KATAHDIN

WINTER ASCENT 1949

John Stone, Dave Baker, George Russell, and I were the Phillips Exeter Academy Mountaineering Club. Bob Bates, an English teacher at the Academy, was our advisor. Bob was a well known mountaineer, a veteran of Himalayan expeditions, a member of the American Alpine Club, and an author. We had no classes Wednesday afternoons. Bob took us to the rock quarries at Quincy, the sea cliffs at Ogunquit, and various local ledges for training in belaying and other arts of mountaineering. He told us of his experiences in the Himalaya. He romanced about trips abroad, about porters, about desperate river crossings, sometimes about the danger of high altitude climbing. We determined to do something. We would climb Mt. Katahdin, the highest mountain in Maine. You may laugh, but Mt. Katahdin, although only 5000 some feet high, was no joke in winter. There were no other mountains nearby; it was swept constantly by wind. This was January, and we could expect temperatures well below zero.

Dave Baker had read a book. He had read about crampons, ice axes, and the use of the ice axe for self arrest. We were supremely confident. I borrowed a pair of Swiss forged iron crampons from E. S. Wells Kerr, dean of students. Others made up their equipment from various places. Someone worried about food. We boarded the Boston & Maine at Exeter station. Eventually we would arrive at the town of Millinocket, a few miles south of Baxter State Park in north central Maine.

We had contacted the park ranger, Hal Dyer, who had agreed to meet us. Hal was a very calm man, a former shot put star for the University of Maine. However, he did feel the need to accompany us on the trip.

Most of our equipment came from Central Surplus in Boston. Army bearpaw snowshoes, Army ice Axes, Army 60/40 sleeping bags (60% chicken feathers/40% down), Army air mattresses. My most critical acquisition was a pair of Army Ski Mountaineering boots. These were massive; a huge box toe provided plenty of space for socks to warm the toes and a felt insert provided extra insulation from below. I chose a pair with nails already installed for ice climbing.

We set out, delivered to the road head by a park snow cat. We had about twelve miles to go, the first part on the level, the last part uphill to Chimney Pond Hut. That would put us right below the steep gulley we proposed to climb to reach the summit plateau. There were harder routes over to the left involving rock climbing. Our route should be simple.

I became exhausted. I felt I was in pretty good shape, as good as anyone else on this trip. We reached a shelter halfway in. Hal gave us cup after cup of tea laced with sugar. On the way out he asked to look at my snowshoes. In thinking about this trip beforehand, I realised the nails on my boots would cut the gut snowshoe bindings. I fixed this by folding some burlap and putting it under the boot, imbedding the nails. Well, Hal pointed out that this had so jammed up the toe of my boot that it could not roll forward at all; I was walking flat footed all the time, raising each foot high in the air before moving it forward. That explaned my exhaustion. I cut away some of the burlap. I felt better, although still exhausted.

We started up hill. I put one snowshoe over the other and toppled into a tree well. A lot of snow came down on me. I was upside down, hanging from my snowshoes, my pack below me dangling from my shoulders. I could barely reach the tree, a skinny birch. But, I managed to reach the birch and climb it hand over hand until I could get my feet under me. A little shook up, I continued.

We reached Chimney Pond Cabin. Cold, but everything we needed was there. We started a fire, and soon had a good supper prepared.

Morning came early. Breakfast was oatmeal and cookies. The john was a problem. The outhouse stood discretely behind a tree only a few yards away. The door blocked the wind. Unfortunately, the seat was frozen hard and had ice on the important areas. We placed a ring of toilet paper on the seat to prevent getting frozen on.

We started up the gulley, practising with our ice axes as best we could. They functioned well as a walking stick. There was no ice; just hard packed snow.

The summit plateau was ice crystals (sastrugi, according to the book), the whole area swept clean by the roaring wind. The summit was a high point a short walk away. All the woods of central Maine stretched out below us, only the Pomona ridge blocked our view.

After only a few moments we walked to the head of the gulley. From the lip it looked really steep. The book (chapter on glissading) said step forward smartly and begin sliding, using the angle of your heel to control your speed. Dave tried this but promptly fell flat on his face. So he got up and lept forward again with the same result. However, this time he had picked up so much speed he could not get back to his feet and careened down the gulley on his back. We watched him roll onto his stomach (per book), raise his axe in the air, and slam it into the snow. The wrist strap broke, leaving the axe stuck in the snow. Dave careened on down the gulley.

Observing this from the lip, we could see nothing wrong with his technique, and one by one repeated the procedure, with the same result. However, when we rolled over on our stomachs to arrest, we brought the pick into the snow slowly, avoiding the jerk that had broken Dave's wrist strap. Later we realized you are supposed to take your crampons off when glissading. The book had not mentioned this.

Hal Dyer had stayed in the cabin and was watching from the door. There was a cliff halfway down the gulley which you cannot see from the top. Hal saw the first body pass the cliff on the left, next on the right...

There was nothing he could do.

We all ended up in some alder bushes unharmed. Dave had to climb back up to get his axe. Back at camp Hal asked us if we had good day. I wish I could put in print that Maine drawl.

The trip back was relatively uneventful. We decided to hitchhike to Portland to save money. No sensible person would pick up four incredibly dirty climbers. So we became separated. A bus came along and I flagged it. Rather than sit next to someone, I went to the back of the bus. It was totally filled with sleeping bags and packs. Lo, my friends!

The dean was glad to get his crampons back.