The Edge of Extinction: One Man’s Impossible Journey After a 400-Foot Plunge

I. The Fatal Ascent: A Routine Turned Catastrophe

The North Cascades of Washington State represent the pinnacle of American alpinism: a formidable, beautiful wilderness of jagged peaks, glacial ice, and sheer rock faces. It is a landscape that demands respect, meticulous preparation, and absolute adherence to safety protocols. It was here, on the challenging slopes of the Early Winter North Spire, that a climbing tragedy unfolded, one that would claim three lives and forge an unbelievable tale of human endurance.

The four-man climbing party was composed of friends who shared a deep, abiding passion for the mountains. They were experienced men: Anton Tselykh, 38, of Seattle; Vishnu Irigireddy, 48; Tim Nguyen, 63; and Oleksander Martynenko, 36. They were a team, relying on decades of combined experience and the unshakeable certainty of their equipment. Their objective was a moderate, yet technical, ascent. But on a late afternoon in May 2025, with light snow beginning to fall, the group made the difficult but necessary decision to descend as bad weather approached.

The descent is often considered the most dangerous part of any climb, a phase where fatigue and distraction can prove lethal. To rappel down the steep gully, the climbers attached their ropes to a piton—a metal spike pounded into a rock fissure, often left by previous climbers to serve as a fixed anchor. This was the point of failure, the single, devastating flaw in a chain of protection.

Investigators later speculated that the anchor was old and weathered, likely placed years, if not decades, before. As one of the men began rappelling off the aged piton, the anchor, under the immense, sudden stress, ripped out of the mountain. In an instant, the four men, tethered together in their line of descent, were cast loose from the rock. They began a violent, catastrophic, and inescapable 400-foot fall.

The physics of a fall from such a height are brutal and final. The initial plunge was an estimated 200 feet through steep, vertical terrain. This was followed by another roughly 200 feet of tumbling, a brutal pinball trajectory down a sloping ravine of rock, ice, and snow. The body, accelerating rapidly, experiences a sudden, massive deceleration upon impact, exerting forces so extreme that bones shatter and internal organs suffer catastrophic injuries. The odds of surviving such an impact are statistically null, a medical impossibility that only a handful of documented cases have ever defied.

When the ropes, gear, and human bodies finally came to rest in a tangled, horrific mess at the bottom of the ravine, three men—Vishnu Irigireddy, Tim Nguyen, and Oleksander Martynenko—were tragically killed. The fourth man, Anton Tselykh, was knocked into a deep, protective void of unconsciousness.

II. The Lie of the Broken Finger: A Narrative of True Trauma

When the initial stories of the accident began to circulate, the account was characterized by one incredible, almost deceptive detail: that the sole survivor had escaped with “only a broken finger.” This detail, or others like it exaggerating the minor nature of the injuries, served as an immediate, shocking hook. The truth, however, as revealed by the subsequent reporting, was far more complex and terrifying. Tselykh’s survival was a miracle, but his injuries were anything but minor.

In the hours after the fall, as the mountain descended into absolute darkness, Anton Tselykh lay amidst the wreckage of the accident, a solitary figure in a profound tragedy. When he eventually regained consciousness, he was suffering from devastating, life-threatening injuries. He had sustained head trauma and internal bleeding.

The fact that Tselykh survived the impact at all is a biological mystery. A 400-foot fall, especially one involving multiple violent tumbles across rock and ice, should have resulted in massive skeletal damage, aortic rupture, or catastrophic brain injury. The body is simply not designed to withstand such a rapid deceleration. Yet, Anton Tselykh had survived. He had, in the face of certain death, retained the one thing that would save him: his primal will to live, and the cognitive function to act on it.

His injuries, particularly the internal bleeding, represented a ticking clock. Unchecked, internal hemorrhage leads rapidly to hypovolemic shock, organ failure, and death. The head trauma, meanwhile, would have caused severe disorientation, confusion, and impaired judgment—the very faculties he desperately needed to navigate the treacherous environment. What Tselykh achieved next, while suffering from these severe, debilitating injuries, transforms his survival from a freak accident into one of the most astonishing feats of self-rescue in mountaineering history. The initial report of a mere broken finger fades against the terrifying reality of what his body was battling internally.

III. Awakening in the Abyss: The Twelve-Hour Ordeal

Tselykh awoke in the dark, the blackness of the North Cascades night absolute and overwhelming. He found himself entangled in a horrific mess of ropes, helmets, and gear, a final, macabre knot of climbing paraphernalia that bound him to the site of the tragedy. The emotional and physical trauma of the moment must be impossible to comprehend: the sudden, paralyzing realization of the fall, the dark silence broken only by his own ragged breathing, and the dawning knowledge of the fate of his three companions.

His immediate survival depended entirely on action, even if his body was screaming for rest and his mind was clouded by concussion. The first, agonizing task was extrication. Hours were spent disentangling himself from the thick, braided ropes and broken equipment that secured him to the scene. It was a task that required meticulous concentration and control, skills typically impossible to maintain while suffering from head trauma and the early stages of shock. Each pull, each cut, each adjustment would have sent fiery pain through his bruised and damaged body, but the core instinct—get out, get help—drove him forward.

Once free, the true magnitude of his ordeal began. He was deep in the remote wilderness of the North Cascades, miles from any inhabited structure, and it was night. The ground beneath him was the same rough terrain of rock and snow that had delivered the fatal blow to his friends. He had to trek over this treacherous landscape, uphill and through the dark, to reach his car.

His only aid, apart from his indomitable will, was a pick-like ice tool, which he used for balance and leverage to navigate the rough terrain. The journey was a race against time: every minute he hiked was a minute his internal injuries went untreated, a minute his internal clock ticked closer to failure. His success was dependent on an initial, lucky circumstance: his internal bleeding, though severe, was not immediately catastrophic, giving him a small, almost non-existent window of opportunity to reach civilization. Most human bodies would have simply shut down. Tselykh’s did not.

The trek to the car, which took an estimated eight to twelve hours, was an unparalleled display of grit. He was walking, climbing, and pushing himself through the long night and into the early morning with the medical equivalent of a fatal wound. Every step was a decision to defy the medical textbooks that said he should be dead.

IV. The Last Lifeline: A 40-Mile Drive to a Payphone

After the seemingly impossible hike, Anton Tselykh reached his vehicle. Yet, even this monumental achievement was not the end of the rescue effort. The accident had occurred in an area of such profound remoteness that the final, most crucial step—calling for help—was still impossible. There was no cellular service.

His next decision, driven by a lucid, almost superhuman level of determination, was to drive. Despite the head trauma and the ongoing threat of internal bleeding, Tselykh got behind the wheel and began a 64-kilometer (40-mile) drive out of the wilderness. The drive, which took him into the unincorporated community of Newhalem, was a gauntlet of winding mountain roads, all navigated while fighting for his life.

The moment of the call is perhaps the most anachronistic and poignant detail of the entire saga. Tselykh did not call from a smartphone. He drove until he found a functional pay phone in Newhalem, the last vestige of an old world communication system, and used it to dial 911. This detail captures the sheer isolation of the North Cascades and the desperate, primal nature of his self-rescue. He used the only technology available, proving that in the battle for life, the most sophisticated tool is often simply the most reliable one.

He called for help on Sunday morning, roughly eight hours after he first regained consciousness. Emergency services were alerted to the tragedy. The Okanogan County Search and Rescue team, receiving the coordinates, immediately mobilized, sending in a three-person team followed by a helicopter rescue team to extricate the bodies of the three deceased climbers from the treacherous, steep terrain.

Tselykh, finally safe, was transported to Harborview Medical Center in Seattle, where he was immediately placed under critical care. His condition was eventually listed as satisfactory, a quiet, professional term that failed to capture the sheer improbability of his situation. He was alive.

V. The Legacy of the Survivor and the Cost of the Mountain

Anton Tselykh’s survival is not just a medical anomaly; it is a profound philosophical statement on the resilience of the human spirit. It highlights a phenomenon often observed in severe trauma: the adrenaline-fueled override of the body’s pain and failure signals. His mind, confronted with the absolute necessity of rescue, forced a near-dead body to perform tasks that a healthy, uninjured person would find challenging. He did not realize the full extent of his internal injuries, a kind of protective ignorance that ironically allowed him to keep moving when full knowledge of his condition might have induced panic and collapse.

The medical community can point to factors that may have cushioned the blow: the layered climbing gear, the soft snow and sloping terrain (after the initial 200-foot vertical drop), and the distribution of forces. Yet, none of these explanations fully account for the hiking and driving required to call for help while suffering from internal hemorrhage and concussion. His ordeal provides invaluable, albeit tragic, insight into the true limits of human physical and mental endurance under extreme duress.

But the story of Tselykh’s miracle is inextricably linked to the profound loss of his companions: Vishnu Irigireddy, Tim Nguyen, and Oleksander Martynenko. Tselykh’s victory is the result of a collective, devastating defeat. The tragedy underscores the unforgiving nature of the high-altitude environment, where the smallest component—an old, weathered piton left behind by a stranger—can become the single point of failure that destroys four lives in an instant. The mountains do not forgive mistakes, whether they are made by the climber of today or the climber of decades past.

The surviving climber’s recount to the authorities, confirming the anchor failure, helped provide closure and vital lessons for the climbing community, tragically paid for with three lives. The condolences poured in for the families of the deceased, including Oleksander Martynenko’s wife, who shared her devastation online, emphasizing the profound human cost of the North Cascades’ beauty and danger.

Conclusion: The Unquantifiable Will to Live

Anton Tselykh’s 400-foot plunge and subsequent self-rescue is a testament to the unquantifiable power of the human will. It is a story that started with the sensational whisper of a “broken finger” and evolved into the harrowing reality of a 40-mile crawl toward a payphone while his body was actively dying from within. It is a narrative that will be recounted in mountaineering circles for generations, not just as a cautionary tale of anchor failure, but as a defining example of what the mind can compel the body to do in the face of absolute finality.

His survival and the unbelievable journey to safety is more than just a miracle; it is a powerful, visceral demonstration of the inherent human drive to persist. In the cold, dark silence of the North Cascades, where three lives ended, a single life was saved by an act of sheer, uncompromising, and rational will. Anton Tselykh’s story remains an eternal reminder that even when the odds are stacked against us, and the fall is four hundred feet deep, the human spirit, driven by the simple need to live, can perform the impossible.