The Chomolungma Diaries: What a commercial Everest expedition is really like (Footsteps on the Mountain travel diaries)

by Mark Horrell

  With the adjustments done we're ready to continue our descent, but I wonder what thoughts must be going through Chongba's head. On his own he would be down the mountain in no time, but waiting for me must be very irritating, not to mention worrying. Here we are with almost the entire descent ahead of us, and already I'm looking shaky.

  "Sorry, Chongba," I say. "I know I'm tired, and I want to descend very carefully."

  Luckily this is only a minor hiccup. We descend through the rest of the rock band and traverse the rock ledges without a hitch. It helps that we don't meet any more people coming up. As we're approaching the Third Step down the steep snow slope I feel confident enough to take my camera out and begin taking photographs.

  Looking along Everest's Northeast Ridge from the snowfield above the Third Step

  I can see at least three dead bodies at the top of the Third Step, and I know that a fourth lies curled up at the bottom. The Third Step's position at the foot of the summit pyramid makes it look deceptively close to the summit when there are still many hours to go. This might explain why so many people have lost their lives here, making that final effort to reach their goal, though it also suggests they may have forgotten that getting down safely was just as important. Today's goal for me is Camp 3, and the summit was just a point on the way.

  You might think these corpses motivate the descending climber to keep going, but I don't think they have that effect at all. As I approach the top of the Third Step one of the bodies is directly level with my eye line to the left of the trail. Its final resting place is in an unusual position halfway up a short rock face on the north side of the step, which makes it look like its trying to scramble back up the rocks and crawl onto the trail ahead of me, like some sort of high altitude zombie. It's very disturbing, and there's no way I can ignore it till I've got past.

  The Third Step itself proves easier to down-climb than I thought it would be. There are just two steep drops which I'm able to overcome by sitting on the edge, dangling my legs over and carefully lowering myself onto the rock below. At the bottom of the step I meet another climber waiting to come up. I don't pay much attention to them, and can't even be sure whether they're male or female, but the significance only occurs to me later. Not alone are they alone, but there's nobody else behind and it will still be many hours before they reach the summit. It's much too late to be continuing up, and if they keep on going it's very likely they'll be descending in the dark. They should be turning round now, but I'm too absorbed in my own struggle for survival that it doesn't occur to me to get involved in the affairs of others. I say nothing to them and we continue onwards.

  44. Dicing with Death

  Saturday 19 May, 2012, part 6 - Summit Day, Everest, Tibet

  It doesn't take us long to descend the broad snow ridge to the top of the Second Step. As we approach we can still see a number of climbers on the ridge beyond, including the distinctive matching yellow down suits of Mark and Ian. I descend the first six foot section of the Second Step by grabbing a handful of half a dozen old ropes and lowering myself onto a platform just to the left of the top of the ladder. I figure I only need one of the ropes to remain strong and I'm safe enough, and so it proves. I clip into the pink rope alongside the ladder, which I hope is the new one, and carefully climb down to the snow ramp. Here I have to wait for a young European climber wearing big red boots with a Crispi logo down the side, who in turn appears to be waiting for a Sherpa ahead of him to give him the all clear.

  It's the first of several long waits that probably end up delaying us half an hour to an hour on the Second Step. I can see the climber is very nervous, and it's unclear how much help the Sherpa is providing, or whether it's his own Sherpa. Time passes, I have no idea how slowly. I wait for at least ten minutes at the top of the snow ramp. Then, when I'm able to move on, I descend just a few metres before I have to wait a similar length of time at the bottom of it. At the end of this wait I'm able to proceed across the sloping platform until I'm standing on top of the very rock I had difficulty climbing onto on our way up, where Ang Gelu had to give me a helping hand. Here I have to wait what feels like another 15 minutes while the climber dithers in the alcove below. Just a single step to my left is the horrifying 3000 metre drop down the North Face, and every once in a while I have to edge across my platform and peer round the corner of a rock to see if the alcove below me has been vacated. There was a time when this situation might have terrified me, but now my senses have been deadened and I realise I'm a lot more confident than the climber below me. My overwhelming emotion is boredom, and I wonder what's taking him so long when all he has to do is step down the smaller ladder. I see the Sherpa reach the bottom of the ladder which marks the end of the Second Step and start crossing the slabs beyond. He stumbles briefly but keeps his footing, leaving the other climber alone in the alcove. Perhaps it's not his Sherpa after all?

  Chongba waits below the main ladder on the Second Step

  Eventually the climber moves, and within seconds I've swung down into the alcove in the same manner that I reached the upper ladder, by grabbing half a dozen old ropes and lowering myself down. As soon as he reaches the bottom of the lower ladder I'm on it too, and I climb down to join him. I'm now at the bottom of the Second Step, but if I think I'm free to move on across the slabs, I'm sadly mistaken. The other climber is still standing in my way and won't let me past, and his behaviour becomes increasingly erratic. There are actually two small ladders here, but the second one appears to be redundant. He begins rattling it, which means not only can I not get past him but Chongba, waiting in the alcove, can't come down. It's infuriating, and although I politely ask what he's doing he ignores me and continues rattling the ladder. I try to get past by reaching round him and attaching my carabiner to the rope the other side of him, but as soon as I attach it he slips backwards, pulling me fast against him. He apologises, but now we're both stuck. He doesn't seem to want to let me past, or allow Chongba down the ladder, and it's becoming very frustrating for me. I extricate myself from this awkward position by unclipping my carabiner and reattaching it to the rope my side of the climber, which enables me to step out of his way again, but he continues to rattle the ladder for a few minutes longer.

  Finally, after what seems an eternity, he moves on, but I notice the pink rope is now looped around the foot of the main ladder. I start to unloop it so it doesn't cause a problem for Chongba when he comes down, but as soon as I begin to do so the climber screams at me:

  "Nooo!"

  At last I realise he was faffing around with the ladders to make the fixed rope tighter by creating an additional anchor point. I let him move on, as it's better to get him out of the way and let Chongba look after himself. Chongba descends the ladder without difficulty and we inch our way across the slabs behind the other climber, but he is taking for ever and keeps stopping every few steps.

  "Excuse me, can we get past, please," I shout during one particularly long wait.

  He ignores me and remains stationary.

  "Excuse me, please can you get to the next anchor, and then we will overtake."

  Hallelujah! This appears to work. The next anchor is only six feet away. He moves up to it without pausing, and waits to let us clip past him. He's been extremely polite whenever he's spoken to me, but his behaviour has been impossible and has delayed us far more than it needed to. I don't know how far behind the others we are now, but there are more hazards in store. I discover the nervous climber isn't finished with us yet. Towards the end of the next slab I feel my feet pulled from underneath me and I struggle to keep my balance.

  "What the fuck!" I cry.

  I look back and see that he's fallen over onto the slab. In his fall he must have jerked the bits of old rope underneath him which I also happened to be standing on.

  My only thought is that it's a huge relief to be past him. It doesn't occur to me to go back and help, and nor do I consider whether he will make it down safely. It's getting late and I'm locked in my own
battle for survival. My safety hangs by the slenderest of threads which isn't strong enough for two people. I believe, I hope, I have enough left in me to get myself down safely, but I can't play hero for anyone else, and the possibility doesn't even cross my mind. It's not long before I illustrate this fact quite plainly.

  The first few slabs beyond the Second Step are the narrowest and most dangerous. We get past these and they begin getting wider. It's often on the safer parts of the climb where you lose concentration, and I put one of my crampons down on a bit of snow which turns out to be a smooth sloping rock. Before I'm aware what's happened the crampon slides from under me and I fall two metres into a bed of snow. I've managed to dig my axe firmly in, but the fixed rope is taut at my waist, and it's almost certainly this which has saved me. I heave myself wearily out of the snow and climb back onto the path, breathing heavily. Chongba watches impassively above me, and not for the first time I wonder what's going through his mind.

  Ironically, just beyond where I fell another figure lies blissfully unaware of my troubles. The body of the Scottish climber rests only a few feet away. He must have fallen here too, but our stories were very different. He fell head first and onto his back, while I fell feet first onto my belly. If he was still conscious then he must have been too exhausted to get up, and worst of all for him, there was obviously nobody there to help him. On this occasion Chongba didn't try to help me – he has allowed me to solve every little problem in my own way, but he hasn't left my side, and I know as long as breath remains in my body he will stay there. On a long and dangerous descent it's hard to describe how comforting this is. But my struggle isn't over.

  45. The last reserves

  Saturday 19 May, 2012, part 7 - Summit Day, Everest, Tibet

  We move onto our next obstacle, the First Step. Ever since we climbed it near the start of a very long day, it's been a worry in the back of mind. The descending traverse across the rock face at the top of the step, with the full horror of the North Face unavoidably below, his been a big concern, and at the summit I had it in my mind as the crux of the descent. If we can make it down this one safely then I know all will be well, at least until Camp 3.

  I stare nervously down the first diagonal traverse, wondering how on earth I'm going to get down. I glance back up at Chongba and he waits patiently above me, but I know there's nothing he can do to help me. It's up to me to find a way down. Luckily once I've plucked up the courage to begin descending I move confidently enough, carefully lowering myself from step to step while keeping the fixed rope tight behind me with my right hand. This provides me with stability, and when I cross the last slab at the bottom of the traverse and reach the anchor point I breathe a sigh of relief. Although the second section is steeper, it's also more direct, which means for the one and only occasion on the climb I'm able to secure myself with my figure-of-eight device and abseil down. It may not be the most elegant way of descending, and for a confident climber it isn't really necessary, but in my present state of mental and physical exhaustion it feels the safest. I go for a slight swing on the very last step, and I hear Chongba gasp at the anchor point above me, but I'm safely down. I've reached the bottom of the First Step, and in my mind I know I'm going to be safe.

  Descending the First Step

  (Photo: Grant 'Axe' Rawlinson)

  The reality is very different. As we continue along the easy slabs below the First Step I can feel my rucksack swinging at an awkward angle on my back. Despite securing the oxygen bottle after I left the summit, I realise there's still something wrong with the straps and it's wearing me out. I spy a small alcove to the side of the trail where I can sit down and sort my pack out, but as I approach I realise it's occupied by yet another dead body. I didn't see this one on the way up because we passed by here in the dark, but now I can see the body clearly with its striking luminous footwear. It's Green Boots, the Indian climber who crawled into what must have seemed like a cosy little cave during his descent in 1996, and has been here ever since. In 2006 a British climber called David Sharp lay down next to him, and 40 people controversially walked past as he lay dying. Some of them stopped to help, but he was too far gone and died soon after. They removed his body from the trail the following year by dropping it over the Kangshung Face, but nobody has dignified Green Boots by doing the same for him. It doesn't occur to me, either, but it's not going to do my shredded nerves any good to sit down next to him, so I continue onwards until he's out of sight.

  The rest of the descent is agonising. I must have mentally shot my bolt at the bottom of the First Step, when there was still a great deal of difficult terrain ahead of me. I had forgotten about all the scrambling below the ridge, particularly the Exit Cracks, and I groan when I see them. They're a real shock, and I have to dig deep and find some fresh reserves of mental energy to overcome them. Physically I'm wrecked, though. I'm so exhausted I can only go for a few metres at a time before stopping for a rest. Chongba has the patience of a saint, and says nothing as he stops behind me and waits. Twice during rest breaks I feel myself drifting off into sleep. These are called microsleeps. They only last for a few seconds and I'm scarcely aware of them, but I realise I need to stay constantly alert for them, check myself and stay awake. They could so easily turn into a sleep of exhaustion from which I never wake. Although I have Chongba behind me to prod me into action if he becomes concerned, I owe it to both of us to stay alert.

  I hear Grant's voice come over the radio in Chongba's pocket.

  "I'm anxious about how long Mark's taking. He should be back at the tent by now, and I'm getting worried."

  Phil's voice responds, and he's less concerned. I hear Chongba bark something back in Nepali, presumably to tell them we're both safe.

  Little by little we see the tents below us getting nearer, but still I have to keep resting. Chongba never once complains, and never once tries to hurry me up. I can't describe how reassuring his presence is. We reach Camp 3 at 5.30 after 18 hours of climbing. Grant is lying on one side of the tent and has been there since midday. I begin to understand how lonely he must have felt lying there on his own, waiting more than five hours for me and Chongba to return. If I were him I would have been worried about us too.

  I've had no food and only one litre of water since I departed for the summit 18 hours ago. I can't remember the last time my throat was so dry. I retch into the vestibule, but there's nothing to come out, although a small piece of my gullet appears to be trying. I remember an incident from one of the old Everest expeditions of the 1920s, when one of the climbers, Somervell I think, experienced breathing difficulties on the way down, and coughed so hard he ended up dislodging a frozen bit of his throat and spitting it out. Once dislodged his breathing returned to normal and he was able to continue. My throat feels like that, and I really want to cough up the bit of my gullet that feels like it's hanging loose, but at the same time I realise it might be a bad idea.

  We snuggle up next to Grant and try to make ourselves as comfortable as possible. I remember the big rock below my shoulders, and slip my boots alongside it underneath my mat. Chongba is tired too, and Grant proves to be a good tent mate by offering to take over the stove duties. He boils up a few mugs of water, but it's very slow at this altitude, and he would need to boil an ocean to relieve my thirst. He even empties my pee bottle for me - a task many tent mates would refuse - although some of my pee is still frozen around the rim, and he ends up burning a bit of the tent fabric trying to melt it with a match. I have about a litre of tea and water, enough to stop my gullet trying to detach itself, but still my throat is parched. The summit is the last thing on our minds as we settle in for an uncomfortable night.

  46. The indescribable feeling of being alive

  Sunday 20 May, 2012 – Advanced Base Camp (ABC), Everest, Tibet

  Despite my exhaustion of the previous day, I get very little sleep. Halfway through the night I notice my oxygen has run out, and I have to wake Chongba to find a spare bottle and help me to change it. I
sleep a little better after this. In the morning my sleeping bag is covered in snow, and next to me Grant is looking like a snowman. The tent door next to him is partially open and spindrift has blown in throughout the night. It's howling a gale outside, and although I'm still as thirsty as Oliver Reed in a coffee shop there's little point in us trying to light the stove.

  "Too windy for stove," says Chongba. "We go down now."

  He's right. The only sensible thing for us to do in this gale is to pack away as quickly as possible and head down the mountain. It's a depressing thought. It's going to be another long, tough day, but there are only 1800 metres of descent to the comfort and safety of ABC, and that's a very pleasant thought.