It’s pretty clear he’s on an accelerated schedule like Steve. That night in the mess tent we introduce ourselves and get to know the other team. They do feel like outsiders to us, much the same way Roland (who’s now a firm part of our crew) did when he arrived. We’re clannish and protective of our status. We feel like hardened mountaineers in front of these neophytes, which is partly true at this stage of the expedition from an acclimatisation perspective, despite their team having some very good climbers. I’m pretty focused on the goal now and I almost don’t want the distraction of getting to know new people. It’s much like the stories of replacement troops in World War II, when they were ignored by the veterans.
November 22 - Base Camp
We wake to the news that Steve, Jon and Kaljang Dorjee are on their way to the summit. They left about 4am, and by the time we’re up and about and feeling human we can spot them around the abandoned Camp 3. We can just pick them out on our telescope – Jon has a distinctive down jacket, and it’s diverting to wander over and check out their progress. At 10am sharp we get the call – they’re on top!
The rest of the day is a gentle blur, reading, wandering down to the Lodge. But really we’re waiting for Steve to get back and let us know how it was. About 7.30pm he wanders into the mess tent. He’s tired, but elated and wants to share his story.
Steve later wrote: “What a tough bloody day. I have had some tough days out before, but this one has to be right up there.
When people head to the summit from C2, they generally leave around midnight to get up and back in the day. We had been moving well so decided to leave later to minimise the amount of time spent out in the cold night.
At C2 I didn’t really sleep much, the cold, the discomfort, the anxiety knowing I was lying on a cliff edge, and the nervousness for the day ahead all kept me awake. I lay there, dozing on and off, until 0300 when the alarm went off. It took us an hour to boil some water for a hot drink and get dressed. Nothing happens quickly at this altitude. By 0400 we were on our way, the three of us, Kaljang (my climbing Sherpa), Jon (expedition leader) and myself.
The night was cold, but not as bad as I was expecting. Mentally I had prepared myself for sub -20degC temperatures, with windchill pushing it well below -30degC. That is what the weather forecasts had been. I did not have a thermometer on me, but I’m guessing that night must have been a balmy -15degC or so. There is something to be said for preparing for the worst.
The first few hours took us up through the Grey Couloir and up to Mushroom Ridge. The Grey Couloir involved narrow traverses and climbing several sections of near vertical (and sometimes overhanging) snow/ice pitches. Negotiating these with the aid of fixed ropes made it manageable, but still very tough. Full credit to anyone who free climbs this route.
Kaljang Dorjee on Mushroom Ridge (Photo: Steve Plain)
Watching the sunrise from high up in the Himalayas was spectacular. Although we had little time to stop and enjoy it. By 0730 we were at the location of the old Camp 3 (~6200m) at the bottom of the final ramp to the summit. It would have been a superb campsite, flat level space, excellent views, but the “Dablam”, the hanging glacier, perched precariously above was an obvious hazard. It was not a place to stop, but rather keep moving through to minimise exposure time.
When we got up to the old Camp 3, there in the snow was a bloke lying in the fetal position with his head cradled in his arms. Jon checked on him and he seemed ok, but what was he doing there? He had apparently started out from C2 at midnight with his “mate” and a climbing Sherpa. He had got that far and felt he couldn’t go on, so had agreed with his “mate” that he would wait there while his “mate” went for the summit with the Sherpa. I put “mate” in inverted commas because what kind of “mate” leaves a friend exhausted, lying in the snow, exposed, at 6200m? It was a recipe for disaster. At those altitudes, in those temperatures, you must keep moving to generate body heat. With the sun just coming out and still winds, he was managing ok. But it would only take a few clouds and a bit of wind and he would quickly become another statistic. It was the kind of foolish decision that would have got him and his “mate” on the 6pm news back home, for all the wrong reasons. We suggested he should descend back down, but he was adamant on waiting there till his “mate” got back down. We had tried.
Reflecting on this situation after getting back down, I asked myself, “did we try hard enough?” The answer would have to be “No”. We had checked on him, and half-heartedly offered to take him down, but the fact was, I didn’t want to turn around, I wanted to keep going up. He was an adult and still in a mental state where he was capable of making his own decisions. So was it our responsibility? Possibly not. But how would we feel now had the weather deteriorated and had the unthinkable happened? Fortunately it did not come to that.
From Camp 3, you can look up and see the summit, but it was still more than six hundred vertical meters up a snow slope averaging around 60 degrees. We left old mate in the snow and pressed on for the top.
When we left C2, two Sherpas had left just before us. They were climbing together just for fun, without any clients. We had been keeping pace with them all morning, and could still see them on the hill just ahead. It was reassuring to be keeping up with them. We must have been making good progress.
We had got about half way up this final face, we were up above the Dablam at around 6500m, and all of a sudden it felt as if someone had put the brakes on. I had entered Struggle Street big time. My legs felt like lead. With every step up I was left gasping for breath. I was starting to doubt whether I had it in me to make the top. The fact that I had not stopped to eat nor drink anything all morning probably wasn’t helping.
One step, two step, stop, breathe, breathe breathe, breathe. One step, two step, stop, breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe. This is what I was reduced to.
It seemed like eternity, then all of a sudden I could see the prayer flags marking the 6850m summit and Everest appeared directly behind. We topped out just after 1030. (Jon later pointed out it was 10am sharp) It was a magical moment. I gave Kaljang and Jon a big man hug each. Despite what seemed painstakingly slow, we had still made very good time.
Conditions on the top were picture perfect. There was almost no wind, it was relatively warm, and had full 360 degree view of the Himalayas. It was spectacular.
Reaching the top for me was quite emotional. It was not that long ago that I was lying in hospital facing potentially a very different future. The fact that I am still able to get out and about and pursue my dreams means the world to me.
I gave Mum and Dad a call from the top. The wonders of modern technology. Mum’s mobile went straight to answering machine, no surprises there (sorry Mum). But had a good chat with Dad.
We hung out on the summit for about 30min, got a few photos for the pool room (if I ever have a house with a pool room), then it was time to get down. We were still only half way. An American, the friend of the bloke who was lying down at C3, had started descending just before us, abseiling on the fixed rope. The problem was, he didn’t appear to know how to abseil. How bloody hard is it? You just lean back and let gravity do the work. Anyway, he was making a complete meal of it. And with him on the rope, and the rope tight, we could not use it to abseil down ourselves. Down climbing was possible, but risky, one slip and you’re gone, so we waited, and waited, and waited. Eventually he got to the first anchor point and got off the rope, then we clipped on and zipped down. But as we’d got to the anchor point, he had just begun attempting to abseil the next section of rope. This happened 3 or 4 times until I lost my patience. I yelled out to him to stop at the next anchor to let us pass, which thankfully he did.
We abseiled the remainder of the six hundred odd meters down to C3. Old mate was still there lying in the snow, waiting for his friend to come down. He had been there for over 6 hours. I know I am still very inexperienced, but I am taking steps to learn the required skills, to serve my apprenticeship under the guidance of experts, such that
I can undertake these activities safely. I’m not so sure about the approach these guys were taking.
From Camp 3 we continued descending down through the Grey Couloir towards C2. Descending back down, I could not believe what we had climbed up during the night. The exposure was insane. I was physically scared attempting to traverse back over these narrow snow ridges, no more than a foot wide, with shear drops both sides. Somehow I had managed to climb up over these sections during the night, under head torch, without even blinking. Sometimes ignorance is bliss.
As we descended, the sun and the heat was intense, and we still had all our gear on which we had set out in during the night. I only had a one litre water bottle with me, and had drunk half of that even before we left. The rest I finished off at the top. It was a big mistake. We eventually stumbled back in to C2 around 1430, by which stage I was completely exhausted, severely dehydrated and had a thumping headache. Fortunately Jon had left half a litre of water in the tent which I downed, then put the stove on and started to melt some snow to get some more water.
After an hour at C2 drinking and eating, we decided to press on down to base camp. I packed up all my gear and at 1545 we were back on the ropes traversing the narrow rocky ridgeline back to C1. Once back at C1 we could start to relax as the technical sections were over.
From C1, we chucked the head torches on as the sun was starting to set, and it was then just a long downhill trudge to BC. 1930 and we were back at BC, back on horizontal ground. It was all a little surreal.
It had been a very long day, a very tough day, a day with a lot of ups and downs (physically and metaphorically), but it was one of the best days of my life. I had been preparing for this day for a long time and couldn’t be happier. Although I won’t be going back up there any time soon, not on that hill anyway.”
Jon points out on his return that “old mate” in the snow at Camp 3 was quite lucid and aware of his surroundings. Not suffering altitude sickness, just tired and willing to wait for his friend. It’s a good thing, because had he shown even a hint of trouble, Jon and Steve would have been honour-bound to get him down the mountain immediately, which would have either ruined their summit chance, or made their descent from the summit so much more dangerous.
Steve and Dorje on the summit (Photo: Steve Plain)
November 23 – Camp 1
And we’re off. The culmination of weeks on the mountain, months of training and years of dreaming. The morning is a strange mix of anticipation, determination and trepidation as I pack my gear. I know what I’ll be taking, but I still unpack and repack several times. Merino underwear, windstopper fleece outers, Gore-Tex shells and down jackets. My boots are already at Camp 2, along with my climbing hardware, taken up by one of our indefatigable Sherpas on their daily runs to stock camps with fuel. I won’t need any of that until after Camp 2. But I’m still weighed down by food and miscellaneous gear – almost 20kg at least in my pack. Still, I find a rhythm pretty quickly after leaving Base Camp. The usual coughing up of a blockage after 500m and I’m in the groove.
Richard and Dan are staying at Base Camp for another couple of days. Richard was hit with some sort of bug about a day or so before we got to Base Camp and he’s suffered through it the whole time. For such a strong climber it’s seriously disappointing, but he thinks a couple of days on Diamox and antibiotics and he should be ok. Dan just hasn’t acclimatised as fast as he wanted. He’s been high before, almost to 5900m on a previous trip, but acclimatisation is a funny beast. Adam is with us, which is a pleasant surprise. He had a bad day, but felt he recovered well once he was down at Base Camp. His original plan was to have another day down low with Richard and Dan. But he felt strong and was worried he might miss his summit window with the weather closing in, and so had a chat to Jon about it last night.
It’s an interesting situation. This isn’t a guided expedition, it’s led. That means that unlike a lot of other trips on the mountain, we don’t have Western “guides”. We have an expedition leader, Jon (and Tim, now that he’s arrived), but we aren’t guided up the mountain and we are responsible for making our own decisions, as Adam has. The traditional guiding model has you and the guide as a rope team. Here, on Ama, we are pointed out the way and it’s up to us to get up on our own. Steve and Dave have personal climbing Sherpas, which is closer to the guided model, but for Steve at least, it’s more of an extra safety buffer. Dave, like me, cheerfully acknowledges he needs all the help he can get. We still have bags of Sherpa support, with one of them for every two of us. Not to mention the tireless porters and kitchen crew who have been hauling food, water and usually some of our heavier gear up the mountain for us. It’s not lost on any of us the amount of help we have when we see the “unsupported” climbers like Emily, with just one Sherpa, trudge into the high camps with at least 5-10kg more in their overstuffed packs. Our Sherpa and porter help gives us a real edge in that we are just that little bit less exhausted.
What Dave and I won’t be getting help with though, is staying at Camp 2.9. Jon has vetoed that after climbing past it on his way to the summit with Steve. There’s only one tent there (not ours) and maybe one or two other platforms, pretty precariously hidden amongst the ice curtains on the flank of the south side of the ridge. That’s not really the reason though. The problem is it’s at least a three-hour climb and that’s without any heavy packs. Jon’s concern is that it’ll take an extra day for us to get there, and we’ll be gassed by the time we do. He’s right, but I’m apprehensive about that extra five or so hours on summit day (up and down combined). I’m also slightly relieved to have had the decision taken out of my hands because the weather forecast is starting to close in and an extra day which pushes into that possible storm could actually cost the summit.
A surprise awaits me as I move towards ABC. I’m moving faster today. Maybe it’s the difference of swapping from audiobooks to tunes. Maybe I’m better acclimatised. Maybe I know the way even better on my fourth trip to ABC, and undoubtedly it’s because I know it’s the last time I have to walk through this wind-blasted landscape. I’m at ABC well within two-and-a-half hours – and move even faster through Mordor, what we’ve come to call the jumbled boulder field below Camp 1. It’s definitely anticipation, and I worry that I’m moving too fast.
I’m at Camp 1 within five hours – a full hour under what I expected would be my best time, and that with a heavy pack. I’m feeling great, and stoked. The acclimatisation seems to have kicked in at the right time, part luck and part good management by Jon and Tim and their schedule. I radio in as I arrive. We’re all carrying personal radios now. Hoarding the batteries, we only switch them on for skeds – scheduled calls – but on summit day they’ll be on all the way so we can hear any calls from Tim at Base Camp.
Brewing up at Camp 1.
I get a brew on and wait for Dave. And wait. And wait. Dave finally gets in after what is close to a seven or eight-hour push from Base Camp and he’s wiped out. For whatever reason his acclimatisation just hasn’t worked today and he’s a mess. I get him into the tent, get his boots off and give him water as I brew him a drink. The physical toll has affected him emotionally too. Dave doesn’t want to fail on a mountain again and I don’t want him too either. He’s a lovely bloke who deserves this success he’s worked so hard for. Dave tells me he feels like turning back tomorrow. “Don’t,” I say. “The best part of this so far has been the traverse over to Camp 2. At least do that, you know you can.” “Ok,” he replies. His heart’s not in it though and he knows he has a big decision to make tomorrow morning.
A Sherpa collects snow to melt at Camp 1.
November 24 – Camp 2
Dave’s a new man in the morning. Sleep and hydration has fixed his body and his confidence. He’s ready to go. We pack carefully – there’s no going back if you forget anything now and a missed glove or sock means the end of your summit bid. My pack is even heavier now – I need to carry a sleeping bag, stove and extra food from Camp 1. I’m slow again – of co
urse – moving out from Camp 1. There’s an extra couple of hundred metres this time because our tents have been moved to better platforms away from under the sliding slabs of death rock. The rhythm comes. Clip the locking carabiner to the rope, lock it. Seat the ascender – the jumar - on the rope, clamp it down. Second ‘biner on behind, lock it. Slide along to the anchor, one foot in front of the other. At the anchor, one ‘biner off, attach to the rope above the anchor, lock it. Transfer the jumar. Clamp it. Transfer the second ‘biner, lock it. It’s repetitive and safe.
The view from Camp 1 – Dave, Steve and I.
Approaching the Yellow Tower.
No tunes now, I want the concentration and the experience of hearing the wind. Plus I need to save the batteries on my iPhone for summit pics. I’m carrying a compact back-up camera and a GoPro on my helmet. I shoot some GoPro footage as we go up, especially the airy traverse around to the north side of the ridge. Pete, just ahead of me, decides he’s going to chimney up a corner instead of the traverse. It’s a more elegant solution, and probably a slightly safer one, but I want the experience – and the footage – of going around that mad exposed edge. Pete glides up the corner, despite his pack and the altitude. He’s a hulking 6’5” or so, but he’s a born climber, smooth as silk on the rock.
We’re onto new ground just after that corner, sliding back around to the south side of the ridge, below the Yellow Tower. There’s a queue there and Pete and I wait for about 30 minutes. I clip into an anchor, sit down on a small ledge and dangle my feet out over the edge, almost a kilometre of air underneath. Pete bulls his way up the fixed ropes, making a hard go of it with sheer strength. He’s climbing with one jumar only, so he’s got to wedge himself into a stance, move the jumar up, climb a bit higher and then repeat. It’s a tough way to do it. I clip in two jumars – I’m using the aid climbing technique Epic Steve showed me on Kangaroo Point two months ago. A sling in the bottom one lets me stand on the jumar without the need to find a stance on the fairly blank rock. Stand in the bottom, slide the top up. Lean back on the top jumar which is attached to the harness, slide the bottom one up. Repeat. It’s a doable free climb, if I was so inclined, but at 6000m, with a 25kg pack I doubt I’d last last more than a couple of metres. I’d at least have to dump the pack and haul it after – time consuming when there’s a queue of people forming below.
The Mother's Necklace Page 6
