Chapter 4

Ice climbing in the White Mountains as a sport goes back many years to a couple of students at Dartmouth who made a newsworthy ascent. Never a widespread activity, it was on an up tick of popularity with young athletes of both sexes, looking for new ways to work off energy and create manageable dangers. Along with the increasing numbers to enter the sport, came advances in its equipment. Boots, jackets, technique had all evolved.

Bob Gold had heard more about Adams’ visit to Great Haystack. “I understand your ski area has gone batty,” was his greeting to Cilla.

“Bob’s level of humor is only slightly higher than that of the mammal he’s referring to.” Andre unloaded rope from his crossover. “I brought along one of the new ice axes I thought you might like to try.” He handed it to Cilla.

“My role is cook,” said Bob, “and I have the finest P B & Js to be found in the Valley of the Saco. Stretched my abilities, but the occasion seemed to warrant it.”

“He’s actually quite a chef,” said Andre. “He made duck a l’orange last night that was as good as any I’ve tasted.”

“That’s why he’s not married. He wouldn’t let a woman in his kitchen,” said Cilla.

“Not true,” said Bob. “I spend too much time in the woods to interest a woman.”

“I don’t know about that,” said Cilla.

“Those with Native American heritage excepted,” Gold put in hastily.

“I hear you’re getting evicted for a freezer,” said Cilla to Andre, testing the weight of the ice ax

“The contractor thinks it’s pretty funny, a walk-in for a one-person household.” Bob tightened his bootlaces.

Andre looked up at the mini glacier. “The usual ascent is to the left. You ready?”

Thirty minutes later they reached a small island of scrub trees on the cliff face some two hundred feet above the valley floor, where climbers often paused for a rest. The three of them were all in excellent condition so kept climbing. Andre was in the lead, Cilla between him and Bob.

She wasn’t sure what happened next. Though she’d done no ice climbing for many years, she’d gradually gained confidence as they ascended. Both men were obviously experienced climbers, and she liked the feel of the new ax in her hands. They’d gone several feet beyond the oasis when the rope yanked her off the ice, and, without warning she found herself sliding down the cliff! She swung her ax into the ice, but it didn’t hold. The island! She grabbed for a tree, but it was pulled out of her hands. Suddenly the rope tightened, and she found herself dangling in space. She grabbed at the ice for a hold, but couldn’t reach it. She looked up. Andre was hanging from the clump.

“I’ve got you!” he yelled. “Hang on! I think I can…” he grunted with the effort as he wound the rope around a clump of small trees, then gradually pulled her up to the island. Bob had managed a hold on the ice and climbed to join them.

“Boy, that was close,” breathed Bob. “Good work, Andre.” Then, “What’s wrong?”

Andre was bent in pain, clutching his right arm.

“You’re hurt. What happened?”

“My shoulder,” Andre gasped.

“Sprained?” asked Cilla.

“I don’t know…” A spasm of pain. “It feels out of place.”

“We better get you to the hospital,” said Bob. “Think you can rapelle down?”

Andre gave a nod. “My left arm’s OK.” And with Bob’s help on the ropes, they were on horizontal ground in twenty minutes.

Dr. Jim Evans at Memorial Hospital pronounced it a dislocation, but had more difficulty getting the shoulder back in place than he’d expected; by the time he was finished, his patient was bathed in perspiration. He met Cilla and Bob in the waiting room.

“I’ll want to see him again in a few days. He shouldn’t be driving until then. He says he’s on vacation, where does he have to go?”

“He’s been with me,” said Bob, “but I haven’t got space for him any more.”

“I do,” said Cilla. “What’s he need?”

“Rest. Gentle exercise.”

“I swim a couple of days a week at the Club. He can go over there with me.”

Andre didn’t like the idea when told. “I’m not a very social creature. It’s midweek, there are plenty of motels with rooms open.”

“Are you allergic to a cat?” asked Cilla.

“No. I’ve two of my own, but…”

“Then it’s settled. It was my fall that wrenched your shoulder. The least you can do is let me help while it mends.” There were more protests, but Cilla had made up her mind.