The doctors had forbidden me from lifting anything heavier than five pounds, and things below five pounds tend, in my experience, to fall into the category of snacks. The story was called “ Broken Neck Nik,” and I was still very much fucked up at the time of writing. A week later, saddled with a severe concussion and claustrophobically restrictive neck brace straight out of Mad Max, I wrote what I thought-or hoped-was the story of what had happened to me that day. Even luckier: he hauls bodies upward at heroic speeds. Luckily for me, the rope was in my partner’s pack, not mine. My partner I attempted to cross a glacier without a rope, and I fell through a snow bridge into a crevasse that required a roped rescue. The incident can be summarized in one sentence. This happened because I forgot an entry level rule: If you bring a rope to a place where you might need a rope, use it. In August 2019, after making a completely avoidable set of errors, I broke my neck. Heading out the door? Read this article on the new Outside+ app available now on iOS devices for members!
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