BETWEEN A ROCK AND A HARD PLACE PDF

adminComment(0)

Between A Rock And A Hard Place. Book Reviews e9 editions is no longer available. However, the book is small enough to take along in all but the most tightly. Between a Rock and a Hard Place. Home · Between a Rock and a Hard Globalization, Poverty and Inequality: Between a Rock and a Hard Place · Read more. by Aron Ralston: Between a Rock and a Hard Place. ISBN: #X | Date : Description: PDF-c36ba | One of the most extraordinary survival.


Between A Rock And A Hard Place Pdf

Author:NOAH JIGGETTS
Language:English, Arabic, Hindi
Country:Mongolia
Genre:Art
Pages:692
Published (Last):23.02.2016
ISBN:789-9-32107-195-6
ePub File Size:22.34 MB
PDF File Size:15.85 MB
Distribution:Free* [*Registration Required]
Downloads:43550
Uploaded by: SILVIA

Between a Rock and a Hard Place. by Aron Ralston. I watch dawn pushing its way into the canyon. It is Thursday, May 1 - day six of my ordeal. This books ( Hours: Between a Rock and a Hard Place [PDF]) Made by Aron Ralston About Books Hard to Find book To Download Please. Berlin during the breach of the wall; in Beijing during the brief thaw between the death of Between a Rock and a Hard Place is not a novel, and it contains no.

Who is not familiar with the accident that befell Aron Ralston in Blue John Canyon, where he set loose an pound boulder that trapped his arm and nearly cost him his life?

Who is not aware that he mustered the courage and determination to amputate his own hand in order to free himself and live to tell the story? Could I cut off my arm to save my life? And tell it he did. His narration was wilderness medicine to the maximum. I spoke with Aron a couple of times after his presentation, because he also attended the Wilderness Medical Society meeting to support his medical education as a search-and-rescue team member.

My conversations with him left me with the impression of a man who is still processing what all of this means. In the process, he has made a name for himself but at the expense of a permanent physical handicap and bouts of despondency. Without letting anyone know his destination, Aron had embarked from Aspen, CO, on an outing as a solo canyoneer in Utah.

Between a rock and a hard place

He was an experienced climber but, as he points out often in the book, prone to putting himself into dangerous situations. He accidentally dislodged a boulder, which fell and pinned his arm to a canyon wall.

He then spent 5 nights in the canyon, deteriorating physically but remarkably holding himself together mentally. He recounts in detail his thought processes and activities as he consumed a precious 22 ounces of water and 2 desiccated burritos, then went without food and water.

To try to stay warm at night, he wrapped his limbs with a rope and kept his head in a bag. His situation prevented sleep for consecutive hours, and he had no choice but to drink his own urine. For posterity, he recorded his condition and thoughts daily on a video camera.

On the sixth day, he managed to free himself by the only means available: he fractured both bones in his forearm and then completed an amputation of his hand and wrist with a barely adequate multitool. To complete his survival journey, he rappelled a foot rock wall and walked for several hours with his arm wrapped in a CamelBak, which was then secured to his chest.

When e10 we read about how he drank foul water from a mud hole, we lick our lips. Even though I was quite familiar with the events, I was drawn into this book quickly. Recommend Documents. Between a Rock and a Hard Place.

Between a rock and a hard place. Managing EMS pilots: Rock from a hard place. Anaesthesia and the sex-linked dystrophies: Between a Rock and a Hard Place: Transmission Planning and Expansion.

Stuck between a rock and a hard place: Postinfarction Ventricular Septal Defects: A 5-year gap since the previous edition means that a lot of information has been updated, making this a worthwhile download for readers with the older editions. In addition to having the bulk of its text updated, this edition now includes chapters on relevant legal issues as well as children at altitude.

Considering its modest size, this book does an excellent job of covering all the necessary sections and it leaves few topics uncovered. The volume includes a small collection of color photographs that illustrate life and medicine at high altitude.

They are a pleasant addition to the text; however, they are not especially relevant to the text or the problems covered within. Overall, this is a well-written and well-organized book covering the majority of topics important to medicine at high altitude.

It presents the information in a clear and easy-to-read format. In fact, the book can be easily read from cover to cover, giving the neophyte a rapid introduction to this topic. The book will make an equally worthwhile addition to the library of the high-altitude traveler and both medical and nonmedical trek leaders.

Who is not familiar with the accident that befell Aron Ralston in Blue John Canyon, where he set loose an pound boulder that trapped his arm and nearly cost him his life?

Between a Rock and a Hard Place

Who is not aware that he mustered the courage and determination to amputate his own hand in order to free himself and live to tell the story? Could I cut off my arm to save my life?

And tell it he did. His narration was wilderness medicine to the maximum.

Item Preview

I spoke with Aron a couple of times after his presentation, because he also attended the Wilderness Medical Society meeting to support his medical education as a search-and-rescue team member. My conversations with him left me with the impression of a man who is still processing what all of this means. Looking at their paintings and standing in their homes, gardens, and trash heaps, I feel connected to the aboriginal pioneers who inhabited these canyons so long ago.

As I grind my way out onto the open mesa, the wind slaps at my face, and I find myself already looking forward to the final hike through Horseshoe Canyon, where I will finish my tour. The Bureau of Land Management BLM has graded the century-old horse trail and added scattered signposts, but even the ubiquitous fences that partition the rest of the West are noticeably absent.

As I consider this, abruptly, my solitude changes to loneliness and seems somehow more tenacious. A mile past Burr Pass, my torturous ride into the thirty-mile-an-hour headwind finally comes to an end.

I dismount and walk my bike over to a juniper tree and fasten a U-lock through the rear tire. What are the odds? I think, surprised to find anyone else this far out in the desert. Having been inside my head for three hours, and perhaps wanting to shake that feeling of loneliness picked up out on the road, I pause to take off my headphones, then spur myself to catch up.

In any case, I can hardly avoid them at this point. Hoping for something a little more engaging, I try again. Yeah, you surprised us, sneaking up like that, the brown-haired woman replies, but then she smiles.

Oh, sorry.

I was listening to my headphones, kind of wrapped up in my thoughts, I explain. They relax noticeably and share their names—they are Megan, the brunette who spoke to me and who seems to be the more outgoing one of the pair, and Kristi.

Besides her clothes—a plain white short-sleeved T-shirt with blue shorts over black long underwear—I notice that Kristi has accessorized for the day, wearing small silver hoop earrings and dark sunglasses with faux tortoiseshell frames and a snakeskin-pattern retaining strap. Both women are in their mid-twenties, and I learn in response to my first question that they both hail from Moab. She fires off a story about how she and Kristi overshot the Granary Spring Trailhead and got lost in the desert for an hour before they found the start of the canyon.

I say I think it is easier to navigate on a bike than in a vehicle because the landscape passes more slowly. The canyon is still just a shallow arroyo—a dry sandy gulch—nestled between two sets of thirty-foot-tall sand dunes. Before the terrain becomes more technical, we ease into a friendly exchange, chatting about our lives in the polarized resort communities of Moab and Aspen.

I learn that they, like me, work in the outdoor recreation industry. Better to be the penniless local than the affluent visitor. But the locals depend on the visitors to survive, so the implied elitism is less than fair.

We understand our mutual membership on the same side of the equation.

The same is true of our environmental sensibilities. We each hold Edward Abbey—combative conservationist; anti-development, anti-tourism, and anti-mining essayist; beer swiller; militant ecoterrorist; lover of the wilderness and women preferably wilderness women, though those are unfortunately rare —as a sage of environmentalism.

Remembering an oddball quote of his, I say how he delighted in taking things to the extreme. The only true act of an environmentalist would be to shoot himself in the head.

Kristi asks me what my favorite slot canyon is, and without hesitation, I recount my experience in Neon Canyon, an unofficially named branch of the Escalante River system in south-central Utah.

Kristi tells me about her favorite slot, which is just across the dirt road from the Granary Spring Trailhead. She describes a passage in that slot where you traverse the canyon wedged between the walls some fifteen feet off the ground, the V-shaped slot tapering to a few inches wide at your feet, and even narrower below that.

I mentally add that one to my to-do list. A few minutes later, just before noon, we arrive at a steep, smooth slide down a rock face, which heralds the first slot and the deeper, narrower sections that have drawn us to Blue John Canyon. I slide fifteen feet down the rock embankment, skidding on the soles of my sneakers, leaving a pair of black streaks on the pink sandstone and spilling forward into the sand at the bottom of the wall.

Hearing the noise as she comes around the corner, Kristi sees me squatting in the dirt and assumes I have fallen. Oh my gosh, are you OK? I did that on purpose, I tell her in earnest, as the skid truly had been intentional. I look around and, seeing an obviously less risky access route that would have avoided the slide, I feel slightly foolish.

I go down first, then swing my backpack around to retrieve my video camera and tape Megan and Kristi. Grasping the webbing, Megan backs herself down over the drop-off.

Between a Rock and a Hard Place

She has to maneuver around an overhanging chockstone—a boulder suspended between the walls of the canyon—that blocks an otherwise easy scramble down into the deepening slot.

We walk thirty feet and come to another drop-off. The walls are much closer now, only two to three feet apart. Megan throws her backpack over the drop before shimmying down between the walls, while Kristi takes a few pictures. I watch Megan descend and help her by pointing out the best handholds and footholds.

When Megan is at the bottom of the drop, she discovers that her pack is soaking wet. It turns out her hydration-system hose lost its nozzle when she tossed the pack over the ledge, and was leaking water into the sand. I descend last, my pack on my back and my delicate cameras causing me to get stuck briefly between the walls at several constrictions.

Squirming my way over small chockstones, I stem my body across the gap between the walls to follow the plunging canyon floor. There is a log wedged in the slot at one point, and I use it like a ladder on a smooth section of the skinny-people-only descent. While the day up above the rim rock is getting warmer, the air down in the canyon becomes cooler as we enter a four-hundred-yard-long section of the canyon where the walls are over two hundred feet high but only fifteen feet apart.Overall, this is a well-written and well-organized book covering the majority of topics important to medicine at high altitude.

His situation prevented sleep for consecutive hours, and he had no choice but to drink his own urine. I learn that they, like me, work in the outdoor recreation industry.

When I cared for a teenager recently with a fracture dislocation of his ankle, I pictured the same injury in a solo hiker 50 miles into the backcountry. How far is it? Hearing the noise as she comes around the corner, Kristi sees me squatting in the dirt and assumes I have fallen. I will follow his career with great interest.

KINA from Hagerstown
Review my other articles. One of my hobbies is paralympic association football. I enjoy sharing PDF docs wrongly.
>