There would be nothing I could do – I would be unable to escape the confines of the tent, and even if I did, the cold of the water would finish me off, and I’d be submerged under the icy surface.
BAM!! The whole tent rocked up, fighting against the force of the advancing snow. I felt a vast weight of snow pounding down on me. No time to zip up the tent, and behind me, ice and snow were blasting their way in. The noise was indescribable, and the tent was crammed with ice in milliseconds. It was also being lifted off the ground, straining against its guy lines.
My whole body was pressed as hard as I could push it down into the Therm-a-Rest.
Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the main force of the avalanche had passed.
I tried to push up on to my hands and knees. The snow was heavy on my back as I pushed. Eventually, I shook free of it, and instinctively started digging out my expedition bags and electrical equipment. I quickly brushed off the snow, then hurried to the tent zip. Snow and wind were still piling and howling into the tent.
I grabbed the zip and pulled it hard. It pulled half way, reducing the snow and wind, but then it jammed. I yanked at it desperately until it closed.
The tent was still being buffeted by the wind outside, but inside there was now calm. I scrambled around on all fours, trying to brush the snow off everything and push it towards the tent entrance. There was an extraordinary amount of it. I was very, very cold, and bewildered as to what had just happened.
After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably a matter of seconds, I heard voices shouting outside the tent.
I cautiously unzipped the tent a small way and powdery snow collapsed inwards. The tent was buried by snow. It pushed in on every side, blotting out the sunlight.
I scraped the snow out of my way and stood up to survey the chaos that was, less than two minutes before, a fully functioning and active expedition site. Now it looked like a war zone, as if it had been ransacked, pillaged by the Vikings.
I heard shouting cut across the windswept silence. “Everybody to the white pod!” the voice yelled. “Get in the white pod! Everybody to the white pod!”
I pulled my wet boots on over my sodden, frozen socks, not even bothering to do up the laces. I grabbed my downing jacket, shook the snow off it and cannoned out of the tent, taking a direct path to the white dome that rose above the surrounding tents.
I burst into the pod to find myself face-to-face with Bill, ‘the highest chef in the world’. Only Bill was not his usual cheery self at all. It turned out that he had been standing in the open when the avalanche struck, with nowhere to run or hide. He’d ducked down in the snow to protect himself, and had been lucky enough to avoid any of the flying debris. But he was soaking wet – absolutely soaking wet – covered from head to toe in snow, his glasses had gone and he was standing there in total shock.
He didn’t say a word. As we tended to him, he just stood motionless, as if his expression had been frozen on to his face by the cold of the avalanche.
I offered him a fizzy drink from the counter, knowing it might take the edge off the shock slightly. He didn’t respond, or make any indication that he understood.
We sat him down and found him an extra pair of trousers to get him warmer and, soon after, he started to regain his composure. He started saying, over and over again, in a steadily stronger voice, “I’m OK, I’m OK, I’m OK…” as if he was trying to reassure himself. He was clearly in shock.
“There’s been a huge avalanche,” I heard a voice say, idiotically, and we all sat there in stunned silence, not knowing what to do next. People had scratches, scrapes, small cuts, but, miraculously, our expedition team had managed to get away without any major injuries. We soon discovered that others were not so lucky.
“What’s going on? What’s going on?” said Bill, as his shock gave way to curiosity.
Nobody knew.
We decided we needed to find out how the impact had affected the rest of camp and, as a mountain first aider, I volunteered to help the injured. I could deal with broken arms, broken legs, small injuries, that sort of thing. I was hoping I would be able to manage the situation until paramedics arrived in the next half an hour.
We didn’t realise that nobody was coming. The only help up there comes via helicopter, and no helicopter was coming. We were alone.
When the earthquake hit, it loosened all the ice on top of Pumori, about a kilometre above us. Thousands of tons of ice had then come crashing down the mountain towards our fragile camp, gaining speed and power all the way. As it sped down the side of Pumori, it created a vacuum, which was released like a shotgun when it piled into the valley floor.
Because of the horseshoe shape of Pumori, the snow, ice and rock were channelled towards us, increasing the power of the avalanche as it was unable to expand outwards. As it got to the edge of the horseshoe, it suddenly released itself and shot across the valley. Of course, that’s exactly where we were. It just exploded across the middle of Base Camp and wiped everything out.
The destruction in our camp was quite unbelievable. Even though our expedition had got off lightly, due to our position slightly further away from Pumori, there was still a huge amount of damage. Our toilet tent had been completely destroyed, as had the tent of the expedition leader – who was, luckily for him, in Kathmandu at the time. The communications tent had also been completely destroyed, as if it had never existed in the first place. Both tents had been on a raised piece of ground.
Camping equipment – tent poles, clothing, boots – littered the ground, and large rocks had been displaced and chucked about the place like pebbles. Just one of those through your tent would have been enough to punch your ticket.
The poles from the toilet tent had shot through the air like spears, piercing the white pod like paper. We could see them sticking through the canvas three metres up. Even if I had rammed a tent pole with all my force into the canvas of the white pod, I couldn’t have pierced it like that. Its canvas was extremely strong, so the force and speed that carried the poles must have been extraordinary.
It occurred to me how lucky I was to be unhurt.
While some of our expedition remained in the white pod, others of us went out to see if we could help. We met one of the other larger expeditions, IMG, who told us it was far worse than we had thought. They told us there were many injured people, with lots of them urgently needing medical attention.
The plan was to make their mess tent into a temporary first aid/hospital tent. Any injured people would be sent there, while our white pod would be the tent where those who were unhurt could come for shelter, tea and biscuits and company.
Angelica, our expedition doctor, went to oversee the care of the injured in the other party’s tent. Louise, our climbing heart surgeon, went with her.
Things didn’t turn out according to this initial plan, however.
I made my way up to the ridges on the outskirts of our expedition’s camp, to let people know they could get shelter and tea in our white pod. Woody, one of the guides, was up there too. We were stunned by what we saw.
The avalanche had hit the middle area of Base Camp with its full force, destroying everything in its path. Tents were torn to pieces, belongings were thrown hundreds of metres into the Icefall, electronic equipment including 12-volt car batteries (used to power lights) were thrown about like rag dolls. The relative order of Base Camp only minutes before had been turned into a chaotic spaghetti of confusion and disarray.
Some areas of the camp ground were completely destroyed, with piles of snow covering everything. I dreaded to think what had happened to the people in those tents.
People were rushing about, to and fro, seemingly without much purpose, like ants when their nest has been disturbed. There was shouting, panic in the air, confusion.
A couple approached me, looking infinitely out of place in the destruction. At first, I
couldn’t place what was so odd about them, but then it hit me – they were wearing shorts. In this environment, this frozen wasteland, they were wearing shorts.
“We’ve got to go,” the woman said.
“Yeah, yeah, I know, we’ve got to go, we’ve got to go,” the man responded, eyes darting around chaotically in his panic.
As they came towards me, I went to stop them. I wasn’t sure where they were planning to go, but dressed how they were, with one backpack between the pair of them; it didn’t seem like a good idea.
“I’m not quite sure how bad things are,” I said, “but there’s a white pod down there. We’ve got some hot tea and biscuits. Why don’t you come down and have a cup of tea?”
It didn’t seem as though they had heard me. They definitely hadn’t processed the information. The woman looked at me as if I was the one talking crazy.
“We’ve got to go, we’ve got to go,” she repeated again. “We’ve got to go, to go down the valley.”
They were terrified. Panic had set in and they were acting on their instinct to flee. I tried to reason with them – explaining that it was likely that the situation would be even worse down the valley, that supplies might be cut off, that they were in serious danger of catching frostbite without the proper equipment – but they couldn’t be reasoned with.
The woman shouted again, “We’ve got to go, we’ve got to go.” That was all she could say.
They stumbled away through the snow and chaos, down the valley towards Gorak Shit. I never saw them again.
We heard from somewhere that the avalanche had been caused by a huge earthquake, greater than Richter force 8, and that its epicentre was close to Kathmandu. That couple was heading straight towards the centre of the madness, not away from it!
I thought back to my time in Kathmandu, before heading up the Khumbu Valley to Everest – the tiny, winding streets, the towering, tilting old buildings, the intricate spider webs of electrical wires strung along every street. I couldn’t imagine much of that standing up to the pressures of an earthquake. How many people would be buried under the rubble? It was an awful thought. I couldn’t think of anywhere more dangerous to go just then.
Logic, however, is a fickle thing, and it has a habit of evading us when we need it the most, when we are in the most difficult situations. Our instinct is flight.
This pair was not alone. There were streams of people heading for the exit, half-dressed, ill-prepared, in a mass exodus out of Base Camp. People were shouting, some were covered in blood, and as the afternoon dragged on, oblivious to the chaos within it, the daylight was fading fast.
Panic had set in, but I couldn’t let it panic me. I had to think logically. I was safer at Everest Base Camp than I would be halfway down the Khumbu Valley. My kit was relatively intact, I had no injuries, there were people around me who needed help. Thoughts of reaching the summit had to be put on hold for the time being, but there was no way I was leaving the camp.
I saw the two girls from Adventure Consultants, Katherine and Angela, who had been part of our drinking party the night before.
Angela was the camp manager for Adventure Consultants. Katherine was from New Zealand, and had been employed as a personal physiotherapist for a millionaire who was attempting to reach the summit. Everest Base Camp was as far as she was expected to go.
She saw me, recognised me and made a beeline for me, her eyes wide with shock. She was covered in something dark, shimmering; it looked just as if she’d spilled some blackcurrant squash all over herself, all over her jacket. But it was blood, someone’s blood. She came up and flung her arms around me, collapsing against me and sobbing and shaking uncontrollably, crying her eyes out.
Next to me, Angela hugged Woody; they both gripped on to us as if their lives depended on it.
Katherine shook in my arms, sobbing hysterically, burying her face in my jacket.
“It was awful. It was awful, awful,” she said, between gasps for air. “Awful.”
I’d never seen anything quite like it – someone who had just completely emotionally lost it. She was sobbing like a baby, shaking like a leaf. She was absolutely terrified.
After a short while, I suggested we go to the white pod for some hot tea. I escorted both women back there, hoping the tea and company might calm them.
We learned that their camp had been hit the hardest, with the full force of the avalanche, as it crashed down off Pumori. There was nothing left of it at all. It was absolutely decimated, every tent ripped to shreds; the whole camp completely flattened.
Over hot tea, the two girls told us what had happened to them.
They were the only two Westerners from their expedition still at Base Camp. The rest of the Adventure Consultants expedition team, about 30 of them, were on rotation and had gone up to Everest Camp 1. We had no idea how they were or even if any of them were still alive, as there were no communications working.
When the avalanche hit, the two women had been outside the mess tent with three of their Sherpas, but close enough to use the mess tent for cover. They’d rushed in and dived on to the floor, awaiting the impact like everyone else at Base Camp.
The force of the avalanche had flattened the mess tent – it flattened every tent in the Adventure Consultants’ campsite – and the pair of them were trapped within the tent, under the snow and ice.
When Katherine came to her senses, she could see a small pinprick of light, which she crawled towards; it was the only thing she could think of to do. She was buried under a pile of heavy items – chairs, tables, even the canvas tent – which was in turn covered in snow. It was slow, tough going, but she eventually reached the surface. She was extremely lucky that none of those flying objects had smashed directly into her.
After she had managed to crawl out, she found the camp manager, who had also successfully freed herself.
The three Sherpas, on the other hand, had dashed into the Sherpa mess tent, which was just beside the Westerners’ mess tent. This was where they cooked for everyone, so it contained heavy cooking equipment, such as ovens and sinks.
Katherine had seen one of the Sherpas buried in the snow, and run over, still dizzy from the avalanche, to see if she could help him. Before she reached him, however, she stopped short with horror, falling to her knees in the snow.
The back of his head was completely smashed in. There was nothing left; it was all blood, red, matted, glistening on the white snow.
She kneeled down and put her arms around him and he looked into her eyes as she cradled him in her arms, holding him close as his blood oozed out and soaked her jacket. He soon died.
Both women tried to dig him out of the snow with their bare hands. They wanted to move his body away from the devastation a little. The cold bit at them mercilessly.
When they finally pulled his body clear, they discovered, like some new sick torment, the body of another Sherpa buried underneath him. They soon realised he was already dead. They found the third Sherpa a short distance way, also dead. The three men had been huddled together, trying to avoid all the heavy metallic equipment that must have been flying around in their tent.
All three Sherpas had been killed; miraculously the girls had survived. Their tents had been less than 10 metres apart. Survival was purely a matter of luck, of being in the right place at the right time…or rather, not being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Katherine was confused, terrified – she couldn’t quite grasp what was going on and was thinking about her loved ones back home. She wanted desperately to leave, to get back to her boyfriend.
Angela was coping better – she had been at Base Camp the year before, when 16 Sherpas had died in the Icefall, and the expeditions had been cancelled after the other Sherpas staged a strike. She soon headed out to see what she could do to help others.
I, too, went back outside. It was clear that there was still no
communication, or any central management of the situation. Everyone was wandering around aimlessly. It was complete chaos.
There was blood everywhere, splattered on stones and snow like thick paint. People were staggering about as if someone had just detonated a bomb.
I made my way towards the mess tents to try to find out what was going on.
The emergency tent
As I pulled back the flap of our mess tent, I was immediately overwhelmed by a thick, metallic stench. It was a sickly smell, almost like treacle, but mixed with the unmistakable odour of blood and sweat. Not normal sweat, from exercise or heat, but the sweat of intense fear. It clung to the air like a disease, damp and claggy. It was the smell of death.
I took a deep breath, and stepped inside.
There were injured people everywhere – some seated, some lying on the floor – there was no semblance of organisation at all. I couldn’t believe it. Nobody was doing anything to help the injured; they were just sitting there, looking frightened – or lying unconscious.
My immediate instinct was to try to bring some order to the chaos.
As I walked in, I was fighting my way past tables and chairs.
I got someone to help me move all the unwanted tables and chairs outside. We had to carry them carefully around the injured and dying bodies. Someone else held the flap of the tent open so that we could get through with them.
As I ducked outside, I took a huge breath of fresh air. It truly stank inside – blood, sweat, urine, fear, bleach. Why bleach? We didn’t have any bleach… I had noticed the smell in hospitals, but always assumed it was the bleach they cleaned everything with. It must have been a scent bodies give off when they’re dying.
Once we had taken a few tables out, we had space to start to get people to lie down, to make them comfortable and to get things sorted out a little. It went through my mind that perhaps somebody else was already actually in charge, and that I had just come in and trodden on their toes. I expected at any moment that someone would tap me on the shoulder and ask me to step out of the way. But it seemed better to do something than nothing.
Aftershock: One Man's Quest and the Quake on Everest Page 10
