Under the skylight of the great hall, Parveen, Karim’s widow, served Nazir Sabir tea and chilpindok, a flatbread soaked in melted goat cheese. As they waited for Jehan’s mother to join them, Nazir thanked her. “I wanted to come to Shimshal to pay my respects to you,” said the Alpine Club president. The house filled with mourners; soon it was standing room only. Finally, Nazir broke the silence. He asked how the families were doing.
For a time, no one spoke. Then Karim’s father, Shadi, broke down. “I’ve been cut in half,” he said. “I hide my grief in front of my grandchildren, but they see it. They feel it.”
Karim’s four-year-old, Rahmin Ullah, skimmed the air with a toy Pan Am jet, as his grandfather spoke. “He still believes his father will return from K2,” Shadi explained.
Children are the most affected when their fathers leave for the mountains, Muhammad Raza, the local schoolteacher, told Nazir. The students become distracted in class and silent during recess. They spend too much time alone. As climbing season ends, they start to laugh again, and they listen for the rumble of jeeps along the riverbed. Once their fathers are safely home, he said, “The children become themselves again.”
For the children whose fathers would not return, it was different. Jehan’s son, Asam, had borrowed a cassette player. The boy spent hours alone, listening to a tape he had made. “Long live my father,” the tape repeated. “Long live brave Jehan.” The ten-year-old had become withdrawn, said Nazib, his grandmother.
Jehan’s youngest son, eight-year-old Zehan, had grown to resent Western expeditions that employ Shimshalis. When his grandmother was discussing the downturn in tourism, the boy had blurted out: “I hate foreigners. Why do they come to climb mountains and kill our fathers?”
The elders worried for the children but had no solution except the passage of time. No one had dealt with deaths like these. Karim and Jehan were the first Shimshalis to die in modern mountaineering. The community had banded together to help the widows, but for some, it was hard even to look at the White Horn, where Karim and Jehan had learned to climb. Shaheen Baig found the memories so unbearable that he had quit mountaineering for a time and left Shimshal to work as an oil prospector in the Taliban-occupied North-West Frontier Province.
Nazir nodded, knowing he could do little else but listen. And even that felt inadequate, for soon the families had nothing more to say. The great hall became quiet. Nazir cupped his hands, lifting them toward the skylight. He tried to compose himself, but soon he wept openly with Shadi. Struggling to keep his voice steady, he twice recited the Surah Ikhlas, a Quranic verse, for the lost men:
Say: He is Allah, the One and Only.
God, the Eternal, Absolute.
He begets not, nor is He begotten.
And there is none like Him.
After the prayer, almost all the men were sobbing. Grief made it hard for Shadi to stand. Nazir supported him, helping him rise. Outside, the sun tinted White Horn’s glacier a brassy gold. Nazir realized he’d have to leave soon or navigate the Shimshal gorge in the dark. Shadi led him down the irrigation channel, along the jeep track, to the place he’d last seen his son.
As the disaster on K2 was unfolding, Dawa tried to follow the online reports. Sometimes Chhiring’s wife asked tourists at Internet cafés to decipher the news. Otherwise, she had to guess what ExplorersWeb was reporting in a foreign language she couldn’t read. Kathmandu’s electrical grid fizzled daily, for eight hours at a time, so Dawa often went without any news at all. She had to go on instinct and tended to imagine the worst.
The stress of the expedition had been too much. She’d needed to get her mind off K2, so she had stayed with German friends while her daughters attended summer school. But in the first days of August, even fast Wi-Fi couldn’t confirm whether Chhiring was among the living. Newspapers listed sherpa fatalities but typically failed to provide names.
“The only time I didn’t suffer was when I was asleep,” she said. She tried calling Chhiring’s brother Ngawang, to see whether he’d heard anything, but the circuits were overloaded. In early August, still unsure what had happened and unable to reach anyone who could tell her, Dawa summoned her courage and headed home.
As she opened the gate, Dolkar the spaniel yelped and spun in circles, charging ahead to alert his master. Moments later, Dawa was reunited with her husband. She wanted to reproach Chhiring for going to K2 against her wishes, but she couldn’t do it. She was too grateful to see him alive. As Chhiring told her a sanitized version of the climb, Ngawang gathered up relatives and neighbors, and soon a dozen people had arrived. Instead of debating love and death, Dawa found herself snatching fermenting socks off the rug, chopping vegetables, and scrambling to host a party. Things were back to normal.
But not everything was the same. Chhiring now considered mortality when he deliberated about future expeditions. As anticipated, his ascent of K2 netted a sponsorship offer to climb another deadly peak, Nanga Parbat. Chhiring declined it. Instead, he decided to spend the summer with his family and climb Makalu, a statistically safer mountain, with two Swedes. Dawa appreciated the compromise and set forth her terms: “Stay away from Annapurna, K2, and Nanga Parbat”—the most dangerous mountains—“and you may climb Everest and the others.”
Chhiring agreed. Survival had given him strong resolve to hold onto Dawa and the rest of his family and friends. Perhaps this was why, for a second time, Chhiring couldn’t leave Pasang Lama behind. He was taking him along to Makalu. Dawa considered it a good partnership, and when Chhiring and Pasang left for the mountain, she gave them a tepid blessing.
At Makalu Base Camp, everything reminded Pasang of his cousins. The village where they were born was nearby, two days on foot. While dicing potatoes for dinner, Pasang had a dim memory of Jumik hiding boiled potatoes from his mother; while exploring the foothills, Pasang thought of a hot spring where the cousins used to bathe; while preparing gear for the summit assault, he remembered how Big Pasang first showed him an artificial claw he dubbed “the crampon.”
One afternoon before the Makalu summit bid, Pasang and Chhiring huddled around a stove, heating beer in a pot. Pasang spoke of his most recent climb with the Flying Jump on Manaslu. His family had called him a collaborator. “They tried to stop me from working for the Flying Jump again, but I didn’t listen,” he told Chhiring. The money was good, and there was a fair chance of getting killed, which seemed attractive at the time. Chhiring asked him if he still felt that way. Pasang put down the mug and, unwilling to say more, studied a rising cloud bank.
The despair that haunted Pasang also unsettled Chhiring. He usually slept soundly at altitude, but that night Pasang heard him tossing. They didn’t speak much while climbing to the summit on May 2, and they could barely grin for their clients’ victory photos. Pasang turned to Chhiring and tried to point out his village, but Hungung remained smothered in low-lying clouds.
The sky above was a bright celestial blue. As Pasang stalked the summit plateau, he lost a crampon and slipped. Chhiring shot out a hand to grab him, but Pasang slid from his grasp.
Plunging down on his back, Pasang felt more freedom than fear. He gripped his axe and, for a split second, still had a choice. What he chose surprised him. “I decided I didn’t want to miss this life,” he recalled. “Would the next be any better?” He wasn’t ready to find out, so, twisting onto his stomach, he hacked his axe into the slope. His body fishtailed and skidded to a halt. Choked on adrenaline, Pasang stood up and smiled. The rush had cleared his head, and, on his way down from the summit, he had an idea. “I need to climb every 8,000-meter peak,” Pasang confided to Chhiring.
“Don’t get married,” his friend advised, “until you’ve bagged all fourteen.”
On the descent, their Swedish clients had a crazy inspiration, too: take a hot shower in town, then go for a second 8000er. Soon, Chhiring, Pasang, and the Swedes were making a beeline for Lhotse, Everest’s conjoined twin. Eighteen days later, all four were on the top, completing the fastest d
oubleheader of the season.
From the summit of Lhotse, Chhiring pointed southwest to Rolwaling, the place where his mother had died and his father had gone mad, the valley he’d left to become a porter. He told Pasang what the elders used to say: The world began in Rolwaling, and it would end there. Then it would begin again.
Acknowledgments
This tragic climb impacted many lives, and we owe a special debt to the survivors who shared their experiences, as well as those family members who spoke about the loved ones claimed by K2. Patient with our questions and generous with their time, they helped us understand a more complete story. Heartfelt thanks to:
Qudrat Ali, Guldana Baig, Khanda Baig, Nazib Baig, Shaheen Baig, Ngawang Bhote, Pemba Jeba Bhote, Phurbu Bhote, Dawa Sangmu Bhoteni, Gamu Bhoteni, Lahmu Bhoteni, Phurbu Chejik Bhoteni, Hoselito Bite, Marco Confortola, Muhammad Hussein, Chris Klinke, Pasang Lama, Tsering Lama (Chhiring Bhote), Nela Mandic, Gisela Mandic, Roberto Manni, J. J. McDonnell, Margaret McDonnell, Parveen Meherban, Shadi Meherban, Eric Meyer, Lars Nessa, Damien O’Brien, Denise O’Brien, Iso Planic, Nick Rice, Nadir Ali Shah, Chhiring Dorje Sherpa, Ngawang Sherpa, Ngawang Thundu Sherpa, Pemba Gyalje Sherpa, Dawa Sherpani, Cecilie Skog, Annie Starkey, Fredrik Sträng, Cas van de Gevel, Wilco van Rooijen, Pedja Zagorac, and Alberto Zerain.
Mountaineering historians Jim Curran, Ed Douglas, Jennifer Jordan, and Ed Webster offered insightful comments and corrections to the manuscript. It was a privilege to get to know some of the primary sources and their family members from historic K2 climbs, including Erich Abram, Liaquat Ali, Sultan Ali, Zulfiqar Ali, Ashraf Aman, Haji Baig, Lino Lacedelli, Jamling Tenzing Norgay, Leonardo Pagani, Tony Streather, and Bruno Zanettin.
We couldn’t have understood many important sources without a team of excellent translators. Thank you to Rehmat Ali, Ragnhild Amble, Aleksandra Basa, Hussn Bibi, Erik Brakstad, Snighda Dhungel, Oddvar and Anne Hoidal, Paola Meggiolaro, Paolo Padoan, Aava Shrestha, Gava Shrestha, and Ester Speggiorin.
For providing us with important information and helping us out, we’d especially like to thank: Suleman Al Faisal, Ahmad Ali, Qudrat Ali, Zaman Ali, Ashraf Aman, Dee Armstrong, Judy Aull, Raj Bajgain, Banjo Bannon, M. Bashir Baz, Seanan Brennan, Joëlle Brupbacher, Eddie Burgess, Dana Comella, Marty Davis, Jerry del Missier, Karen Dierks, George Dijmarescu, Fred Espenak, Pat Falvey, Yan Giezendanner, Asif Hayat, Soukat Hayat, Brian Hogan, Lance Hogan, Shah Jehan, Katie Keifer, David Kelly, Sher Khan, Sultan Khan, Gourish Kharel, Richard Klein, Sonia Knapp, Dorie Krahulik, Joe Krahulik, Ab Maas, Caroline Martin, Major Aamir Masood, Dan Mazur, Dean Miller, Simone Moro, Colm Ó Snodaigh, Rónán Ó Snodaigh, Rossa Ó Snodaigh, Mario and Rosina Padoan, Dan Possumato, Nathaniel Praska, Jake Preston, Ronnie Raymar, Muhammad Raza, Syed Amir Raza, Joe Reichert, Rebecca Rice, David Roberts, Alexander Rokoff, John Roskelley, Richard Salisbury, Araceli Segarra, Janmu Sherpa, Jigmeet Diki Sherpa, Ngawang Oser Sherpa, Pasang Sherpa, Tshering Mingma Sherpa, Shujaat Shigri, Tina Sjogren, Tom Sjogren, Ryan Smith, Sam Speedie, Jelle Staleman, Matt Szundy, Hirotaka Takeuchi, Dana Tredway, Mueen Uddin, Maarten van Eck, Jaffer Wazir, Freddie Wilkinson, Yaqub, Ellen Zuckerman, and Katie Zuckerman.
Special thanks to: University of Maryland professor of anthropology Janice Sacherer, an authority on Rolwaling, for reviewing the book for accuracy and sharing with us her original research, which will be published as an academic ethnography; Cambridge University professor Hildegard Diemberger, for discussions about Buddhist religion and mythology and the Bhote culture; Professor Cynthia Beall of Case Western Reserve University, for discussions of her genetics studies; the late Dr. Klaus Dierks, for his photographs of Rolwaling; Jean-Michel Asselin, for his photographs of Chhiring during his first Everest expedition; Kunda Dixit, editor of the Nepali Times, for sharing his knowledge of Nepal’s political history; Dr. Michael Su, for answering our medical questions; mountaineer Jamie McGuinness, for reviewing the manuscript many times and improving accuracy throughout; Nazir Sabir, for insightful analysis and for facilitating our interviews in Pakistan; documentary filmmaker Nick Ryan, for his tireless collaboration; Wilco van Rooijen and Lars Nessa, for reading the manuscript in advance of publication; Kelly McBride, a journalism ethics expert at the Poynter Institute, for providing advice on how to make the best writing and reporting decisions; the Multnomah County Library and the American Alpine Club reference librarians, for helping track down obscure books and articles; Brian Wannamaker and the Falcon Art Community, for providing Peter with a work space and a fun, supportive environment in which to write; the Corporation of Yaddo, for granting Amanda a residency and providing her with a sanctuary to write; Adrian Kitzinger, for creating our maps; and Kathleen Brandes, for fearlessly copyediting our manuscript.
Our agents, Stephen Barr and Dan Conaway, picked forty pages out of the slush pile at Writers House and brought this book to life. Their guidance has been invaluable. Our editor, Tom Mayer, steered us with insight and good sense. His dedication to our book brings to mind Saint Jerome.
Our writing process involves a degree of self-mortification as we rewrite each other. This would not have been possible without the majesty of Google Docs, which allowed us to collaborate closely even when we were thousands of miles apart.
Peter’s partner, Sam Adams; Amanda’s husband, Paolo; and Amanda’s sons, Eli and Matteo, all deserve special recognition. Their love and patience were unwavering.
Background Notes
The notes below provide additional background information about this book and our research. When multiple versions of a story existed—as they frequently did—we chose the interpretations that best fit the verifiable facts. For the folklore based on historical events, we checked known facts but related the storytellers’ perspective as well. We hope that we have made clear, within the text itself, when we are speculating and what supports that speculation. We maintained editorial control, but K2 survivors Wilco van Rooijen and Lars Nessa reviewed the manuscript for accuracy. Others—such as anthropologists Cynthia Beall and Janice Sacherer; alpine historians Ed Douglas, Jennifer Jordan, and Jamling Tenzing Norgay; Nepali Times editor Kunda Dixit; and mountaineer Jamie McGuinness—scrutinized specific sections pertaining to their areas of expertise and, in some instances, reviewed the book in its entirety. After the manuscript was completed, we returned to Nepal with interpreters and reviewed it with Chhiring and Pasang for accuracy.
Just as climbers have conflicts of interest, writers do, too. Before the disaster, Amanda knew several characters, including Marco and Karim, who was her high-altitude porter on Broad Peak in 2004.
Peter quickly found out that being an effective journalist in Nepal and Pakistan is far more complicated than practicing traditional newspaper journalism in the United States. Although reporters are generally expected to avoid getting involved with a story, Peter lived with Chhiring and Pasang and spent about two months trekking with them to their villages, interviewing their friends and families, and gathering information while hiking, hanging out, and learning the art of mountaineering.
Some of the characters went out of their way to help us gather information. Nazir Sabir arranged interviews, and we hired his trekking company to help us get around Pakistan. Damien O’Brien, Gerard McDonnell’s brother-in-law, became our friend, and he shared photographs and recordings from the expedition and his original research. Chhiring and Pasang put their lives on hold so Peter could go with them to their villages. Shaheen Baig did the same for Amanda in Shimshal. We agreed to reimburse them for their time and expenses, based on the equivalent rates set by trekking companies, so we could spend as much time with them as necessary during the three years it has taken to complete this book. We did not ask for exclusivity to their story. After completing most major interviews, we wanted to help the families and communities of those who were lost on the mountain. We discussed how to do so with Chhiring and Pasang and decided to donate a part of the proceeds of this book to the Gerard McDonnell Memorial Fund, a trust directed by the McDonnell family for
the education of the Bhote, Meherban, and Baig children, and, through other charities, help the communities of Chhiring and Pasang.
We relied on photos, videos, and site visits for location descriptions. When we couldn’t reach a certain place, such as the Bottleneck of K2, we had the characters take us to locations with a similar look and feel. In some instances, we asked interviewees to reenact what happened. We also observed several reenactments on the Eiger by Chhiring, Pasang, Tsering Bhote, and Pemba Gyalje while Nick Ryan’s documentary was being filmed. For the descriptions of the trek to K2, Amanda had trekked this route in 2004. We relied on her recollections, in addition to interviews and photos. Sound descriptions are based on what characters remembered hearing or recordings from the actual events.
We adapted some words to English phonetics. For consistency and readability, we refer to the same person by the same name throughout the book, even when that name sometimes changed because of the cultural context. In a few instances, we use sources’ nicknames or alternative spellings because their first and last names were identical to those of other characters. Many places above 8,000 feet in Nepal have both Tibetan and Nepali names. When there were multiple names for a place, we applied the name used locally.
For biographical research, we received help from photojournalists who captured images of Chhiring’s childhood and teen years. These images from Jean-Michel Asselin and the late Dr. Klaus Dierks complemented the anthropological research of University of Maryland professor Janice Sacherer, who studied Rolwaling during the period of Chhiring’s childhood, and the mythology studies of University of Cambridge professor Hildegard Diemberger, who studied the cultures of the Upper Arun Valley during the period of Pasang’s childhood.
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