The Mount Baker Ordeal

by

Dorothy Heiret (Bob's daughter)

in response to

"The Stuff of Which Nightmares are Made"

by

Dr. Robert E. Plucker

Dear Dad,

            It was a beautiful summer day, when I was about 14. We were hosting a foreign exchange student, Aileen, for a few weeks, and decided to take her sight-seeing.  After a long ride in the car I was anxious to do something active.  Mom, Ginny, and Aileen were content to walk the asphalt paths, but you were more adventurous and wanted to get into the snow.  I decided to go with you. I was wearing jeans, presumably a T-shirt, tennis shoes, and a ¾ length red jacket which I had not zipped up.

            You started off ahead of me.  I don’t recall walking side by side.  I think we were just ambling around in an uphill direction.  At one point we came across a snow bank on a steep slope.  The snow was compacted and had been there a while, and it was probably fairly slick on top because the sun was shining.

             I remember trying to walk across the snow, but after a few steps I slipped.  I was face down in the snow with my arms and legs spread-eagled, trying to get a grip of something as I was sliding downhill.  I remember sliding for what felt like a long time, but I don’t think I was especially scared at the time because I couldn’t actually see how high up we were.  It was more like a sledding experience.  I could feel the snow on my bare skin since my open coat was splayed out on either side of me.

            Suddenly, I landed on my feet in a little piece of land that jutted out beyond the snow bank.  It was then that I realized how close I had come to falling off the side of the mountain.  I looked down and then I looked up, and saw you watching in horror from above the snow bank.  I had no idea how I was going to get down, but I was pretty sure I didn’t want to go on the snow bank again.

            Somehow, you made it down to my ledge without sliding off yourself, and you held my hand.  I don’t remember what you did to convince me that the only way back would be to climb up that snow bank, but you succeeded.  I don’t remember a thing about the trip back up or the way home.

            I do remember you hugging me like there was no tomorrow later that evening.

            I have never been back to Mount Baker.

                    

Love, Dot

The Stuff of Which Nightmares are Made

by

Dr. Robert E. Plucker

     Northwest Washingtonians are perhaps more aware of 12,000 foot Mt. Baker than of 14,000 foot Mt. Rainier, which is far away and less visible.  Mt. Baker is volcanic, as is Rainier, and both have the amenities that visitors have come to expect.  Some skiing facilities, parking places at a fairly high altitude, a visitor center or two with souvenirs, hikes, and serious climbs to the summit.  As it happened, my wife and two daughters had a guest, a girl from England staying with us for a few days, and we thought it would be a good idea to take her to see the scenery at Mt. Baker, especially since we had never driven up there (from Everett) ourselves.  The mountain was only about 50 miles to the north and east of us.

     When we arrived, it appeared that my wife and older daughter were more interested in seeing the great views and other attractions of the Visitor Center, so they stayed in that area with the visiting English girl.  Younger daughter Dot and I took off to do a bit of hiking on an easy slope that had the attraction of some left-over granular snow from the previous winter.  After all, this was mid-summer and you didn't see snow every day at that time of the year.  Fortunately the hiking paths were bare of snow; we were wearing street shoes and were not ready for any adventures.

     So off we went, mostly on the path but now and then leaving it to walk over a small snow-patch.  We had a good time walking and looking down from time to time at the parked cars and people strolling about.  We crossed a kind of ridge, out of sight.  We were alone in the silence of mountain serenity.  I made my way to the other side of the ridge, found there was a snow-field there, and started to walk across and downhill.  Suddenly my feet slipped from under me and I found myself sliding a bit too fast toward the far edge of the snow-field which began to look more and more like the edge of a high cliff.  I dug in my fingers, knees, toes, and perhaps even my chin to stop myself from going over the edge.  I came to a halt with a few feet to spare.

     Just as I started to recover from my fright, Dot called from the top of the ridge, "Should I slide down the way you did?"

     Shocked, I yelled back, "NO!   NO!", but she had already lost her footing and was sliding down.  I tried desperately to reach her and catch her before she plunged over the cliff, but I could not move fast enough over the slippery snow.  Over she went, and I did not see her again.

Thanks to Wikipedia for this shot.

     It is hard to imagine how horrified I felt, as I knew, beyond a doubt, that she had fallen hundreds of feet, had hit rocks several times on the way down and would be not only dead but horribly mangled by the time she hit bottom.  I am ashamed to say that one of my secondary thoughts was of myself; "How am I ever going to explain this to my wife? 

     But not hearing any screaming after going over the edge, the way it always happens in the movies, I began to have a thread of hope that maybe she was at least alive, but probably terribly hurt and unable to make a sound.  With great care, slowly I made my way to the crumbling edge of the snow field and found that she had landed on a kind of narrow ledge, perhaps five or six feet below the edge of the drop-off.

     She did not appear to be hurt.  The only way I could think of to rescue her, other than hiking back to the Visitor Center to get help, was to go close, drop the sleeve of my jacket down to her, she could hang on to it, and I could pull her up.  On the other hand, the crumbling edge of the cliff could give way and we could both go down.  So I anchored myself in the snow as carefully as I could, lying prone on the snow.  I dropped my jacket sleeve down so she could reach it.  Then, very gently, I began to pull, all this time trying to stay calm and to speak calming and comforting words to her.  I sometimes think I needed the calm and comfort more than she did, as she was amazingly calm.

     We got her up out of danger and carefully walked back to the Visitor Center.  I was working hard on keeping my composure, not letting on to Dot that I had been sure she was dead, and was trying to come to terms with the fact that the whole misadventure was my fault.  All this happened about thirty-five years ago (or more), and I have only recently stopped having nightmares about it.