The Schmidt family held a private conference the next morning with Jason Edwards. It was already decided that Dale would be turning back, but I suspect Jason wanted to confirm that the other members of the family remained committed to the expedition. While no one wanted to see any additional Schmidts depart, we also would not blame them if someone felt his place was with Dale. Turning back would for all purposes not be an option at the advanced camps, so it was here or not at all. In the end, Dori and her four boys decided to press on with the expedition.
But another team member did turn back with Dale. Roger, from Dallas, had already had enough. He surprised Jason and Dan by requesting a sidebar with them, then announced he was done. The trail into camp 1 had shown Roger all he needed to see, and it was his judgement he was not up to twelve more days of the same. "I'm guess I'm just a cold mountain guy," he explained to me when saying goodbye. This is the kind of call a climber can only make for himself and no one judges him for it. Roger left behind the lunch rations he had brought along, which turned out to be the best of anyone's. Dan and I would run out of trail food many days later and speak of Roger with admiration as we ate his cheese sticks and beef jerky.
Dale and Roger left for Sugapa with one of our local guides. Our team of 14 was now down to 12. We prepared to shoulder our packs, but there was a problem with the Porters. The Dani tribe, which hosted us that night, would not permit us to leave their village without hiring some of their tribe as porters. The night before we had come upon a roadblock of Dawa tribe members just before the trailhead. We had thus been compelled to to bring them into our employ along with the Monis we had already hired. We did not exactly need more porters the morning we prepared to leave camp 1, but we did need to leave camp 1. Thus a third tribe was added to our company. This brought our count up to 47 porters.
If you are a Porter in this part of the world the rest of your family accompanies you; your wives, children and parents all come along. While a Porter carries paying freight the rest of the family carries the blankets, tools and modest food rations (Yams mostly) that will sustain the clan. Along the way they will stop to gather ferns, roots, fruit and game to eat. I do not know what our final headcount was. We were usually so spread out along the trail that it was impossible to guess. As well, the tribes typically camped separate from us, sometimes separate from the other tribes. But to anyone watching from afar we must have looked like an invasion force.
We finally got underway after a two hour delay. I was glad to not be trekking at night, feeling the difficulties of footing I had experienced the night before might be relieved by improved visibility. While this turned out to be the case to some extent, the heat that came with the light of day proved an even greater tax. I began sweating immediately as we traversed a steep hillside that had been clear-cut to build terrace gardens. I had ignored the advice of our guides to keep packs at no more than 15 pounds. Feeling I was capable of carrying more and wanting to take various extras along, I had loaded up with 31 pounds. Now I was paying the price and, as the humidity soaked through my clothing, could not think of one thing in my pack that justified it's share of suffering.
We descended a steep hillside, slipping and sliding in our rubber boots, falling and lurching, getting hung up with the brush and vines. We had each been gifted an umbrella by our guide company, International Mountain Guides. This would be quite handy once our trekking had reached the savanah. But it proved an intolerable snag handle to every branch that swiped past our packs. When the umbrella lashed to the side of my pack was not getting caught up, one or both trekking poles were. We crossed a beautiful clear stream at the bottom of the hill. I dipped my baseball cap in the water and replaced it on my head. Then it was up the steep opposing hillside, cresting, then down again.
Carstensz Pyramid is the lowest of the Seven Summits (16,024 feet). As such, it is likely many climbers erroneously assume it to be the easiest. Not so. On most mountains a climber will gain 2 to 3 thousand vertical feet a day. It is hard work, but at least one knows he is 2,000 feet closer to his goal. The undulating topography of the approach to Carstensz is a complete game-changer in this regard. While approaching the mountain we would typically ascend 3 to 5 thousand vertical feet a day. But we would also descend 2 to 4 thousand feet a day, for a gain of perhaps 1,000 feet. Then there was the mountain to climb. As well, the trek out would involve crossing the same up/down topography. A climber who treks the route we were taking could expect to ascend over 40,000 vertical feet by the time he concludes the expedition.
Three and half hours into our trek we descended another steep hillside. By this time our trail had disappeared into the jungle. It was a relief to be out of the direct sun, but I was still sweating so hard that it was necessary to wipe my face with a bandana every few minutes. As we reached the bottom of the hill I could see a large shear rock rising up from the turbulent river below. A suspension bridge fashioned from trees fallen across the 30 foot gap suggested our trail would cross here. I stepped across two wooden planks that I assumed to be bridging a muddy depression on the near side of the rock. Thick vegetation crowded up beneath the planks and around the sides. As I stepped off I heard a loud "crack" and turned around. Dori Schmidt was crouched over, trying to arrest her fall as she slipped on the wet planks. She had grabbed the side of one and it snapped off in her hands. This caused her to role to the right. The weight of her pack then took over. She fell off the planks pack first and disappeared through the vegetation.
For what seemed like a very long moment there was no sound at all. My brain was trying to sort out the logical disconnect of how Dori had just been swallowed by the jungle. Then there was a huge horrible splash. I realized that the river was racing around both sides of the rock and Dori had fallen 20 feet down into it. "We have one in the river," I shouted, and stripped off my pack. I ran to the edge of the rock but there was no way to get down it. I looked for Dori but could not see her. I ran to the downstream side of the rock to see if she was being washed away. There was no sign of her. No sound. Our guide Dan arrived, then Pale from Norway, Ivan, Denis and a few Porters. We were all scrambling. Jeremy Schmidt arrived and began calling for his mother. The tone of his pleading voice was heartbreaking.
Then Dan spotted Dori on the edge of the river below the planks. She was climbing out of a pool formed by the rock's back-eddy. Four team members formed an arm chain and lowered one of the smaller porters down the side of the rock to Dori. He removed her soaked pack and helped her to the place where our chain could pull Dori up the side. I grabbed her free arm as she neared the top of the rock and helped pull her up. There was blood running down the back of her head. Jason arrived and opened up the first aid kit. Dori was fortunate to not only have Jason, a 20 year EMT, present but also Pale, a physician. They cut off a good bit of Dori's hair to assess and treat her injuries. Dan assisted, taking notes and keeping Dori engaged and alert.
Dave, One hell of a scare. Falling just a few feet one way or the other could have been a much worse disaster than it already was. Good thing you were immediately there to help.
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