The next morning, after a restless and cold night, we checked out what Dan had thought the night before was a potential way off the ledge. On the south side of the ledge was a wall of rock that was passable along its toe. Easily navigable in the light of day but the run out was so bad. On the south side of the wall was a steep slab coming out of the cliff, just too steep to traverse. Luckily where the slab came off the cliff was a tiny seam that was a little less steep. In addition to its eastern slope the slab gently sloped south and ended in a small platform with two trees. I call them trees, but they were about two and a half to three inches in diameter and about two feet tall, more like sticks stuck in the ground. It was here that Dan and I set the anchors for our rappel, a loop of webbing around each tree and a carabineer for each loop. Even though I was confident in our anchor building abilities, I was a little nervous as Dan loaded the rope and began his rappel. After a few minuets, when we thought Dan should be at the bottom we pulled on the rope to see if he was still on and he was. We tried to shout to him and him to us, but the wind and distance made our attempts futile. About ten minuets later the rope was free and we lowered the packs. After the packs, David rappelled and after David I descended to the valley floor. Once on the floor we laughed as we realized why it had taken Dan so long so get off the rope. From the site of our anchors we could see the valley floor, just to climbers left of a large bulge in the cliff. At the base of the cliff, obscured by the bulge, the ground dropped twenty feet into a scree slope. When Dan rappelled he passed on climbers right of the bulge causing him to dangle above the scree slope. Dan couldn’t walk him self to the ledge because the bulge would not allow the rope to slide and he was hanging away from the cliff wall about 6 feet. Dan had to untie the safety knots at the end of the rope, swing him self back and forth until he had enough momentum to rappel off the end of the rope and land on the ledge. Dan coiled the rope, we got water and we were on our way. Hour upon hour we walked, in the dark, never seeing further than the dim arcs of illumination our lamps provided. We crossed endless highcountry desert and miles of roads to nowhere. We tried to follow them at first, but they led us away from the river and to dead ends. It didn’t make any sense. I thought to myself “where is the river, I cant hear it, when was the last time I heard it, SHIT…shit we are so lost”. Up and down, across and through, we traveled the valleys of the Windriver Reservation. With every uphill I could feel my stiff mountaineering boots tearing at the raw and bloody flesh of what was once a blistered heel, 20 miles ago. I heard once that hell is not all fire and brimstone, but a separation from God. A separation so powerful and consuming that it tortures you worse than any fire. The picture it put in my mind was of a man, floating in a void, in darkness so powerful no sound or light could possibly exist, disoriented, but with a full understanding of eternity. No one could see him to take pity on him; no one could hear him plead his case. He was doomed forever to exist in that trackless void. As I thought about that I felt a crushing hopelessness so profound it sent a chill down my spine. I felt that hopelessness again as I stared into the darkness trying to find a track in the trackless desert.
More to Come!
More to Come!
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