While the lead climbers worked on the Icefall, Frank had kept busy. One day he had hiked across the glacier to Kala Patar, a hilltop vantage with a commanding view of Everest. Then another day States had coached him up the side of a serac near base camp, to improve his ice axe and crampon technique. He kept busy reading, and was entertained by the assortment of trekkers who each day wandered into base camp. There was Bill Grant, the Scotsman who was on his fifth expedition looking for the yeti, the abominable snowman, and then the two Americans who rode in claiming the first bicycle ascent to the base of Everest. Another day an American visited camp who said he was a writer, working on a biography of Ingrid Bergman.
The writer triggered memories in Frank of the movie business he had given up to go climbing. For the first time since starting the Seven Summits he felt melancholic. Would he come to regret his decision, he wondered.
Later that afternoon he was rescued from his melancholy when he heard at the edge of camp that familiar Tarzan call, and stepping out of the dining tent he saw Dick approaching, wearing jogging shorts over long john underwear, a Snowbird visor hat, and a wide Texas grin.
“We secured all the loose ends in Katmandu,” Dick said as he bear-hugged Frank. “We got the ABC permit, Gerhard is in a good mood, and I’m ready to climb this mother.”
The full team was now in base camp and Sonam, the lead Sherpa, said next morning they would have the puja ceremony at the foot of the base camp altar, a stone pedestal the Sherpas had built on the highest point in camp and from which they had strung long lines of colored prayer flags. Here they kept a few boughs of juniper smoldering and whenever they left camp to go into the Icefall they paused to breathe the smoke. Like the chanting of mantras, this was thought to cleanse the soul of wrongdoing, or as one Sherpa put it, “to make sure you have good luck in the Icefall.”
After breakfast the Sherpas gathered around the altar while one of them, chanting from a prayer book, reached in a sack and tossed handfuls of sacred rice in the air. After performing other ceremonious acts, they made an offering to the goddess of Everest of several glasses of chang, the local rice beer, a bottle of Remy Martin, and another of Johnnie Walker Red. When the ceremony was finished the Sherpas passed around the bottles, and when the liquor was polished off they proclaimed that the expedition could get fully underway.
Two days later the lead climbers established camp 1, at the top of the Icefall. It had taken nine days and while some sections were undeniably dangerous, especially the Interconnect, there was general agreement the route was a good one and the Sherpas could now begin carrying through it the hundreds of loads of food and equipment needed to provision the upper mountain. Gerry Roach and Peter Jamieson left to occupy camp 1 and begin the push into the Western Cwm (pronounced “Coom”), an enormous ice valley formed in part by the huge southwest face of Everest.
It was now April 19, and team leader Phil Ershler estimated they could be in position to make the first summit bid by the end of the month. It was time to think about selecting summit teams.
Ershler had been scrutinizing everyone's performance, earmarking those who had been working the hardest and therefore most deserved a position on the first summit team. He had also been wrestling with what to do about the Sherpas. He had listened carefully to Gerry Roach tell about the 1976 expedition when the Sherpas had refused to carry more oxygen to the high camps after the first summit attempt; Roach felt the problem stemmed from the Sherpas’ feeling of being nothing more than hired hands. Sonam had also warned Ershler that if the Sherpas felt they were only beasts of burden, with no real hand in the climbing, they might quit early. It seemed critical to Ershler to devise a plan which included the Sherpas. And besides, all self-interest aside, he was fond of these warm-hearted, good-natured mountain people and felt they deserved a chance for success on this peak as much as the sahibs who had hired them.
He also had to consider Frank and Dick. Ershler recalled that when they had that New Year's team meeting in Snowbird, Frank had said at the time he and Dick wanted to be equals with other team members, and “all we expect is an equal chance at the summit.” The team agreed without a single dissent. Now Ershler had to weigh how those terms might translate to a summit strategy. (Frank later told Dick that as soon as that meeting was over he regretted not being more specific in defining what an equal chance should be.) Ershler's view—shared by the other lead climbers—was that while Frank and Dick had paid for the expedition (other than personal airfare, which each member had covered for himself), they, the lead climbers, had contributed their share organizing the food and equipment, and more importantly had risked their lives to build the route through the Icefall. Given that no one had actually been hired to be Frank and Dick's guides, and as Frank had said, everyone was equal with an equal chance, Ershler felt he was on solid ground choosing from among the lead climbers the first summit teams. He called a meeting to announce his choices.
“I think the first team should be made up of those who have worked hardest getting through the Icefall,” he said. “And I think those three guys are Gerry Roach, Peter Jamieson, and Larry Nielson. In addition, I think there should be one Sherpa on the first team, and I will get together with Sonam later to determine who that will be. Then the second team will be Gary Neptune, Jim States, myself, and another Sherpa. The third team will then be Dick Bass, Frank Wells, and Ed Hixson (the team doctor).
For a moment everyone was quiet, then Frank raised his hand.
“I respect the tough position you're in, Phil, and of course I respect your decision. But I have two comments. First, I think you should include yourself in the first team. You've earned it if anyone has. My second point: I don't think it's fair to exclude yourself from the first team, and either Dick or me from the second team, so a Sherpa can get a first shot. I realize your concern for the Sherpas, and for demonstrating to them how much we all appreciate their wonderful and valuable contribution here, but I can't help but weigh against that the work and expense Dick and I have put into making this thing possible, and I think one of us at least has earned a place on that second team.”
“I’d like to comment on that too,” Dick said. “I agree with my partner here that we've earned a spot on that second team, but I’d like to add further I’m perfectly happy on a third team because I feel confident I’m going to make it no matter where I fall in line. So I’d be happy to give that second-team spot to Frank here, although I sure wish we could climb the mother together so we could get that movie footage of us up there on the roof of the world arm-in-arm, in pure jubilation.”
“Goddamnit Dick, if you weren't so unselfish sometimes you'd be easier to deal with,” Frank said. “You should really be on that second team because you've got a much better shot at it than me. But my whole reason for wanting to be on that second team is that if I don't make it the first time I can come down and try again, and if that doesn't work, try a third time.”
“Frank, there's no way you'll have it in you after one attempt to go back up and make another,” Ershler argued.
“While you guys have been up in the Icefall,” Frank countered, “I’ve been down here reading this mountaineering history of Everest, and in it there are plenty of examples of guys who have had a second shot and made it.”
“But Frank, those are world-class climbers,” Ershler said. “I was with you last year for three months on the other side of this mountain, and I hate to be blunt, but you ain't world-class.”
“I know I’m not world-class, but I nevertheless feel I’ve earned a right to a second-team position.”
Ershler then turned to Gary Neptune and said, “Gary, you're most likely to be the leader of the second team. What do you think?”
Neptune had been quiet, as was his style. He was a person who preferred to listen and not make waves. Two years before he had been on Ama Dablam, the sword-shaped summit near Everest, and after the first team made the summit, he didn't argue for another bid after the others wanted to go home. He simply cli
mbed the peak solo.
Now he was uncomfortably on the spot. He was hesitant to state his true feelings—he didn't want to hurt or embarrass Frank—but he saw no way out. He hadn't forgotten his experience with Frank two months before on Aconcagua, when he had watched terrified as Frank awkwardly made the traverse of that steep snow slope leading to the Canaleta. Dick had been okay—Neptune hadn't minded going to the top of Aconcagua with him, and he wouldn't hesitate to do the same on Everest—but Frank was another matter.
“I don't know, Frank,” Neptune said. “You weren't too strong on Aconcagua. You might be more acclimatized if you waited until the third attempt.”
“That doesn't make sense. There's plenty of time to acclimatize.”
“Well, I’m just not sure how you'll do.”
“Gary, are you saying you wouldn't want to have me on your team?”
“Well, if you put it that way,” Neptune said in a self-effacing tone, “I guess the answer is yes. I wouldn't be comfortable climbing with you.
Frank knew there was nothing more to say, and the meeting adjourned.
Frank held no grudge against Neptune, and decided if he couldn't get on the second team he would just live with his third-team position and do all he could to increase his chances of success there. He felt there were two ways to do that. One, to get as much oxygen as possible higher on the mountain. If any single thing would make it easier for him to climb Everest he felt it was that. Second, he began to lobby with Ershler for the establishment of an additional camp above the South Col—a camp 5 at around 27,500 feet—so he would have less distance to climb on his summit day. It was similar to his request on Aconcagua, when he had asked me the day before our summit climb to go with him and overnight at that higher camp that was closer to the top.
Ershler had his hands full figuring which loads needed to go through the Icefall first, what climbers should be positioned where in order to always have a fresh pair in the lead, and how the Sherpas would best fit into the climbing strategy. He listened politely to Frank's requests, but his patience was wearing thin. Although he didn't tell Frank, he felt it was a waste of time making decisions about how much oxygen should go to the South Col, or when to put in a camp 5, because he doubted Frank would ever get high enough on the mountain to make use of those supplies, anyway. In fact, he wasn't even sure Frank would be able to get through the Icefall in one day, and if he couldn't do that, he couldn't get to camp 1.
That gave Ershler an idea. Next day he would insist Frank and Dick go with him through the Icefall; that way, when Frank saw for himself he couldn't make it, maybe he would stay off Ershler's back.
“You two have been sitting idle in base camp here too long,” Ershler said to Frank and Dick. “What do you say in the morning you go with me through the Icefall. Get some exercise.”
Despite their promise to their families to go through the Icefall only once, Frank and Dick felt it would be important for them to go along with Ershler. The next morning leaving camp Frank and Dick paused at the Sherpa altar to breathe juniper smoke. It wasn't that Frank and Dick had developed a belief in Buddhism, but rather they and everyone else on the team observed these rituals out of a combination of courtesy for the Sherpas and a sense that, as Frank put it, “It can't hurt.”
There were two Sherpas with them who chanted mantras as they entered the shadowy frozen towers at the base of the Icefall. As Ershler had anticipated, he and Dick soon pulled ahead, leaving Frank with the Sherpas.
“Dick, the real reason I got you two up here this morning was to give Frank a test,” Ershler confessed. “I know you can handle this okay but I want to see how well Frank does.”
“Well, whatever,” Dick said. “I’m just happy to be getting the experience.”
Ershler didn't want to be unfair, but he still decided to set a good pace. He and Dick hooked into the fixed ropes with their carabiners and stepped out quickly up the trail, which was now well packed around the maze of blocks. It was a brilliantly clear dawn, and Dick paused to gaze across the glacial valley to the cone-shaped summit of Pumori bathed in a pink glow. They crossed the first aluminum ladder, and as Dick stepped on the first rung his crampon spike skated off and he caught his balance on the handline; next step he was careful to place his foot so the spikes straddled the rungs. There was a kind of eerie silence to the Icefall, the only sound the crunch of their boots in the dawn snow and the whistle of their quickened breathing. It was not particularly cold; in fact, dressed in long john underwear, a pile fabric coat, and a windsuit, Dick was almost too warm as he steadily plodded along behind Ershler. They paused to look back and see how Frank and the Sherpas were doing.
“I can't believe it,” Ershler said.
Frank was only a few dozen yards behind. Ershler turned to keep climbing. Thirty minutes later he paused again. Dick was right behind him, and again, a few dozen yards back, there were Frank and the Sherpas. Ershler kept pushing, picking up the pace, only to see, every time he turned, that Frank held his position. Finally Ershler stopped, turned to Dick and shook his head. Frank was still coming on strongly. Ershler noted that he was, as usual, a little awkward, but there was no doubting his determination and there was no doubting he could make it easily through the Icefall in a single day.
“Well, so much for that idea,” Ershler said to Dick. “But now what am I going to do with him?”
8
CAMP TWO: 21,600 FEET
On April 24 Peter Pilafian, the ABC cameraman, and I were on the final day of the walk to base camp. Before arriving we took the one-hour detour to the Kala Patar overlook to shoot an update of the expedition's progress. Holding a mike with the ABC logo on the handle, and the summit of Everest framed over my shoulder, I filed this report:
“The route is now through the notoriously dangerous Khumbu Icefall. It has taken the team nine days, fifty-one ladder sections, seventy-five ice screws, and six thousand feet of rope to fix the passage through the jumble of ice blocks. And today an advance team reached the site of camp two, at 21,600 feet, under the enormous southwest face of Everest. From here, the expedition will now alternate lead teams who will each day climb higher up to Lhotse Face, a four-thousand-foot-high expanse of ice that leads to the South Col, the saddle between Everest and its satellite peak, Lhotse. So far the expedition is on schedule, and if progress continues at this rate, the first team could be in position for a summit attempt in less than two weeks.”
When we arrived in base camp Frank and Dick were out to greet us, and after introductions to those of the team we didn't already know we unpacked and pitched our tent on a platform of flat rocks prepared in advance by the Sherpas. Base camp was positioned in more or less the same locale we had used in 1976; even though the bumps and cracks in the glacial ice change each year, the position of base camp relative to the surrounding peaks remains more or less the same, and because there is always at least one expedition using the campsite each climbing season (before and after the monsoon), base camp has a kind of de facto geographic charter that has put it on several maps spelled with capital letters.
Pilafian and I decided to spend four days in base camp to acclimatize before ascending to camp 2, where we would remain for the rest of the climb. Frank and Dick said they would come up to camp 2 sometime later, after the ropes had been fixed to the South Col (since these ropes would all be fixed by the lead climbers, there wasn't any reason for them to be in camp 2 eating supplies that had to be carried up there).
Those of us on the ABC crew planned to use our time in base camp completing interviews and working on last-minute modifications to our video equipment, including the tiny modified home-type camera and accompanying two-pound microwave transmitter the summit team was to take with them to the top. We had the idea also to take an on-camera tour of base camp, with me pointing out the various tents, introducing the Sherpas, and explaining everyone's jobs. We started at the altar, with its overview of camp.
“There are fifty-one people on this expedition: nine c
limbers, including Frank Wells and Dick Bass, an expedition leader, a base camp manager, a government liaison officer, a climbing representative of the Nepal Police, twenty-five climbing Sherpas, five Sherpa cooks and their assistants, four cameramen or TV people, and a mail-runner who shuttles between here and the air strip, a four-day hike away. It takes twenty-one tents in base camp to hold everyone, plus a cook tent, two mess tents, and an equipment storage tent.”
We then moved to the equipment storage, a rock-walled enclosure with a plastic sheet roof. Inside were the reels of climbing rope, dozens of aluminum snap links, ice screws, aluminum stakes, and other gear needed to fix ropes on the mountain. There was also the food.
“High altitude often creates a loss of appetite, and correct food can be one of the most important ingredients in a successful Everest expedition. Now this might not sound that appetizing, even at sea level, but some of the things in this tent include fifty pounds of canned salmon and tuna, twenty-five pounds of macaroni and cheese mix, fifty cans of meatballs with sauce, fifty gallons of dried soup mixes, seventy-five pounds of saltine crackers, forty-five pounds of cookies, one hundred pounds of cheese, one hundred fifty pounds of potatoes, two hundred pounds of rice … the list goes on.”
We entered the cook tent—another rock-walled enclosure—to the smell of curry sauce and steaming potatoes, and the head Sherpa cook insisted we sit down and drink tea. He had 3 two-foot-diameter aluminum pots over large kerosene stoves. One pot was used only to melt ice, and in a moment an assistant cookboy maybe twelve years old came in with an iceblock that weighed near what he did lashed to his packframe. A transistor radio was tuned to the abrasive keening of Indian music while at the same time the cook was singing a discordant Sherpa tune. Before we finished tea, two Sherpanis (female Sherpas) showed up. They both had braided black hair, colored aprons, and red cheeks, and giggled when they saw us. They had herded from Namche Bazar two yaks loaded with fresh cabbage and potatoes, and wanted a glass of tea before reversing their journey.
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