by Jeffrey Cook
As it is, I have taken almost all of the time from rest until darkness to put this much to page. And very soon, we will be awakened in the middle of the night to make our final attempt.
From the journals of Gregory Conan Watts,
May 2nd, 1817
27º59' N 86º55' E
Victory at last!
By the time we were awakened, we had found some new surge of energy, fueled by the excitement of making this great effort. We had to be constantly on our guard, and through much of the trip, most of us had to be helped along by our fellows. Sir James alternated at times between being one of the helpers, while at other times he needed to be almost pulled along. The moon seemed to almost be below us now as we climbed. It did provide much needed illumination, though also a great sense of dizziness at the impossible perspective of it.
The climb seemed endless. No one spoke save harsh, whispered instructions from the guides, and even those were rare, for conserving every bit of breath seemed entirely critical. For much of the climb, I was almost a dead weight, being pulled upward by whoever of our company found strength and stamina enough to make the effort on my behalf. I carried only the gear on my person: crampons, axes and the very minimal necessities, for even the thick wrapping clothing seemed an impossible weight. By the time we saw sunlight, my arm had gone entirely numb, moving only with the greatest of effort. I do not know how I kept going or how the others found it in themselves to not only haul themselves upwards, but get me to the top as well.
Most of the way was steep, requiring continuous climbing, with only short stretches of walking through thigh-deep snow allowing for any rest, if that can be imagined as rest. As much as we were in desperate need of rest and air, we had to keep going, constantly moving, or we might never begin again and likely never come down from that great height.
Just before the top, with the peak in view, there was a small plateau. It seemed almost victory in itself to reach it after the constant effort of the climb, and all of our guides but Dorje and Goba stopped there with exhaustion. I would have done so as well, but once I took some pictures of the great stretches of Nepal below, Eddy and Sir James tugged at me and gestured that we were going on. The short stop did not feel at all like rest, just a struggle for air, with only how striking the view was – and the need to constantly move to avoid the grip of the worst of the cold – providing any impressions of thought. I could hear Sir James whispering to himself over and over the precise plans laid out for this final stretch, done entirely by view from below and climbing advice, for we were going on nothing but our own energy there.
After the plateau there was a short, but absolutely sheer wall of ice and frozen rock, with sharp edges that cut through gloves and threatened to cut the ropes as well. Miss Bowe, Dorje, and Goba progressed first, forced to free-climb the expanse to secure ropes, for trying to toss any kind of grapnel here brought far too much risk of rock fall. Though the memories blur, I have impressions of their seeming to take forever to test each hand and foothold, securing their crampons as much as they were able to without kicking too forcefully and bringing the mountain down on the rest of us. I do not think, looking back now, that this stretch went for more than 100 meters, but at the time it seemed impossible, even as far as we had already come.
Sir James would not be defeated, however, having come so close. By near the end, I believe our two most intrepid guides and Miss Bowe were pulling most of us up. Sir James and Eddy helped as much as they were able to with numb hands and blurry minds, while I believe at that point I was more or less literally dragged up the flat expanse. We reached an expanse, finally, of wide snow at a steep angle, but not nearly so bad as the climb. I recall that the snow formations seemed almost like waves on the ocean. When we had reached this point, after a few more short climbs, Miss Bowe took the lead, offered by the brothers, and reached the peak followed shortly by that pair. Eddy and Sir James followed, with the three at the top now helping pull us all along.
We took only a short time to marvel at the view, for at last, there was no more next ridge, and then the next, but only a view one way out into the marvels of Tibet, partially shrouded by clouds, and the other way, back the way we had come. I took what pictures I could be prompted to take before I needed to rewrap my hands too thickly to work the camera. I had difficulty bundling it back into the device used to warm it. Sir James planted the flag of England there while the Shar Khombo marked the site with some sort of religious idols. I left behind the metal plaque bearing the name of my dear Cordelia, and then we made ready to finally descend.
My recollections of the descent are even vaguer. I am certain that Miss Bowe and our guides were most careful in making our way down. We rejoined one of the other Shar Khombo who could not bring himself to continue upward somewhere along the way, and he seemed somewhat more collected than the rest of us after having some time to rest and wait for our return.
For all the caution, I have impressions of haste, trying to make our way to a lower altitude where we might better recover. Our ropes were still in place, making the trip down easier than the times that our best had to free climb upward to secure the ropes the first time through. We avoided disaster as much by divine providence as our own skill, for I do not think most of us had the sense to avoid any dangers save those we had drilled most into our minds. I know that they had to lower me down on ropes repeatedly throughout the process.
We returned at the end of the day to Dr. Bowe's upper camp after a final desperate push to reach it down the icy expanse. By then, I think some fear that we might do ourselves some permanent harm pushed the group on as much as anything else. Simple thoughts and drives were certainly the order of the day. There, I slowly came to some kind of realization of myself and the conditions around me. I could not move for the headache, and the cracking of the ice seemed to echo in my skull. Only comparison to the higher reaches made the air seem even breathable. Certainly it was a remarkable experience, perhaps unlike that anyone else has ever experienced before us. The view has to be unique upon all of the Earth. Despite this, it is one I never wish to attempt again.
The next day we continued on to the camp held by Miss Penn, Mr. Heller, and the last of our guides. The Shar Khombo exchanged news, and we rested again. It is only now, the morning after that descent, that I have found it in myself again to attempt writing, trying to recall as much detail as I can of our trip upward, including asking everyone else around about it to help improve my memories. While on one hand, it seems unfortunate that I should remember such an event and wonder so hazily, in another fashion, this surreal quality to my memories of the events makes it seem all the more of a miracle.
From the journals of James Coltrane, (Translated from the Latin)
May 3rd, 1817
"Victorious warriors win first, and then go to war, while defeated warriors go to war first, and then seek to win." – Sun Tzu
“The only reason a warrior is alive is to fight, and the only reason a warrior fights is to win.” -- Miyamoto Musashi
While encountering the struggles in the East, these points from their philosophies have been my guideposts. Gregory sought to teach me to use the camera and turn back, but under those circumstances, I couldn't have learned its ways, and ascending the peak with no record of it would not be the same victory. Besides, he brought me out of the darkest place in my life. It seemed only right I repay him by showing him the heights of what we could achieve.
Aside from Sam, the others revel in telling the stories, and being amazed that we made it. I think the two of us understand each other better now. I had to plan and scheme and drill every warning into my mind, treating the mountain as if it was an enemy general out to thwart me. I never allowed myself thought we wouldn't make it, or we wouldn't have. She, alone among us, may have been able to make the climb with only a local guide or two, on sheer ability. The rest of us needed all the warnings and plans and strategy, but we still approached it as a challenge we needed to win. After all York put me thro
ugh, I had to prove to myself that I could rise beyond that time, and beyond all doubt. I see much the same thing in her. The victory, whether leaping into a storm, assaulting a fortress alone, or climbing a mountain, is in challenging herself.
I understand enough of the local language now – and more than enough Spanish – to gain some insight into the conversations she has with Goba and Dorje's grandmother, and the few others of that age that treat Sam and her father as memories instead of old stories. Though I comprehend them, the words make no sense, but I will have to ask after her story soon, that perhaps it will. The more I travel with this crew, the fewer things I am not willing to believe.
That will wait, however. For now, it's time to return to Australia, and prepare to travel for my childhood dream. Japan! I've studied all I could in hopes of being ready for this trip – it's the part of the job for which I'm truly most qualified. I understand now that Giovanni Franzini's aims, as assigned to him, were perhaps not to kill us, but to deprive us of our airship while stealing the secrets of the suit. I would still have made the trip by boat, vulnerable and difficult to control though our situation would have been.
No matter who assigned us this trip, we will go forward with it. It serves our nation, beyond Montague's aims, and I suspect that for anything of this scale, negotiations with the Dutch would have had to have involved a slew of politicians and perhaps the Crown. York may attempt to interfere, but privately, I do not think he will. Even if he does, I no longer fear York.
The nightmares of torture outlasted the physical ills. Doubt and knowledge of treachery cut deeper than his poisoner's blades. I had to see the sun. I had to climb a mountain to get past the doubt.
We climbed a mountain. We saw the sun. The doubt is gone. York can do as he will in his war. Montague can do what he will. We have already won. Now, we prepare for war.
May 4th, 1817
27º58' N 86º54' E
To whom it may concern,
My name is Gregory Conan Watts. I have contributed to your publication previously as a writer and reporter while serving as a messenger and aide-de-camp during the Napoleonic Wars. I do not know if the same fine gentlemen still serve as chief editors there as during my last submission, so I will attempt to address this as generally as possible. I am sending this note to your attention via a Dutch trader and supply ship, so I will hope it reaches you in good condition and time.
Enclosed, you will find copies of my journal entries regarding our group, which left England with no small fanfare a year and a half past, successfully scaling the mountain the locals refer to as Chomolungma. It has not yet received a designation through the Royal Geographic Survey, and I understand relations with Nepal may further delay that effort. I have included the best maps, information regarding its scale, and other accounts as I am able. Most importantly, I am including the enclosed photographs of our number atop the summit, as well as the pictures of Nepal, Tibet, and many locations along the way.
Further included is evidence regarding Dr. Bowe, the author who claimed to have previously scaled most of the distance up this same mountain, verifying that he was, indeed, there. It is my hope these will serve to vindicate the doctor and cease any more false report that he is a writer of adventurous fiction. Along our entire route, we followed his maps and accounts, to which, along with very skilled native guides and the spirit of my companions, we owe our success.
I hope this finds you in good health and does not too much surprise you.
Yours,
Gregory Conan Watts
May 4th, 1817
27º58' N 86º54' E
My Dearest Cordelia,
As you doubtless will have heard through the news by the time this account reaches you, we have succeeded in one of the most daunting goals known to man. We have reached the top of the world and survived our return.
As I am writing this, we are resting among the Shar Khombo people. Soon we shall return to Australia for further recuperation after our heroic efforts, while we plan our trip to the closed nation of Japan. To avoid repeating myself unnecessarily, and to dispel, for you, any hyperbole by the paper, I am including copies of my original journal entries for your perusal. I am also including several photographs that were not included in my notice to the paper.
I do have to wonder about some oddities in the trip. Many of the models of tools we found in Bowe's camps were out of date, with maker's marks that should have struck me as most unusual had I been more coherent at the time. When we are all further recovered, and I have the opportunity, I must ask Miss Bowe why her father would have been equipped primarily with tools from that late 1600s and early portion of last century, mixed amongst somewhat more modern equipment.
After that journey, I have further good news to report. Dorje, of the Shar Khombo, has decided to apprentice himself to me in cartography. He wishes to travel with us for a time, to test his skills and hone his craft in Australia's dividing range mountains, and eventually to attempt to map and explore more of the mountains of both his homeland and Europe. He is learning English quickly and has a gift for Spanish, so by the time he leaves our company, he should be able to do well for himself without an interpreter.
However, this is not the most exciting of the news. Upon reaching the Shar Khombo village once more, I finally learned the great secret between Eddy, Sir James and Miss Coltrane. Sir James has agreed, despite the apparent impropriety of it, to allow Eddy to marry his sister. There is some debate over whether the Captain or the local reverend will perform the ceremony, but in any case it shall happen during our time of rest in Australia, before we journey on to the closed nation of Japan.
By the stories I have gotten, while he certainly felt betrayed by the Coltranes, the revelation of who was behind the battle suit dispelled Eddy's notions of Miss Coltrane as an intelligent but mostly useless decoration, as he crudely puts it. Miss Coltrane, meanwhile, has always found England's gentlemen boring – and particularly found it a chore trying to feign interest in those who presumed themselves more intelligent and capable than she was. She generally preferred the less educated but more rugged individuals among her brother's friends.
While reluctant for a time, Sir James finally agreed to the arrangement, and even now, they are planning perhaps the largest and most elaborate wedding Australia has ever seen. England's most elegant may not find such an arrangement suited to people of the Coltrane's class and refinement, but I am certain that you will join me in simply wishing them well.
Of course, these arrangements also put in my mind our own eventual arrangements.
My love, always,
Gregory Conan Watts
Acknowledgements:
I'd like to thank the following people and groups, who make this whole writing career thing possible. First, my cowriter, Sarah Symonds, and my editor, Katherine Perkins, without whom, I'd never have managed to get beyond "aspiring author." To Will Sweet, our new cover artist. To Jennifer Wolf and Matthew Lewis, who have been my continual support network throughout the process.
To our families: Carol Wells-Reed, Gerry Cook, Anne Symonds, Carol Wolf, Kelly and Scott Hendrix, and others. To the other people who have helped with the beta reading, voice testing, and general talk about my days at work. To the literal best Sam Bowe cosplayer out there, Kaylin Anderson. To Andrew McDonald, Gavin Downing, Leigh Alghren, Andy Mayor, Matt Rose, and Chris Saldana. Thank you also to the ladies and gentlemen of the FreeValley Publishing writers’ group. I'm looking forward to continuing to work with all of you, and best wishes for all your own work in the coming year.
To the owners and staff of the AFK Elixirs and Eatery. I couldn't imagine a more helpful and supportive venue and atmosphere. Thank you to Jacobsen's Books & More, Village Books, and all of the other shops willing to give independent press a place on the bookshelves. To Contessa Paxton Timmerman, Ripley Patton, and the other members of NIWA. To Seattle's Hydrophobic Ducks of Nanowrimo, always. To Brian with Valley Auto and the other people and businesses that keep
Maple Valley a great place to live and work out of.
Thank you to the fine folks with Writerpunk, I'm looking forward to working more with all of you. Thanks to Tabitha Davis, Nikki McDonagh, Niamh Shamira, Eric Plume, James Baldwin, DavidForsyth, DeAnn Rossetti, Shiv Ramdas, Faith Johnson, Patrick Lohkamp, Allison Drennan, Esias Glaster, Tina Shelton, and Elizabeth Pifer for being willing to help push and promote others across social media and in person. There is no more effective advertising, or anything a writer appreciates more than the people willing to read and recommend their work.
There's a whole lot of other folks who've helped out and fully deserve more appreciation than I have room for. Thank you all.
