In Boukreev’s forays into the storming black of the earliest hours of May 11, he’d brought what energy and oxygen he had to the situation. He’d asked for help from Rob Hall’s expedition, but there wasn’t any to be had. Neither he nor anyone else had enough power or reserves to deal with the problems of Namba. About his last crossing of the South Col, when he’d brought Pittman back to Camp IV, he’s said, “I had my arms full with Sandy. I had no more energy left. If Tim had not been able to move under his own power, I would not have been able to help him. I think he would have died.”
In the months since the deaths on Everest, much has been said and written about the events and personalities tangential to those losses, and it appears likely there will not be an end to those offerings anytime soon. There is an advantage to an open and ongoing debate, and the authors have contributed what they can to the discussions that should, most certainly, follow. As the debates continue, we would make the plea that questions be raised from the platform of known fact, not shouted from the dais of suspicion and rumor. The future of mountaineering, especially of commercially guided expeditions, can best be served by the truth.
*Offered in the “debriefing” tapes recorded at the Everest Base Camp on May 15, 1996.
*HACE can strike anyone, anytime. Early in the expedition it struck Ngawang Topche Sherpa, one of the Mountain Madness Sherpas. All the efforts made to save his life, including his helicopter evacuation to a Kathmandu hospital, proved fruitless. In the month following his collapse at Camp II he died.
†With sadness it must be reported Lopsang Jangbu Sherpa never lived long enough to fully come to terms with the death of Scott Fischer. Less than four months after the death of his friend, Lopsang was killed in an avalanche while attached to an expedition on Lhotse.
EPILOGUE
THE RETURN TO EVEREST
In August 1996, Boukreev left the United States and returned to his family home in the Urals. Earlier in the summer, just after he attended memorial services for Scott Fischer, his mother had died.
I had endured enough of the controversy regarding Everest. I needed to make my peace at home, to visit my brothers and sisters and to mourn the loss of my mother. Finally, when I returned to my home in Kazakhstan, I was prepared to turn my face to the mountains. I felt unsuited for life anywhere else. I had committed myself to the 8,000-meter peaks I’d yet to climb, and I had to continue. It is a lonely and a strange life, inexplicable to some, but for me it is my home; it is my work.
Returning to Nepal, on September 25, 1996, Boukreev, alone, without the use of supplementary oxygen, summited Cho Oyu (8,201 meters) and on October 9 summited Shisha Pangma (North Summit) (8,008 meters).
During the fall climbing season, Boukreev stopped in Kathmandu to visit the offices of a friend, Ang Tshering Sherpa of Asian Trekking, where he was asked if he would consider consulting for an Indonesian team that was planning a spring assault on Mount Everest by the Southeast Ridge Route, the route that he had guided the year before for Scott Fischer. After much deliberation, Boukreev took on the role of lead climbing consultant.
The idea of leading an expedition to Everest was appealing for two reasons, because I had enormous unfinished emotional business on the mountain. For me it was important to return to the site of the terrible ordeal we had endured in the spring. Certain issues had become personally important. I wanted to somehow make a respectful burial of Scott’s body and also of Yasuko Namba’s body. What else can one do, when the best you could do in a bad situation was not enough to prevent some disaster?
With the Indonesians I was looking for the opportunity to work in a role that was congruent with the beliefs I have about climbing as a sport and a role that would allow me to make a living in the emerging commercial market of high-altitude mountaineering. I hoped I would be able to define and clarify this role as a coach and climbing team leader with the Indonesians.
Also, I have to admit my ego is as fragile as the next person’s, and I felt fairly well maligned by the few voices that had captured the imagination of the American press. Had it not been for the support of European colleagues like Rolf Dujmovits and Reinhold Messner, I would have been depressed by the American perspective of what I had to offer my profession.
After meeting with Indonesian team organizers in Kathmandu in late November, I flew to Jakarta to meet with General Prabowo Subianto, the national coordinator of the expedition. In hard, graphic terms I laid out the prospect of success as a marginal expectation. In clear terms, I projected we had a 30 percent chance of summiting one individual. I also explained we had a fifty-fifty chance of losing someone on the mountain, odds that were unacceptable to me, personally. I suggested a year of training on progressively higher peaks. This suggestion was rejected out of hand.
I come from a tradition that promotes mountaineering as a reasonable sports endeavor, not as a game of Russian roulette; the death of a team member is always a failure that supersedes any summit success. There is an exponentially decreasing margin of safety for the amateur or even the well-conditioned amateur above eight thousand meters. I could not guarantee the safety of a group of men who had little or no mountaineering experience on the world’s highest mountains. The Indonesians could buy the benefit of my experience, my advice, my services as lead climbing adviser, and as a member of a rescue team; but if they wanted the summit of Everest, they would have to take some responsibility for the hubris of this ambition with inexperienced men. General Prabowo assured me that his men were motivated, well conditioned, and they were committed to this objective even at the prospect of death. This was shocking in someway, but it was an honest response.
I outlined for myself a role that would give the Indonesians as much benefit from my experience as possible, but one that would still promote their independence. At the end we are each responsible for our ambition, and on Everest every bit of preparation you make will still leave you in short supply on summit day.
General Prabowo agreed the team would undertake training and conditioning before the expedition began. I knew we would need expedition consultants with excellent technical and high-altitude skill, who would function as advisers during training and acclimatization exercises and who could function as a rescue support team on summit day. The concept of a rescue team was important to me; I placed great emphasis on our role in this capacity. In my conversations with the general, I would not guarantee a summit success for any price.
I indicated I could not undertake the expedition if I was not given absolute control of the final summit-day decisions, and he had to accept the possibility that the condition of his men or conditions on the mountain would not allow us to proceed with a reasonably safe summit bid. I would make that decision. He also understood that the best rescue team cannot guarantee an effective rescue above eight thousand meters; but, if troubles arose, I was prepared to risk my life in this capacity. That was the basis of our deal.
Our training program would be to the point. During the coming winter, it would be possible to experience conditions of prolonged severe cold and wind, acclimatizing the team to six thousand meters. We would test endurance and mental discipline in the austere conditions we would confront on Everest. The training program would begin on December 15 in Nepal.
Thirty-four individuals, civilians with some climbing experience and military men who had no experience mountaineering but who were fit and disciplined, would make up the initial team. From this thirty-four, the best would be selected for the expedition. We would use health, endurance, ability, and attitude as our selection criteria. During this time the team would develop proficiency with the technical skills necessary to negotiate ropes and ladders and would practice basic mountaineering skills.
Communication was a huge problem last year, a problem I failed to completely appreciate until it was too late. Last year not only was the language barrier a source of personal frustration but the system of radio communication was not well thought out. Radios would be available for each team member t
his year. I recommended we have direct radio contact from Base Camp with support in Kathmandu. Also I requested we arrange for daily weather reports from the meteorological service at the Kathmandu airport. The military connection was helpful here, and these arrangements were made with the help of the Nepali Army in Kathmandu. Our expedition officer, Monty Sorongan, spoke English well. He would be the central contact in Kathmandu, coordinating communication between the mountain and the Kathmandu support service. English, it was agreed, would be our common language. With the climbing staff I wanted no misunderstandings, no omissions of opinion or impression between responsible parties because we had no common language.
As team leader, I wanted a solid, technically superior training staff, with a broad, deep experience in high-altitude rescue, and I wanted medical support at high altitude. I needed to be able to count on associates who could share my understanding and who would respect my impressions and opinions in critical situations. Likewise, I wanted the benefit of their expertise and some balance for my rather difficult personality. I looked for men with the same level of experience I wanted, men who could work on the mountain with or without oxygen; on whose strength and flexibility I could rely. I recruited the services of two respected Russian mountaineers, Vladamir Bashkirov and Dr. Evgeny Vinogradski. Forty-five-year-old Bashkirov, with more than fifteen years of experience in expedition organization to remote areas, and technical expertise on the great walls in the Pamirs and Caucasus, as well as six successful summit attempts on 8,000-meter peaks, two of those Everest, would be a great asset. He is a soft-spoken diplomat compared to me, with a good command of English. I would rely on his personable communication skills and good judgment throughout the expedition. He is a notable adventure cameraman and filmmaker in Russia. He would record the expedition on film for the Indonesians. Dr. Evgeny Vinogradski, fifty-year-old, seven-time champion climber in the Soviet Union with more than twenty-five years experience as a high-altitude climbing instructor and sports physician, would complete the instructor staff. Evgeny and I were on an ‘89 traverse of Kanchenjunga together. I count him a personal friend. His long history as an instructor and as a physician for athletes made him indispensable. His gentle good humor and steely calm in the worst situations is well known to me; the Old Eagle I call him. He has more than twenty 7,000-meter summits, and eight 8,000-meter summits to his credit; two of those are Everest, one as a personal guide on Everest.
Ang Tshering of Asian Trekking in Kathmandu provided all logistical support including the hiring of the Sherpa staff. We were fortunate to have the services of thirty-seven-year-old Apa Sherpa of Thami, seven-time summiter of Everest, as our sirdar and lead climbing Sherpa. The Sherpas would be accountable to Ang Tshering and to the Indonesian staff. They would provide the usual Base Camp support and would fix rope on the sections of the route above the Icefall, set up and supply camps up the mountain, and carry the extra oxygen we would need for team members on summit day. The division of labor would theoretically leave us free to deal with the climbing team or other difficult conditions on the route.
I left Jakarta for the United States on December 6. I had an appointment in the United States with doctors who would evaluate the damage to my face and eye, which had occurred in a bus accident in October.* Bashkirov and Vinogradski were left to supervise the training session on Paldor Peak in the Ganesh Himal, which began on December 15. Thirty-four climbers, half with no technical mountaineering skills, attempted Paldor (5,900 m); seventeen summited. They endured twenty-one days of slow acclimatization in the winter conditions of December in Nepal.
On January 10, expedition leaders Ang Tshering, Bashkirov, Vinogradski, and myself met in Kathmandu to coordinate plans and to begin team selection. Bashkirov and Vinogradski were not optimistic that more than the seventeen Paldor summiters would be in the final group for Everest. The groups had weeded out dramatically on Paldor.
We needed equipment. None of the men had satisfactory gear, and all expedition gear needed to be purchased as soon as possible. Arrangements were made for Monty Sorongan and Captain Rochadi, the military attaché, to fly to Salt Lake City, Utah, and attend an outdoor retailers show to meet with suppliers and fill our list. American companies such as Sierra Designs and Mountain Hardware were very helpful. They worked long and hard putting together our equipment orders in time for the expedition. Simone Moro of Italy helped expedition organizers purchase our One Sport boots. Not only did I want to avoid loss of life in this expedition, I wanted everyone to come home with feet and hands. Technical advances in clothing and footwear have made it far safer for the inexperienced to endure extreme temperatures. I saw what a difference good equipment could make last year. We were going to need every margin of safety for this group. Fortunately, expedition organizers were very cooperative and tried at every turn to follow our recommendations. Our gear was flown to Kathmandu with the help of the Thai Airlines cargo department, which now has a service to transport expedition equipment efficiently. It was shipped to arrive March 6; our departure date for Base Camp was March 12.
During January and February the entire thirty-four-member team went to Island Peak (6,189 m) for the second training exercise. Sixteen members summited, all of whom had summited Paldor. Team members spent twenty days in forty-below temperatures enduring strong winter winds. During three days and nights above six thousand meters in harsh conditions, team members were pushed to ascend and descend one thousand meters every day in less than five hours. It was the best we could do. Now I shake my head in disbelief: Paldor, Island Peak, Everest. I don’t recommend this as a training program to anyone.
Back in Kathmandu, Bashkirov and Vinogradski made a list for Col Eadi. They rated the climbers by the criteria of speed, adjustment to altitude, general health, and attitude. They arranged the summiters in order of preference: one to sixteen. The military men, though inexperienced, were more focused, more disciplined, and showed greater motivation in difficult situations. Ten soldiers and six civilians were in the final group. We recommended a south-side summit attempt only; this idea was rejected by the Indonesians, who had hired Richard Pavlowski to head a north-side Everest team.* In the end, ten members would go with us to Everest Base Camp on the south side, and six would go to Tibet on the north with Richard. After Island Peak the teams had twenty-six days of rest. We would be the first team into the Khumbu. I wanted to be the first team on the mountain, the first to attempt the summit. I absolutely did not want to compete with other expeditions for the route on summit day.
The Russian helicopter lifted us out of the smog of Kathmandu toward Lukla on March 12. Ten members, three Russian climbing advisers, and sixteen Sherpas stepped onto the landing pad at Lukla (2,850 m). We were headed for Base Camp and the summit of the highest mountain on earth. What ambition!
I always return to Lukla with a feeling of relief. I love the mountains, it is here I am at home. You will not understand this compunction unless you, too, have arrived in the early morning, dropped to some precipitous aerie by helicopter. Embraced by bony ribs of mountains jutting into the sky. Their jagged summits precisely articulated in the crystal air. You humbly apprehend in this majesty your smallness in the scheme of things. In seven days we would arrive in Base Camp. On that morning I knew as I always know, no matter what was before me, I was home, and this is the only life I am fit for.
There would be seventeen teams at Base Camp this year; I made a big effort to keep the group out of the usual Base Camp politics. There was a lot of brouhaha over who would fix the Icefall. The Sherpas from one or two expeditions fix the Icefall with ropes and ladders, and the expedition organizers get paid for their work. Colonialism dies hard. All the expeditions use this route, and the expedition leaders take the big money for use of the route from teams that don’t contribute Sherpa help fixing the route. There was a brief lobby by the Pangboche Sherpa Cooperative to collect the big money this year. The competition for the ten to twenty thousand dollars is still too great. Henry Todd and Mal Duff pulled o
ff the Icefall plum. Mal and a group of his Sherpas had hurriedly fixed the route we would use.
I foresee a time when the entire route to the summit of Everest will be fixed in advance by a team of climbing Sherpas. All expeditions will use this route and pay the Sherpas as contractors. The day will come when the Nepalis will control this mountain like the Americans control access to McKinley. But not without the machinations and protests of those who till now have benefited exorbitantly by the hard work of underpaid men.
Our team arrived at Base Camp on March 19. Due to the recent training sessions, we did not need acclimatization to this altitude. The Icefall was before us. This is always an important step in the psychological adjustment to the task of climbing Everest. It is jumping off into the unknown. The Icefall is predictably unstable. Each crossing is a gestalt in mastering your fear. Your attention is riveted to detail. For several hours you climb, continually crossing gaping crevasses on roped-together bridge ladders, winding ever up through the cascade of shifting blocks of ice the size of houses. On March 22 we ascended to Camp I with all members for one night of acclimatization. Our entire team did well. Though shaky at first on the route, by our second trip they were moving with confidence at a much faster pace.
That obstacle mastered, we settled into the routine of climb and rest that is acclimatization. After two days’ rest, in Base Camp, on the twenty-sixth we ascended to Camp I at 6,000 meters, spent the night, and on the twenty-seventh ascended directly to Camp II at 6,500 meters. We stayed two nights in Camp II, making active acclimatization up to a height of 6,800 meters. On the twenty-ninth we descended to Base Camp. There were no health problems with any members or staff at this time. We rested at Base Camp for three days. Our third acclimatization exercise began on April 1. We ascended directly to Camp II in eight hours. There we spent two nights. April 4, we ascended to 7,000 meters and returned to Camp II. April 5 we rested in Camp II. On April 6 we ascended to Camp III at 7,300 meters. The fixed line to Camp III had been worked out by Apa and our team of Sherpas during the days of progressive acclimatization by team members. April 7 was a rest day for members at Camp III.
The Climb Page 24
