Wilderness Medical Training’s Commercial Director Barry Roberts has been on mountain expeditions and had teammates on trips all over the world (Pakistan, Greenland, Kenya, Uganda, Morocco, Nepal and Tibet). They have been troubled by bears, birds, hyrax, elephants, broken bones, blisters, Maoist rebels, gun-toting tribesmen, landslides, rock fall, blizzards, washed out bridges, porter strikes, sickness and diarrhoea, snow blindness, malaria, gonorrhoea, ticks, leeches, frostbite and tooth abscesses. You don’t want to go climbing with him. But you might want to listen to his advice, and that of WMT Senior Instructor Dr Harvey Pynn, on what to do in tricky situations and better still, how to avoid them.
How to survive…a polar bear attack
img class=”alignright size-medium wp-image-662″ title=”Arctic terror as climbers fight off Polar bear” src=”http://www.outsider.ie/wp-content/uploads/2009/12/File0039lr-257×299.jpg” alt=”Arctic terror as climbers fight off Polar bear” width=”257″ height=”299″ /I thought we were out of danger. On 11 March 2006 we were at base camp at 2000m and 60km from the sea, celebrating our success on Gunnbjorns Fjeld (3,693m), the highest mountain in the Arctic. The temperature was a mild -25°C. It was snowing lightly and in between the intermittent cloud and fog, the camp was bathed in the light of a full moon. This was to be our last night in Greenland. We expected a ski plane to land on the glacier the next day and return us to Iceland. Job done.
Earlier on 4 March, we had made the first winter ascent of the mountain in temperatures down to -35°C. And just in case the ascent wasn’t a big enough challenge, I had brought a special light-weight SKY paraglider which I unfurled just below the summit and made a historic flight, descending 1,100m and over 8km back to advanced base camp.
I was dozing off at 11.30pm when I felt the tent shudder and cold ice crystals from the ceiling dropped onto my face. I assumed someone had tripped over a guy wire. Then my teammate Paul shouted. The sincerity of his voice was unmistakeable: “Guys, there’s a bear in the camp. I’m serious!”
I bolted upright and unzipped the tent door to look out. A polar bear stood 10 metres away. It must have heard the zipper. He cocked his head and lumbered towards the tent. He looked more curious than menacing. More dirty yellowy than white. I reacted spontaneously and started screaming abuse and waving my arms. When he was a metre away, I grabbed pots and pans and threw them in his face. He backed off, then advanced. A large food jug was the last thing to hand and I heaved this into the bear’s face like a shot putter. He swiped, shredded the tent door and turned and walked off. It all happened so fast.
Paul made a dash for the store tent for the signal flares. By the time I jumped into my one-piece Everest climbing suit and out of the tent, Paul had a flaming flare in his hand and the bear had waddled out of sight. Ten minutes later we fired a flare into the sky and it illuminated the bear 200m away from camp; then he faded into the fog.
We maintained an all-night vigil. Skis staked around the camp made a fence and we lit our camp stoves so we could throw petrol on them to make an explosive fire. We gathered up dirty socks and pulled them over our ski poles so we could dunk them in petrol and make flaming torches, although the smell of the socks might have been a sufficient deterrent. Someone seriously suggested we could wrap the bear in my paraglider and set it alight! Most annoyingly, we banged metal objects together until daybreak. There was no room for complacency – we didn’t have a gun. One wasn’t required in this area of Greenland as there has NEVER been a bear sighting in these parts.
Night-time gave way to dawn without incident and by 2pm our aircraft arrived and we were soon safely airborne.
As I write this, I’m on my way to Greenland again. Here’s my revised ‘bear aware’ checklist:
1.Have a gun and practice how to use it. If you have to shoot a bear, shoot it, shoot it again and shoot again to be absolutely sure it’s dead. I will sleep next to my loaded rifle.
2.Set up an early warning perimeter camp alarm – we’re using trip wires attached to rape alarms.
3.Don’t set up your tents in a circle; if the bear is in the middle and you have to shoot it, your teammates in the opposite tent could get caught in the cross fire.
4.If a bear confronts you if may just be curious but take the offensive; stand tall, make noise and make yourself look big by opening your jacket wide.
5.Scientists now suggest that polar bears are not as heavy as they were 20 years ago due to more limited seal hunting prospects because the sea ice forms later and melts earlier. This suggests that bears may be adapting their hunting practices and may be present at times and in places where they don’t normally hunt and could be attracted to new food sources – you! The bear that attacked us did so in winter, inland and high in the mountains when it should have been busy elsewhere.
How to survive…a broken arm
In February 2008 I set out to lead five friends on a flash weekend ski mountaineering ascent of Mount Toubkal (4,167m), the highest peak in North Africa. It’s an easy, respectable high summer trek when heat and dehydration are the only real risks. However, in February, Toubkal’s a remote, cold winter climb.
From the road head at Imlil, 1.5 hours from Marrakesh airport, we loaded our packs and ski touring gear onto mules to get us to the snow line. The snow on the trail was rutted and compacted and unsuitable for both the mules and our skins and skis so we heaved our packs (and skis) onto our backs and walked the 10km to the hut. The snow cover was still thin higher up so the next day we abandoned our skis in favour of crampons and in a blizzard we ground our way to the summit.
On the descent, Lucy stumbled on a scree slope, spun around and fell on her outstretched hand to break the fall. We hunkered around her; army doctor Harvey suspected a fractured arm. We put her arm in a sling to stop it waggling about and gave Lucy some painkillers. Immobilisation is paramount to reducing pain and further damage but this was not the place to ‘stay and play’ to properly sort out this injury so we elected to scoop and run to get back to the relative warmth of the refuge.
Lucy’s forearm was bent in a classic ‘dinner fork’ deformity and the fracture diagnosis was confirmed. With any fracture (break) it’s vital to straighten the limb before splinting by applying graded in-line traction. You cannot splint a limb if it is grossly deformed. It is important to assess movement, circulation and sensation before AND after any manipulation of an injured limb.
Now we had to apply a splint that would suffice for the trek down and the journey back to the UK. First, we gently pulled a sock over Lucy’s hand for warmth and padding – and she was instantly re-Christened Bagpuss! Then we moulded two sachets of John West tuna around the break and taped them in place. The tuna conformed to the break and applied firm but gentle pressure to immobilize the broken bones. Then the hand was raised in a high arm sling to reduce inflammation. Pain killers and anti-inflammatory drugs were generously administered.
The lesson is, you cannot carry lots of medical kit including prefabricated splinting devices for all occasions. Better to learn to improvise with what you would normally carry but if you don’t like tuna, you’re stuffed!
How to survive…the death zone
When people die climbing the highest Himalayan mountains, they generally do so above 8,000m in the so-called death zone. Why? The specific reasons are numerous but the core reason is due to hypoxia – low blood oxygen levels. On the summit of Everest, which I reached in 2004, the atmospheric pressure is one-third that of sea level. That means one-third the available oxygen, which is why 95% of Everest climbers use bottled, supplemental oxygen.
Even so, most people climb on a flow rate of between two and four litres of oxygen a minute (and sleep breathing a meagre half litre/minute). This oxygen is a top-up, a booster, and is no substitute for good acclimatisation achieved by time spent on the mountain when the body slowly adapts to the lower levels of oxygen. Micro light pilot David Meredith-Hardy flew over the top of me on summit day. He was breathing bottled Os at 18 litres/minute because he was only acclimatised to 3,500m, the height of the airstrip. So, even on bottled oxygen, Everest climbers are still a yak’s whisker away from hypoxic collapse.
img class=”alignleft size-medium wp-image-663″ title=”Barry Roberts using supplemental oxygen in the Death Zone on Everest” src=”http://www.outsider.ie/wp-content/uploads/2009/12/goggles-full-size-reslr-300×225.jpg” alt=”Barry Roberts using supplemental oxygen in the Death Zone on Everest” width=”300″ height=”225″ /At base camp (5,200m) my blood oxygen saturation was a pathetic 64%. At sea level it would be nearly 100%. The hypoxic brain doesn’t think straight so you have to be incredibly careful to do technical things properly, like clipping into fixed ropes or abseiling. Extensive mountain experience helps you do these tasks safely even with a tired, dulled brain.
Equally, cognitive tasks are hard to execute, like keeping track of time, your climbing pace and watching your oxygen consumption to judge your turnaround point. Misjudge any of these and you may run out of oxygen high on the mountain – and die – unless you have, and are prepared to listen to, a dispassionate expedition leader watching from below telling you by radio that it’s time to turn around.
How to survive…incident spiral
Incident spiral could be defined as a set of minor events, omissions and mistakes that ultimately culminate in disaster. The Lake Timiskaming canoe tragedy is a grim example, as detailed in James Raffan’s book ‘Deep Waters’, which analyses the events of 1978 when 12 school boys and one leader (out of a party of 31) from St John’s School in Ontario, Canada, died on the first day of a canoe trip. St John’s was a tough, alternative boy’s school, designed to build character through arduous winter snow shoeing expeditions and summer canoe trips that retraced the routes of the early voyageurs.
These are the facts. The victims were mostly 13-15 year old boys, not hardened fur trappers, who paddled onto a huge lake notorious for capricious, strong winds and high waves after an exhausting late night drive to the ingress point. Their leaders failed to tap into local knowledge to appraise themselves of the conditions. Students and leaders alike hadn’t slept or eaten properly for 24 hours.
It was early spring when the water was at its coldest and not surprisingly the dead succumbed to hypothermia (all four boats capsized). Shockingly, some of the boys had little or no canoeing experience yet they were embarking on a three-week unsupported voyage to James Bay. In any analysis of a tragedy of this scale, it’s often painfully obvious that an accident was inevitable. Given just one or maybe two of these factors the trip might have still been a success. But combine them all and these kids didn’t stand a chance. It’s a miracle anyone survived.
Substitute any expedition activity – e.g. yachting, ski mountaineering, climbing – for canoeing and it’s easy to see how tragedy can stealthily unfold. A late start, unfit or unprepared team members, bad weather, getting lost, losing a vital bag of equipment (overboard, in the river, down a crevasse), a twisted ankle and other plausible singular occurrences (add your own examples from experience), and suddenly the team finds itself in a situation that quickly unravels. However, armed with effective leadership and detailed planning, most teams sidestep a tragic end to their adventure.
Continually measure your progress against a good plan. If you are adrift of it, ask why? Always take stock when events force a significant deviation. Don’t just hammer on. Be especially mindful of the weakest group members; otherwise you may be leading people into dangers they aren’t prepared for. Be adventurous but not so gung-ho that you find yourself explaining to your companion’s families why they aren’t coming home. Remember, in hindsight, the writing is usually on the wall.
Hoping to survive…the Marathon des Sables
Dr Harvey Pynn
Retired from competitive rugby but clinging to the hope that muscular endurance really does continue to improve to the age of 35, in a fit of pique, I’ve put myself forward for the ‘toughest foot race on earth’ – the MDS. The charity Mencap have awarded me a place in return for raising a plentiful sum for their vital work supporting the mentally handicapped.
The MDS changes slightly from year to year but is likely to involve a six-day 150-mile slog across the dunes and scrub of the Sahara desert where temperatures can reach 45°C during the day and it can approach freezing at night. The race involves running across all terrains, including soft sand, whilst carrying all the supplies required for six days in the desert. Water is rationed and provided at checkpoints throughout.
img class=”alignright size-full wp-image-664″ title=”The Marathon des Sables” src=”http://www.outsider.ie/wp-content/uploads/2009/12/Marathon-des-Sables2lr.jpg” alt=”The Marathon des Sables” width=”200″ height=”150″ /I’ve run marathons before in a respectable three and a half hours with minimal training but afterwards I suffered such muscular soreness that I’ve hobbled like someone with crippling arthritis and had to resort to walking downstairs backwards. So how does one go about preparing for such an epic event?
Training requires enough time to get the ‘miles in the legs”. I’ve got a year before I join the start line with 600 other competitors in April 2010. Training over long distances at a steady pace will adapt the body to preferentially burn fat over carbohydrate – the body cannot store or absorb enough carbohydrate to fuel the muscles for such endurance. To ensure fat burning, it is best to train in the early morning before any hearty meals have been taken.
Gradually increasing training distances promotes adaptations so the body recovers more efficiently but injury must be prevented. Over-training inevitably results in injury and therefore enforced rest. I will mix up running, cycling and swimming to improve my aerobic performance. My diet will have to be modified to support the training schedule. Calorie and fluid replacement is most effective straight after training to alleviate delayed onset muscular soreness at 24-48 hours post exercise. When the training distances become longer, the percentage of fat in my diet will have to increase to support the muscle’s demand for fuel.
Closer to the race, I’ll focus my training on coping with the heat and dehydration. My fair Celtic complexion is not ideal for the desert but as we all share 97% of our DNA with chimps, we have an innate ability to adapt! I’ll train on a bike in the sauna to get my sweat glands working efficiently at removing body heat but conserving salt. Sports drinks are useful to improve hydration and aid recovery. Fingers crossed I’ll avoid injury and pass the pre-race medical.
I’ve found some desert trainers with accompanying gaiters to keep out the sand. If you see me plodding the heaths of Surrey in these, it’s all for a fantastic cause. I just hope there aren’t any stairs in the desert!
Photos:
Courtesy of Barry Roberts and Alan Laverty
