Free Denali's Howl: The Deadliest Climbing Disaster on America's Wildest Peak by Andy Hall Page A

change over 4.5 miles hardly constituted downhill skiing, and a long argument ensued. Both Clark and McLaughlin had more experience skiing in the mountains than Joe Wilcox and contended that they were more qualified to say whether or not skis were safe.
    Howard Snyder, the leader of the Colorado group, tried to end the quarrel: “Tell you what, Joe. You take one skier on your rope and I’ll take all the rest of ’em on mine.” His attempt at a joke (there were only two skiers) broke the atmosphere of growing hostility.
    Wilcox had been lax in enforcing some of the expedition rules thus far, consciously abandoning the plan to rope up to cross the McKinley River and turning a blind eye to those risking giardia by drinking unfiltered water from tundra ponds during the hike in. They were low on the glacier, where crevasses were rare and those oversights might not have serious consequences. Higher up, though, there was less margin for error.
    “I know the rules are conservative,” he said as the wet snow did its best to find a way through his rain gear, “but we have to be overly cautious on a climb of this magnitude.” He continued, “I agreed to assume the responsibility of leading this expedition under a set of ground rules, and I am willing to continue only if I have your full support.”
    He asked if there were any other concerns, but the men grew quiet, then the ever-lighthearted Walt Taylor broke the silence. “I didn’t have any until we called this meeting,” he said. “Now I’m all wet.” Rueful laughter along with nods of agreement broke out as the meeting adjourned.
    Wilcox felt he had made it clear that he expected the men to follow the expedition rules, and then further established that the rules could be changed if the change made sense and didn’t compromise safety. The gradient over the 4 miles between McGonagall Pass and the Lower Icefall is nearly imperceptible whether going up or down. McLaughlin and Clark kept using their skis following the morning meeting. Russell had been overruled.
    The next day, still angry about the ski use, Russell refused to clip into a rope team that included Clark. When Wilcox heard about Russell’s refusal, he put his foot down and in the heat of the moment told Russell that he might be better off leaving the expedition after all. This time Russell acquiesced, though he managed to avoid Clark’s rope for the remainder of the climb. Russell was revealing himself to be a divisive force within the expedition, and Wilcox recognized it. Still, Wilcox wanted to get everyone up the mountain, and that included Russell despite his outburst.
    The piles of gear amassing at the top of the pass had attracted Russell’s ire two days earlier, and he suggested to Snyder and Wilcox that they were carrying too much gear and should leave behind both of the Colorado team’s stoves, one of the four stoves carried by the Wilcox team, and all the expedition’s shovel handles, using their ice axes as handles when needed. Wilcox agreed to jettison a stove and the shovel handles, but Snyder refused. He kept his stoves and would carry the expedition’s only complete shovel.
    “Consequently, the Colorado group’s shovel was in demand at every camp,” Snyder observed.
    John Russell’s preoccupation with weight seemed out of character for the man who, upon joining the expedition, boasted of packing 100 pounds above 10,000 feet and promised to carry more on Denali. Indeed, just days earlier he had carried a pack weighing 115 pounds from the horse cache to McGonagall Pass.
    Leaving the handles, shovels, and saws behind was a staggering mistake. Though their packs were lighter as a result, shovels and saws were essential for building walls and snow shelters to protect against deadly windstorms. More mundanely, they were needed daily to clear campsites, build tent platforms, collect snow for melting, and to keep tents from collapsing during heavy snowfalls. By leaving them behind they