Thin-air waste land

Mountain climbers drawn to the icy wilderness of North America’s highest peak -- 20,320-foot Mt. McKinley in Alaska -- grapple with hygiene along with high altitude.

In a place where temperatures can drop to minus 40 degrees and winds often gust to 100 mph, some climbers find it easier to go to the bathroom outside their tents or just off the trail instead of wandering farther afield or bringing disposable devices.

Viruses and bacteria in waste are then scattered by the wind and can survive for days or weeks, ample time to be scooped into cooking pots with the snow that climbers melt to make drinking water.

Epidemiologists say poor sanitation on otherwise pristine McKinley is causing a problem more commonly associated with the Third World: outbreaks of diarrhea.

Of 138 climbers descending Mt. McKinley over a four-day period in June 2002, more than 25% reported developing diarrhea on the mountain, according to a recent study in the journal Wilderness and Environmental Medicine.

A likely culprit is norovirus, which is extremely contagious and a leading cause of diarrhea in adults.

“You get travelers from all over the world coming to climb,” says Dr. Joseph McLaughlin, an epidemiologist with Alaska’s Department of Health and Social Services and the study’s lead author. “There is the potential for a wide variety of pathogens to be deposited on the mountain.”

About 1,000 people a year attempt the popular West Buttress route during the climbing season from April to June. On average, they spend two to three weeks on the mountain, often sharing campsites with more than 100 fellow climbers.

Researchers say they found the highest infection rate among climbers who spent the most time at 17,200 feet, the last main camp before the summit.

Paul Burger, a philosophy teacher from Seal Beach, was among the climbers surveyed. He says diarrhea struck while he was ascending the mountain, and it lasted several days, including a stretch spent at the high camp waiting out a storm.

One partner also got diarrhea. The storm cleared, but they decided to come down rather than attempt to reach the summit.

Burger blames their woes on not boiling their drinking water and not bringing soap on the expedition. “You have to bring so much stuff, you’re thinking, how much do I really need soap?” he says.

The researchers found that only 16% of the climbers always boiled their water and that 23% never washed their hands. Only 22% walked more than 33 feet from camp to collect snow for drinking water.

Jeff Young, a carpenter in Anchorage, says that during a 1996 expedition he was chipping away at the ice with an ax when he struck frozen fecal matter, splintering it into the air.

On that trip, he recalls, he was struck by diarrhea, accompanied by vomiting and stomach cramps, at 14,200 feet. He pushed on to the next camp, but after several days of not eating, was forced to turn back.

Roger Robinson, the lead mountaineering ranger at Denali National Park and Preserve, says there have been several improvements to help ease the problems.

There long have been pit latrines at lower camps. In the late 1980s, rangers dragged a specially designed toilet up to 17,200 feet; it overflowed in two days.

At other elevations, mountaineers have been required to use biodegradable bags, which are supposed to be discarded in crevasses, the deep fissures between slowly moving sections of a glacier. But even when roped to their partners, many climbers are wary of getting too close to crevasses and falling in.

This year, rangers have been encouraging each group of climbers to carry a Clean Mountain Can, a portable plastic cylinder with a screw-on lid and a built-in toilet seat. Climbers later return the full canisters near the base of the mountain. Robinson says he is hopeful that a law will be passed requiring their use above the camp at 14,200 feet.

Colby Coombs, a longtime guide who runs the Alaska Mountaineering School with his wife, says the canisters have helped reduce the amount of feces left on the mountain.

But he adds, sanitation remains a low priority for many climbers.

“People are just trying to survive,” Coombs says. “They just want to get out here in one piece.”

*

Times staff writer Alan Zarembo can be reached at alan.zarembo@latimes.com.