Mountain Project Logo

Whodunpukedalloverit: An Epic Tahquitz Adventure

Original Post
Eric "Pig" Varley · · Nipomo, CA · Joined Sep 2012 · Points: 50

On Friday, May 2nd, my climbing partner and I set off at 7:20 am from Humber Park to climb the classic line Whodunit. About half way up the trail I begin to feel nauseous. We decide to take a break and see if a little rest will settle everything down. 30 minutes later, I am feeling great and we continue our way to the base of the climb. Once there, we take a small break, reassess my condition, and decide that since I felt fine the rest of the hike up that I am good to climb. I tie in and rack up to lead the first pitch.

The first pitch is amazing, one of my most technically difficult gear leads. I work my way up to a rest position before the crux, place a #2 wallnut in the overlap crack to my left, take a deep breath and start out on the friction slab. The moves are small and tenuous with little chance of successfully downclimbing back to the rest stance. I eventually make my way up to the overhang, grab a funky rail/undercling in the overhang with my right hand, and reach up with my left to jam my fingers in the crack above. Problem, my fingers don’t fit. Shit! My assumed rest is not to be had. Can I place something now? No. Damnit! I can either keep climbing until I find a stance, risking a good size fall, or I can whip now. Well, I came to send, so climb on. I reach up with my right hand and gaston the tips crack, opposing my left and right hands. I slowly work my feet a little higher, then my hands, then my feet again. This is unrelenting. How much longer can this go on? How much longer can I last? I move my left hand a little higher, and then I see it, a nice crimper rail off to my right. I grab it, place a #0 C3 in the crack to my left, and let out a deep sigh of relief. YES! I’m through the crux. Holy crap, that was exhilarating. I get my feet past the overhang and hike the rest of the way up to the Edge Hogs anchor and build a belay.

I’m feeling great. The morning nausea is a distant memory. My partner makes it up to the first belay, we take a moment to enjoy some water and an energy bar, then he quickly takes off leading the second pitch. He cruises the pitch without a problem and makes it up to the second belay in little time. Before I know it, I’m up at the top of the pitch with him. Staring up at the third pitch Chimney, I’m excited about my next lead. We go through the usual drill of swapping gear, hydrating, and eating another bar. “Climbing.” I say. Game on.

The technical crux is over, all I have to do is get through the chimney. I make my way up to a lower ledge where I have the option of going left up the dihedral, or right up a hand crack. The hand crack appears to be a bit more difficult to start, so I commit to going left. As I pull into the dihedral, a scorpion appears out of the crack. I back off and take a moment. My partner calls up, “You ok?” “Yeah, I’m just waiting for this scorpion to be on its merry way.” I reply. The scorpion walks into a dark crack. I make a mental note to avoid it and continue up. I make my way up the chimney, shimmy up to just below the roof, plug a #4 C4, and fire the crux. YES! Two 5.9 cruxes down. This is a great day. I setup the anchor and begin to belay my partner up.

My partner is working his way up the pitch when I suddenly hear him yell. I look down in time to see something flying off the wall. The scorpion. “Are you ok?” I ask. “Yeah, but I think I may have just gotten stung.” He replies. Shit. “Let’s get you up here and assess the situation if that sounds good.” I say. He responds with “climbing.” He arrives at the belay, looks at me and says “good lead, and I fucking hate chimneys.” The scorpion sting looks fine. Hopefully it didn’t get him too badly, or maybe it’s a less poisonous breed. We take a break to see if the sting is going to become a problem. When we are confident that he’s going to be fine, we go through our transition process, and he sets off to lead the fourth pitch.

Unsure of which way to go at the offwidth (because he hates offwidth more than chimneys), he spies a weakness off to his right and follows it all the way to a comfy ledge, where he sets up the next belay. I follow up the pitch with ease. Just before I reach the top, he points to climbers left, “I’m pretty sure the route is 20 feet over that way. There’s a weakness over here, but it’s covered in lichen, so I’m pretty sure that’s wrong.” I get up to the top, take a look, and we decide that 20 feet to the left is where we want to be. The ledge is comfy, and there’s a faster party behind us, so we decide to take a well deserved break. The weather is wonderful, the climbing is fantastic, it has been a very good day.

As we’re waiting at our belay for the party behind us to pass, I begin to feel a little dizzy. I sit down on the ledge, pull my personal anchor tight, and close my eyes for a few minutes to get some meaningful rest. Twenty minutes pass and the dizziness has not subsided. “I think you’re going to have to lead the last two pitches. At least I feel good enough to follow.” I tell my partner. We decide that I’ll traverse out and move the belay back in line with the route, and then he can proceed with pitch 5 from there. The second from the other party passes us and I’m suddenly hit with a spell of nausea. I lean out away from the belay, brace against a small buttress off to my left, and begin to vomit. We’re 4 pitches up, we have 2 more to go, what are we going to do? I regain control and take a look at the damage. I managed to keep the gear clean, but my right shoe and pant leg aren’t so lucky. Shit, it has been such a good day.

In the span of 5 minutes everything has changed. My partner looks at me and says “We need to figure out what we’re going to do. What do you know you’re capable of right now.” We have two options: we can rappel back down to the ground through multiple single rope rappels, or we can finish the climb and hike the descent trail back to the car. I need to get back to the car as fast as possible. I have enough strength to follow the rest of the route. Rappelling is never a guaranteed quick descent. “Let finish the climb. It’s going to be the fastest way to get back to the car.” I respond. My partner traverses to move the belay, brings me over, and sets up to lead the fifth pitch. “You good?” He asks, “Because you look like hell.” I shake it off and focus on the belay. “I’m good. On belay.” I respond.

I look up, keeping an eye on my partner as he leads the pitch. Dizziness swirls around me once again. Crap, I can’t tilt my head up without losing my equilibrium. I guess I’m going to have to belay by feel. The adrenaline kicks in. I lean into the wall, close my eyes, focus on the movement of the rope, and remind myself to keeping breathing deeply. I hear my partner talking to the party that is now above us. He’s at the belay, his lead is done, he’ll have me on belay soon, and this pitch will be over. I better figure out how to look up, because I’m going to have climb now. I hear him call “on belay” and I begin to climb. I’m completely on auto-pilot, focusing on my feet, looking no further than the next move. Fuck this is hard. I just want to quit and hang from the rope. But if I fall, it will only take longer to get to the top. I want to get out of here. I want to be back at the car. Breathe. Focus. Send. Before I know it, I’ve made it up to the anchor. One more pitch to go.

I anchor in, give my partner the collected gear, and put him on belay. “I’m going to stay anchored in for a second. You don’t look too good.” He says. Here it comes again. I turn to the slab on my left and hurl once more. Ugh. Some water will help. I turn back to my partner and say “I’m good to go for now. Belay is on. Finish this thing.” I belay the same as the last pitch; hunkered down and blind to the world around me. I keep feeding rope. It seems like it should be at the end soon. I hear something above me, but I can’t make it out. I feel three tugs on the rope. Off belay. We exchange rope tugs until I am ready to climb. This pitch is easier, excellent. I just have to make it to the top. YES! There’s the belay. There’s the top of the rock. The climb is finished. “Well, we made it. Even with everything that happened, this was a great climb.” I say. “Oh dude, check this out, I managed to get puke in my shoe. That’s some icing on the cake.” I joke. My partner manages the gear while I sit down a take a rest at the summit.

“Ready when you are. No rush though.” My partner says to me. Slowly, I bring my head up from my knees and orient myself with the rest of the world. “Let’s get the hell out of here” I shoot back. The descent is familiar territory. Slow and steady, that’s the way to get down without any problems. We encounter a number of sketchy fourth class sections. My partner heads down first and patiently offers a spot every time. I’m fully conscious and capable, but I’m also acutely aware of my dwindling strength and dulled reflexes. We make our way down to of the top descent trail, where we take another break. Oh no, here it comes again. My body ejects the few remaining contents of my stomach; nothing but water. Well, that leaves me at no food and no additional water in my system. My partner turns to me as I finish and I say, “I think I should take the Lunch Rock trail back to the car while you head back to the base of the climb and collect the pack. It will get us to the car in the least amount of time.” He agrees, and we continue down the trail. “Nothing brings up the self esteem quite like barf covered pants. I must be quite a sight right now. This is ridiculous.” I joke again. At least my spirits are still high.

We reach the top of the Lunch Rock trail. My partner hands me the day pack with the remaining water and jogs off to our pack at the base of the climb. I’m at the base of Lunch Rock and that nauseating feeling is creeping up on me one more time. Curling over, my body does its damnedest to achieve a full purge, but there’s nothing left. A little shaken, I reach for the water hose and empty the reservoir. Fuck me, barely enough to wet my mouth. No chance of refueling again before I get back to the car. I best keep moving along. As I descend the trail, so does my coordination. I shorten my steps, focus on my breathing, and find the most ideal footing before moving forward. This is a slow process, the trail is longer than I remember, it is beginning to get dark, but I will get there when I get there. I hit the hiker’s trail, cross the stream, and glance at the uphill trail to the higher road. Nuts to that, I’ll hike out flat and ascend the road instead. At least if I pass out there, someone will see me.

The car comes into view. My partner has already arrived and is loading gear into the back. He catches sight of me and heads over to take the day pack. I lay down on the ground behind the car, exhausted and haggard. He decides to let me rest and preoccupies himself with organizing the gear. After many near misses into unconsciousness, I open my eyes to find the car packed and my partner waiting in the driver’s seat. I drop myself into the passenger seat, buckle up, and tell him to head back to town. The movement of the car, no matter how small, is intolerable. I’m in bad shape. I hang my head out of the window and prepare myself for the worst. We make it into town and stop at the local market to grab some ginger ale and saltines. I take a small sip of the ginger ale. I don’t think I can keep this down. I’m running on empty and I can’t bring myself to refuel. “Uh, I think I might need an IV… or an emergency room.” I say to my partner. He looks at me slowly, “Seriously? Holy shit man. Let’s see what we can do.” He replies. There are no clinics open in town, so that’s ruled out. There is a fire station though, perhaps they could help.

My partner drives over to the station house, jumps out of the car, and knocks on the door. I hear him talking with someone, it sounds like they can help. I walk up to my partner and the firefighter he’s talking to at the door. We discuss the situation and the options at hand. I need to get checked out, I’ve never been this worn down before. I’m ushered inside where they hook me up to a heart monitor and test my blood sugar. “What’s his blood sugar? 39? Is that right? Let’s run that again to be sure.” I turn and ask, “is 39 low?” “It’s amazing you’re conscious.” They respond. “OK, we can give you an IV, along with a plug of dextrose, but we’re going to have to take you down to the hospital in the ambulance if we administer care. You’re well past dehydration, you’re dangerously low on electrolytes, and if you’re buddy takes you down on his own, you’re definitely going to go unconscious on him. You can also try to go back to camp and see if you can get some fluids, sugars, and salts back in you. Those are your options right now.” I’ve been enduring this for 5-6 hours. I’m done. I’ve suffered enough. “I want to be taken down to the ER.” The firefighters, load me up into the ambulance, get an IV hooked up into my arm, start and saline drip, and inject 25 grams of dextrose into the line. In 10 minutes I’m feeling great. The pain and suffering of the day fades away. “What were you doing today anyway?” They ask. “Whodunit, a 6 pitch, 5.9 on Tahquitz.” I respond. “You lead 5.9? That’s awesome. Too bad all this ruined your climb.” “I can’t complain. The climb was great and I did have a lot of fun today. Too bad the rest of my weekend is shot. But hey, at least I was able to walk away from it.”

Not knowing when I might be released, my partner remains at the campground in Idyllwild, awaiting my phone call to come pick me up. I’m being treated at the Hemet ER. They give me saline bags until I have to pee again. I’m finally released from the hospital at 11:30pm. I call my partner to come pick me up when he’s ready. He breaks down camp, packs up the car, and arrives at 12:30am. We drive to his Mother-in-law’s house, 2 hours North, where he’s graciously arranged for us to stay the night. I take a shower before going to bed, thankful to be back in civilization in one piece. I slip into bed and text my wife that we’re safe and will be home tomorrow. What a day. Good climb. Great climb actually. And those leads were incredible. With those final though, I immediately fall asleep.

It was a crazy adventure. Not one that I’d like to repeat. Lesson learned: don’t go climbing all day when you’re on antibiotics (even if your doctor says otherwise). Also, my climbing partner is awesome and managed the situation very well. Fortunately, he thinks that I’m sort of a boss for enduring the whole thing in as good of form as I did. All in all, I’m happy with our ability to keep our heads and make good decisions under less than ideal circumstances.

A big thanks goes out to the guys at the Idyllwild fire station. They’re a good group and are well trained first responders. Check them out if you need help. To those of you who have or are planning on getting on Whodunit after us this season, I apologize for yacking all over the 4th and 5th pitch belays. Climb safe, have fun, and be prepared if shit hits the fan.

Chris Bersbach · · Arroyo Grande, CA · Joined Sep 2007 · Points: 356

Pics or it didn't happen.

CraigS. · · Unknown Hometown · Joined Apr 2012 · Points: 10

Good job to both of you. Glad you made it out without making it worse.

Travis Haussener · · Unknown Hometown · Joined May 2012 · Points: 60

TFPU...I got sick just reading it.

Shawn Mitchell · · Broomfield · Joined Mar 2008 · Points: 250

Nice account. What a story that could have turned out worse. Way to work it out and tough it out.

Ryan Nevius · · Perchtoldsdorf, AT · Joined Dec 2010 · Points: 1,837

Rad. Thanks for posting, Eric. I'd share a rope with you any day.

Chris Bersbach · · Arroyo Grande, CA · Joined Sep 2007 · Points: 356
Ryan Nevius wrote:Rad. Thanks for posting, Eric. I'd share a rope with you any day.
Just make sure you wash your rope well afterward. Mine is still flaked out on the bedroom floor to dry.
Ben Parsons · · San Luis Obispo, CA · Joined Apr 2013 · Points: 370

Stories to tell your grandkids, someday. Epic, man!

Ezra Ellis · · Hotlanta · Joined Dec 2007 · Points: 0

Great story!!,
GNAR !!!,

Jan Tarculas · · Riverside, Ca · Joined Mar 2010 · Points: 917

Damn blood sugar of 39? yea that's pretty impressive you didn't pass out mid route or during the descent. You guys made a good call by going to the firestation. You would have definitely passed out during the drive home if you couldn't take anything in, possibly experience seizures too. good story

NickMartel · · Tucson, Arizona · Joined Aug 2011 · Points: 1,332

Good Read. Thanks for sharing.

Eric "Pig" Varley · · Nipomo, CA · Joined Sep 2012 · Points: 50

@RNclimber: I suppose my blood sugar was at risk when I puked at the top of the 5th pitch. That really was the last of the food remaining in my stomach. However, I felt pretty good (comparatively for the day) finishing the last pitch and coming down the friction descent. It wasn't until I split down the Lunch Rock trail that I began to feel weakened. I would assume that's about when my food stores were truly exhausted. All in all, I would say I began puking around 2:00-2:30, and didn't get to the fire station until about 7:30-8:00. And yes, after reading about some of the more severe affects of hypoglycemic shock, I consider myself pretty lucky.

I am currently dealing with the bills of the ambulance ride and emergency room visit, but they are bills that I'm happy to pay. FYI, a ride to the Hemet ER via the fire station is about $2,200 before insurance gets involved.

Guideline #1: Don't be a jerk.

Trip Reports
Post a Reply to "Whodunpukedalloverit: An Epic Tahquitz Adventure"

Log In to Reply

Join the Community

Create your FREE account today!
Already have an account? Login to close this notice.

Get Started.