A DEVASTATING HIGHBALL

British Columbia, East Kootenay, Bootleg Boulders

On June 16, rock season was in full swing in the East Kootenay region. The sport climbers were sending at Lakit Lake, alpine climbers were planning for the Bugaboos, and the small community of boulderers were finding new rocks to climb. 

I’m Drew Leiterman (age 31), and I’ve been climbing for 13 years. I had just met overstoker Steve on Facebook. He’d been scrubbing a bunch of boulders on Bootleg Mountain and was going to show me the work he’d been doing. We decided to pack only one pad each because this was mainly a recon mission and there was a lot of scrambling on the hillside. After a couple of hours of exploring, we ended up at a nice sector about a half hour uphill from the parking area. We chucked our pads down and warmed up on some easy problems. 

We found a nice unclimbed highball with good holds. It started with 15 feet of incuts on vertical rock, then went into a slight overhang for the last five feet. I climbed with ease to the top (V1-ish) only to get stumped on the final mantel. Above the lip, the rock was void of holds and was still pretty dirty. After trying unsuccessfully to figure it out, I decided to downclimb (it was well within my ability) and check it out from above.

After reversing two moves, as I moved my left hand down, my right handhold broke. I fell and somehow landed a foot away from the crash pads. Steve had been spotting me, but the combination of the height and the sudden fall made things tricky, to say the least. I actually landed partly on him, throwing him back, and he ended up with some pretty bad bruising on his torso. 

It felt like I’d sprained my left ankle, so I lifted up my leg to check it out. It was the worst-case scenario—my talus bone had exploded out of the side of my foot. My foot was detached from my lower leg and held on by a bit of skin.    

Like any true millennial, my first reaction was to take a selfie. I made sure the exposed white bone and freshly snapped tendons and ligaments were framed with my (trying to smile) face. We put on a tourniquet. We had no cell service and hadn’t brought a satellite phone on our “casual” day of bouldering. We’d also scrambled up a lot of loose talus, so getting a piggyback from Steve seemed dangerous. It was close to 6:30 p.m., and we decided the best action was for Steve to run to his vehicle and drive to where he could get a cell signal. His car was parked near my van.

Almost a year prior, a friend had severed his finger in a rappelling accident in the mountains. We had called SAR to get him to a hospital to get it reattached, but it took several hours for the helicopter to arrive. With that in mind and it being close to dark, I wasn’t excited to wait around. I waited five minutes (which felt like hours) and then started crawling down the talus toward my van. For the most part it went fine, switching between scooting on my butt and downclimbing using my knees and good foot. My bad foot would flop uncontrollably, and the bone would move in and out of place.

At one point I had to overcome an oven-size boulder. Just as I was getting to the bottom of it, the whole thing started to shift. I got out of the way, but in my haste, I touched my bloody stump on the ground. I sat there for five minutes, feeling lucky I wasn’t pinned, but also looking at all the dirt I had accumulated on my wound. I was mindful that I was probably in shock and could pass out at any moment. I continued to push on. After about 45 minutes to an hour, I made it back to my van.

Steve had gone to call help, and there was no way to communicate with him, as I still didn’t have cell signal. My brain was in full survival mode. Nothing could stop me from getting to the hospital. I started driving. (Thankfully my van is an automatic.) I drove for 15 to 20 minutes toward town when I saw an ambulance coming toward me. I pulled over and waved them down. They were surprised, to say the least, that I was driving in my condition. Steve drove up a little after I waved down the ambulance.

In the hospital I found out that when my foot impacted the ground, my talus bone had dislocated from my calcaneus (heel bone) and broken through the skin; the impact snapped two tendons, blood vessels, nerves, and most of the ligaments on the inside of my ankle. I had two surgeries in seven days. 

ANALYSIS 

Fast-forward ten months and I have 80 percent mobility back. I’m climbing and working, and very optimistic for a full recovery.

Thinking back, I believe Steve and I made the right decision to get me to the hospital as quickly as possible. The doctor later told me that the sooner they can operate, the better their chances for saving a foot after an accident like mine. But I don’t think they would promote “hiking” or driving in that condition. I also knew that a tourniquet could cause serious complications, but I wanted to keep the blood flow to a minimum so I opted to keep it on.

I think bouldering can be more dangerous than most people think. I fell maybe 15 feet and missed my pads by a foot or less. What would I do in the future? Bring more pads and scope the top-out before going for anything that’s too tall for a fall. (Source: Drew Leiterman.)

A Note From The Editor: We don’t publish a lot of bouldering reports in Accidents in North American Climbing, but not because such accidents are rare. With the lower-leg injuries that most boulderers suffer, they usually are able to self-rescue, so no official report is generated. I’m grateful to climbers like Drew who send us their stories, and I encourage other boulderers to do the same, particularly when an important lesson can be shared.

In my first six months on the job, I’ve been very impressed by our contributors and volunteer editors. Without them, the Accidents book would not exist. I also appreciate the courage it takes for accident victims to speak up. To do so might risk criticism or embarrassment, yet reports like these make a real difference to our community, and you might just save a life. Want to share a story? Write to me at [email protected]. — Pete Takeda, Editor

SPRING AND SUMMER AVALANCHES

It’s peak season for snow climbs in many parts of North America, which means it’s time for heightened awareness of avalanche hazards. Many people consider only backcountry skiing and snowboarding when they think about avalanche danger, but in spring and summer, it’s climbers who face the highest risk. More than 70 percent of U.S. avalanche fatalities in the month of May have involved climbers, and nearly 90 percent in June. Brush up on your knowledge base with guide Matt Schonwald’s in-depth “Know the Ropes” article from our 2020 edition: “Avalanches: Spring and Summer Hazards for Mountaineers.”

Beacon Safety Check

A small number of PIEPS and Black Diamond avalanche beacons have been found with malfunctioning electronic components that may prevent the transceiver from switching between “Send” and “Search” modes. In April, Black Diamond published a list of transceiver models that should be inspected, along with instructions for a home safety check . If you own a PIEPS or Black Diamond beacon, be sure to follow the instructions here and learn what to do if your beacon fails the test.

THE SHARP END: LIVE AT THE AAC BENEFIT WEEKEND

The latest Sharp End podcast, an interview with Canadian athlete Adam Campbell, was recorded live at the AAC’s annual benefit weekend in Denver on March 26. Adam and his wife, Laura Kosakoski, were backcountry skiing with a friend in Banff National Park, Alberta, on January 10, 2020. As they began their descent, Laura went first. When Adam approached the slope, he triggered an avalanche that pushed Laura into a terrain trap and buried her with more than 12 feet of snow. Adam has had to live with the grief and trauma of triggering the slide and losing his wife ever since. His emotional story and candor made for a powerful show in Denver, and now you can hear the full interview at home.

The Prescription newsletter is published monthly by the American Alpine Club. Questions? Suggestions? Write to us at [email protected].