Under Ice, 1986

by Jon Muir


My pack was huge. I'd tried to cut my gear to a minimum but still had 55 kilograms, including double ropes and a huge rack of hardware-all necessary for my attempt of the second ascent and first solo of the most difficult route on the Jorasses. I also carried food and fuel for two weeks, and survival gear to keep me warm, dry and 'comfortable' on the icy north face.

I'd never before seen the wall so plast-ered in ice. It would make things more difficult but at least there would be no 'rolling stones', and I'd have the face to myself.

The ghosts of the past marched with me as I swayed to and fro beneath my load. Half the people with whom I'd been up here in 1982 and 1983 had been killed in the Himalayas. Among them had been my closest friend and climbing partner, Mark Moorhead, whose death left an emptiness that would never be filled.

Returning to the Jorasses, the scene of one of our greatest epics together, was a spiritual yet haunting experience.

I staggered into the shadow of the face and bivouacked. The morning saw me up and away early. Using a self-belay system, I would climb two pitches, then abseil back for my pack, Jumar up and pull up the ropes, ready to start again. Never having used self-belaying techniques before, I found it all slow and laborious, although nothing could detract from the profound sense of freedom that comes from being alone in the mountains.

After the first day, the climbing became harder. Steep (80-90') gullies of ice peter out into vertical bands of ice-encrusted rock. It was the hardest climbing I'd ever encountered-little wonder the route had had only one ascent.

Wind and increasing cloud were my only companions on the fourth day. As I prepared my bivouac on the usual tiny 'ledge', it began to snow. The wind was hurling the snow straight into the wall, and threatening to pluck my steeping bag and mat from my hands before I could take shelter.

The storm increased in power, forcing me to give up my efforts to melt snow and cook. I retreated deep into my bag, sealing out the storm and the world as best I could. It seemed I'd been on this face all my life. Memories from the past drifted in and out of my consciousness. My 'normal' life seemed rather abstract and difficult to comprehend. Clinging to the wall on the wildest night imaginable, taking the game of survival against the elements to the limit, seemed the most natural thing in the world.

But being stuck in heavy traffic at peak hour? Ironing my shirt and trousers so as to make the right impression at a business meeting? Something didn't add up. What is normal, anyway? Amidst such confused thoughts, I dozed off.

I awoke with a scream as a powder avalanche swept over me, pushing me off my ledge and leaving me hanging from my harness. Stones pelted me, carried by the force of rushing snow. I struggled to regain my ledge, only to find it banked up with new snow. There was nothing for it but to get out and chop it level once more with my axe. As I shuffled back into my cocoon, another avalanche hit. I settled for a night spent hanging in my harness. There was little choice.

Weak grey light filtered through the gloom that surrounded me, heralding the new day. Rather than blowing itself out, the storm had increased in intensity, making cooking impossible. I hadn't had a drink in 24 hours and my sleeping gear was damp after being filled with snow from the constant avalanches. It was time to descend.

Packing my equipment was an epic in itself. It was becoming hard to think. On the abseils, avalanches poured over me. The snow was light and harmless, but there were usually a few rocks amongst it. Abseil anchors were hard to find with everything coated in snow and ice. Winds gusting to 150 kilometres an hour picked me up and hurled me against the wall, leaving me winded and bruised.

Over the years, I had found a compelling attraction in such dramatic, life-and-death situations. When in extreme danger, one's instinct for survival comes to the fore. The senses quicken, leaving one in a greatly heightened state of aware-ness. It is an addictive sensation, making anything else life has to offer seem mundane.
At the foot of the face, I crawled into a natural snow cave for a brew, left most of my equipment for an intended return visit and headed down.