I've had a number of close calls in the mountains. Whether you call some of them "near death" though is perhaps a matter of opinion (vs. the more general "close calls"). I'm usually the more conservative member of my climbing groups, so my interpretation of these events is just that I've been the unlucky one (although I've learned valuable lessons from each case). I'd say my close calls, in order of decreasing likelihood of death are:

Falling down the Leuthold Couloir on the Grand Teton - nearly. I was crossing a tracked snow patch above it aftercompleting the Upper Exum, and the slope was mild, so my partner initially balked at my suggesting he put me on belay (I was doing the crossing in rock climbing shoes). I made this decision after considering the runout, regardless of how trivial the slope seemed.

It turns out the snow was a thin layer of slushy snow on top of blue alpine ice, and when I was halfway across, the snow slide and I went down with it. The belay caught me after I fell about 50 ft, and by then I was already on a 45 degree slope and had to skitter around before I could swing myself over to rock on the side.

Breaking off a cornice, and falling 1,000 ft into an avalanche slide - OK, now when climbing on a snowy ridge, regardless of how trivial the route is, or how unlikely you think the ridge is to form cornices,or how experienced you think the lead trailbreaker is, NEVER BLINDLY FOLLOW THE LEADER!

Nearly Losing my head on Clyde Minaret - We were descending the Rock Route and on the beginning of our downclimb off the ridge, we relaxed our team's spacing/coordination. One guy lagged behind slightly while the rest of us were close enough to downclimb a descending traverse to avoid each others' fall line. When the last guy in the group came down, he stayed high on a ridge and suddenly came over the crest right above me. He accidentally knocked off a microwave-sized block. I was far enough away for the rock to be airborne, but too close to hear him shout rock - I heard the rock dislodge and lept to the side just as it whizzed past my head and bounced off the next ledge down, somewhere high on this face. If it didn't take my head off, it certainly would have knocked me off the route!

Falling 15 ft in steep class 4 terrain - I was climbing Basin Mountain and had climbed up on a chockstone that I had rigorously check (thumped it around pretty hard, up, down, and sideways, with no movement and a solid-sounding thud). I was standing on it for about 30 seconds deciding which way to go when it blew out and I fell 15 ft onto a ledge. Luckily I leaned into the chimney as I fell, so I didn't bounce off the ledge.

Getting caught in a major rockslide - I was skating down the very steep and loose class 2 SE face of Mt Wallace. Suddenly all of the scree around me started moving with me. Then some larger boulders slid onto my left leg and pinch it into the flowing sand, which was accelerating. I grabbed a larger stationary block as I slid by, pulling myself out from the rocks holding me down. Some of these larger rocks then picked up enough speed to ricochet, causing a large part of the face to slide. It lasted for several minutes, visibility went to 0 from the dust cloud that billowed up, and people in the next canyon over could hear the slide and see the dust plume.

And then there are the smaller cases:

Getting caught in a lightning storm on a high-altitude plateau

Jamming in a crack that turned out to be a refrigerator-sized detached block (it was night and I was following!) that came off as I was transitioning out of it

Punching into a moat which almost made me trip and fall over backward on a 50 degree snow slope with a cliff below. Instead I managed catch myself and hold myself into the slope as I slid in up to my chest.

Mountainjeff wrote:Watching by climbing partner free fall 500 ft down a steep snow coulior and realizing that I was alone in terrain that was above my skill level, miles from a trail, with an unconscious partner.

Only unconscious?

You got lucky.

Tel the tale...

All the talk about avalanches reminded me about the time I almost got crushed by an icefall in the 'dacks. It was right after taking my AIRIE course too. Stupid warm snap let the whole cliff go. Luckily there was a small cave I dove into and got away with a bruise.

Guyzo wrote:

MarthaP wrote:Don't know if this constitutes a near-death experience, but I found myself hallucinating a conversation with God at 3 AM on a hanging belay rapping off Royal Arches after an already 16 hour trip...late October...I think I wanted to die at that point.

So What did God say?

And how on earth do you mess up RA so bad your stuck on it after your bedtime??

I am sure its a good tale.

Fess up.

Guy, the epic that day was what typically can occur to an over-zealous noob who doesn’t choose her partners carefully and who wasn’t prepared for anything. This is a long one, so pull up a chair.

Back story, I’d been climbing for about a year, mostly with Holly Schultz (Dave’s wife). The three of us would go out at least 3 times a week and in between Holly and I would train at the gym. I was leading soft 9s sport at Clark Canyon and had just led my first two-pitch trad on Glacier Point apron. Occasionally Holly and I would head up to the gym in Emeryville simply because it was bigger and better than anything we had in Sonora. It was there that we met Mike who was a big, puffed-up beefcake with the hots for Holly. Heck, she was a trophy – cute blonde, great body, warm personality. And there I was, the big dark-haired, olive-skinned lunk. So Mike, who sold Pella windows I think in San Marcos, would hang out with me hoping Holly would show up. And when I said I really wanted to climb Royal Arches Mike jumped on the chance. I knew it wasn’t a tough climb by comparison but it was a long day, at least we figured maybe 8 hours total.

Our first attempt at RA Mike couldn’t find the start of the route so he just hopped on something figuring he’d find it eventually. Mike came across as a know-it-all and what did I know one new climbing partner from another? I was on belay on P2 out of sight from Mike when I heard a yelp and then a huge crash of granite. The rope went taught and I hung on to this 220 lb lug with my buck-25 frame. Turns out he somehow dislodged a 6’ chunk of granite and on its way down it caught him on the tibia and laid his leg open with a huge gash. No break, but a lot of blood and pain and cussing. Got him down and to the clinic and that ended that attempt.

Mike wasn’t about to be outdone by a climb so when he healed we decided to try it again. End of October, beautiful Indian summer day. We started up at 11 AM with minimal gear and planned to have dinner in the Valley before heading home. We simul-climbed some and I think we used rope/pro more than Mike wanted. It was my first big multi-pitch in Yosemite and I hadn’t experienced that much exposure before.

We got to the 4th pitch or so and got stopped behind a YOS guide wannabe who was taking two others up, one who had NEVER climbed before and was frozen from fear. He was sobbing and begged to go down. We sat there for a good ½ hour, all of us trying to help the kid overcome his fear. He finally started to move again but instead of passing this group up, Mike decided he needed to play hero and hang with them. So now we’re a party of five with two ropes and moving very slowly because we moved as a group of five and roped up for every pitch thereafter. There were a lot of people on the climb that day and as we progressed up we continued to meet more groups, some who were taking breaks, and whom Mike continued to invite to climb with us. I stayed in the background because I figured Mike knew what he was doing.

WRONG! We topped out RA at 6 PM and all 11 of us watched the sun go down. We took inventory – 11 people, 4 headlamps, no extra batteries, no extra food or clothing or water, and I think 4 or 5 ropes. I knew the walk-off was too risky to take on at night, so I suggested we simply bivy in a huddle and wait for the sun to rise. We’d stay warm, wouldn’t be burning a lot of energy, and be safer. Mike berated that idea and said we could rap off and be down in two hours.

There was no moon that night so needless to say route-finding was impossible. The ropes kept getting tangled up or landing in trees, the kid who’d never been climbing kept freezing and needing encouragement, one-by-one the headlamps burned out…before the last one went dead someone suggested we flash an SOS for a little YOSAR help. Mike would have none of that – he wasn’t going to have anyone rescue him, to hell what anyone else thought.

So by 3 AM hanging off an anchor, alone, on a sheer face with absolutely no idea where I was, exhausted, physically and psychologically. I hadn’t had anything to eat for a good 12 hours, was severely dehydrated (I lost 9 pounds in that 18 hour period), I was shivering uncontrollably from the cold, and I was wearing a pair of Boreal Aces that were so tight I couldn’t feel my feet anymore.

I gave up. I wanted out of there, it didn’t matter how, and I started to consider my escape options. It seemed logical, in my semi-delirium, that I could simply unhook and downclimb. That’s when the conversations began. I don’t remember exactly the words I “heard,” but I do remember the encouragement, that I needed to stay put, hang in there, that I’d be down soon, that sort of thing. And it wasn’t just the words but this overwhelming feeling that something very powerful was guaranteeing me protection.

So I didn’t downclimb. We hit the valley floor at 6 AM after 11 hours of rapping. It took me a bit to get the Boreal’s off but it hurt less to walk on the stones barefoot than it did to try and keep them on.

Obviously there was no need for any of this to happen. It was stupid. Egos, lack of preparation, lack of experience, poor choices, and Murphy’s Law. Seriously, whatever could go wrong did. I learned a lot that day, primarily to never climb with Mike again!

On a side note, I’m not a religious woman but I’ve had that overwhelming feeling one other time – I was standing at the base of an avalanche run-out at treeline on La Plata peak right at sunhit one January a few years ago. The snow had been whomping and fracturing all the way up through the trees and I actually stood and debated if I wanted to continue on through what was incredibly risky terrain or turn around and take it on another day. Just as I decided to back off and I turned around to head back to the drainage, I was overcome with the feeling that I’d made the right choice and I would be protected as a result. Nothing dramatic happened, there was no avalanche seconds later that I avoided but what I felt was clearly something I didn’t self-impose. It just appeared and if it ever appears again, I’ll surely pay attention.

You know, kinda like the pull to ski tour Kearsarge Pass this winter.

Killer story.

You were correct in thinking a nite huddled up on top, is the safest, build a big fire, burn any buds and wait for daylight.

All the elements of a great epic.... Hopefully you learned how to spot the "oncoming epic" and avoid it.

I always listen to the voice in my head. It's the sane one.

thx

Great topic.

I just lost life #10, so perhaps I'm some sort of cat hybrid that has more than nine lives. Not that I've been trying to push it... it's just worked out that way.

Though I haven't revisited them in a while, I think at this point six of my near-death experiences were while climbing, and four were non-climbing.

I think I'll bore you with a nonclimbing one.

On this occasion, I’d been headed back to my dwelling with Dana and Meg, another somewhat legendary friend and fellow hedonistic adventurer....

When we crossed the Fry's parking lot, I was carrying Dana over my shoulders. She had a broken ankle, courtesy of a 4 a.m. soccer game below a radio tower that we’d just finished climbing. Note this: it’s unwise to play soccer in the dark, particularly when you’re drunk and the field is full of rocks and holes.

Suddenly a car came tearing across the supermarket parking lot toward us. Way too fast to be parking – they came flying off the highway. I spun, preparing to dodge, and at the same time the unbalanced Dana delivered a crushing knee to my nose. I fell to the pavement, spurting blood in all directions, and Dana landed on top of me. I heard Meg screaming somewhere in the distance, and the engine of the car roaring, louder, louder, louder…

…and I hit the deck and blacked out.

Almost twenty years of street fights (and some that didn’t, I suppose, take place in the street) and I’d never been hit so hard. There was nothing for a while. When my eyes were able to focus the first thing I saw was the car’s left front wheel. The damned thing was about two feet from my head.

1. First "real" roped lead, climbing in Tuckerman's Ravine on Mount Washington, fell 60 feet, the entire pitch zippered except a #3 wired stopper, came to rest upside-down, 2 feet above the ground.

2. Free-soloing on Glacier Point Apron, Yosemite, struck on the head by falling rock, almost knocked off my stance, had a large head wound that bled profusely and almost passed out

3. Fell into a large crevasse up to my arm pits on the Kahiltna Glacier, Denali, alone, unroped

4. During a winter solo of the Leaning Tower, Yosemite, I dropped my bivouac gear during a snow storm and almost froze to death, the following day I topped off but another solo climber on El Cap did freeze to death that night

5. After climbing El Capitan, Yosemite, were were descending Manure Pile Buttress Gully when I ventured too close to the edge of a slabby cliff, a large carpet of moss broke loose with me on it and slid over the edge of the cliff, I landed on a ledge 20 feet down with a really sore tailbone

6. On the summit of Mount Rainier, Washington, we were caught in a freak lightning storm on the summit on a clear sunny day (lenticular cloud over the summit), we were electrocuted over and over and over for 20 minutes.....

7. While solo skiing the U-Notch, Palisades, on skinny telemark skis with 3-pins, I fell and tumbled down the couloir, managing to stop myself above the bergschrund with a self-arrest that was so violent it ripped my shoulder out of its socket

8. After climbing the Prow on Washington Column, Yosemite, we were descending the class 4 "death slabs" in the dark by headlamp when I slipped and fell, came to rest on a ledge

9. Chased by Libyan Mig-23 fighters, we were unarmed, saved by two F-14 Tomcats who swooped in shot down both Migs (Gulf of Sidra incident, January 4, 1989)

10. Spun out on an icy road going down a mountain canyon, went off the road backwards and over a cliff into a raging river chasm, but was stopped right on the edge by a pile of snow

11. Free-soloing on large cliffs below Mount Evans, Colorado, I violated my #1 rule by climbing something I couldn't down-climb, got stuck higher up, did a henious down-climb, fell near the bottom, broke my ankle and crawled back to my truck

12. Backcountry skiing alone near Brown's Pass in Colorado, I climbed to the top of a big chute and set off a large slab avalanche that carried me all the way to the bottom

13. Attacked and beaten on the streets of Boston late one night by a large group of young men, we were walking home from the movies, they didn't even try to rob us

AND THE WORST NEAR-DEATH EXPERIENCE EVER......

14. Got married once

Sierra Ledge Rat wrote: AND THE WORST NEAR-DEATH EXPERIENCE EVER......

14. Got married once

Yeah, it only takes once, doesn't it? Fortunately mine lasted only as long as it takes to say "New York Minute."

Like others here, I've had more than a few....

Last year, two nights before I left for Aconcagua, I was headed uptown on my new two thousand dollar bike. Laptop on my back. I was under the West Side highway it was dark and cold. I see some people grouped and think they're dog walkers yakking. I get closer and realize I have a problem. There's four of them. I push the speed up and try to get through.

A bad move. They yank me off the bike and I'm slammed to the pavement on my back with a gun pointed at me and they're yelling "Give us your money!!".

There's a story about the French Terror that occurs to me at times like this. How the first ten thousand or so, marched up to the guillotine stoically. Then they got to the Kings misstress, the Madame Du Barry. She screamed like hell. Could be heard all over Paris. The executions stopped soon after.

So I yelled like hell. "POLICE" "MUGGERS" Three of them ran soon after. The fourth, with the gun, realizing he wouldn't have to split it now made another attempt. Then he took off on my bike. I ran after him. Hell, the gun didn't look that big. He threw down my bike and ran. I was out of breath from the screaming and they were way younger. I let them go.

They cops later sent one of them to jail per the letter I received from the DA. He was 16.

John Duffield wrote:Like others here, I've had more than a few....

Last year, two nights before I left for Aconcagua, I was headed uptown on my new two thousand dollar bike. Laptop on my back. I was under the West Side highway it was dark and cold. I see some people grouped and think they're dog walkers yakking. I get closer and realize I have a problem. There's four of them. I push the speed up and try to get through.

A bad move. They yank me off the bike and I'm slammed to the pavement on my back with a gun pointed at me and they're yelling "Give us your money!!".

There's a story about the French Terror that occurs to me at times like this. How the first ten thousand or so, marched up to the guillotine stoically. Then they got to the Kings misstress, the Madame Du Barry. She screamed like hell. Could be heard all over Paris. The executions stopped soon after.

So I yelled like hell. "POLICE" "MUGGERS" Three of them ran soon after. The fourth, with the gun, realizing he wouldn't have to split it now made another attempt. Then he took off on my bike. I ran after him. Hell, the gun didn't look that big. He threw down my bike and ran. I was out of breath from the screaming and they were way younger. I let them go.

They cops later sent one of them to jail per the letter I received from the DA. He was 16.

New York City sounds like such a paradise. Lucky for you he didn't pull trigger.

Guyzo wrote:New York City sounds like such a paradise.

Well, the first time somebody attempted to rob me at gunpoint was San Francisco in '68

John Duffield wrote:

Guyzo wrote:New York City sounds like such a paradise.

Well, the first time somebody attempted to rob me at gunpoint was San Francisco in '68

The second summer of love

I have had a gun in my face, way out here in the country. It was also attempted robbery.

All my NYC dwellin friends have similar stories.

Of the 24 years on active duty, every day of 23 years and six months of that were a near death experience....

Every day on Deck and every day in the air over the skies of Antarctica, Mogadishu, pulling SAR's in the Valley and responding to the many Crash Fire scenario's.

Climbing wise, do not even want to think about it.

Got far too many scars, both physically and emotionally, to prove it all.

Guns in your face... huh!

Wait till those guns start shooting thousands of rounds of hot lead at your face, ass, legs etc!

manfromnantucket wrote:Yeah chief, the nerve of that asshole. I don't think i could imagine a bunch of maniacs shooting thousands of rounds of ammo at me, i would definitely defacate in my undies. Hey chief, i REALLY APRECIATE what you and the troops did and are doing for us, my brother in law went to iraq once, and afganistan twice.

Thanks!

Not one second of it was fun... not one I tell ya!

It all really truly sucks. Especially when you walk away breathing and with all your limbs in tact. The rest that do not return alive and those that do but with missing limbs.... they are the true Heroes!

Not me.