. I was 25 and had just graduated from the university. My own future was much more uncertain.

At any rate, the account below of a part our two month journey describes an 8-day, 500 mile boat trip down the Ucayali River from Pucallpa to Iquitos, Peru. It is essentially what I wrote in my diary 47 years ago without attempting to be politically correct. When we flew out of Miami in early June, neither of us spoke much Spanish and no Portuguese, which is the language of Brazil, our eventual destination.

(HK; revised 06.04.2009)

………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Aboard the Santiago
Ucayali River
Friday, June 26, 1959

Pucallpa, located on the banks of the Ucayali River in eastern Peru, is not a beautiful town by any means, with its rusty, metal roofs and ramshackle houses. It is, however, typical of the average upriver town in the Amazon Basin. The streets were unpaved, rutted from recent rains, but already dusty. In the gutters raw sewage flowed. You can always tell, because green grass grows wildly along the edges of these ditches, a very pretty sight from a distance.

Our hotel, the Mercedes, had one of the few filtered water systems in Pucallpa. At least the water looked clean. To be safe Rainey and I drank only bottled drinks and later found that our genial host, Sr. Foster Lopez, drew his water from the river just below the point where the local slaughter house dumps its animal waste.

Pucallpa has increased in size from a population of about 500 in 1937 to over 20,000 today; yet the community is still in its pioneer stage and lacks adequate drinking water, sewage disposal, garbage disposal, and electricity. It is not unusual to run across groups of Indians walking single file along the streets, the men mostly dressed in khaki, but the women still clinging to their traditional costumes and wearing discs of silver in their noses.

A large group Americans, some of whom had flown on the plane with us from Tingo Maria, also was staying at the Mercedes. Several miles outside town there is a bi-lingual missionary colony whose members are making a study of Indian dialects found in the Amazon basin. I met several of the missionaries in town, but Rainey and I never had an opportunity to make it out to their facility.

On Tuesday evening, June 23, Sr. Lopez, a Mexican engineer and his wife, along with Rainey and me, all went together to the “grand opening” of the Hawaiian Club down on the riverbank. We really had a lot of laughs, especially when the master of ceremonies announced that “New York has the Stork Club, and Pucallpa has the Hawaiian Club.” Sr. Lopez said that as soon as the rainy season arrived the whole place would wash downstream. I doubt that it will be missed. We all drank enough cold beer to thoroughly enjoy the party. Once the club closed at midnight, I returned to the hotel with the owner and headed off to bed. The rest of the group managed to keep the party going elsewhere until about 2:30 that morning.

Rainey and I had been combing the docks looking for transportation to Iquitos when we ran across the Santiago, an old 1880s Mississippi River paddle wheel steamer that had been taken apart at some point and shipped to South America. It was loaded and ready to leave for Iquitos as soon as the crew could be located and sobered up. With the assistance of Sr. Lopez Rainey and I learned the boat would sail on Thursday, June 25 and arranged for 1^st. class passage.

On Wednesday afternoon a missionary who was staying at the Mercedes and who had made river trips in the past went with us to several stores to purchase supplies for our own voyage. That evening we had dinner with the missionary, two scientists, and an American family from Lima who had come overland by Jeep to Pucallpa.

Aboard the Santiago
4 days down river from Pucallpa
Sunday, June 28

At last we are really in the jungles of the Amazon basin, and names which only a few months ago sounded remote and mysterious are now as familiar to our ears as Charlotte and Raleigh. Things have certainly changed since Leonard Clark, author of “The Rivers Ran East” floated down the Ucayali on a raft some thirteen years ago. Gone today are the alligators and other wild game so plentiful in his time. But even so, traveling as we are on an old wood-burning, paddle wheel steamer, the last of its type on the river, is still a unique experience and an excellent way of gaining an intimate picture of Peruvian and native life in the Amazon basin.

Our boat, the Santiago, has three decks, all of which are open on the sides except for the hold below water level where the engine is located. The second deck at water level is used for transporting cargo, cooking, and is the home of the 2^nd. class passengers who sleep anywhere they can find a spot among the chickens, stalks of bananas, sacks of coffee, oranges, hides, etc. The top deck is reserved for the first class passengers and numerous officers of the ship, not one of whom, by the way, can speak a word of English except for the captain. And his English vocabulary is limited to several four letter words picked up on the docks. What a character that fellow is!

From my seat here at the dining table I have a nice view of the pig pen about 12 feet away. Directly in front of me is a huge pile of bananas headed for Iquitos. On my left the wife of one of the crewmen, she looks about 15 years old, is washing dirty clothes in the shower which, by the way, uses river water. A few feet away at the stern another group is cleaning a batch of fish purchased just this morning from an Indian in a dugout canoe.

Behind me one of the passengers, a minor businessman from Iquitos, is as usual relaxing in his sleeping hammock; while on my right the ship’s baker is mixing and rolling dough for today’s bread. Although the sanitation problem is worse here than any place we have visited, both Rainey and I are in excellent health so far except for an infected cut on my left hand. The cut, however, now appears to be healing nicely thanks to sulfa tablets a missionary gave me at one of the many stops for wood along the river.

Our boat, even though it is the slowest, is known far and wide for having the best food on the Ucayali and is the only one which bakes its own bread. Rainey, the sleepy businessman from Iquitos, and I actually eat better than the other 1^st. class passengers, for we three have been invited by the captain to sit at his table during the course of our voyage. Our captain’s name is Casanova. This suits his character admirably in view of his unabated interest in the unmarried women passengers aboard our boat.

Because no one speaks English, I have been unable to determine the names of all the dishes we have been served so far on the Santiago. Names I do know include tapir stew, broiled monkey, papaya melon, fried and boiled bananas, frijoles, salt dried fish, and many kinds of fresh fish. I will never know what goes into all the dishes, and maybe that’s a good thing. The only way to keep from going hungry here is to eat pretty much anything that is set before you, take two Entero Vioformo tablets a day, and hope for the best.

After hearing so much about the “terrible Amazon climate”, I was relieved to find it is actually not too uncomfortable in a damp sort of way so long as the boat is moving. In conjunction with the high humidity we have daily rain showers, even though it is the dry season. Although the temperature hovers around 80 degrees both day and night, a covering of some kind is almost always needed after midnight.

Nights on the river are the worst. Because the water is low, we are unable to run after dark and must tie up to a bank where clouds of mosquitoes quickly rise to the attack. Rainey and I partially solved this problem by buying some netting at one of the wood stops and hanging it across the doorway. Crew members and second class passengers who sleep in the open must have a pretty rough time.

My many camping trips in the North Carolina mountains sure helped me in preparing for this adventure. One has generally the same sort of problems in both places except for the Great Smokies being a lot cleaner and cooler. For instance, none of the basic luxuries of civilization is available aboard the boat. We have no soap, no towels, no toilet tissue, no pure drinking water, and no bottled drinks. Fortunately, the missionary in Pucallpa made sure Rainey and I purchased the necessary supplies before going aboard.

Our shower pours forth dark brown river water, but it is not too bad if one uses plenty of soap. River water, slightly filtered, is also used on the table for drinking, but Rainey and I always purify ours in our canteens with Halazone tablets. To be on the safe side we brought aboard a case of bottled soda water, a large bunch of bananas, a sack of 100 oranges, several cans of meat, and a box of stale crackers among other things. I gave most of the oranges to the woman missionary who treated my hand last night at a wood stop. Anything else left over at the end of the trip will be passed on to the captain.

Because we have no refrigeration aboard, all meat has to be carried alive in the animal pen. The contents of this pen change regularly as the inmates – chickens, ducks, pigs, turkeys – are carried downstairs by the cook to be slaughtered. Replacements are purchased in small villages along the way. This morning I awoke about 5:00 to the squeals of a pig that was in the process of having its throat cut. About the only food I actually have rejected so far on the river is broiled monkey. Even Captain Casanova refuses to choke down this unpalatable dish. According to some of the passengers monkey meat is similar in taste to human flesh.

One very useful item picked up in Pucallpa was a quart bottle of alcohol. It has since proved invaluable to us, and I would hate to have to be on the boat without it. Washing with alcohol is the only sure way of sanitizing your hands before eating or your feet after going barefoot in the shower or cabin. The possible consequences of going without shoes were illustrated to me yesterday when I watched one of the crew clean out the animal pen, shower, toilet, and finally the cabins – all with the same broom. Alcohol is also useful for applying to cuts and mosquito bites, for cleaning tableware, and for washing raw fruit before eating it.

It was pure luck that Rainey and I found the Santiago at Pucallpa. These river boats run on very irregular schedules, and the prospective passenger has to take whatever happens to be sailing. There are currently only two vessels running between Pucallpa and Iquitos. Ours is the better of the two.

Aboard the Santiago
6 days down river from Pucallpa
Tuesday, June 30

Last night we saw our first alligator of the trip. It was well after dark, and the helmsman was sweeping the riverbank with his spotlight looking for a place to tie up when we all saw two orange discs glowing back at us. It was just a small ‘gater, however, and swam away as soon as the anchor was dropped.

A few minutes later a dugout canoe with three Indians crouched down in it glided silently up out of the darkness and tied onto our boat. By the light of the craft’s small kerosene lantern I could see that it was laden with bananas, green peppers, and papaya melons, all of which were soon sold to the passengers and crew. Earlier in the afternoon our mess steward bought 50 live fish from another Indian who had just netted them in the river. They were still splashing around in the bottom of his dugout.

Hardly a mile passes without our seeing one or more Indians paddling along in a canoe. In the Amazon basin where roads are almost non-existent the dugout is the universal means of transportation among the Indians. They also employ balsa rafts to float goods down the rivers to Iquitos and Manaus. In Tingo Maria I was told a story of one balsa raft on the Huallaga that was caught in a whirlpool and orbited there for seventeen days before the crew finally escaped.

Last night the Ucayali rose suddenly, probably from heavy rainfall somewhere upstream, making it possible for us to cast off at 4:00 a.m. today. This was two hours earlier than usual. During the rainy season big boats run both day and night, but low water and treacherous sandbars most likely will keep us on the river for a total of 8 days.

A sight that never ceases to amaze me is that of the wood boys carrying huge bundles of kindling onto the boat. Because our furnace requires a thousand sticks an hour, we have to tie up for a fresh supply sometimes three times a day. All the wood is cut by hand and stacked by the river in cords of 200 sticks with 10 sticks to a layer. Each piece is about 3 to 4 inches in diameter and 32 inches long. One of the boys in the crew is able to carry about 65 sticks at a time, no small accomplishment considering their weight and bulk.

Most of our wood stops are made at obscure villages hardly noticeable from the boat except for the presence of dugouts tied at the foot of the bank. Some of the villages are attractive in a primitive sort of way with their bamboo and straw huts built on stilts in little glades surrounded by the forest. In most settlements several types of fruit grow right in town, and one has to step only a short distance from his/her door to pick bananas, lemons, oranges, or papayas right off the trees.

Handmade articles commonly found in these settlements include fish spears, dugout canoes, paddles, pottery, community bread ovens, wood mortars, and other wooden machines used for the crushing of sugar cane, coffee beans, etc.

A common sight at most stops is that of tiny children, handsome in most respects, but with enormous pot bellies – a condition I suspect is caused by a poor diet or maybe worms. For some reason none of the adults I saw had the protruding stomachs.

Several times a day we saw fish-like creatures swimming in schools and occasionally breaking water. The captain calls them dolphine (or bufeo). Whether they are fish or mammals I haven’t been able to determine. But based on the fact that they rise to the surface leads me to believe they are the latter.

On the Ucayali River
July 1, 1959

Rainey and I just received our bill for the eight day trip on the Santiago. Each of us was charged 185 Peruvian soles including meals, or about $7.00 in U. S. currency. Up to now we hadn’t really known what we would have to pay since we two were occupying a 4-berth “stateroom”. This cabin I hasten to add was only about 7 feet square and barely accommodated the two of us with luggage.

On the Amazon River
Thursday, July 2

This morning our craft reached the point where the Ucayali and Maranon join together and form that greatest of all South American rivers, the Amazon. If the boat continues on schedule, we should reach Iquitos by 3:00 this afternoon. I noted that people who live around here call this section of the Amazon “El Rio Solimoes”, and it appears on some maps by this name.

I neglected to mention earlier that Rainey’s twenty-first birthday fell on June 29. We were unable to put together much of a celebration that day, but Captain Casanova did bring out a bottle of pretty awful wine in Rainey’s honor at breakfast while I contributed another not much better at dinner. Sr. Sellars’ greatest surprise of the day came in the form of a giant bear hug of congratulations delivered by an evil looking fellow passenger we call “the gangster”.

Three types of fresh fish served to us during the past several days are known locally as Corvina, Gamitana, and Paiche. In Captain Casanova’s opinion the most tempting part of any fish is the head. This is left attached during the cooking, along with the tail, scales, and fins. One day when the cook placed an unusually big fish on our table the captain immediately cut off the head for himself – it covered his whole plate – and ate every possible bit of meat on it, including the eyeballs. He was welcome to it. Rainey and I were quite happy for him to choose that great delicacy for himself and leave us the remainder. As an experiment Rainey did eat a couple of fish eyeballs once, but they were well cooked and actually didn’t look too bad.

The lack of sanitation in back country South America simply cannot be comprehended by the average American unless he/she has been there to experience it. On our boat soap is an unknown word. All tableware is rinsed in river water after each meal. This is all the cleaning it gets. Because the four of us at the Captain’s table use the same cloth napkins for the entire eight days, and no napkin is assigned to a particular person, it’s always a game to guess who used it the previous meal.

There is an interesting sign in the filthy bathroom which requests that passengers “Please throw toilet paper through the window.” I imagine the request was put there for fear that the newspaper ordinarily used as toilet paper on our boat might not make it down the pipe. Unfortunately, quite a bit never even makes it through the window, and much of that which does lands in the small ship-to-shore launch tied just beneath.

Hotel Amazonas
Manaus, Brazil
Sunday, July 5

Upon arriving in Iquitos last Thursday Rainey and I learned no river boats would be sailing for Manaus in the near future. It was only with the greatest difficulty that we were successful in booking passage on Pan Air de Brazil’s weekly Saturday flight. Iquitos is not a bad town, and because of its strategic location, will doubtless grow to be an upper Amazon metropolis some day. Right now, however, any large shipments of merchandise or raw materials destined for Lima or visa versa must be sent all the way around by way of the Panama Canal because of the great Andean mountain barrier to the west which up to now has not been breached by a major highway.

Our hotel in Iquitos, another in the Tourista group, was the best in town and turned out to a gathering spot for English-speaking people in the area. Our room cost $6.00 a night. A steak dinner with wine set each of us back about $1.25. After spending 8 days on the Ucayali River such luxury was greatly appreciated.

Next stop: Manaus, Brazil

I expect to pass through this world but once. Any good thing therefore, that I can do or any kindness I can show to any human being, let me do it now. Let me not defer nor neglect it, for I shall not pass this way again.

Stephen Grellet, 1773 – 1855, Quaker missionary

Revised  2013

The summer of 1965 was the second I spent working for the Colorado Outward Bound School based during the months of June, July, and August near the old ghost town of Marble on the edge of the magnificent Snowmass Wilderness. I was 30 years old at the time. My job that season involved working both as the school’s program coordinator and as a patrol instructor. Back then courses, which lasted 27 days, were offered only during the summer months. Also back then, a typical patrol was made up of 12 young men between the ages of 16 and 22, an instructor, and sometimes an assistant instructor.

The memoir that appears below is a slightly updated version of a report I wrote in July that year concerning a mountaineering accident involving one of our students, 24 year old John McBride, who fell while descending from the summit of 14,092 ft. Snowmass Mountain with his patrol. John sustained very serious head injuries from the fall, requiring a dramatic all-night rescue involving the members of his patrol, my own patrol which happened to be in the area, and a team of staff members from the school.

RESCUE PARTICIPANTS

BOONE PATROL

Rich Tuttle – co-instructor
Rich Nehring – co-instructor
Tadashi Agari
Ian Clarke
Robert Healing
John Jenks
David Lewis
John McBride
Richard Owen
John Reilly
Keith Stone
Thomas Thatcher
Malcolm Whitfield

CODY PATROL

Herb Kincey – instructor
Gordon Strickler – assistant instructor
Simon Bunyard
Thomas Fort
Frank Howard
Garth Jones
Leland Logg
Christopher Lynn
David Sherwood
Charles Smith
Gregg Stradiotto
Hunter Townsend
Dave Wright
Mike Turrill

SHERPA CLIMBING GUIDES (*) 

Andy Brenner
Andy Morris
Larry Roffe
Gary Randolph

STAFF RESCUE TEAM FROM SCHOOL

Joe Nold, school director
Several sherpas

(*) In the nineteen sixties “Sherpa” was the name given to young Colorado Outward Bound School graduate employees between the ages of 16 and roughly 21 who had done well on their courses and were not old enough to be instructors, but who had real potential as future leaders at the school. Sherpas were paid $100.00 a month and were given an opportunity to purchase outdoor gear at the school’s cost. These young men were assigned to work in a wide variety of program areas from course to course. I developed the Sherpa program at COBS and directed it from 1965 through 1967 when I left the school for good. A number of these young men went on to become instructors.

On Monday afternoon, July 26th, I hiked with my patrol (Cody) of 10 students and assistant instructor, Gordon Strickler, from the Outward Bound School several miles to Prospector Springs, located about a mile north of Geneva Lake on a small stream. We set up our camp near Andy Brenner, Andy Morris, and Larry Roffee, Sherpas serving as climbing guides on some nearby cliffs. Cody Patrol was scheduled to climb Snowmass Mountain by way of the S-ridge the following morning with Sherpa Gary Randolph, whose camp we understood to be back at Lake Geneva, and who currently was on Snowmass Mt. with Boone Patrol.

About 1755 hrs. Richard Tuttle, co-instructor of Boone Patrol, ran into our camp saying he understood that at about 1530 hrs. one of his students, John McBride, had slipped on a steep, slick rock slab while descending, had fallen some 60 feet in the cirque between Snowmass Mt. and Hagerman Peak, was unconscious, and needed to be evacuated. The accident took place at about 13,000 feet. This was all we could learn at the time regarding the extent of the student’s injury. Rich himself was not a witness to the accident, having started down earlier that day with one of his students whose foot was bothering him. Rich’s information came from a Boone Patrol member who had gone for help with two other Boone members. The other two, however, couldn’t keep up and decided to stay put part way down the route to help guide the rescue party to the accident scene. The remainder of the patrol, along with guide Gary Randolph and co-instructor Rich Nehring, were said to be on the mountain with the injured man.

Upon hearing this news I called together the 11 members of Cody, along with the 3 Sherpas, and gave instructions to prepare for a mountain rescue. Everyone turned out in wool clothing, waterproof parkas, wool hats and mittens, whistles, 12-ft. rappel harness ropes, and carabiners. We also packed 4 ice axes, flashlights, patrol climbing ropes, and maps. Meanwhile, I dispatched my assistant, Gordon Strickler and student Mike Turrill, both very fast runners, to Outward Bound via Crystal (a tiny ghost town) in case the boy from Boone who had continued on alone failed to make it. Our patrol never saw him.

I later learned Gordon and Mike reached school in about an hour, passing the Boone messenger along the way. With them I sent a map showing the approximate location of the accident and a note describing the circumstances so far as they were known to us.

The three Sherpas during this period also turned out and began filling 3 packs with emergency equipment. This included 2 sleeping bags, 2 Primus gas stoves, fuel, 2 billy cans, 4 canteens of water, assorted food, the makings for hot drinks, 2 plastic ground tarps (I thought they were tent-size), extra wool clothing, 2 long wood poles for making a litter, and my patrol first aid kit. Rain clouds were building fast with good prospects for a storm within a short time.

Rich Tuttle remained behind at Prospector Springs with his injured student and two of mine who were not feeling well. Their job was to get a fire going, prepare hot food and drinks, and distribute them to the rescue party when it arrived from school. My Cody and Sherpa support group moved out of camp and headed up the mountain about 1825 hours.

On the first high ridge I fired 2 series of shots, 6 rounds each, using my .22 Magnum revolver, in hopes of attracting Larry Higby’s patrol. This group had left Prospector Springs about 1630 hrs, before I learned of the accident, and was heading for Upper Fravert Basin to spend the night. Larry also carried a weapon, but I heard no answering shots. At about 12,000 feet we met Sherpa climbing guide Gary Randolph near a small stream in an area of very large boulders. He pointed out the correct route for us, then continued on down towards Prospector Springs. Gary appeared to be sick and also was suffering from muscle cramps.

Near here on a ridge with a good view both towards Geneva Lake and the Snowmass-Hagerman cirque I left Sherpa Andy Brenner and Cody patrol member Chuck Smith with a flashlight and whistle. From this location they could observe our route up, later in the night, serve as guides if necessary, and also signal the Outward Bound rescue party or any other support groups that might appear. Soon after this it began to rain, but the clouds fortunately never dropped low enough to obscure our view of the mountain or lake.

Our group continued on up through a steep and dangerous boulder field for about 500 vertical feet, then ran into the two boys from Boone patrol who had been waiting to serve as guides. From here it was about another 400 vertical feet to the spot where John McBride lay. During most of this part of the ascent we were in contact with Boone Patrol by whistle.

Boone members would have been in pretty serious straits had our team had not arrived with sleeping bags for the victim. I found the injured student lying on some flat rocks wrapped in the patrol members’ waterproof parkas and most of their wool shirts. He was still strapped into a rope litter. Two students were crouched over him in an effort to deflect the rain and keep him warm, while a third man held his head wrapped in a bloody wool shirt. The rest of the patrol was without any waterproof gear. Several had on only t-shirts. The time was about 1945 hours, the temperature 35 degrees.

At Rich’s suggestion I assumed leadership of the rescue. My first act was to quickly examine the patient. He had what appeared to be severe head injuries and was in a state of shock. But he could answer simple questions such as what was his name, age, etc. His face was grey-white in color. He was mumbling incoherently. Rich’s patrol had brought John down from the accident scene some distance over a snowfield in a rope litter. But I felt John’s condition to be too unstable to warrant further travel except in a properly belayed Stokes litter which would also protect him from rocks and undue body movement.

I therefore had one group of students dig out a flat shelf in the nearby snow, place packs and ropes on it as insulation, and on this lay out one of the sleeping bags for additional insulation. This was covered over temporarily with a sheet of waterproof plastic.

Meanwhile, Rich volunteered to handle the Primus stove and began to prepare hot drinks with a couple of students as helpers. It was now snowing a little and getting dark fast.

At the same time I began with a group of helpers to transfer John into the second sleeping bag while a tarp was held over us to keep out the snow. We first removed the rope litter from around him and returned the wool shirts and waterproof jackets to the owners without any. All students wearing t-shirts were told to remove them and put on wool next to their skin. Also, extra wool clothing and food our party had brought to the scene was distributed about this time.

Once the rope was off the patient, he began to kick about with his feet, wave his arms, and cry out incoherently. It took several of us to restrain John while we removed his boots and put on dry socks. We managed also to get dry wool mittens on his hands but were forced to use adhesive tape to keep them on. Finally, it became necessary to tie John’s arms down in order to keep his hands away from the injury.

After finally working him into the second sleeping bag with difficulty, he was still thrashing about, eight of us carried John about three yards to the spot prepared in the snow bank and laid him down on the insulation. He quieted down immediately. Both plastic tarps were placed over John, and a student remained under the tarp at John’s head to observe and reassure him continually. The watchers switched off every 15 minutes.

I didn’t attempt to dress John’s wound which consisted of a large piece of his scalp peeled back in the shape of a horseshoe, and which the initial first aiders had put back in place and covered with a tied wool shirt. We had no sterile dressings large enough with which to cover the wound. Fortunately, there was no bleeding by the time I arrived; so we pretty much left things as we found them.

John’s breathing was regular on the whole, but there was occasional difficulty, probably due to a partially relaxed palate. I therefore decided on the basis of this and his semi-conscious condition not to give either food or liquids.

After John had been dressed in dry clothing and was in place and comfortable, I got together the members of Boone and Cody patrols to discuss the situation. Boone was not in very good shape due to members standing around in the cold for so long without proper clothing or any lunch. I would have sent them as a group on down to Prospector Springs before dark but was afraid that most staff members believed to be at the school might have gone to Redstone for the evening and not be available. Also, all patrols were out in the field, so no other students were reachable.

Fortunately, Boone Patrol members had food and hot drinks once we arrived, so in general were now prepared psychologically and physically for a long, cold night on the mountain. They were told to huddle as close together as possible, along with Cody Patrol, behind some rocks in the lee of the wind. The boys’ spirits remained high, and there was a good deal of singing and even some joking going on. Sometime after dark all precipitation stopped, and a few stars could be seen among the clouds.

Rich passed out hot drinks periodically, while several of us watched for the lights of the rescue party. We saw 3 fires close together on the trail part way up the valley on the east side of Geneva Lake but were unable to contact anyone with lights. We thought the fires might belong to an Outward Bound patrol. Later on we detected other lights around Lake Geneva but never did see any coming up the valley from the lake.

The first indication of the approaching Outward Bound rescue team was their lights reflecting off the cliffs below us and across the cirque. The team actually reached us about 2300 hrs. At this time I relinquished my authority to Joe Nold, Director of the Colorado Outward Bound School and leader of the rescue party.

Considering the circumstances, I felt Rich Nehring did the best job he could after the accident. At all times while I was on-scene he maintained excellent self-control and control over his students. The members of both patrols remained in good spirits throughout the waiting period in spite of the cold and wet night. Sherpas Andy Brenner, Andy Morris, and Larry Roffee were a great help to me. Their good judgment, cooperation, and willingness to lend a hand throughout the night are to be commended.

RECOMMENDATIONS

1. That the school buy rock climbing helmets for all students and staff and require their use any time a climbing exercise takes place.

2. That a good supply of quality headlamps be bought and kept in the school rescue cache. The ones now on hand are completely unsatisfactory. The Berec headlamp is a top quality piece of equipment and can be purchased from Recreational Equipment for $5.00.

3. That 2 marine flare guns and a supply of 20 red and green flares be purchased for signaling at night. Cost: $13.00 each for the guns and $1.00 each for the flares.

4. That a supply of yellow smoke bombs be bought for emergency signaling during the day from ground to ground or ground to air.

5. That any COBS patrol climbing a major peak be required to carry along at least the following group gear: 1 tent-size plastic tarp, 2 canteens of water, a primus stove, gas, emergency food and drinks, 2 sleeping bags, 2 flashlights, and a patrol first aid kit.

6. That rescue caches be established near any major peaks where climbs take place on a regular basis. These caches would include a Stokes litter, blankets or sleeping bag, and a waterproof evacuation bag. Having a cache handy could speed up the evacuation time by several hours, particularly in remote areas like Capitol Peak.

7. That a communications system using Civilian Band radio be established including:

1. A base station with the highest possible legal antenna at the Outward Bound School.
2. A mobile unit capable of being mounted in a vehicle or used with a car battery in the field.
3. At least 2 additional battery-operated Johnson CB hand-held radios for use in the field.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………2013 UPDATE

The evacuation of John took all night. By the time we reached our camp at Prospector Springs around 0300 hrs. where hot food and drinks greeted us, the members of Boone Patrol were completely exhausted and were told to stay there and get some sleep. Joe Nold, my patrol, and the Sherpas continued with the litter, now attached to a wheel, past Lake Geneva, and on down into Lead King Basin where the school’s Land Rover rescue vehicle waited. By this time it was beginning to get light and must have been about 0600 hours.

The Land Rover headed off to the Glenwood Springs hospital, my patrol hiked back up to its Prospector Springs camp to get some much needed rest after being turned over to assistant instructor Gordon Strickler temporarily, and I as the program coordinator returned to the school with Joe Nold to help deal with the McBride situation.

It was only after we arrived that we learned the news of instructor Lou Covert’s death earlier that morning while climbing one of the Maroon Bells with his patrol. This was the same patrol that had left Prospector Springs with Larry Higby shortly before my arrival there the day before.

Had John’s accident taken place earlier in the day, and had news of the accident reached Prospector Springs before the Higby group left for Fravert Basin, Lou doubtless would still be alive.

NOTE TO THE READER: John McBride and I reconnected once in 1969 while I was working for the North Carolina Outward Bound School. Shortly after that summer I moved permanently to New Mexico. John and I lost touch with each other. Some 43 years later in the fall of 2012 we reconnected again thanks to Facebook. John never made it back to Colorado to complete the Outward Bound program, but for both of us C-13 was a course that will remain in our memories for as long as we live.

Nothing written in this memoir should be construed as being critical of the Colorado Outward Bound School or its leadership during the years I worked there from 1964 – 1967. Outward Bound began operations in this country in 1962 with the opening of the Colorado school. The program originally was imported from the U.K.

In 1962 there was nothing even remotely like Outward Bound in the United States. It took about five summers to put in place the sort of trained staff, management tools, program, and safety procedures that by 1966 would place the school on the cutting edge of outdoor education in this country. In 1965 climbing helmets were worn mainly by mountain search & rescue team members on the West Coast. However, that August Colorado Outward Bound bought its first helmets from a company in California that had recently begun making them for West Coast SAR teams. Eventually, most climbers and all outdoor education programs in this country began using them.

End

 

First Published in 1978

“You never conquer a mountain. You stand on the summit a few moments; then the wind blows your footprints away.”

Arlene Blum, Born 1945, American mountaineer, expedition climber, author, lecturer, impassioned feminist

The account which appears below describes a December, 1977 ascent of Mexico’s Pico de Orizaba. This 18,600 ft. extinct volcano lies some 55 miles east of Puebla, an attractive city of about 2,100,000 people. Our group consisted of John Cooley who back then lived in Louisville, Colorado; and Joe McConnell, Bruce Squires, and me, all of whom lived in Santa Fe, New Mexico.

Probably due to global warming, snow conditions on Orizaba, also known as Citlaltepetl or Star Mountain, have changed dramatically since 1977. People who made the climb in recent years have told me how much the glaciers have receded and how little snow there is around the summit cone.

Back in the seventies there was plenty of snow, sometimes extending all the way down to the huts. And on our own route which led up the Jamapa Glacier on the north side of the mountain climbers had to contend with a series of hidden crevasses into which unlucky people sometimes fell. In fact, although Orizaba is not considered a really serious climb, people die on this mountain almost every year. The primary hazards they face result from darkness, an icy route, altitude, rapidly changing weather conditions, exhaustion, and lack of experience. Roping up is generally a good idea. My understanding is that only about 60% of the climbers actually make the summit on their first attempt. The 1977 trip was my fourth to the volcanoes.

Some the best current information on ascending Orizaba and other Mexican volcanoes is R.J. Secor’s “Mexico’s Volcanoes – a Climbing Guide”, published by The Mountaineers, Seattle, 2001 edition. And even this book is somewhat out of date.

Herb Kincey, May 05, 2010 (Revised)

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

At 1:00 a.m. Sunday morning the alarm went off in Piedra Grande’s Augusto Pellet (chicken coop) hut built to hold 6 people. We were a miserable, sleepy foursome:

John, Joe, Bruce, and I. The previous day (Saturday) had been a bad one. First there was a 1 a.m. group decision not to attempt the climb because of unsettled weather conditions. This meant hanging out an extra day at the two Piedra Grande huts which were located at about 14,500 feet. At this time we were nearly alone staying in the almost new, large stone hut, Octavio Alvarez, which actually had room for over 60.

Another group discussion took place after waking up later Saturday morning concerning whether we ought to backpack on up to the top of a broad rock band at 16,000 ft. called the Sarcofago and camp out there overnight as some people do before climbing. Again the decision was “no” because of the heavy cloud cover.

So Bruce and I spent the morning building stone cairns along the boulder field trail leading up to the Jamapa Glacier. We were surprised to run across almost at the foot of the glacier a large, marginal crevasse at the edge of the east rock band. Later on in the day I hiked down just east of the two huts to inspect Piedra’s springs. Both were in good shape and had an adequate flow. This water must be purified.

That afternoon things started to happen. By 4:00 an assortment of 4-wheel drive “taxis” began to arrive from Tlachichuca 14 miles down the mountain with some of the seventy Mexican climbing club members who would show up at Piedra Grande before nightfall.

Our party saw the handwriting on the wall and immediately hustled over to the “chicken coop”, which contained only 6 bunks. Soon afterward two Canadians, whom we had befriended while climbing Ixtaccihuatl several days earlier, also came over and asked whether they could join us. This filled the small shelter, or so we thought.

By 6:30 Saturday evening our group had finished eating dinner, had packed up our gear, and was preparing to hit the sack in anticipation of a 2:00 a.m. departure for Orizaba’s summit. Fortunately the sky now was completely clear of clouds, a good omen.

It was then that Antonio, a Mexican climber from Jalapa, appeared at the door with two friends, all obviously inebriated. “Hut filled up? That’s O.K.” They would sleep in the 24-inch wide aisle. “Plenty of room. No problem.” Our protests that we would be up at 1 a.m., eating and packing gear, fell on deaf ears. With a promise to return soon, we could hardly wait, Antonio and his amigos headed back over to the large hut where all the action was taking place. At this point our two Canadian pals abandoned us, preferring to take their chances on the cold ground outside. I passed around Dalmane sleeping pills, and we four hoped for a few hours of rest.

We should be so lucky! An hour later the door burst open, and at least 10 strangers piled into the hut, singing and dancing. They just couldn’t understand why a bunch of Gringo climbers would be in bed at this time of night when there was such a great

party going on. We begged off from joining in all the fun and games, but promised to come on over at 1 a.m. and wake everyone up to accompany us in an early ascent. Since this idea didn’t go over too well, the evening revelers were soon gone.

At last all was quiet again, but not for long. Suddenly I was awakened by a loud gagging sound and Antonio shaking me violently. “Senior, I am poisoned – Aggggh!”

Realizing that he must have quietly come back and gone to bed in one of the two empty bunks, I crawled reluctantly out of my own bag, exclaiming, “Antonio, what happened?” Holding his throat with one hand, Antonio pushed at me with his other a 1-gallon plastic water jug, the container on which Bruce had drawn a large skull and crossbones.“Uh,oh! The Chlorox solution used for sterilizing pots and pans.”

As the only emergency medical technician in the crowd, it fell on me to decide whether Antonio would live or die, and judging from the noises coming from the other bunks I knew the outcome my friends were hoping for. Actually, Antonio had not swallowed much of the evil tasting mixture, but enough, as he expressed it, to feel like a swimming pool.

Fortunately, instructions for preparing an antidote were printed in English on the original Chlorox bottle: “If swallowed, feed milk.” And milk (powdered milk) we had in large quantities, since nobody would touch the stuff. So, it was with a certain amount of pleasure that I mixed a big pot of the antidote and made Antonio drink it all. By ten o’clock our candles had been extinguished for the third time that night, and the only sounds in our hut were those of Antonio’s burps reverberating up from the bunk below me.

At 1:00 a.m. the alarm went off. Everyone except for Antonio crawled out of the bags, shivering in the frigid night air. By 2:00 a.m. all the extra gear had been locked up in our GMC Suburban (thefts were common at Piedra Grande), and we stumbled up the trail under a vast, star-filled night sky, happy to be away from the huts and finally on our way. Everyone else at Piedra Grande appeared to be still asleep. Except for Joe falling into a crevasse the climb itself was uneventful. The fact that all of us were in great physical shape helped significantly.

We reached the lower tip of the Jamapa Glacier (16,000 ft.) a little after three, put on crampons, and went up from there two on a rope, using our headlamps. Shortly before dawn Joe, who was in the lead, fell part way into a crevasse which was completely hidden. Fortunately, his Kelty pack caught on the edge, so that only his legs were swinging free inside the hole. He couldn’t see the same humor in his situation as the rest of us did and seemed to feel we did not regard his predicament in a serious enough manner. But the extraction worked without any hitches; and after planting willow wands on each side of the opening as a warning to other climbers, we were soon on our way again.

Several more crevasses had to be crossed or avoided before we finally reached the 18,000 ft. rim about 8:30, and the summit itself at 9:25 after taking a thirty minute break. Except toward the south, where clouds were building up fast, the views were

spectacular in all directions. To the west we could see 14,600 ft. La Malinche, 17,300 ft. Iztaccihuatl, and 17,900 ft. Popocatepetl from whose crater smoke was rising. To

the east we thought we could just make out a faint blue Gulf of Mexico beyond almost 50 miles of hazy, green tropical forest and the city of Vera Cruz.

While descending (it only took about 2 hours) we passed the huge, unroped Mexican climbing party at about the 16,400 ft. level. Antonio from the back of the line shouted “hello” and said his stomach was feeling fine.

Soon after this the nearby cloud bank which had been threatening us for the past hour or so suddenly swept over the mountain just as we reached the top of the Jamapa Glacier with its rock bands descending on each side. Within minutes we were enveloped in a complete whiteout, and visibility dropped to a few feet. But with the rock bands as guides all we had to do was go straight down until we reached the bottom where the trail winding through the rocks to the huts began.

By the time we returned to Piedra Grande it was snowing a little and time for lunch. We wondered whether the Mexican climbers had turned around or were still ascending through the clouds. But we didn’t wait to find out, because Puebla was out there: the Hotel Gilfer, hot showers, cold beers, and a big dinner at our favorite restaurant on the zocalo. So with a final “adios” to a couple of Tlachichuca “taxi” drivers whom Joe and I knew from previous years, we aimed the big GMC 4-wheel drive Suburban down the mountain toward civilization, and eventually home.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

(The above memoir, somewhat revised in 2010, was originally part of a much longer article, “Climbing Mexico’s Big Three Volcanoes, A Guide to Expedition Planning and Getting Around in the High Peak Region”, that was published in the February – March, 1978 issue of “Summit”, a climbing magazine no longer in existence.)

Herb F. Kincey

P.O. Box 5248

Santa Fe, New Mexico 87502

505.982.8948

herbkincey@gmail.com

What I hear I forget.

What I see I remember.

What I do I understand.

Confucius 551 – 479 BCE  Chinese teacher, philosopher, political theorist

(The following account is an updated version of an article first published in “The State”, April 1, 1966.)

Mike Donnelly, a new member of Boy Scout Explorer Post 17 based at Christ Episcopal Church in Charlotte, North Carolina, leaned over the edge of the Devil’s Cellar, a rock formation on Table Rock Mountain, looked down into the dark, shadowy depths of the giant crevasse, and exclaimed, “You mean we are supposed to rappel down this thing?”

Nevertheless, a little later Mike, a beginner climber, carefully backed off the edge. And as Ted Ramsaur played out the safety rope, Mike made his way down the vertical face of the cliff. When the shouted signal, “Off rappel-l-l-l, all clear-r-r-r”, finally drifted up from the bottom 100 feet below, Ted relaxed his grip on the belay rope, untied from it and his anchor, and informed the scouts standing around him, “O.K., guys, now it’s my turn.”

Mike and Ted were members of a group from Explorer Post 17 taking part in a three-day climbing expedition to Linville Gorge, a magnificent wilderness area in the mountains of Western North Carolina about twenty miles from Morganton. In charge of the outing were the unit’s three leaders, Fred Moore, John Pipkin, and Frank Headen.

Post 17’s interest in rugged mountaineering and rock climbing dates back some years to its founding at Christ Episcopal Church by Eugene Davant, a Charlotte real estate broker and active outdoorsman. The current leaders have carried on the tradition established by Davant and try to spend one weekend each month with the boys hiking, camping, or climbing in the mountains.

In spite of unfriendly rattlesnakes, extremely rugged terrain, impenetrable laurel thickets, and numerous biting insects during the summer months, Linville Gorge is a favorite destination of the scouts. It is also very popular with Special Forces units from Fort Bragg who train regularly in the little-visited wilderness area.

On this expedition the boys spent the first day setting up tarps at Table Rock Campground, gathering firewood, and practicing basic climbing skills in the rain. The following morning amid a sea of billowing clouds everyone rappelled several times off the Devil’s Cellar, taking turns belaying each other with a safety rope. That afternoon the group roped together and climbed out along the top of a rock formation known as the Chimneys. The roping up in this instance was more a practice for the following day’s climb than a necessity. The scouts also carried with them a military Stokes litter and learned how to use it to lower injured climbers from vertical rock faces on the Chimneys.

The climax of the trip came on the third day. Roped together in teams, the scouts ascended a 125 ft. tall rock pinnacle after first making several practice climbs and rappels on nearby cliffs. Late that evening after a big dinner cooked over wood fires everyone hiked up the Table Rock trail in the dark without using flashlights, an exercise designed to develop night vision. Afterwards they slept on the bare, wind-swept summit without tents.

For a change the night sky was completely clear, and Brown Mountain appeared in the moonlight as a dark, looming shadow in the distance. The mountain’s mysterious lights that have intrigued so many people over the years, including this writer, unfortunately were not in sight.

Although dramatic stories and spectacular photographs in the media have led many people to conclude rock climbing is a dangerous sport, climbers will disagree, saying it is just as safe as most team sports like football or soccer. And actually, the injury rate among downhill skiers is much higher.

Every precaution is taken by Post 17 leaders to avoid accidents. The use of safety helmets, safety belays on all climbs and rappels, a working knowledge of climbing signals, and the following of all safety rules are basic requirements the scouts must adhere to.

The post is not particularly large, but it has been a close-knit group of dedicated scouts over the years. Former members now in college still return on weekends occasionally to go climbing or hiking with the group. The boys hope in time to become qualified as a Ready Explorer Post, that is, a unit trained to take part in rescue or disaster operations.

Because we have become a nation of city dwellers, young people today have few opportunities to engage in backcountry activities that are genuinely adventurous and challenging. As any member of Explorer Post 17 can tell you, it means something to a fellow to reach the summit after a difficult Linville Gorge climb and then just sit there belaying a partner, admiring the spectacular view, and listening to the voice of the partner echoing across the seemingly endless peaks and valleys of the Blue Ridge Mountains, “Climbing-g-g-g-g!”

DECEMBER 2006 UPDATE:

More than forty years have passed since the events in the above article took place. Linville Gorge is now one of the more popular climbing and hiking areas in North Carolina. Just below Table Rock on its east side the N. C. Outward Bound School was established in 1967. The school still conducts wilderness courses year-round in the surrounding mountains.

Because of the ever increasing popularity of the now designated Linville Gorge Wilderness Area, stringent rules and regulations are in place restricting use of the wilderness itself. Table Rock Campground also experiences very heavy use these days, and the last half mile of steep, winding road leading up the mountain to it has been paved.

As to Explorer Post 17, I am sorry to say that it no longer exists. But Boy Scout Troop 17, from which the post originally developed, is still going strong at Christ Episcopal Church.

“The State”, first published in 1933, was sold in 1996 to Mann Media which changed the magazine’s original name to “Our State”. It has well over 100,000 subscribers today.

Of the four adult leaders mentioned in the article Fred Moore, John Pipkin, and Gene Davant sadly are no longer alive. Frank Headen, the fourth leader, is very much alive, still lives with his wife of many years in Charlotte, owns a large nationwide property restoration business there, and travels widely throughout the world in his spare time seeking adventure. The whereabouts of former scouts Ted Ramsaur and Mike Donnelly are not known.

The author of the above article, Herb Kincey, served as an adult leader of Explorer Post 17 from 1960 until 1964. He worked for Outward Bound schools in Colorado and North Carolina from 1964 through 1969. Since then he has lived in Santa Fe, New Mexico where he has maintained his involvement in outdoor activities and the teaching of outdoor skills.

Revised 03/05/2011

 

Herb F. Kincey

Revised December, 2011

Afterwards

When the hardships and anxieties of our ventures

Fade into the darkest recesses of our memories,

We are left with the good things;

And we return again,

Drawn by the vestiges of yesterdays that today

are no more than

Images.

Lawrence Curson

From “Summit”, a magazine, May 1974

 

 

 

It has been forty-four years since I worked for Colorado Outward Bound at its Marble base camp. Since that time the school and its program have changed significantly, and the lives of all of us who were there in the early days also have changed as we followed different paths through life and have aged.

Although my memory of the events that occurred between 1964 and 1967 has faded overall, I still recall some of them as clearly as if they had taken place yesterday; and the names of a number of staff members and students with whom I became friends are still in my address book. We stay in touch.

What follows is a list of some of the things I remember most about COBS and the people who spent time there when the school was young and we were young:

Inspirational morning readings conducted by staff members and students. Joe Nold’s Thoreau reading that ended with “Simplicity, simplicity, simplicity” was a classic.

Paul Petzoldt driving pitons into aspen trees while teaching basic climbing techniques. His most remembered statement: “Don’t you let some monkey pull YOU off the mountain!”

Students in 3-man tent groups cooking their meals over smoky wood fires in #10 billycans. Stoves were used only when we found ourselves above timberline, during stormy weather, or in an emergency situation.

Instructors who packed handguns on expeditions and occasionally shot small game which their students eagerly skinned, cooked, and ate. Some city kids had never seen meat except for what their parents brought home from the store wrapped in plastic. This was a revelation. Some of the other instructors caught fish.

The wailing school siren commanding us to crawl out of our sleeping bags early each morning, run down to Lost Trail Creek, and leap into the icy water. The temperature of the stream usually hovered below 40 degrees. “Running the dip” was not an optional activity in those days, whether we were in camp or out on an expedition. High altitude, ice-filled mountain lakes were especially invigorating.

Negotiating the ropes course high events without the protection of safety lines or climbing helmets. Fortunately, no one ever fell. However, it is important to remember that almost no individuals or outdoor programs used helmets until the seventies. COBS bought its first real climbing helmets in 1965 from an aerospace company in California that had recently begun producing them for mountain rescue teams on the west coast. Ropes courses were not yet in use elsewhere.

Competitive activities that continued throughout the course. These competitions, such as the wall & beam, boiling water, chopping logs, the marathon, etc. took place between patrols, almost never between individuals.

Our director, Joe Nold, and his instructors meeting in the staff lounge (it burned down many years ago) just before the end of each course to determine who should and should not receive certificates of completion. In those days just staying the 26 days did not mean a student would necessarily pass. As I remember, he had to earn a certificate. The staff discussed and approved each person individually. This was all pretty subjective, but it seemed to work.

Joe offering students who failed their course an opportunity to stay around for a few days and work until the beginning of the next course, then retake it at no charge if there was an opening.

The fact that the school originally accepted only young males between 16 and a half and 22 years of age. The first girls’ course, C23G, took place the summer of 1967. It proved to be a success. Others followed.

Learning that a 27-day Outward Bound course was a one-time experience and was generally considered to be a “rite of passage”. Graduates were not allowed to sign up for another course later on. This was not a problem, however, because:

Students would often say as they left Marble for the last time something like, “I wouldn’t trade anything for this experience, but it will be a cold day in hell before I ever come back to this place.”

Paul Petzoldt giving memorable introductory talks the first night of each course. He would fill a hiking boot full of water at the beginning of his presentation and not explain the reason for doing so until the very end. Paul was a consummate showman.

Paul requiring everyone to wear wool clothing throughout the summer. Hikers often would come across 12-man COBS patrols trekking through the mountains with their pants legs rolled up and flies wide open, trying to stay cool. On the other hand, hail and snow often fell above timberline, even in July. Hypothermia could be a serious problem during wet weather. The wearing of wool made a real difference in insuring the safety of a group, since it helped maintain body warmth, even when wet. Today’s synthetic materials were not yet in use.

Students paying $350.00 for a 27-day course (about $13.00 a day). A new COBS instructor was paid about $350.00 a month. Former students who stayed on to work as “sherpas” received $100.00 a month and all they could eat. A number of our sherpas eventually went on to become patrol instructors.

“Green death”, a mixture of powdered lemonade and powdered lime Jello that could be consumed as a hot or cold drink or mixed with snow. This was very popular.

The sound of the wind above timberline whistling through the lightening holes of the uncomfortable World War II British aluminum pack frames worn by students.

Patrol members sleeping under clear, 4-mil plastic tarps on evergreen bough beds. I don’t believe foam pads were issued until 1965.

Frequently having to use preliminary (blue line) USGS topographic maps covering parts of the Snowmass Wilderness. Until 1965 there were no published maps of some areas where we ran our program. Even instructors occasionally became lost with their patrols. Most embarrassing!

Teaching students how to identify edible plants and encouraging them to try almost anything that was not poisonous. Students were issued fish hooks and small game snare wires before going on their 3-day solo. During this event they were allowed to forage for food. Many did.

Everybody drinking water straight from the uncontaminated, crystal clear mountain streams and lakes without fear of contracting Giardia. In fact, most of us had never even heard of it. I first became infected in the Snowmass Wilderness the summer of 1973, six years after leaving COBS. Unfortunately, today water throughout most of our nation’s backcountry areas must be purified.

Being waked in the middle of the night by the school emergency siren and running down to the garbage dump to put out a “forest fire” set by the staff among the dead trees. The use of gas and diesel fuel helped things along. Marble fire fighters, from 2 miles away, showed up one night with their water tanker, believing the entire school was burning. After that we always called them first.

Occasional evening jaunts by staff members (and sometimes Sherpas) to Marble, Redstone, or even Aspen for food and drinks. Students also would slip down the road periodically to Marble for sodas and snacks. One rode back up to school on a stolen horse in 1967. His request to be sent home the next day was granted.

The emphasis on outdoor skills and leadership training which included first aid, technical rescue, fire fighting, survival, axemanship and use of other tools, fire building, outdoor cooking, use of map & compass, rock climbing & rappelling, problem solving, etc. Several friends who attended COBS in the early days have told me in recent years that the Outward Bound training they received was a major factor in their surviving military tours of duty in Vietnam later on.

Tap Tapley running with his instructor trainees on long, killer marathons through the mountains. Tap usually came in first in spite of the fact that he was twice the age of most of the runners.

Another of Tap’s exploits involved leading his trainee class along the spectacular and intimidating two and a half mile ridge running between Capitol Peak and Snowmass Mountain, both 14,000 footers. On one occasion after returning to the Marble base camp, a still terrified trainee quietly packed up his gear and left for home.

The first mobile course (C-19) the summer of 1966 which used the West Elk Range as its program area. By the end of the following year most Colorado courses were being run as mobiles.

Larry Higby riding his horse cowboy style through the mountains during our expeditions where Larry served as a safety officer. Thanks to his accuracy with his .22 cal. handgun, there often would be an edible game bird or small animal hanging from his saddle which would be passed on to a patrol hungry for meat. During the winter Larry worked out of Lander, Wyoming as a big game hunting guide. His knowledge of outdoor living under all conditions was impressive.

Frightened students trying to work up the courage to take that first step over the edge of the 150 ft. “big rappel” on Sheep Mountain. Most did, often with verbal support from their instructor and fellow patrol members.

Developing real friendships that sometimes have continued for over 40 years. I believe the intensity of our lives at COBS was partly responsible for these long-lasting connections, involving both students and staff.

I feel sure that most Outward Bounders from the early days who read this account have vivid memories of their own relating to the time they spent at the school. For many of the students, and probably even some of the staff, the Colorado Outward Bound experience in that long ago time was a truly defining moment in their lives, one to be remembered and savored down through the years.

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NOTE TO THE READER: Nothing written in this memoir should be construed as being critical of the Colorado Outward Bound School or its leadership during the years I was there. Outward Bound began operations in this country in 1962 with the opening of the Colorado school and the running of the first courses (C-1, C-2, and C-3) out of Marble that summer. The program was imported from the U.K.

In 1962 there was nothing even remotely like Outward Bound in the United States. But it took about five years to develop and put in place the sort of trained staff, management tools, program, and safety procedures that by 1966 would place the school on the cutting edge of outdoor education in this country.

I feel other staff members and I were very lucky to have been able to work at COBS during its formative years and to have played a part in the school’s development during that time. Outward Bound has come a long way since that first Colorado course in 1962.