The steeper and higher a mountain becomes, the more severe are the forces of nature that serve to tear it down. Wind, running water, changes of temperature, swift avalanches, slow-moving glaciers, ricocheting fall­ing rocks—these elements are ever at work taking a moun­tain apart, reducing it to low-lying sediments which, in ages to come, will rise again to new heights. Much of the skill of the mountaineer is devoted, during the specific acts of tearing apart, to being somewhere else at the time. He must know the objective dangers of mountains—those which the mountain thrusts upon him; knowing them, he may avoid them. The better he knows their exact limits, the broader the routes of safe travel between them will seem to him, and the greater may be his accomplishment in mountains; more important esthetically, in an absence of unnecessary worry, he can enjoy his mountains im­measurably more.

It is assumed that the skier has already followed the principles of leadership, preparation, timing, and choice of route laid down in a preceding chapter, has thus been able to reach the base of a high mountain, and that he is now wondering what to do next. He may very well wonder what got into him to bring him to such a state of affairs; but that question cannot be answered here, and indeed has not been answered adequately in all moun­taineering literature.

Mountain Structure

Description of each major type of high-mountain struc­ture and its relation to objective danger will assist the skier's search for a route that will best lead him past a mountain, or to its summit.

Gentle slopes: the valley and foothill.—A ski tourer knows the problems of gentle terrain full well. It is men­tioned here merely because it provides a final good per­spective of the mountain. From the valley the mountain­eer can make his final careful appraisal of:

1. The prospective weather. If prospects are bad he may well ask "Is this trip necessary?" There is little point in climbing in storm today to a summit that will be in sunshine tomorrow.
   
   
2. The size of the mountain—its over-all height, the height of individual pitches, its remoteness.
   
   
3. The map. He can study his map and notes as they relate to the mountain he sees.
   
   
4. The route. He can make a general outline of his course, remembering that on the mountain proper he, like persons who can't see the forest for the trees, may not see the route for the rock. A sketch may help.
   
   
5. The time. An average yardstick: 21/2 miles per hour for horizontal, and 1,000 feet per hour for verti­cal distance. The time may be cut; on the other hand, horizontal and vertical speed drops to zero on Mount Everest. A good margin of safety contains a generous margin of time.
   
   
6. The equipment—mechanical and physical. A final check should be made in gentle terrain. Once the party is on difficult ground, failure of an ax may result in turn­ing back; failure of a man must so result.

Corridors: steep-walled valleys, canyons, ravines.—The steepness of corridor walls, as well as their height, ac­centuates a danger discussed more fully under Avalanches. Snow slopes along many streams may be perfectly free of avalanche danger, but the walls may extend up to where possibility of avalanche is great indeed. The skier must weigh the danger, study the canyon walls for signs of past avalanches, and see that his route skirts those signs if the danger is believed appreciable. If the wall is forested, there may be avalanche swaths cut through the forest, and piles of avalanche debris may fan out on the floor. Above timberline there may be cornices or hanging glaciers poised above the route, their threat just as real even though clouds conceal them. The threat may vary from that of a few thawing and falling icicles in a mild Western canyon to such Himalayan cataclysms as fall from 10,000-foot escarpments to sweep a mile out onto level glacier. If trouble is expected, the party has three choices: It can select a safe route variant. Failing in that it can travel the safest existing route at the safest time of day, and as quickly as possible to minimize the time of exposure. Finally, the party can turn back, realiz­ing that retreat can be fully as much an indication of good mountaineering as the achievement of a summit. On Kangchenjunga, third highest peak in the Himalaya, an expedition that in two successive endeavors had spent 105 days cutting its way from camp to camp on the final tremendous ice ridge, was at last confronted by a snow-field looking as if it might slide—and turned back.

The corridor is also the habitat of streams and tor­rents. The mountaineer should not underestimate the power of a mountain stream, nor overestimate its tem­perature and the ease of getting warm and dry after faulty attempts to cross.

Couloirs: the chute, chimney, and crack.—Beyond the canyon, and tributary to it, are the gully formations that owe their existence largely to falling snow, ice, and rock, and are still avenues for the same falling bodies. In high mountains chutes are usually filled with ice at high angle, sometimes snow-covered and often not. They are nor­mally to be avoided as dangerous territory, but the haz­ard varies greatly. In the mild summer climate of Yo-semite Valley one rarely hears falling rock in the chutes, which are usually the chosen route. In such severe weather as that of the Alps there may be many couloirs as evil as one on the Aiguille du Blatiere, which is rarely quiet. The detritus at the base of a chute, or the color of the snow or ice in it, may suggest the extent of danger. If the route must be taken, either wall of the chute should be preferred to the middle, which is directly in the fir­ing line and provides least defilade from flying frag­ments. The best time to pass is in early morning, before the sun has released the seal that holds icicles and rock to the couloir walls.

When the walls of a chute are so close together that the climber may touch both, the chute becomes a chim­ney. The defilade has improved, but there is less chance of dodging anything that falls into the chimney. The depth of shadow may allow ice to persist long after it has cleared from the rest of the mountain. Moreover, if a climber can reach both sides, it follows that some of the larger rocks falling into the chimney can do the same. Once a chockstone has jammed in the chimney, smaller rocks often collect behind, closing all but the overhanging passage in front of the original block, which, to add final insult, may be loose enough to launch itself and its collected debris when disturbed.

If the walls of a chimney are too close together to admit a climber, the chimney becomes a crack. This is normally a cleavage of the rock, is not due to erosion, and is exposed to no unusual objective danger. The tend­ency of an inexpert climber, however, is to try to es­cape exposure to height by getting every possible bit of his body into the crack. The result is that he all but blocks his progress, and tires himself needlessly.

Immediately below the chutes of lower mountains are the talus or debris slopes, often seemingly interminable. They are more stable than moraines, because the rocks have usually fallen and rolled into place, instead of being balanced in place by melting ice. Some blocks do, how­ever, roll when stepped upon. The climber can avoid them by stepping on rocks held in place by other sur­rounding rocks. He will eventually develop an aplomb that permits him to move swiftly over talus, never paus­ing on any block long enough to care whether it rolls or not. His self-assurance should not, however, be care­less; nor should others follow so closely as to be im­periled by blocks that do roll.

The largest blocks—the "big-jump" talus—are at the bottom of the slope; the gravel at the top, which slides underfoot, is known as scree. Climbing it is arduous, but downhill scree running is enjoyable so long as one does not step on a thin veneer of scree overlying smooth, mas­sive rock.

Ridges: the buttress, rib, arete, knife-edge, and gen­darme.—A buttress is a main bulwark of a peak. A rib separates the flutings in a wall having shallow avalanche chutes or chimneys. An arete is a sharp ridge, either be­tween deep couloirs, or in a position where it is a prin­cipal support of a peak. A knife-edge, as the term im­plies, is sharper still and usually will be ragged, sections of the ridge having dropped away. If the clefts between sections are deep and sharp enough, the tower in between becomes a gendarme—a policeman who is all too often signaling the climber to stop. A ridge often owes its lofty, exposed position to a rock structure sounder than that which once surrounded it. Sound rock is steepest, requires the best handholds—and has the fewest. The ridge route is usually devoid of falling rock and ice, but devoid as well of an even gradient toward a sum­mit. The sharper the ridge, the more it is broken by notches and towers, and the more numerous are the de­tours that will have to be made onto its walls. Ridges are particularly exposed to wind, storm, and lightning. If an electrical storm is approaching it is advisable for a party to be off the skyline before rocks hum and hair stands on end, to give too ominous a display of the discharge of static electricity. (See Lightning and the Mountain, pages 175-180.) Ridges in high mountains will have cornices to leeward of prevailing winds; if the winds of the region are too whimsical, there may be cornices on both sides—double cornices, both collapsible. If the ridge is exposed, roped travel is of course in order, and con­secutive belays may be necessary.

Cliffs: the face, wall, or precipice.—Between the cou­loirs and ridges are high-angle slopes for which the names are interchangeable. If the slope is very steep, subtended by ridges, and broken only by cracks, chim­neys, shallow chutes, and ledges, it is either a face or a wall. The precipice is more the poet's word than the mountaineer's—but it is perfectly permissible for a man to be both. The climber is prone to consider not the en­tire cliff, but its separate faces, overhangs, bulges, slabs, flakes, or offset cracks; and whether he is on a cliff, a ridge, or in a gully, the portion of route between belay positions is a pitch. Cliffs are subject only to sporadic fall of rock or ice, provided there is no hanging glacier or chute overhead; a route which exists on a face will usually be quickly perceivable and one of the safest on the mountain. Ledges are necessary breaks on any face, welcome as long as they are neither concealed too heavily with snow, nor too sloping and covered with loose, roll­ing scree.

The pass, saddle, col, and notch.—In general usage the pass is lowest and broadest; the notch is the other ex­treme. Any of the forms of passes may be the goal of a ski mountaineer who is seeking a route through a re­gion rather than to the top of it. The dangers inherent in the chute, face, and ridge end here, but rarely, in high mountains, without a final battle with a cornice and the wind that made it.

Summit, peak, crest, spire, dome, pinnacle, needle.— The ski mountaineer can choose his own appropriate name for the top. Here the prime objective danger, pro­vided the top is not too pointed a pinnacle or needle, is the weather. But here the mountaineer can best observe the weather coming his way, and can hurry or linger ac­cordingly. If the mountaineer is fortunate he may bask in such weather as described by Mummery on the Matterhorn, when he held out a match and the flame did not waver. His thoughts may swagger with Halliburton's on the same summit ("At last I can spit a mile"), or he may feel, with Young, the need of the "ability to smoke, and consequently to sustain his part in the ef­fortless silence which characterizes the true comradeship of mountaineering." Solitude may affect him as it did Samivel's mountaineer: how much more beautiful it is if there is someone to talk to about it. Perhaps the climber will have none of the published reactions, and will prefer his own. If the weather forbids him to remove a mitt to get a match, much less try to light it, he is likely not to be really happy about the top until he can say, "How nice it is to have been there," and meanwhile fer­vently hopes that in his fatigued condition the descent will not seem too much steeper than the ascent, that the weather will not get any worse, and that some of the snow bridges he used in the morning will still exist in the evening. But the skier who has achieved his difficult summit with sound technique, and has equally well achieved the valley again, may now consider himself a true ski mountaineer.

Glaciers

The name glacier has been applied to ice bodies vary­ing from small residual glaciers in Colorado, moving a few inches a year, to a valley glacier in Greenland which races along at 99 feet per day. Few are the mountains really deserving of the name that have not been severely modified, and made beautiful, by glaciers. Even the ski mountaineer who never expects to see glaciers would do well to know a little of them so that at least he can rec­ognize their effect on the mountains he travels.

Wherever more snow accumulates every year than can melt in place, it forms permanent snowfields (neve), compacts into ice, breaks away from the mountain (at the bergschrund), and flows slowly downhill. Irregulari­ties in its course may break the surface into roughly par­allel cracks (crevasses), confluence with other glaciers may buckle it (pressure areas), and the glacier bed may break it up badly (icefalls with their ice-block seracs), or drop it over cliffs (hanging glaciers). Tributary gla­ciers may join it, either by means of icefalls, by drop­ping from hanging glaciers, or by simple confluence, and a lake of ice may form (icefield), from which the main glacier descends far below the peaks (valley glader). On its surface will be the sand and rock debris that has avalanched from the mountains (lateral moraines at the sides, medial moraines down the middle, formed of lateral moraines where two glaciers join), and which is piled up where melting equals the flow, at the end of the glacier (terminal moraine at the terminus or snout). Also on the surface is the surface-drainage system, con­sisting of ice marshes, of small lakes in pinched crevasses, streams and waterfalls that finally disappear in crevasses or glacier mills (moulins), to join the main stream that flows beneath the glacier or subsidiary streams along the sides. Where the glacier flows past cliffs the edge will be melted back (the moat, or randkluft). But the ski mountaineer ascending a mountain will meet these fea­tures in reverse order. Certain considerations should be given each:

The terminus.—This may be so covered with morainal material—even forest and lakes in Alaska—as not to be recognizable. During the present climatic cycle, however, most glaciers have retreated far, and are approached by rock-strewn valleys which forests have not yet had time to claim. The terminus may be an abrupt ice cliff that the climber will have to cut his way up, or may even thrust itself into a fjord, with icebergs being launched at irregular intervals.

Moat and moraine.—A moat may have to be reckoned with if the glacier is approached from the side. Steps may have to be cut, but usually a bridge of debris from a side canyon will provide easier access. Moraines provide a hazard only in their instability. Melting ice leaves many of the blocks precariously perched. When disturbed, they may roll on the man who is following the disturber too closely.

Valley glacier.—A smooth valley glacier is the best avenue of approach to a heavily glaciated region. In 1942 the United States Army's Columbia Icefield Detachment used such a glacier, with only slight modification, as a truck route. During most of the summer season the sur­face is free from snow, is granular, and provides excel­lent footing for nailed or Bramani-soled boots. Crevasses are easily seen, and may often be avoided altogether if the climber selects a route along the inside corners of the glacier's turns, where the crevasses are closed by pressure. The ice in the mills and surface-stream chan­nels is very smooth, and is best avoided. The primary hazard is that of avalanche from slopes high above the glacier.

Icefield.—Two problems are provided by an icefield: Its crevasses are usually snow-covered and difficult to detect. Wherever this situation exists, the party must be roped, with a good interval between men, and should follow a route perpendicular to the crevasse system so that no more than one man will be, unsuspectingly, over the same crevasse. The second problem is that of maintain­ing route when, as frequently happens, a fog or blizzard settles down on the icefield. If weather threatens, route markers (willow wands 36 in. X 1/4 in. with red flag on which back azimuth may be marked) should be placed along the route, each succeeding wand being retrieved on the return as soon as the next one has been found. The skier should remember that a cloudless sky does not necessarily mean a fogless icefield later in the day, and that tracks may be either quickly melted in wet snow or quickly covered by windblown powder.

Hanging glacier.—An active hanging glacier can threaten a broad area beneath it, and should be given a wide berth. Its first sign of activity may be an ice av­alanche.

Icefall.—An icefall is to be avoided where possible. It is not static. Seracs may topple as the glacier moves, but they are often stable for long periods of time. If pas­sage is necessary and seracs appear unstable, it should be swift, to minimize time of exposure, and silent, so that sounds of moving or falling ice may be heard and heeded. Members of the party should keep a weather eye on the ice cliffs above them.

Crevasses.—These are the classical bugaboo of gla­ciers, and while often very interesting and beautiful, de­serve their bad reputation. Even when not snow-covered, they may present a maze that requires time-consuming search for a zigzag route. In a gentle icefall they can close unpredictably, and, in an area under pressure that was supposed to keep them closed, one was known to open with an alarming report just three feet from a pitched tent. On snow-covered glaciers they may be too broad to be bridged and require long detours; snow bridges may be unsturdy-looking and adequate or deceptively the exact opposite; a bridge reliable in the morning may have softened and be ready to slough into its crevasse in the afternoon; the crevasse may be completely covered by snow, which may have settled into a hollow barely per­ceptible in poor light, or there may be so fresh a snow cover that the crevasse cannot possibly be detected, even by careful probing with the ice-ax shaft, until the curses are heard of the leader who has fallen into it (and who, if his curses are to be heard, must be roped and belayed).

Bergschrund.—This crevasse is often a welcome sight, because it is the highest and last crevasse encountered on the ascent of a glacier; conversely, it is a discouraging sight if, as can happen, its upper lip is 40 feet high and overhangs (see the final page). It is usually crossable on a bridge formed by frequent snow slides from the neve above. Close watch must be maintained for falls of additional bridging material. A shoulder stand may provide all the leader needs to find purchase on the up­per lip. The 40-foot, overhanging type might be climb-able with the aid of ice ax, crampons, ice pitons, and a tension belay; chances are, however, it was the wrong route.

Snow curtain.—On this slope the mountaineer sighs with relief because the bergschrund is below, but he is mindful of the step-cutting job on the steep slope above him, and of the frequency of the recent avalanches needed to build and maintain his snow bridge over the berg­schrund.

Weather and Rock

Weather hazards.—As important as a mountain's sur­face of rock and ice is the mood of the atmosphere en­veloping it. Big mountains make their own weather, us­ing various formulas, a common one being that air drops in temperature 3-5° for every 1,000-foot rise in eleva­tion. Clear air over a sunny valley may thus be chilled, its moisture condensed into a cloudcap, precipitated in a violent blizzard on a high crest. Steep slopes can create wind, or accelerate balmy zephyrs into chilling gales. The effect of bad weather on a climbing route obviously merits special consideration by the mountaineer.

On long routes weather changes for the worse must be anticipated. Wet or icy rock can make an easy route almost impassable: cold may reduce climbing efficiency, snow may cover holds, a cloudy night may be too dark to travel, an enshrouded glacier too foggy to cross.

Smooth rock slabs become treacherous when wet, or iced after a freeze and rain. Holds may be hidden in the rime that has condensed from an icy mist.

Wind and Barometer Indications for the United States

1. Tufts of vegetation that might appear firm (but are dangerous substitutes for holds at best) may have their root systems soaked and ready to give.
   
   
2. Gullies otherwise dry and quiet may rapidly be­ come waterfalls, with rocks falling as well as water.
   
   
3. In electrical storms the climber near a lone tree, or on a peak, ridge, or pinnacle, is especially vulnerable. (See Lightning and the Mountain, pages 175—180.)
   
   
4. During heavy snowfall crevasses will be well but flimsily hidden, avalanches may occur, or may soon fol­low.

Weather signs.—It is not always possible to obtain a timely professional weather forecast to cover a climb or expedition, nor is such a forecast always the final word about what the weather will do. The ski mountaineer, aided by a pocket aneroid barometer and a thermometer should, with additional study, understand many of the immediate weather signs that prevail in his area. The United States Weather Bureau's table of wind and ba­rometer indications gives further assistance (see table on facing page).

Following is the very general behavior of a traveling storm in the Northern Hemisphere. All probably's and if's, although deleted, should be understood.

1. The storm consists of a humid mass of air of low barometric pressure, that travels from west to east, over­ rides the cooler mass of air in front of it, cools to produce clouds, and cools still more to precipitate them. Wind blows spirally inward and counterclockwise about its center.
   
   
2. As the storm approaches, the temperature rises, the barometer falls, the wind backs (e.g., from west to south), cirrus clouds (mare's-tails) and alto-cumulus (mackerel sky) appear in the vanguard, storm warnings in the form of cloudcaps fly from the peaks, progressively lower clouds follow, the wind and the temperature in­crease further, the barometer continues to fall, and pre­cipitation begins.
   
   
3. As the center of the storm passes, precipitation diminishes, the wind veers (e.g., shifts from south to northwest), its velocity drops, the clouds break, the
   barometer begins to rise, the mountain storm is reduced to flurries, then to isolated cumulus clouds (sheepbacks) and finally to cloudcaps and snow banners on the high peaks. Temperature and wind drop. The barometer re­turns to high—unless the storm is followed by others in its family.
   
   
4. The slower the transition between stages, the longer the storm will last.

Exceptions to any prescribed rules of storm behavior probably, in total, outnumber the rules. Some of the exceptions:

1) The barometer will record a daily variation, low­est near noon, having nothing to do with storms. Read­ings will decrease with altitude far more than with storm:

Pressure (inches) 30 27 24 21 18 15 12
Elevation (feet)       0 2,871 6,080 9,718 13,918 18,886 24,966

1. Mountains usually distort the wind; a moun­taineer's camp may be so sheltered by a ridge that an ominous shift in the wind's direction goes undetected. The direction of local air currents may be opposite to that of the prevailing wind. High clouds are the best weather vane.
   
   
2. Slope and daily temperature change affect wind, which tends to blow up the slope by day, down by night.
   
   
3. The down-by-night wind, carrying cold air into canyons and basins, often produces a temperature in­version, and higher elevations are warmer.
   
   
4. The daytime wind will tend to produce clouds independent of traveling storms, for humid air, when raised by convection, condenses into clouds—often thunderheads—by early afternoon. Hence with a red sky in the morning, that is, with some clouds present, moun­taineers as well as sailors may take warning.
   
   
5. Conversely, the evening reversal of wind and tem­perature disperses clouds, and thus if a storm has broken enough to permit a red sunset, the continuing reversal (not the full moon) will clear it.

Loose and jailing rock.—Just as avalanches are the most common mountain danger for the skier, falling rock is most common for the rock-climber. Weather is a frequent cause of rock fall; rocks are brought down by changes of temperature and resultant splitting action of intermittent freezing and thawing, as well as by heavy rain. Rock falls occur on all steep slopes, particularly in gullies and chutes. Areas of frequent rock falls may be indicated by abundant fresh scars on the rock walls, fine dust on the talus piles, or lines, grooves, and rock-strewn areas on snow beneath cliffs. A more immediate cause of rock fall is carelessness in climbing by both man and beast.

Warning of a rock fall, if detected, should be a vigor­ous cry, "Rock!" Other warnings: a whistling sound, a grating, a thunderous crashing, or sparks where the rocks strike at night.

Immediate action is to seek cover—if one can move, and cover is available. If not, the climber should watch the falling rock, present his narrowest profile, and not commit himself until he knows he is in direct peril.

Otherwise he might move into the path of a falling rock by blindly or prematurely trying to avoid it.

Rock-fall danger is minimized by judgment in choice of route; clean and careful climbing will reduce it further. Holds should be tested before use by striking with the heel of the hand or the foot, but not with such vigor or indirection as to launch loose rock on the party below. Careful appraisal will prevent many an insecure rock's being stepped on or grasped. Many insecure rocks should deliberately be moved into safe positions to avoid accidental fall due to action of the rope or to careless movement. The body will not brush rock loose if it is properly balanced—away from the rock. The rear foot is a bad offender, and the climber should know, as he brings it forward, that it will not kick rocks.

Lightning and the mountain.—The urge to know more concerning the effects of lightning becomes stronger when one is on a peak with the static charge beginning to make its power felt. When every projection in the vicinity, and finally the climber himself, begins to spark and the air is filled with ominous hissing, the desire to be in camp becomes overwhelming. Since this desire cannot always be satisfied, it is well to know what to do at this time.

The reasons behind the classical warning to be off the summit and ridges in a lightning storm can be seen when the mechanics of the lightning discharge are studied. Owing to rising currents of air and various other dis­turbances in the atmosphere, the clouds in cold-front and line-squall weather obtain high charges of static elec­tricity. When these charges build up to such magnitude that they can overcome the resistance of the air, they tend to join their counterparts on the ground. This is similar to the action of a spark plug in the automobile engine, magnified millions of times. The discharge between cloud and ground is accompanied by currents which dissipate themselves over the ground surface.

A study of static electricity reveals that the cloud charge prefers to discharge to a sharp pointed object rather than to other shapes. This, coupled with the relative closeness of the summit of a mountain to the cloud, is the reason for the danger at the top of the mountain. However, where there are low clouds and a ridge, dis­charge is likely to occur to points on the ridge rather than to the summit. This can be seen in the figure. Once discharge has occurred, the current flows over the sur­face of the rock toward the base of the mountain. It flows perpendicular to the lines of equal potential. These lines and their distribution are shown in the figure.

Idealized thin-plate two-dimensional mountain.

The closer the potential lines are together, the greater is the current flow. Near the summit the lines are very close together, while near the base, they are relatively far apart; the ground currents are strong near the top and weak near the base. Also, the lines are close together on vertical walls, while on the horizontal ledge they are far apart. Similarly, it is found that the current flow is greater on the face of a mountain than on its ridges.

The two types of danger from lightning consist in a direct strike and in a subsidiary danger from the ground currents. Anywhere but on the summit or very near to it the chance of being the victim of a direct bolt is small and the probability of being killed is almost certain. In contrast, the chance of meeting ground currents is al­most certain, while with a few precautions the prob­ability of being injured by the currents is small.

The precautions to be taken against a direct strike consist in getting away from the summit or ridges, and, if this is impossible, to get as close to the rock as pos­sible without lying down. A squatting position with head low is ideal. Any pinnacle in the vicinity that is five to ten times the height of the squatting position will give lightning-rod protection.

From a study of potential distribution on an idealized mountain (see figure) several important theoretical con­clusions may be reached.

Since the potential lines are farther apart near the base, it is apparent that it is safer near the base. The long ledge is safer than the sloping ridge near it. The vertical por­tion of the ridge conducts large currents. Thus, one may conclude that the steeper the rock, at any given height above the base, the more dangerous its ground current.

The protection from ground-current injury should consist of getting on rock with the least slope available. The climber should be sure that he stays as far from the wall as possible to minimize the danger of a discharge from the wall to the body. One point of contact with the rock should be the maximum. The danger of rappelling is immediately apparent, as it automatically gives the climber two points of contact with a very great potential difference.

Combining the precautions against both ground cur­rents and a direct strike, we find that the best position would consist of squatting with the head down and feet together in the middle of a wide ledge or as gentle a slope as is available. Ice ax, crampons, pitons, and other sharply pointed objects should be some distance away. Possibly the ice axes could be placed ferrule up to form crude lightning rods (especially if the handle is wet or its conductivity is otherwise improved, e.g., by wire).

The cave shown is similar to the one in which an ac­cident on Bugaboo Spire took place in which lightning indirectly caused the death of two climbers and nearly killed two others. The potential gradient is seen to be high in the vicinity of the cave, owing to the steepness of the floor and sides. It is presumed that this is the reason for the injury and deaths, inasmuch as a direct strike inside the cave is highly unlikely. All were leaning against the rock at the time of the discharge, which would account for the burns that they suffered on the back and legs. From an analysis of this situation, it would seem that a position on the somewhat level portion of the ridge would have been safer.

In general, shelter should be taken in a cave only if it is deep in comparison with the vertical height. Again, the body should not touch the sides and the head should be as far from the top as possible. In a similar situation during the same storm, a party on Pidgeon Spire was subjected to numerous shocks and noted discharges be­tween the head and the roof of a cave.

Representation of the cave on Bugaboo Spire.

Seldom will there be similar situations from one mountain to the next and from one storm to the next, so some ingenuity will have to be applied, and the merits of one position weighed against those of another at the time. The isolated squatting position should be used in one form or another, as it affords the maximum protection. And even though one should be far from the sum­mit he should not overlook the possibility of lightning's striking some distance down the ridge with resultant danger from ground currents.

These suggestions for positive action were brought forth in the light of previous experiences and from an analysis of the behavior of electricity. They are not to be regarded as guaranteed safeguards, but more as en­lightened guesses. Further work should be done on the subject, and any suggestions and experiences should be reported to the Mountaineering Committee, Sierra Club.

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