Chemistry of Fire

  The Chemistry of Fire

  Essays by Laurence Gonzales

  The University of Arkansas Press

  Fayetteville

  2020

  Copyright © 2020 by Laurence Gonzales. All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 978-1-68226-151-4

  eISBN: 978-1-61075-733-1

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  24 23 22 21 20 5 4 3 2 1

  The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of the American National Standard for Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials Z39.48-1984.

  Designed by Liz Lester

  Cataloging-in-Publication Data on file at the Library of Congress

  “Johnny Winter” first appeared in Playboy in December 1974; “The Cult of War” first appeared in Notre Dame Magazine in Summer 1989; “Change Redemption” first appeared in Men’s Journal in May 1995; “ValuJet Crash” first appeared in Men’s Journal in September 1996; “Stealing Titanic” first appeared in National Geographic Adventure in Spring 1999; “Space Station” first appeared in National Geographic Adventure in Fall 1999; “Spring Opening” first appeared in Men’s Journal in Fall 1997; “Hill Fever” first appeared in National Geographic Adventure in October 2004; and “Mount Washington” first appeared in National Geographic Adventure in November 2004.

  This book is dedicated to

  Debbie, Elena, Simon,

  Amelia, Terry, Jonas,

  Emmett, Carolyn Claire,

  Francis Henry,

  and Annelise Carolyn

  Your cowardice may keep

  You from your assignation with my ghost,

  The love you promised me when I was dust,

  Not air. And yet I cannot even sleep,

  I cannot die, but I will feel my ghost

  Driven to find this orchard every year,

  This picnic ground, and wait till everyone

  Tires of the sundown, turns the headlights on,

  To float them off like moths into the dark.

  I will stand up to strip my hunger off,

  And stare, and mumble, knowing all your love

  Is cut beside my name on the white rock,

  While you forget the promise and the year.

  You sat beside the bed, you took my hands;

  And when I lay beyond all speech, you said,

  You swore to love me after I was dead,

  To meet me in a grove and love me still,

  Love the white air, the shadow where it lay.

  Dear love, I called your name in air today,

  I saw the picnic vanish down the hill,

  And waved the moon awake, with empty hands.

  —JAMES WRIGHT, “The Assignation”

  No one remembers. Even you, my brother,

  summer afternoons you look at me as though

  you meant to leave,

  as though it never happened.

  But I killed for you. I see armed firs,

  the spires of that gleaming kiln—

  Nights I turn to you to hold me

  but you are not there.

  Am I alone? Spies

  hiss in the stillness, Hansel,

  we are there still and it is real, real,

  that black forest and the fire in earnest.

  —LOUISE GLÜCK, “Gretel in Darkness”

  CONTENTS

  1 · Mount Washington

  2 · Change Redemption

  3 · Stealing Titanic

  4 · The Zendo, the Dojo, and the Superbike

  5 · Hill Fever

  6 · The All-Seeing Eye

  7 · The Blowdown

  8 · ValuJet Crash

  9 · Spring Opening

  10 · Johnny Winter

  11 · Space Station

  12 · The Cult of War

  13 · Ballerina with a Gun

  14 · The Chemistry of Fire

  Acknowledgments

  1

  Mount Washington

  WHEN MONROE COUPER and Erik Lattey left Harvard Cabin in Huntington Ravine, the weather was not bad, considering that they were on Mount Washington. The temperature was in the teens, and the wind gusts ranged from forty to sixty miles an hour on the summit. The weather was forecast to hold, and since they didn’t plan to go to the summit, they weren’t worried. They were going to climb a frozen waterfall known as Pinnacle Gully and be back at the cabin before dark. They decided to travel light and leave their larger overnight packs at the cabin.

  Climbing magazine had recently published an article about an ascent of Pinnacle Gully, an exciting story of triumph over adversity, which had attracted a lot of climbers to that route. No one knows if Couper and Lattey had read it, but they were enthusiastic novice ice climbers and well may have. The story worried Mountain Rescue Service volunteers who felt that it might encourage people to push on beyond their abilities. Couper and Lattey thought of Pinnacle as an easy climb, a natural next step after the guided trips and climbs the two had completed during previous seasons. They were wrong.

  While the two men were hiking up the broad and rugged trail toward Pinnacle, Alain Comeau, a leader with Mountain Rescue Service and a local guide, was taking a group up another trail. He saw fast-moving clouds on the horizon. As he said later, “I’ve been in the worst weather on Mount Washington.” He knew how bad it could be. He started his group back down to seek shelter. Bill Aughton, director of search and rescue at the Appalachian Mountain Club, was also guiding that day. He was so impressed that he photographed the weather before turning his group around.

  Comeau had guided Monroe Couper and had taught him ice climbing. “He’d had a bit of experience before that,” Comeau told me. “He wanted to learn to lead. He wanted to move off on his own. But the Pinnacle was not the right next step. It’s a serious climb in a serious environment. A lot of people aspire to a climb like that. Technically he could have done it, maybe, on a good day in perfect conditions. But Pinnacle is a vertical ice climb and very technical. On a scale of one to five, this is a three plus. They had all brand-new gear, too, which tells you something.”

  As Couper and Lattey reached the base of the gully, they realized that in their rush to get started, they had forgotten their climbing rope. It was noon by the time they’d returned to Harvard Cabin, retrieved the rope, and left again to make the strenuous hike for the third time. After that, they would have been tired and therefore much more vulnerable to hypothermia. “They definitely would have been sweaty when they started,” Comeau said. “And in this environment, it’s essential to stay dry.”

  They could have easily calculated that they no longer had the time to make the climb and descend before dark. They could have seen the weather moving in, as Comeau had. They could have recognized that leaving your rope behind is a sign of mental impairment. And even if all that evidence didn’t deter them, they could have read the big yellow signs posted at the trailheads. They say, “Stop.” Then in smaller letters, “The area ahead has the worst weather in America.” Not some of the worst, but the worst. General Electric tested early turbojet engines on top of Mount Washington because of that. The notice continues unequivocally: “Many have died there from exposure, even in the summer. Turn back now if the weather is bad.”

  Even without the posted warning signs, they could have looked up to see what Comeau and Aughton saw.

  Couper and Lattey pressed on.

  The mythology is that anyone can get up Mount Washington, if not to ski, then at least to stand on top and look around. Every year, many people do. But a beautiful day on Mount Washington can turn bitter so fast that most people can’t imagine it. They’ve never seen or felt anything like it, so they don’t have that true belief we get from direct experience. Like falling into icy
water, it shocks and numbs and defeats people before they have a chance to think clearly. The first person to climb Mount Washington in winter conditions was also the first person to die there. In October 1849, Frederick Strickland, an English gentleman bent on experiencing the outdoors, began his climb. Ill-informed and ill-prepared, he succumbed to hypothermia, ripped off his clothes, and died short of the summit. Scores of people have died there. But death is only one measure of the hazards. For every body that comes back, dozens more have been injured or have suffered needlessly and have had to be rescued. As on Everest, some dead climbers have never been brought back.

  Recently, I hiked up Tuckerman Ravine Trail on the first beautiful warm day of spring to see some of the half-million people who visit there each year. As I slogged up the steep, slippery slush in a dense forest of birch and pine richly floored with blowdown and the damage from ice storms, I was never out of sight of at least a dozen people on the switchbacks. The sun was warm, casting a cathedral light through the trees. I saw octogenarians in long johns and six-year-olds in high-tech, expedition-weight summit gear. There were snowshoes and no shoes and serious-looking people with ice-climbing gear. Everyone was grinning, joking, saying hi to strangers. It seemed utterly unreal that a day like this could turn nightmarish in a whiteout blizzard within a matter of minutes.

  After studying accidents for decades, I had come to Tuckerman Ravine with a question in mind: How do smart, capable, even well-prepared people—people such as Monroe Couper, 40, and Erik Lattey, 28—make seemingly stupid mistakes and end up in such serious trouble? There are many happy places with dark secrets—from the beaches of southern Lake Michigan with their deadly rip currents, to Longs Peak in Colorado with its grand slippery slide that sucks people in. And when it comes to death and suffering, those places have one thing in common: people—even experienced people—underestimate the hazards and overestimate their ability to cope with them.

  Located within a day’s drive of nearly a quarter of the nation’s population, Mount Washington is what modern-day search and rescue volunteers call “instant wilderness.” (The Potomac River is another such place of high hazard and seemingly bland complexion within easy reach of millions.) We travel from the relatively safe environments of cities and suburbs, where our mistakes are generously forgiven, and we may bring with us the careless ways we’ve learned there. Worse still, we travel to these danger zones and have a benign experience of them (such as my experience on Mount Washington on that beautiful sunny day). And that gives us a false sense of security and a misplaced confidence.

  Mount Washington, the highest peak in the Presidential Range, is only 6,288 feet high. Most people don’t take it seriously. “Climbers from out west like to say that they have to dig to get to six thousand feet,” Rick Wilcox told me. He is co-owner of International Mountain Equipment and one of the founders of the specialized Mountain Rescue Service.

  Rick Estes, who conceived and headed that service, says, “People come here and say, ‘I’ve climbed K2. I’ve climbed Annapurna. How bad can Washington be?’”

  Three major storm tracks converge on the top of Mount Washington. The jet stream runs across the summit, while the cold Labrador Current and the warm Gulf Stream meet off the coast. A local weather observer told me that this weather system is called “the exhaust pipe” of the continent.

  The average wind speed on Mount Washington is 44 miles an hour in winter and 26 miles an hour in summer. Averages can be deceptive. A typical average wind speed in the lowlands is 4 to 8 miles an hour. Corrected for altitude, the wind on Mount Washington is about fifteen times stronger. Winds with the velocity of a hurricane occur on the summit two out of three days from November to April and three out of four days in January, the windiest month.

  Wind itself is a deceptive force. A hurricane is defined by a wind going 73 miles an hour or more. But a wind of 100 miles an hour exerts twice the force of that. It’s not linear. Nicholas Howe, an authority on accidents in the Presidential Range, wrote in his book, Not Without Peril, about one night when the pen went off the recording chart at 162 miles an hour: “Facing the wind made it difficult to exhale, back to the wind made it difficult to get a breath in. Strictly speaking, it was physics, but it felt like drowning in an ocean of air.”

  Unlike conditions in the lower elevations, where the coldest days are the calmest, Mount Washington’s lowest temperatures occur along with its highest winds. Charles F. Brooks of the Mount Washington Observatory wrote, “Temperatures of 30 below zero coupled with winds in excess of 100 mph are not uncommon.”

  In May alone, 20 to 30 inches of snow can fall. On the summit, 250 inches of snow fall each year on average. But most of the snow that people encounter is blown to lower elevations by the wind. Nothing stays on top for long. “An inch on the summit equals a foot in the ravines,” Wilcox says. At times you can see the snow boiling off the summit from miles away. It settles on the eastern side of the mountain. “There is no other mountain that has the same loading on the eastern slopes.”

  And yet, if Mount Washington is more extreme than other danger zones, it’s not entirely exceptional, either. The fact is, most people do not die or even get seriously injured when visiting Mount Washington or other popular places where obvious hazards exist. I make a distinction between hazard and danger. Danger comes when you suspend your awareness of the hazard and refuse to change your plan.

  Wet and tired before they began, Couper and Lattey struggled from the start. At Pinnacle Gully, other climbers watched the two move at an agonizingly slow pace up the first pitch of a mere 150 feet.

  “They should have taken a couple of hours on that at most,” Wilcox told me, “but it took them close to four hours.” That should have made it obvious to Couper and Lattey that it was time to quit. “A simple rappel down to the bottom—two ice screws worth maybe fifty bucks each—what’s your life worth?” Wilcox asked. “They would have come back another day.”

  But by then hypothermia would have had a chance to set in, as each man had to take a turn standing still in the cold to belay the other in sweaty, inadequate clothing. Whatever water they hadn’t drunk would certainly have been frozen.

  “If you look at the etiology of a lot of these accidents, you find that they are due to dehydration,” says Maury McKinney, who is Wilcox’s partner at International Mountain Sports and a member of the Mountain Rescue Service. The dehydration sets in motion a physical and mental deterioration that will eventually result in death from exposure. Add exhaustion, and the downward spiral is that much more rapid.

  At the top of the first pitch, they faced another five hundred feet of climbing on similar ice. The normal turnaround time is three o’clock at the latest, but Couper and Lattey were seen there, hanging on the wall and not making good progress, at five in the evening.

  “The last climbers to pass them were around three thirty–ish,” Wilcox said, “and they were still a good distance from the top of the gully, maybe halfway up with four hundred feet to go. Daylight ends at four thirty or five here at that time of year. Couper and Lattey had asked the group that passed them if they’d wait at the top and show them the way down, a walk-off route.” But as it grew dark, the group couldn’t wait any longer.

  Reaching the top, Couper and Lattey found themselves on an exposed slab, in darkness, with temperatures that were rapidly dropping toward minus twenty-five and winds rising to gusts of 108 miles an hour. Comeau said, “There’s no real way down once you get to the top. You’re really exposed for a mile of horrendous travel across the Alpine Garden.”

  At the same time, the other climbers had made it down to Harvard Cabin and began noticing the two packs. No one in the cabin knew whom the packs belonged to. Searchers around town on this Saturday night began to hear their beepers go off.

  In any hazardous situation, there are three zones: the safe zone, the danger zone, and the dead zone. By leaving the safety of the cabin and hiking up Huntington Ravine, Couper and Lattey had passed from relative
safety into the danger zone out on the ice. Because of hypothermia, dehydration, and exhaustion, they were unable to process new information. “Their judgment was failing as they got deeper and deeper into trouble,” said Wilcox. They had one way out, and they could no longer think clearly enough to take it.

  That is the heart of the mystery of why rational people do irrational things: they were no longer making decisions. Their mistakes were all behind them, stretching back for months. Their fate was purely physical by then. Their bodies were simply going up the wall of ice without the aid of reason, following an outdated plan toward an imagined idea of rest and safety that no longer existed.

  “It’s the repeats that get to you,” Wilcox said. We sat talking in his cluttered office at International Mountain Sports, which lies in the shadow of Mount Washington in North Conway, New Hampshire. Wilcox and McKinney can outfit and train you for anything from a day hike to an Everest expedition. (Wilcox made it up Everest himself, while McKinney climbed K2). Since 1972, Wilcox has been on more than five hundred rescue operations. After seeing the same accidents over and over again for thirty years, he said in frustration, “What am I going to do? I sell this stuff to them.”

  One accident repeatedly occurs on the Lion’s Head Trail, the standard hiking route to the summit. It’s not technical, but it is snowy. Crampons are a good idea. Up to a hundred people climb it every weekend, and at least one person a month breaks a leg. It’s the same every time.

  Lion’s Head Trail follows a high ridge from east to west on the north headwall of Tuckerman Ravine. Going up it is straightforward but strenuous and rocky. Going down is slick and tricky. It can also be exhausting, and exhaustion always impairs judgment. Just before the trail begins to drop off the ridge back to Tuckerman Ravine Trail, it borders a long, wide, creamy-looking chute of snow that doesn’t appear to be too steep. White on white is deceptive. At that point, you’re well below the summit, and if you’re not tired, you’re a cardiovascular giant. You’re probably at least a little dehydrated, too, further impairing your judgment. Your body desperately wants to stop walking downhill. And your body almost always gets what it wants. That’s why people see this spot and think: I’ve got a great idea. I’ll slide down. Glissading is a conventional mountaineering technique, but like self-arrest, it takes training and a keen eye for conditions. It also requires removing your crampons.