Cliff Adventure

At 3 a.m., Florian Wells drove through Seattle, Washington, to Parsley's home. He was thirty-three years old, an aerospace engineer, while his wife and daughter were sleeping soundly in his home. Craig Parsley, a twenty-five-year-old environmental engineering technician, got up cautiously for fear of waking his wife.

As they ate breakfast, they discussed plans for the day, May 14, 1983. They were about to climb one of the west peaks of Mount Garfield, an obscure but steep rock in the Cascade Mountains east of Seattle. For them, it was just a routine climb, so they didn't tell their wife exactly where they were.

They talked about the importance of protecting their physical and mental health as they traveled to the mountains in Pasley's truck. Both of them have years of mountaineering experience. Wells served as a member of the mountain rescue team before bringing his family to the United States in 1979. Pasley, a native of California, has been playing the sport since ninth grade.

When they arrived in the mountains, the sky was overcast and the temperature was one degree Celsius. The situation was not ideal, but they decided to go according to the original plan, hoping that the weather would not turn bad again. They climbed over the rocks, crossed the gully, and walked three kilometers to the climbing site. At eight o'clock in the morning, they tied themselves to both ends of the rope and began to climb the 800-meter-high granite wall. From this rock wall, you can go up to the top of the mountain at an altitude of 1,492 meters.

Passley opened the way ahead, looking for a place where he could step on his hands and feet, and climbed fifty meters, that is, the length of a rope. He nailed a few ring spikes - large flat spikes with eyes - into the crevices of the stone, threaded the rope into the fasteners, and called Wells to start. After Wells reached Passley's height, he took the lead instead.

Throughout the morning, they took turns opening the way. The slope of the rock wall averaged seventy degrees, about as steep as a ladder leaning against the wall of a house. Wells listened to his breathing, watching for signs of fatigue. The more he climbed, the more refreshed he felt.

It's raining. DiDi at first, then it's pouring. Wells was worried: if the rain didn't stop, they would have to go back. At eleven o'clock in the morning, they were about halfway up the rock face.

It was Welles who was opening the way. He was clinging to the rock wall, eighteen meters above Passley. He tucked a No. 2 lifting ring bolt into a seam about shoulder-length, which was the size of a small coin and had a loop that could go through a rope. If stuck, the plug could hold 230 kilograms, but Welles felt that the crack in the stone did not appear to be secure, so he bent over to place a larger bolt in a slit that seemed better at his feet. No. 3 bolt. At this moment, only a "snap" was heard, and the No. 2 bolt came loose.

Immediately he lost his balance, yelled "Be careful!" and fell backwards, head down and feet, rubbing and bumping. He twisted instinctively, turned his feet and head, and tried his best to grab something.

Parsley saw his friend fall and heard his cry. As Wells slipped about forty meters, or about twice their original distance, Parsley tried his best to hold himself steady, thinking, "I have to stand the force and stop him from falling." But when the rope tightened, the force that rattled his bones pulled him away from the rock wall. He swooped down, trying to stop the fall with his hands, and both palms were scratched.

Wells slid down the rock wall again at high speed, only slightly touching the rock wall. He thought to himself, "I don't know if death is hard."

Passley also turned his body into a head-to-foot position like Wells. He hit a small ledge, spun his body like a rag doll, and fell in a head-to-toe position again. He grabbed whatever he touched on the smooth wall, and dislocated several fingers.

Wells also tried his best to stop the fall. His right foot stepped on a narrow ledge, but his leg was bent under him, and there was no stopping effect. He looked down and saw a larger ledge, about fifteen centimeters wide, and thought, "This is the last chance." He slammed the ledge with his right knee, slowing the fall so that both hands were able to hold on to the ledge. He looked at the suspended feet and saw a vertical cliff 150 meters high, with a small pool under the cliff. Wells closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable moment when Parsley's falling body would pull him away from his current position and plunge him into the pool.

But the vicious one never came, just silence, and then a sound of pain. Wells looked up and saw Passley hanging on a ledge with one arm. What a miracle.

Passley grabbed a finger-thick, protruding branch on the rock wall, and he flipped over and stopped abruptly. He was suspended there by his right arm, feeling severe pains, knowing that his shoulder blade had been broken. With his left hand, he took out a ring head nail, inserted it into a stone crevice full of moss, hammered the whole nail in, then nailed another one, then fastened the suspension seat to the nail ring, and fastened the seat belt on the seat.

At this time, Wells had climbed up his ledge, supported his body with one hand and one foot, took out a few rings from the sling, and placed them firmly in the small rock crevice. The two climbers settled down temporarily, but they were both on the rock frame of the cliff, and they fell off the fifty-story cliff, and they were sure to die.

Wells felt severe pain in his right leg and couldn't help shouting. Seeing blood seeping from his knee, he tore his shorts open, startled to see bones and ligaments sticking out. An uneven bone also poked out of the upper. "My leg is broken!" he called to Pasley.

Passley used the rope to go down to Wells, and Wells saw that the other party's injury was worse than his. In addition to the broken shoulder blade, Passley also fractured his right wrist and both ankles. The bone in the right ankle poked out of the sock and was covered with blood and dust. The ankle was bent ninety degrees and was still bleeding. Pass used straps to tie under his knees to stop the bleeding. Wells took some headache pills from his coat and took a few each with Passley.

Things don't look good. It's still raining, and the temperature will drop below freezing at night. It will be a long time before their wives expect them to come home, and they don't know where they are. If they stayed on the rock wall, they would freeze to death or bleed to death.

"I'm going down now," Wells said to Pasley, "and when I get to the truck, I can call for help on the civilian-band wireless phone."

Wells tied the rope around his waist, and Pasley lowered him down a rope length. But to get to the bottom of the cliff, he had to make six long rains. He passed one end of the rope through a ring of lug studs, tied the other end to his body, kicked his body off the rock wall with his feet, and let it down. When the ropes ran out, he temporarily fastened himself to the rock wall, then ripped off the rope and redid the railing preparations. His legs hurt so badly that every time he swung back and touched the rock wall, it hurt so much that he couldn't breathe.

Two and a half hours later, Wells finally descended below the cliff. He staggered to the pool he had seen from above, dipping his face in the water to quench his thirst. Below is a steep slope. He had to lift his injured leg, step back with both hands and the other leg, and crawl like a crab on the rocky slope.

After descending to the tree line, the slope slowed down, and it was inconvenient to support the ground with his hands. He wanted to find a branch for a crutch, but the branch he found was either too rotten to support his weight, or too green to break off the tree.

Wells dragged the injured leg and jumped forward with the other foot. What he feared most was to hurt the good leg too. He fell repeatedly, screaming in pain each time. He was worried that he would pass out, and if he lost consciousness, he would probably freeze to death. There was only one thing on his mind: "Don't give up. Keep walking."

His good legs began to cramp, and the number of falls became more frequent. He decided to float down the stream, but he didn't expect the water to be so fast that he scratched his arm again in order to reduce his speed. Then he put his right foot against the bank of the stream, and slowly stopped. He got up and jumped forward again, but slipped on a rock, sprained his good leg's ankle, and fell to the ground in pain. He got up again and moved forward one step at a time. Hours passed, it was nearly dusk, and the sky was getting darker.

Passley began to feel numb on the mountain, fearing hypothermia. He must not exercise. Like Wells, he also let down the rock wall slowly and painfully. When he was still three meters away from the bottom of the rock wall, he finally fell due to exhaustion, and the pain made him unable to breathe for a while.

Unable to walk, he had to sit on a rocky hillside and slide down. The pants wore through quickly, and the butt was bleeding.

After another walk, he rolled and crawled instead, every movement painful. But he knew that he must not obey his heart's desire and close his eyes to rest. He thought of his wife. So he moved his bleeding knees and climbed forward, supporting him with his uninjured hand. But he was so tired...

It was almost dark when Wells approached the road. This was not where they parked, and he didn't know if he had the strength to find a car. Then he heard a van approaching, and he jumped on one foot and rushed to the road while screaming for help. The van passed, and the windows were closed because of the rain. A few minutes later, he heard another van approaching, and he shouted again, but the van disappeared into the night again.

When the third car came, he was already sitting on the side of the road, and he jumped up with all his strength, waving and yelling. The car stopped, and four people got out. "We had an accident climbing the mountain," Wells gasped. "My mate is still on the mountain... waiting for help... hurry up."

About an hour later, they were in the nearest town, and Wells insisted on waiting for rescuers to gather in order to show them the exact location of Pasley. After doing this, he asked someone to take him to the hospital.

Night fell, and the rain in the woods increased. Although Pasley crawled forward on his siblings, he still nodded and dozed off. Unless he can get his temperature back up, he won't be able to survive.

He climbed to a hollow remnant. The tree hole was untouched by the rain and filled with dry sawdust. He took a can of waterproof matches from his pocket, rubbed one, and ignited the sawdust. The flames rose, and he folded a few dead branches and added them to the fire. The warmth and comfort were pleasant, and the desire to close his eyes was very strong. "No!" There was a warning in his ear, "You must stay awake."

At nine o'clock in the evening, he heard someone call his name: "Craig, are you up there?"

"I'm here!" he cried in reply.

Rescuers found him 400 meters from the road and found him in mild shock. They fed him hot chocolate, put him in a sleeping bag, and stuffed several hot water bottles beside him. Then they carried him away on a stretcher. The long suffering is finally over.

Although Pasley's injuries were more serious at the time, they caused fewer long-term problems than his friends. He was hospitalized for five days, and his legs and arm were covered in casts for six weeks. Doctors were surprised to see how quickly he recovered, saying he was a "very lucky young man". But he has since given up mountain climbing. "I'll do anything from now on - as long as I'm not more than two meters above the ground," he said. But he admits that every time he sees the towering peaks, he always feels a little nostalgic.

Wells' injured foot may be crippled. Doctors warned him that he might never be able to climb mountains again, and that if he could walk normally in the future, he would be lucky. Wells found this inference unacceptable. His fondest memories and best friends are tied to the mountains and cannot be given up from now on. It took him more than six months to walk without crutches. Then he started exercising to get his body back to health.

In the spring of 1984, Wells climbed Mount Whitney, which is 4,418 meters above sea level, from the east slope.