Authors: Tom Sullivan,Betty White
"I know,
Brenden," Charlie said. "I've been watching the sky, and frankly, I
don't like what I'm seeing."
"What do
you mean?"
"Some
pretty heavy clouds are beginning to drop over the Divide. We could get some
big-time snow, pal. Did you listen to the weather last night before we came up
here?"
"I
didn't. I probably should have, but I was so excited I just didn't think of
it."
"Well,"
Charlie said, taking a deep breath, "let's get going. Assuming we've got
another two hours to climb, we should be able to summit before it gets too
bad."
"Okay,
Nelson," Brenden said, picking up the dog's harness, "let's boogie on
up, boy."
The three of
them began to work their way up the steep Minnehaha Trail, and here Brenden was
able to outclimb Charlie because the big dog on four feet could actually almost
pull him along. Brenden laughed to himself as Charlie struggled to keep up.
Reaching the
last of the campgrounds at Buckskin Pass, Brenden felt the first snowflake on
his nose as he pulled his stocking cap down over his ears. Now the wind had
come up.
"Sirocco,"
Charlie said, above the howl. "The Canadian Express. We're in for it
now."
Brenden
considered but didn't ask the question.
Should we turn around and go down?
He was surprised at his own reaction, as a fierce
need to accomplish the mission burst out from inside him.
Patting
Nelson, he said, "One more push, Charlie. One more big effort and we'll be
there—you and me and the four-legged guy."
Charlie
registered the passion in his friend's voice and nodded, forgetting for a
minute that the climber standing with him against the wind couldn't see.
After fording
a creek, they began working their way up the face of the ancient glacier,
trying to hurry but also being very aware of loose rock. Here Nelson shone,
faultless in his step and constantly in balance as he danced his master toward
the summit.
Now they were
on the last couloir, a nearly vertical face that forced them to wedge
themselves against the smooth wall, looking for hand and foot holds as they
spidered their way to the top. Here the dog really struggled, so Charlie and
Brenden took turns supporting the animal with climbing ropes, having him follow
them to the top rather than lead.
The dog is so adaptable,
Brenden thought.
He
just gets it; he's a real member of the team.
They were
just feet from the summit, with the snow falling at a rate of at least two
inches an hour and the wind whipping it in sheets that stung any open area of
the body it could reach.
Charlie's
yell, "Summit!" was barely audible over the howl of the wind, but
right on cue Nelson barked as if he, too, sensed the achievement.
Though it was
a special morning for Brenden, they only stopped long enough to sign the
mountain ledger, eat another power bar, and take in some water.
"It's
bad," Charlie said, cupping his hands against the wind, next to his
friend's ear. "It's really bad, Brenden. Honestly, I'm having trouble
seeing."
For the
second time in Brenden's recent history, a person he loved was blinded by snow,
only now he wasn't sure how he could help.
"Listen,
Charlie," he said, "do you think we should hunker down in a couloir
and just stay here?"
"I don't
think so," Charlie replied. "Looking at the sky, I'd say this could
be a two-day deal. The clouds are as low as I've ever seen them and getting
worse. We have to get down."
With four or
five inches of snow on the ground already, it was not only slippery, but it
also became very difficult for Brenden to feel where to place his feet. Now he
was really dependent on Nelson, even sitting down occasionally to slide down
rocks.
Bad
had been an understatement. This storm was worse than
bad, and both young men, along with a focused black Lab, knew it. There were
moments when Brenden could feel the animal turn his head, looking up at his
master as if he were trying to will the man to place his feet just right on the
snow-covered rocky surface.
For the first
time in his climbing life, Charlie Evans was afraid, and not just for Brenden
and Nelson. Charlie was afraid for himself. As his field of vision grew less
and less, he struggled to decide whether or not they should keep going. He knew
from his experience on the rescue team that calling the emergency 911 signal on
his cell phone would send out a beep that could be tracked. But in this storm
it would be many hours before even a fast team could reach them, and that was
only if the tracking system was truly accurate. So he determined that they had
to push on.
The wind
gusted well over sixty miles an hour, and it was becoming almost impossible to
stand upright. Charlie wondered how Nelson followed him so closely. It had to
be by smell. He couldn't possibly see much in this storm, and yet the dog
seemed to be performing far better than the men.
Charlie
worked hard to remember the route they had climbed. Though he had been on this
mountain many times before, he had never faced it in conditions that not only
blurred his sight but played tricks on his brain. The raging storm made it seem
that up wasn't necessarily up, and down wasn't necessarily down. The driving
snow confused all angles. Where was he exactly? Looking over his shoulder, he
saw the silhouette of Brenden and Nelson just above him. Waving to the dog and
clapping his hands, he moved forward.
Brenden felt
the dog come to a stop and encouraged him above the storm. "It's all
right, Nelson. It's all right, boy. Let's go, boy, come on."
The animal
didn't move, and Brenden didn't question him. "It's all right, Nelson.
Which way should we go, boy? You tell me."
The big dog
still stayed where he was, and in seconds Brenden understood why. The scream
pierced above the wind as Charlie fell.
"Charlie!"
Brenden cried. "Charlie! Oh no. No, no ..." Brenden said to the dog,
"Where's Charlie, Nelson?"
Pain seared
through Charlie Evans, but the reality that he was alive gave him hope. He came
to rest deep in a crevasse, with his legs pinned under something. He tried to
move and nearly passed out from the pain. Looking up he could just barely see
the outline of Brenden's jacket and gauged the distance at about fifty or sixty
feet.
"Brenden!"
he screamed. "Stay where you are! Stay where you are!"
"Charlie!
Charlie! Are you all right?"
"I don't
know. I'm wedged under some rocks, and I'm finding it hard to breathe. I think
some ribs are broken."
"Can I
throw you a rope, drag you out?"
"I don't
think so, man."
"What
about coming down? Can Nelson and I get to you?"
Charlie
studied the face of the rock above him.
"Maybe,
but if you did, I don't think you could climb out. It's a sheer face, and I
don't see any hand or foot holds." Charlie was wrenched by coughing.
"Oh no," he said. "Something's really busted up inside, Brenden.
I'm coughing up blood and stuff."
"Do you
have your cell phone, Charlie?" Brenden yelled. "Can you dial in
emergency?"
"I
already checked, man. It's on, but I lost it in the fall. They'd have to dial
us to get a signal."
Now the cough
came again, and Brenden could hear the sound of gagging as blood clogged his
friend's throat, choking him.
"It's
got to be internal bleeding," Charlie said, his voice weakening. "I
don't know, Brenden. I don't know if I can make it."
Brenden
struggled to maintain emotional control. All the feelings relating to his own
accident flooded his mind, as if he were watching it on a big screen, only this
time in slow motion. He was instantly ravaged by guilt.
His friend
Charlie was in danger, maybe dying, and it was his fault. It was his idea to
come up here. His vanity. His need— to what? To overcome his blindness? To deny
its power over him? He knew that it was up to him to save his friend. But how?
How could he convince the dog to keep working his way down the mountain to find
help? And how would he—a blind man—be able to return and find Charlie? Could he
make the animal understand? Would God hear his prayer and give him the ability
to communicate with the magnificent dog?
"Charlie,"
Brenden called through the storm. "Charlie, we'll get help. Just hang on,
Charlie. Hang on."
Brenden knelt
on the ground next to the animal, cradling the dog's head in his hands, trying
to look into his friend's eyes, working to communicate.
"Listen,
Nelson, we have to do this alone, boy. We have to get down. We have to go
home."
The dog
tilted his head up toward his master as if he were listening, trying to
understand.
"We have
to get help for Charlie, Nelson. You're going to have to do this, boy. You can
do it, pal. I know you can."
Brenden
wondered if the dog was reading his fear.
"Okay,
Nelson, are you ready? Let's try it, boy. Let's go."
The dog took
his position facing down the mountain. "Let's go, Nelson. Forward. I'll be
back, Charlie!" Brenden called over his shoulder. "I'll be
back!"
He heard his
friend cough again and prayed he wouldn't be too late.
Mora and Kat
sat in the living room of Mora's house sharing a glass of wine, but not sharing
much conversation. Both of them looked at the storm outside, and each tried to
keep the other from seeing the worry in her eyes. Though wind and sleet were
pounding the windowpanes in Denver, they both understood that up there, up on
the Bells, Brenden and Charlie would be experiencing whiteout blizzard
conditions.
Mora had
tried Charlie's cell phone five or six times over the last half hour and got no
answer.
"He said
he'd always have it on," Mora finally told Kat. "He said he'd call us
when they summited and then again when they got down, and I haven't heard
anything."
"Do you
think it might be time to alert the rescue team?" Kat asked, her voice
quavering.
"I don't
know," Mora said. "They're both incredibly competent mountain men,
and I don't want to be an alarmist, but I think we'd better have a conversation
with Aspen Rescue."
"I'll
call," Kathleen said. "I've met some of those guys through Charlie,
and I can probably talk to someone I know. I'm not sure what they do in these
conditions. I mean, climbing at night is dangerous enough, but climbing at
night in a storm like this? I just don't know."
When the
Aspen Rescue team leader learned that Charlie Evans was on the mountain and
that he was up there with Brenden McCarthy, it didn't take long for him to pull
members together. Most of them had been up there a year ago as part of the
group who found Brenden. Now the blind man and his friend Charlie, someone they
all respected, were out there somewhere in the storm.
The team
assembled, and by nine o'clock, with Zeon lights and night glasses, climbers
began to move up the slope.
Brenden was not only
blind
, but
as the storm worsened, he was completely sensory deprived. Touch was no longer
relevant. With snow covering the ground, footing was impossible to feel. He was
surprised that the storm absorbed all sound. It reminded him of what it had
been like when he was a boy, fishing with his father off the California coast
when the fog rolled in. Now he was not only blind, the absorption of every
audio cue made him deaf.
With taste
and smell meaning nothing, he was—what was he? He was dependent on the black
dog who moved through the darkness and the snow-covered ground with instincts
cultivated long before recorded time, and love crafted in the day-to-day work
of a man and his animal.
Brenden found
that he was getting hoarse trying to scream encouragement to the dog above the
wind.
"It's
okay, Nelson," he said. "Good dog. I get it, pal. Forward. Good dog.
Wait. Wait. Let me get my feet set, boy." Somehow Brenden was sure that
the animal understood.