 |
| Ned Green |
President's Day weekend of 2001, long time friend and
climbing partner Scott Fisher and I were climbing the various ice gullies on New
Hampshire’s Mt. Washington, one of our favorite winter playgrounds. Though dwarfed by most west coast peaks, the relatively diminutive
Mt. Washington is still a formidable opponent not to be underestimated.
Standing a mere 6,288 ft, what Mt. Washington lacks for in
impressive height, it more than compensates for in famously dangerous and
erratic weather. The summit holds the world record for the highest wind
gust measured at the Earth's surface, 231 mph. Freak
storms can instantly transform any day on the mountain from a peaceful climb
into a full blown survival scenario.
Smart climbers know to keep a watchful eye
not only on where they place their feet but also on the sky monitoring the
fickle meteorological conditions. Despite knowledge and preparation even the
best and the brightest climbers occasionally stumble, leading to tragedy on a mountain that allows little error. Stories echo out of Tuckerman and Huntington ravines,
telling the sad tales of hikers, climbers and mountaineers who have succumb to
its wrath.
Being young, determined and a bit fool hardy, when we first started climbing in the Presidential Range of the White Mountains we thought little of the dangers associated with a winter ascent of the highest peak in the Northeastern United States.
In those days, we were knowledgeable enough,
seemed to operate within the limits of our skills and were always watchful of
impending danger. Our favorite weekend excursions, involved breaking out of work
early, packing the truck with our gear, racing out of Machias, Maine and
attempting to cross the typically snow and ice covered route two to
Pinkham Notch in one piece. Usually this drive was uneventful but occasionally our
evening jaunts are fraught with blizzard laden terror. Upon arriving at Pinkham we
would spend the night in the back of my old pickup truck, comfortably tucked
into our -20 mountaineering bags despite the nighttime air temperature that was
rarely above zero degrees Fahrenheit. The next morning would be spent enjoying
a hearty breakfast at the Pinkham Notch Visitors Center (one of our few weekend
indulgences), conducting a final gear check and then we were off for a day of
climbing, in either Huntington or Tuckerman ravine. On rare occasions, like the
long MLK weekend of 2001 we would climb for two days, on the harsh slopes of
the mountain, retiring each evening to the simple yet comfortable Harvard
Cabin.
Harvard cabin was originally
built in 1963 and since that time has been lovingly maintained and administered
by the Harvard Mountaineering Club. Under a special use permit with the US
Forest Service, the cabin is open throughout the height of the winter climbing
season from December first to the end of March. The cabin is a favorite of
winter climbers and a historical spot not to be missed on any trip into
Huntington ravine. Though many will stop by the cabin and admire its rugged
beauty, few will ultimately see the cabin in all its glory, when it is filled
in the evenings with its typical melting pot of hikers and climbers. Evenings are
often rowdy affairs, filled with climbing stories, card games, sung songs and
even the occasional reading of a manly poem.
 |
| Ned on Katahdin |
Upon the kindling of the
fire, the building warmth brings new life to the cabin’s rabble and the evening
ignites with assorted tales of days lived gloriously in the mountains. On every
clothesline, rafter and exposed nail head is parked a wet piece of winter
clothing, slowly being dried by the over worked wood stove. All of the best
spots, near the stove, have been taken and late arrivals will likely have to
suffer through the next day with damp socks and mittens. Pots rattle and pans
crash as individuals attempt to rally for cooking positions, around the cabins
small gas powered range. A five gallon bucket and small hatchet rest beside the
stove and serve as a means of collecting cooking and drinking water from a
small stream in back of the cabin. Nobody is ever picked for this or any of the
other cabin task; rather individuals freely help whenever and wherever they can
stacking firewood, shoveling walkways, sweeping the floor, etc. There is a distinct
smell in the air that is best described as a mix of cuscus and wet dog.
The management of the cabin
and all of its various patrons is assigned to a caretaker. This individual is
responsible for collecting the usage fees, assisting overnight visitors and
providing climbers with critical weather and avalanche danger updates. On our
particular visit, this task was assigned to a man named Ned Green. Ned fit all
of the qualifications you would expect to see in a cabin keeper, a
deeply gregarious soul, a hearty love for the mountains and his fellow man,
he was an instant hit among the various “guests”. With Ned and I both
possessing a healthy affection for tall tales and hard alcohol, it wasn’t long
before we were both sitting at the cabin’s picnic table, swapping stories,
photos and the occasional shot of Jagermeister. I believe Ned and I were the
only ones in the cabin that evening "man" enough to drink the foul tasting
substance.
 |
| Ned on Katahdin |
Ned was pleased to hear I was from Maine
and had also completed multiple winter ascents of the rugged Mt. Katadin. He
shared that he had recently climbed Katahdin and it was apparent from his
enthusiasm that he shared my love of this remote and challenging peak.
Retreating to his loft “apartment”, he soon returned with a number of photos
documenting his trip into Baxter State Park, climbing some of
the areas more formidable rock formations. Though his accomplishments on the
mountain were vastly more difficult than anything I hoped to ever
accomplish, he was not one prone to bragging but rather content to tell a good
tale by simply stating the facts. By the end of the evening, half a
bottle of Jagermeister had
been consumed and I had made a new friend.
As our time for sleep
approached, Ned inquired as to what Scott and I had for climbing plans the next
day. After sharing our plan
to climb central gully, Ned invited us to instead follow him up one of Hunting
Ravine’s more demanding ice climbing routes, a near vertical ice gully named
Damnation. Ned also stated he planned to accomplish the task unroped or without
the use of any protection to guard against an accidental fall. Knowing Ned’s
ability to climb the route, was with a level of skill beyond my comfort level, Scott and I declined but thanked him for his gracious offer. Ned
then made a counter offer, inviting us to work with him the next evening, practicing building ice anchors system. To this new proposal,
we anxiously agreed.
 |
| Ned on Katahdin |
As our well-worn bodies,
retired to the cabins small loft, we were soon joined by over a dozen other
sleepy mountaineers and winter campers all with very little understanding of
the importance of bodily hygiene. In the warmth of my heavy sleeping bag, I
was quickly asleep and snoring deeply. It was not until the next morning at
breakfast, I realized my throaty reverberations kept several people awake most
of the night. The groups breakfast conversation was spent attempting to determine who the offensive snorer was and making them sleep outside the next evening. I remained VERY quiet throughout this exchange, simply pointing a silent finger toward my climbing partner Scott, who later remarked that he thought people were scowling at him during breakfast. I supportively told him he was nuts.
That
next morning and into early evening, were spent climbing Central gully, continuing on to the Mt. Washington summit and finally descending Lions head trail.
As we approached Harvard cabin all was quiet and the chimney showed no
fire burning in the stove. We
at first believed that perhaps everyone was still out climbing. Upon
opening the door, I was surprised to see the cabin was filled with around a
dozen people. The look on everyone’s face was deadpan and any conversations
were being conducted at barely above a whisper. No food was being cooked on the
cabins small stove and everyone appeared to be still wearing their damp
clothing. The mood was dismal.
When
I inquired what had transpired, a young man in the group came over by my side,
grabbed my arm, pulled me close and whispered "Ned's dead". Ned’s
dead? Ned’s dead?!? My mind raced and I found my inner monologue failing. I
uttered, “Ned’s Dead? How?” Further details supplied by the assortment of climbers
and rescuers were fuzzy at best and ill stated. There was mention of an ice
dam, a fall of close to 1000 feet and a shattered climbing helmet found at the scene. Given the
mind set of the crowd, further questioning was pointless, accomplishing little and only been more troubling to the group. I sat on a bench and mutely tried to sort through the limited information.
Later
that evening, I choked back a bowl of food with little care for what I was
eating, only fueling my body because it was a repetitive task that
would keep my mind from drifting to thoughts of the tragedy. After eating, I
looked up on the shelf and noted Ned's bottle of Jagermeister. I took the bottle
down off the shelf, lifted it back to my lips, took a hearty swig and nearly
gagged. I opened the door of the cabin and poured a little on the ground.
I believe in my distraught state of mind, I was sharing one last drink
with Ned and I prayed to have him walk through the door, sit down at the table and tell perhaps one last story. Unfortunately, that
was not meant to be and I had to face the facts that Ned was in fact gone.
 |
| Me Day of Accident |
Days later, an article in a local paper shared the details
around Ned’s death. The story depicted an account of Ned’s climb up Damnation
with another climber named John Brochu. Both men were simul-soloing the route, as they
had done many times in the past. They were approximately 1000 feet into the
climb, beginning to navigate the final ice bulge 200 feet from the top when the
tragedy occurred. John was in the lead followed closely by Ned. As John climbed over the final section of ice, Ned sank his ice axes into the ice bulge to anchor
him while John cleared the section. At around 12:30 in the afternoon,
his partner planted his left-hand ice axe into the top of the ice bulge and in the process, dislodged a 6 by 10
foot block of ice. Unbeknownst to John, lying just below the surface lurked a
giant ice dam (1). What occurred next was catastrophic. Ned fell with the titanic block of ruptured ice, falling approximately 800 feet to almost the bottom of the gully. John at the same time, was forcibly ejected and “barn-doored” on his right hand ice axe and
right foot crampon, only narrowly escaping a fatal fall. From his position, John watched Ned fall down the gully. The entire event occurred
with such speed Ned had virtually no time to react.
John now realizing that Ned
could still be alive and in need of immediate medical attention, continued up
the remainder of Damnation gully, as descent at that point would have been
almost impossible. Topping out of the climb, he
raced south around the rim of Huntington ravine to the nearest down
climbable gully, Central, descending it to come to Ned’s aid. Though we were climbing Central Gully earlier in the day, John was down climbing the route, on his way to Ned, well after we had already topped
out and were on our way to Mt. Washington’s summit.
Upon arriving, John was met by several other climbers already on the scene. A snowboarder rode the half-mile to Harvard cabin, where he
was able to use the radio to call Forest service snow rangers for assistance.
Climbers on the scene obtained a rescue litter from the Dow First Aid Cache and
were placing an anchor system to lower the litter down
the steep terrain, when snow rangers arrived. I took four difficult hours and three belays
to get Ned to the floor of the ravine. In the fall, Ned
had suffered multiple trauma and an open head injury. He was unconscious and having difficulty breathing. Nearby on the snow, shattered into several pieces was his climbing helmet, likely the only reason he had even initially survived the fall.
Ned was quickly loaded onto the forest service snowcat and taken
down the mountain. An ambulance met the snowcat in the Pinkham Notch parking
lot at 3:30 PM and transported him to Memorial Hospital in North Conway, where
he died from his injuries.
In the weeks and months that
followed, many criticized Ned and John for not using roped protection to guard against an accidental fall. In hearing these reports, it was
immediately obvious these individuals had never set foot in the mountains and had no idea what they were
talking about. In reading the USFS rescue report, it indicated, “Due to the tremendous forces involved, it was unclear whether
belayed climbing would have saved Ned’s life. Additionally, Damnation Gully is
considered a grade 3 climb. There is one small section of grade 3 ice, several
sections of grade 2, and many pitches of steep-snow climbing. It is not unusual
or uncommon for knowledgeable and experienced climbers, such as Ned and John, to
ascend the route without the support of a rope and belay.”
What many fail to consider is
that mountaineering is a risk filled pursuit with many hazards, some of which are able to be overcome and some that are not. Risk
management and mitigating hazards must be a constant endeavor BUT even then,
accidents in the mountains occur due to unforeseen forces. I saw Ned and John's climb, much
like riding a motorcycle without a helmet, sometimes you just need to ride the
open road with the air whipping through your hair. Sure it is much more risky to ride not
wearing a helmet, but some experiences are worth the risk. Climbing without
roped protection will always be viewed by some as foolish endeavor. For
others, it will be seen as a personal choice, a way to reconnect with the
mountain and focusing your entire mental and physical being on a singular task. At
that moment of complete concentration, the world seems to slow and you are
precariously aware of your fragility when climbing mountains.
President's Day weekend of 2002 Scott and I were back on Mt. Washington climbing and
staying at Harvard Cabin. During that evening, we were fortunate to meet Ned's mom Clare Green, who was visiting the cabin on the anniversary of her son's death. Scott and I were the only cabin patrons who had stayed at the cabin the previous year. We exchanged with Clare a few stories
of our brief encounter with her son and how he had been a popular and a well liked cabin keeper and friend. Clare like Ned was a gregarious soul and Scott and I were very happy to have had an opportunity to express our condolences and share our brief experience with Ned.
Clare maintains a website www.nedgreen.com and has published a book of Ned's journal writing and poems titled "Cutting A Bond with the Long Trail". She is
currently sending me a copy I will be reading and reviewing on my
blog. Clare also runs a scholarship in Ned's honor that has been
successful in providing thousands of dollars to aspiring mountaineers and
outdoorsman over the past decade.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
(1) Ice dams occur
when large pools of ice, sometimes in excess of hundreds of gallons build up
behind ice walls caused under conditions of a rapid
temperature drop. The low temperature on the
summit of Mount Washington in the previous 24 hours was –19 degrees F.
Waterfall ice is formed when water flows over steep terrain in winter. The
water that forms the ice is always flowing and constantly forming new ice. When
the air temperature drops, water channels freeze up and water begins to pool up
behind the ice. This creates hydraulic pressure behind the ice. When the ice dam
is disturbed, the pooled water breaks out, often with an explosive force.Ice dams are unpredictable, practically undetectable and once ruptured they
can burst forth with deadly results. Evidence suggests the intrusion of John’s
ice pick had created a small fracture in the mammoth sheet of ice releasing the
incredible hydraulic power of a massive ice dam.
