A Cut Rope and a Fatal Fall on Yamnuska
A Surviving Climber Recounts a Tragic Accident
Ray Cossette had only been climbing with Kevin Ross for about a year, but they had climbed some classic and difficult routes together before Kevin took a fall on a Yamnuska rock climb this summer and his lone rope broke. Kevin fell to his death and Cossette has been coping with the accident every day since. The two Alberta climbers had climbed The Beckey/chouinard in the Bugaboos IV 5.10, Whiteman Falls IV WI6 and Virtual Reality V WI6 together and had recently climbed Forbidden Corner 5.9 on Yamnuska.
Kevin’s fatal accident took place on a sunny and windless day high on Chockstone Corner IV 5.10, which is famous for the narrow chimneys near the top. They had wanted to climb Kahl Wall IV 5.10, but two climbers were on it. Before the accident, the “climbing was full of banter and laughter,” said Cossette who was seconding most of the pitches because of Kevin’s experience on Yamnuska. “We were moving efficiently despite the route finding efforts on the third pitch. The route was rated two stars, but we were enjoying it like it was a three-star route. A couple real great pitches of climbing.”
Cossette has been a member of the Rockies climbing community for the past decade. Talking about the loss of someone in the community is never easy, but being the climber on the other end of the rope when your friend dies is unimaginable. Despite that, Cossette found it helped to talk about the accident and answered some questions for us. Our condolences to Kevin’s family and friends.
WHERE DID THE ACCIDENT OCCUR?
We had started pitch seven of nine, and were approximately 60 metres from the top of the route.
WHAT WAS GOING ON BEFORE KEVIN STARTED CLIMBING?
We had finally reached a belay station where it was comfortable enough to take off our shoes. So we did. We had a quick snack and shared some water. We took a 10-minute break before coming up with the next pitch’s game plan.
WHAT WAS KEVIN’S CLIMBING LIKE BEFORE THE ACCIDENT?
He had been climbing strong all day with solid gear placements and always smiling as I came up to the belay station behind him. As he launched up the seventh pitch, he was as confident as he’d always been, keen on solving the climbing puzzle laid out in front of him.
WAS HE OFF-ROUTE?
Looking back, he had climbed just slightly off route, a couple metres. He had followed a good groove leading to a piton above the belay instead of the obvious crack on the right. He continued up right on a less-than-featured wall aiming for easier ground above instead of going direct into the wide chimney.
WHAT WAS THE ROCK LIKE?
The rock was solid by Yamuska standards. At the time of the accident, the climbing was on good rock, traversing rightward across a ledge with what looked to be large boulders/blocks (from my point of view at the belay). I was belaying with a standard first generation Grigri, climbing with a single like new 9.2 mm triple-rated Petzl Volta rope. Kevin had clipped one piton and as we found out over a week later, a #2 cam extended with a long sling above the ledge, near the blocks. He had complained about rope drag before reconfiguring that cam and extending it longer than when initially placed, which fixed the rope drag issue. The cam would have been placed within five metres of the fall’s starting location. The exposure wasn’t big for the leader as a ledge split the distance between himself and me. A lessthan-vertical groove was to climber’s right of the belay. The wall of Yamnuska below became vertical beyond the groove.
WHAT HAPPENED THAT LED TO THE ACCIDENT?
As Kevin climbed, he had started to move slower and stopped talking. I was now able to see him from the belay station, struggling in one specific area. A few minutes of struggle went by before he fell, landing on his feet at the ledge initially with momentum carrying him over.
WHAT WAS THE ACCIDENT?
As Kevin fell, he yelped “Whoah!” before his fall continued over the ledge. He ended up slightly inverted when he hit a small ledge in the low angle groove that was to my right – about three metres away. The total fall distance to this point was likely 20 metres. After this impact, he rolled and disappeared over the edge of the steep wall. I was unable to arrest the fall as the rope had severed above the ledge, likely on the large blocks. The severed rope was dangling a few metres above me, still clipped into the piton, and looped over a small bulge feature.
THEN WHAT HAPPENED?
After hearing the final impact far below, I gave out three very loud screams for help. “Help! Help! I need help!” There were hikers below starting the scree run down, and I directed my yells for help to them. I still think back on it and can’t even imagine what was going through their minds. I wonder if they saw him fall. I immediately went for my pack for my spot device – realizing I left it at home. It took me a few seconds to realize where I was and that we have cell phone reception. I took out my phone and somehow found the number pad and dialled 911 – this was a very frustrating and difficult exercise due to my state. The first words out of my mouth were “My friend just died. He fell and he’s gone.” I remember the operator’s shocked response, asking what address I was at and repeating what I had said, except she modified and said, “You are assuming your friend may have died.” I responded with “There’s no assumption, he did not survive. I’m on Yamnuska, the mountain, rock climbing. I’m on Chockstone Corner, pitch seven.” The operator patched me over to Parks dispatch, where I was able to relay my message with the help of the 911 dispatcher. It wasn’t long until I could hear a helicopter on approach.
HOW WAS YOUR MIND DEALING WITH EVERYTHING?
I was in total darkness. As soon as the helicopter arrived and took a look at my situation, determining I was OK I think I relayed my condition to dispatch as, “Safe, uninjured, secure, gear anchor, good ledge,” but I’m not sure that ever got transferred over in full as they flew back up a while later checking in on me), my phone’s battery was dying and the call was dropped. The helicopter flew away from me and I briefly panicked. I wasn’t processing anything properly. I thought they were leaving me and I had no way of communicating with anyone anymore. I’m alone.
The cavalry arrived in pretty short order. rcmp, Fire, Ambulance – everyone piled in at the staging area below my position, and I was able to witness this unfold, around 800 vertical metres below me. The helicopter picked up a rescue specialist, and dropped him off on the scree below the face. I then caught on that they were checking up on Kevin. I thought they picked his body up and flew him out then and there. I wasn’t able to see exactly where he had ended up. I found out later that he ended his fall 100 metres down the scree from the climber’s trail below the wall. The helicopter flew back to staging, and shut off the engine. I had some relief knowing that Kevin’s body was removed. This ended up being false – he was still there. They had covered him up and moved their efforts to getting me to safety. I would only find out these details two hours later.
As far as my mind was concerned, I was only able to think of two people: my wife for one, and how I’d be able to tell her, and Kevin’s father. It tore me apart knowing that he was about to receive a phone call stating that there’s been an accident, and his son had died. This was difficult. I stayed alone with my thoughts until rescue reached my position.
HOW LONG UNTIL THE RESCUE ARRIVED?
Initially the crew arrived very quickly, they were already in the air on another call and diverted to Yamnuska. The helicopter and I were face to face within what felt like no more than 10 minutes.
THEN WHAT HAPPENED?
“I was unable to arrest the fall as the rope had severed above the ledge, likely on the large blocks.”
I tried to relay through hand signals that my phone was dead, gave them a few hand signals stating that I was OK and they signaled to me that they were coming in from above. Rescuers were dropped off above the climb with additional gear. Another hour went by
before I heard a voice above me. I could see far above that someone from the rescue team was now rappelling (he was being lowered) to my position. We established my well-being and state (two-piece gear anchor, equalized dyneema sling, standing on a good ledge, uninjured, safe). He gave me a heads up on possible small rock fall as he lowered and I was able to move a couple feet over to a less exposed area from above. Maybe 20 minutes later, I was again with another human. We tied me into the lines and discussed the plan. The rescuer allowed me to call my wife with his own personal cell – he held it, on speakerphone (thinking I was likely to drop it – good call). That was a difficult call, the rescuer helped and my wife was on her way.
I was 60 metres from the top of the wall and they planned to haul me up, but after an attempt they opted to lower us. My curious mind (was good to chat, took my mind off things for a few seconds) asked how much rope they had, the rescuer said 200 metres. As we waited to be switched over to a lowering system, I was able to see straight down the wall and spotted fragments of Kevin’s helmet in a few places, his pack, more stuff I couldn’t recognize, and something black way down on the scree slope. That’s when I found out that Kevin had simply been covered up and his body remained in position where he came to a rest. That was difficult to take in, and it’s a sight that’s permanently imprinted in my mind, along with many others.
We started to lower, inch by inch, metre by metre. It was a slow but deliberate exercise. The rescuer did a great job at keeping a conversation going. I knew what he was doing – keep me talking about good things, positive things. It helped. As we were then on a very vertical section of Yamnuska (I’d check later and we lowered over a 5.12 bolted route), we ran out of rope up top. We were able to reach a ledge with a bolted belay station for the 5.12 route. The team up top called in for more rope and it was delivered.
The lowering continued until the top team had to pass the knot and reconfigure the system. I’d estimate this process took 20 minutes per rope, two ropes. My legs went numb. We reached the ledge that leads to Grillmair’s Chimney and unclipped. The rescuer picked up a random #2 cam that was at the base (this would be a key piece to understanding that Kevin had protected the traverse – not something I had initially thought he did) clipped it to himself and instructed me to move down with him where the helicopter line would be within reach. The heli had done a test run prior to see where the best place for pickup would be.
I was soon on a long-line with the rescuer flying over Kevin’s body – close enough for me to see how he was positioned. We went to the staging where I met rcmp. A quick accident report and I was brought to Nikki (my wife), and we (she) drove us home.
“As far as my mind was concerned, I was only able to think of two people: my wife for one, and how I’d be able to tell her, and Kevin’s father.”
Kevin and I had ridden our motorcycles to the climb that day. They would stay there overnight, to be picked up the next day. I met with the rescuers a few weeks after the accident and asked why I simply wasn’t plucked off the route via a long line. The reason the rescue happened the way it did was that the wall was too steep and my position was too close to the wall.
WHAT WERE THE DAYS LIKE AFTER THE ACCIDENT?
The first night was difficult, to say the least. The nightmares were on a scale I’d never experienced and continue to a lesser extent to this day. I took a call from Kevin’s best friend the following morning. The conversation that followed was by far the hardest one I’ve ever had to make. No one knew yet. They were the first person I’d tell other than Nikki, and I’m sure Kevin’s father had received a call.
The following day, I was invited to Kevin’s father’s home to meet him and Kevin’s sister. They wanted to meet me and hear of the accident from my point of view. Of course, I accepted the request and took the day to sit with them and discuss. I was glad that it helped put some sense into this being an accident, and nothing else. It took a lot out of them, and me, but helped on both sides.
The funeral was organized and planned for the Friday and I hear that over 350 people were in attendance. I was honoured with a seat beside the family during the ceremony. The second hardest emotional day of my life so far was that funeral, the first being the accident itself. Just over one week after the accident, I had the opportunity to scramble up Yamnuska via the regular hikers route with two of Kevin’s closest friends and his sister. We carried Kevin’s ashes to the top of the route, located the area where the rescue had set up and released the ashes over the route.
HOW HAVE YOU BEEN REFLECTING ON IT?
“We all go into climbing accepting that accidents can happen.” We joke about it, talk up stories of survival, rant about our “epics” and post on social media on how rock fall was “so close today, he/i/ they was/were lucky.” We’ve all done it and continue to do so. I no longer believe we go into climbing accepting that accidents can happen to us. I believe that we go into it with some type of fantasy about safety, joking around that accidents can happen, but never really believing it. I never believed a rope would break. The rope is your only lifeline. If you believe it can break, how can you climb with it? Why would you tie into it?
I’ve reflected on the “what ifs” of that day. What if we had climbed with a double-rope system? Would it have changed the outcome? Made it worse (me being pulled off)? Made it better?
With these questions in mind, I’ve decided to quit the sport. I truly believe that if it were only me and I lived my life alone I would probably continue. I’d push out the images from my mind and concentrate on the movements, as we do. But I’ve seen the aftermath. I’ve seen the torment an accident of this magnitude puts on a family, how far the reach can be. I’ve made the phone calls, listened to the voices drop and destroy the other person. I was fortunate to start my call to my wife with “I’m OK but…” Kevin’s father did not hear those same words. Could I ever go out there and risk putting my wife in a situation where she’d answer the phone as Kevin’s family did that night? I used to be OK with the risks since I managed them the best I could, and “knew” I’d be coming home. Those days are behind me now.
IT HAPPENED NOT LONG AGO, BUT LOOKING BACK, WHAT WORDS OF ADVICE DO YOU HAVE FOR OTHER CLIMBERS?
It’s not the accident that’s hard. It’s what comes after. I have the burden of carrying the images and sounds of what happened out there with me, while vivid and relived daily, they are impossible to relay in a way I feel satisfies Kevin’s friends and family (they tell me they’re OK). I stood on that ledge, looking at that frayed rope above me for three hours, wondering how that happened. I don’t feel my advice will matter to the climbing community. People will continue climbing, blindly trusting the gear they’ve been told is over-engineered 10 times over necessity – and it probably is. But, in the right (wrong) circumstance, regardless of your abilities, you may not come home.
“With these questions in mind, I’ve decided to quit the sport.”