Seven Summits

by Dick Bass; Frank Wells; Rick Ridgeway

  Emmett reached the safety of a rock outcrop at the top of the section, and sat to wait for the others. Marts was perched above him, setting up his camera.

  We'd better rope those guys over this, Emmett thought.

  Then he realized the Russian guides had all the ropes. He looked up but they had disappeared over the rise. He yelled; no answer. All he could do was talk the guys up, and cross his fingers.

  Dick came across first. Emmett noted he was in balance and seemed to climb with confidence. Then he also noted all he had in each hand was a ski pole.

  “Bass, where's your ice axe?”

  “Don't have one.”

  “Don't have one?”

  “Frank loaned his to one of the guides, so I let him have mine. Besides, we didn't take such a steep, exposed route last time.”

  Emmett guessed it had been warmer when Dick climbed this face two years ago, but now with the snow this hard Emmett knew Dick's only chance of surviving a slip would be to make an arrest with an ice axe. And without an ice axe, his only chance was not to slip.

  Emmett also realized the worst thing would be to make Dick nervous.

  “Don't worry about it. You'll be all right.”

  Emmett tensed as he watched Dick. Marts had his camera on. Dick looked good, though, and made it smoothly. Morgan was next. He was much more experienced, and had his ice axe, but he was also feeling bad, from his lack of acclimatization.

  I’ll be glad when this section is behind us, Emmett thought.

  Morgan got across, and now it was Frank's turn. Again, Emmett figured the best strategy was to sound encouraging.

  “Slow and easy, Frank. We're in no hurry.”

  Frank knew the consequences of a slip, and the unlikelihood of his being able to stop himself even though he did have Dick's ice axe. He moved as carefully as he could.

  Emmett sat motionless, trying to look nonchalant but with his eyes glued on Frank's feet.

  “Make sure you clear your crampons around your pant leg with each step,” Emmett said, trying to sound encouraging.

  “I know,” Frank answered curtly.

  Fifteen more feet … ten more feet.

  Then Marts said, “Frank, could you climb over about five feet. The view below you is incredible.”

  Frank snapped. “Goddamnit it, Marts, I’m trying to get across this alive and you want me to—”

  “Hold on,” Emmett interrupted. “Don't start yelling, just concentrate on getting across. Steve didn't mean any harm.”

  Five more feet … Frank was across.

  Emmett grabbed Frank's arm, eased him up to the rock platform, and thought, It's amazing how Frank is only as good as he needs to be. The only time during all these climbs he ever falls is when he can afford to.

  Still, Emmett was going to breathe a lot easier when they were not only down from this climb, but when Frank and Dick were finished with the whole project.

  Above the rock platform the slope eased and now everyone could relax. Morgan was getting worse, stopping twice to throw up, but insisting he could make the top. Emmett was concerned for his buddy. Morgan's face was ashen, and he was definitely suffering acute mountain sickness. Still, they were close, and Emmett judged if they got up and back down quickly, Morgan would be okay.

  Frank was feeling good and strong, an incredible difference from his condition two years earlier. Soon they could see the heads of their Russian guides above them. It looked like they were sitting. A few more feet they could make out a rock cairn next to them. It was the top. With fifty more feet to go, Frank caught up to Dick and put his arm around him.

  “We're doing this one together,” Frank said.

  “Marts,” Dick yelled, “get your butt up there and get Pancho and me coming in on this one arm-in-arm. And this time the footage better be good.”

  They headed for the top, arms over each other's shoulders.

  “Pancho, this deserves a poem.”

  “’Gunga Din,’” Frank said. “Let's do it together.”

  “Now in Injia's sunny clime

  Where I used to spend my time …”

  Twenty more steps

  “A-servin’ of ‘Er Majesty the Queen …”

  Ten more steps

  “Of all them blackfaced crew

  The finest man I knew …”

  Five more steps

  “Was our regimental bhisti, Gunga Din.”

  The others cheered as Frank and Dick, still arm-in-arm, reached the summit and bear-hugged. With the camera rolling, they waved their ice axes, then hugged again.

  “Damnit, Dick, I can't tell you how great I feel,” Frank said. “It's just so great.”

  Frank was on the edge of tears. He stood on the very top, and looked around the compass. The valleys were filled with noontime clouds, the lesser peaks like snow islands in the fluffy sea. Next to him, on the rock cairn, was a small bronze bust of Lenin. It was a great summit, not as high as some of the others but great nonetheless. Again he thought how this was the first of the Seven Summits he had attempted, the first of what became a long string of failures. He had come back to have his day.

  “And it's not like I just barely got up here, either,” he told Dick. “Because I feel absolutely fantastic.”

  The only concern now was Morgan. He still hadn't reached the top, but he only had about twenty feet to go. He hunkered over his ice axe, and the others cheered, trying to encourage him. He made ten more feet, and hunkered again.

  “You got it. Come on, buddy.”

  Morgan was unsteady, but he reached the top. The others gave him hugs, then he sat half-collapsed next to the bust of Lenin and threw up. Then he smiled.

  They had all made it. Dick gave out with his summit trademark.

  “Aah-eah-eaahhh!”

  Morgan looked up. “The only thing wrong,” he said, “is poor Lenin here. He's going to be a lonely boy. We should have brought the inflatable doll, Emmett. Where's the inflatable doll?”

  Then Morgan puked again, laughed, and got up to start down.

  Back at the hotel they walked into Jennings's room and found the Russian nurse sitting on his bed, draped in black lingerie and wearing a multicolored party hat. A half-finished bottle of Vodka decorated the nightstand.

  “Hi, boys,” Jennings grinned. “How was the climb?”

  “We made it. Looks like you did too.”

  “I’m happy to announce my ear infection is cured.”

  They had a celebration dinner that night and after two more days of relaxation started home. Now their only concern was getting out of Russia. While waiting at the airport in Mineral Vody they met an interesting British engineer who had been living for several years in Russia helping install western technology in Russian factories.

  “It's been terrible,” he said. “No flights out of Moscow and thousands stranded. I haven't heard any news for a few days, but I doubt it has improved.”

  “You won't hear the end of this,” Luanne said to Frank.

  Eight hours later they arrived in Moscow, and there was the affable Monastersky, attentively waiting to take them to their hotel.

  “Mikail, we understand there is a serious problem with the airline boycott.”

  “Problem? Who told you this?”

  “An Englishman we met in Mineral Vody.”

  “Problem? Oh, yes. He is right. Big problem. No more flights now, maybe never.” Monastersky took his time to light a cigarette, letting the information sink in. Then he said, “You spend rest of your life in Soviet Union!”

  The women went ashen, and Frank and Dick felt their stomachs tighten. Then Monastersky gave them a big stainless steel smile and said, “Good joke, huh?”

  Actually the boycott was still in full swing, but there were a few flights out to less-frequented destinations, and Monastersky as usual had taken care of everything, booking the necessary connections. Jennings left via Helsinki, Morgan was out to India by way of Tashkent, and the rest made a connection through Vienna.

&n
bsp; Five expeditions down and two to go.

  Just as Frank and Dick had decided to combine Kilimanjaro and Elbrus in one trip, Pat Morrow had also made a similar plan, only in reverse. In July of 1983 he had climbed Elbrus and then had traveled directly to Kilimanjaro, where, he learned later, he missed Frank and Dick by only a few days.

  After strolling to the top of Kilimanjaro, he returned home by way of Australia and was on the summit of Kosciusko about the time Frank and Dick were beginning their climb up Elbrus.

  All he had left was Vinson in Antarctica. He wasn't sure how he was going to get there, but by this time he had seen an article in Fortune magazine describing Frank and Dick's Seven Summits odyssey, and he intended to call them as soon as he got back and chat with them about how they were planning on getting there.

  He knew enough about Antarctica to know it wasn't going to be easy. But he also felt that with enough work, enough perseverance, enough creative thinking, and enough luck, he could figure out how to do it. After all, he was too close to realizing his dream to give the effort anything less.

  Pat Morrow had six summits down, and one to go.

  12

  THE ICE DESERT

  “You've got a call from a mountain climber named Pat Morrow,” Frank's secretary said over the intercom. “He says he is also trying to climb the seven summits, and would like to talk to you.”

  It was mid-September, about a week after Frank had returned from Russia, and he was working in the office Warner's had given him while he continued his position as consultant.

  “What's he want to talk about?”

  “He says he has now climbed six of the seven peaks, including Everest.”

  “What?”

  “He says the only thing he has left is to figure a way to get to Antarctica.” “Put him on.”

  Morrow introduced himself and explained to Frank how he had come up with the idea of climbing the seven summits, and how he had now done all of them but Vinson.

  “I’ve seen the Fortune article about you and Dick and I wondered if I might ask how you two are planning to get to Antarctica?”

  “Do you have $200,000?” Frank asked.

  “No.”

  “Well, that's what it takes.”

  Frank then told Morrow about the Tri-Turbo, and all the difficulties he had overcome in chartering it. Morrow thanked him for the information and for his time, and wished him good luck climbing Vinson. When the conversation was finished, Frank called Dick.

  “He sounds like a very nice guy,” Frank said, “but he didn't have the money to charter the plane, and who knows if he can come up with it. One thing's for sure, he won't be able to charter it this year, since we've already got it, and even if he does figure out a way to come up with the money, he wouldn't be able to make the attempl on Vinson until next year, and that would be after we have another shot at Everest. Speaking of which, heard anything from Katmandu?”

  “I just talked to Yogendra yesterday,” Dick said. “He says he's been in contact with the Indian team which has an Everest permit on the South Col route for next spring. The Indian Ambassador to Nepal is a good friend of Yogendra's boss—the Inspector General of Police—and he has approached the Ambassador about our being able to join their expedition. Seems like the Ambassador is acting as a sponsor for this climb, so we should have a good chance.”

  Frank was ecstatic. That evening he once again broached with Luanne the subject of going back to Everest, and as had been the case on that plane ride back from Nepal, she once again said very little. A couple of days later, though, she was ready to speak her mind.

  “Frank,” she said, “I want to have a meeting with you.”

  Frank was surprised. In their twenty-seven years of marriage they had had hundreds of discussions, but they had never had a “meeting.”

  “Sounds serious,” he said.

  “It is.”

  They went upstairs to Luanne's dressing room, where they knew they would not be disturbed.

  “I've talked it over with the boys,” she said, “and they suppoii me. I've also talked to your mother. Frank, I'm not saying you caul go. I'd never do that, never say no to something you want to do. But we did have a deal, and I've made a decision. If you go back to Everest again, and are lucky enough to get home alive, I won't Inhere.”

  Frank sat with his hands clasped, arms on his knees, staring down.

  “You mean it, don't you?”

  Yes.

  They were silent, then she said, “Frank, the boys and I understand how much you want this. Kevin and Briant, they like to achieve things, too; they like to excel; they understand. But you don't know how hard it's been on us, darling. I've tried to have faith, to convince myself nothing is going to happen to you. But that doesn't work all the time. Oh, in a way it's not as hard now as it was that first year. But that's just because now I'm numb. I guess if I've learned anything from this it's just how durable human beings are, how they learn to accommodate pain.”

  Learning to accommodate pain had been a new experience for Luanne, and one that had changed her in subtle ways she didn't think Frank was aware of. She had just told him the first year had been the hardest, but she hadn't told him that the reason it was hardest was because she couldn't come to grips with the possibility that he might die. She hadn't told him, either, that by the second year, even before she fully realized she was doing it, she had begun to account for the possible event of his death. She had his power of attorney, and she began to make decisions about family financial matters. She took over the job of paying bills, besides running the household. She began to imagine how she would deal with the boys in the years to come if there was no one else to help counsel them.

  She realized she was changing, and not necessarily for the better—that depended on how you saw things—for she was no longer just the graceful angel. Those days were forever behind her, and she found herself gaining a certain firmness. She realized, for the first time in her life, she could be as strong as she needed to be.

  She realized, too, there was an irony to it, that it had taken the Seven Summits to give her the strength and confidence to tell Frank that she would leave him if he were to continue the Seven Summits.

  Frank continued to sit arms on knees, considering what Luanne had just said. He knew as soon as she had spoken her ultimatum there was really no choice. Alongside his wife and two sons—everything he had worked for and valued all his life—the chance to go back to Everest had no comparison. Furthermore, he knew she was more than justified in her position. She had been patient the first time he went to Everest, and she had been tolerant the second time, especially in light of Marty's death when there was no longer any way lo mask the danger of the undertaking.

  He was of course deeply disappointed he wouldn't be able to return with Dick, that he would no longer be able to hold the dream, no matter how remote the real possibility, of making the Seven Summits himself. But Frank was not a man to feel sorry for himself. He accepted Luanne's judgment, he made the obvious decision, and in the next breath he told himself the Seven Summits had already been such a resounding success he could in no way be disappointed. Besides, he still had the most adventurous of the seven climbs yet to do.

  “Well, it's pretty clear what to do, then,” Frank said. Luanne was silent.

  “It's clear I’ll just have to be content with six summits instead of seven.”

  Dick was naturally disappointed Frank wouldn't be able to return to Everest, but it was clear to both of them that Dick shouldn't hesitate a moment to continue plans even without Frank.

  “But I’m going to feel guilty as heck going back without you,” Dick said.

  “Nonsense,” Frank replied. “You've always had the best chance at it anyway, and I would probably only hold you back. Besides, it's not like we're never going to climb with each other again. We've still got Antarctica and Kosciusko.”

  And on the subject of Antarctica, things were looking good, too; for the first time in two years
plans were on track. So much so, in fact, that with a fat six weeks before they were to depart Frank found himself, for the first time in years, with what could reasonably be called free time.

  Not a great deal of free time—he still had his consultant job at Warner's, and there were the day-to-day chores to attend to preparing Antarctica—but compared to the hectic pace he had been keeping, it was the first time since he had started the Seven Summits he had an occasional moment to sit back, take a deep breath, and think about things.

  And not surprisingly, the thing he thought about most was what he was going to do with the rest of his life after the Seven Summits was over in December, especially now that he wouldn't be going back to Everest. Up to then, Frank had done a good job forcing himself not to think about the future. When he had quit his job as president of Warner's he had made a pact with himself not to dwell on it because he knew there would be no better way to spoil the joy of his adventure than to be standing on the tops of the peaks fretting about what he might do when the climbs were over. There had been occasional lapses, of course, but all in all, the demands of planning for the Seven Summits had pre-empted any time he might have otherwise spent brooding.

  Now, though, he began to wonder. It wasn't a stress-producing worry that kept him up nights, or even a nervous preoccupation, but more a conscious consideration of the possibilities.