He Died Unnecessarily At 25

June 27, 2024 Greg McNichols

FROM EXHILARATION TO DREAD

After two days of climbing, we reached Moraine Camp, perched at 15,748 feet. Exhaustion and exhilaration mixed as we set up tents for the night, taking in the sight of the rugged 600-foot, 70-degree ice climb that awaited us at sunrise. That wall of ice was one of several challenges remaining before we would arrive at High Camp the following evening.

Suddenly, two mountaineers came repelling down the glacial wall and into our campsite. Their faces revealed their urgency. They blurted out that their friend had fallen into a crevasse while not roped up. He was conscious yet unable to rescue himself. Despite their willingness to help, his friends couldn't rescue him—all because he untied the figure-8 knot on his harness to cross a section he thought was within his abilities.

The stark reality hit hard: 25-year-old Louis Pachoud was alive but trapped in a crevasse several football fields above us. We knew rescue wouldn't come before daylight, still 12 hours away. This was not how any of us thought our Friday, August 2, 2019, would unfold.

FREEZING TO DEATH IN A CREVASSE

My dear friend and climbing partner, Rick Iriarte, and I lay in our down bags, feeling the relentless, bitterly cold wind battering our tent. We knew all too well the fate awaiting the young climber—alive and conscious like us but trapped at the bottom of a crevasse.

As the temperature plummeted with the setting sun, Louis would begin to feel the bitter cold seep into his bones. At first, he might try to keep moving to generate some warmth, but the confines of the crevasse would make that nearly impossible. His breath would become shallow, his movements sluggish. As hypothermia set in, his body would start to shiver uncontrollably, a desperate attempt to generate heat. The shivering would eventually cease as his body temperature dropped further, his mind drifting in and out of consciousness. The once sharp edges of fear and desperation would blur into a hazy, dream-like state as the cold claimed him, inch by inch. Finally, as the darkness enveloped him completely, Louis's struggle would end, his young life extinguished by the relentless, unforgiving cold.

All because he untied the rope, isolating himself from the friends who could have rescued him.

RECOVERING HIS BODY

As Rick, our guide, and I climbed the ice wall the next day, we had to anchor off to the side. The rescue team (now a recovery team), which had passed us two hours earlier, was now descending with the 25-year-old just hours after his life had ended.

I took a few pictures of this young man's body and even a selfie with him. It wasn't out of morbid curiosity or a desire for a memento. I took these photos to remind myself of life's fragility, the relentless power of the mountains, and the importance of staying roped to the friends we journey with.

The accident drew attention in Peru and France, shedding light on the inherent dangers of high-altitude mountaineering on challenging peaks like Alpamayo. Pachoud's death is a sobering reminder of the extreme risks climbers face when pursuing such ambitious ascents.

DON'T UNTIE THE ROPE

Louis's tragic decision to untie himself from his friends underscores the principle in Ecclesiastes 4:9-10: "Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their labor: If either of them falls down, one can help the other up. But pity anyone who falls and has no one to help them up." In the unforgiving environment of the mountains, as in life, isolating ourselves can lead to perilous consequences. Louis's story is a stark reminder that we are not meant to journey alone; our connections with others are vital lifelines that can save us in times of need.

It's easy to slip into a pattern of isolation, even when surrounded by people. But let's be real – we all need deep, meaningful connections beyond surface-level interactions. Intentionally cultivate deeper friendships. Get tacos with a friend and talk about what truly matters. Reconnect with friends you've drifted away from. Start a new habit of checking in regularly with a circle of at least 3 to 5 close friends. Building deeper friendships doesn't just enrich our lives; it creates a support system that can catch us when we fall into the crevasses of life. After all, life is a climb that is safest and most enjoyable when shared.

In the Christian life, connectedness and mutual support are huge. We're not meant to go it alone. The Bible is clear about this: we're called to carry each other's burdens (Galatians 6:2) and build each other up (1 Thessalonians 5:11). This means supporting one another and growing together in faith. I can't overstress this enough: it's not just about meeting once a week. It's about sharing life together—it's beautiful, messy, and absolutely essential to our journey.

FINISHING THE STORY

Rick and I finished our climb over the next three days. We ascended the rugged ice wall from Moraine Camp to High Camp and spent a restless night at High Camp, at 18,500 feet and 10.5% oxygen (compared to 21% in Ohio), mentally preparing for the final ascent.

At 11:45 PM, I began gearing up for the summit attempt while Rick stayed at the tent, thinking of his daughters back home. Juan Carlos and I set out from High Camp, making our way to the final 1,600-foot vertical ice and snow-packed wall. Safely roped up and belayed, I was exhausted after falling into two crevasses and climbing out with my ice axes. By 5 AM, we had reached 19,000 feet. Physically, I felt great, but the 9.8% oxygen made it impossible to catch my breath. Acknowledging the mountain's unforgiving nature, we made the tough decision to descend just a few hundred feet from the summit.

Rick and I had covered 36 miles, faced the rugged ice wall, navigated the crevasses, and reached incredible heights on one of South America's most beautiful Mountains. The joy of our journey, the breathtaking views, and the friendship shared along the way made every challenge worthwhile.

Allow my pictures of our trip and Louis's tragic accident to remind you to stay "roped-up" in the mountains and in life; our safety and strength come from our bonds with one another.