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Accident on Adamant Glacier

Before the great BC road-building boom of the early sixties, the road from Golden to Revelstoke followed the Columbia River valley along a route known as the Big Bend. The river found a way around the Selkirk range by travelling about ninety miles northwest from Golden and then another ninety miles southwest to Revelstoke. The road was gravel-surfaced, narrow, twisting, and in places very high above the river. The Big Bend was an adventure when conditions were ideal. In any other circumstances it was pure hell. The positive thing along the route was the scenery; on one side was the vast canyon of the upper Columbia River and on the other, the Selkirk Mountains rose from the edge of the road to glacier covered peaks. Across the Columbia River to the east were the awe inspiring Rocky Mountains. Parts of the Columbia Icefield were visible from a few vantage points.

The Selkirk Range is a favourite with mountain climbers from all over the world; it is the reason that Swiss mountaineers were brought to Golden and Revelstoke by the Canadian Pacific Railway. These people came to Canada in the late 1800s to apply their skills as mountain guides and provide a service that the CPR believed would encourage tourist traffic on their newly completed cross-Canada rail line. Their descendants still live in the area today.

The north end of the Selkirks, which lies inside the Big Bend, is a very popular area for hikers and climbers; so much so, that the Alpine Club of Canada has established several permanent camps there. One of these camps is in the headwaters of a beautiful creek just below the base of an icefield known as the Adamant Glacier. The glacier fills the upper end of the creek valley where ragged mountain peaks form a three-quarter circle that is about eight miles in diameter. The Alpine Club hut is a rustic structure which provides shelter and a meeting place for the many climbers who gather there for part of the short high-country summers.

There is no road to the camp. Hikers are dropped off where the creek crosses the Big Bend road, and they walk up a steep trail for about fifteen miles. Everything needed for their stay at the camp must be carried in on their backs, along with their climbing gear. Most of the visitors to the camp make two or more trips to get their supplies in. The people who choose to holiday at this location are prepared to expend a lot of energy and they are true lovers of the wilderness. I have seen the area from the vantage point of a helicopter seat and from that brief encounter I fully understand why people go there and return again.

In the early part of one summer while I was working at the Golden RCMP office, we received a call that there had been a climbing accident on the Adamant Glacier. The information was that three climbers had been caught in a slide; there had been serious injuries and at least one was dead. The report came to us from a young woman who had run from the camp to the road where she contacted a passing vehicle equipped with a two-way radio. The fall had happened nearly twenty-four hours before we received the report.

We were fortunate that the only helicopter in the community was at the hangar when the report came in. The pilot, a very skilled and dedicated man, prepared to leave at once. He suggested that we call for a stretcher-equipped machine from Calgary, about two hours’ flying time from the accident location. The second helicopter was requested just before the pilot and I set out for the glacier.

As we turned into the creek valley below the glacier and started to climb sharply, the pilot told me that we would be operating near the maximum elevations that the little helicopter was capable of. The sketchy information we had been given indicated that the injured people were on the glacier at an elevation of 8,500 feet above sea level, which was about the maximum for our machine. The pilot did some calculations, considering the amount of fuel we would have burned by the time we reached the glacier and the approximate air temperature at that elevation; he concluded that we could reach a maximum of 8,700 feet. If the injured people were above that, we would have decisions to make. We could hope there were suitable containers at the camp to allow us to drain off fuel to lighten the craft, or we could wait for the larger machine to arrive from Calgary.

When we arrived at the Alpine Hut, we were met by a group of very concerned people. We learned that two were dead and one severely injured. The injured man and the bodies were on the margin of the glacier just below the 8,500-foot level. There had been a snow and rock slide, which caught them as they were making a descent onto the glacier from one of the surrounding peaks. The three were from the Washington, DC area of the USA. The survivor was a medical doctor who taught at a university; the two deceased were instructors at the same university, one in the mathematics faculty and the other in nuclear physics.

We were now fairly certain that our machine could reach the scene with both of us on board. We rose out of the camp and in a few minutes we were able to see the awesome scene of the glacier and the surrounding mountain peaks. We flew over the ice in a constant climb, staying to the right margin of the glacier. To our left we could see only the undulating white surface of the glacier to the horizon. Our altimeter indicated about 8,400 feet when we saw where a large section of very thick snow had broken away from a near vertical mountainside and fallen onto the glacier. The snow slide had crossed three narrow bands of bare rock along its course and had then spread out in a fan shape as the mountain tapered out to the relatively flat surface of the glacier.

We continued to climb over the scene so I could obtain photographs and gather evidence for the coroner’s inquiry. With some favourable winds, the pilot coaxed the little helicopter to just over 8,800 feet; from there, we were able to see three sets of boot tracks coming from the bare rock of the mountain onto the edge of the snow patch just above where the slide had started. The three tracks ran parallel and straight down the snow-covered mountainside for several hundred yards, then two of the tracks came together. After another one hundred yards, the three tracks came together. The single track continued straight down to the point where the snow had broken loose and taken the track with it. The slide had run down the mountain for half to three quarters of a mile as it crossed three bands of bare rock and tumbled over some near vertical sections of the slope before finally fanning out onto the glacier. The snow was extremely heavy from the summer melt and as it slid, it picked up rocks and mixed them into itself. Some of the rocks were the size of motor vehicles.

As we got closer, we could see people on the snow near the centre of the slide fan. We landed nearby and met the people who had been assisting the injured man. He was conscious and fully aware of everything that had gone on in the twenty-four hours since the slide. He told me of having hiked out of the camp at dawn the previous morning with his two companions; they had stayed along the right rim of the glacier bowl and at about midday decided to go down onto the glacier. The survivor had not been in favour of the glacier route because, in his experience, travel was very slow on the ice. He explained to me that to traverse the glacier surface they would have to be roped together at all times and they would have to keep to the end of their rope in case one of the party fell into a crevasse. A group moving on the glacier surface would be continually searching for the least hazardous route. To travel down the length of a ridge would be very reckless because that is the most common course of a crevasse.

The two dead climbers, being the least experienced of the three, had looked at the snowfield as an easier route back to the camp, and they were tired due to the exertion of the climb and the high altitude. Because they had all done a considerable amount of Alpine hiking, each had a vote in such decisions. Two out of three, the majority, chose to go down. Having made that decision, they next chose to go directly down from where they were rather than seek out a better route. They roped themselves together and discussed the need to stay at the end of their rope and to descend parallel to each other. The tracks above the slide showed that they had started out in this manner but one had drifted into the track of another and then all three had been in a line when the snow broke loose.

The survivor told of the terrifying ride in the tumbling snow and how they had yelled to each other and kept their arms and legs spread in the hope that they would stay on the surface of the falling snow and rocks. Their plan to try and swim over the fall was partly successful, but they were all under the snow for part of the trip down. The doctor told of his going under, and the horrible sound of the snow and rocks crashing down around him; just before he was thrown back onto the surface he felt both his feet getting caught between two huge rocks. He knew at once that his feet were crushed inside his climbing boots, but he felt no pain until after he found himself on the glacier at the leading edge of the snowfall.

The other two were within a few yards of him in spite of their ropes having been cut in several places by the grinding rocks in the snow. His male companion had died before the slide stopped, having received a crushing head injury. The female member of the group had come to rest near the other two, but still partly beneath the fallen snow. The trunk of her body and her head were under the snow. She struggled for some time, but was unable to free herself from the heavy, and now rock-solid, snow. She suffocated in a few minutes while the doctor was unable to do anything but watch.

The doctor found himself in extreme pain and started doing whatever he could to avoid going into shock. It was now after noon and he knew of no others who had chosen to go into the area he was in; without help, death was only a matter of time. He thought, briefly, that perhaps his companions were more fortunate to have gone so quickly. He chose to do whatever he could. He knew he had to get assistance. Sound will carry beyond belief in some circumstances; here, the air was relatively still, clean and silent. The doctor began to yell as loudly as he could, and tried to yodel along with his yelling for help. He called in short bursts and then gathered his strength for the next call.

Another party from the camp had set out at about the same time as the doctor and his companions. This group had stayed to the left rim of the glacier bowl. Near midday, the group on the left had also chosen to go onto the glacier. Their route down was entirely over bare rock, and comparatively easy. After arriving on the glacier, they were sitting around in a group enjoying the experience. Suddenly one of the group alerted the others to what sounded like a call for help; they all listened with concentration and clearly heard the calls. No doubt someone was in trouble and there was also no doubt that the calls were coming from out on the glacier. It did not occur to any of them, at that time,that the voice could be coming from all the way across the icefield. The two groups were later calculated to have been six miles apart when they first heard the calls.

The rescue group prepared to go farther out onto the ice. They roped themselves together and moved in single file, the lead climber watching closely and using all his experience to keep the direction of travel so they would cross a crevasse rather than walk along the length of it. This situation left them no choice but to constantly angle to the left and then right of their intended course, much like a sailboat running against the wind. Their progress was slow, but they did not expect to have to go far to the source of the distress call. After travelling about one and a half miles, they expected to be near the voice they had heard. Some time was spent in careful listening and finally the call was heard again. The voice was now almost impossible to make out. The group of rescuers was familiar with the mysterious ways that sound will travel and echo in glacier and mountain environments, so they decided to stay in the direction the sound seemed to be coming from.

When they reached about the middle of the glacier, they listened again but were unable to hear anything. Several of the group tried yelling and yodelling to see if they could get some response, but all they could hear was silence. There was a small hill of ice nearby. Three of the group made their way up, scanned with binoculars, and made further calls and yodels. They heard nothing, but they were able to see where a bordering snowfield had broken and fallen onto the glacier. The last calls seemed to have been from the direction of the snow slide. They hurried toward the slide site as quickly as the dangerous terrain would allow.

Meanwhile, the injured man was weakening and the pain from his feet was all but unbearable. He had been calling on five and ten minute intervals for about four hours. His hope was fading fast and he expected that he would soon go into shock and lose consciousness. He was searching in his pockets and pack for something to write a farewell letter when the air was filled with yodeling and people calling out, asking if anyone could hear them. The voices were so clear that he thought they must be in sight of him. He yelled as loudly as he could and tried to see where they were, but no one was in sight. His calls received no acknowledgement; however, he received a great boost from hearing the calls. He was now aware that someone had heard him and he was confident they would be there soon.

The sight of the snow slide raised fears among the rescue group that climbers had been involved in it. This and the fact that they did not hear any reply to their calls caused them to use less caution in the remainder of their crossing of the glacier. In just over an hour, they arrived at the accident scene. They started the action that finally got word out to Golden, and the helicopters on their way.

Some of the rescue group started toward the main camp to get help while others stayed at the scene. They used all clothing that could be spared to protect the injured man from contact with the snow. A small tent was set up over him and a shift rotation was implemented to monitor his condition. Hot food and drink was prepared. The arrival of the rescue group allowed the injured man to rest for the first time since the fall.

The group from the accident scene arrived in the main camp well after dark. They were greeted by the entire camp population. During the afternoon another party of climbers had been near the lower face of the glacier when they heard cries for help. The direction of the sound could not be determined from their location, except that it originated somewhere up on the icefield. They had listened in frustration, not knowing how to help. They tried to find a vantage point to better hear the sound, but nothing they tried made any improvement. They returned to camp with the news that someone was in trouble on the glacier. The only positive information they had was that some of them were quite sure they had heard voices from two locations. The one call seemed to be a single voice while there were several in the other. This left them hoping that some assistance effort was underway.

A daughter of the injured doctor was at the camp. She would have been the fourth member of the fallen group, but she had felt ill that morning and decided not to join them. There were no family members of the two deceased climbers in the camp.

At first light the daughter started for the Big Bend highway to summon help. She ran most of the fifteen miles down the creek valley, uncomfortably aware that once she got there she might have to wait several hours for a vehicle to drive by. At that time the new Rogers Pass highway had reduced traffic on the Big Bend to almost nil. Fortunately, as she staggered out onto the road, a radio-equipped BC Forest Service truck happened along. The rescue effort began to move swiftly from then on.

The helicopter from Calgary arrived about an hour after we did. The injured doctor was moved onto a stretcher and loaded into the machine; he requested that they go directly to Calgary University Hospital where he reasoned he would have the best chance of surviving and saving his feet.

The helicopter from Calgary had brought two body bags. We placed the bodies in the bags and lashed them, one at a time, onto the skid of the little helicopter. I waited on the glacier while the bodies were taken down to a vehicle on the Big Bend road. The helicopter was refueled and returned to take me home to Golden.

The doctor recovered, but lost one foot at the ankle and most of the other except the ankle joint. We received very little information about him but there was an indication that he would be quite capable of walking again with prostheses. Judging by the way he dealt with the situation on the glacier, I expect that he was probably jogging after about a year.

At the time I found it hard to understand why there was no radio communication from the Alpine Camp to the outside world. Over the years my view has changed; the technology was certainly available at that time, but they evidently preferred to experience that pristine wilderness without the distraction of modern technology. I would not be surprised to find that there is still no radio at that camp.