Hypothermia on Eisenhower

With all the recent threads about the dangers of hiking, I figured it was time to post an old story once again. The only bad lesson is one that isn't learned. I learned, hopefully someone else can too.

I'm an engineer and can't write to save my butt, but here it is anyway. It was orignially on this site about 10 years ago.

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The phone rang. It was late in the day on Thursday and I was just about to leave work, so I didn't feel like answering it, but I did.

"Hello?"

"Roy is out." was the reply from the other end.

"Damn" I thought. I was looking forward to hiking with two of my old college friends that weekend. Dave, the one on the phone, had found me on the Internet. I hadn't seen Dave in about five years and I hadn't seen Roy in about seven. It turned out that our separate paths in life had all led to winter hiking in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. After several emails and phone calls, we had planned a Presidential traverse for that weekend. What better way to get reacquainted?

Dave was explaining how Roy couldn't make it and I was half listening, already wondering to myself if Dave and I should attempt the traverse without Roy. Three is a lot safer than two.

"Are you still in?" was the next group of words I heard and I responded "Ah, yeah, of course." I had been sick all week, but I was starting to feel better and I hoped that it would go away by the time we started hiking.

So it was set, Dave and I would head up in separate cars on Friday night, leave my car at the Randolf lot on Route 2, and use Dave's car to get us to the starting point - Crawford Notch. The plan was to hike down the Mt. Clinton Road, up Edmonds Path to the Crawford Path and on to the Lake of the Clouds hut where we would camp on Saturday. Sunday would take us down the ridge, grabbing peaks on the way, to the Madison Hut for another nice camping spot, and then hike out to my waiting car on Monday. The weather called for occasional light snow on Saturday, with clearing on Saturday night and fair conditions on Sunday and Monday. Perfect we thought.

Saturday morning came and I was still feeling a little under the weather. I figured a good sweat would work the bug out of me, so off we went. The Mt. Clinton Road, although still closed, had just been plowed and it was easy going for the couple of miles to the Edmonds Path trail head. It had been snowing all morning and at a rate that was neither occasional nor light as the weather forecast had predicted.

As we got on the trail and began our ascent, I noticed that I was feeling pretty tired. A week of being sick with no time on the stair master had really kicked my butt. I also noticed that I was sweating more than usual. It was still snowing pretty hard and then I figured out why I was sweating so much. The outer layer of my Gore-tex jacket was getting wet from the falling snow. The spray on coating that makes water bead up and roll off was not working. The Gore-tex was still waterproof, but since it was getting and staying wet, the fabric was clinging tightly to me and it wasn't breathing properly. I was getting hot under it and sweating quite a bit under the strain of my full winter pack. I felt horrible and I kept telling Dave, "sorry I'm so slow, I'm usually a lot better than this. I must have been sicker than I thought."

The snow on the trail started getting deep and we had to put our snowshoes on at about 3500'. As we got to treeline, the trail disappeared in the deep snow. Only the tops of pine trees stuck out of the seemingly endless drifts of snow. We tried a few times to locate the trail, but our efforts were fruitless. We were both familiar with the trail having each climbed it several times before, so we knew that it ran along a ledge on the north side of Eisenhower's summit cone. We found a lip that ran along the ridge on the north side of the summit cone, so we figured that this was about as close to the trail as we were going to get. We headed out on the lip, intending to traverse it to the northeast side of the summit cone so we could try to find the Crawford Path which would take us to the Lake of the Clouds Hut.

part 2
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As we headed across the lip, it was very slow going. Even with snowshoes on, we were sinking chest deep in the snow. Moving forward was a painfully slow process of kicking and stomping on the wall of snow in front of you until it was matted down enough that you could stand on it . It was taking us what seemed like hours to go fifty feet. About half way across the lip, I said to Dave' "I hope this whole lip doesn't just give way and drop our butts into the ravine." Dave peered over the edge at the hundred plus foot drop and echoed my concern. Well, speak of the devil and he appears...a few minutes later I felt my footing beginning to give way and I looked down. The firmly packed snow I was standing on was starting to fracture away from the face and I could feel myself going down. I jumped to the left and grabbed a six inch thick sapling just in time. There I was, hanging from a tree with my body dangling over the ravine. Dave laid down in the snow above me and sunk one ski pole in the snow as a make shift anchor. He then held out his other ski pole to me. I grabbed the pole and Dave was able to pull me back up onto what was left of the lip.

Neither one of us wanted to go back the way we came or go any father forward. We were both afraid of the whole thing letting go. We both decided that the best way out was to head straight up the face of the summit cone. We could see the snow thin out just above our position, and we figured things would get a whole lot easier once we got out of the deep powder. Heading up was even more difficult then going across, but we felt a little safer once we were away from the edge. The tops of pine trees dotted the landscape, and we were able to grab the tree tops and pull ourselves forward, up the face. Slowly, the snow depth lessened and we were able to climb ahead much more easily.

From our new vantage point, we saw a new danger. A fall at this point would almost certainly mean a horrible slide down the face and then a deadly fall over the ledge below. We were both very tired at this point and it was getting late in the day. We knew we wouldn't be able to make our intended destination of the hut, but we both knew of a nice flat, sheltered spot on the east side of Eisenhower's summit cone that would serve as a good spot to pitch the tent. We could see the summit a few hundred feet above us, so we surged ahead with renewed vigor. All we had to do was make it to the top, descend a few hundred feed on the other side, and then it was freeze dried lasagna time!

Dave had been breaking trail for most of the way up to this point and was pretty beat, so I took the lead. After about fifty feet, the snow beneath my snowshoes suddenly went from three feet deep to just a thin coating over sheer ice within a few steps. I was suddenly loosing my balance on the ice and feared falling and then sliding all the way down the face. I spotted the tip of a rock sticking out of the ice in front of me and dove for it, grabbing it with one hand. Hanging onto the rock, I tried furiously to dig my feet in, but my snowshoes were useless on the hard ice. Dave came up to assist me, but he fell into the same trap. Next thing I knew, he was hanging from a rock about two feet from me with his snowshoes flailing about in the same manner as mine.

Dave asked me if I could reach his ice axe which was strapped to the back of his pack, and I could. I was able to get it unstraped with one hand while I was hanging on the rock with my other hand. He then did the same for me, and with the assistance of our ice axes, we were able to get our packs off. Without the burden of our heavy winter packs, we were able to lower ourselves to the edge of the deep snow, where we were able to dig in with our feet. We then exchanged snowshoes for crampons and took a better assessment of our situation. We were about 150 feet below the summit with a fairly steep ice face between us and the top.

I was feeling pretty good at this point, I'll trade snowshoes and powder for crampons and ice any day. I took the lead and headed up the ice. The ice was boiler plate hard and climbing was tricky at times. Two ice tools would have been a great assistance, but we only had one each. There were boulders sticking up out of the ice and I found it helpful going from rock to rock, where I could hold onto the rocks with my left hand while my right hand worked the ax. I found a row of rocks on the left side of the face and began following them up. I was making good progress and looked back to see Dave about sixty feet below me.

part 3
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I looked back up at the summit, only thirty feet above me, when suddenly it hit me. I began to shiver unlike any time before. I guess with all the excitement of the past few hours, I hadn't seen the early stages of hypothermia coming on. But all of a sudden it hit me, and it hit me like a freight train. I was shivering violently and I couldn't control it. I knelt down close to the ice, afraid that my uncontrolled motion would fling me off the face. I felt completely drained and weak beyond description. I turned to Dave and he was already looking at me as though he knew something was wrong. I yelled "Down. Now."

All my mountain climbing experience has taught me to head down at the first sign of difficultly. I guess we had ignored our better senses way back at the beginning of the lip, when we decided to try the risky traverse, but at this point, as I was feeling my control over my body slip away. I realized that we had to adhere to the first rule of mountain safety – ‘Head down, not up.'
"What?" was Dave's response. It wasn't that he hadn't heard me, it was that he didn't believe me. I had to be kidding, right? I couldn't possibly expect us to down climb the ice face, down climb the section of deep snow, and then retrace our crumbling steps across the lip. Could I? However, I knew that we had to. I knew that the higher we went and the farther we went from the closest road, the worse off I'd be if I got any more hypothermic.

"Down. Now. I'm shaking. I'm going to die." I yelled back at Dave. I was already having difficulty speaking and I don't know if it was the slow, slurred manner that I said those words or the urgency of my tone that drove the point home for Dave, but he got it. He knew that we had to get down and he knew that we had to get down fast.

I was amazed at how fast the effects of severe hypothermia can set in. I had gone from shivering uncontrollably to not shivering at all, I could barely hold onto my ice axe, I couldn't speak, and I could feel my thoughts slowing down. I tried to climb down, but I was afraid to. I couldn't move my feet where I wanted them to go and I was deathly afraid of loosing grip of my ice axe. One wrong move would send me sliding down the face and over the lip. That thought replayed over and over in my mind. I was curled into the fetal position, clutching at a rock and straining to hold onto my ice axe. I looked down at Dave and he had already started to down climb. The distance between us kept growing and I just thought "don't you leave me man, don't you leave me." It was at that time that I really thought I was going to die. I looked around and I felt like I was at 20,000'. The ‘little' White Mountains never looked bigger. I could see warm, glowing lights in the windows of the houses way down in the valley. I thought to myself that I would never be in a warm home again. My thoughts drifted to my family who all seemed so very far away. I couldn't believe I was going to die. I couldn't believe I was going to die on such a small mountain. I mean, give me a break, it's a lousy 4800', right? How did I let myself get into this position? I could see the headlines in the paper the next day, "Man dies of stupidity."

At that point, I closed my eyes and I remember sort of floating away. I had visions of family and friends and for some reason had some very strong visions of one of my sisters. She was smiling and laughing, giving me a hard time as usual I guess. I remember looking down and seeing myself perched on the side of the mountain, desperately clinging onto my ice axe. I looked like an empty shell of a man. A pathetic display for only myself to see. I suddenly decided that I was not going to die. I was going to climb down and I was going to live. I refused to let the ‘little' mountain beat me. My eyes opened and I was staring at the ice coated face once again.

I wrapped the ice axe leash around my arm and the shaft of the axe, effectively making the axe an extension of my arm. I couldn't grab the axe with my hand and swing it, but I could slam my arm into the ice and get the point of the axe to stick in. I faced the ice and started to front point down. While trying to stick my crampons into the ice, I repeatedly hit my other leg with the front points of the crampons. I just could not get my legs or feet to move in the direction I wanted to. My gaiters and pants were getting ripped, but luckily the crampons weren't cutting my flesh.

part 4
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Dave was trying to get down to the deeper snow as fast as he could. He wanted to drop his heavy pack and then climb up to help me down. I saw him attempt to glissade down a section, which after making a few good moves, he slide into a rock which caused him to tumble a few times, but he was able to self arrest with his ice axe. At this point, I was making better progress getting down the face. I had gotten into a self arrest position and half slid down the face while trying to slow myself with my axe. It worked, but by the time I got down to Dave at the beginning of the deep snow, I was almost totally drained. The direct contact with the ice had worsened my hypothermic state and now I could hardly speak at all. My thoughts were garbled and slow, and I just wanted to go to sleep.

Dave grabbed me by the shoulders and stood me up, yelling "Come on! We have to keep going!" I gave him a glazed over look and tried to sit down. I just wanted to sleep and I couldn't figure out why he was yelling at me. I just wanted him to leave me a lone and let me get some sleep. I remember thinking that if I got some sleep then I would probably have a lot more energy after I woke up to hike out. Dave realized just how bad I was and he stood me back up and started shaking me. He kept asking me, "What's 1 + 1? What's 1 + 1?..." Being an engineer, you'd think that I would know the answer, but I didn't. At least not at first. In some strange way, I knew that I should know the answer, but I couldn't think of it. Dave kept questioning me like he was a drill sergeant had asked me about five or six times, I knew the answer was two. Then I tried to say it out loud, just to shut Dave up, but I couldn't. All I could say was "ta ta ta ta" very slowly. I then somehow knew how screwed up I was. I tried to force my iced brain to think, but it was very difficult. After about a minute, I finally mustered enough mental capacity to say a long drawn out "tttttttwo".

Dave responded with, "aww Jesus Christ."

Dave then yelled at me "Move! Now!" I must have shook my head or something like that, because he started to shake me again. Of course, while he was trying to get me to snap to attention, we were still precariously perched over the edge of the drop into the ravine. Finally I started to move, but it was more of an act to shut Dave up, than an act of self preservation. Dave's constant yelling was doing the trick. "Move! Now! Forward, Now!"
We started the traverse back across the lip, but I kept stumbling and falling. The going was a lot easier, since we were following the path we had broken on the way up, but in my state of mind, I was having an extremely hard time just standing up straight. Each time I fell, Dave would grab me from behind and keep me from falling over the edge.

"Get up, now! Move! Now!"

When we made it back across the ledge and were in a safe position, Dave stripped my damp polypro shirt and my wet wool shirt off me and replaced them with dry shirts and a down jacket. He then put my shell back on me and exchanged my crampons for snowshoes. I drank some Jell-O powder mixed with water and managed to eat some chocolate. Between the sugar high and the warm clothes, I was starting to feel a little better. I still couldn't speak very well, but I could now stand up by myself. I slowly told Dave that I wanted get into my sleeping bag. My fluffy down sleeping bag had all the allure of a Caribbean island...

Dave was aware that in some cases of hypothermia, even if the victim gets into a warm sleeping bag, his body is unable to generate enough heat to warm itself back up. Sometimes this is true even if another person gets into the bag with you, to try to share body heat. Dave didn't want to risk the time it would take to pitch his tent by himself and then get us both into a bag. He figured if he kept giving me chocolate and kept me moving, then I stood a better chance of getting my core temp back up. He also figured that the closer we got to road, the better.

"Move! Now! Down, now!"

So, down the trail we went. I was going pretty slow at first and kept falling over a lot. If you think walking down hill with snowshoes on is a little awkward, try it with a case of hypothermia. I’d take two steps and face plant. Dave would stand me back up. I’d take two more steps and fall again. Repeat. After many stop and go sessions, and what seemed like all eternity, we spotted the summer time trail head parking lot through the trees. It was totally dark and the snow covered parking lot reflecting the small amount of ambient light was a welcome sight. We got on the Mt. Clinton Road and finally took our first real rest after what had been hours, but seemed like days.

part 5
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We didn't say much, we were both kind of blown away by the gravity of situation we had just been in. We weren't out yet, we still had to get down the Mt. Clinton Road and back to Dave's car at Crawford Notch. I was now feeling much better, having overcome the hypothermia during the hike down. I could speak and think ok, but I was extremely tired and felt very nauseous and constantly wanted to throw up.

We made it out and drove to a motel, where we checked in for the night. After a long hot shower and some bad Chinese food, I felt quite a bit better. Dave called Roy and told him what happened, and Roy couldn't believe it. I talked to Roy and assured him that I was alright. He told me that I was lucky and I agreed with him.

The whole occurrence was like something you read about, which for you is true in this case. You hear about people continuing on in deteriorating weather conditions, but I had continued on under deteriorating body conditions. I had been sick for a week and although I was getting better, I had no business heading out into the Presidentials that weekend. Early in the day I didn't feel good on the trail, but I continued on anyway. My Gore-tex jacket was not performing as it should, but I continued on anyway. When we lost the trail near the lip of the ravine, we could have bailed out, but we continued on anyway. The ‘continued on anyway' was a recurring trend that eventually led to what was nearly my untimely demise.

Dave and I talked briefly about what happened. We discussed the mistakes we made and we agreed that the whole experience wasn't negative. The reason that it wasn't completely negative is that we both used it as a learning experience. We both learned from our mistakes.

The next day, we both slept late and then ate lunch at a greasy spoon on route 16. I thanked Dave for saving me, but he said that he didn't do what he did purely to save me. His actions we're a little selfish. He said he didn't want to screw up his life by watching a friend die. Whatever his motives were, his actions were effective, and I thanked him again. We both headed off in our separate cars and I spent the three hour drive home alone looking at the world under a new light.

I still think back to that day and wonder how I managed to climb down that icy face. How did I manage to traverse the lip? How did I manage to hike the whole way out? Not only do I question how I managed to do each of those tasks, but I question how I managed to do all of those tasks? Was it my will to live? Was it Dave's unwillingness to let me die? Was it our combined decades of hiking experience? Most likely, it was a combination of all these factors that saved me, but it's not important. What is important is that we survived, we learned, and we will hike again.

Hopefully others can learn too.

- darren

There is one point I'd like to make clear. After this event, I read up on hypothermia and one thing was alarming to me. It is very dangerous to shake a person that is severely hypothermic. Blood flow can slow down and lead to clotting. Shaking can release a clot from the extremities and cause a stroke.

Dave was able to keep me awake by shaking me and slapping me. While it seemed to work in my case, it is not advisable to shake someone that is severely hypothermic and I do not recommend it.

- darren

darren said:

I'm an engineer and can't write to save my butt...

Click to expand...

I'm an engineer, too, and I disagree. You write just fine. Spelling needs a little help...

Thanks for a timely and instructive story.

Very sobering story. Thanks for sharing, Darren.

cbcbd said:

Very sobering story. Thanks for sharing, Darren.

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I agree with cbcbd.

On a lighter side, shouldn't this be in trip reports or at least Q&A?

darren said:

Sometimes this is true even if another person gets into the bag with you, to try to share body heat. Dave didn't want to risk the time it would take to pitch his tent by himself and then get us both into a bag.

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Just FYI, this technique (two people in a sleeping bag) is not recommended. Heating from within is MUCH more efficient than external heat sources. All two people in a sleeping bag does is get the rescuer cold and exposes them to potential hypothermia as well.

If the victim can move (as Darren was still able to) get food and water into them, hot liquids if you can but that's mainly psychological. Dry insulating clothes, sugar and water, then get them moving. If they can eat and drink but can't yet move, a sleeping bag or any insulating layers are good.

If they get to the point where they can't move, eat, or drink, then put them in a bag to conserve what heat they have and get help immediately. At that point, don't warm them up, but keep them cold until they get to the hospital. Cold sluggish blood going back to the heart and lungs can cause cardiac arrest.

Thanks for sharing this again Darren. You probably sent this from the beach in Hawaii.

-dave-

wow Darren, that's some story...think my winter gear is going on sale....

If my wife ever, ever reads this I'm banished from the outdoors forever...

On a different note...Gathering 04 in New Hampshire I go on my first snowshoe hike on the Cabot trip...probably not a good idea for a newbi...when I did a face plant into the snow I wanted to stay there and rest...I'll remember forever Skimom yelling at me to "Get up now!"....guess she knew something that I didn't know...


I'm glad that i'm slow and weak, it'll keep me from doing those big long trips..I'll stick to the 6-8 mile hikes...

I had forgotten about this and reading Darren's story reminded me of this happening.

When I was 5 years old my brother and I had to wait for the school bus half a mile from our house. The neighbor let us wait under (yes under) her porch when the wind was bad. Whiteout conditions and amazing winds (we lived up on a hill, wide open) had come up,... we waited and waited, the bus came, honked and honked its horn but we couldn't hear it with the wind howling. After about an hour and a half my brother said we had to go back. I couldn't move, and wouldn't move. He yelled and dragged me back to the farm. I was frost bitten and hypothermic. My mother always credits my brother with saving my life. She had assumed we were safely in school.

Off Topic: Living on that farm was dangerous. The next summer my sister saved my life when I fell off the back of a tractor into the machine that rakes the hay into rows. I tumbled round and round getting closer to the end where I would have been ripped to shreds going out through the end. She spotted and me and ran out to stop the tractor just in time. Oh yeah...there was the rattlesnake while we picked blueberries. but I don't think my life was in danger for that one! Well and I sliced the veins in my ankle/foot wide open when I stepped on a broken bottle at the cow pond. It's a wonder I turned six.....I should stop writing because I'm sitting home with pneumonia and this might all be bad karma.

Darren - Very timely post with the winter climbing season coming on. With many of us hiking solo at times, your story is sobering. It does not change my mind about hiking alone, but it will make me hike safer. Thanks for sharing....Stu

Thanks for sharing the story; glad you made it!

Happy Trails

that story scared me. thanks for sharing. I just tore the ligaments in my ankle saturday on mt morgan and had to be taken out with assistance. If that had happened when I was alone and it was freezing out I'd have had a problem. I'm kind of sitting here rethinking solo hiking.

A long time ago, I went winter hiking when I was mostly recovered from a cold and found my endurance greatly reduced. I've never repeated that mistake again...

I now wait at least a week after I feel totally recoverd from a cold (or any bigger bug). Feeling recovered in town and being sufficiently recovered for hiking are two different things.

Doug

coldfeet said:

wow Darren, that's some story...think my winter gear is going on sale....

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No need to hit ebay just yet. Just know that you need to have companions that are able to tell if you are ok.

It's a good idea to talk to your companions every so often, so they can evaluate you, and vice versa.

Darren,

Thanks for relating this story to all of us. We will all benefit from your near disaster. Glad that you were able to live to tell your tale. One thing that you do not mention is your state of hydration. Were you drinking enough on that day? Do you think you were dehydrated from the previous week?

Another comment that piqued my interest was regarding the use of hot drinks. I had heard the following story years ago and I just found it again. Here it is:
In fact, many hypothermia victims die each year in the process of being rescued. In "rewarming shock," the constricted capillaries reopen almost all at once, causing a sudden drop in blood pressure. The slightest movement can send a victim's heart muscle into wild spasms of ventricular fibrillation. In 1980, 16 shipwrecked Danish fishermen were hauled to safety after an hour and a half in the frigid North Sea. They then walked across the deck of the rescue ship, stepped below for a hot drink, and dropped dead, all 16 of them.

If I were hypothermic and hopefully still within my senses, I would be very reluctant to drink anything that is too hot or give any drink that is hot to a hypothermic patient. Remember that the esophagus is adjacent to (read touching) the right side of the heart and a hot drink flowing past a cooler heart creates a dangerous temperature differential. A key to survival is gradual warming of the body’s core.

I’m also not in complete agreement with the notion that you should not try to warm a hypothermic person by getting in a sleeping bag with them, as long as the second person is not in any stages of hypothermia themselves. The second person is generating heat and provides a gradual heat source for the patient. Certainly much more gradual than hot water bottles or hot packs that will quickly heat extremities and dilate the blood vessels in the heated areas. Blood will then flow out of the core toward the dilated vessels pushing more cold blood to the core. This is known as after drop, where the core temperature drops after the person starts to warm up.

Another thing to be careful of is giving drinks that are highly sweetened. Too much sugar as a percentage of the drink will actually slow down the absorption of the liquid and sugar into the digestive tract. If the person is able to eat sweets, make sure they get enough warm water in them before they start eating.

JohnL

John, from what I've read, you may have it turned around, not on the definition of afterdrop, but whether to warm the core;

"Afterdrop
Is a situation in which the core temperature actually decreases during rewarming. This is caused by peripheral vessels in the arms and legs dilating if they are rewarmed. This dilation sends this very cold, stagnate blood from the periphery to the core further decreasing core temperature which can lead to death. In addition, this blood also is very acetic which may lead to cardiac arrythmias and death. Afterdrop can best be avoided by not rewarming the periphery. Rewarm the core only! Do not expose a severely hypothermic victim to extremes of heat."

So the Fishermen probably died from a rapid increase in exterior heat, not the hot drinks.

You're correct about the sugar absorption. This is a good site that covers all this.

JohnL said:

In fact, many hypothermia victims die each year in the process of being rescued. In "rewarming shock," the constricted capillaries reopen almost all at once, causing a sudden drop in blood pressure. The slightest movement can send a victim's heart muscle into wild spasms of ventricular fibrillation.

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Not really. What usually happens is that these people have been vasoconstricted and shunted for a long period of time. All the cells in the extremities are undergoing anerobic cell activity which builds up lots of nasty little chemicals. If they are released back to the heart to quickly you can generate a cardiac arrest.

It is also easy to put someone in stage III hypothermia into cardiac arrest or v-fib by being rough with them while rescueing or transporting them. This is also very likely.

Afterdrop is rarely fatal unless the person is actually immersed in hot water. And even that is unlikely to actually cause anything but burns. You have to remember that because these people are vasoconstricted and shunted they are not actually moving any of the heat away from the limbs. That often causes burns, sometimes bad ones. Something else to keep in mind. You cannot rewarm someone by applying heat to their limbs.

Keith