Helping Heroes
It was midnight. Phil Packer and I clung to the side of El Capitan in Yosemite National Park, the ground an indeterminate distance below us. The wall was silent apart from the pitter-patter of water showering on us from the lip of the mountain high above.
We were soaked. Phil shivered and tried to remain strong, but it was impossible to hide the fact that he was in a limbo of pain and fatigue, exhausted, having been on the go since 4am. His doctor had advised no more than two hours of exercise a day. It’s difficult to see someone suffer, and unbeknown to me, Phil had gone the day without his usual dose of morphine, so was suffering even more than normal.
Salvation of sorts lay 40 metres above, where the rest of the team had set up camp on a ledge. All Phil had to do was swing out into the void and do 300 pull-ups, and for today, at least, it would be over. Yet each time I tried to swing him away from our portaledge – a kind of folding cot attached to the wall – Phil’s face would show alarm.
Something wasn’t right. So each time, I pulled him back, and we slipped further into despair. It was around this time that I came to the conclusion that climbing El Cap had gone from a crazy adventure to something far more serious. What’s more, I was in charge.
Dark moments
Looking back at my climbing career, there have been many moments of doubt, many moments of fear, even a few moments when I knew – without a shadow of a doubt – that I was about to die (as well as the odd good moment). Yet in all of these dark moments, experienced in places such as Patagonia, Alaska and Greenland, not once did I really ever regret being in such a situation. I’m a grown-up. I knew what I was getting myself into. But in the summer of last year, I found myself really questioning my motivations as a climber and as a human being.
This story began when I decided to climb El Cap with my partner, Karen Darke, partly because she had given up climbing before realising her ambition to climb it – the greatest big wall on the planet – and partly because she wanted a romantic holiday. Now Karen is an extraordinary human being and adventurer, having biked and paddled and skied in some very tough places. The only problem was the fact that she couldn’t walk, having fallen ten metres and broken her back at the age of 21. As I said, she had given up climbing. Or so she thought.
First off, I needed to devise a way for someone who couldn’t use their legs and didn’t have arms like Arnold Schwarzenegger’s to climb up a wall. Mark Wellman – the first paraplegic to climb El Cap – just did straight pull-ups using Jumars, which are clamps that slide up the rope and lock when you pull down on them. To ascend El Cap, Wellman’s partner climbed each section of the route and fixed a rope for Wellman to Jumar up before continuing. I knew that there had to be a better way, because although a strong climber could do about 20 pull-ups, how strong would they be after a couple of thousand? (Wellman took ten days to climb El Cap.)
So, I devised a 3:1 pulley set-up, which meant that the climber would only need to pull a third of their weight. The downside to this approach was that they would need to do three times as many pull-ups. This system worked really well, but then I came across another problem: a pressure sore from a harness digging in could easily lead to months in hospital, or even death. A normal climbing harness would be no good for Karen, as the traditional design relies on the body’s fat and muscle to act as padding. As a wheelchair user, Karen simply didn’t have sufficient natural cushioning. Also, with no core strength, a paraplegic climber would simply hang like a rag doll.
I found some dedicated harnesses for disabled climbers, but none was suitable for climbing El Cap, which, as you can imagine, is a bit niche. The late Don Mabbs – a big-wall climber and climbing instructor who worked with disabled children – suggested we try a paragliding harness. These harnesses are super comfy, lightweight and, best of all, cheap (I doubted Karen would want to use it twice). This worked a treat, and was complemented by a slim alpine harness for sleeping in and as a back-up in case the paragliding harness was unable to withstand the rigours of big-wall climbing.
Our trip up El Cap was an exercise in accelerated learning, with Karen climbing a five-metre tree, a ten-metre climbing wall, a 20-metre crag, the 60-metre Old Man of Stoer (a sea stack to which we had to kayak), and then El Cap. The ascent was, shall we say, emotional, with Karen cranking out 4,000 pull-ups over four days.
We topped out in a snowstorm, totally spent. But, as with most mountains, we were only halfway there. The following day, we had to get back down again, a trip that entailed a nine-hour piggyback. (Karen weighs 65 kilograms, as I’m now very well aware, having been the one doing the piggybacking.) Only when we got down did Karen realise that she had broken her ankle at some point during the climb.
Reflected glory
This ascent raised several interesting questions. What had I gained from climbing El Cap with someone who was disabled? Was I simply looking for reflected glory, with my ambition overriding any sense of responsibility? I joked at the time that I was going to corner the market in disabled big-wall climbing. Little did I know that this would turn out to be pretty close to the truth.
How I found myself with Phil a year later is a long story that started with a chance meeting with one of his friends in a climbing shop. He wanted some advice for a mate who had suffered a spinal injury in Iraq and was hoping to raise £1million for Help for Heroes. By the end of the conversation, I had talked myself into climbing El Cap with Phil.
The project turned out to be a tough undertaking, primarily because Phil had never climbed before and also because his training ended up consisting of climbing a rope just once at a climbing wall. Phil’s lack of climbing skill, allied to the fact that I guessed he hadn’t grasped what an undertaking climbing El Cap was, resulted in my insisting that we go to Yosemite for three weeks. That way we could work up to the climb, get our systems in order and guarantee a safe and successful ascent (or at the very least a safe failure).
From the outset, I also said we should have a crack team, and roped in Ian Parnell, who had climbed the Eiger with Ranulph Fiennes; Paul Tattersall, a guide who worked primarily on the Isle of Skye; and Ben Pritchard, a climbing cameraman who had filmed Ozzy Osbourne’s son Jack climbing El Cap.
Alarm bells rang when Phil asked if he could climb El Cap the week before doing the London Marathon. In response, I pointed out that he would probably be very tired, if not exhausted – both mentally and physically – and that after the marathon would be better. Unfortunately, Phil’s stock rose, and our time window shrank following his two-week marathon until we only had one week to climb El Cap. That’s not long when it takes a day to get there, five days to climb it, and a day to get back to the airport. But, ever the optimist, I agreed to try.
‘I can do this’
And so I came to be hanging on the wall in the dark with Phil, almost a stranger, but nevertheless a human being full of pain and doubt who was in my charge. ‘It just doesn’t feel right, Andy,’ he said as I fished him back again.
I could see Phil was getting close to being dangerously cold, his body unable to regulate itself properly. I looked up and down the wall. In all directions there was only night. Exhausted, I didn’t know what to do. ‘Give it another try Phil… you’re safe… you’re almost there,’ I said.
Phil lowered out, and relaxing a little, found a space in his fear and did a pull-up, then another. It occurred to me that Phil had worked his way up from private to major in the British Army, and that he was undoubtedly stronger than all of us. And he was proud.
‘Ian,’ I shouted up. ‘Ian, you might need to send down a rope and haul Phil up this last bit.’
‘I haven’t come all this way to be pulled up,’ Phil shouted to both of us, a sudden fire lighting up the darkness. ‘I can do this myself.’
And he did.
Mind games on the mountain
Attempting El Capitan by any route, and in any style, is one of the biggest challenges any climber can undertake: mountaineers have the Eiger; rock climbers have El Cap. Agreeing to help someone who is paraplegic to take on such a challenge brings with it a whole new set of issues on top of simply climbing the rock wall. How will they be able to progress without using their feet? What are their medical needs? What added dangers will there be for them on the wall? Will they – and the rest of the team – be strong enough in mind, body and spirit?
When Phil Packer asked me to help him climb El Cap during his year of challenges for Help for Heroes, I knew that together, and with a crack team, we could do it. My belief stemmed from my earlier ascent with Karen Darke, during which we discovered how to make the ascent fun and inclusive, rather than just ‘taking a disabled person up a mountain’.
Nevertheless, the obstacles that Phil faced were even greater. Unlike Karen, he had never climbed in his life. He was scared of heights. And he only had a week to arrive, climb the wall and catch his flight home. Ascending El Cap turned out to be no mean feat.
Ten of the best
Ascending the sheer rock face of El Capitan isn’t an easy task for an experienced, able-bodied climber. For a disabled climber, the difficulties are multiplied, so a little ingenuity was required by Andy to develop a kit system to get Karen and then Phil to the top safely. Here are some of the items they used on their climb
Don’t forget…
…music for motivation. On every nerve-jangling pitch, Phil plugged in his earphones and listened to a Frank Sinatra album. I think that without Sinatra’s voice, the fear, exposure and exhaustion would have been too much for him. Thanks Frank
We were soaked. Phil shivered and tried to remain strong, but it was impossible to hide the fact that he was in a limbo of pain and fatigue, exhausted, having been on the go since 4am. His doctor had advised no more than two hours of exercise a day. It’s difficult to see someone suffer, and unbeknown to me, Phil had gone the day without his usual dose of morphine, so was suffering even more than normal.
Salvation of sorts lay 40 metres above, where the rest of the team had set up camp on a ledge. All Phil had to do was swing out into the void and do 300 pull-ups, and for today, at least, it would be over. Yet each time I tried to swing him away from our portaledge – a kind of folding cot attached to the wall – Phil’s face would show alarm.
Something wasn’t right. So each time, I pulled him back, and we slipped further into despair. It was around this time that I came to the conclusion that climbing El Cap had gone from a crazy adventure to something far more serious. What’s more, I was in charge.
Dark moments
Looking back at my climbing career, there have been many moments of doubt, many moments of fear, even a few moments when I knew – without a shadow of a doubt – that I was about to die (as well as the odd good moment). Yet in all of these dark moments, experienced in places such as Patagonia, Alaska and Greenland, not once did I really ever regret being in such a situation. I’m a grown-up. I knew what I was getting myself into. But in the summer of last year, I found myself really questioning my motivations as a climber and as a human being.
This story began when I decided to climb El Cap with my partner, Karen Darke, partly because she had given up climbing before realising her ambition to climb it – the greatest big wall on the planet – and partly because she wanted a romantic holiday. Now Karen is an extraordinary human being and adventurer, having biked and paddled and skied in some very tough places. The only problem was the fact that she couldn’t walk, having fallen ten metres and broken her back at the age of 21. As I said, she had given up climbing. Or so she thought.
First off, I needed to devise a way for someone who couldn’t use their legs and didn’t have arms like Arnold Schwarzenegger’s to climb up a wall. Mark Wellman – the first paraplegic to climb El Cap – just did straight pull-ups using Jumars, which are clamps that slide up the rope and lock when you pull down on them. To ascend El Cap, Wellman’s partner climbed each section of the route and fixed a rope for Wellman to Jumar up before continuing. I knew that there had to be a better way, because although a strong climber could do about 20 pull-ups, how strong would they be after a couple of thousand? (Wellman took ten days to climb El Cap.)
So, I devised a 3:1 pulley set-up, which meant that the climber would only need to pull a third of their weight. The downside to this approach was that they would need to do three times as many pull-ups. This system worked really well, but then I came across another problem: a pressure sore from a harness digging in could easily lead to months in hospital, or even death. A normal climbing harness would be no good for Karen, as the traditional design relies on the body’s fat and muscle to act as padding. As a wheelchair user, Karen simply didn’t have sufficient natural cushioning. Also, with no core strength, a paraplegic climber would simply hang like a rag doll.
I found some dedicated harnesses for disabled climbers, but none was suitable for climbing El Cap, which, as you can imagine, is a bit niche. The late Don Mabbs – a big-wall climber and climbing instructor who worked with disabled children – suggested we try a paragliding harness. These harnesses are super comfy, lightweight and, best of all, cheap (I doubted Karen would want to use it twice). This worked a treat, and was complemented by a slim alpine harness for sleeping in and as a back-up in case the paragliding harness was unable to withstand the rigours of big-wall climbing.
Our trip up El Cap was an exercise in accelerated learning, with Karen climbing a five-metre tree, a ten-metre climbing wall, a 20-metre crag, the 60-metre Old Man of Stoer (a sea stack to which we had to kayak), and then El Cap. The ascent was, shall we say, emotional, with Karen cranking out 4,000 pull-ups over four days.
We topped out in a snowstorm, totally spent. But, as with most mountains, we were only halfway there. The following day, we had to get back down again, a trip that entailed a nine-hour piggyback. (Karen weighs 65 kilograms, as I’m now very well aware, having been the one doing the piggybacking.) Only when we got down did Karen realise that she had broken her ankle at some point during the climb.
Reflected glory
This ascent raised several interesting questions. What had I gained from climbing El Cap with someone who was disabled? Was I simply looking for reflected glory, with my ambition overriding any sense of responsibility? I joked at the time that I was going to corner the market in disabled big-wall climbing. Little did I know that this would turn out to be pretty close to the truth.
How I found myself with Phil a year later is a long story that started with a chance meeting with one of his friends in a climbing shop. He wanted some advice for a mate who had suffered a spinal injury in Iraq and was hoping to raise £1million for Help for Heroes. By the end of the conversation, I had talked myself into climbing El Cap with Phil.
The project turned out to be a tough undertaking, primarily because Phil had never climbed before and also because his training ended up consisting of climbing a rope just once at a climbing wall. Phil’s lack of climbing skill, allied to the fact that I guessed he hadn’t grasped what an undertaking climbing El Cap was, resulted in my insisting that we go to Yosemite for three weeks. That way we could work up to the climb, get our systems in order and guarantee a safe and successful ascent (or at the very least a safe failure).
From the outset, I also said we should have a crack team, and roped in Ian Parnell, who had climbed the Eiger with Ranulph Fiennes; Paul Tattersall, a guide who worked primarily on the Isle of Skye; and Ben Pritchard, a climbing cameraman who had filmed Ozzy Osbourne’s son Jack climbing El Cap.
Alarm bells rang when Phil asked if he could climb El Cap the week before doing the London Marathon. In response, I pointed out that he would probably be very tired, if not exhausted – both mentally and physically – and that after the marathon would be better. Unfortunately, Phil’s stock rose, and our time window shrank following his two-week marathon until we only had one week to climb El Cap. That’s not long when it takes a day to get there, five days to climb it, and a day to get back to the airport. But, ever the optimist, I agreed to try.
‘I can do this’
And so I came to be hanging on the wall in the dark with Phil, almost a stranger, but nevertheless a human being full of pain and doubt who was in my charge. ‘It just doesn’t feel right, Andy,’ he said as I fished him back again.
I could see Phil was getting close to being dangerously cold, his body unable to regulate itself properly. I looked up and down the wall. In all directions there was only night. Exhausted, I didn’t know what to do. ‘Give it another try Phil… you’re safe… you’re almost there,’ I said.
Phil lowered out, and relaxing a little, found a space in his fear and did a pull-up, then another. It occurred to me that Phil had worked his way up from private to major in the British Army, and that he was undoubtedly stronger than all of us. And he was proud.
‘Ian,’ I shouted up. ‘Ian, you might need to send down a rope and haul Phil up this last bit.’
‘I haven’t come all this way to be pulled up,’ Phil shouted to both of us, a sudden fire lighting up the darkness. ‘I can do this myself.’
And he did.
Mind games on the mountain
Attempting El Capitan by any route, and in any style, is one of the biggest challenges any climber can undertake: mountaineers have the Eiger; rock climbers have El Cap. Agreeing to help someone who is paraplegic to take on such a challenge brings with it a whole new set of issues on top of simply climbing the rock wall. How will they be able to progress without using their feet? What are their medical needs? What added dangers will there be for them on the wall? Will they – and the rest of the team – be strong enough in mind, body and spirit?
When Phil Packer asked me to help him climb El Cap during his year of challenges for Help for Heroes, I knew that together, and with a crack team, we could do it. My belief stemmed from my earlier ascent with Karen Darke, during which we discovered how to make the ascent fun and inclusive, rather than just ‘taking a disabled person up a mountain’.
Nevertheless, the obstacles that Phil faced were even greater. Unlike Karen, he had never climbed in his life. He was scared of heights. And he only had a week to arrive, climb the wall and catch his flight home. Ascending El Cap turned out to be no mean feat.
Ten of the best
Ascending the sheer rock face of El Capitan isn’t an easy task for an experienced, able-bodied climber. For a disabled climber, the difficulties are multiplied, so a little ingenuity was required by Andy to develop a kit system to get Karen and then Phil to the top safely. Here are some of the items they used on their climb
Start the slideshow (10 pictures)
Don’t forget…
…music for motivation. On every nerve-jangling pitch, Phil plugged in his earphones and listened to a Frank Sinatra album. I think that without Sinatra’s voice, the fear, exposure and exhaustion would have been too much for him. Thanks Frank
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