The Cost of Haste: A Hard Lesson from Eichorn Pinnacle

Story by: Michael McEnany

Photo by: Hidekatsu Kajitani (Kaji)

On June 26th 34 year old Michael McEnany and his partner set out to climb in Tuolumne Meadows,

Michael’s Incident in his own words:

We set off up Eichorn Pinnacle on the West Pillar Direct route. We were in a bit of a hurry to catch the evening jam at the Mobil in Lee Vining with some friends. My climbing partner and I had just finished pitch 3, excited looking up at the easier terrain and summit above. Both of us have extensive experience trad climbing (10 or more years) and climbing in the eastern sierra range in the alpine (3 or more years). We took a quick look at the topo, noticed a short 5.8 or 5.9 section, and decided to simul climb as far as felt comfortable.

After throwing a few mountaineer coils over our shoulders we each tied off and inspected each other's knots--I on an alpine butterfly into a locking carabiner through my belay loop and he on a figure of 8 into a locking carabiner through the belay loop. The rope length between us roughly appeared to be 25 meters.

I set off on lead, essentially walking the short ridge into the more vertical terrain. Inspecting my options, I wanted to avoid the 5.9 off-width variation. The topo pointed around left for 5.8 "rib wrestling". This sounded quite manageable, both of us very comfortable at the grade. As I stepped left, I noticed that the rock quality deteriorated, becoming darker with exfoliating granite on the face. I thought for a moment, "I should pull out the topo again or just head up and right into the off width." After looking left another time, it appeared that there were a few ribs to wrestle with and perhaps a short vertical section before the terrain significantly eased off.

I forged ahead into the exfoliating terrain, placed a piece of gear roughly every 15-20 feet. As I continued, I noticed that the terrain was getting more difficult than expected, though nothing that felt dangerous or with significant fall potential. I set my eyes on a good crack and stance after a leftward traverse on ever thinning hands and smearing vertical feet. I placed a very good #3 sized cam and traversed onward. As I stepped into the most difficult unprotected section with crimps for hands and smearing feet, I thought "just one or two moves then I am there."

Suddenly, I felt the rope tighten. I held my grip for a moment and then the rope pulled impossibly tight. Pulled from the wall while traversing my fall was head down. My only thought as I accelerated through space was, "Is this how I die?" Fortunately, I was in vertical terrain far from a ledge. As my rope tightened, my knees were pulled up and with all of the force of the fall I swung rapidly into the wall striking my right knee. The impact into my right leg felt huge, surely breaking my leg I thought. I continued to tumble rightward and slowed to a stop.

I surveyed my head, neck, chest, back, abdomen--no pain. I breathed deeply--no pain. I glanced upward, the roped stretched at least 20 feet up to my last piece of gear--a beautiful ultralight #3 cam hidden in a crack. I pull my leg up noticing a void where my kneecap should be. As an emergency medicine doctor, I straightened the leg hoping the kneecap was simply dislocated but alas, no pop, no change in the deformity. Was the knee joint dislocated? As I dropped my leg, pain shot into my joint, my quads failed to suspend the falling lower leg. Again I raised the leg to ease the pain and noticed two perfect halves of the knee cap with about an inch of space in between.

"Ok" I thought, I can deal with this. I then yelled to my partner, he was ok. Apparently, as he stepped over into the more vertical terrain a very large rock (microwave size or larger) pulled from the wall causing his fall. We got on our Rocky Talky radios. I told him that my leg was broken and we needed to call SAR. I knew that we could get off of the wall but that I could not walk. Both of us, members of SAR teams in the past, surveyed the terrain. It appeared that there was a large ledge below which lay in a descent gully, accessible by the slabs on the northwest side of Cathedral peak. I pulled out my iphone and sent an SOS satellite message using the phone's SOS feature. Within 5 minutes of the fall, I was able to make contact via text with a dispatcher and relay that we needed rescue on Eichorn Pinnacle. I realize now that I could have been more specific, sending coordinates, aspect, and more details about the injury but my focus was on getting us down.

My partner scanned the radio channels to contact a party of two, some friends who were climbing behind us. He made contact and they were able to use a Garmin inReach to secure more direct communication with SAR.

I noticed a crack system below me. My climbing partner was able to climb up about 10 feet in order that I would be lowered to the crack system. It was flaring but solid. A nearby crack also appeared solid but filled with dirt. Holding my right leg up with a sling, I cleaned out the crack and built a 4 cam anchor, a little uncertain about the less than ideal flaring crack and the dirty narrow crack. This took some time as I was unsatisfied with the crack choices but also getting very cold. I noticed that my head was beginning to feel clouded from the adrenaline and the shivering. I told my climbing partner to walk me through our next steps because of the mental fog. Calmly, he exacted our plan.

I went into the anchor and put him on a grigri belay as he climbed a little higher. He saw that the cam was still in place and appeared very solid so he cleaned the other gear in front of him. He was able to swing over toward me where I lowered him from the #3 cam down to my anchor. We glanced below and decided that the aforementioned ledge might just be within reach of our 70 meter rope. We split up the gear since either he or I would likely need to build another anchor. Fortunately, he was able to lower me a perfect 70 meters to the ledge below as I held my right leg with a sling and used my left side to keep me away from the wall.

The ledge was big, roughly 12x15 feet and appeared protected from rock fall. I eased myself into a laying position and untied myself. My partner made two rappels leaving gear behind to reach me. Our two friends also were able to safely traverse the face on lead to get to our ledge. After surveying the terrain, it appeared that it would take at least two lowers with a 70 meter rope to get to the base of the mountain, which appeared sloping and ridden with downed trees. The lowers were also over a very steep gully with lots of loose rock. We decided to wait for Tuolumne SAR since we were accessible on foot. I sent GPS coordinates to dispatch along with the recommendation that we would likely need a helicopter or short haul.

We waited comfortably on the ledge, eating cookies and rationing water. A little while later and in great time, three shining faces of the SAR hasty team arrived. I heard a familiar voice shout from above "Hey Michael, it's your friends Anika and Sean." A third joyful member accompanied them. Tears flowed as I hugged my heroic, life-saving friends. Sean carefully splinted my ledge and offered pain medications though I declined feeling that the pain was tolerable. The team built an anchor and put me in direct. They radioed for the helicopter which shortly came circling overhead. Two members and a litter dangling from the helicopter's haul line were gently lowered with seemingly impossible precision just a few feet to my right. I was rapidly packaged into the litter. The helicopter circled around again bringing the end of the 150 foot haul line into the open hand of the rescue team. We all clipped into the master point and floated off into space as I waved goodbye to the friends below.

I made my way via NPS ambulance to Mammoth Hospital and underwent surgery that night for an open patella fracture. The rescue team, helicopter members, dispatch, and ambulance crew exacted perfect, compassionate, and safe care from start to finish.

As I contemplate this event and the factors contributing to the incident, I feel mixed emotions. First, I feel proud to have had an excellent climbing partner who was calm and knowledgeable. I also feel proud of our teamwork and effort to self rescue into much safer terrain. Our previous work and skills in self-rescue and climbing rescue proved useful.

In addition, I feel that this was a potentially preventable incident. I recognized that the terrain was very likely off-route with delaminating granite, though there were no obvious loose blocks. At this moment, it would have been safer to stop and communicate with my partner while we were on very easy terrain and inspect our guidebook photos. There was no need to move at a hurried pace since the day was still young and the weather stellar. Next, simul-climbing is inherently dangerous and doing so with additional protections like a micro-traxion to protect a followers fall would have likely prevented major injury or the need for rescue. Better communication to my partner about my uncertainty and decision to take an alternate path should have been made. I know that I could have spent more time inspecting the information available in order to navigate the last two pitches.

When it is all said and done, this incident is a good reminder that certain intangible variables like rock fall or pulling on loose rock will always exist. Risk mitigation is critical when in the backcountry. Often, careful planning and good knowledge of the route is what makes a climb go smoothly and quickly. Good preparation will result in safe and effective multipitch climbing. While advanced techniques like simul-climbing have their place, this will never out-measure the efficiency of good planning and route-finding. Sometimes slowing down, climbing mindfully not only results in efficiency but also a damn good time.

Photo by: Mecia Serafino

Key Lessons:

1. Simul-Climbing Requires Conservative Judgement
Simul-climbing magnifies the consequences of route-finding errors, gear failure, or loose rock. While it can speed up a climb, it removes the margin for error—particularly on uncertain or unfamiliar terrain. In this case, the absence of added protection (like a Micro Traxion for the follower) and the decision to continue through deteriorating rock while tied together led directly to a high-consequence fall.

2. Route-Finding Deserves More Time Than We Think
Michael identified the rock quality as questionable and even considered stopping to recheck the topo—but pressed on. Had he paused to reassess the route with his partner, they may have avoided the exfoliating granite that led to the fall. Familiarity with a zone doesn't guarantee you're on route.

3. Communication Is a Safety Tool
Clear and frequent communication—especially when off-route or uncertain—can prevent serious incidents. Checking in before committing to sketchy moves or alternative variations can drastically reduce risk.

4. Emergency Preparedness Makes a Difference
Despite the injury, Michael and his partner were able to self-rescue to safer terrain, communicate with SAR, and through clouded adrenaline and pain—thanks to prior rescue training, radios, a satellite device, and a calm mindset. Their ability to think clearly under stress likely prevented further harm.

5. Time Pressure Undermines Judgment
The goal to finish in time for an evening event played a subtle but critical role. That sense of urgency, however mild, contributed to rushing decisions. In the alpine, moving faster doesn't always mean finishing faster—especially when poor decisions cause setbacks or emergencies.