SMWS ADVENTURES
An emotional anniversary
Society member and lifelong adventurer Nigel Vardy credits a drop of SMWS whisky with lifting his spirits following a near-fatal expedition in Alaska. The motivational speaker known as ‘Mr Frostbite’ reflects on the quarter century since that life-changing event, gratitude for his survival and the painful loss of a fellow climbing friend
ABOVE: Society member and adventurer Nigel Vardy on his return to Alaska following a near-fatal expedition 25 years ago
For many, a 25th anniversary is a time of silver, smiles and thoughts of times gone by. For me, it’s a celebration of a life, snatched from the jaws of death and lived like no other.
The story begins a quarter of a century ago, back in January 1999. I had to fight through the driving snow of Glen Coe to the village of Lochcarron in the Highlands, where I met Martin Moran, a legend amongst mountaineers and my guide for the week. Together we crossed the Liathach ridge in full alpine conditions; it was one of the best mountain days in my life.
Fly forwards in time to 2019, when an avalanche took Martin in the Indian Himalaya. I spoke at his ‘Celebration of Life’ in a hall packed with family and friends, of Martin’s love of the mountains, for his family and of life. A life taken too early, but at least he rests in the mountains he loved. In January 2024, I planned to cross the Liathach ridge again, this time with Martin’s children, Alex and Hazel, but as Robert Burns once wrote: “The best laid schemes o’ mice an’ men gang aft agley.”
Anyone who understands mountains also understands weather. There was no safe way to cross the ridge, so instead we met in Aviemore, and toasted Martin with a dram of Society Cask No. 48.163: Going a Wafer a While. It was 25 years to the day since that beautiful ridge crossing.
RETURN TO ALASKA
It’s also 25 years since two friends and I set off to climb what was then known as Mount McKinley – subsequently renamed Denali – in Alaska, in May 1999.
After the best 17 days mountaineering of my life, we were blasted by a summit storm and almost froze to death. Our lives were saved thanks to a daring helicopter rescue by the National Parks Ranger Service. I lost all my toes, fingertips and nose, and spent months undergoing surgery and rehabilitation. Here enters the SMWS.
A nurse opened a parcel and was quite annoyed to see a bottle of the good stuff inside. “Hospital is not a place for whisky!” she declared. However, both my consultant and anaesthetist were already members and were delighted with my gift. Surgery became a conversation of what we were drinking, and how much I needed in place of the anaesthetic.
During May 2024, I travelled back to Alaska to commemorate that fateful climb, and to thank some of the people, to whom I owe my life.
I began in Anchorage with Janet Asaro, who was the press officer at the Providence Medical Centre. She had shielded us from the demands of the media. I’ve worked with the press for over 30 years, but your health is paramount, and I owe a great deal for her sterling help.
Next came Daryl Miller. You will never meet such a charming, quiet and reflective man who has been there, done it and got the medals – literally. Daryl, along with helicopter pilot Jim Hood, was prepared to risk everything to save us. I’ll never forget the moment he popped through the clouds and took us to safety. In a world of people who constantly demand ‘look at me’, you’ll never find someone so humble. He is a legend in Alaska, and everyone speaks so highly of him. I’m honoured to know him, have the opportunity to thank him and call him a friend.
ABOVE: Nigel with Daryl Miller, who played a key role in the rescue mission with helicopter pilot Jim Hood
TOUCHDOWN ON DENALI
It was time to head north to the town of Talkeetna. It was here that the best laid plans began to unravel again. We had planned to fly over the range on 19 May 2024, 25 years to the day of the summit attempt. Sadly, the clouds rolled in and nothing could move.
The staff at Talkeetna Air Taxi (TAT) were as frustrated as we were, but the next day’s forecast looked better and we woke to clear skies and wide smiles. By complete chance, we bumped into a woman called Annie who had greeted us in Base Camp all those years ago. She said that being stuck on the Football Field (close to the summit) was the very worst place to be and we were extremely lucky to have been rescued.
Within the hour we boarded the DeHavilland Otter and rumbled down the tarmac, before Will (the pilot), lifted the nose and cleared the trees. At last, the moment had come, and it was 25 years to the day of the rescue. Lakes and trees were replaced with moraine and ice before dominating the horizon was Denali herself, flanked by the peaks of Mount Hunter and Mount Foraker. My mind was a mixture of happiness and grief, love and hate and everything in-between. So much time had passed since that fateful day, but I was happy to be there, picking routes out and remembering fateful days.
Being trapped on the summit in a snow cave made for desperate times. We could have used a bottle of Cask No. 18.59 Snuggle up, as it was exactly how we spent the night – in each other’s arms, trying to keep warm and praying for salvation.
ABOVE: Nigel’s image of the glacier fields of Denali from above
ABOVE: Nigel and a model of Denali on display in Alaska
Will put us down at Base Camp and the mountains looked down upon us. Little had changed over the years. Climbers were still digging in to protect themselves from storms, the sun was burning and the snow soft. I knelt and squeezed my hands into a drift, using my wet palms to grasp my expedition diary from 25 years before.
I looked up and silently recited the Lord’s Prayer, before we boarded the plane and headed out of the range. Tears ran down my face as I filled with guilt at all the pain I had put my family through.
We touched down and headed to Anchorage for our last interview with Connie Jenson, a pain nurse who had treated me in hospital. I didn’t know that she had spoken with medical staff in Finland, and I had groundbreaking treatment. All I can say is that something worked, and I’ve been climbing, mountaineering and enjoying a dram ever since.
