Roaring Mountain

By Shirley Gray

After Gary Gray was killed by an avalanche while mountain climbing in the North Cascades, he was buried under tons of ice and snow. Three years later his body was recovered, triggering a series of amazing events that belies belief. The miraculous phenomena are related by Gary's mother with anecdotes by his family, hoping that it will give comfort and inspiration to other bereaved parents.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shirley Gray
• Release date: Jul 2, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310179624

Book preview

ROARING MOUNTAIN

A True Story

Shirley Gray

Copyright 2012 Shirley Gray

www.shirleysbook.com

All rights reserved.

Smashwords Edition

To provide the reader with a sample of more of the actual story, most of the traditional front matter appears at the end.

Contents

Introduction

The sudden death of my free-spirited son in a climbing accident in the North Cascades triggered a series of amazing events that belies belief.

When I first decided to write this book, it was with the idea of telling people about the strange events that I experienced after the tragedy: the psychic, the supernatural, and the miraculous coincidences. I began to collect stories of the strange happenings that other people had experienced. It’s amazing what they will tell you after you’ve confided your own supernatural tale. They wouldn’t have told you before for fear of appearing a bit odd. There must be millions of people out there with similar stories but who are afraid to tell them. This was originally to be a book about miraculous phenomena and I wanted people to know that such phenomena really do exist, that there are powers and forces around us beyond our understanding.

But after I started writing the book, it began to take on a life of its own. A different story was emerging, a story of wilderness and adventure, of mountain climbing in the Cascades and environmental protection. The book would still include my own spiritual experiences connected with the accident, but it would also be a story about protests, pollution, and saving the planet.

It’s also the story of two journeys. The first is of a free spirit and his constant search for his own destiny until it was ended by a tragic accident. The other is of his mother’s journey after the accident through devastating grief and despair, and ultimately joy and peace. Both are stories of change and growth, of two people with contrasting lifestyles and often opposing ideas, but always connected by the strongest bonds of love, loyalty and respect.

Chapter 1—The Accident

Monday, August 19, 1991

The time has come, the Walrus said, to speak of many things,

Of shoes and ships and sealing wax, of cabbages and kings.

~ Lewis Carroll.

The eerie shifting and sliding of ice chunks on the glacier above the climbers suddenly grew more ominous and they knew they had to move quickly. Curt looked up just as Gary yelled, Oh shit! It’s coming down on top of us! That was the last thing Curt remembered before losing consciousness when a torrent of ice and snow cascaded down the mountain. They were trapped in the moat next to the Hanging Glacier with nowhere to go and no way to escape the sudden devastating avalanche. When Curt awoke there was only deadly silence. And Gary was gone.

The magnificent north face of Mt. Shuksan appears everywhere. The formidable glacial peak is one of the most spectacular sites in the North Cascades mountain range, and it’s believed to be the most photographed mountain in the world. Its stunning profile is found on calendars, postcards, TV ads, and posters worldwide, and its likeness is captured with cameras and on canvas by thousands of tourists and artists each year. Yet amazingly, few people know its name. But the gentle, tranquil face that Shuksan presents to the world is deceiving and belies its treacherous underbelly. Its calm, beckoning beauty seduces the climber and promises him an incredible spiritual experience in pristine wilderness. The only sounds are the rumblings and clicking of the glacier as it expands and shifts, and the soft, slithering whisper of wayward ice chunks as they make their way slowly down the mountain.

Glorious weather prevailed over Washington State in the summer of 1991 when two enthusiastic young mountaineers decided to climb this beautiful and famous mountain. Gary Gray and his friend Curt Veldhuisen planned to spend a day and a night on the mountain and traverse the Hanging Glacier before returning home the next day. Both were passionate, experienced climbers, but although they had come to live recently in the town of Bellingham nearby, they had not attempted this route before.

On Sunday, August 18, the day before the climb, they drove to a base camp and signed out at the U.S. Forest Service visitor’s center east of the little town of Glacier. It was an exceptionally beautiful day and was warm, sunny, and mild. They chatted for a while with a park ranger who told them that the forecast looked good and the weather should not be a problem. After waving goodbye to the ranger they drove up a logging trail, parked Curt’s truck, and hiked into the woods. When they reached a ridge at the base of the mountain they set up camp for the night. They spent Sunday evening peacefully under the stars in the rugged backcountry, both men looking forward to the climb the next day.

Early on Monday morning they began their ascent.

Curt said later, We had first planned to climb the sharp mountain ridge of the Northwest Arête, but decided instead to climb the Northwest Couloir next to it, a steep narrow gully of ice and snow. We could get onto the arête farther up. It was a more efficient route and not very difficult, mostly a matter of kicking footsteps in the snow as we climbed. We wouldn’t need to use ice tools.

From the arête they intended to cross over onto the Hanging Glacier, the next step in their journey. When they reached the point where they planned to cross, 7,500 feet up at about 1:00 p.m., they stopped to rest, have a lunch break and take pictures. Breathing the crisp, pure air in that snowy wilderness must have been intoxicating. They were delighted to be in such a perfect white paradise. The day was getting warmer, but it wasn’t too hot.

Curt continued. The Hanging Glacier is a very active and unstable glacier, but it has a kind of stair-step pattern—some steep parts and some flat parts—and our intention was to cross on one of the flat parts that we thought would be relatively safe. We had to get across that glacier to get to the rest of our route. There was a steep area about two hundred yards above us that was quite active. Chunks of ice were moving around, making quite a bit of noise. It was clearly a place we didn’t want to be close to, but we felt we were far enough away from it. As we were getting ready to cross we could hear the crashes and popping noises above us.

To reach the glacier they first had to climb down from the rocky ridge into the moat, a gentle, v-shaped gully between the rock and the ice.

It was like standing in a swale about 20 feet deep and we couldn’t see over the edge, Curt said.

There they stopped to put crampons (the metal cleats that are necessary for crossing glaciers) on their shoes, just as the shifting and sliding of ice chunks above them on the glacier began to grow more threatening. Gary was ahead of Curt, joined to him by a 50-meter rope. Suddenly, they heard a loud boom and then a soft sliding sound. Gary saw it first. That’s when he turned and yelled, Oh shit! It’s coming down on top of us!

When Curt awoke, he was buried to his thighs in huge chunks of ice. Everything was quiet. He told an interviewer, It was like I’d been asleep, Gary was gone. First he was there, and then he wasn’t.

His friend was buried where he had been standing, under tons of ice and snow. Curt had been farther down the moat and to the side, fortunately missing the brunt of it. The rope that had bound them together and his own backpack were lying nearby. Ice chunks the size of cook stoves covered an area 200 yards wide and 50 yards deep. After the first few moments of panic, his instinctive need to survive kicked in. He was able to dig himself out, but realized there could be another slide. He had to get out of the moat quickly and away from any more icefalls.

He grabbed his gear and scrambled up to a higher ledge on the rock where he could take stock of his injuries and keep an eye on the glacier to watch for more slides. He didn’t fully know what his injuries were, but he was bleeding in several places. His chest hurt and he was short of breath. He knew if he didn’t get help soon he might have to spend a couple of extremely uncomfortable days and nights on the mountain.

He made a flag of his red gaiters and ice axe and attached them to a rock to try to attract other climbers or rescuers, but it was a futile attempt. After trying to summon help by shouting and waving his arms, it became obvious that he was totally alone. This was not a popular route and if there had been anyone else on the mountain they would be on a different part.

Later he said, I decided to try to walk out. I needed to get down from the mountain, so I got back down into the moat, put on my crampons and walked about a 100 yards out onto the glacier. Then I realized it was the wrong time of day to be doing this. It was after 2:00 in the afternoon, and the weather was too hot to be going out onto the glacier while the ice was melting and shifting. Better to wait until the morning when it would be cooler. Besides, my chest hurt and I wasn’t feeling very well. So I went back to the ridge, ate some of my food, and hunkered down.

Luckily he still had his gear, which included some cookies and warm clothing. He melted ice in his hard hat for water, and tried to pass the time by reading his map and his first aid book over and over. He wasn’t too uncomfortable as he settled down for the night. The weather was mild, and he knew he wouldn’t freeze to death. He just had to wait it out.

He never contemplated trying to rescue Gary because it was painfully obvious to him what had happened. He was buried under tons of ice and Curt knew he was dead. But during the night some strange clicking and ticking noises kept waking him up.

"At first I thought maybe it was Gary, trying to get out. But I knew it couldn’t be. It was just the chunks of ice settling in the night. Then more ticking—tick, tick, tick—and it would stop for a few seconds, then tick, tick, tick again. I thought, That sounds like a person! But I soon realized my mind was playing tricks on me. It was not a good night."

When he got up early the next morning it was still very quiet. After gathering his gear, he climbed down into the moat to begin the second attempt to walk out. He again put on his crampons and went out onto the glacier, passing safely under the area where the ice chunks had been falling. But when he reached the far side he was dismayed to see that it was broken up with crevasses.

The only way I could see to get across was to do some ice climbing and cross a narrow little ridge that had crevasses on both sides. That was when I decided it would be better for me to wait. It wasn’t worth the risk to try to force my way through there. I knew that if I fell into a crevasse I would die. It was not a smart thing to put my energy into and I was still short of breath. So I went back to my little ridge and hunkered down again.

Curt hoped someone would come looking for them that day, even though they weren’t expected back in Bellingham before then. He continued to wait and spent another long night on the mountain. During the night, I woke up and mistook a really bright star for someone with a head lamp. It was pretty weird.

When he awoke the next morning, Wednesday, it was still very quiet with no sign of anything happening. Finally, at about midday, he heard the sound of a helicopter approaching and the sight of it was emotionally overwhelming. A tremendous wave of happiness and grief washed over him. I think it was the first time I cried, he said. At last somebody was looking for us.

There was no place for the helicopter to land, but when it hovered low enough, Curt could see someone leaning out and signaling by holding up two fingers. They were asking if there were two of them and he knew then that they were looking for him and Gary. He signaled back One. When the helicopter began to take off he became alarmed for a moment.

I thought, Hey! Wait a minute, what’s going on? But soon the helicopter was back, and this time it was dangling a long rope. He chuckles now when he remembers thinking, You’ve got to be kidding me! I’m not going to hang onto that rope! But as it got closer he realized there was a radio attached to the rope. Relieved that he could now communicate with them, he was able to untie the radio and tell the rangers what had happened. Once again, the helicopter took off, but this time with the promise that it would be back shortly.

With the radio by his side Curt was much more comfortable and not as alone as he waited for the helicopter to return and it wasn’t long before it did come back, this time with a basket hanging from the rope. He was able to climb in with his gear and