Chimney Rock

Chimney Rock- Standard Route
Rock Climbing– Mount Lemmon
Distance: 0.6 miles
Elevation Gain: 300′
Crux: 5.7
Pitches: 5
Trailhead: Milepost 11, Mount Lemmon Highway- no services
Companions: Steve Whittingham

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This trip report will be quite different from my normal write ups. On April 12th 2019, I fell off the top of Chimney Rock while heading to set up the rappel, resulting in a 2.5 hour extrication, multiple facial fractures requiring surgery and a broken ankle. This write up will talk about the climb as usual, but then discuss the accident, what can be learned from it, and some reflections during the recovery process. A special thanks to Stephen Whittingham for writing the detailed account of the rescue and his experience.

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My brother-in-law Steve and I headed up Mount Lemmon early, hopeful to finish the climb before a storm moved in later that day. We parked the car at milepost 11, about a quarter mile past Chimney Rock, one of a handful of purely trad climbing features on the mountain. Our objective was ‘The Standard Route’ a fun and varied line broken up by 5 short pitches. I hoped to run a few of them together in the interest of time, with a chance of rain starting at around noon. We walked back down the road until finding a break in the cliff band over the highway, scrambling up to the base of Chimney Rock.

It took us a little bit of wandering to find the start of the route, a bit to the climbers right of where we had scrambled up, but I spotted the two bolts protecting the mantles on the first pitch to prove we were in the correct spot. Pitch 1 is often called the mantle pitch, with 2 short mantle moves in a row, both protected by bolts. The second pitch is known as the chimney pitch (for obvious reasons), and I wanted to link the two. I kept this in mind as I started up, placing an cam down low only to back clean it to reduce rope drag. The first mantle was pretty easy, leading to a ledge that was about a foot and a half deep. After clipping the second bolt I back cleaned the first, again in the interest of reducing rope drag once I was in the chimney. The second mantle was a little tougher, and after an initial struggle, I pushed onto the much wider ledge and start of the chimney.

The chimney was quite deep and rope drag was going to be a definite issue as the rope cut hard around the corner. I extended my first cam with a long sling and stemmed upwards, stepping out onto a comfortable notch before placing a small cam near the top of the chimney and topping out on a small ledge. About 10′ to the left was the anchor, with an uneven narrow ledge sometimes referred to as ‘the death crawl.’

‘Death crawl’ was an over exaggeration, and although I did crawl across it, when I turned back I realized walking across would have been fairly straightforward with holds up high that I hadn’t appreciated. After building a quick sling anchor off the two bolts, Steve started up. He was out of sight for both pitches and I had to guess where he was most of the time, keeping him tight at the presumed mantles. Once he topped out in the chimney, I encouraged him to try walking across the final ledge instead of crawling, which he managed nicely as he slowly made his way to the anchor.

The third pitch is known as the lieback pitch, only about 10-15 feet before another short traverse to the next two bolt anchor. The pitch is also protected with a bolt, but there were ample options to place cams and I ignored the hanger, plugging in a 0.5 in the crack instead. The rock had wonderful features to lieback up and I made short work of the pitch, gingerly stepping along the ledge to the next anchor, again made with sling off the two bolts. Steve did well up the lieback, joining me at the anchor in a waist deep notch below a steep arete.

The fourth and fifth pitches are often combined, climbing an airy arete through a tunnel with a final short pitch to the summit. I stepped up above the notch a swung around the corner on to the arete, finding huge holds and nice cam placements. I continued on through a tunnel (of sorts) climbing onto a broad ledge just below the summit spire.

I was a little unsure of which line to take from there, but found a reasonable option on the west side and after placing a final cam, climbed up to the summit, building an anchor off a small tree. I yelled ‘Off Belay’ down to Steve, and he started up the final combined pitches, moving slow enough through the tunnel that I was able to grab a few photos.

He joined me on the top and we celebrated our success with some snacks and water. It was only 10:20 and I was quite happy with our time, giving us plenty of room to descend before any precipitation moved in.

Yet despite the early time, a small snow flurry came and went signalling it was time to descend. The rappel anchor was on the far east end of the summit, out of reach of the tree. I took myself off anchor, grabbing the two ends of the rope to set up the rappel and started moving across the summit to the rap anchor to clip it. That’s the last thing I remember before I fell.

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The rescue, as told by Stephen Whittingham:

10:34 a.m. – Packing a few things back into my drawstring bag out to the top of my peripheral vision I could see Chris take a leaping step in the direction of the rappel anchors.  Either his momentum was too great, or the step he anticipated landing on didn’t exist because with a scream that I will never forget, he fell out of my sight. I heard two distinct sounds of impact in quick succession; one then two.  In complete disbelief for what had just happened, refusing to believe what I just witnessed, I rushed to the edge of the summit and saw the worst imaginable thing possible: my brother-in-law lying at the base of the rock in a near fetal position not moving, and most certainly dead.  I don’t know when I began to repeatedly scream “CHRIS”, or for how long I shouted, but reality quickly set in that this wasn’t some kind of twisted joke, and he did not pull off some type of incredible parkour in order to land the fall; Chris was hurt, dying, or dead, and I needed to get him help.

10:37 a.m. – I never climb with a cell phone in my pocket, and I had just received a brand new iPhone 8 from work earlier in the week.  For some reason I decided to bring that phone with me and kept it “safe” inside the cargo pocket of my pants. I then recall standing up, never taking eyes off the motionless Chris laying at the base of the rock, while I took the phone from my pocket, unlocked it, took it off airplane mode, and fixed my eyes at the top left of the screen to see if there would even be a chance I would have service.  Eleven miles up Catalina highway should be a complete dead-zone, however on this cloudy April morning I had three beautiful bars of Verizon LTE coverage. I wasted no time dialing 9-1-1. A woman (whose name is Brooke, I later found out) answered the phone, and I began to explain exactly what had happened, and exactly where I was calling from: “One quarter mile down from mile marker 11 directly off Catalina highway on top of Chimney Rock”.  Other questions followed, and I’m sure I was answering them the best I knew how, but all during this time Chris began to breathe heavily and I could see that he was trying to move.

10:37 a.m. – 11:23 a.m. – I remained on the line with Brooke, the 9-1-1 dispatch for a total of forty-six minutes.  All during this time running back and forth across the summit between a view of the road below and Chris laying at the bottom.  A short time after I made the call to 9-1-1, Chris began to stir, shaking, almost trying to get his legs beneath his body in order to stand, breathing heavily undoubtedly trying to regain both consciousness and breath.  Around this time, he began to faintly mutter, almost whimper, “help me…help me”. To which I would shout “Help is on the way Chris I am going to get you out of here”.

During the next stretch of time I conveyed to Brooke information on location, Chris’ current condition, weather conditions, and possible extraction routes from our current location.  She made mention of the fact that at milepost ten on Catalina Highway rescue duties transfer from the Pima County Sheriffs to Summerhaven Fire and Rescue. I cannot recall my exact words, but in the nicest of ways explained that I really gave zero shits about who was coming and from where, they just needed to get here now.  All during this time Chris regained consciousness and his breath, and then began to realize the gravity (no pun intended) of what had just happened. His memory during this time seemed to loop every 1-2 minutes. When I wasn’t monitoring the road for emergency vehicle traffic I was kneeling at the edge of the summit making verbal contact with Chris; feeling the need to keep him alert, talking, and yelling at him to “STOP moving around”.  He would reply with a shaky voice, and return with the same question over and over “what happened?”

Visually examining his body from my vantage point (which I roughly, and I believe incorrectly underestimated to the 9-1-1 dispatch was 30 feet below), I could see his ankle was cut and bleeding. The left side of his face was a mess with blood, but all limbs and extremities appeared to be bent the correct way and his pain level seemed tolerable.  This is probably a good time to preface the fact that I don’t “do” anything related to emergency medicine or healthcare. I am an Engineer by training and let all matters of the body to other experts. I recognize that my observations were made by a layman, and someone with more knowledge would be looking at the situation with different eyes, asking different questions, and more fearful of the non-visible impacts of such a fall from height.  Looking back on my time on the mountain trying to get Chris out I am grateful for my medical ignorance. I had enough to freak out about. Running through a gambit of “what-if” medical issues and scenarios would have only made things worse.

I don’t remember when during the forty-six minutes that I was on the phone with 9-1-1, that the dispatch emergency vehicles started to arrive.  First, a small rescue truck came from up the mountain, made pass by my location, then turned around, and went back up the mountain. An ambulance then came up the mountain.  I could see a good distance down the road before it turned out of sight. This gave me enough time to take a couple of Chris’ bright climbing slings off my shoulder and began waving them around my head.  When the ambulance got closer the driver gave a couple honks of the horn, a signal to me that he had seen me. This was a small victory in my mind, in that at least someone else on the mountain knew where we were.  Also during this time I received a text message from a random number that read “Please call search and rescue”. Brooke explained to me that a search and rescue Pima County Sheriff’s deputy had been given my number and would be my point of contact for coordination of the rescue.  Shortly after this, a Sheriff’s SUV came up the mountain, turned around, and parked on the side of the road just below my location. I managed to make verbal contact with the deputy explaining to him where Chris was located, and how we had planned to scramble down from the base back to the road.  I could see the terrain below me and tried my best to define for the deputy the best place for someone to come up to get to the base of the rock where Chris was located. After this exchange the Sheriff’s deputy got into his SUV and remained on the side of the road. I then agreed to hang up with Brooke now having the contact information for the rescue team and the ability to call back 9-1-1 as needed.  

11:23 a.m. – 12:00 p.m. – Hands down the most agonizing 37 minutes of my life.  I had no idea when rescue was coming, by what means, or how bad Chris was hurt. During this time Chris made it from his side and on to his back with his legs folded, feet flat on the ground.  He seemed more and more alert as time passed but his memory was still looping every 1-2 minutes. Asking me over and over “Did I fall from up there?” to which I would reply “Yea dude you fell from up here!”  His responses varied but most consisted of “Holy Shit!” Through the memory looping, brief periods of clear cognition would come through. He told me that he could move and feel his fingers and toes. I remember challenging him to prove-it and actually show me he could move his fingers, bend his legs, and move his arms.  Also Chris clearly told me “I might go into shock”, and that is exactly what he did. I have no clue how many times he was in and out of shock, they were all very brief. I recall almost being able to snap him back by yelling down “Chris you have to stay with me; knock that shit off!”

This is probably a good time to explain why I stayed at the top of the rock.  I had the rope, and all the right gear to make it down safely. I consciously made the decision to stay at the top shortly after calling 9-1-1.  When I began to see Chris come “back to life” and become responsive I made the decision that it was more important for me to have a view of the road and have our location recognized than it would be for me to rappel down to Chris’ position and render some kind of aid.  Getting out was all that mattered. I made up my mind that staying on top of the rock was our best chance to make that happen.

As time passed, my loneliness and anxiety began to grow.  Lonely for the fact that I saw no more emergency vehicles except for one fire engine come up the mountain and anxious because I saw no rescue personnel begin to make the scramble up the mountain-side.  The cliché “minutes felt like hours” really did sum up this time. This was also the first time that I got really cold. There was a fairly steady wind blowing and it was hard for me not to shiver. Checking in on and talking to Chris, I could see that he too was cold and shivering laying at the base of the rock.  Just after we summited, we saw a few snowflakes flying in the air and I saw a little more snow when the wind was blowing.

Eventually the waiting got to be too much and I couldn’t stand the inaction, so at exactly 12:00 pm, I placed a call to the search and rescue number that I received a text message from earlier, when I was on the phone with the 9-1-1 operator.

12:00 p.m. – 12:43 p.m. – I placed the call and a male Sheriff’s deputy answered.  I explained who I was and asked what was happening as I have been waiting for what felt like forever for something to happen.  He then told me that a helicopter was in the air and en-route to a lower point on Mt. Lemmon and Catalina highway where it would pick up another search and rescue deputy who would be coming to “extricate” Chris.   I don’t remember exactly what was said during this short fifty-six second conversation but I remember hanging up and thinking “this is going to be completely insane; I cannot believe I am in the middle of this situation right now.”

The exact timing of events from here until the point where Chris was lifted and left my sight is lost on me now, but it could not have been much longer the 10 minutes before I could hear the unmistakable chop of an approaching helicopter.  The sounds got louder until I could see the bird come just into my sight. Again I took the climbing slings from my chest and did my best impression of a helicopter swinging them around my head to try and get the pilots attention. The helicopter then turned away and headed back down the mountain and out of my sight.  I was unsure if the pilot had seen me but in any case I did another check on Chris and shouted down “that was help Chris. You are almost out of here”. I can remember him asking me “are they coming to get me with a helicopter?” to which I replied “yes,” and to which he replied “oh f*ck”. In my head I was thinking the exact same thing.

Again, my sense of time in this 43 minutes is off.  I am sure things were happening in quick succession but it most certainly didn’t feel that way.  Only moments passed before the helicopter returned. This time coming into range close enough for me to see the pilot and two Sheriff’s deputies in the open side door.  As the helicopter approached I motioned to the pilot pointing to the side of the rock Chris was laying on. The pilot moved the helicopter toward that side. The noise and wind from the propeller was amazing but I signaled using two fingers near my eyes, then pointing at the ground to ensure the pilot had eyes on Chris laying on the ground.  The pilot signaled back that he saw Chris and next thing I knew a Sheriff’s deputy was dangling off the side of the helicopter attached to a winch line being lowered to the ground. I remember looking down at Chris laying on the ground shielding his eyes from the propeller wash thinking, “this is crazy.” In no time at all, the officer was on the ground, unhooked from the winch line, and the helicopter was pulling away.  

During this time a second climbing party that must have started a couple hours after Chris and myself were making the climb to the summit.  I knew there was another party making their way up because I had been able to shout to them earlier when emergency personnel started arriving near our location.  The emergency personnel asked these climbers if someone was hurt and they had yelled up to me for an answer. Only a short volley of yelling back and forth occurred between this and the time of the helicopters arrival.  

With the Sheriff’s deputy on the ground I recall kneeling on the side of the summit, eyes on Chris and watched as the deputy made his way over to Chris, begin to ask him questions, put gloves on, and begin to unload some of the gear he had brought with him down from the helicopter.  During their exchange back and forth Chris asked the deputy what his name was, to which he replied “Cody.” I remained silent on my perch as the deputy looked Chris over, asked him cognitive test questions, tested some of the movement of his extremities, and started to unload a back-board before yelling down.   I remember yelling down “Deputy Cody can I come down and help you in anyway?” To which he replied “yes, that would be great if you can do that safely.”

Without hesitation I made my way over to the rappel station and began to flake out my climbing rope for my rappel.  I remember feeding my rope through the chains of the rappel anchors, double checking my belay device for proper extension, and the next thing I knew I too was finally on the ground.    I dropped the pack off my back and made my way over to Chris and Deputy Cody. The deputy explained to me what was going to happen next. First we would get a neck brace on Chris, then get him on the back-board, potentially move him to a better location, then place him in a bag to be lifted up to the helicopter.  I steadied Chris’ head as the deputy applied the neck brace. Too tight the first time, but then good enough the second. Next we slid off Chris’ climbing harness and gear in anticipation of getting him onto the back-board. Making quick work of this we lifted Chris by his jacket and pants in two lifts to get the back-board underneath his body.  Any time there was moving or shifting his legs, Chris would yell out in pain; making it evident something was hurt deeper than the eye could see somewhere on the lower part of his leg(s). With Chris now on the back-board, we shifted Chris only slightly away from the rock before stopping coming to an agreement this was about as good as it gets as far as “flat terrain” in our immediate location.  Knowing the lift would come from this location, Deputy Cody retrieved the hoist bag and began at Chris’ lower half, getting the back-board and all inside the bag. I lifted Chris by the backboard and Deputy Cody moved the bag up and with shocking efficiency we had Chris bagged up and ready for pick up.

During this entire time Deputy Cody was in radio contact with the helicopter.  The crew would ask every few minutes what the status was of Chris and how hard the wind was blowing.  Unexplainably the wind was down to virtually nothing. From a blowing gale freezing us, to the point of shivering only a short time ago to now nothing.  Weather on the mountain is a funny thing. During the time we were getting Chris in the hoist bag, the deputy called for the helicopter to return and a very short time later the chop from the helicopter could be heard again in the distance.

The other party (two male climbers) behind us had now made it to the summit and I could see them when my attention turned again to the sky at the return of the helicopter.  Deputy Cody attached a cord to one corner of the hoist bag, applied safety glasses to Chris’ face and I began to break branches of the shrubbery in the surrounding area for the best chance of not having the hoist bag snagged on Chris’ way up.  As the helicopter came overhead I moved back toward the rock and watched as the winch line was lowered and attached to the hoist bag. I will never forget the sight of Chris beginning to be lifted and Deputy Cody guiding his ascent by using the cord he previously attached.  In mere seconds Chris was at the landing gear of the helicopter, then just above where it looks as though he was held for the short flight down the mountain to an awaiting ambulance (I later discovered). With no drama, Deputy Cody let go of the guide rope and Chris was gone, out of my sight.  I remember looking down at my watch and the time was 12:43 pm. It was just over two hours from the time of the fall to rescue.

12:43 pm.  – 1:06 pm. – After seeing Chris disappear from view, I was finally able to break down.  I remember kneeling down crying, hands shaking, reflecting on what I had just endured. I helped Deputy Cody gather his things, eyes cloudy with tears and remember asking him where he thought they would take Chris.  He told me to UMC Banner and he reassured me everything was going to be okay. He said he knew that Chris was unconscious for some time based on the “raccoon-eyes” on his face and he was worried about his lower extremities.  I remember giving Deputy Cody a hug, thanking him for everything he had just done. He told me was going to hike to a better spot to be picked up by the helicopter, and just like that my attention turned to calming down and trying to figure out how to get out, contact my wife and sister-in-law and get to the hospital.

By this time the climbers behind us had rappelled down to my position and we discussed my plan to get out and back to the car.  My original plan was to gather everything up and hike/scramble out, as this was the original plan. The two climbers (who had done this route before) told me that this would put me further down the road than I likely wanted, making for a long hike up the road back to the car.  I then agreed to rappel down with them to our starting point. We split up all of mine and Chris’ gear and headed in the direction of the next rappel. It was at this time (1:06 p.m.) that I got on top of a boulder and placed a call to my wife. She answered my call and I explained that Chris (her brother) had fallen and that he was being moved by helicopter to UMC Banner.  I did my best to calm and reassure her that everything was going to be okay before I hung up and trotted after the two climbers who were making their way to the next rappel station.

1:06 p.m. – 2:21 p.m. – I caught up with the two climbers just as they were approaching the rappel down to the base of the climb.  We made out way out to the ledge were the rappel was located and chatted a little bit while flaking the rope and getting ready to descend.  Through conversation I discovered that one of the climbers also works at the same company I do and that we know some of the same people. Looking back I absolutely appreciated this conversation and the distraction it created from the situation I had just endured.  

Before long it was my time to rappel, and a long rappel it was.  I remember backing off the ledge and into open space thinking “I really do not feel like doing this right now, I want to get down, please get me down as fast as possible.”  As soon as my feet touched ground I began looking for Chris and my hiking shoes and packs that we had stashed at the base of the climb some five or more hours earlier when we began our ascent.  Finding everything just as we had left it I gathered everything together; shoved the packs down the rock to the road below, and with my fellow climbers help made the short trek back up the road to the car.

After making it to the car I hugged and thanked the climbers for their help and swung a u-turn heading back down the mountain.  Nearing Thimble Peak Vista I saw a grouping of Sheriff’s deputies gathered in the parking area. I pulled over and walked over to them explaining who I was.  I first met and talked to the deputy who I had been shouting down to at the side of the road. He told me that Chris had been flown down to this point on the road, loaded into an ambulance, then driven down the mountain and loaded into another helicopter with medical support capabilities and flown to UMC Banner to the trauma unit.  I then saw Deputy Cody once again; gave him another hug and thanks (and tears) before getting back in the car and heading down the mountain.

The drive down the mountain was strangely peaceful.  The day turned out to be rather sunny and I sipped the remaining water from my bottle breathing the warm air filled with relief all the way to the hospital. The outcome being what it is, I could not be more grateful for everything that happened just as it did that day.  I still cannot understand how Chris fell, and landed sustaining only the injuries he did. From having cell phone reception in what should have been a dead-zone, to the wind and weather shifting just when we needed it too, to the amazing work of the Sheriff’s search and rescue team, I still have a hard time understanding how all the puzzle pieces of the rescue fit as they did.   I am eternally grateful for all of these circumstances being as they were, but am even more grateful for the fact that after all this I still get to share even more adventures with someone I love and respect.

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I spent the next two days in a concussion and medication induced confusion. The news came back slowly but it ultimately could have been far worse- a number of broken bones in my face but nothing intracranially, no head bleed or skull fracture. Somehow both my nose and jaw escaped unharmed, although my lip and left ear had some pretty severe lacerations. Two bones in my right ankle were broken, and one of my first memories after the accident is looking at my casted foot speaking with the Orthopedic Surgeon. I would have surgery on the numerous fractures in my face the day following my accident, and spend a few more days recovering in the hospital before being discharged home.

As I reflect on the accident, I think it’s worth talking about the practical things first. Like most accidents in rock climbing and mountaineering, this one was preventable. Although the anchor I had built off the small tree was not long enough to reach the rappel anchor, I could have made the decision to extend it with one or two of the many slings I had with me. I think this accident is something many of us are guilty off- when the summit or ledge is large, many of us don’t feel the need to stay anchored in. These large ledges and summits provide a false sense of security- when the anchors are at the edge, it doesn’t matter how much open space is behind you. If sharing this write up does anything I hope it encourages even one reader to stay on anchor or even build a new anchor when approaching anything on an uneven ledge with deadly exposure.

Another lesson I learned from this is the importance of having a means to call for a rescue should the need arises. While I did have a personal locator beacon with me, it was A.) Down in my pack at the base of the climb and B.) I hadn’t even told Steve I had it with me. Thankfully he had brought his phone and did have a pocket of service to get a phone call across. Even if you don’t have service, it is worth trying to dial 911- they will use service towers from other carriers in the event of an emergency. I realize there is some debate on whether or not to bring a phone on a climb with the risk of it breaking. After this rescue and how essential it was, there is no question in my mind it should always come up.

In terms of my psychological and emotional recovery, I’ve had a lot of things to consider. To the credit of my family and friends, the discussion of quitting climbing never came up. And although it hasn’t been discussed out loud, it’s still something I’ve reflected on personally, or at the very least, considered WHY specifically I climb and continue to take these risks. Most people reading this are probably climbers and know the love of climbing has little to nothing to do with risk. In fact, if possible, I would remove every risk from the sport as I could. I don’t want to be hurt, don’t want to be broken and don’t want my family to have to go through the fear and anguish they went through when I was first injured. To say that those who rock climb or mountaineer do so for the risks is wrong. The actual reasons I climb are quite varied, but most of them stem from my love of the mountains. In the past few months, I’ve been lucky enough to revisit several National Parks (Yosemite, Joshua Tree) and experience them in completely new ways as a rock climber. I can’t describe the feeling I had moving up even a single pitch of Yosemite’s granite, looking up at the polished granite walls and seeing an entire new world of opportunity and adventure, a way to connect with some of my favorite places in a whole new way.

I also climb for the physical challenge. I am by no means a high level athlete, but I’m drawn to the sport as a way to challenge myself both physically and mentally, learning and trying new techniques and adding them to my climbing toolbox as I tackle more challenging and varied routes. In the past few years as a climber, I feel like I’ve progressed in leaps and bounds, and I’m excited to see just what I’m actually capable of.

One (of the many) things that I’ve realized from this is how far reaching our actions are. While my injury has greatly impacted my immediate family, I was surprised to see how far the impact spread, from friends and coworkers to my climbing community. That’s also been one of the hardest things for me; although I don’t remember the day of the accident, it was one of if not the worst days of the lives of my wife, sister and brother-in-law. It has been difficult to know that my actions and decisions have negatively impacted so many that I love and care for. It is naive to think that climbing won’t change for us after this accident. How could it not? Perhaps it will be for the better, making us all more cautious and conscientious climbers. I can only hope that as my wounds heal and memories slowly fade, we can return to the sport we all once enjoyed together.

With these big injuries, I’ve been surprised at how slow the healing process is. In the first week I improved so rapidly, I expected to be up and walking in no time. But as I used my reserves up in the first week, it has been difficult to heal the final 10% of my injuries, with constant aches and pains, scabs and bruises that have lasted for weeks. It has taken over 8 weeks for my ear to look somewhat normal again. The road to recovery is long and full of both good and bad days, and I’ve needed to constantly adjust my expectations for when I can get back outside to enjoy the great outdoors.

The love and support I’ve received from my wife and family has really been above and beyond what I could ever ask for. As I have healed, my needs have evolved from needing constant physical care, to helping me learn to navigate and move with a broken leg, to shuttling me to work and doctors appointments because I’ve been unable to drive. The patience required to help an injured full grown man get through the day can not be understated. I will be forever grateful to my wife and family for all the help they’ve given me since the accident. Beyond my immediate family, the outpouring of support has been incredible and moving. While I’ve healed, I’ve received nothing but encouragement, kindness and hope for the future.

Although they may still be a ways away, I’m already looking forward to my next adventures with family and friends.