The extracting and inserting went just fine. Two more NPS rangers had dropped in. Brian Hasebe and Rich Lechleitner came with a ton of the climbing rope that was going to make the lowering of the backboarded Jesse possible. The CH-47 sailed away and left the four of us to the quiet of the mountain and the pounding of our hearts. (At least mine seemed to be making a lot of noise.) Brian, Rich and Chris seemed to be taking everything nicely in stride. It was suggested later that Chris and I might reasonably have opted out and left on that Chinook rather than staying for the next stage of things, but I doubt that either of us seriously considered that plan at the time. Although I was frightened of dying that evening, I wouldn't have been able to imagine that some other qualified volunteer was more "expendable" and should have come in to replace me.

Our crash had occurred at 4 p.m. and Jesse had been hit in the head at 8:30 that morning. Night would come on before too long and none of us wanted to think of the worst case scenario with a head injury. That being an internal brain bleed causing havoc in the night because we hadn't gotten the guy out when we had the chance.

We loaded up heavy packs and roped together. It is strange tying up to folks you don't know. There is a lot of trust involved, and suspicion. Chris and I had told each other just enough about ourselves to make the proper leap. Everything I saw convinced me quickly that he knew his rescue business and the short and sweet version of my big shot speech convinced him that I'd be okay on the front end of the climbing rope.

So I had a job, get the four of us up to that accident site. I got marching uphill, headed for the bergschrund and wondering how we'd get across it without getting creamed. I had the big advantage of being able to follow the tracks that Stefan and Nick had left when they'd climbed to the site, but even so, I didn't like the 'schrund one bit.

My legs sank down through the gooey snow and found new ways into the void beneath. And being below the surface of the steep slope above, I had trouble knowing just which rocks were rolling down and threatening to visit the 'schrund at breakneck speed.

I cursed out loud and pulled my legs back onto firmer snow. I was wondering if I could gracefully retreat when I saw Chris pointing back to where a small avalanche of ice blocks had just crossed the tracks we'd made 10 minutes earlier. Staying in any one place seemed like a lousy option. I pushed on across and with relief made it onto the upper edge of the crack. I could see now if rock threatened us. I could see up to the base of that cliff band where the four men were waiting with the patient. I could see a ton of sweat pouring into my eyes. I could see my crampon points digging in and holding in the mush if I kicked my boots hard enough. I could see that same maneuver over and over as my lungs started moving oceans of air to get enough for the work. And then it finally all felt good and familiar for a time, even the wondering if my heart would explode before I got where I wanted to get. The burn in my muscles erased the whiplash of the crash.

Each time I looked up, that semi-sheltered rock band and those rangers got a little closer. I told myself to do less looking, to do more climbing, more sweating. Chris, Brian and Rich steamed along calmly and smoothly behind me, each with his own sweat and heavy load.

— Dave Hahn, MountainZone.com Columnist