Ascent

by Roland Smith

  My team. This was the first time I had thought of the others this way, and the thought made me smile.

  “What’s so funny?” Josh asked.

  “Nothing. I guess I’m just looking forward to climbing a wall. It’s been a while.”

  “Are your O’s okay?”

  “I haven’t even thought about them since I woke up this morning.”

  “Watch the wind,” Zopa said, tying the belaying rope onto my harness.

  I took one last look up the wall, visualizing the ascent, then slammed the steel toe tip into the ice and started up. The windswept cold was brutal, but I could not have been happier. I was alpine climbing. Left toe point in . . . pull up with right-handed ax . . . right toe point in . . . pull up with left-handed ax. Repeat. I placed my first ice screw at twenty feet, attached a carabiner, clipped the rope in, then continued up the wall one toe point at a time.

  At 13,500 feet, the wind gusts got stronger. I hugged the wall so I didn’t get peeled off. At 13,700, the mist dropped. I lost sight of my team below. I couldn’t see three feet ahead. The lactic acid was building up in my arms and legs, and my lungs burned a little, but overall I felt pretty good. My biggest worry now was missing the ledge, if it existed, in the thick mist. A sheet of ice broke loose under my ax.

  “Ice!” I shouted in warning, hanging on to the wall with only my left toe point and left ax. I slammed my right ax into the ice above. It didn’t stick.

  “Clear!” Josh shouted from below.

  The rope tightened. Zopa was belaying me. He knew I was in trouble. I swung the ax again. It didn’t stick. Again. In, but not solid enough. My left side started to tremble with fatigue. I had one more swing in me before I fell. I heaved upward and swung. The ax stuck. I pulled myself up and slammed in a toe point, which was enough to take the weight off my left side. Secure now, I pulled the left ax out of the wall and gave my rope three quick jerks. Zopa relaxed the belay and gave me some slack. I breathed a sigh of relief and tried to catch my breath. This whole problem had taken less than two minutes. This is how climbing works. Hours of muscle-burning work interrupted by heart-stopping panic. My smile had turned a little grim, but I was still smiling.

  The next three hundred feet were pretty straightforward. The ice was solid. The wind died down. It started to snow. Visibility was nearly zero. It was like I was climbing through a dense cloud. At 14,000 feet, I slowed down. If I wasn’t careful I could climb right past the ledge, if it was even there, which I was beginning to doubt. Josh had offered me a two-way radio before I started up. I passed, telling him that I would just give a yank on the rope when I reached the ledge. Now I wished I had taken the radio. I could have had Josh climb up and help me look. The ledge could have been fifty feet higher, fifty feet lower, to my right, or to my left. If I didn’t find it soon, it would be too late for the others to make the ascent before dark. Then I caught a bit of color from the corner of my eye. I turned my head, and saw nothing but white. I waited. The mist shifted. I saw it again for a half second. It was green, twenty feet to my left. I traversed over to the spot. It was a green fuel canister. The Japanese climbers must have left it behind. Five feet above it was the ledge. It must have rolled off and caught. A little miracle, because I was certain the Japanese climbers were just like us: When you break camp, it should look like you were never there. If the canister hadn’t rolled out of view, I might never have found the ledge. I hoisted myself up. It was fifteen feet wide, ten feet deep, and stable, with only a little ice debris that had to be cleared. I gave the rope three quick jerks. My signal was answered with one jerk. I started smoothing out the surface for our tents. Camp One.

  Twenty-Four

  We started early the next morning. We had a 2,500-foot climb to Camp Two with full packs, because much of the climb would be traverses. You can’t rope a pack horizontally. Once again, Josh offered to take the lead, and this time I gladly consented, without acting too eager. I’d proved my point the day before by leading the way to Camp One. And truth be told, I was pretty wiped out, even after a good night’s sleep.

  Camp Two was a vague idea rather than an actual place. It would be an up-and-down climb starting with a traverse to the northeast, skirting a glacier, then a climb up the spire behind where we were camped, then down to another glacier where we would zigzag our way up another smaller spire. Our goal was to get to the ridge leading to the summit by the end of the following day. I’d decided to keep to the ridges as much as possible to stay above avalanche threat. We’d heard one let loose the night before somewhere to the west. It was misty, with a visibility of about fifty feet. More worrisome was the temperature. It was twenty-five degrees out, still cold, but thirty-five degrees warmer than the day before. If it warmed up any more, we could be in serious trouble from ice melt and avalanches.

  “We need to beat the thaw,” Josh said, taking off across the face, climbing about three times faster than I had climbed the day before. It was an amazing thing to watch.

  I was to go next, followed by Zopa, Yash, and Yogi. Jack asked if he could stay back to take some drone shots of Josh traversing the face.

  “Sure. But don’t take too long. We need to . . .” I changed my mind. “I’ll hang back with you. I don’t want anyone climbing alone today.” What I really meant by this was that I didn’t want our weakest climber taking up the rear spot. “Do you have a radio?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Better give it to me. I’ll follow you across.”

  So, now I was carrying a radio and actively participating in Josh’s video. What next? I clipped the radio to my harness and walked over to Zopa to explain the new order of things. He and the brothers started the traverse carrying packs almost as heavy as they were. My pack was none too light either. Jack started assembling the drone, happy that the wind had died down enough for him to use it. He fired it up and did a few experimental flights, then put on a pair of goggles.

  “It’s like I’m right in the cockpit. There’s a tablet in my pack. You can follow along if you like.”

  What I wanted to do was get moving and get this over with. This is exactly what happens when you turn a climb into a film production. It becomes more about the shot than it does about the climb. I pulled the tablet out of his pack and turned it on.

  Whoa! I thought. Despite my grumbling, I had to admit that the vid was pretty impressive. The drone caught up with Zopa and the brothers making their way across the wall on the fixed rope Josh had set. With the heavy packs on their backs, they looked like enormous turtles. They were in high definition, with every spray of ice from their axes crystal clear. Jack followed the rope up behind Josh. He was a hundred feet ahead of the others, setting an ice screw. He must have sensed the drone because he turned and gave it a thumbs-up and a charming smile. That’s my dad.

  “We better wrap this up,” I said.

  Jack retrieved the drone and packed it. I checked the temperature. Thirty degrees. I had Jack go first, telling him to hurry, but to be safe. I took up the rear, pulling out protection, making it look like we were never there. Somehow, focusing on the softening wall, removing the hardware, took my weariness away. Jack was a couple hundred feet in front of me, moving well. His climbing skills had obviously improved while he was filming Josh on the seven summits. Halfway across the face, I glanced at my watch. Thirty-three degrees. The surface of the ice was watery. Leaving the protection in place might have been the smartest thing to do, but I really didn’t like leaving steel on the mountain. This had been drilled into me since I was a little kid. One of the things I hated about Everest was that people left almost everything behind. The six camps leading to the summit on the northern side looked like solid waste disposal sites.

  The two-way crackled, startling me. I had forgotten I had it clipped to my harness.

  “Peak?”

  It was Josh. I had to rearrange my hold to free up a hand.

  “Yeah.”

  “We’re across the face at the base of the second spire. Where are you
?”

  “Halfway across.” I looked to my right and couldn’t see Jack anymore, which meant he had rounded the corner. “Jack should almost be to you.”

  There was a hesitation, then he said, “I see him. Are you okay?”

  “I’m good. I’m pulling hardware as I go.”

  “How’s the ice?”

  “Holding, but I don’t know for how long.”

  “It’s the same here. Your call, but I think we should start up this spire while we can.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Zopa said he’ll take the lead if it’s okay with you.”

  Josh was going out of his way to let me know that I was in charge. This couldn’t have been easy for him.

  “Whatever you think is best.”

  “Okay, then.” He sounded relieved. “I’ll start Zopa up. I’d guess it’s six hundred meters to the top of the spire, then we’ll have to drop down to the west and cross a glacier up to Camp Two.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll be along soon. I’ll pull our protection as I work my way up behind you.”

  “If you think it’s worth the risk.”

  “I’ll bag it if I think it isn’t.”

  “Good enough. Some of the screws this side of the face are old protection. I wouldn’t waste my time trying to get them out. They’re different from the anchors we’re using. Part of the mountain now. I’d skip them.”

  “Good call. Thanks.”

  “I’ll wait for Jack and have him climb ahead of me. Out.”

  I clipped the two-way to my harness, backed out the next screw, then moved to the next screw, which I could have pulled out with my fingertips. If I didn’t hurry, the entire line was going to unzip with me on the end of it. I stopped using protection and free climbed just above the rope, pulling screws that came out easily and skipping the rest. By the time I reached the protection the Japanese had left behind, I was sweating. Josh was right; I wouldn’t have been able to get them out with a jackhammer. By the time I got off the wall, the team was a third of the way up the next spire. Zopa was climbing fast, probably because of the temperature, which was now thirty-four degrees. Josh was lagging behind the team, no doubt waiting for me to catch up. I could see the summit of Hkakabo Razi looming a mile above, guarded by a half dozen jagged spires that looked impossible to climb.

  “Peak?”

  It was Josh. “I see you.”

  “It’s getting a little soft up here. I wouldn’t trust the protection. You should set your own. Don’t bother pulling what Zopa set. We’ll try to pop it out on our way back down.”

  “Roger that. I’ll be right behind you. Keep moving. Out.”

  I had to slam my axes almost to the hilt to find ice solid enough to hold me. My crampons were of little use in the mush. The toe points were barely long enough to catch solid ice. Below was the glacier Hiro had tried to cross. It was totally impassable because of avalanche debris. If I didn’t hurry, I would become a part of the debris. I paused to catch my breath and looked up. Josh was five hundred feet above me and hadn’t moved an inch. I anchored myself and called him.

  “Is there a problem?”

  “No. I’m good here. It might be better if we climb together over this unstable ice. Cover each other’s backs. You know what I mean? It’s up to you. Over.”

  I wasn’t sure it was up to me, at least not entirely. Josh was right. We should all be covering each other’s backs on this treacherous ice. I shouldn’t have slowed down to pull our protection. The “respectful climber” thing had put me at risk, and if Josh waited for me, it would put him at risk. I wanted to reassert my leadership role and tell him to catch up with the others, but that wasn’t the right call.

  “Thanks,” I said. “I’ll be right up.”

  As I climbed, I thought about something Mom had said before I left for Everest. I was complaining about Josh being a flake. She said, When you’re at the end of your rope, there is no one better than Joshua Wood. Unfortunately, he doesn’t pay much attention until you’re dangling.

  I wasn’t exactly dangling, but climbing an unstable ice wall with unreliable protection could turn into a dangle at any second. Halfway up the wall, my right shoulder began to ache. I felt it weakening with every ax strike. The shoulder reminded me of Lwin. I wondered how Ethan was doing. Was he . . .

  “Focus!” I shouted. “Get your head in the game.”

  The wind picked up, and with it a cold, damp fog. I glanced at my watch: 15,000 feet. Thirty degrees, temperature dropping, which was good.

  “You still with us, Peak?”

  I unclipped the radio. “I’m good. You can push on up. I’m going to start pulling anchors again.” I didn’t tell him that another reason for cleaning up was that it would slow me down and give my shoulder a rest.

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah. Head up to Camp Two. Out.”

  I tried to use my left arm as much as possible. This was helped by my toe points grabbing the ice, now that it was colder.

  I finally reached the top of the spire—​16,076 feet. Josh had not pushed on like I’d asked. He was sitting on the top, eating an energy bar. If I’d had the breath, I might have called him out for not heading up to Camp Two. Jack’s drone was hovering five feet away, videotaping him eating. I sat down next to him on the craggy peak. The drone disappeared into the fog.

  “I wish this was the summit and we were headed back down,” Josh said.

  I did too, but I could only nod because my breath was still ragged.

  “While I was sitting here, I thought of another reason I wanted to climb Hkakabo Razi,” he continued.

  “What’s that?” I managed to ask.

  “I call it polarity, but that might not be the best word to describe it.” He grinned. “And this might not be the best place to explain it.”

  “Give it a shot.” My right shoulder was throbbing, and I needed another ten minutes to catch my breath before we made our way through the glacier three hundred feet below.

  “This is how it works for me, and I didn’t realize it until I got to the top of this rock.” Josh laughed. “Call it an alpine epiphany. Let’s see if I can explain it. I think the reason I climb . . . the real reason . . . is because I’m good at it. I like the challenge, the simplicity, the quiet of climbing. But after a few weeks, I miss the noise, chaos, and confusion of civilization. These are the two poles I live between. When one pole goes bad, or gets boring, I flee to the opposite pole. Polarity. Yin yang the Taoists call it. I’m never satisfied at either pole, not for very long, anyway. When I got down from Everest, I was ecstatic with all of the attention . . . for about nine hours. That’s when I decided to go on this climb. This doesn’t exactly explain how I feel—​it’s all too new—​but I know that it’s true. Does it make any sense?”

  “I’d have to think about it,” I said, wondering if my taking over the lead on the climb had contributed to his dissatisfaction. I’d been thinking about that on the way up, not Josh’s polarity, but the leadership part. I had no business leading this climb. I wasn’t qualified. I didn’t have enough experience. I looked at Josh. “I think I made a mistake saying I wanted to lead this climb.”

  Josh shook his head. “You didn’t make a mistake. You’re doing a good job. There’s not one thing you’ve done that I wouldn’t have done. No one has enough experience to lead a climb the first time they do it. It’s a big responsibility with a lot of moving, or climbing, parts to manage. The only way you learn to lead a climb is to lead a climb.”

  “My shoulder is bothering me,” I said.

  “Explain.”

  I told him how it felt.

  “I’ll take a look at it. I’m pretty good with climbing injuries, having personally experienced hundreds of them over the years. And the aches and pains are coming more frequently the older I get.”

  “The reason I mention my shoulder is that I think you should take over the climb,” I said.

  “Nope. A bum shoulder is not a good enough reason. You’re doi
ng great. I’ll let you know if you screw up.”

  “Like Mom did when I was young?”

  Josh smiled. “Your mom always tells it like it is. It’s a good quality, but sometimes it gets you in trouble.”

  “Have you ever talked about your polarity thing with Zopa?”

  “If I did, he would just shrug.”

  I laughed.

  “I’m serious. He’s retired from climbing a dozen times that I know of. I bet he has the same polarity thing that I have. He checks into the monastery. It becomes monotonous. He checks out. He climbs a mountain. He checks back into the monastery.”

  I thought it was a little more complicated than that, but there was probably some truth to what Josh was saying. Zopa claimed that he climbed because he had to, not because he wanted to. I never quite bought this. I couldn’t imagine Zopa not climbing.

  “Is Zopa carrying a radio?”

  “I think so.”

  I radioed him. He didn’t answer.

  “He’s probably in the middle of something. He’ll call back when he can.” Josh looked at his watch. “Twenty-six degrees and falling. The longer we wait to drop down to the glacier, the safer we’ll be from avalanche. I dumped my pack over the edge before you got here. Might as well dump yours too. We can rappel down. It’ll save us a couple of hours of ice work. I’ve already rigged the lines.”

  I hadn’t noticed the ropes hanging over the edge, or that he wasn’t wearing a pack. It seemed to me that a climb leader should be more observant than this. Getting out of my pack was a huge relief. With it off, I felt like I was levitating above the spire. Josh lowered my pack over the edge while I tried to work the knot out of my shoulder. When he was done, he sat down behind me and started massaging my shoulder, which really hurt, but when he finished, it felt better.

  The top of the spire was only about three feet square. Josh sat down next to me, let out a deep breath of frosty air, and looked at me. “I have something else I want to talk to you about. I know you’ve always been ticked about me not answering your letters.”