Death and Transfiguration …Almost

August 8^th, 1999

Lying on the ground, writhing in agony as I desperately fought death and tried to take a breath, I wasn't thinking about my latest project. I wasn't thinking about climbing at all. I was thinking about my two boys, Daniel (4) and Derek (1.5) and that I'd never see them again. I gurgled sounds as I pleaded with my eyes for the Loobster to save me. I wanted to say my boys' names, but I couldn't speak. Instead I died.

Or so I thought. I came to about 30 seconds later as if awakening from a dream. My breathing wasn't uncontrolled gasps, but measured draws. The Loobster was hovering over me in an agitated state. I was in pain and knew I had just fallen a considerable distance onto my back. "How bad am I?" I asked the Loobster, expecting his response to be "Not too good, Bill. You've lost a leg, your head is cracked open, and your bleeding profusely from your back." I forgot his response, but I soon knew I wasn't bleeding. Initially my most intense pain was in hands and arms. They had stinging rope burns on them. I was slumped on my side and so afraid to move. I knew I had a back injury and cautiously tried to move and feel my feet. They worked.

The Loobster was frantically putting his shoes on and saying, "Oh god, Bill, oh god. I've got to get help. I'm going for help. Hang in there." Before a few minutes had passed I was alone.

How could things have gone so wrong so fast? I thought about my wife and kids. I wondered if I'd ever be able to climb again. I knew help was on the way. There is no one I'd rather count on when in trouble than the Loobster. I knew he'd do what's necessary. I just tried to not to move for fear that I'd do permanent spinal damage.

The Loobster had arrived only two days ago from Santa Clara, California. He had immediately gone up and climbed the Casual Route on the Diamond the previous day. That's a pretty amazing feat for anyone to pull off: sea level to 14,000+ feet via the 5.10 climbing on the sheer east wall Long's Peak. I wasn't his partner. He went with Hardly Manson. Loobster was out for a week of musical climbing partners and Sunday was my day.

Dr. Offwidth, AKA my Armchair Trainer, had been pressuring me to hike up to Green Mountain Pinnacle near the Fourth Flatiron and give "Death and Transfiguration" a go. This was an overhanging endurance climb. The type of butt-kicking experience which the Doctor relished and I was trying to master. I had been on this climb only once before: on the safe end while following the Doctor himself. I had been thoroughly humiliated and fell off it numerous times. At one point I was dangling in space and only barely made it back onto the climb after many minutes of futile swinging.

D&T is a famous Boulder area climb put up in 1972 by Roger Briggs, then an aid-climbing practitioner. Surprisingly, the first ascent was done free and protected by pitons. Roger kept thinking to himself, "I'll go a little further and then start aid climbing." Eventually he got so close he wanted to finish it free and just barely did so. From then on Roger Briggs was a free climber and one of the most successful in the region.

 Bruce had assured me that D&T was similar in difficulty to Country Club Crack (5.11b/c) - another climb that I was working on and very close to redpointing. He rationalized away my previous performance with comments on the heat and humidity. Eventually this prodding wore me down and I thought I'd have a look. I figured my first attempt might be ugly, but so was my first attempt on CCC.

Since the previous day was grueling for the Loobster, we didn't start up the trail until noon. We followed the Royal Arch Trail for about two miles to Sentinel Pass. Here the trails drops down sharply to contour beneath the Fourth Flatiron, before rising towards the Royal Arch. We headed directly uphill, bushwhacking over boulder, logs, small cliffs in an exhausting hike up another five or six hundred vertical feet to Green Mountain Pinnacle.

On the north face of this rock formation is the beautiful and intimidating crack which is "Death and Transfiguration." Loobster took in his breath and let out a respectful, "Wow!" Jim Erickson described this route in his Rocky Heights guidebook as "a becoming line, yet it is absurdly steep and strenuous." Loobster already wasn't sure he could or even wanted to try following the pitch. I said we'd worry about that when the time came. We had the area to ourselves. Despite the classic nature of this climb, the long approach and traditional nature of the climb deters many of today's climbers. The only fixed gear on this route are the two shiny bolts on top.

We geared up on the sloping slab at the base and I moved off, climbing the flake directly above the slab and the moving left and up to the base of the crack before placing a piece. My rack consisted of stoppers through #3.5 Camalots with doubles for most units. The initial crack is steep and fingers to tight hands in width. I placed red and yellow Aliens on this section. The climbing initially is probably about 5.9 but there aren't very good rests. Above is a large, sloping ledge but it is far enough to the left where I could only place my left foot on it. Above here is the first crux: a strenuous, undercling section that leads up and slightly right. The goal is a large foothold well out to the right. I placed an orange Alien right in the middle of this crux section - not sure that I could complete the difficult climbing before coming off. This section is rated 5.10c/d. I cranked hard and stretched right for the foothold. And nailed it!

Here I got a reasonable rest. I could drop one hand and shake out. The best position was to press my right hand up against the underside of the roof above me. I could use this force to keep me on the foothold, but it seemed possible possible for my right hand to slip off.

The next section is rated only 10a, but this has to be wrong. This is the most overhanging section and goes immediately into the crux 5.11 moves so it isn't really separate from the crux in my mind at all. Long legs and good flexibility would be of use here to take advantage of some huge stems. I didn't quite measure up to these reaches and my arms suffered.

I think this climb is considerably more difficult than the second pitch of Country Club Crack. Both pitches have two 5.10 sections and one 5.11b section, but on CCC I can get a no-hands rest before the crux and a nearly no-hands rest between the 5.10 sections. Also, I can get another no-hands rest before the first 5.10 section. On D&T there is but one single-hand rest before all the hard climbing is over. This route takes an enormous amount of endurance - my weakness and exactly why I was here.

I launched into the overhanging roof on initially good jams. I placed a #2 Camalot under the roof and jammed up the right side. The jams got to be very tight hands here and with no feet, I didn't think I could hang off one hand. I stemmed my feet up as high as possible and then did a twist-lock on my right hand jam while making a monstrous reach for the jug at the top of the flake over the roof. I clasped the hold but wasn't sure I could match hands since it practically involves hanging from a single hand.

I barely pulled off the hand match and then tried to get my feet set. I could either have my left foot on a small hold or my right. I didn't have the flexibility to get both feet on holds. I then pulled off the wrong piece from the rack. It wouldn't fit in the tight hands crack. The next piece barely fit - remember this piece as it will play a key role later. I struggled to find a rest but failed. I hung on the rope and the poorly placed camming unit.

The climbing above was overhanging tended toward the right. Then the crack bent back toward the left when it cleared another, smaller roof. I thought I remembered that the crux was above this second roof. I was wrong. The crux for D&T is just enduring from the foothold rest to the butt-cheek rest just above the second roof, though the most difficult climbing comes directly over the first roof - the climbing I faced now.

Just like CCC, the crack widened to an unusable dimension just over the roof and, also just like CCC, passing this section involved a big reach to a marginal jam. I stretched for the flared, tight-hands jam, matched the jam, and stepped my feet up on top of the jug. This would be a rest if the rock wasn't so overhanging. It was not a rest. I popped in a piece and had to hang again. The next section involved a brutal lieback/undercling to a lieback jam to a good hand jam where I stuffed in a #3 Camalot and hung again.

I was right below the second roof now. I climbed up once and latched the huge jug out on the arete. With my left hand on the jug, I searched in vain for a hold in the crack before falling off. This was a frustrating situation because the hold for my left hand was so good. I felt I should almost be able to just mantle up on the jug and stand up. Unfortunately the leaning wall on the right, I was in a bit of a flare, made this infeasible.

I think I fell off one more time before figuring out this move. The key was working the feet up on the right wall. There is a tiny hold in the crack itself and using this with the mantle hold, I was able to work my feet up high enough on the right wall to slip my left butt-cheek onto the jug. Once this was done I could drop both hands! My first no-hands rest since leaving the ground. I patiently worked in a good Stopper and then struggled to stand up on the jug, but once I got into this rest the main difficulties were over. I placed another Stopper before I gained easy ground and then fought the terrible rope drag - I didn't use enough slings - to the summit and the two bolt anchor.

I was quite pleased with this effort despite the three hangs and a couple of falls. I had done all the moves free. This was a big improvement over my first and even second effort on CCC. This will be a tough route for me to get clean but now it is just a matter of linking it. Already I know of a couple of ways to save energy: don't place a piece in the middle of the lower crux and choose a smaller camming unit for just over the lower roof. Once the gear is wired that should save me at least one hang. The confidence of knowing about the no-hands rest might save another. Then I'll just need to work on building up my endurance.

The Loobster reluctantly tied into the rope and started to follow. He climbed steadily up to the first crux and took his first rest on the rope. From this point on it would be critical where he decided to rest on the rope. He must rest right next to a piece of protection. If not, he will swing out away from the wall and might not be able to reach anything to pull himself back on to the climb. Loobster completed the first crux and got on the foothold rest. Then he climbed to the next piece and rested again. He was just barely able to get back on the climb this time and he climbed to the last piece below the roof and pulled it. Unfortunately he then came off the climb and swung out into space. The next piece was over the roof - the one I placed while holding the jug at the top of the roof. The Loobster had no hope of regaining the climb. He could just barely touch the wall with his outstretched toe. That wouldn't be enough. I lowered him to the ground.

I told the Loobster that I'd anchor the rope at the top and rappel on a single line to clean the gear. Then we'd do the 4^th class route called the "Green Sneak" to regain the summit to retrieve our rope. I started down from the summit and placed a couple of directional pieces before dropping off the edge to clean the gear. I popped out the first two Stoppers easily, but then I was on overhanging ground. I asked the Loobster to put the end of the rappel line on belay so that he could stop me from swinging out too far and that he could belay me on the rappel. With the Loobster locking off the bottom of the rappel line, I could use both hands to pull myself into the rock, lock-off with one hand in order to take the tension off the rope, and then pull the piece. Once the piece was removed, I'd swing out into space but I wouldn't go too far before the Loobster stopped me by locking off the rappel line.

The Loobster and I had used a similar strategy when we retreated off the first pitch of the Leaning Tower in Yosemite Valley, but, as it turns out, there were crucial differences. On the Leaning Tower not only wasn't the ground an issue, but when all the gear was out of the pitch, the rope formed a sharp angle because the belayer was not in-line with the top anchor. Neither of those situations existed here and I would pay a big price for ignoring these obvious facts.

Just after I cleaned the second to last piece and swung out from the wall, the last piece, the cam that was a bit too large for the crack, popped! Immediately six feet of slack rope fell to the ground - the rope that was going into the cliff face and back out again. With a slack rope below me, I no longer had a belay. My hands were not on the braking side of my rappel device since I just had one hand in the crack and the other pulling the piece. I fell like stone. Panicked with the thought of certain death I frantically grabbed the rope in front of me, but I was already moving too fast. The rope burned through my hands and forearms giving me extremely painful cuts before I instinctively released my grip. I wonder if I had just been tough enough and endured the tremendous pain could I have stopped myself or slowed down enough to avoid serious injury. Alas, I let go. It all happened so fast. I knew I was in deep trouble. I grabbed the rope. It burned me badly and I let go. I didn't consciously think that letting go would surely kill me, but it should have. I wish I could have endured the pain.

The Loobster had one chance to save me and only a split second to react. If he could have jumped off the sloping platform and down the slope fast enough to take up the slack, my fall would have been halted. But with less than a second to react, he had no chance. I landed flat on my back a few feet from where he stood.

And now I'm crumpled at the base of the climb waiting for help. My lower right leg stings sharply with pain at the slightest movement and I fear I've broken it. The intense pain in my hands has subsided somewhat by keeping them clenched tightly. I know the big problem is my back. A fall of that distance should do tremendous damage. I am terrified to move anything for fear of permanent spinal damage. It is absolutely amazing that I suffered no head injury. I was not wearing a helmet and fell over forty feet (8 weeks later I returned to Green Mountain Pinnacle and measured this distance: 75 feet!) onto my back amongst a sea of rocks. The Loobster would revisit this site a few days later with another friend and both could not believe that survival was an option. Though at the time I didn't feel lucky.

I went with various stages while lying there. I composed myself and promised myself to get all the rescuers names and addresses. I was so thankful that I'd see my wife and kids again. I cried with self-pity at my situation and injuries. And then I composed myself again. I called for help a number of times, but I was too remote. I promised myself to be matter-of-fact when the rescuers got to me, but then I broke down with emotion.

The Loobster headed downhill at a reckless pace. He hit the Royal Arch trail considerably downhill from Sentinel Pass, where we left the trail on the way up, and ran for help. Each person he passed, he'd query them: "Do you have a cell phone?" After a number of disappointments, he struck pay dirt.

"Dail 911," he commanded. The Loobster didn't want to learn how to work this guy's cellular phone. He wanted help on the line. The dispatcher got things moving and instructed the Loobster to continue down the trail until he ran into help.

Further down the Loobster recognized a group of three climbers who had been climbing on the Spaceship, a crag just above where we were. Once he confirmed they were this group, he told them, "My friend is badly injured up there and I'm not from around here. I don't think I can lead the rescue group back to him. I need you to do that. Will you do it?" He responded affirmatively. Yet another person to unselfishly help me. The list would grow awfully long.

Further down the trail the Loobster met a ranger coming up the Bluebell Shelter road and flagged him down. He knew about the situation and told the Loobster to get in. Further up they met the guide and Loobster got out to make room. Loobster was told to wait for the Rocky Mountain Rescue group. RMR had just finished a practice session in Boulder Canyon so they were all assembled and ready for action. Sixteen members showed up in just a few minutes. Glenn Delman threw the 45-pound litter on his back and started running up the trail! The adrenaline of helping someone in dire need fueled him.

As it turns out Glenn is a member of my wife's running group and had been at our BBQ party the day before. He worked the ropes on the entire rescue and would be familiar with my first name and my wife's first name, but never make the connection who I was until the next day when he received an Email about my accident.

The first person to reach me was a ranger along with the drafted guide who had been climbing on the Spaceship. I'm lucid and answer all their questions. Soon more people arrive, including the Loobster. The Loobster still has to climb Green Mountain Pinnacle and get the rest of my gear down and the rope. Then he'll have to pack up two packs worth of gear and carry it all out.

Soon a paramedic arrives on the scene. While everyone who helped me was very professional and very compassionate, this paramedic inflicted a lot of pain on me. Unintentional, of course, but nevertheless tremendous pain. This came about due to his attempts to get an IV into my left arm. After cleaning my arm with alcohol and thereby burning my over wounds intensely, he warmed me, "This is going to hurt - it's a very large needle. He was right. I yelled in pain. Unfortunately, it didn't pierce the vein. A second attempt also failed and he couldn't bring himself to torture me a third time.

After I was carefully placed in the litter, wrapped in a device called a bean bag, they attached a neck brace. This seemed to be an unnecessary precaution as I had already been moving my head around quite a bit, though I've heard of instances where someone was able to move after a serious back injury and did permanent spinal damage to themselves by moving around. They had to take every precaution. Nevertheless, this brace would be the cause of much discomfort to me. It choked me and eventually had to be loosened up a bit. It wouldn't be completely removed until after x-rays were taken in the hospital.

Now another medic came at me intent on getting an IV in my arm. I tried to talk them out of it, saying that I was completely lucid and fine. They said they couldn't take a chance that I'd go downhill on the evacuation. As it turns out, they were right about that. A woman successfully got the IV into my right arm, having given up on the left arm. Once this was done, they were set to move me.

The evacuation was done by stringing sets of ropes from tree anchors. The terrain was not technical climbing, but it was quite steep and very rough with logs, boulders, small cliffs, trees, bushes, etc. There was no way to simply hike out carrying the litter. The litter itself was lowered on ropes, but at the same time at least four rescuers lifted and carried it over the terrain. This was extremely physical work and the litter crew was rotated regularly. I tried to remain courteous and responsive as there was nothing else I could do.

After an hour and a half of leapfrogging down ropes, I started to get tired. I guess I was going into shock. My mind was working fine, but I felt so tired and so sleepy. At first I could just barely talk because I was so tired, but then I couldn't talk at all. It was the most bizarre condition I've ever experienced and more than a little bit frightening. Basically, I forgot how to talk. I knew what words I wanted to say, but I just couldn't say them. I babbled around trying to say the word "Sunday" when asked what day it was. I finally got them to list the days of the week and nodded when they got to Sunday. The next question was who was the President and I could not figure out how to say the word "Clinton." This had nothing to do with my political alignment, but a baffling inability to form words. This condition went away once I got a bit stronger further down, but it was still very hard for me to talk. I was just so tired.

My condition worried the rescuers and they seemed to double their efforts. I couldn't see much from my cocoon, but eventually we left the ropes behind and were walking down the trail and carrying the litter. This did not occur as soon as the Royal Arch trail was reached because the trail itself is quite steep and with tight switchbacks. Switchbacks and litter carrying don't mix very well.

After more than two and a half hours in the litter, I was slid into an ambulance which apparently was up at the Bluebell Shelter. The Loobster was there and called to me, but I couldn't see him and still was unable to respond. The doors were closed and soon I was at the Boulder Community Hospital.

Looking up from the gurney in the emergency room I was shocked to see the face of my friend, Dale Wang. Dale is a good friend of my bother's and an avid climber. It turns out that six weeks ago Dale had a similar climbing accident and broke his L1 vertebra. I was once again subjected to the IV torture - apparently the field IV is not considered sterile enough despite the alcohol treatment. The emergency nurse twice failed to get the IV in my left arm after stinging me with alcohol. I yelled in pain. Never again will I let someone attempt to get an IV in my left arm. It must be something about the veins in that arm because both of these medical people cannot be this incompetent. She succeeded adding a second IV to my right arm after painfully stinging me with alcohol and jabbing the huge needle into my arm.

My wife, Sheri, was already at the hospital but wasn't very concerned as the Loobster down played the entire incident so he didn't panic her. Loobster mentioned that I didn't want a rescue and Sheri concentrated on that. She finished feeding the kids, loaded them up, and headed to the hospital. She brought Loobster and I some pizza to eat and expected to be bringing us home. The Loobster got the hospital a bit before I did and went right up to Sheri with tears in his eyes and embraced her. Unlike me, the Loobster is not an emotional person and now Sheri was concerned. I was then wheeled in strapped into a full back and neck brace. Sheri tensed for the worst. Later, while holding the phone so that I could talk to my brother on the phone, Sheri fainted. I could see her getting woozy and asked what was the matter. She sat down, but then stood back up. I was afraid she fall and injury herself. I kept telling her to sit down, but she ignored me. We were the only ones in the room and I started called, "Help! Help!" so that someone would come help Sheri before she hurt herself.

Sheri had called my Mom to notify her of the situation. She immediately got in the car and drove the forty minutes to my house so that she could watch the kids. The Loobster took the kids back home. When my Mom got there the Loobster returned to the hospital.

After countless x-rays, they removed my neck brace and told me I had a broken back. A CAT scan was necessary to determine the extent of the damage. Thirty minutes later I was done getting scanned. The results were as positive as possible - given that I had a broken back. The L2 vertebra was broken, but it did not threaten my spinal column. In the morning, the orthopedic would determine if surgery were necessary. Finally I was wheeled upstairs to a private room and hooked up to morphine so that I could sleep. I shooed the Loobster and Sheri back home to sleep and I spent a fitful night between morphine injections.

The orthopedic surgeon visited me the next morning and notified me that surgery would not be required. I was relieved, of course. I was told that a 100% recovery was expected but that it would take a year before my back didn't hurt me. In six weeks I'd be able to start exercising with some easy bike riding. Considering the alternatives, this sounded pretty good. Until then I wasn't supposed to bend, turn, twist, or lift. I'd be quite a burden on my wife.

Which brings me to the luckiest part of this whole mess: my family and friends. They are the greatest anyone could hope to have. And therefore far more than I deserve. But I'm so thankful. I was flooded with calls, visits, Emails, letters, flowers, balloons, and dinners. My Mom moved into our house for a full week. We couldn't have gotten by without her. She is an angel of compassion. A more giving person I have never known. This was just the latest example. My sister Kim brought dinner on Wednesday night. My sister Brook and her family came on Thursday night with steaks. Friday night my Mom made dinner. Saturday night I was invited to the Trashman's house. I will surely be monstrously fat by the time I'm healed, but I'll also have an incredible layer of goodwill. I glow from the inside with the appreciation and affection and love for my family and friends. To quote Lou Gehrig, "I might have been given a bad break, but I consider myself the luckiest man in the world."

Postscript:

Since my accident, I've found out that three friends have suffered back injuries from climbing accidents: Dale Wang, Ken Leiden, and Clint Cummins. Also, the noted aid climber Warren Hollinger suffered a career ending back injury when he took a fall climbing on the Rainbow Wall in Red Rock Canyons near Las Vegas.

There is no doubt that this accident was caused by my personal errors. In retrospect it seems amazing that I could not recognize the danger I was before it was to late. Most climbing accidents are caused by human error and this was no different. But this certainly wasn't the first time I had made an error. It was just the first time I had to pay a high price. Numerous other climbing partners have said the same thing to me. There aren't so arrogant as to think that they are alive or healthy because they've never made an error and nor was I before this. I knew accidents were caused by climbers making errors and whenever I read about them my reaction wasn't: "Oh, they screwed up. That will never happen to me because I never screw up." My reaction was more like: "Damn, that sucks. I've done similar things before, but this or that didn't happen to me at the same time. I'll have to re-think that practice." I've learned a lot from reading about the climbing accidents of others and it is my intent here to help others avoid a similar accident to mine.

These mistakes typically happen on "easy" ground where things are too "easy" to require full concentration. I don't get hurt leading 5.11 since I expect to fall off at any time and place lots of good gear. I have much more potential for serious injury on 5.7's where I might run things out considerably. If there was a runout of 12 feet on a hard climb, I might do it, but I would be concentrating very hard and very aware of what would happen if I fell. But on 5.6 ground I am likely to be much more careless. Or rappelling…

What I should have done instead:

All climbers are taught that when rappelling to never let go of the braking side of the rope. I've taught this myself to a number of climbers and I'd always stress "whatever else you do, don't let go of the rope with your brake hand." Having said all that, there are times when you need to free both hands, but whenever a climber is doing such a radical maneuver that goes against all the basic instruction, he should be triply sure he knows what he's doing and that he is safe. I didn't do this.

I should have taken responsibility for myself and always kept the rope wrapped around my leg when freeing both hands. This is my usual practice. I didn't do it here because I thought the Loobster could belay me and I didn't want him squeezing my leg as he helped pull me into the rock. This would have been a minor discomfort and obviously I should have kept the rope around my leg.

Another option was to use a prusik. I've never done this in the past and disdained this strategy as overly protective, more complicated, and slow. While I still believe that in routine rappelling situations, it might be appropriate in more unusual and dangerous situations. This clearly was a more dangerous rappel situation and I should have taken extra precautions and not less. But the use of a prusik is not a panacea and there is definitely debate in the climbing world on whether this makes the rappel safer or not. See this article for a more complete discussion:

http://www.dtek.chalmers.se/Climbing/Hardware/prusik-on-rappel.html

If there was any doubt as to my ability to clean the route, I should have downclimbed the 4^th class route back to the base and had the Loobster ascend the same route so that he could belay me from above (this route is about 120 feet long.) Then I could have climbed the route again, on a toprope while cleaning the gear.

The things that went right and allowed me to survive:

Falling over forty feet without a helmet onto your back in a very rocky area should kill you. If you're lucky it should paralyze you or permanently disable you in some way. My prognosis is 100% recovery. I have no marks on me from this incident (besides fading rope burn scars). I worked two days after the accident and spent only 24 hours in the hospital. Here are the things that went right for me:

 I was lucky, lucky, lucky!

 I landed in only possible spot where I could have survived.

 I was very fit at the time and maybe this helped me survive the impact.

 The Loobster moved extremely quickly in getting me help.

 RMR was fully assembled having just completed a practice and appeared on the scene very quickly..

The things that had to go wrong for this to happen:

 If I was in worse climbing shape or my head wasn't into leading. On the approach I thought there was a definite possibility that I would only get a ways up it before resorting to toproping.

 If the Loobster was in better climbing shape - he had not been doing much hard climbing this year - and he was able to follow the pitch.

 If the Loobster decided not to follow the pitch at all. Then the gear would have extended almost to the ground and the piece popping over the roof wouldn't have been a problem.

 In fact, if the Loobster had either climbed one piece higher or lower, than the bottom piece wouldn't have been the only questionable piece - the only piece with much of a chance to pop.

 The piece had to pop. If it didn't then the danger would have been clear before it was too late.

 If the Trashman had joined us that day, as was originally planned, he'd have surely been able to climb the route. Then I wouldn't have had to clean it on rappel.

Though I've had a bad accident, things went extremely fortunate for me. I've been spared. Probably not to do more climbing and running, but to raise two great boys. Of course, I'll try to do all three…

Other Near Death Experiences

This accident prompted me to think of other incidents where luck helped me survive a near death experience, or stupidity brought me very close:

 I taught myself how to rappel out my dorm window from a book. The first time I leaned back to try it out my biner configuration wasn't right. I grabbed the window frame and pulled myself back in for another look at the book.

 On one of my first outings on real rock my partner got shutdown trying to lead The Owl on Dome rock. I didn't even get to leave the ground. Hence I volunteered to rappel off the top of the Dome rock to retrieve the gear that my partner had left to retreat. It was dark at the time and I rappelled right into a knot and got stuck. I clipped my myself into a nearby piton via the gear sling I had over my head! Then I took myself off rappel and fixed the problem. Stupid!

 As I became a solid 5.7 leader I wanted to lead the notorious Bulge since it was 5.7 R and that would confirm my 5.7 leader status. I got through the first two pitches, but struggled at the crux bulge on the third pitch. Eventually, I got so tired that I just fell over backwards for a 45 foot fall! I fell onto an ancient quarter inch bolt. I fell from the crux to below the belay at the start of the pitch. Thankfully the wall is steep and I didn't hit anything until I swung into the wall, but this was very lucky - the wall isn't that steep. I wore no helmet and fell head down. Most of the force when I hit the wall was taken by my elbow and then my head hit - both were bleeding. All my fingertips were bleeding from sliding off the holds. My glasses fell the full 250 feet to the ground and broke. My partner, Eric Schneider, lowered me down to the first belay and we retreated. I had to drive my motorcycle back to our apartment without my glasses because Eric didn't know how to ride a motorcycle..

 While climbing the DNB in Yosemite, a basketball sized rock came screaming toward us. It blasted into the wall only a few feet above it and disintegrated.

 In September 1989, frustrated that I didn't have any climbing partners, I walked into the Dana Couloir (on Mt. Dana) to solo it. This couloir is only about 50 degrees or so, but I got there very late in the morning. I didn't start up it until 11 a.m. Halfway up the couloir I heard a tremendous roar and looked up to see a boulder the size of a VW Bug and all its satellite rocks coming straight for me. On brittle dinner plating ice I instinctly slammed my tools in with one stroke as I sprinted right to avoid certain death. The rocks missed me but I was severely shaken. I didn't want to downclimb the hundreds of feet I had already come up, but I feared going up also. I practically sprinted up the remainder of the couloir so that no other rocks would fall on me. It took me fully fifteen minutes before I could breathe normally after collapsing at the top.

 I once pulled a "Lynn Hill" and followed a route called "Wet Kiss" (5.9) in Pinnacles National Monument in California without my harness tied on. I had been interrupted while putting it on (something I will not allow anymore) and didn't finish the job. Thankfully I noticed the error before rappelling off the top.

 While descending the gully just west of the Awahnee Buttress and just as I was at the very edge of a 100 foot drop, the Loobster dislodges 4' by 4' by 2' boulder just above me. Instinctively, I dump up and let the boulder pass beneath me. Upon landing I slap my hand down on the rock in from of me so hard that it hurts for the rest of the day. Immediately the Loobster's hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. The boulder tumbles over the edge starts a cacophony of tumbling rocks down the gully. We knew no one else was up here and were glad for that because anyone in the gully below would have stood a good chance of being crushed.