Day 62
6/28/01
17,200' Camp, Denali
Acclimatization/rest Day
Sure enough, during the night, the winds kicked up to about 40mph,
blasting the tent and blowing drifting snow everywhere. The noise
(and uncertainty of the tent's true stability) made it almost impossible to
sleep, although I did get a small amount in.
In the morning I could see telltale lenticulars (lens-shaped clouds)
over the summits of Denali and nearby Mt. Foraker. These are sure
signs of high winds on the summits, and to climbers they spell "keep away".
That was all I needed to know. I'd be going nowhere today. There was
a lot of drifted snow to be dug out anyway, and work of any kind at
high altitude is exhausting.
There is a peculiar sensation to being at a high camp on any mountain.
One feels almost a trespasser, there only by the good graces of
weather and whatever your own puny body can adapt to. This forbidden land
will destroy you without consideration unless you adapt to it. Like the
sea, you'd best roll with the punches instead of trying to bend it to
your will.
Later in the day the wind died down, and it was decision time again.
I would leave in the morning for the summit, so there was a lot of
preparation to be done. I'd need to separate out a minimal set of
gear for a summit dash, light enough to move quickly but enough to survive if
things turned bad. That meant a few extra clothes, and more
importantly a snow shovel to dig out a shelter in the event I needed to
hunker down during a storm (which could last days, so better bring the
food for it too).
I laid in my tent that night, my mind filled with all the scenarios
that could go wrong, and what I would do about them if they happened.
I take risks; but they are calculated risks, and whenever possible not
hapless ones. In the morning I would travel alone farther than I ever
had, to an altitude I had never been. For everyone, there is a first
time.
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