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Baker Publishing Group - Peb Jackson

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35 pages

English

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Description

Adventurous true stories of endurance take readers on a high adrenaline ride and pose provocative questions that move men forward in their lives and faith.

Sujets

Philosophie et théologie

Informations

Publié par	Baker Publishing Group
Date de parution	01 septembre 2012
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781441240781
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0086€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

© 2010 by James L. Lund
Published by Revell
a division of Baker Publishing Group
P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287
www.revellbooks.com
Originally published in 2010 under the title Danger Calling
Abridged ebook edition created 2012
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means for example, electronic, photocopy, recording without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
ISBN 978-1-4412-4078-1
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
Unless otherwise indicated, Scripture is taken from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®. NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved.
Scripture marked Message is taken from The Message by Eugene H. Peterson, copyright © 1993, 1994, 1995, 2000, 2001, 2002. Used by permission of NavPress Publishing Group. All rights reserved.
Scripture marked NASB is taken from the New American Standard Bible®, Copyright © 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977, 1995 by The Lockman Foundation. Used by permission.
Scripture marked NKJV is taken from the New King James Version. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
Published in association with William K. Jensen Literary Agency, 119 Bampton Court, Eugene, Oregon 97404.
The internet addresses, email addresses, and phone numbers in this book are accurate at the time of publication. They are provided only as a resource; Baker Publishing Group does not endorse them or vouch for their content or permanence.
To my longtime friend Tim Hansel and the gang at Summit Expedition, who fired me up in countless ways, especially in reference to mountains and great effort.
Peb
To Betty Jean (Leonard) Lund, who encouraged me to pursue my calling wherever it led. Thanks, Mom, for everything.
Jim
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
1. Cold Night in the Elk Mountains The Story of Peb Jackson, Dick Savidge, and a Hike to Aspen
2. Sailing for Glory The Story of the Golden Globe Race
3. The Open Road The Story of Drew Wills
4. To the Last Breath The Story of John Chatterton
5. Sailing the World at Seventeen The Story of Zac Sunderland
6. The Miracle Girl The Story of Juliane Koepcke
Resources
Acknowledgments
Back Ads
Back Cover
1 Cold Night in the Elk Mountains
We consider blessed those who have persevered.
James 5:11
A t the start, I didn’t think a bit about hypothermia or desperate thirst or whether I’d see my wife again. I was with friends on an adventure. That was what mattered.
It was all Dick Savidge’s idea. He’d called me a couple of weeks before at my office in Glendora, California. “Peb!” he’d said. “Let’s go get scared.” Dick and I had been partners in crime before: ice climbs and a summit of the Petit Grepon in Rocky Mountain National Park; adventures with Tim Hansel’s Summit Expedition outfit; and ice climbs in Vail, including the day Dick broke his leg on the treacherous Rigid Designator. The idea this time was to cross-country ski through twenty miles of snow country over a pass into Aspen. Dick knew I was ready for any chance to test my limits.
That’s how we found ourselves standing at a trailhead near Crested Butte, Colorado, on a January morning in 1989: Dick, a former Outward Bound instructor from Denver; Stevan Strain, a restaurant owner and Himalayan climber from Colorado Springs; Bill, a Colorado carpenter and alpine-style climber; and me, Peb Jackson, an outdoorsman who was always looking for an excuse to return to the elements. It was 4 a.m. The night was bold and black, the stars intense from our vantage point at about eight thousand feet. It was also twenty degrees below zero, a “snap, crackle, and pop” cold.
Our intention was to cross-country ski to another trailhead in Aspen, more than twenty miles northeast as the crow flies. The terrain was difficult, a series of passes and ridges and slopes. We’d never heard of anyone making the journey in a single day. But we were all in great shape and confident of our abilities in the outdoors maybe too confident. We wore insulated long underwear and several layers of clothing but carried no tents or sleeping bags, no down of any kind. We had no stove. Our food supply consisted of energy bars and water bottles. The plan was to travel light and fast and arrive in Aspen by dark.
That was the plan.
I was enthralled during those first hours. Despite having to break trail through heavy snow, we made good progress along an old jeep trail. The only sounds were of ice and twigs crackling beneath our skis and our own breathing. The crisp air froze inside my nose and throat. Even in the extreme cold, I quickly worked up a sweat.
A couple of hours into the journey, the first hints of a gorgeous sunrise appeared over the top of the Elk Mountains ahead of us. It was an amazing sight: a blanket of pristine snow, endless spires of evergreen trees that cast long black shadows, and an overcoat of orange rays draped across the landscape. We were surrounded by stark beauty.
“Dick,” I huffed as we hiked, “we’ve been a lot of places together. I love this environment. It’s primal territory.”
“Peb, that’s exactly why I call you,” Dick replied. “You’re always game.”
It was midmorning when we reached a small wooden sign etched with the words “Pearl Pass” and an arrow pointing left. This was the landmark we were looking for. We consulted our crude map to confirm our bearings, but its lack of detail provided little help. We turned in the direction of the arrow and pushed on, continuing to sink with our skis into heavy powder past our knees with each step.
Only later did we learn our mistake. Pearl Pass was actually dead ahead. Something or someone had turned the sign. We were heading into unknown territory.
A couple of hours later, Stevan was breaking trail, and I was second in line. Stevan glanced over his shoulder at me and without stopping said, “You know, something’s not quite right here. We should be at the pass by now.”
“You’re right,” I said. “But we’ll get out of here.” I knew that once we got over Pearl Pass, it was a straight shot to Aspen. Yet for the first time, I felt a tug of concern. As the sun dropped lower in the sky, my concern grew.
It was late afternoon when we reached the upper end of a cirque. Beyond it was the top of what we thought was Pearl Pass. This steep gulley, however, was not a place we wanted to be. It looked ripe for an avalanche. Yet to go higher was impossible; it was too steep. Turning around was equally unappealing. We were twelve hours and many miles into the journey. We also knew that Dick’s wife was waiting alone for us at the Aspen trailhead. In these days before cell phones, we had no way of contacting her.
We gathered in a small huddle. Despite the subzero temperature, I was hot from the exertion and terribly thirsty. I pulled a water bottle from inside my jacket, where I’d placed it long before in hopes of melting it. No luck the water was still frozen. Next I tried an energy bar. It too was frozen, but I was able to bite off a small piece to chew.
We weighed the alternatives. “I still don’t know exactly where the heck we are,” Stevan said, “but I’ve got to believe that if we can get across this slope and over the pass, the hike to Aspen shouldn’t be too bad.”
Bill looked behind us. “I don’t want to go back now,” he said. “We’d be hiking all night.” He surveyed the slope in front of us, then turned to Dick and me. “What do you guys think? It looks a little dicey, but we don’t have much choice. Are you up for moving ahead?”
According to the Colorado Avalanche Information Center, avalanches kill about twenty-five people in the United States each year, including six per annum in Colorado. The most dangerous are slab avalanches, which occur when stronger snow overlies weaker snow. A single man disturbing this perilous terrain is enough to ignite a massive shift in the landscape. In seconds, a slope as long as half a football field can simply disappear.
“We’ve got to do this,” Dick said. “But we’ve got to be really careful.”
I took a deep breath. I also took consolation in knowing these guys were experienced climbers. I trusted their judgment.
“Let’s get going,” I said. “I’m getting cold.”
The field in front of us was about a hundred yards across and far too steep for us to stop ourselves if we fell, especially without ice axes. Below it was a drop of several hundred feet. It might as well have been ten thousand.
Stevan would go first. He took off his skis and strapped them on his back. He would kick steps across the slope, using his poles for balance as he moved. There was no point in roping up if one of us fell, he’d take the rest with him. Stevan began gingerly picking his way across the slope while the rest of us held our breath.
Less than an hour later, Stevan and Dick were safely across. It was my turn. Lord , I prayed, give me energy . Keep me safe. Help me to keep my focus. I stepped onto the slope and felt the snow compact beneath my boots. I was grateful that Stevan had kicked in a trail. I tried to will myself to be as light as possible.
A couple years earlier, I’d been crossing a similar stretch of snow at the Maroon Bells near Aspen. I was about twenty yards into the slope, carefully checking each step but trying to move at a steady pace, when a friend behind me called out, “Peb, don’t even think about it. Just go.” I heard the urgency in his voice. What he wasn’t telling me was that a crack in the snow had just opened up behind me. Thankfully, that one didn’t develop into a slab avalanche. I’m not sure to this day why it didn’t.
This time, I didn’t waste energy looking around. I kept my eyes straight ahead and focused on makin