Neal, who almost always had a quiet and peaceful disposition, assured me, “Anatoli, everything will be okay. On the last excursion we felt okay, and that’s the most important thing. Half of the clients don’t have a chance for success. For many the ascent will end on the South Col (7,900 m). I don’t have a doubt that at the crucial moment above eight thousand meters you will be able to show your work and everyone will understand and appreciate it.”
CHAPTER 10
THE FIRST DELAYS
On our second rest day, April 21, we got a radio report from Scott, who had spent the previous night with Pete Schoening at Camp II, and he said the winds had raged throughout the night, sometimes blowing at over sixty miles an hour. With the help of Sherpas they’d collapsed some of our tents to keep them from being shredded and blown off the mountain. The storm, I think, must have been fierce all the way down the mountain as my tent at Base Camp was buffeted throughout the night.
During this rest period the expedition physician, Dr. Ingrid Hunt, utilizing a pulse oximeter, performed for some of the clients and guides, as she had on previous occasions, an “O2 SAT” test to determine the maximum amount of oxygen that could be carried in the blood under the prevailing environmental conditions. As he always had, Boukreev tested in the low 90s, a result that at sea level would be considered normal, a result that according to Dr. Hunt made him and Fischer, who had also tested in this range, exceptional in their capacities to adjust to altitude. In contrast, Dr. Hunt, who had administered the test to herself, scored in the mid-70s; one of the clients, about whom she was particularly concerned, had tested in the 60s, a result that she considered “low even for up there.”*
Boukreev, who had scientific training in college, has recalled the testing and said he was not convinced. “These readings meant little to me. I didn’t believe too much in the procedure. You can receive a lot more information by observing the clients’ … external appearances.” However they came to their readings of the situation, Boukreev and Hunt shared a similar concern. Some of the clients could be at high risk if they made a summit bid.
While the clients rested, there was much discussion about our acclimatization routine, and we scheduled an excursion to Camp III for April 23, by which time, as had previously been planned, the Sherpas should have established and stocked the camp. This excursion, as was understood, was mandatory in the plan that had been devised for acclimatization. I stressed to the clients the importance of spending time at this altitude and suggested that after a night at Camp III they consider trying to gain another two hundred to three hundred meters before descending, telling them that, based upon my experience, success with such a routine—and a proper recovery afterwards—would contribute significantly to the possibility of their success above eight thousand meters.
The goal, Boukreev kept reinforcing, was not only proper acclimatization, but also the maintenance of a reserve of energy. Boukreev reminded the clients that while they were going through the routine, they were also losing strength, strength that even during the rest periods they wouldn’t totally recover, that “full compensation does not happen even during a long rest at Base Camp.” In Boukreev’s opinion, the message was not getting across. “Many of the clients were not attentive to their rest and recuperation. Their focus of attention was displaced, and they only understood acclimatization as gaining altitude from excursion to excursion.” An exception, Boukreev thought, was Martin Adams.
During one of our rest days, sometime before dinner, Martin and I had a conversation, and he asked me if in my opinion he had a chance to complete the expedition with success. He told me, “Last time, when we were on Makalu, I had no problems at high altitude, but after my night on the Makalu-La Pass and descent to Base Camp, my strength was gone. Even after resting I felt empty, without any desire to try a summit assault.”
Boukreev, recalling Adams’s experiences on Makalu, reminded him that he’d made several acclimatization excursions in quick succession, and, in Boukreev’s opinion, Adams hadn’t properly rested between them.
I told him, “Your job is to get sufficient acclimatization with a minimal number of nights spent at high altitude… . During the period of rest prior to our assault bid, you need to rest, eat properly, and totally relax. For a much better recovery I recommend that you descend lower than Base Camp, to the forest zone where there is a lot more oxygen… . The recovery processes in the body happen much more completely and quickly when there is a large amount of oxygen in the air. Also, a walk down and back promotes muscle tone. Active rest will be far more beneficial than lying around Base Camp.”
Martin Adams recalled the advice and remembers thinking, “I really didn’t want to do it, because it was a lot of work to walk back down that valley and then walk back up.”
If any doubt about the perils of AMS remained in any of the clients’ minds, a tragedy nailed the warning to the wall. On Monday, April 22, altitude took its first victim in the Fischer expedition. A team of Sherpas was climbing from Camp I to Camp II, ferrying supplies to advance the route, and among them was Ngawang Topche Sherpa, the uncle of Lopsang Jangbu Sherpa. As Fischer was descending from Camp II, the riotous storm behind him and the tents restored, he came upon Ngawang Topche Sherpa, who appeared somewhat confused, not well. Fischer, who had a reputation on the mountain for his attentiveness to Sherpas and a concern for their well-being, told him to descend. Expecting him to comply, Fischer continued his own descent, eager for some rest after his stint at Camp II, but Ngawang Topche Sherpa didn’t follow him down. For whatever reason—personal pride, a misunderstanding of Fischer’s order, or confusion brought on by his condition—he had instead continued up the mountain.
A radio transmission from Camp II to Base Camp alerted the expedition members to the problem above. Like a drunken sailor headed for his ship, Ngawang Topche Sherpa had somehow navigated the route and was found disoriented and coughing up a froth of sputum and blood. Given the symptoms, the diagnosis came quickly: high-altitude pulmonary edema or HAPE. While the appropriate drug therapy for HAPE is still being debated, it is generally agreed that an immediate descent of 610–1,220 meters is a necessary lifesaving measure, but Camp II was only four hundred meters above Camp I. To get Ngawang Topche Sherpa to an elevation where the symptoms might abate, they would have to take him into the Khumbu Icefall.
Coordinating the rescue effort at Camp II were Klev Schoening and Tim Madsen, who had gone to Camp II to further their acclimatization. The job fell to them because there were no Mountain Madness guides at Camp II. Fischer had left Camp II that morning, and Boukreev and Beidleman were in Base Camp resting from their previous acclimatization excursion. When consulted, Boukreev knew that the first action taken in a rescue situation is often the most important one and advised, “Get him down as quickly as possible; give him oxygen.”*
My surprise in this situation was that Sherpas who were in Base Camp didn’t go up immediately upon hearing the news of Ngawang Topche Sherpa’s distress. I expected that because, like Lopsang Jangbu Sherpa and many of our other Sherpas, Ngawang Topche Sherpa was from the Rolwaling Valley, but as it turned out, they didn’t go up until later in the day. The exact reason for this I am not sure, but it made me consider what we might expect from our Sherpas in an emergency. I hold the Sherpas’ capacities for physically demanding work in the highest regard, but you shouldn’t automatically assume that in a critical situation the Sherpas will perform to your expectations. It is not that they are not capable, far from it, because their history of efforts and their ability to assist and give good advice and direction on 8,000ers is well established. Instead, it is the matter of risk, asking them to do something dangerous that falls outside their assigned jobs and the responsibilities they are paid to assume.
Because Ngawang Topche Sherpa was not responding to treatment, Klev Schoening and Tim Madsen rigged a makeshift sled to lower the stricken Sherpa. As they moved down the mountain, Neal Beidleman and several of the Mountain Madness Sherpas left Base C
amp and headed through the Icefall to connect with the descending climbers. Just before dark, Beidleman and the Sherpas took over from Madsen and Klev Schoening, who stayed on the mountain so they could continue their acclimatization efforts.
On the morning of April 23 the acclimatization excursion that had previously been planned was kept on the schedule. It was decided, Boukreev recalls, that Beidleman, who had been hailed for his efforts in maneuvering Ngawang Topche Sherpa through the Icefall at night, would delay his departure until that afternoon or perhaps the next day, depending upon how quickly he recovered from the ordeal of the day before.
That morning, before breakfast, Fischer began work in the tent that held Pittman’s communication gear. Fischer, in addition to maintaining a connection with the Mountain Madness office in West Seattle, being honcho in absentia, was also doing regular phone feeds to Jane Bromet, his publicist, who was still serving as a correspondent for Outside Online* despite the fact that she had departed the Everest Base Camp and had returned home to the Capitol Hill neighborhood of Seattle.
Fischer, when he wasn’t giving Bromet the printable news, was giving her his behind-the-scenes impressions, Everest naked, the stuff that the armchair climber in Milwaukee, tapped into the Internet during television commercial breaks, was never going to see on the computer monitor. One of his recurring themes was money, how it was evaporating at high altitude.
A business associate of Fischer’s said, “I think it was a really major stress on him, and especially after Ngawang … and he thought, ‘Man, this guy’s going to be in a hospital for two years in a coma, and who’s going to be paying the tab for that?’ So … oh, yeah, I think the whole money issue was a huge stress. I think he tried to just … keep it out of his mind, but it really became a substantial problem for him… . He thought, ‘Man, I’m going to climb this mountain, and I’m going to come home with ten thousand bucks if I’m lucky, and that’s just not okay.’ ”
Gammelgaard, according to Karen Dickinson, still owed Mountain Madness more than $20,000; the oxygen supply, given that Pete Schoening and some of the other clients had been drawing it down at $325 a bottle, was dwindling; Fischer was facing the possibility of having to evacuate Ngawang Topche Sherpa by helicopter to Kathmandu (a formidable expense); he was physically tired beyond the normal condition of being at altitude; his team physician and Base Camp manager was suffering from recurring altitude sickness; Camp III had yet to be established; the fixed ropes were still not in place between Camp III and Camp IV. He was behind schedule, thrashed by his physical efforts, wondering how he was going to pull it off. He was dancing toward a precipice as precarious as any in the Khumbu Icefall, but, almost always, powering through it, smiling and positive.
Most of the clients, without any of the guides, departed for the Icefall around 6:00 A.M., wanting to avoid the heat of the day and the blinding glare off the ice that, as it absorbed the heat of the sun, became more unstable and threatening. Prior to their departure, Scott and I had agreed that, as we had in the past, we would tail them at a distance. Our continuing practice of letting the clients move through some situations without us drew the attention of other expedition guides and clients who, I know, disagreed with the practice. But, on this point, Scott and I were much in agreement.
Personally, I looked with concern upon the closely regimented expeditions where the clients performed as tin soldiers. Given my history as a trainer and coach in cross-country skiing and mountaineering, I felt it was important to encourage independent action.
It was not only the guiding styles of Mountain Madness that many of the other expedition members thought strange; it was also one of their guides, Boukreev. Up and down the mountain, during his forays with clients or at work above Base Camp, he was often noticed wearing track shoes with spiked cleats. This was “normal dress” for Boukreev when he wasn’t high on the mountain. Some of those who made his footwear a matter of concern began to call him Sneakers behind his back, a moniker that he initially overheard as “Snickers.” Boukreev couldn’t make out what possible connection he had with the candy bars he’d seen the clients putting down in the mess tent. Finally, when he understood, he was offended by the pettiness of it all and thought, “You don’t drag an unnecessary four kilograms up the mountain. The energy I save in these lightweight shoes I will have above eight thousand meters, and there will be no more jokes.”
Boukreev, dedicated to his own formulas, had the discipline of an Olympic athlete and the intense focus of a test pilot. He kept his attention on his body’s controls and paid heed to what was going on outside the cockpit. He stayed focused on what he considered important, what kept you alive. Seen by some as detached, by others as self-absorbed and aloof, he was in his Himalayan head, a place that for Lene Gammelgaard was an okay place to live. “I would have liked to have been on an expedition with only Anatolis, but there is only one Anatoli in the whole world, and then there are the Scotts.”
Coming into Camp I, I saw many of our clients resting in the sun, relaxing after their crossing of the Icefall. Given what had happened with Ngawang Topche Sherpa the day before and because several of the Sherpas were helping to bring him down, we were shorthanded on April 23, and a lot of supplies still needed to be taken from Camp I to Camp II where they could be staged in preparation for establishing Camp III. I filled my pack with several expedition sleeping bags and set off immediately for Camp II, and along the route I passed four of our Sherpas also carrying loads. Like me, it was their plan to spend that night at Camp II, and then, the next day, they would ferry all the supplies to Camp III that would be required to establish it for the clients.
Climbing in the clear, windless day, Boukreev was thankful for the warm temperature. As they moved higher, they would no longer be climbing in fleece jackets. The cold that was coming could find your bones.
I arrived as the Sherpas were putting down a lunch for the clients advancing behind me, and I quickly got something to eat before I went to my tent. Tired from my carry and lulled by the heat and stillness, I fell almost immediately to sleep.
Sharing Boukreev’s tent at Camp II was Martin Adams, who was growing increasingly dismayed at the way the expedition was being managed, where logging on seemed to have a higher priority than logistics. He wanted the summit, and he was never going to get there at the speed things were moving. He was particularly upset that Camp III had yet to be established and that he was not going to be able to advance to spend the next night at Camp III in order to maintain his acclimatization routine.
Like me, Martin slept for a few hours before dinner, and as it started to get dark, he changed into his “crocodile” costume, and I got into my down suit. In the mess tent there was much discussion about the progress on our route. And because Camp III had yet to be established, we devised a compromise plan that would allow the clients to advance to the fixed ropes and climb to an altitude of 7,000 meters, a position on the fixed ropes with which I was familiar because I had fixed the ropes to that point. Then we planned that Scott and I would climb higher to 7,300 meters, where we would choose the location for Camp III and supervise the preparation of the site and the setting up of tents.
That night a storm came in, bringing with it a heavy cover of clouds and some snow, but thankfully not the wind that Fischer had suffered through a few nights earlier. In the morning, before first light, a group of Sherpas loaded with supplies and gear for Camp III departed Camp II, leaving behind them a boot-marked trail that the clients, who arose around 6:00 A.M., would later follow to the fixed ropes. After breakfast, Fischer decided to return to Base Camp with Tim Madsen, who had not been recovering well after helping with the rescue of Ngawang Topche Sherpa. Needing to get Camp III established, Fischer instructed Boukreev to catch up to the Sherpas who had left earlier and go to 7,300 meters as planned, while the clients, at their own speed, would climb on the fixed ropes to 7,000 meters and return in time for lunch.
I started out slowly, carrying in my pack my high-altitude cloth
ing and a high-altitude tent. As I reached 6,800 meters and clipped onto the fixed ropes on the Lhotse Face, the weather, which had been cloudy but not particularly threatening at first light, began to deteriorate. The wind picked up; a drizzle of snow began; and a fog settled around the fixed ropes as I continued to move ahead. As I advanced, I realized I had made a mistake that morning by not changing out of my “Snickers,” and I was upset at having made such a blunder. I was not in a dangerous situation because I was on fixed ropes, but in a not-so-good place. The traction I had with my cleats on the hard ice covered in fresh snow was not good, and I had to be deliberate when I placed my feet.
At times the visibility was down to one to two meters, but the force of the wind would sometimes sculpt a hole in the weather. In one of those holes, just below the proposed site of Camp III, Boukreev saw the Mountain Madness Sherpas descending. Surprised to see them coming down, he asked if they had prepared the Camp III site and put up tents. To both questions they answered no, saying that the winds were too high and that the weather was not good.
I was upset with the Sherpas’ abandonment of the work schedule for Camp III, because we were already behind in our acclimatization schedule and we’d yet to overnight there, but it was not within my power to order them to stay. Only Scott, who had descended, or Lopsang, who had accompanied his stricken uncle to Base Camp, could give that kind of order. Frustrated with this reversal, I continued up the fixed ropes to their end, and as if endorsing the Sherpas’ decision, the weather turned from bad to terrible. A steady snow began to fall; the wind began to gust in threatening bursts; and visibility went almost to zero. Removing the high-altitude tent from my pack, I stashed it where the porters had left their loads, there at the terminus of the fixed ropes. Shivering from the rapid drop in temperature and feeling my way because of the mistake of my shoes, I made it off the face of Lhotse. In less than a hour from my turnaround I made it to the tents, where I joined the other members of the expedition, who were having dinner.
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