{"id":437209,"date":"2022-04-25T19:35:52","date_gmt":"2022-04-25T16:35:52","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/en.buradabiliyorum.com\/how-to-fix-a-broken-mountaineer\/"},"modified":"2022-04-25T19:35:52","modified_gmt":"2022-04-25T16:35:52","slug":"how-to-fix-a-broken-mountaineer","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/buradabiliyorum.com\/en\/how-to-fix-a-broken-mountaineer\/","title":{"rendered":"#How to fix a broken mountaineer"},"content":{"rendered":"<div id=\"ez-toc-container\" class=\"ez-toc-v2_0_84 counter-hierarchy ez-toc-counter ez-toc-custom ez-toc-container-direction\">\n<p class=\"ez-toc-title\" style=\"cursor:inherit\">Table of Contents<\/p>\n<label for=\"ez-toc-cssicon-toggle-item-6a2e840984a05\" class=\"ez-toc-cssicon-toggle-label\"><span class=\"\"><span class=\"eztoc-hide\" style=\"display:none;\">Toggle<\/span><span class=\"ez-toc-icon-toggle-span\"><svg style=\"fill: #dd3333;color:#dd3333\" xmlns=\"http:\/\/www.w3.org\/2000\/svg\" class=\"list-377408\" width=\"20px\" height=\"20px\" viewBox=\"0 0 24 24\" fill=\"none\"><path d=\"M6 6H4v2h2V6zm14 0H8v2h12V6zM4 11h2v2H4v-2zm16 0H8v2h12v-2zM4 16h2v2H4v-2zm16 0H8v2h12v-2z\" fill=\"currentColor\"><\/path><\/svg><svg style=\"fill: #dd3333;color:#dd3333\" class=\"arrow-unsorted-368013\" xmlns=\"http:\/\/www.w3.org\/2000\/svg\" width=\"10px\" height=\"10px\" viewBox=\"0 0 24 24\" version=\"1.2\" baseProfile=\"tiny\"><path d=\"M18.2 9.3l-6.2-6.3-6.2 6.3c-.2.2-.3.4-.3.7s.1.5.3.7c.2.2.4.3.7.3h11c.3 0 .5-.1.7-.3.2-.2.3-.5.3-.7s-.1-.5-.3-.7zM5.8 14.7l6.2 6.3 6.2-6.3c.2-.2.3-.5.3-.7s-.1-.5-.3-.7c-.2-.2-.4-.3-.7-.3h-11c-.3 0-.5.1-.7.3-.2.2-.3.5-.3.7s.1.5.3.7z\"\/><\/svg><\/span><\/span><\/label><input type=\"checkbox\"  id=\"ez-toc-cssicon-toggle-item-6a2e840984a05\" checked aria-label=\"Toggle\" \/><nav><ul class='ez-toc-list ez-toc-list-level-1 ' ><li class='ez-toc-page-1 ez-toc-heading-level-1'><a class=\"ez-toc-link ez-toc-heading-1\" href=\"https:\/\/buradabiliyorum.com\/en\/how-to-fix-a-broken-mountaineer\/#%E2%80%9CHow_to_fix_a_broken_mountaineer%E2%80%9D\" >&#8220;How to fix a broken mountaineer&#8221;<\/a><\/li><\/ul><\/nav><\/div>\n<h1><span class=\"ez-toc-section\" id=\"%E2%80%9CHow_to_fix_a_broken_mountaineer%E2%80%9D\"><\/span>&#8220;How to fix a broken mountaineer&#8221;<span class=\"ez-toc-section-end\"><\/span><\/h1>\n<div>\n                It was supposed to be just another climbing day. On a windless, warm Saturday in September of 2003, Sandy Fransham, her partner, John Ionescu, and their friend Gerry Drotar headed into the mountains west of Calgary. They weren\u2019t planning to push the limits of their capabilities, or to court danger. All three were experienced recreational rock climbers and the route they had selected, a climb called Bonanza, was moderate for their skills.<\/p>\n<p>It was remote, though, in a wilderness area north of Banff and Canmore that was not accessible by car. And it was long: 260 metres high, or seven pitches to a climber\u2014roughly speaking, seven lengths of the long rope they had carried with them on the short hike from the trailhead.<\/p>\n<p>Ionescu, a 35-year-old engineer, grew up leading an adventurous life in his native Romania. His <a href=\"https:\/\/buradabiliyorum.com\/en\/category\/download-scripts-themes-apps\/\" data-internallinksmanager029f6b8e52c=\"9\" title=\"Download Scripts &amp; Themes &amp; Apps\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">app<\/a>roach had been DIY by necessity: climbing with friends on homemade gear and sewing his own down clothing for expeditions. Fransham, a 30-year-old high school math teacher, had come to climbing in her 20s. The pair met through the Calgary chapter of the Alpine Club of Canada, a national group that connects like-minded outdoors lovers for events and excursions. They had met Drotar, who worked for Greyhound, through the group, too.<\/p>\n<p>In traditional rock climbing, members of a group take turns as the lead climber, ascending using their hands and feet to find leverage on the irregularities in the rock and inserting specialized gear into the cracks they find along the way. They clip their rope into each piece of gear as they climb, and when they fall, they count on the gear to catch them.<\/p>\n<blockquote><p><strong>MORE:\u00a0The hunt for B.C.\u2019s most notorious fisherman<\/strong><\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<p>Fransham and Drotar led the way up the first two pitches of the route, and then it was Ionescu\u2019s turn to climb first. He went up and to the left of the other two, who waited and watched on a small ledge below. He was working his way through a particularly smooth, flat section of rock. Fransham could see that he was struggling. As his position became tenuous, and he looked around for somewhere to place another piece of gear, she whispered: \u201cHe\u2019s going to fall.\u201d Moments later, Ionescu came unstuck from the rock wall and plummeted.<\/p>\n<p>When his weight hit his highest piece of gear, it ripped out from the crack where he\u2019d placed it. He fell further, tumbling and slamming against the wall\u2019s rough edges, and when the next piece of gear finally caught him, he was dangling below the ledge where Fransham and Drotar stood. He was semi-conscious and bleeding from his nose, but he was breathing.<\/p>\n<p>They were high enough up on the rock face that Fransham\u2019s phone found a couple of bars of service. She called 911 for help, and then Drotar secured her rope while she climbed down to where Ionescu hung in his harness. He was tall, and she was only five foot two, but she was fit and strong. \u201cIt\u2019s amazing what you can do, physically, when you\u2019re trying to save the life of the man you love,\u201d she says.<\/p>\n<p>She slung Ionescu\u2019s dead weight across her back and climbed laterally, hauling him to another ledge below the one where Drotar stood. Soon, he stopped breathing. She began CPR and waited for the helicopter to arrive.<\/p>\n<p>It took two different attempts with two different helicopters before rescuers were able to reach them on the steep terrain. During that time, another pair of climbers came over to help. At first, Ionescu occasionally stirred and tried to speak in Romanian, but as time passed he faded further. Fransham estimates that she performed CPR on Ionescu for two hours\u2014too long to have any real hope of a good outcome, as she and anyone else with first-responder training knows. But neither Drotar nor the other climbers were going to tell her to stop.<\/p>\n<p>When the helicopter lifted Ionescu away into the evening light and Fransham prepared herself to rappel down and follow him to the hospital, she shoved down any thoughts about the time that had passed, or his deteriorating condition. It was only when she arrived at the hospital in Banff and his two best friends met her at the front doors that the shock hit her. John was gone.<\/p>\n<p>In the months that followed, Fransham moved through a fog of grief. At school, she found that speaking in front of the class forced her to focus her mind, but lesson planning and marking were hopeless. Eventually she took a stress leave and saw a <a href=\"https:\/\/buradabiliyorum.com\/en\/category\/watch-movies-tv-seriess\/\" data-internallinksmanager029f6b8e52c=\"8\" title=\"Watch Movies &amp; TV Series\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">series<\/a> of counsellors. There were painful tasks to work through, like arranging for <a href=\"https:\/\/buradabiliyorum.com\/en\/category\/trip-and-travel\/\" data-internallinksmanager029f6b8e52c=\"10\" title=\"Trip &amp; Travel\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">travel<\/a> visas for Ionescu\u2019s family in Romania so they could attend the funeral. And then there were the unexpected jabs of hurt, like the day his certificate of Canadian citizenship came in the mail. He had passed his test and completed the process not long before he died.<\/p>\n<div id=\"attachment_1236120\" style=\"width: 3411px\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" data-sizes=\"auto\" class=\"size-full wp-image-1236120 lazyload\" src=\"https:\/\/www.macleans.ca\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/04\/220316-AS_Macleans-MMFinal_1662_Allison-Seto.jpg\" alt=\"Fransham calls Mountain Muskox a gift that's allowed her to help others and share her experiences. (Photograph by Allison Seto)\" width=\"3401\" height=\"5101\"\/><\/p>\n<p class=\"wp-caption-text\">Fransham calls Mountain Muskox a gift that\u2019s allowed her to help others and share her experiences. (Photograph by Allison Seto)<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<p>She returned to climbing quickly, but carefully, choosing companions who would understand if she became emotional. She struggled to explain her choice to head back into the mountains to her family. She had sympathy and support from the people around her, but sympathy, she found, didn\u2019t teach her how to get through the fog. \u201cI was so scared of being so damaged emotionally that I might as well just be dead,\u201d she says. She was terrified of remaining stuck in grief\u2014stuck, in a way, on that rock ledge.<\/p>\n<p>Every year in Canada\u2019s vast wild spaces, people out having fun or seeking adventure are killed or seriously injured. Those who survive these events are left with a particular flavour of trauma, one that is often mingled with feelings of guilt and shame. Some have been able to access traditional counselling or try out the various new therapies that are being developed for post-traumatic stress disorder. But many, suspecting that no one would understand their situation, have tried to move forward alone.<\/p>\n<p>A new group based out of Canmore, Alberta, is trying to bridge that gap. They call themselves Mountain Muskox, referencing the shaggy Arctic herd animals that protect themselves by forming a tight defensive circle. The idea is to provide a peer support group for people who\u2019ve experienced trauma while they work or play in the mountains: guides, first responders, athletes and anyone else in need. Mixing weekend warriors with some of Canada\u2019s most accomplished mountaineers and climbers, the group is tearing down the silence that has traditionally shrouded trauma in outdoor sports.<\/p>\n<p>***<\/p>\n<p>There are a lot of ways to be hurt or killed in the outdoors. Hikers drown, climbers fall, skiers hit trees or are buried in avalanches. Rock climbing, ice climbing and mountaineering generate enough dangerous events that the American Alpine Club has published a book, <em>Accidents in North American Climbing<\/em>, every year since 1948, analyzing each disaster. Avalanches alone have killed more than 500 Canadians since 1970. There are risks from rockfall and snow slides, the adrenalin rush of whitewater and the slow creep of hypothermia.<\/p>\n<p>There are also rich rewards. For many people, there\u2019s no substitute for the sensory experience they find in the mountains: the crisp quality of the air, the way light plays on a snow-covered slope in the distance, the distinctly satisfying full-body exhaustion of a big day out. Adventurers thrive on the closeness of the bonds formed between climbing or hiking partners, and the way the physical and technical demands of mountain sports can clear and concentrate their minds. The inherent risks are often connected to all these things that make outdoor sports so appealing\u2014and this can complicate a person\u2019s recovery when things go wrong.<\/p>\n<p>Geoff Powter is a veteran climber who was also a practising psychologist in Canmore for many years. \u201cWhen I was counselling, I heard time and time again that people coming in were thankful they had a climber-therapist who they could talk to because they hadn\u2019t had so much luck with \u2018civilian\u2019 counsellors,\u201d he says. \u201cWhy? Because in their minds, the people they were talking to were criticizing mountain sports and trying to get them to explore things like leaving the sport, or questioning the community\u2019s cultural norms around death as part of the <a href=\"https:\/\/buradabiliyorum.com\/en\/category\/game\/\" data-internallinksmanager029f6b8e52c=\"7\" title=\"Game\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">game<\/a>.\u201d<\/p>\n<blockquote><p><strong>RELATED:\u00a0Canadian paramedics are in crisis<\/strong><\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<p>That disconnect is part of the reason therapy hasn\u2019t traditionally been part of the culture of mountain sports, even though the risk of loss and trauma is baked in. Barry Blanchard, a climber and long-time professional mountain guide in the Canadian Rockies who\u2019s one of the co-founders of Mountain Muskox, never heard about mental health care from the older mountain guides who mentored him. Blanchard, now 63, first found his way to therapy in 1986, after an accident killed two of his clients on a guided trip. The anchor holding him and his group on a steep snow slope sheared through the snow, sending them sliding. Their long fall brought an avalanche down with them. \u201cI was probably one of the first mountain guides to be involved in therapy,\u201d he says. He only wound up in counselling because a close friend connected him to a psychiatrist who had been a climber himself.<\/p>\n<p>More than 35 years later, Blanchard is still working through the things he\u2019s witnessed and experienced in the mountains. In 2019, he was seeing Janet McLeod, a Canmore-based psychologist, when he learned he was just one of a handful of her regular clients with similar stories: professional guides who had suffered losses in their work. McLeod suggested they get a group together. Initially it was just the four of them: McLeod, Blanchard, the accomplished ice climber and guide Sarah Hueniken, and another veteran mountain guide, Todd Guyn. \u201cWe\u2019d meet every couple weeks and just talk,\u201d says Blanchard. Speaking to people who shared similar experiences helped break through the isolation that can build up, and McLeod was able to help them process their emotions. \u201cIt was definitely something that helped us all, and we thought, \u2018Yeah, it would be great if we can formalize this and bring it to a larger group of people,\u2019 \u201d says Blanchard.<\/p>\n<p>With logistical support from the Alpine Club of Canada, which signed on as a partner, they prepared a pilot program. They started with a dozen people from various backgrounds, gathered through their networks, along with two facilitators with experience leading sessions for each group meeting. The idea wasn\u2019t to dwell on the details of the losses that had brought each person to the group. Instead it was about looking forward. What happens after the incident? What\u2019s next?<\/p>\n<p>***<\/p>\n<p>After trying a few different therapists in the wake of John\u2019s death, Sandy Fransham eventually joined a support program for people who\u2019d lost their spouses, which included one-on-one sessions and group work. \u201cThat is where I finally felt like, okay, I got the help I needed,\u201d she says. Even though most of the people in the group were much older\u2014she was only 30 when John died\u2014and most had lost their partners under very different circumstances, they still understood her situation, her moods, her sense of alienation. One day, she was in the grocery store, surrounded by people picking up milk or bread, and was filled with the urge to puncture the normalcy, to scream into the quiet aisles: \u201cMy boyfriend just died!\u201d She didn\u2019t, of course, but she did tell the group about it later. There was nothing that felt better, she says, than sharing a thought or feeling that might have seemed strange or inappropriate to someone outside their group and having the people in the circle around her nod their heads.<\/p>\n<p>Thanks to the support program, Fransham found her way out of the fog. She stayed in Calgary, kept on climbing, continued to be an active volunteer in the Alpine Club of Canada chapter where she had first met John. Eventually she married another man she met through the Alpine Club\u2014he was more of a skier than a climber, so they had things to teach each other\u2014and they had two children, in 2008 and 2011.<\/p>\n<p>Her kids grew, and soon they were able to participate in more and bigger outdoor adventures with her\u2014and learn to climb. Wanting to refresh her old skills, she signed up for an ice climbing course, and that\u2019s where she met Sarah Hueniken. She had heard about Hueniken\u2019s recent loss: in March 2019, during a women\u2019s climbing camp, two guides and their clients were finishing their day when an avalanche descended. One of the guides, a close friend of Hueniken\u2019s and her camp manager, was killed. When Fransham approached Hueniken, asked about her loss and shared her own story, Hueniken told her about Mountain Muskox.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThis is a gift being given to me, right?\u201d Fransham remembers thinking. \u201cThis was a perfect fit for me, to be able to help others and share my experience.\u201d She had long wanted to find a way to pay forward what she\u2019d learned, and here was the best opportunity she could have imagined. In early 2021, along with Blanchard and Hueniken, she became a member of the first Mountain Muskox circle. At a ranch on the outskirts of Canmore, they would meet biweekly for three-hour sessions.<\/p>\n<div class=\"longform-fwimg-container\"><img decoding=\"async\" data-sizes=\"auto\" src=\"https:\/\/www.macleans.ca\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/04\/220316-AS_MountainMuskox-Slides_1717-_Courtesy-of-Sandy-Fransham.jpg\" alt=\"Sandy Fransham, a high school math teacher, met John Ioneescu, an engineer who grew up clibing in his native Romania using homemade gear, through the Calgary chapter of the Alpine Club of Canada. (Courtesy of Sandy Fransham)\"\/><\/p>\n<p class=\"wp-caption-text\">Sandy Fransham, a high school math teacher, met John Ioneescu, an engineer who grew up clibing in his native Romania using homemade gear, through the Calgary chapter of the Alpine Club of Canada. (Courtesy of Sandy Fransham)<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<p>Their experiences spanned decades, from Blanchard\u2019s accident in 1986 to much rawer, more recent pain. Some members of the group, like Fransham, were dealing with a singular, catastrophic event; others had faced a more gradual accumulation of trauma in the mountains. Marc Lomas was one of them. He\u2019d moved to Banff soon after high school and worked his way up from washing dishes in a local restaurant to working on the ski patrol at a major resort. In 2005, on the opening day of his second season on patrol, he high-fived a buddy at the top of a run. They skied off in separate directions, but a short while later, Lomas was called to an accident site. The patient was his friend, who had fallen and hit his head. He didn\u2019t make it. It was the first of many fatalities and serious injuries he would respond to.<\/p>\n<p>He spent another decade as a ski patroller, and eventually as an avalanche forecaster, but increasingly, he struggled to force himself to take calls he\u2019d once jumped at. He experienced panic attacks, nightmares and flashbacks. Eventually he was diagnosed with PTSD and realized he could no longer function effectively as a first responder. \u201cEven in 2015,\u201d he says, \u201cthe attitude was still very much, \u2018You cry into your corn flakes and go to work.\u2019 You didn\u2019t talk about it.\u201d He didn\u2019t know anyone else who had taken time off to recover from trauma, and he felt cut off from the community that had been his world since high school.<\/p>\n<p>After several years of working with a few therapists and struggling to return to work as a fully functioning ski patroller\u2014or even to return to skiing at all\u2014Lomas found his way to Janet McLeod\u2019s practice. He\u2019d been seeing her for a year when she introduced him to Mountain Muskox. He describes his work with the group as life-changing. The power was in the group members\u2019 shared experiences\u2014there was no need to dwell on the worst moments, or explain himself. Lomas doesn\u2019t even know the details of some of the other members\u2019 accidents or losses. The fact of their similar backgrounds provided a baseline of trust and understanding. \u201cAnybody who\u2019s been in a good friendship or relationship or therapy knows that the ability to be vulnerable is when some of the real magic happens,\u201d he says. Opening up about his present and his future, without wallowing in the past, helped him work through his symptoms. \u201cI don\u2019t go out and ski crazy couloirs or anything like that anymore,\u201d he says, \u201cbut I can go out for a day of ski touring and enjoy it, and not just be in a state of panic the whole time.\u201d There are still hard times, but he has the tools to enjoy the good moments, and to sit with the discomfort when it comes. Now, at 38, he\u2019s retraining as an electrician.<\/p>\n<p>Aline Garant, who has volunteered on a search-and-rescue team near Calgary for a decade and, as a result, witnessed some hard scenes, calls the group a lifeline. Every member has already attended one-on-one counselling\u2014that\u2019s a prerequisite for joining\u2014and Garant says that kind of individual therapy has a crucial role in the early stages of trauma. \u201cAnd then what?\u201d she says. Months pass, years pass. The crisis is behind you, but healing from trauma is not as simple as getting the cast off a broken leg. \u201cThat support becomes so sporadic that you can easily fall down the crevice again and lose your bearing.\u201d The group serves as a bridge that carries its members back into everyday life.<\/p>\n<p>One thing each Muskox member agrees on: the group works in part because it offers them the chance to help each other, not just themselves. Oakley Werenka is a 29-year-old recreational climber who joined the group after witnessing fatal climbing accidents in two consecutive summers. \u201cInitially, I was reaching out more for myself,\u201d he says. \u201cBut as it progressed, it changed into something more than that.\u201d He found satisfaction in being able to help the other members of the group, answering their questions or simply offering support and solidarity, and that in turn helped him. That effect was intentional. \u201cPart of the recovery process is this transcendent experience of being able to give back to other people in the community,\u201d says McLeod.<\/p>\n<blockquote><p><strong>READ:\u00a0The nurse imposter<\/strong><\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<p>That was what Sandy Fransham was seeking when she joined the group. It\u2019s now been 19 years since Ionescu\u2019s death, and she feels she has something to offer others who were newer to their losses. Sometimes the group\u2019s work is hard on her\u2014a reminder that nobody is ever fully healed from these sorts of events. \u201cMy heart hurts, my chest physically hurts, when I see other people hurting,\u201d she says. Still, it feels good to talk openly about the terrain she\u2019s already covered, to be able to answer hard questions like: What was it like for you to enter into a new relationship? How does your grief for John live alongside your love for your husband and your kids?<\/p>\n<p>The first cohort still gathers when they can. At one recent meeting, their first informal one without a therapist present, Fransham stepped into the lead as a facilitator for the first time. It was a subtle shift from her role as a group member\u2014their approach has always been collaborative, rather than top-down, but this time she found herself tracking the conversation, and the emotions flowing below it, more closely. Was anyone in particular struggling? Was there something they hadn\u2019t quite managed to say that she should bring up again at a better moment?<\/p>\n<p>The group\u2019s work emphasizes emotional self-awareness: participants learn to observe their feelings, their trauma responses, and to manage their capacity in their daily lives accordingly. Fransham has come a long way and it is empowering to realize that she now has the capacity, the emotional space, to focus on other people\u2019s grief, and to give back.<\/p>\n<p>She hopes to keep serving as a facilitator as Mountain Muskox welcomes new cohorts and launches regional circles in other mountain towns, as do other members of the pilot group. The plan is for each group to provide the seeds for the next. Trauma can ripple outward from its initial source, touching people in a spreading ring of pain, but so too can healing.<\/p>\n<hr\/>\n<p><em>This article appears in print in the May 2022 issue of<\/em> Maclean\u2019s <em>magazine with the headline, \u201cThe hardest climb.\u201d Subscribe to the monthly print magazine <a rel=\"nofollow noopener\" target=\"_blank\" href=\"https:\/\/secure.macleans.ca\/loc\/MME\/head_subscribe\">here<\/a>.<\/em><\/p><\/div>\n<p><script async defer crossorigin=\"anonymous\" src=\"https:\/\/connect.facebook.net\/en_US\/sdk.js\"><\/script><\/p>\n<blockquote><p><strong><span style=\"color: #ff6600;\">If you liked the article, do not forget to share it with your friends. Follow us on\u00a0<span style=\"color: #ff0000;\"><a style=\"color: #ff0000;\" href=\"https:\/\/news.google.com\/publications\/CAAqBwgKMLG0nwswvr63Aw\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"nofollow noopener noreferrer\">Google News<\/a><\/span>\u00a0too, click on the star and choose us from your favorites.<\/span><\/strong><\/p><\/blockquote>\n<blockquote>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\">For forums sites go to <span style=\"color: #ff9900;\"><a style=\"color: #ff9900;\" href=\"https:\/\/forum.buradabiliyorum.com\/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Forum.BuradaBiliyorum.Com<\/a><\/span><\/strong>\n<\/p><\/blockquote>\n<blockquote>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\"><strong>If you want to read more <a href=\"https:\/\/buradabiliyorum.com\/en\/category\/news\/\" data-internallinksmanager029f6b8e52c=\"2\" title=\"News\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">News<\/a> articles, you can visit our <span style=\"color: #ff9900;\"><a style=\"color: #ff9900;\" href=\"https:\/\/en.buradabiliyorum.com\/general\/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">General category.<\/a><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<p><span style=\"color: black;\"><a style=\"color: #ff9900;\" href=\"https:\/\/www.macleans.ca\/longforms\/how-to-fix-a-broken-mountaineer\/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Source<\/a><\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>&#8220;How to fix a broken mountaineer&#8221; It was supposed to be just another climbing day. On a windless, warm Saturday in September of 2003, Sandy Fransham, her partner, John Ionescu, and their friend Gerry Drotar headed into the mountains west of Calgary. They weren\u2019t planning to push the limits of their capabilities, or to court&#8230;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":437210,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"fifu_image_url":"https:\/\/www.macleans.ca\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/04\/220316-AS_Macleans-MMFinal_1501_Allison-Seto-766x431.jpg","fifu_image_alt":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[81432,67878,70989,76541,78163,128472],"class_list":["post-437209","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-general","tag-adventure","tag-life","tag-mental-health","tag-mountains","tag-outdoors","tag-trauma"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/buradabiliyorum.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/437209","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/buradabiliyorum.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/buradabiliyorum.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/buradabiliyorum.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/buradabiliyorum.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=437209"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/buradabiliyorum.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/437209\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/buradabiliyorum.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/437210"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/buradabiliyorum.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=437209"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/buradabiliyorum.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=437209"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/buradabiliyorum.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=437209"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}