by Mark Horrell
But it turns out the Koreans are not so wise, after all. After a brief rest six of the team – Miss Oh, her two Sherpas, two High Altitude Porters (HAPs) and her cameraman – then push on up the Japanese Couloir to Camp 3. I can't help thinking they're about to make the same mistake we did, and will be too tired for anything very strenuous tomorrow. In fact, the task they have set themselves is even greater.
I find it difficult to leave my sleeping bag this morning. Though I know if I'm to push on up the couloir tomorrow I can't stay here all day and need to get up and move around. After I've lain here for an hour or so talking to the others through the tent walls as they watch the Koreans, Michael brings me out of my lethargy.
“Mark, you've got to come outside. The scenery's amazing!”
I know he's right. I put on my boots and down clothing, and crawl out. Camp 2 sits in the middle of a wide, flat snowy col, and is one of those breathtaking places you know immediately that you're privileged to experience. To the west the plateau drops away to the Gasherbrum Cwm through the ice ramps we ascended yesterday. Beyond, the broad fluted peaks of Gasherbrum VI and Gasherbrum V form a backdrop. To the east the plateau rises slightly before dropping away into China. Beyond is nothing but a bank of puffy clouds billowing up from below. To our north are the flanks of Gasherbrum II, a forbidding wall of avalanche-ridden snow, while to the south is the upper section of Gasherbrum I, a black trapezium of rock riddled with snow chutes and ice fields. Cutting down diagonally through its centre is a narrow cleft in the rock: the Japanese Couloir, the steepest and most difficult section of the ascent. It is on this feature of the mountain that all our attention is focussed as we watch six dark figures ascend it. It occupies the whole of tomorrow's ascent from Camp 2 to Camp 3, and is so narrow that it has the reputation of being a very committing climb: once you've started up with others following behind you, there's no turning back if things become too difficult.
With the Koreans out of the way there are still three teams poised here at Camp 2 to continue their summit push tomorrow. I have a very uneasy feeling about this situation. Korean climbers are notorious for their “death or glory” approach to mountaineering. Miss Oh's compatriot and competitor in their race to bag all the 8000 metre summits, Miss Go, lies dead after a fall on Nanga Parbat three weeks ago, and the Spanish team already has one dead member after a reckless solo attempt on G2 a fortnight ago, which the rest of the team seemed disturbingly blasé about. If 20-odd climbers push for the summit at the same time in the high winds we're expecting, then an accident seems inevitable. This feeling doesn't diminish as we continue to watch the Korean climbers ascend. In fact, it gets stronger.
The die-hards at Camp 2 on Gasherbrum I during their final (unsuccessful) attempt to salvage a summit from the expedition. The author is kneeling down at the front of the group.
The route they're taking is not what we've been expecting. Instead of going straight up the couloir, they climb vertically up a dark rock band at the bottom of it until they reach a very steep snow ramp which runs above the couloir, right up to a snowfield which marks Camp 3. For some reason they are climbing this snow ramp instead of the couloir.
It takes them several hours to ascend. One figure at the back, who turns out to be the cameraman, is very much slower than the others, and drops further and further behind them. The third figure, which we assume to be Miss Oh, is keeping so closely to the second one that Phil thinks she is being short-roped by one of the Sherpas (literally, pulled along on a “short rope”). Eventually they disappear behind a rock buttress which forms the near side of the couloir, and for two hours we can no longer watch their progress until they emerge the other side. They are approaching the snowfield now, and nearly at Camp 3, but only five figures have appeared. Where is the cameraman?
Suddenly Gombu cries out: “Avalanche!”, and we look up. A large quantity of snow is sliding rapidly down the snow ramp, directly along the route the Koreans took up it. At the bottom of the ramp a substantial quantity of this snow shears off straight into the couloir. Clipped onto a fixed rope, somebody in the path of the avalanche may have been able to survive, but equally, the avalanche looked big enough to be capable of ripping out the anchors. If I had any lingering doubts about whether to go up tomorrow, this dispels them in the strongest way possible. Whether you go up the snow ramp or the couloir, it seems no part of the route is safe.
A few minutes later, a black speck emerges from behind the bottom of the rock buttress. It's the cameraman descending, and it's possible that his retreat is what triggered the avalanche. If this is the case then what might twenty people tramping up the couloir tomorrow do? He struggles down the snow ramp agonisingly slowly; then at the foot of the rock band beneath the ramp, he stops. Two more figures appear from behind the rock buttress on their way down. These are the two HAPs, and it becomes apparent that the cameraman is stuck and is waiting for them to come and help him. Time ticks by and a cold wind blows spindrift across the mountainside. It's an hour and a half before they reach him, and by that time he must be freezing. But his ordeal is over and we watch the three of them complete the descent and stagger into camp.
Gordon and I decide to retreat tomorrow. Predicted high winds, a “clusterf—k” in the couloir (to use Phil's expression) using a dodgy route up last year's ropes, and an avalanche straight down the route of ascent, make this decision a no-brainer for us. Phil, Tarke and Gombu are all of a similar mind, and decide to descend with us. Of our two young guns, Michael is wavering, but Arian is still keen to push on, heedless of the many warning signs. I overhear a conversation between Arian and Gordon in the tent adjacent to ours as news comes over the radio that one of the Bulgarians has just summited G2.
“So we could have summited G2 – there was a weather window,” says Arian.
“And the Korean lady will probably summit G1 tomorrow,” says Gordon, appearing to agree.
But I'm longing to shout at them to put things in perspective. Just because someone summits a mountain doesn't mean that you should have gone with them. We all have different levels of ability and willingness to take risks. The Korean lady appears prepared to die in her struggle to climb mountains, and one day she probably will. The Bulgarian has already been up G1 in the last few days, and is almost certainly a very strong climber. Like Ueli Steck, he may have climbed the ridge between Camp 2 and Camp 3 on G2 in order to avoid the higher risk of avalanches on the snow slopes of the normal route after all the snow that fell during last week's storms. He would have needed to free climb the technical rock section beneath the summit without ropes, a section which ultimately killed a lesser climber, the Spaniard Luis. Arian is a better climber than me, and stronger, but he's no Ueli Steck or Veikka Gustafsson, or perhaps the Bulgarian, and this is his first 8000 metre peak. I'm not convinced he realises what he's letting himself in for.
But I say nothing. He and Michael are young, strong and enthusiastic. I don't want my own cautiousness to stop them trying what their hearts are set on. Only when Arian hears the weather forecast from the Spanish team – 40 to 50 kmh winds for the next few days – and he sticks his head into our tent to ask Michael whether they should still go up, do I make a lame attempt to dissuade them.
“I don't want to sound miserable, but I think you'd be stupid to attempt it. 40 to 50K winds is not a summit window, and an avalanche on the route? You'll have other chances to climb an 8000 metre peak.”
Yet the Spanish team still plan to ascend, and they have a pretty girl on their team called Martha who seems to have taken a liking to Arian. I don't think my opinion holds much sway!
Later in the evening I have another toilet ordeal. It's the first time I've worn my down salopettes when I've needed to relieve myself, and I'm not quite sure of the appropriate technique. Michael has a similar predicament, but his Mountain Hardware down suit has zips right down the side of each leg, and he doesn't have any problem when the time comes. My Rab down salopettes have a “shithole” between the legs, but this doesn't
help when you're wearing trousers underneath. In the end I have to undo the braces, loosen my jacket and then take the whole thing down in order to be sure of safety while squatting. All the time while I struggle, one of the HAPs from the Korean team is watching from his tent and laughing at me, which doesn't make it any easier.
55. Retreat from Gasherbrum I
Sunday 2 August, 2009 – Gasherbrum Base Camp, Pakistan
It doesn't surprise me this morning when I wake up to the sound of Michael preparing to leave. It's very cold, but other than this the sky is clear and the weather seems perfect, with no sign yet of the strong wind which has been forecast. Michael seems cautious and a little uncertain about whether they are making a wise decision to continue with their summit push, but Arian is keen and encourages him. Nobody else seems to be listening to the forecast. The Spanish and Czechs are preparing to ascend, and the Koreans are already at Camp 3. At 8.30 Arian and Michael head towards the Japanese Couloir with Temba and Pasang. These latter two are younger than Gombu and Tarke, who are retreating with me, Phil and Gordon, and I don't know how they feel about the ascent. For them this is a job: if two clients want to make a summit attempt then somebody has to go with them, but Temba has kids, and Pasang was present on K2 last year on the night that eleven people died on the mountain. He lived through it as part of a Korean expedition. A penny for his thoughts.
At 9 o'clock all is quiet again at Camp 2 when Gordon, Phil, Gombu, Tarke and I leave in burning sun. Before we depart Gombu, intrigued, comes over and lifts up my rucksack, which is bulging with equipment.
“Too heavy,” he says. “Nearly as heavy as mine.”
This is not a good sign. Sherpas are very strong and accustomed to carrying big loads. As well as their personal equipment they carry all our tents, pots, stoves and snow shovels. If my pack is nearly as heavy as Gombu's then I'm definitely carrying too much gear.
Figures make their way along the trail to the Japanese Couloir on Gasherbrum I
Today is going to be a long old slog, but we make good time down to Camp 1. At the bottom of the ice wall we see that a large section next to the fixed rope has collapsed, spilling gigantic blocks of ice over the area beneath. If anyone had been passing at the time, they would certainly have been crushed to death, and although Gordon, Gombu and I eventually rejected the idea of camping beneath the serac wall when we were exhausted on the ascent two days ago for this very reason, it's a salutary reminder to us.
By 11 o'clock we've reached the bottom of the descent from the Gasherbrum La, and are crossing the Gasherbrum Cwm to Camp 1. I'm starting to feel the load on my shoulders, but there are still many hours to go if we are to return to Base Camp today. Phil stops and looks up as he sees two figures high up on Gasherbrum II, halfway along the traverse beneath the summit pyramid. We know that two Iranians and a Spaniard were at Camp 3 on G2 overnight, intending to make a summit attempt today.
“They're too late,” Phil remarks. “They're still hours away from the summit.”
We watch their progress throughout the day as we descend to Base Camp. Four hours later, at 3 o'clock, we are to look back from the icefall just before G2 disappears from view, and see them just reaching the end of the traverse. By then the clouds are well and truly hammering the summit pyramid. At their rate of progress, they would still have another 3 or 4 hours of ascent up the summit ridge through this storm, and then have to descend again to Camp 3. If they continue onwards then it would be well past nightfall before they're safe again, and we hope they make the sensible decision to turn around.
Meanwhile we reach Camp 1 in burning sun and take a rest, collecting as much equipment as we can from Camp 1 to take down with us. Gombu and Tarke pack away some of the tents, leaving two erect for Michael, Arian, Temba and Pasang. Unlike our tents at Base Camp, which rise up on icy pedestals as time passes, these ones appear to have sunk ever further into the glacier. Great pits four or five feet deep have been left behind when the tents have been packed away, and since we have only used them for 6 or 7 nights while we've been on the mountain, I can only assume this effect has been caused by the amount of fresh snowfall accumulating around the tents. There are two large bags of food in my and Michael's tent, and I want to take as much of it as I can down to Base Camp, as I know he will be very tired when he descends after his summit attempt, but my pack is now overloaded, with equipment dangling from its straps, and I have to leave quite a lot of it behind. It's circumstances like these which have been causing some teams to dump their uneaten food in crevasses, while others have adopted what they believe to be the more environmentally-friendly action of donating their uneaten food to other teams still on the mountain. But this is just a cop out – some teams have been leaving as many as 20 kilos of food behind for others to dispose of for them. This a full one-person load, and somebody has to carry it down eventually. I satisfy myself that this is one of the reasons Altitude Junkies have Sherpas on our team. While I may be taking the lazy option myself, Gombu and Tarke will return up the icefall for one last time if we still have equipment which needs to be carried back down.
I know that it's going to be an ordeal getting through the icefall again, tired as I am with my heavy pack, and knowing that the afternoon sun will be opening up crevasses, melting snow bridges and turning the crisp snow into slush. It usually takes us three hours to descend from Camp 1, but that's not going to be the case this time.
“See you in six hours,” I shout to Gombu and Tarke as they set off ahead of us. Everybody laughs, but I'm not joking.
Still, unlike our ascent of two days ago, when Gordon and I ran out of energy, I'm prepared for the ordeal ahead of us, and I also know that every step is a step closer to the end of it all, that at the bottom of the icefall is Base Camp, that after six return trips through it in the last two months, it's likely that I'll never set foot in it ever again. The Gasherbrum Cwm is one of the most beautiful, magical places I've ever set eyes upon, and at midday I leave it for the very last time.
We make slow progress, and every half hour or so we stop to take the packs off our shoulders and sit down in the snow. I'm surprised to see that Phil, at the front of our rope, doesn't seem to be falling into as many crevasses as I'm expecting him to, but eventually I realise that he's falling into plenty, but managing to hold his tongue and avoid spitting out the torrent of expletives that usually explode from his mouth in these circumstances. Towards the bottom of the icefall some of the crevasses have widened considerably. I chuckle when Gordon, in front of me, has to make a big song and dance about crossing them with his little legs, taking a big running leap and hurling himself across. Invariably he looks back to make sure I get over safely, only to see me casually step across as though they weren't there.
Inch by inch, minute by minute, we eat up the distance, and for the last two hours we have the encouragement of seeing the tents of Base Camp on the moraine below us, spurring us onwards, and at 5.30 the ordeal is over as I stagger over to my tent and ease the pack off my shoulders. It feels great.
“I tell you, I don't envy Arian and Michael up at Camp 3 right now,” says Gordon. Gombu and Tarke are beaming. None of us have any regrets about our decision to retreat.
At 7 o'clock the cook from the Jasmine Tours group is in our dining tent telling Phil that the Spaniard and the Iranian are safely back at Camp 3 on G2 having summited earlier this afternoon. They evidently aren't aware that we've been watching them for most of the day.
“Bulls—t!” I say when Phil tells me. “There are so many liars on this mountain.”
Had they known what we'd seen, that they must have been transformed from slow coaches to supermen in the teeth of the jetstream, then they would know how ridiculous their claim must sound to us. And when they get home, who cares that they say they've climbed a mountain nobody else has heard of, anyway? What's the point in lying about it when the only person who cares is yourself?
Just before dinner Phil has a radio call with Arian. They are safely up the Japanese
Couloir and at Camp 3 on G1 having not been avalanched, and intending to leave for the summit at 1am, but the Korean Miss Oh has asked if Pasang or Temba can help her Sherpas to fix ropes on the ascent. Phil refuses because he wants both Arian and Michael to have a Sherpa each to help them. Also, the Korean Sherpas will be using oxygen to reduce the chances of frostbite in the predicted high winds, while our team won't. We both go to sleep worrying about what may happen tomorrow, Phil because he's never yet had a death on any of his expeditions, and me as I imagine myself returning to England with all Michael's kit, and having to explain to his family what has happened. I keep my fingers crossed that his level-headedness acts as a counterbalance to Arian's more impetuous nature.
56. Michael and Arian retreat; summit confusion
Monday 3 August, 2009 – Gasherbrum Base Camp, Pakistan
Relief comes almost immediately this morning. Phil has a radio call with Arian at 7am and discovers they are already back at Camp 3, having set off for the summit at 1.30am and walked for 2½ hours, reaching 7300m before turning back because of the cold, the wind, and some minor breathing difficulties which Arian was experiencing. We understand from them that some of the Czech and Spanish climbers also turned around. Although it's a disappointment for them, it's good that they're safe.
